God Reserved for VIPs – How Temples Have Become Fortresses of Privilege

In the land where God is said to reside in every atom, where temple bells echo with the chant of 'Sarve Bhavantu Sukhinah,' the reality on the ground tells a different tale. In the name of crowd management and protocol, Indian temples have increasingly become citadels of elitism, guarded not by spiritual discipline but by police barricades, moneyed access, and red carpets. In these sacred spaces meant for surrender, we now see spectacles of hierarchy—where devotion is counted in seconds and piety is measured by privilege.


Temples in India once served as egalitarian spaces where all—rich or poor, king or beggar—could stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the divine. The very idea of darshan was rooted in equality: that the deity sees the devotee, and not the other way around. But today, the reality is disturbing. In temples such as Tirupati Balaji, Siddhivinayak, Shirdi Sai Baba, and Vaishno Devi, there exists a strict class divide in the darshan experience. VIPs are granted special queues, unhurried time before the idol, and even backstage access to the sanctum sanctorum, while ordinary pilgrims—many of whom have walked miles barefoot—are herded past the deity in mere seconds, sometimes not even allowed to stop and fold their hands.


Spiritual access has become a transactional enterprise. For Rs. 500 or Rs. 1,000, one can bypass serpentine queues and access the deity through 'Special Darshan' lanes. Premium packages go even higher. The higher the donation, the longer and more exclusive the access. This isn't just convenience; it's institutionalized inequality. In many cases, the "common darshan" queue is deliberately slowed to promote the premium offerings. What began as a means to manage crowds has evolved into a fully monetized model where devotion is sold by the minute.

Temples are now run like corporations, complete with online portals, customer care numbers, and profit-driven strategies. God is behind the velvet curtain, and the more you pay, the closer you get. In many temples, digital screens even count down your seconds before you're pushed ahead. Faith has become a race against time.


During important festivals or visits by VIPs, access for common devotees is completely shut down. Entire temple complexes are locked down, not for security reasons alone, but to facilitate uninterrupted, leisurely darshan for bureaucrats, ministers, celebrities, and their entourages.

In some infamous incidents:

Is this the democracy India boasts of? If all are equal before the law, why not before God?

India outlawed caste discrimination, but a new kind of untouchability has crept in—one based on wealth, status, and connections. The poor are untouchables again, though not in ritual but in accessibility. They are hurried, frisked, shouted at, sometimes even lathi-charged, just so that the VIP line can move smoothly.

Saints like Ramanuja, Kabir, and Basavanna preached against exactly this kind of spiritual hierarchy. The Bhakti movement was born to break this elitism. And yet, temples today enforce an economic and political caste system more rigid than the one the scriptures sought to abolish.

Where are the modern-day saints, gurus, and acharyas when it comes to condemning this vulgar show of hierarchy? Most remain mute. Some benefit from the same privilege. Others don't want to upset the very politicians who fund or patronize their ashrams and trusts. The sad truth is that silence has become complicity.

Instead of being voices of spiritual equality, many popular spiritual figures now endorse this model of monetized bhakti—some even offering exclusive blessings to their rich followers while ignoring the masses.

The idea of a temple is not just a structure; it's a philosophy. It represents inner sanctity, surrender, and unity. But that vision is cracking. The dharma of a temple is not to cater to status, but to dissolve it. If the temple becomes another palace of power, then who will protect the powerless?

We must ask: when God is reserved for VIPs, what message are we giving to the barefoot mother who walked for days with her child to offer her prayers? What kind of spirituality rushes the devotee but embraces the minister?

It’s time for reform.

Temples must remember their original spirit—where the divine does not discriminate, where Bhakti is the bridge that erases ego, not inflates it. Until then, the deity might remain locked behind security, but faith will protest at every barricade.


Let God return to the people. Until then, these forts of faith will remain symbols of betrayal—not devotion.