He had made snide remarks about the prayers and bathing the idols in milk and honey. I thought he was too monotheistic. I had no such fear. I had my hands in my pockets. I shuffled around, muttering to myself, singing snatches of Tom Petty, rapping my knuckles on the plaster faux-carvings and being drastically irreligious.
Gods can be arbitrary.
The temple in Flushing, where my family goes, is primarily for Lord Ganesh. Long Island crams in my throat like a lump of badly-chewed bagel. So I should have been more aware of who I was insulting. Ganesh, after all, is the Remover of Obstacles. Initially, some things just happened that tickled my throat or made me cough.