I love visiting temples. Specially the lovely sprawling old temples of Tamil Nadu. I love touching the intricately carved pillars and adoring the perfect figurines of gods, goddesses and demi-gods carved everywhere. I marvel at the mind that conceptualized and designed the space. I admire the mind that structured and meticulously planned the temples to near perfection.

I respect the hands that shared the dreams of the temple's designers and helped make them come true, hands and minds that could translate what was a hazy vision in a few people's minds into rock and sandstone and carved space.

I wonder at the magnanimous hearts that poured wealth into the realization of a dream, who tossed nets far and wide in search of talent and style that could make their dreams come true. When I look at a pillar or lean against it, I love the thought that Raja Raja Chola too might have rested his broad shoulders against it many centuries back.

I love the fragrance of fresh flowers and herbs, sandalwood and camphor, ghee and oil, the smoke of incense and burnt samith wood, the smell of swiftly- charring cotton wicks. I love the riotous colours of flowers and garlands, the glint of gold, the sparkle of gem stones and the sheen of silver, signs of a temple's well-being.

I love the taste of the puliyodurai, thayir saadam, chakkarai pongal, and even of the tulsi theertham. I love the sounds of music, molam, chanting and mumble of slokas, and the ringing voices of head priests rising over the general din of swarming humanity. And I love the sound of temple bells and brass gongs, and even the little tinkle-bells tied around the necks of temple elephants and cows.

I love looking at the old gnarled roots and branches of temple trees, and observing the little cribs and threads and cloth tied all over them, each symbolizing a devotee's prayerful wish, a yearning, or a desperate desire.

But there are things that I don't like about our temples. One is the swagger, the contempt and the measuring glances of [mostly young] priests, their smug smiles and undignified chatter. And I don't like the rows of beggars outside the temples, preying on the guilt and emotions of visiting devotees and forcing them to part with money in the name of 'dharmam'.

And I don't like the mess and squalor, the slush and garbage all over the temples. I don't like to see the outer prakarams of our heritage temples taken over by pedlars and hawkers of tawdry trinkets. I don't like the loud music blaring in the outer prakarams and the shark-like touts looking to feed on the minds of guileless devotees, promising a close darshan,or special blessings in return for monetary favours.

And above everything else I don't like to see milk and honey and ghee and fruits, tender coconut and curds poured in great quantities over the stone idols all in the name of abhishekam.

How can we allow this colossal wastage of good food when right outside the temples sit rows and rows of beggars who may never in their lives have drunk a full glass of milk or eaten ghee-spiced rice? If the idol of stone had but a voice, would it not have protested this injustice or stopped this wastage? They say service to man is service to God. Can't we feed our countrymen and enable them to earn their next meal before we pour milk and ghee and curds and honey over stone idols?