When I first went to Kashi Vishwanath Temple in Benaras, I discovered a business model/tactic that I hadn't seen before. Sure it might exist in other places of visit too, but for me, it was the first time. As you might expect, you cannot enter the temple premises with your shoes on, so you have to leave them outside.
"Saab keep your shoes here, here here, in this locker" a garland shopkeeper called me from behind while tugging my jacket, "see this locker saab, A+ quality, keep your shoes safe without any cost. Absolutely free saab." It was about 6pm and quite a crowd had gathered outside the premise. Two UP police constables were stationed at the gate, and no one was getting inside without their thorough patting (only males were being patted, females were let inside so as not to block the entrance but they too were patted inside the premise by female constables.) The shopkeeper kept tugging my jacket while I noticed one of the constables barred entry to a guy with a digital camera. He tried pleading to let him in, but the constable's firm stance and the pushing from the crowd behind him squeezed him out of the line. With a sulky face, he started walking towards me, towards the garland shop actually. When the shopkeeper noticed him coming, he stopped tugging me and said to him "Saab I told you" with a satisfactory smile. The other guy with the camera, with a defeated look on his face said "I hope this stays safe, its an expensive camera you understand...". The shopkeeper immediately replied back with his rehearsed lines "see this locker saab, A+ quality, keep your camera safe without any cost. Absolutely free saab." The guy started walking up to the shop, and I, figuring that I too have to leave my shoes somewhere outside, should go and have a look at what this "free" business is.
The free business was not free after all. The thing is, each shop/stall has small wooden crates with them, in which you can keep your things and lock them up. You keep your shoes/bags in them, lock the crate, and take the key with you to visit the temple, once you come back you can use the key to unlock your items and return the key to the shopkeeper; and in return for this free service, you HAVE to buy a puja prasad packet and some garlands from the same shopkeeper. In most cases, you first buy a product and then get the free item afterward, but in this case, you get your free service beforehand and pay them for their charged product (the puja prasad packet) afterward.
I never understood why some temples had such strict no photography policies, until that day. During the whole visit, the camera guy was in front of me in line and kept grumbling all the way that how he could have captured some Instagram-worthy shots had he had his camera with him right now. I, of course, didn't have any camera with me, and my phone with my shoes, was locked in the trusty wooden crate of the shopkeeper.
There is a common explanation among people that photography in temples is banned because taking/capturing pictures of god is like capturing the essence of the god, which will make him weak and over time make the spiritual qualities of the temple useless. To me, this is a very dull explanation. I mean by definition God's power is infinite, so how can his power diminish with just some photographs? The more logical answer to me is two-folded :
1) First, it keeps away people, like the one I encountered, away from such temples and lets other people pray/find solace in peace.
2) And most importantly, without being able to take photographs, it forces you to be more present in the moment. When you know you will be able to see this temple only in your memory (until you come back to visit again) only, it forces you to be more focused on the details of the temple and its' architecture and its surroundings.
To me taking pictures of visiting temples like these is like taking screenshots of online classes' notes. Neither I am focused during the class, nor will I go back to those screenshots with the same level of seriousness as I should. I mean, you have to feel your engagement in your class, isn't it? Sitting in the same bed all day, mindlessly starring at the screen while professors come and go, no friends to chit-chat with in between classes. This isn't the same experience as a real class is it? I mean technically you still have all the notes you need just a search away on google, you still can talk to your friends via WhatsApp, you can still take your time and write down everything sincerely that your teacher is showing via slideshow. But. Snap. Just a screenshot. Isn't it easy to just take a screenshot instead? Well, I find it easy at least. You can similarly take notice of all the minute details of the temple's architecture, take notice of the mixture of tiredness and happiness on the pilgrim's faces, or notice how the monkeys are roaming around the temple to grab the prasads, OR you could just. Snap. Take a picture and go on. Thinking you have captured the essence of the place.
But is taking pictures a bad thing? Doesn't a picture say a thousand words? Well, it does. It does speak a thousand words. But if only a picture could capture the essence of a temple then no blind man would ever want to go to a temple.
I have never been to any mosque, but of what little philosophy I know about Islam, I understand why they don't believe in idol worship. According to Islam theology, if God is eternal and all-powerful then how can we capture his essence in an idol? It can only be captured in form of symbols. In the form of writings. (here too one may ask if God's idea/essence can't be captured in idols the how can it be captured in man-made symbols/scripts? But that is a theological discussion out of my own realm), And that is the reason why Islamic tradition focuses so much of its attention on calligraphy. Trying to recreate God's essence in man-made symbols. I am not a follower of Islam, but I am a student of Poetry, and this idea of giving written words the respect equivalent to God, resonates with me quite strongly.
Poetry on Instagram is centered so much around audience engagement. On making the audience feel either good about something good or feel guilty about something bad. But is that what poetry is all about? And even as an audience how do I actually enjoy a poetry on Instagram about selfless love and acceptance when the next day I know the person will post a ton of selfies with a dozen of filters? How do I enjoy a poem while I am scrolling Instagram on my bed, trying to divert my attention from a boring online class? I have learned to read Shelly late at night, amidst the stillness of the city's sleep, slowly carrying myself up to the imaginary nightingale. I have learned to read Rabindranath while sitting in my garden, the afternoon sun lighting up the brown pages and butterflies floating around. Sukanta Bhattacharya, Nazrul Islam, Mahadevi Varma, John Keats, I have read them all in different stages of life, but I have read them all in person, all in paper. Either in the library or at my study table, I have read them silently and pensively. I have read poetry when I wanted to read them, not reading them accidentally while mindlessly scrolling Instagram. I have visited temples when I wanted to find peace, not when I wanted to take pictures for Instagram reels.
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