His beloved audience

He had been an agonistic as long as he could remember, and despite his wife’s cajoling,even a visit to the temple across the road from his double-storeyed bungalow had remained a far-fetched thought. But today he stood dispiritedly with clasped hands tearfully staring at the gold studded statue of Ram. Life had presented its dreadful flipside, and ironically he was standing at the same temple across the road from his bungalow, but he was too perplexed to notice the irony.
Anil Yashwant had always cherished his 4 years at his alma-mater IIM-A, and the people at the new office of IBM in Vila Parle were only too keen to have him on board. People who had known him were not surprised to find him effortlessly climb up the ranks in his office, given the extravagant flair he had exhibited at his job. To vindicate his prodigal-like talent,he started a company of his own, that had scripted a stupendous success story in an outlandish fashion. The Deccan Herald wanted to showcase his imminent arrival at the worldstage and had commissioned Nivedita Gupta, a pretty vibrant journalist for a Page 6 interview. The interview had lasted for more than 7 hours, and a year later Nivedita and Anil had committed to each other 7 lives of holy matrimony in a succinct ceremony comprising of close family and friends. They had 2 beautiful kids together, and his miniature company had skyrocketed to scale new heights, proclaimed by many as the next big thing in the
markets. Life, it seemed, couldn't have been haler and heartier. But catastrophe was to befall Anil, for a storm wistfully always follows a calm. His company hadn't been faring well, and share prices had plummeted following the Internet bubble burst all over the world. On the 19th of Dec 2001, an emergency Board meeting was called for, which had concluded in a callous yet decisive vote to file for bankruptcy. His dear company, built from years of scrupulous pain-staking effort had collapsed right before his own eyes.Anil was distraught, but always managed to take heart in the fact
that atleast he had his health and and a caring family. On the 21st of February, 2 days before his son's 19 birthday, he received a call informing him that the Air Deccan flight from Delhi to Mumbai had killed all 78 on board, of which Nivedita, his wife; Aarushi, his 16 yr old daughter, and Rajdeep, his 19 yr old son were an infelicitous part of. It had left him agonizingly stunned for he now had nothing in life to claim as his own.
Anil was unable to bear this melancholic irrevocable loss, of wealth and life, of mind and soul, of kith and kin. He was inconsolable, drowned in overwhelming grief, aloof of life. He took to alcohol, severely wasting himself, abusing his body with drugs. He tried to find answers, he didn't know where to seek them. He was lost immersed in the nothingness of this universe sucked into it and dumped away. He craved for love, for pity, for affection. Lying remorsefully in his once lavish apartment, he remembered his mother's unconditional love, his wife's undying devotion, his children's affection and his dog's faithfulness. His dogged spirit had turned docile, meek. A once proud man now stood felled self-effacingly submissive.
His well-wishers had suggested him to several renowned psychologists, leading doctors and various ludicrous ways to overcome his resentment to life. All had miserably failed. He remembered his wife dearly, the conversations he had with her. She had trusted God so much. But he had failed her. He had cheated her trust, he thought. He had been an agnostic, almost an atheist all his life, and now he had brimming anger at God, an existence he hadn't believed in.
So he headed for the temple his wife had always visited, and stood dispiritedly with clasped hands tearfully staring at the gold studded statue of Ram. He was once again filled with simmering anger, and inconsolably wept bitterly like a lost warrior. And at once, fell to his knees as if in acceptance of His existence, not because he had realized God was omnipresent, but because he hoped he would be. He made a prayer, not because he wanted it answered, but because he simply wanted to pray,to confide his emotion within. All these years he had always beleived that a prayer was a sign of weakness, when a man demanded something from God because he had'nt been able to achieve himself. He now realised how woefully wrong he was. He realised, that a prayer was very personal, very subjective to each individual. Some confided, some confessed, some questioned, some bargained, and some argued. Each one was right in his own way. Facing the sanctum-sanctorum of the temple, he realised God's existence was immaterial, but he knew there was a higher force operating, a watchful eye that was always omnipresent. He at once felt a burden off his chest, felt consoled, like a crying baby is when its mother embraces it.And for a moment, the physical world did not matter to him, and the maelstrom in his own inner world was sanctified, by a divine feeling.