I was born a Maithil Brahmin.
For fifty years, I’ve been carefully maintaining this identity.
Janeyu? ????
Puja? ????
Maithili? Work in progress.
Arguments with my mother over rituals? Lifetime achievement award.
Then one inconvenient question arrived.
If Hinduism says I will be born again… will I be reborn as a Hindu?
Or has the universe secretly cast me in Amar Akbar Anthony 2.0?
Imagine this.
This life: Bhaskar Thakur.
Next life: Brian from Botswana.
Or Ahmed from Alexandria.
Or Maria from Mexico.
Or Anthony from Andheri.
The Bhagavad Gita, rather disappointingly for my caste certificate, says the soul changes bodies the way we change clothes.
Not religions.
Not surnames.
Not passports.
Just bodies.
The Upanishads make it even more awkward.
They don’t seem particularly interested in whether I come back as a Brahmin, a Christian, or someone who supports Manchester United.
They only care about my karma, my desires, and the kind of human being I become.
Which means…
The soul apparently travels lighter than Air India.
No Aadhaar card.
No passport.
No caste certificate.
No “Original Resident of Mithila” proof.
Just karma.
Imagine reaching the cosmic immigration counter after death.
“Religion?”
“I was Hindu.”
“Were.”
“Caste?”
“Maithil Brahmin.”
“Were.”
“Nationality?”
“Indian.”
“Were.”
“What have you brought?”
“…Some kindness… a little ego… unfinished lessons… and a lifetime of overthinking.”
The immigration officer smiles.
“Perfect. Queue Number 8.”
No upgrade.
No VIP lounge.
No recommendation letter from your family priest.
The funny part?
If I am born a Christian in Africa next time, I will probably spend fifty years believing that this is the only identity I have ever had.
And perhaps somewhere, another Bhaskar will be wondering whether he might return as someone else.
Maybe that is exactly what the scriptures are trying to tell us.
Religion may belong to a lifetime.
Humanity belongs to the journey.
And the soul?
It seems blissfully unconcerned with all our labels.
Perhaps that’s why the destination is called moksha—the place where even the casting director finally retires.
Until then…
Today’s Amar may become tomorrow’s Akbar.
Akbar may return as Anthony.
Anthony may become Bhaskar.
And all of us will continue arguing on Earth about who belongs where…
…while the soul quietly packs another suitcase.
