The Anti- Conversion Law has arrived in Maharashtra, and like all significant state and national developments, I felt it my duty as a responsible citizen to first implement it where I thought I had absolute control, at home.
I immediately appointed myself Chief Anti- Conversion Officer. It is a highly respected position, though my wife insists it exists only in my imagination and carries neither authority nor budget. Still, every great reform begins with vision.
The first notification was clear and uncompromising. The sofa shall remain a sofa. Under no circumstances will it be converted into a bed. Guests may sleep on the floor, reflect on life, and perhaps even develop a back ache for life, but the sofa will not be tampered with. It was born a sofa, it will live a sofa, and if necessary, it will sacrifice comfort for principle.
My daughter attempted an early violation by converting the dining table into a study table. Books were spread out, pens were rolling, and knowledge was being dangerously encouraged. I intervened immediately. The dining table is for eating. Not for studying, not for thinking, and certainly not for improving oneself. All such activities can be conducted elsewhere, preferably where they do not disturb the purity of the table’s original purpose.
Then came the most delicate matter of all. The television remote. For years I have maintained that it naturally belongs to the head of the family. My wife has maintained that whoever holds it is the head of the family. Under the new law, once the remote enters someone’s hand, it cannot be converted into another’s possession without due process.
This has resulted in long stretches of watching programmes that seem to have no beginning, no end, and no connection with reality. I watch silently, upholding the Law.
Soon, however, the side effects of my governance became visible.
Conversations were replaced by clarifications. Laughter required permission. Even moving a cushion began to feel like an administrative decision. The house had become efficient, structured, and completely joyless.
That is when I made a discovery that no rule book had prepared me for. The more you try to regulate what people think, feel, or believe, the more it slips through your fingers.
Belief is not furniture. It does not sit where you place it. It moves. It grows. It wanders. It refuses to fill forms or stand in queues. It arrives quietly, unannounced, and before you know it, it has rearranged the entire house.
So I have now relaxed my domestic anti- conversion laws. The sofa may occasionally become a bed. The dining table may host a book. The remote may travel freely, though not always willingly.
Because some things are better lived than legislated.
And some things, thankfully, as the world has seen for the last two thousand years, cannot be controlled at all…!
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