My personal faith

This week the faith column is devoted to the Jain religion with Ashik Shah outlining what he believe

From the earliest age, I have always been curious, and used to wake my parents at 5am when I was 5 with questions about god. Apart from a fascination with many subjects, I have always had a love for the spiritual and religious.

As a teenager and young adult I had always tried to read as much as I could about religious figures and various religions. While I knew that my family was Jain by history and that my grandmother, who lived with us, practiced this is many ways, it was all a different world to me.

Little material was available in English and very few coherent explanations. On the other hand, much insight was available into the Abrahamic faiths, given that I went to a school whose explicit confession was Church of England. Much was available on Buddhism and Hinduism too. I remember an early fascination with Mahatma Gandhi, who I viewed as an embodiment of goodness of character and conduct, who put his ethics into dynamic action. Unfortunately, very little information was accessible in English on Jainism, a situation which is now beginning to change.

My fascination for Jainism remained alive, in my admiration for the unique compassion of Jain practice, where even the smallest life form is accorded respect, its antiquity, and the example of Lord Mahavira (about whom we will discuss more in the blog on Jain history).

When I considered his person, I remembered his profound serenity and equanimity during the various ordeals he faced in his life, as told to us as children, and was inspired to understand more of the path to inner peace which he taught.

I have been fortunate in my life to have met a number of spiritual leaders who had shared with me the importance of a spiritual perspective.

They all inspired me to study the faith in more detail. I did find a number of scholarly and academic books in English and dedicated some time after University to study works in Gujarati, my mother tongue, a language of Western India, in which there is much Jain literature.

I found this very frustrating, but eventually very fruitful. I became gradually more confident at the ability to actually engage in a conversation in Gujarati with any spiritual leader I encountered, so I could have my questions answered.

It was at this time, that I became more aware of the writings of a relatively modern Jain personality. Shrimad Rajchandra (1867-1901) lived a very short and spiritually productive life.

He was Mahatma Gandhi’s spiritual guide and mentor, a fact little appreciate in the West, and Gandhiji has said a lot about him in his autobiography, other writings and speeches. He hailed from Gujarat and was a householder, ostensibly engaged in business. However, from the earliest age he was engaged in spiritual enquiry.

For me, the most significant fact is that Shrimad Rajchandra gained a direct experience of his Soul through his spiritual meditative practice, a state Jains term Samyak Darshan, or Self-realisation. Of great value is the fact that during with a number of seekers with whom she shared intimate correspondence and spiritual guidance. Shrimad’s legacy is his living example and his writings. It is very rare to find the intimate correspondence and inner thoughts of one who is self-realised.

I have taken as my guru, Shri Nalinbhai Kothari, from the Raj Saubhag Ashram in Gujarat, India. This Ashram is part of a continuous living tradition of gurus from the time of Shrimad, starting with his soul-mate Shri Saubhaghbhai of Sayla.

My personal practice consists, as guided by my guru, in the daily recitation of certain prayers, reading, contemplation and meditation, in addition to the acts of worship and duties of a Jain householder. Meditation is the highlight of my day, as it brings a great sense of peace to me. While I know I know that this meditation I practice is not necessarily the direct experience of soul, I do know that it will help in calming my mind and purifying my consciousness, so I can progress further towards my goal.

Of course, I have a long way to go in my journey. I would describe myself as an aspirant at best, and one whose discipline is not as strong as it could be. However, I do have full faith in the path I have chosen. As I cultivate certain virtues, I will become calmer and more detached, and more insightful. My life will benefit from more equanimity, as well as calmness. When I consider the serenity, peace, and bliss which are all intrinsic to my very nature, as a living being, I am able to put mundane matters into perspective.

I do believe that spirituality is beyond sectarianism, and my Guru has often taught me, as has the Jain doctrine of Anekantavada (to be discussed later in the blog), or multifaceted nature reality, to take the best from all teachings and insights. I believe that spirituality is beyond ritual, or scholarship, but does take support from such practices.

Through the guidance of my Guru and through my reading and contemplation, I feel I have been able to understand better the abstract ideas presented about the path. It is difficult to imagine the bliss and contentment brought about by the ecstasy of self-realisation, until one is able to see its living embodiment. This in turn makes it much easier to grasp the majesty of the Soul and the power of total equanimous detachment which Enlightenment brings, as seen in the lives of Lord Mahavira and those who have gone before.

Ashik Shah is an active lay member of the Jain community. He was a founder of Young Jains of America, and is an active member of Young Jains in the UK. He has been in the fund management business for the last 15 years.
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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad