Pouring oil into water at sacred pools is believed to grant wishes if the oil sinks

[Scene: A peaceful temple pond in Tamil Nadu. Ravi and Arjun sit on a stone bench under a neem tree, sipping coconut water after offering prayers.]

Ravi: (smiling, holding a tiny bottle of sesame oil) Alright, wish time! Watch closely, da. If the oil sinks, it means the gods have heard my prayer.

Arjun: (grinning) And if it floats?

Ravi: Then it means I wasn’t sincere enough… or maybe I need to fast tomorrow.

Arjun: Or maybe—just maybe—because oil is less dense than water and naturally floats?

Ravi: (waves hand dismissively) There you go again with your science talk. You can’t measure everything with density and equations. This is faith, machan!

Arjun: I have faith… just in Newton, not Nataraja. Look, I’m not mocking your belief. But think about it—oil floats in your kadai when you’re frying vadais, right? Same oil, same water.

Ravi: This isn’t cooking oil from Amma’s kitchen! This is temple oil—blessed, sacred. Things work differently here.

Arjun: Unless temple oil has a PhD in physics and gained weight overnight, it’s still going to obey Archimedes’ principle, dude.

Ravi: (chuckles) You know, last year I poured oil here, and a week later, I got that promotion at the bank. Coincidence?

Arjun: Yes. Or maybe it’s because you worked overtime for three months straight, skipped chai breaks, and even impressed the manager with that Excel macro you made?

Ravi: (grinning) Could be both, no? A little hard work, a little divine push.

Arjun: I’m all for divine motivation. But I worry when people skip doctor appointments, cancel job interviews, or reject engineering seats because some oil didn’t sink.

Ravi: Okay, fair. But the tradition gives people hope. When I was a kid, Appa brought me here after I failed 8th standard maths. I cried, poured oil, made a wish to pass next time. That memory stuck. I studied harder too. But that ritual… it gave me something to believe in when I was low.

Arjun: That part I get. Rituals give structure. Comfort. But what if the belief starts limiting you? Like the time your cousin Priya didn’t apply for that US scholarship because the astrologer said “Mars is in her 7th house”?

Ravi: (sighs) Don’t remind me. That one hurt. She still regrets it.

Arjun: See, belief becomes dangerous when it starts replacing action. I’d say: pray, wish, pour oil if you like—but don’t use it as a thermometer for your destiny.

Ravi: Hmm… okay, that’s reasonable. But tell me honestly—if I poured oil and it did sink, would you start believing?

Arjun: (laughs) No, but I’d start checking for detergents in the pond.

Ravi: (grinning) You kill the magic, da. Next you’ll tell me there’s no such thing as evil eye.

Arjun: Oh, I believe in the evil eye… especially after eating your chitti’s lemon rice last week. That gave me real trauma.

Ravi: (laughs) Okay okay, I’ll admit—science has its place. But I’ll still pour this oil. Just for old times’ sake. Not for the wish. For the memory.

Arjun: Fair enough. And I’ll stand next to you, silently judging the surface tension.

Ravi: Deal.

[They walk to the pond. Ravi pours the oil gently. It floats, glistening.]

Ravi: Look at that. A floating hope.

Arjun: Or a buoyant lie. Either way, it’s beautiful.