| |
Nisha’s face lit up. She was so excited to begin the day. It was Ganesh Chaturthi—a ten day long Hindu festival to celebrate the elephant headed God Ganesh’s birthday.
Raj wasn’t enthusiastic—not at all. Why should he celebrate Lord Ganesh’s birthday? For what? When Ganesh was not removing obstacles and making Nisha’s life any better? What had Ganesh really done for Nisha?
Yet Raj didn’t stop his wife from installing the clay statue of the god in their living room. Because it made Nisha happy. And if Nisha was happy, how could Raj not be happy?
Raj even took part in all the rituals with his wife. Nisha sang a few prayers from a “prayer book” that she had bought some time ago. Those very few times of the year when she actually sang. And she sang beautifully (despite the hoarseness in her voice) and with such devotion that Raj could feel her spiritual energy. Her singing was so pure that it calmed him down.
Nisha then offered a garland made of marigold flowers to Ganesh. Raj felt like a hypocrite. He was angry with God and all those millions of gods that were worshipped at almost every street corner in India. Yet he participated in every ritual that his wife performed. Was it to secure his family’s happiness? Or was it because of the cultural traditions deeply embedded within him?
He knew that many families in Europe and America didn’t believe in Christianity. They would rarely visit a church. But when Christmas came, those same families would buy gifts for each other, exchange Christmas cards and organise family get-togethers. Are we all hypocrites? Or are we traditionalists by nature? Or are we just people who value family bonds so much? Or do we do it to just conform to social mores?
Raj knew that Lord Ganesh signifies a lot more than what is indicated by his looks. The elephant head symbolises the ability to think big yet remain humble. Ganesh is also the Lord of arts and sciences and the god of wisdom. He is considered as the remover of obstacles and so is always honoured at the start of any ritual or ceremony. Yes, both Raj and Nisha were artists. So Lord Ganesh had to have a unique place in their lives.
Ganesh Chaturthi festival had a special significance especially in the State of Maharashtra. Ganesha idols and accompanying statues of other gods and goddesses were installed in hundreds in temporary shelters, known as mandaps or pandals. Many film stars, even Muslim film stars, had their own private mandaps.
It is believed that the first such mass celebration was popularised by the famous Maratha emperor Shivaji in the 17th century. Tilak, a fervent nationalist, in the 19th century, saw the celebration as a grand public event “to bridge the gap between Brahmins and non-Brahmins and find an appropriate context in which to build a new grassroots unity between them.”
So much for the history. But Nisha, being a Kashmiri, didn’t have the tradition of celebrating this festival at such a grand scale back home in Jammu and Kashmir. But the Mumbai enthusiasm had infected her quite badly. Raj too didn’t have much of a tradition of celebrating this festival in Delhi but he couldn’t be aloof to the electric environment all around him. Plus, his wife’s happiness was now the most important thing that mattered to him.
So when Nisha desired, Raj had to take out his car and drive from pandal to pandal till Nisha decided to stop and get close to the deity. As always, Raj saw the whole event through Nisha’s eyes. Her face glowed when she would spot any grand statue of Lord Ganesh. He certainly looked handsome in his orange dress. With an elephant head and a trunk. And with his ten arms. Each with a different function. Nisha would fold her hands before Him in reverence and so would Raj.
Nisha would sing with everybody. A self-engrossed smile would crease her lips showing off her perfect front teeth. Raj tried singing with her.
When the prayer ritual was over, they would be offered as blessings a steamed dessert called modak—which was a dumpling made from rice or wheat flour, stuffed with grated coconut, jaggery, dried fruits and other condiments.
Nisha would take a bite of the modak and close her eyes trying to enjoy the flavour—the juiciness and the sweetness of jaggery and coconut. But her taste buds had deteriorated to such a great extent that sadly everything tasted bitter. Quite bitter. Yet she tried to enjoy the sweet dumpling imagining the actual taste. What it would have tasted like—if her taste buds were normal.
Nevertheless her face radiated joy. Raj felt blessed because Nisha felt blessed. And nothing was more important to Raj than her happiness.
