Growing up in an Indian home, questioning God wasn’t rebellion — it was unheard of. We offered prayers before exams, during illnesses, and when moving into a new home.God was the silent guest at every milestone.

But at some point, I started asking:

Why do we fear someone who’s supposed to love us?

It wasn’t a dramatic break.
It was slow — like peeling away layers of ritual, guilt, and silence.

Some moments nudged me forward.

Watching domestic workers go hungry while temples overflowed with donations.

Realizing rules changed depending on who you asked — what to eat, when to fast, what angered God this week.

At first, I felt torn.
Do I follow my heart? Or my brain?

Eventually, I chose to trust my reasoning.

I didn’t see the point in praying to a power that didn’t make sense.

Moving to London in 2005 was a turning point.
Away from the noise, I found clarity.
I met people who lived fully without religion — and I finally felt like myself.

Now, I’m raising kids in a world where they’re encouraged to ask why.

We still light diyas, cook briyani, and decorate a Christmas tree — not out of belief, but out of culture.
But I don’t whisper prayers into their ears.
I whisper questions.

This blog is for others like me —
quietly doubting, deeply thinking, and maybe, secretly godless.

Welcome to Godless Ghar.
Take off your shoes — but not your skepticism.

If you’re new here, you can read more about why this space exists on the About Godless Ghar page.