The Ganesh festival is “that” time of the year that I eagerly await. There is something about the festival that turns the city around, in the span of a single night. Yes, it brings with it loud songs, drunken dances, torrential downpours and exhausting traffic jams. And yet, through it all…it also charges up the entire city with energy and fervour as we gather around that nook in the house which is reserved only for Him.
Families sit together after long days of work and plan decorations. Ladies come together to prepare sweets and exult in the happy smiles as the delicacies are served all around. People come out on the streets to listen to the dhol pathaks and find an infectious energy running through their veins.
He is the one we pray to, when examinations go horribly wrong.
He is the first one we show off our new homes and vehicles to.
He is who we run to, in any kind of trouble.
He is who we turn to, to save us from any kind of trouble.
And just for these 10 days, He walks in as a friend and stays like a family member in our homes.
As a child, I was introduced to God as someone who was always there. You came home and prayed to Him, but you did not obsess over Him. Those few minutes alone with Him always calmed me down and brought a smile to my face, no matter how bad a day I may have had.
Over the years, He became someone I looked toward, whenever I had news to share, good or bad. In my mind, He grew to be someone I could talk to without hesitation. I knew He wouldn’t come running to help me, because I had heard enough of “God helps those who help themselves” but I knew this was someone who wouldn’t judge me at all.
But above all, He has been my one strong connection with family. It is a festival where we all together gorge on sweets and equally rush out to find something that kills the sweet streak. It is a celebration where we bow our heads down together in front of Him and thank Him for giving us each other.
And each time we pray together, I always sneak a look around the house where I have grown up. Each time I do that, I realise a lot has changed. My family is growing older by the year, our faces and bodies proof. I am standing taller than my grandmother now, when only a few years ago, I reached somewhere near her waist.
But as we sing the praises to the Lord, I am taken aback by how some things really never change. The room takes on an atmosphere I have always been familiar with. My grandfather is no longer with us, but I see him there….my father his reflection, as he stands in front of the Lord, his eyes closed and his head bowed down in respect. My mother is rushing around, ensuring the offerings to God are always something unique. And although my husband is travelling, he is there too….having blended so seamlessly into the family. And there I am, age 3, age 15 and age 27, all at the same time.
And it is exactly these precious memories that this festival invokes, that makes me love it so much. So when the time comes to bid adieu, it is with a heavy heart that I do so. Thankfully, He goes…only to come back!