One guy named Vikram is new to the group. He says this is the first time he has been around even this many people who are atheists like him.

“When I came to this meet, I was in fact skeptical about what is exactly going to happen,” Vikram says looking around the table. “It is really very pleasant for me to meet people. I am surprised that there is a forum like this. I am pretty glad I came to this meeting today and you won’t call me arrogant for not believing in God.”

The men around the table nod their approval. They say it’s lonely being an atheist in India. They’re alienated by friends and family. Vikram says he has even been physically threatened.

There is no official count of how many atheists there are in India. And urban atheists say that would-be non-believers in rural areas are likely too scared to admit their atheism openly. In fact, this is one of the complaints of the atheists. They want government recognition.

Another new member, Amit explains that the recent Indian census, “There is this question, ‘Which religion do you belong to?’ There’s no box which allows me to choose that I do not belong to any religion, or that I am an atheist. I find that deeply, deeply offensive.” Amit says he wants atheism to be recognized on government forms, “On any form any municipal form, there is no form that I can say atheist and not be questioned, ‘What the hell have you written?’”

Another man says he was forced to write a religion on his daughter’s birth certificate. When he tried to write “None” the official told him that was not allowed.

Atheist say they are often scared to debate religion publicly because of two laws, commonly called the “blasphemy laws.” They’re remnants of the British system, and say a person can be fined or face jail time for maliciously attacking religion.

And then there’s the fact that India allows religion to dictate what would be civil functions in the West. So each religion has its own set of laws for issues like inheritance, marriage and divorce. Muslims follow one set, Hindus another. Atheists must pick which set to follow.

Atheist group member Vikram says in a country like India, it shouldn’t be this way.

“In India, every one has the right to chose their religion and every one has the right to practice their religion, I should have the right to reject every religion,” Vikram says. “And if I want to say it aloud, I should be allowed to. If I want to doubt someone’s God, yes I should be allowed to. That is what free speech is.” The men around the table say they agree.

In fact, India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, was a vocal non-believer. He might have checked none for religion on the census form. But regardless of what’s legal, shunning religion in India is culturally taboo. Many atheists say they’re scared to tell their parents and continue going to temple and church to appease their families.

They call the process of telling family and friends that you’re an atheist “coming out” — like coming out as gay.

Dolly is a 34-year-old IT executive in Bangalore. And she would know. She’s gay and now describes herself as a secular humanist. Dolly was raised in a Christian family, but her sexuality led her to question organized religion.

Dolly says that she read in the Bible that being a homosexual is a sin.

“So I started questioning, and I started questioning everything in the Bible,” Dolly explains. “So it started with my sexuality. First, I started with Christianity, then with all the religions.”

Dolly says her parents did not accept either – her being gay or an atheist – and sent her to counseling and Christian retreats. Now, Dolly says her family tacitly accepts her beliefs, but still doesn’t feel comfortable expressing her atheism widely.

For now though, the laws remain unchanged, and atheists, however many there may be are a gathering presence online.

Behzat Ç is a good cop who follows his own brand of morality. He’s a lovable anti-hero.

“He treats the people who he arrests badly, but in his life he is a fair person,” says Murat.

To understand why this show is such a big deal here, you have to look at other Turkish TV series. Currently the most popular are “The Magnificent Century,” which chronicles the life of Ottoman sultans, and “Forbidden Love,” a typical melodrama – boy and girl love each other but can’t be together.

Behzat Ç is something different. On the show, unmarried couples debate moving in together. Behzat and his compatriots drink and smoke. And they curse — a lot.

“He’s always uses slang,” says Murat, “which we don’t usually see on TV or in Turkish cinema. But in real life, Turkish people speak a lot of slang. And that’s why it makes me watch — it reflects reality. We speak like that.”

The show’s creators don’t just stray into unfamiliar linguistic territory, they also touch on topics rarely talked about on Turkish television. Melis Behlil, who teaches film and TV studies at Kadir Has University, says on Behzat Ç you see police corruption, domestic violence, a Kurdish mother looking for her lost son, and the list goes on.

“They had a storyline with a journalist young woman who was detained,” Behlil says, “and that was at the same time that a lot of journalists were being detained for not reflecting the government’s opinions, even if that’s not the official reason.”

There was another ripped from the headlines moment that sounded a lot like the 2007 shooting of the Turkish Armenian journalist Hrant Dink.

“They had an episode about a murdered Armenian journalist, which is directly from the Hrant Dink murder,” Behlil says. “So there are a lot of very current and controversial issues. To reflect these times you have to be political.”

Behzat Ç’s executive producer, Tarkan Karlidag, says they looked to the news and Turkish politics, hoping that people who didn’t read the paper would watch a TV show.

But the government is also watching Behzat Ç, in particular, the government-controlled RTUK — the Turkish Radio and Television Supreme Council.

Karlidag says RTUK heavily censors the cursing, drinking and politics. Bottles of beer and alcohol are blurred on the show, and the dialogue is constantly bleeped. The show’s creators have been warned twice and fined once — to the tune of about $150,000. Karlidag says maybe they’ve gone too far a couple of times, but it’s ridiculous that the government focuses so much attention on the show.

“We have been summoned three times before the Television and Radio board,” Karlidag says. “There was official questioning of our series, as if there were no other problems in Turkey, as if Behzat Ç is the biggest problem.”

Karlidag says the show’s creators are more careful these days, they self-censor. It’s also forced them to look for more creative ways to say things, but he says Turkish artists are used to that.

“Turkish people, Turkish literature, theatre, cinema have always dealt with oppression. But art always finds its way in spite of the state,” Karlidag says. “We have to push our limits without giving up. And we do not intend to give up.”

Behzat Ç is now in its third season. Public support has kept it on the air.

As for fans like Aysin and Murat who are tired of all heavy censoring, they now watch the show online where it’s available in its unblurred and unbleeped state.

His investigation has infuriated some Catholic groups and leaders in Mumbai, and led to a larger debate about secularism in India.

Sanal Edamaruku is a devout rationalist. He believes that all phenomena can be explained by science. Edamaruku has taken it upon himself to travel around India disproving miracles. In 2010, on live television, he challenged a tantric who claimed he could kill a man with one look. He survived.

But Edamaruku says it’s not just about theatrics, miracle men and superstitions are a deep problem in India.

“The problem is, unlike the small superstitions, like people being afraid of a cat crossing their way, in India, superstitions have a deeper impact,” he said. “It’s making them weak, and it’s blinding them.”

He points to many cases where people worry they’ve been the victim of witchcraft and actually kill the people they believe have cursed them.

I met Edamaruku three years ago in Delhi. But this time, we spoke over Skype, because he has decamped to Europe, for “an extended lecture tour.” Few believe he’ll be giving all that many speeches. Edamaruku faces jail time back home.

So what happened?

The controversy began in a sleepy backstreet in a middle class neighborhood of Mumbai, with a 12-foot tall statue of Jesus. It is pretty conventional: thin body, fallen head, stigmata on the hands and feet highlighted in bright red paint.

“This cross was built in thanksgiving by parents of AM Dias after his birth in 1873,” said Gordon Jacobs, president of a Catholic organization in Mumbai. Eight months ago, in March, a Hindu woman who cleans the statue noticed water dripping from the feet. She spread the word and soon the place was packed.

Church leaders say they never claimed it to be a miracle. But newspapers were filled with headlines like “Mad Rush to See Jesus Miracle.”

A local TV station called up the “mythbuster,” Edamaruku, to get his opinion on the phenomenon. He responded, characteristically, that such a miracle was impossible.

The Catholic groups insisted that he come investigate. So he went. And he looked.

It’s not surprising that the Catholics didn’t like what he found.

Sanal Edamaruku, the rationalist, paid a lot of attention to the feet of the statue. He believes water was traveling up the cross and along the nail to the feet through capillary action. (Photo: Ashley Cleek)

On a national TV program, Edamaruku explained that a wall behind the statue was damp with water and algae. He figured the water source was likely a sewer line running close to the cross. And that was the so-called miracle.

In that televised discussion, which included the Archbishop of Mumbai, Edamaruku went further. He accused the church of being anti-science and mocked the Pope for condoning exorcism.

Archie Sodder was part of the TV debate. He is a lawyer and a Catholic. He said they asked Edamaruku repeatedly to apologize for the comments he made on air about the Pope and the Catholic Church, but he refused.

“We gave him an open opportunity to apologize for what he did,” Sodder said. “The telecast was being watched live by millions of people. We gave him an opportunity; we told him ‘apologize in true Christian style,’ which he refused. Therefore we had no option but to lodge the complaint.”

Two complaints were lodged under law 295 A – commonly called the “Blasphemy Law.” It’s an old law from the time of the British Raj, to punish anyone who, ‘deliberately and maliciously attempts to harm the religious feelings of another.’ It was created to prevent religious fighting and intolerance. But it’s often used to quash religious dissent.

John Dayal, former President of the All India Catholic Union, which represents some 16 million Catholics in India, said in this case, the law is being misused.

“He has a right. He is a fanatic atheist, and a fanatic rationalist, but that is he,” Dayal said. “I think India needs its rationalists. They are the pinpricks that keep us on our toes. They are the ones that show a mirror to the society. Rationalists are not questioning faith; they are questioning blind faith. They are questioning fake miracles; they are questioning sleight of hand. Real faith doesn’t require all these things.”

But the lines have been drawn. The complaints are being investigated by the police and the Catholic organizations remain stalwart. Catholics make up only 2 percent of the 1.2 billion people in India.

Edamaruku said he is not singling out the Church. Rather, denouncing miracles and disproving superstitions is his life’s work. And over the past 30 years, he has attacked almost every religion and spiritual leader in India, including the phenomenally popular Sathya Sai Baba, whose followers have included presidents of India. This is the first time a case has been lodged against him.

“I never ever believed that such a thing would happen in India. I never, ever though that doing something to promote scientific temper and educate people against superstition would be taken as a crime in India,” he said. “That’s a serious setback in the whole process of our growth in India.”

The Catholic Church in Mumbai has released a statement saying they are not complicit with the complaints filed against Edamaruku. Though the Archbishop has reiterated that he should apologize and the complaints dropped.

Edamaruku remains in Europe on his ‘speaking tour,’ which he says will last until he can be assured of his safety.

The temple complex at Sabarimala is massive, and noisy. Shops sell CDs and DVDs of devotional songs. Mammoth purple and yellow buses grumble past, decorated in garlands of orange and yellow flowers. The temple grounds are thronged with men, dressed in simple black cloth, barefoot, and carrying small bundles on their heads.

These are the Swamy Ayappa pilgrims. And this temple, Sabarimala, is among the most famous in southern India.

The pilgrimage to Sabarimala starts in mid-November. Men dress in simple black clothes. They abstain from meat, alcohol and sex. They’re supposed to walk barefoot and reach the shrine by January 14th. No women between the ages of 10 and 50 are allowed. After prayers, pilgrims wait on top of the hills, and at a pre-appointed time, a light appears.

The light blinks: one, two, three.

“I have seen the light, yes,” says Satish Madhvan, a businessman from Bangalore. “It’s like a flame, you know.”

“The moment this happens, everybody has this huge chant going up, Swamy Ayappa, it’s like an eruption. They keep saying this: ‘Swamy Ayappa, Swamy it goes like that.”

“It’s like a spell,” says Jayakumar, head of the board that takes care of the temple and runs the festival. “All these tens and thousands, millions of people stand there, just to see that light glow three times.”

The light in the sky is broadcast on national television and radio.

For decades the light was believed to be divine, the light of God. But in 2011, the government admitted that the light at Sabarimala is fake. That was music to the ears of India’s rationalists who believe that all phenomena can be explained by science. The rationalists have spent the past few decades trying to debunk many of India’s religious myths, including Sabarimala.

“Because this is a man-made disaster and under the guise that this is a divine phenomenon hundreds of thousands of people are attracted there,” says Philip Varghese, an attorney and a rationalist.

Way back in 1981, rationalists took photos of workers lighting giant camphor lamps, but nothing changed. Then, in 1999, 52 pilgrims were killed trying to catch a glimpse of the light. The same thing happened in 2011: 106 were killed. The rationalists had had enough.

Varghese’s office in the port city of Kochi is packed with case files and books analyzing India’s penal code. Philip took up the case for the rationalists. In court, the rationalists blamed the government for orchestrating a phony miracle, which resulted in the death of the pilgrims.

“Hundreds of thousands of people are coming thinking it is a divine thing,” Varghese says. “And the government keeps mum, because trying to stop this might be controversial.”

The High Court ruled in favor of the rationalists. In front of the High Court, the government and the board that runs the temple admitted that they light the lamp.

But still, many pilgrims believe in the miracle that the light is divine. Jayakumar says it doesn’t matter.

“I know that it is man-made, I know everything, but still you forget all that,” he says.

He says the festival is like any religious ritual. It is about a feeling and faith.

“You should surrender your belief, you know,” Jayakumar says. “You don’t have to think who lit the lamp, when did they go there, nothing. You see a lamp and you are transported to a different plane. That is faith. Faith has no rationality.”

Jayakumar says they will keep lighting the lamp every year. After all, he says, people expect it.

Last year, a million and a half pilgrims showed up to see the lights. And temple authorities expect the numbers to grow. The rationalists say faith is fine, but public safety is more important. They plan to ask a court to stop the lamp-lighting for good. Rationalist Anil Kumar says as an Indian, it is his duty to protect and educate his countrymen.

“We have a fundamental duty to our nation to develop a scientific temper, spirit of enquiry, and reform,” he says. “And this is cheating the people, especially believers.”

Anil argues that people will still pay homage to Swamy Ayappa at the temple, with or without the light. So why keep lighting it?

Madhvan, the Bangalorean businessman agrees. Light or no light, he will still make another pilgrimage to Sabarimala.

Speaking Kurdish in Turkey used to get you in a lot of trouble. Back in 1991, a Kurdish politician was jailed for 10 years for taking the oath of office in Kurdish. Turkey had a ban on Kurdish in public places. As a result, Kurdish children in Turkey didn’t speak Kurdish in school, and sometimes their parents didn’t speak it at home, so many young people grew up without a firm grasp of the Kurdish language. But one young teacher in the southeast Turkish city of Diyarbakir is trying to remedy that.

Medya Ormek is not your typical teacher. She’s only 13-years-old.

“I am teaching Kurdish to my friends, because they don’t know it. They don’t speak Kurdish with their families, and they only speak Turkish in school.”

At home, Medya’s family only speaks Kurdish, so when she started school, she couldn’t understand much. She said she cried every day, because she couldn’t talk to other kids. Even though many of her classmates were Kurdish, she said they were never taught the language.

“So I told them come to come over and let’s play some games in Kurdish.”

Medya and her friends started to play with dolls, and she started to teach them Kurdish.

Turkey has a history of conflict with the Kurdish language. There are an estimated 15-to-20 million Kurds in Turkey, and the government has long viewed Kurdish identity as a political threat.

In recent years, Turkey has eased restrictions on Kurdish. Still, many Turkish Kurds are wary. Recently, the mayor of Diyarbakir was investigated for putting up municipal signs in Kurdish as well as Turkish. Several people in Diyarbakir told me they would never speak Kurdish in a municipal building or to a policeman.

Medya’s classroom is a small room on the roof of her family’s home. Above the door is a plaque that reads “The Classroom of Cigerxwîn” – a famous Kurdish poet and nationalist. There is a dry erase board in front of several wooden benches.

Medya teaches “academic” Kurdish, as opposed to street Kurdish, which essentially means no stray Turkish or Arabic words are allowed.

She started teaching when she was 7.

Medya Ormek teaching Kurdish in her class. (Photo: Jodi Hilton)

What started out as four friends playing with dolls has grown into as many as 30 students. Now people in the street stop her to thank her, Medya said.

“They like what I do. They say ‘Bravo!’ for teaching our language. But when they say this, they’re speaking to me in Turkish.”

Not everyone is so pleased with her classes. In 2009, Medya gave out graduation certificates to her friends – modeled after Turkish school certificates. A few days later, police knocked at the door.

Medya was only 9, too young to be arrested, but a case was brought against her parents.

They were accused of “slandering the Turkish state,” which carries a six-year prison sentence. The case has since been dropped. But Medya’s father Kasim remains nervous about what might happen to his daughter. She’s his youngest of eight.

“She is too young,” said Kasim. “I don’t want her to be in prison. She is a kid. I want to keep her like this.”

Kasim has reason to worry. One of his sons is a member of the PKK – the banned Kurdish rebel group.

Still, Kasim is proud of his daughter. He even introduces himself as the father of “Teacher Medya.” But he doesn’t want her to teach this year. Medya brushes that off. She said she can’t wait for September when school and her classes start again.

She said every one should be allowed to speak their language.

“If you lose your language, you lose your being. For us, our language is our honor, and if you’ve lost your honor, you’ve lost your whole self. That’s why the language is important.”

Turkish law is changing — this year, schools in Turkey have the option of teaching Kurdish language classes, if enough students are interested.

But Medya said she won’t stop teaching until Kurdish is recognized as an official language in Turkey.

Now Turkey’s Prime Minister is proposing to ban the procedure and that’s creating an uproar.

Reporter Ashley Cleek spent some time with the first crop of Chinese students at Stearns High School in Millinocket, Maine.