An Elephant-Sized Festival: Day One

When your country holds over a billion people, it makes certain things possible. One option that becomes available is the chance to do something big.

Since I arrived here, a talkative administrator offered me a weekend at his place in Pune, the city about 3 hours bus ride from Panchgani, a fairly remote hillstation. His frameless glasses and multi-colored hair cast an interesting shadow on the man, suggesting a history more curious than his current stead. When he added that I ought to bring my friends and visit with him during Ganpati, the annual Ganesh festival, it seemed starlit. I arranged the trip, eager to get some face time with India outside of my humble abode in the hills.

Cutting out of work on Saturday afternoon, we rolled down the road in our Asiad bus, watching as the mists of the tabletops evaporated at lower altitude and warmer temperatures. The ride to Pune, familiar like the trip to summer camp, winds down to Wai, a classic stop which always takes too long for its size. (My only hypotheses have revolved around good looking store merchants and a sensational chai stall). While there, I catch my first glimpse of Ganpati: An overstuffed vendor in the bus ticket booth sits caked in the orange and pink powder, Ganesh’s favorite party accessory. Too perfect, I imagined. The man, who many probably grumble with day in and out finally got his due, -- locked in his small box, indefensible against the marauding devotees, fully loaded and ready to deliver twin handfuls of the lord’s blessing. Surely, I thought, this will be a great weekend.

Passing through the countryside and the second of two tunnels, Pune emerged and we drew in to the city.

Following a beautiful pure veg feast at a local retaurant, we drank chai at Anand’s house, engaging with his wife’s parents and two of his children. We celebrated the birth of his second grandson, which occurred over our hot cups. At midnight, we learned that Anand would celebrate his birthday just one day after his grandson and we again toasted the occasion. Gaining strength from the sweet pick-me-up, we took to the streets to explore the festival on the eve of exuberance.

As an event, Ganpati started quietly. Families enshrined the elephant god in their homes, praying to the diety on the festival day. Offerings of sweets and nuts would lay at his feet as children and parents would sing songs together, remembering the greatness of their god. In its quietness, ganpati reminded me of my family, setting up the small nativity scene in our house and singing carols by candlelight. These intimate spiritual moments often happen best within a small family setting.

Of course, that all changed with the work of one visionary politician. Inspired to bring the people together as one, Tilak arranged the first Ganpati festival in Pune at the end of the 19th century. Seeing it as a chance to demonstrate the collectivity of a society often divided by caste, he suggested a parade. The revolutionary hoped that a visual manifestation of Indian unity would aid in his bid to bring independence to his people.
Sadly, Tilak passed away before seeing Gandhi and his colleagues walk through the promised gates of freedom. Still, the life of the long-mustached Maharashtran burns in the memory of the state’s people.

Walking through the streets of Pune, I thought might be surprised by the size and scope of what now happens at Ganpati; just as the man who invented the Christmas tree might be stunned at the 21st century yuletide.

With a gentle, floating rain falling, I took it in with joy. We emerged from Anand’s flat with the contagious enthusiasm of concertgoers en route to the venue. You see, during Ganpati, each neighborhood in the center city pulls their statue of Ganesh out of the proverbial attic and builds a home for it during the course of the festival. Home usually means a massive stage, a big PA system, a highly decorated idol and anything ranging from singing and dancing robots depicting scenes from the Bhagavad Gita to life-sized dioramas of Ganesh in action, smoting his demon-enemies. These epic stages take up sections of the street every two or three blocks. Over 400 exist throughout the city.

We strode along the streets, checking in on the various spots, chatting up the local neighborhood craftsmen, so proud to share with us their exhibit and passion for Ganpati. The bejeweled Ganesh held a similar charm to the faded porcelain of another. The grandiose stage for one statue took place just a block from the quieter quarters of another. Interested foreigners, we found attention wherever we walked, often getting snapped into photos on the omnipresent Indian city cameraphone.

Each turn on the streets brought with ith familiar reminders of Indian cities. Sweet smells of jasmine and fried puri rubbing up against aging refuse being picked over by the stray cats. The bumping party music of carnival mixing with the gentle call of the saddhu asking for a donation. The shriek of children’s laughter tied in tandem with the conversation of the neighborhood elders. India’s city returned to my senses.

The last stop, through a night market converted into another staging ground made them tingle again. Hundreds of people filed up to statue to place offerings – coconuts and flowers in a steady flow towards the deity’s feet. Hawkers showed of their wears, GyroSketches and books. Women sat on their haunches, needling fresh tattoos onto their customers. Orange flowers and white tubers adorned Garlands hanging from vendor wagons, ready for the purchase and drifting magnificent fragrances through the air. Fresh made dosas crackled and fried. We waded through the sea of people, taking in the remarkable sight of night festival and a final Ganesha mantel.

Like Christmas eve, I tucked into bed. As I slept, I knew all the Ganesh statues would be placed on floats and then queue in anticipation of the upcoming parade. Nodding off, I smiled a child’s smile…

I woke up to a bash of music. Has it already begun? Alex and I threw on our clothes and scurried outside, just in time to see the first float pass by, 25 young men parading in front, dancing and singing, covered in pink residue. My eyes lit up. The small idol of Ganesh came into view, sparking the event. Before I could realize it, a lean, bearded Indian man approached, covered head to toe in the pastel powder. Without asking, he drew his thumb through the crush clumped in his hand and with a single motion slung an upward line from the bridge of Alex’s nose to his receding hairline. He looked at me and quickly delivered the same blessing with vigor. Anand, standing at the end of our three-man line took the last. I smiled at the initiation and thanked him. He seemed not to notice, as his eyes darted back to Alex in a fit of mischievious-seriousity. In a bolt, he took the remainder of his handheld blessing and crashed it against Alex’s forehead with a powder-caked smack. Pink dust flooded the air. Knowing the progression, I dashed inside, laughing.

This is going to be a great day.