Today I visited Sri Ganapati Temple in Wimbledon, London. It stood within the stone walls of what was once a Scottish church—its spire still pointing heavenward, but now resonant with the soft chime of bells and the fragrance of incense.
I chose this temple deliberately, though it was somewhat distant. While browsing through various temples in London on the internet, I found that many were open only for a few hours, and most, when seen online, looked more like renovated halls than traditional temples. This one, however, had a distinct character. From one side, it still resembled a church, but its front bore the graceful façade of a South Indian temple, complete with carved pillars and a sanctum-style entrance. Most attractively, it remained open throughout the day. I thought to myself, there must be someone behind this temple who is wholly devoted to its service. When I met Geetha ji, I knew my assumption was right.
Geetha ji, the managing trustee, is a gracious lady of Sri Lankan origin. Her father had purchased the old church years ago and lovingly transformed it into this abode of Lord Ganapati. After his passing, she, now a retired schoolteacher, has continued to nurture it with quiet dignity and tireless devotion.
In England, religious education is part of the school curriculum, and children of all faiths are officially taken to various places of worship. With evident pride, she told me that schoolchildren are regularly brought by their teachers to her temple to learn about Hinduism. Religious Education (RE) is compulsory in British schools. The curriculum includes basic teachings of all major faiths, and students not only study the theory but also visit churches, mosques, temples, and gurudwaras to observe how each faith is practised.
I mentioned to her that I had written to India’s Education Minister months ago, suggesting that India should also introduce a similar model of religious education in schools. When British authorities frame the RE curriculum, they do so through a standing council of scholars representing all faiths, ensuring that nothing derogatory or inaccurate is included about any religion. This fosters mutual respect and authentic understanding. In India, by contrast, communal disturbances often arise from ignorance—children grow up unaware not only of other faiths but even of their own. We await a thoughtful response from the Education Ministry on this matter.
When I shared my mission – to spread the message of the Bhagavad Gita across the world – she listened with warmth and attention. I gifted her my English commentary on the Gita, along with a small 120-page book titled “The Cream of the Bhagavad Gita”, containing fifty-one selected verses for students. These verses are grouped under three themes: lifestyle and conduct, ethics and human values, and spiritual literacy. She appreciated the content and expressed her wish to use it for children who visit the temple as part of their religious learning.
As we spoke, she mentioned that she was soon to participate in an interfaith dialogue on peace and asked whether the Gita contained anything on that subject. I smiled—for who could speak of peace better than Krishna Himself? I shared with her two verses that struck me as profoundly relevant to the theme:
Īśvaraḥ sarva-bhūtānāṁ hṛd-deśe ’rjuna tiṣṭhati
bhrāmayan sarva-bhūtāni yantrārūḍhāni māyayā. (18:61)
The Lord dwells in the hearts of all beings, O Arjuna;
as if mounted on a machine, causing them to move by His divine power.
Tam eva śaraṇaṁ gaccha sarva-bhāvena bhārata
tat-prasādāt parāṁ śāntiṁ sthānaṁ prāpsyasi śāśvatam. (18:62)
Seek refuge in Him alone with all your heart, O Bharata; by His grace you shall obtain supreme peace and the eternal abode.
“These verses,” I told her, “reveal both the cause and the cure of unrest. The world loses peace because man forgets that the Divine dwells in all hearts. True peace returns only when we surrender to God, who dwells in the heart within.”
I added, however, that these verses chiefly address inner peace—the peace of the individual soul. The problem of outer peace, the peace among nations and communities, demands additional insights from the Gita and other scriptures. Yet, since her interfaith dialogue permitted only brief quotations, she accepted these two verses with gratitude.
The priests in that temple, I noticed, were deeply traditional. The rituals, the chants, and the serene discipline preserved the essence of ancient Hindu worship. Yet I gently shared with Geetha ji another vision of what a temple could be.
“A temple,” I said, “should not only be a place of ritual worship. In front of the deity’s idol, there should stand the Bhagavad Gita, open and visible on a high pedestal, reminding devotees that God speaks not only through form but also through wisdom. Let every visit to the temple awaken both devotion and understanding.”
She was visibly touched by this idea.
I then described to her the concept of our Gita Dham temples. These temples address spiritual poverty through the study of the Gita, while adjoining Poverty Alleviation Centres address material poverty by guiding people toward government schemes, modern agricultural methods, and vocational training—helping semi-educated youth become plumbers, electricians, or skilled workers. We insist, however, that anyone seeking such livelihood support must also enrol in Gita study courses. This condition filters out casual applicants and ensures that beneficiaries grow not only in prosperity but also in character. Thus, they rise above both material and spiritual poverty and become balanced, self-reliant, and morally awakened citizens.
She appreciated this holistic vision—of devotion that uplifts and knowledge that liberates.
Before leaving, I offered a modest donation of ten pounds for temple maintenance. She brought an envelope, requested me to place the money inside, and put it into the donation box. When I suggested she take it and deposit it later, she smiled gently and said, “We do not accept money personally—it must go straight to the Lord.” Her sincerity reflected the same purity that sustained the temple.
The temple was quiet that afternoon, with only two or three visitors. It reminded me of a deeper truth: faith and reverence have been waning not only among the younger generation but also, in part, among their elders. Many fail to see what benefit lies in visiting a temple. Others question why money and effort should be spent on rituals that, to their mind, yield no tangible result. Unfortunately, most priests are trained only in rituals, not in answering the profound questions of modern seekers.
For this reason, I have proposed the creation of a new order of clergy—Adhyātma-Āchāryas—priests who are also teachers, trained in philosophy, ethics, and comparative religion, capable of guiding minds as well as conducting ceremonies. Only enlightened guidance can rekindle faith in an age of doubt.
Geetha ji informed me that their temple does not run poverty-alleviation programmes like I proposed but provides mental health counselling—a much-needed service in the West, where loneliness and psychological stress have become widespread. I admired this thoughtful adaptation of spiritual service to social need.
As our conversation drew to a close, I expressed my desire to visit a nearby church. In England, churches are more visible and accessible than in India, where they are few and far between. With characteristic kindness, she drove me to one and then returned to her duties.
I stood for a while before the church—another house of worship, silent and solemn—and then stepped inside. The same sacred presence seemed to breathe through its stillness. Whether one stands before a cross or a conch, a crown or a lamp, the Divine essence remains the same.

11.11.2025