OT Interview: Author Siddharth Kapila On Faith, The Future Of Hinduism, And His Debut Book

In my mid-thirties, I struggled with listlessness and depression, feeling disillusioned with my career in law. While my friends settled down, I felt compelled to travel, embarking on numerous journeys from 2016 to 2023. Despite exploring various cultures, I longed to reconnect with my heritage. This period also brought frequent arguments with my mother over her devotion to faith. One day, she said, "After traveling the world, you’ll understand what truly matters." It’s curious how my mother shaped me. In my book, I wrote that I could never understand how atheists were so black and white about faith. I was never black and white. Without faith, I felt unmoored. I could never grow comfortable in the utter lack of it, like many atheists manage to do.

Atheists often think being atheistic is completely rational, while being religious is conflated with being gullible or foolish. But for me, it was never this simple. I’ve seen educated, deep thinkers who are also religious. What drives them? What is this quest for something beyond our physical world?

I’ve always wondered why people believe. This has been there since the beginning of humankind—primitive forms of worship grew into organised religion. Now, in the UK, where I am, religion is declining, but it’s still there, manifesting in different ways. What keeps it continuing?

Yeah. These questions drove me to explore the philosophical angles of faith, especially in Hinduism and Buddhism. But you see this in all faiths—Sufi mystics, Christianity—they all ask the same questions. One realisation I came to is the oneness of it all. Everyone is trying to reach that same ultimate divinity, that all encompassing oneness beyond you and me.

A lot of it is not overtly stated. It’s more “show” than “tell.” But I do say that faith colours not only how you see things but what you see. There’s an objective reality—we’re born, we die, we need food—but for religious people, there’s a subjectivity that comes in. Faith gives comfort, identity, purpose, and emotional support.

Even Marx called religion the “opium of the masses,” but his views were more nuanced. He called it the “heart in a heartless world.” It gives comfort to millions. In times of tragedy, people turn to this force beyond—God, Bhagwan, Allah, whatever you call it.

In the book, I say, even if it’s a delusion, I like the delusion. I’d rather have a warm delusion than live in a cold, objective reality. But there has to be a line. You can’t just say, “God will take care of everything.” You have to balance faith with reality.

I’m a skeptic. I don’t do pooja every day or go to temples often. But when my book came out, I made a promise to go to a temple to thank God. I went to Salasar in Rajasthan. Everyone has some superstition, even atheists. It’s just labelled differently.

The biggest challenge was tying together various threads—my story, the stories of the sadhus, babas, and pundits I met, and the mythological and historical fables. It took a lot of rewriting.

Hinduism is largely oral tradition, so I had to cross-check multiple versions of stories. I interviewed and re-interviewed people, including my mother and the pandits I travelled with. Memory is an act of reconstruction, so I had to be as accurate as possible.

I recorded everything—voice notes, handwritten notes, photos. The present journeys were easier to document, but for older journeys, I had to rely on memory and re-interviews.

As I wrote the book over several years, various of my readings seeped into its formation. I have mentioned many of these in the text. The careful reader might pick them up.

"My Family and Other Animals" by Gerald Durrell, "Catcher in the Rye" by JD Salinger, "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert and "Wild" by Cheryl Strayed stirred me in different ways at inception. At the stylistic level, I was, and continue to be, impressed by "A Fine Balance" by Rohinton Mistry and "The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy.

On Vedanta, I found the writings of Christopher Isherwood stimulating. On meditation and mindfulness, I found "Why Buddhism Is True: The Science and Philosophy of Meditation and Enlightenment" by Robert Wright and "The Awakened Brain: The New Science of Spirituality and our Quest for an Inspired Life" by clinical psychologist Lisa Miller thought-provoking. On scientific thought, the writings of Yuval Harrari, Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris were all invaluable, and I've hat-tipped each of them in the acknowledgements.

Memory is unreliable. It’s an act of reconstruction. When I wrote about my journeys, people who were with me said, “That’s not how it happened.” So, no, I didn’t think I’d write a book back then. But those events stayed with me, imprinted on my mind.

Childhood and formative years shape who you are. For me, family, faith, and religion were closely tied. That shaped my outlook as an adult and propelled me to write this book.

The book is about faith, but environmental and social issues come up. In the Himalayas, the Char Dham Yatra has become over-commercialised. Roads and helicopters have made these places accessible, but they’re not meant to support such large populations. The 2013 Kedarnath floods were a result of this.

In Banaras, the Ganga is polluted, yet people still bathe in it. There’s a disconnect between faith and environmental responsibility.

Caste is deeply entrenched. Even in temples, caste dynamics are visible. Pandits ask for your gotra, and there’s segregation. I talk about my own privilege as an upper-caste man and how caste functions intuitively in everyday life.

I’m more of an observer than a judge. My view is somewhat cynical. I don’t think caste or social divisions will change anytime soon. Hinduism is becoming more rigid and commercial. It’s becoming more prescriptive, like the Semitic faiths, which it once derided.

Faith is becoming more visible, more assertive. It’s tied to identity and politics. I don’t see it making a profound effect on caste or social divisions.

Every place is charming in its way. Still, if I have to pick the one place I keep returning to over and over again, it is Varanasi.

To elucidate this idea, there’s a passage in the book: “Varanasi is Hinduism hardcore. Banaras is India in 10D. Kashi is Bharat on bhang. It's so multifaceted a place that even the city's three names, like the three Gods of the Hindu Triad, sear different impressions into the mind. So, if nothing else, I promise one thing. Even if you dislike it, you won't forget it. Because Kashi, this crumbling ancient city where so many Hindus go to die, will make you feel more alive and thoughtful like nowhere else I know I can."

In the Himalayan foothills, Rishikesh, where the Ganga leaves the mountains and enters the plains, is also beautiful and fascinating; it is a good place for both inward and external exploration. In the Garhwal Himalayas, the Kedarnath temple, surrounded by snow capped mountains, will always stay etched in my mind.

It's not for me to say what readers will take away from the book. That's up to them. But I can tell you one insight I gained after all my travels. I found that everybody's 'truth' is different. Yes, of course, truth is objective at one level. We are all governed by hard scientific truths: the need for food, the inevitability of death, and so much else. But I also found that one's personal truth can be highly subjective. Truth is personal and elusive and can even mutate. People see what they want to see. In other words, faith colours not only how you see the world, but what you see. Even today, when scientific thought governs our lives more than ever and the threat of A.I. looms large, God still brings joy, comfort, and purpose to millions, not to mention a sense of identity and belonging. This alone should tell us something of faith's enduring appeal.