There's something stirring about the fifth day.
On the fifth day, God was to have created all the creatures in the sea, and birds in the sky. Every seahorse and seagull, barracuda and bat. On the fifth day of Ganesh Chaturthi, I found myself dancing with arms raised to the sky, and walked down Juhu beach where I finally met the great Indian Ocean. It was a strange convergence, but one of the most spiritual moments I've had yet.
Ganesh Chaturthi is the holiday celebrating the god Ganesh. He is known as the remover of obstacles, and is prayed to during the holiday and at the beginning of other events or ventures. Each practicing family buys a statue of Ganesh, made of clay usually, and decorates, prays, and presents offerings to it. You are supposed to whisper into the model's ear with an obstacle you'd like help in removing. Then, the family marches the statue down to the ocean where it is submerged and left to the waves. The procession event is like a homecoming parade in the U.S., but each float contains a family's Christmas tree. Everyone is happy, and there is a lot of dancing.
Some friends and I gathered at an apartment overlooking a busy road where these processions were passing by. We were on the third floor, and watched family after family walk their Ganesh down the road, proud and happy. Fireworks were going off everywhere. Large ones exploding in the sky, Blackcats exploding in chains, and cheap ones exploding just two stories above the ground. The excitement was palpable, and soon being above the celebrations was no longer satisfactory. We wanted to be in the sea of people.
We came down from our perch above the road. Immediately the smells of incense and humanity punched our noses, and like excited children we scanned around to see what we could do, where we could go. About 100 feet from where we entered the road was a large trailer with massive tower speakers blasting Bolloywood music. The procession behind it was thumping with energy, as a green and blue light shone over everyone. We laughed, and skipped over together, already dancing as we joined the group.
It was unbelievably hot, but that wasn't stopping anyone. I danced up to the group, and people turned to dance with this newcomer. Their smiles were some of the most genuine I've ever seen, and only grew as I tried to emulate their moves. Apparently the shimmy move--something I thought was a no-no for dancing--is a big deal here. There were hip thrusts, strange arm movements, wrist twirling, more shimmy-ing, and a constant bob to the beat. I couldn't stop laughing and smiling, because I'd never been dancing to so many laughing and smiling faces. Every couple of minutes, someone else would come up to teach me a new move. My dancing library was very quickly full.
Maybe they were showing me moves in mockery, but I doubt it. There was a fervor and excitement about dancing behind that float that cast ego and self-conscienceness out the window. Our clothes were completely soaked through, like we'd just fallen into the ocean. Our happiness was so pure, so simple. We danced through the heat, over cow shit, and under the Indian night sky.
Soon however, it was time to take the off-ramp and leave the procession behind in favor of the beach. We walked down the small side road, and sand slowly accumulated over the pavement until the great Juhu beach swallowed it up. I took off my dirty New Balance shoes, put my socks inside, and rolled up my pants--Tom Sawyer style.
Then, I saw devotion on an infinite scale.
Juhu Beach is a massive beach in the north-central region of the city. It curves slightly inward, and is extremely flat and wide. In the distance to both the left and right, there were hundreds of families walking into the ocean with their Ganesh models, lit by small candles. They walk far enough into the sea to submerse the statue, pray to the God, and let it sink to the sandy bottom. We were lucky enough to walk into the scene at low tide.
As I walked over the dark sand to the water, I first noticed the trash buried and exposed. My unprotected feet were careful to avoid these mines, and every step became a leap of faith, as I hoped nothing threatening was lurking below. As I was looking down to avoid the trash, I noticed one piece that different from the average tattered rag. In an indentation, slightly covered in water, there was a small clay elephant head looking up at me. The low tide had taken sand with it, and in the process this Ganesh was buried.
Looking around, half buried statues were everywhere. Some were almost completely under, but most were slightly tilted and sunken. The families that had left these statues in the water at high tide were gone, and this was what remained. They were remnants of all the hopes and prayers of the family. The magic of Ganesh was not contained in the statue though. As the sand and water retreated back into the Ocean, it had taken the life and heat out of these statues. What remained on the beach were empty shells of hope, but taken out into the open sea were the prayers of 20 million whispers, spoken into Ganesh's ear.
Soon I was at the water's edge, and with a smile and a quiet greeting, I welcomed the black water over my feet. It was a mixture of silt, night, and the effluence of Mumbai, and my toes disappeared in just a couple inches of water. Here, trash was not visible, so my feet slowly felt their way around elephant trunks and old socks.
I looked out to a family putting their Ganesh into the water. They were out 50 feet beyond me, in waist deep and higher water. The candles lit the procession, but besides the moon, there was no other light out there. The night sky and the black sea were seamless, and it seemed as if this family and their statue were floating in a cosmic ocean, removed from earthly cycles. Their candles were just other stars, and like launching the Voyager interstellar mission, Ganesh was being heralded into the vast expanse of nothingness.
It was time to head home soon, and so we turned back. On the way, three boys zoomed past me carrying broken statues to the shore. The boys were young, but the one straggling behind the other two seemed to be just three or four years old. He was running with a small model above his head, chanting "Morrria!" in a quick, high pitched voice. He had no shoes, and as he passed, he stopped to ask for food. He put his small hand to his mouth, and tilted his head as he frowned. I had nothing to offer, and shook my head. His feet picked up again, and he continued on un-phased.
But I was. So ended another Mumbai night. It ranged from office work, riding the train with my head out the door, watching humanity from an unseen perch, dancing in extreme heat, and walking into the dirty sea. There's something about the fifth day that stirred my soul and made me happy, hopeful, excited, hot, guilty, and spiritual at the same time.
On the fifth day, God was to have created all the creatures in the sea, and birds in the sky. Every seahorse and seagull, barracuda and bat. On the fifth day of Ganesh Chaturthi, I found myself dancing with arms raised to the sky, and walked down Juhu beach where I finally met the great Indian Ocean. It was a strange convergence, but one of the most spiritual moments I've had yet.
Ganesh Chaturthi is the holiday celebrating the god Ganesh. He is known as the remover of obstacles, and is prayed to during the holiday and at the beginning of other events or ventures. Each practicing family buys a statue of Ganesh, made of clay usually, and decorates, prays, and presents offerings to it. You are supposed to whisper into the model's ear with an obstacle you'd like help in removing. Then, the family marches the statue down to the ocean where it is submerged and left to the waves. The procession event is like a homecoming parade in the U.S., but each float contains a family's Christmas tree. Everyone is happy, and there is a lot of dancing.
Some friends and I gathered at an apartment overlooking a busy road where these processions were passing by. We were on the third floor, and watched family after family walk their Ganesh down the road, proud and happy. Fireworks were going off everywhere. Large ones exploding in the sky, Blackcats exploding in chains, and cheap ones exploding just two stories above the ground. The excitement was palpable, and soon being above the celebrations was no longer satisfactory. We wanted to be in the sea of people.
We came down from our perch above the road. Immediately the smells of incense and humanity punched our noses, and like excited children we scanned around to see what we could do, where we could go. About 100 feet from where we entered the road was a large trailer with massive tower speakers blasting Bolloywood music. The procession behind it was thumping with energy, as a green and blue light shone over everyone. We laughed, and skipped over together, already dancing as we joined the group.
It was unbelievably hot, but that wasn't stopping anyone. I danced up to the group, and people turned to dance with this newcomer. Their smiles were some of the most genuine I've ever seen, and only grew as I tried to emulate their moves. Apparently the shimmy move--something I thought was a no-no for dancing--is a big deal here. There were hip thrusts, strange arm movements, wrist twirling, more shimmy-ing, and a constant bob to the beat. I couldn't stop laughing and smiling, because I'd never been dancing to so many laughing and smiling faces. Every couple of minutes, someone else would come up to teach me a new move. My dancing library was very quickly full.
Maybe they were showing me moves in mockery, but I doubt it. There was a fervor and excitement about dancing behind that float that cast ego and self-conscienceness out the window. Our clothes were completely soaked through, like we'd just fallen into the ocean. Our happiness was so pure, so simple. We danced through the heat, over cow shit, and under the Indian night sky.
Soon however, it was time to take the off-ramp and leave the procession behind in favor of the beach. We walked down the small side road, and sand slowly accumulated over the pavement until the great Juhu beach swallowed it up. I took off my dirty New Balance shoes, put my socks inside, and rolled up my pants--Tom Sawyer style.
Then, I saw devotion on an infinite scale.
Juhu Beach is a massive beach in the north-central region of the city. It curves slightly inward, and is extremely flat and wide. In the distance to both the left and right, there were hundreds of families walking into the ocean with their Ganesh models, lit by small candles. They walk far enough into the sea to submerse the statue, pray to the God, and let it sink to the sandy bottom. We were lucky enough to walk into the scene at low tide.
As I walked over the dark sand to the water, I first noticed the trash buried and exposed. My unprotected feet were careful to avoid these mines, and every step became a leap of faith, as I hoped nothing threatening was lurking below. As I was looking down to avoid the trash, I noticed one piece that different from the average tattered rag. In an indentation, slightly covered in water, there was a small clay elephant head looking up at me. The low tide had taken sand with it, and in the process this Ganesh was buried.
Looking around, half buried statues were everywhere. Some were almost completely under, but most were slightly tilted and sunken. The families that had left these statues in the water at high tide were gone, and this was what remained. They were remnants of all the hopes and prayers of the family. The magic of Ganesh was not contained in the statue though. As the sand and water retreated back into the Ocean, it had taken the life and heat out of these statues. What remained on the beach were empty shells of hope, but taken out into the open sea were the prayers of 20 million whispers, spoken into Ganesh's ear.
Soon I was at the water's edge, and with a smile and a quiet greeting, I welcomed the black water over my feet. It was a mixture of silt, night, and the effluence of Mumbai, and my toes disappeared in just a couple inches of water. Here, trash was not visible, so my feet slowly felt their way around elephant trunks and old socks.
I looked out to a family putting their Ganesh into the water. They were out 50 feet beyond me, in waist deep and higher water. The candles lit the procession, but besides the moon, there was no other light out there. The night sky and the black sea were seamless, and it seemed as if this family and their statue were floating in a cosmic ocean, removed from earthly cycles. Their candles were just other stars, and like launching the Voyager interstellar mission, Ganesh was being heralded into the vast expanse of nothingness.
It was time to head home soon, and so we turned back. On the way, three boys zoomed past me carrying broken statues to the shore. The boys were young, but the one straggling behind the other two seemed to be just three or four years old. He was running with a small model above his head, chanting "Morrria!" in a quick, high pitched voice. He had no shoes, and as he passed, he stopped to ask for food. He put his small hand to his mouth, and tilted his head as he frowned. I had nothing to offer, and shook my head. His feet picked up again, and he continued on un-phased.
But I was. So ended another Mumbai night. It ranged from office work, riding the train with my head out the door, watching humanity from an unseen perch, dancing in extreme heat, and walking into the dirty sea. There's something about the fifth day that stirred my soul and made me happy, hopeful, excited, hot, guilty, and spiritual at the same time.
