Confusing Religions. Consistent Painkillers.
Searching for divine answers. Finding over-the-counter solutions.
I am a crossbreed, a mixture of two different religions. So a question always hovered over my head. I needed to clarify it.
One day, I asked my father, “Which is the best religion?”
“Your existing one,” he declared without lifting an eyebrow.
“You mean the one you want me to follow or the one Mom wants me to follow?”
I was more confused than ever.
“The one I follow,” Dad said.
I wanted no confusion, chaos, or debate later. So I asked my mother the same question:
“Which is the best religion?”
“Why the confusion, son? I already told you — our religion is the best,” Mom said.
“The one Dad believes is the best, or the one you believe is the best?” I asked.
“Oh really? This is what your dad told you?”
Mother thought for a while.
“Don’t worry. He’ll agree by tomorrow morning that my religion is the best.”
I don’t know what happened during the night, but in the morning, my dad agreed. For a minute.
My mother cursed him and forced him to honour his side of the deal.
When he didn’t care, she yelled and told him,
“The only thing you’ll bang tonight is your head.”
My dad looked worried.
He called me urgently and asked me to get him a painkiller — in case he needed it after banging his head.
I ran to get the painkiller, still confused about which was the best religion.
The pharmacist asked me what was wrong. I told him the entire story and my confusion. He thought for a while, then promised he had the solution.
I asked him for the solution.
He asked me for money.
I asked him again.
He opened a drawer and handed me two painkillers instead of one.
“Have it when you have a headache with the confusion,” he said.
The pharmacist was right.
But I had to take both painkillers — because my dad kept banging on my door, asking for his.
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I kept searching for the answer for another five years.
One day, I asked my teacher, “Which is the best religion?”
She slapped me and told me not to question religions.
When I insisted on an answer, she said, “The one I follow.”
Now I was even more confused.
Because it differed from the ones my parents followed.
And I didn’t follow what the teacher followed.
So what followed was a headache — and a painkiller.
⸻
I kept searching for the answer for another ten years.
Eventually, I returned to my parents with a declaration.
“I am going to adopt a new religion,” I said.
Being a crossbreed from two religions, it shocked them I didn’t want either of theirs.
“What’s wrong with your existing religion? It’s the best,” my father said, keeping his paper aside.
“Yeah, what’s wrong with your existing religion?” my mother asked, equally offended.
“Nothing,” I said.
“I met a new God who has the solution to every confusion. He even cures headaches.
He calls himself the pharmacist.
And he carries the solution with him.
It’s called the Painkiller.”