Ganeshotsav - A People's Party

Of all the gods worshipped in Maharashtra, Ganesha has to be the clear favorite by a long shot. Gods tend to induce reverence and piety in their devotees. They're usually distant, towering figures, inspiring awe, but not Ganesha. What Ganesha evokes in us is more familial. Adults are parental about him. To them he's a child, a mischievous cherub who befriends mice and devours modaks. Kids think of him as a friend or a peer with superpowers. His child-like persona is perhaps why Ganesha is the god of new beginnings: he allows a family to experience the joy of a newborn every year. It's no accident that there's a Bal Ganesha cartoon, though these days Bheem rules the action figure market. The "one of us" aspect of Ganesha allows us to take liberties with him that we wouldn't dream of taking with other gods.  Ganesha can be dressed up as Sachin Tendulkar or whoever else is the current Indian idol. He can be fashioned out of almost anything, including things that might be deemed ashuddh traditionally. Ganesha is the only god I know who has gone eco-friendly. That's also why it's perfectly alright to have Ganesha pandals and processions belt out Bollywood songs. If we're dancing to them, we'd like him to join in.

The Ganpari at Kesariwada, Pune. Kesariwada is named after Tilak's paper, Kesari. 

No other god enjoys such a hold on Maharashtrian public consciousness. Jejuri’s Khandoba, another avatar of Shiva, has had a renaissance of sorts, thanks to Jai Malhar, the Marathi television show about him. But Shiva is (unfairly, some might say) not half as popular as his son. The warkaris may walk days for Vitthoba but theirs seems more like a penance than a festivity. Ganesha alone is ushered in and out with the pomp of a carnival. Social scientists would do well to study how we’ve celebrated Ganeshotsav over the years. Thanks to Lokmanya Tilak’s brainwave of 1893, Ganesha became an integral part of the Indian freedom struggle in and around Maharashtra. For 80 years now, he’s ruled Lalbaug, where the mills have become malls. Today, advertisers fall over each other in using him to peddle their clients’ wares. Politicians, the dream merchants of the public sector, sponsor pandals and pose next to Ganesha on the ubiquitous flex banners flapping away in our cities.

Ganesha provides the perfect excuse for people to release their pent up energies.  Some of these energy emissions may not be to our liking, but that’s precisely the point: Ganesha is the god of individual as well as collective expression in Maharashtra. The din of the loudspeakers during Ganeshotsav bothers me as much as the next ‘civilized’ person, but the issue is complicated. Except for political rallies, religious festivals are the only times people living in cities have the opportunity to gather and express themselves – a fundamental democratic need. Sure, the decibel levels of loudspeakers and the spaces and times of their operation ought to be regulated, but I wouldn’t want to live in a society where public expression is muffled. As it is, urban spaces for public gatherings are few in number. Most of our people walk or pedal along the margins of urban roads. When they do get behind a wheel, they’re often ferrying someone else. The Ganpati procession is their Occupy movement. Tilak understood this. When they’re carrying Ganesha, people own the roads.