Ganapati Bappa Morya

The elephant headed God visited our home and left us bereft yesterday, the pain and the tears rolling down our faces during visarjan has to be seen to be believed. There were we, two grown ups and one child, me with open unabashed tears rolling down my face, the child pleading piteously, "Mamma please please please dont put Ganapati in the water!" and the man, with his jaw clenched. Only a slight twitch in jawline betraying him trying hard to control his emotions. It happens with us every year. Coming home to the decorated mandap, all empty and vacant makes your heart sink. But there's always next year. And next year.

"Ganapati gone back to his mamma and pappa," asked the brat. "They waiting inside the water?" No doubt inspired by the children's film on the elephant god.

"Yes, dear," says Mamma.

"How their house be inside water when they stay on mountain?" Mamma's still thinking up an answer to that one.

But I'm bone weary and happy. Me, who started on the promise of bringing Ganapati home for three years, has now extended the promise to as long as I am able bodied and able to bring him home I will. After me, if my son wishes to continue the tradition that was instituted in thanksgiving for him, he will, if not, he can discard it. This is my obeisance and thanksgiving, not his. And I dont know who are the steelhearted who can bring the Lord home for a year and then not want him home again and again and again. Despite the nearly backbreaking two days I undergo, it feels closest to a pilgrimage, the joy overrides the pain. And one would do it again in a snap.

The brat of course, was on My Friend Ganesha overdrive. Translated, he waited expectantly for Ganapati to emerge from the idol and that too in cartoon character form and take on all the bullies troubling him in school. Mamma sat him down and gave him a stern talking to, the gist of which comprised stuff of him learning that the only one going to save him from all the bullies is he himself and he's got to do his own bashing up. Not that he's one that shies away from a right scuffle but being tinier than the lot, he gets picked on by the bigger bulkier ones. A lot. And no Oh My Friend Ganesha was about to come down to make him a superhero in multiple superhero costumes, never mind poor Ashu from the film.

Having got that settled, we got down to the really serious business of bringing Ganapati home. Its a mammoth exercise. And we do it by faith. I dont do all the many little little rituals that are associated with the Maharashtrian way of doing this, our family pandit comes home and does the shtapana for us, we offer the God after my own heart (a food lover) delicacies including his favourite modak

We follow the little etiquettes of not leaving the Lord alone in the room ever, if at all, let the child keep him company for a bit. Its like a guest coming home. You need to be mindful. The diya should never burn out nor the agarbattis and dhoop. We ve solved that by getting these ingenious agarbattis that could substitute for walking sticks on an average day and stay lit and fragrant for hours so mamma with a memory like a seive can rest a little peaceful after it is lit and stuck into its holder. And if one can keept the brat and friends from using them as duelling swords.

The guests begin trickling in from ten am. Directly as the pandit finishes with his puja. I was on my feet till 11 pm, the last guests left at 11.30 pm. The feet were ready to hand in their resignations, without paid notice, by 10pm. The brat lounged around being cute and brattish in his Spiderman costume till around five pm, until the bulk of the guests were to show up. We usually have a five to seven slot for guests to drop in for bhajans and the evening aarti. Thats when the father raised his non stentorian voice and informed brat that should he not change into decent clothes instantly he would be sent to school. That did the trick and prickly sherwani was worn without a moue of protest and then followed by an hour of admiring self in every reflective surface including lying down on the floor and examining self up close. The dupatta was wrapped and draped in every possible permutation, putting mamma's practical round the neck to shame. And then, as the bhajan mandali cleared their throats and started their singing, the mike was ursurped by sherwani clad Bollywood aspirant and Om Shanti Om sung loud and clear. Followed by the Spiderman song. Followed by Dupatta tera nau rang ka. Followed by giggly and loud and crisply clear "Su-Su", "Potty" to much hyuck hyucking from the rest of the brat brigade hovering around the mike for their chance at singing. They were shooed away, but insisted on being the floor show.

So much dancing and singing happening. With the brat the ring leader. They brought their plates and sat right in front of the murti snacking away. They happily pinched the laddoos and pedas and modaks kept before and munched on them. Sugar fix done, they ran screeching through the house like a swarm of bees while the poor bhajan mandali struggled to stick to tune.

And then, at one am, when Mamma was snoring unbecomingly, her feet high on three pillows the brat awoke. "Mamma," he shakes me awake. "Come on. Oh My Friend Ganesha will come now. Lesh wait."

So Mamma and brat sat before the idol, unblinking from one am to three am, waiting for the Lord to manifest. Maybe he had. Maybe he was sitting right next to me and I didnt know it.

Ganapati Bappa Morya