My love affair with Ganpati began somewhere around 1997, when I was in the 7th grade. Like all my friends and neighbours, I was eager to welcome a beautiful Ganesha idol home, but a ‘family curse’ had tied the hands of my parents. My love was so intense that I decided to rebel. Despite having no interest in rituals, my rebellious mother stood behind me.
I wrote a long letter to my grandmother, who was then staying with my uncle. In matters of religion and God, she was the final word in our khaandan. With that letter, I attached newspaper cuttings, in which religious experts had written that anyone can bring an idol home for ten days, irrespective of anything else. I had tried my best to build my case.
Some teenager in my family had passed away during the Ganesh festival several generations ago, so it was a tough call even for the god-fearing matriarch. “How can the kind-hearted Bappa take my life for praying to Him?” was the last line of my innocent letter. Finally, I received a letter with her consent. Even my parents couldn’t believe that the old lady had thrown away an age old curse.
When Ganesha finally arrived in my home, it was a victory of faith over superstition. I didn’t want to make routine decorations for the special guest. My passion at that time was television. So, we decided to make an idiot box and place the lord of creativity inside it. My elder brother bought thermocol, colours, cardboards, ribbons and all that was required. He and I, along with our father, made a cool TV set with a channel logo and everything.
When the elephant god took his seat inside, it looked as if he was sitting in a well-lit TV studio and we were watching him live. My neighbours and friends were all praises about our idea and craft. But sadly, we didn’t have a camera back then. So, the pictures are stacked only in our memories.
Our housing society too had a Ganesha mandal and I was an active volunteer, who collected donations, kept accounts, cleaned parking lots, stood up late for decorations and ensured that the timetable of the aartis was followed diligently. If my exclusive Ganesha at home brought out the creative genius in me, the shared one taught me the joy of working in a group.
The best part was the pandal hopping. Preferably on the 7th or 8th day of the festivities, my family would step out in the evenings and our crazy tour would extend well beyond midnight. Aurangabad is comparatively a smaller city, so we could cover all the major pandals in a single night. My favourite used to be this tiny lane called ‘Nagaarkhana Galli’. That place always had an elaborate jhanki depicting the biggest news event of the year. When I look back now, I think my career in broadcast journalism was a writing on the wall.
For this very career, I later moved to Mumbai, Chennai and Delhi. My love and passion for the festival continued, but I had started questioning my own faith. I met my first rationalist friend in Mumbai. He was from a normal Maharashtrian middle class family. His mother was as loving as mine. But they didn’t have a devghar in their house. Whatever they said, believed in and practiced, made sense. But I just couldn’t live without my God.
In Chennai, I encountered more rationalists and my journey towards agnosticism began. I began to think that the interpretations of the writings of saint Dnyaneshwar or Tukaram were wrong. Dnyaneshwar clearly says that Vitthala (or God) exists in your mind and not in the idol. At the same time, I happened to read the biography of Dr Albert Ellis, an American psychologist, who convinced me that everything including our emotions, guilt, sense of humiliation and imagination, are stored in our minds and we can control them.
My mind connected Dnyaneshwara with Ellis and then came my eureka moment. Like Po of Kung Fu Panda, I realised there was no secret ingredient. As Po found his own reflection in the dragon scroll, I found myself when I looked inside my own mind. Suddenly everything that Dnywaneshwara had written made sense. I realised the truth that God doesn’t reside in temples or idols or Kaaba or crosses. God is an imagination that lives in the minds of millions of believers.
Back then I believed that bowing before animals or stones was demeaning to my own self. So, I stopped bowing to the Ganesha idol in my office premises too. Trust me, it was very tough. Old habits die hard and emotional habits die harder. For me now, Ganesha is a beautiful imagination and a bunch of fond memories.
I know now that Ganesha doesn’t exist at Mount Kailash or inside idols or anywhere. Still, I eagerly await his celebration. I like the enthusiasm, the fervour, the buzz, the mixed aroma of modak and agarbatti, the sound of the Ganesh aarti and most importantly, the innocence of his bhakts.
I am neither disrespectful to the bhakts, nor will I force my ideology on them. Finding or not finding God is a very personal journey, and everyone goes through it. But if someone asks me, I’ll help them with a rational approach. For rationality has liberated me. While saying good bye to my beloved Bappa, I say to him – Pudhchya varshi lavkar ya – please come early next year.
You may not exist in reality, but humanity’s belief in you brings joy, and we can always do with a little bit of that.
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