My husband often takes part in rituals, and in many of these, the husband and wife are expected to sit together. I remember once in Malaysia, an educated priest said something to me, perhaps he sensed where I stood.
He told me: “It is not important whether you believe or not. Do your part as his wife. Sit beside him and do what is required.” And I did.
Not because I was told to, but because I understood what it meant. To stand beside someone is not always about agreement. Sometimes, it is about presence. And that presence continues at home.
My husband has an altar. To him, the altar is not just a religious space, it is part of the family. He keeps it clean, with fresh flowers, incense, and a light that is always burning.
In the first month of our marriage, I watched his routine. After work, he would buy flowers, come home, bathe, clean the prayer space, arrange everything carefully, and then begin his prayers. By the time we sat down for dinner, it would be as late as 9pm.
For me, this was difficult. Before marriage, I used to have dinner at 6pm. The change was stressful.
So I asked myself: “What can I do about this?”
I didn’t complain. I observed. I watched how he changed the flowers, how he placed them, how he prepared the space. And then one day, a thought came to me: Why not do this for him? He never asked me to. I chose to.
I told myself: “This is something you can do. If you can do it, then do it.”
So I did. I prepared the altar before he came home. The flowers were fresh. The space was clean. Everything was ready. When he walked in and saw it, he was deeply touched. He thanked me.
From that day on, things changed. He could come home, take his shower, say his prayers, and we could have dinner earlier, together. It was a small shift. But it made our life smoother.
Later, when he had to travel for business, I knew the altar would be on his mind. So I told him: “Don’t worry. Go in peace. I will take care of it.” And I did.
Every day, in the same way he would have done it. Because I understood what it meant to him.
Over time, I also came to understand something else. For him, the temple is not just about religion. It is about family. It is about togetherness. It is about shared moments.
And I respect that. Because when it comes to family, he is always there for us. Not just in the temple, but in everything that matters.
So when I go with him, I am not stepping into belief. I am stepping into his world. And he, in his own way, has always made space for mine.
And if I am being completely honest, there is another reason why I go to the temple. I look out for sarees. People donate sarees to the temple to be placed on the deities. After some time, these sarees are taken down and sold at a lower price to raise funds for the temple.
And there I am… looking through them. Because to me, they are not just sarees. They are materials waiting to be rescued and transformed. I use them to make my bags. So yes, I go to the temple, and sometimes I come back with a good bargain.
Maybe it sounds a bit cheeky. But when I see those sarees, I don’t see something sacred being discarded. I see something that still has life in it. Something waiting to be made meaningful again.
The most important thing for him is that the light at the altar is always burning. So I made sure it never went out.
The light at the altar should always be burning… like our love for each other.
Perhaps also this is what it means to be a humanist atheist, not defined only by disbelief, but by how we live with others.
Humanist first, and thereafter, an atheist.
March 19th, 2026
