Shortly after the Nine Days’ Festival, came Gungaur. Again, we celebrated the virtues of goddess Parvati, who as my mother explained, could take many forms. She could turn her tongue black and develop fangs, she could ride bravely on a tiger or, if she wished, she could give off glory and warmth like the sun.

I liked Parvati best in her glorious form, the form she took at Gungaur. My mother would collect us all in her Prayer Room and ask, ‘So, which Shiva–Parvati story would you like to hear today?’

Shiva was Parvati’s husband – and the Creator and Destroyer of the Universe besides. The god and goddess loved each other so much that whenever a human couple seemed particularly devoted to each other, my mother would smile and say, ‘How nice – they are just like Shiva and Parvati.’

At Gungaur, we could pick any Shiva–Parvati story that we liked. My favourite had to do with the birth of their fat roly-poly elephant-headed son, Ganesh.

My mother would start by putting her open hands on either side of her face and flapping them.

‘Ganesh has big ears, so he can hear everything,’ she would say.

Then, she would stretch one arm in front of her nose and wave it.

‘Ganesh has a big trunk of a nose so he can smell everything.’

My mother would then rub her stomach and add, ‘And Ganesh has a big tummy so he can digest the most intricate, complicated thoughts.’

After this little introduction, the story would start.