We were kids. There used to be times when we did not have the luxury of playing gulli cricket, courtesy, the Patel chap, who with his bald pate and heavy voice would drive us away. Old couple with kids who'd migrated to the States could not bear a few kids making a ruckus every evening. At such times, we used to take refuge on the flat terraces of an unoccupied tenement near our houses. No. 75 and 76 were our favourite terraces for it meant we could run around and jump over the parapet that partitioned the terrace of the adjoining houses, and no parent would bother us. On one end lay an empty plot while the next house was just as empty.
Religion was something that neither of us in the bunch understood quite well. Except that it was a series of rituals that elders followed. Ganpati was no different. Every year, this time would mean a few elder guys from the row house side of the colony would go door to door and ask for contributions. With that they would build up the Ganpati pandal with a blaring music system, daily evening aartis and prasad that drew us to the spectacle. That, and the chance of shouting Ganpati Bappa Morya at the top of our voice. One day, when we were old enough we decided that we could manage a Ganpati pandal of our own. We used to setup our own pandal on one of these terraces with the help of unused slabs of kota stone with jagged edges. The flattest piece formed the floor while the remaining formed the walls and the roof. The back of the one square foot abode was the parapet wall. We spent hours decorating it with colored paper. Someone contributed the motor that had been salvaged out of a broken remote controlled toy car. A circular cardboard piece colored in bright patterns with our sketch pens was stuck onto the shaft of the tiny motor that was connected to a single pencil cell. This formed the chakra behind Ganpati's head. Tiny electric bulbs from someone's electric play set enabled us to light up the tiny pandal. The idol itself was painstakingly carved from blobs of mud rolled and dried and held together by tiny sticks or paper pins. One big mound over which rested a smaller one, a curved rolled up bit of mud formed the trunk and two flattened flaps made up the ears of the great God. Beads stolen from elder sisters' trinket box made up the eyes.
And every evening, just after dusk, when we heard the chant of the 'aarti' over at the colony's bigger organized pandal, we would gather at our little pandal on the terrace, with a small cup of sweets that would make up the prasad for our little Ganpati. A bunch of four five kids, one of us was the wiser kid who knew the aarti by heart and would therefore guide the rituals. We would light a small diya and incense sticks, agarbattis and chant His name over and over again. After the shouts of Ganpati Bappa Morya had died down we'd greedily divide up the prasad amongst ourselves and gulp it down. Cut fruit, sweetmeats, et all.
One year there was a feud and our group was divided into two. Each decided to have their own pandal on the very same terrace and an unspoken competition was set off with the aim of building the better pandal. That event brought about use of actual cement stolen from some construction site in the colony and therefore better constructed pandals where the air could be kept out of God's abode and the flame of the diya would not be at risk from the stiff September draft.
The dipping of Ganpati into waters was a problem every year since none of our parents would let us go by ourselves and carry the Ganpati to the nearest water body for 'immersion'. It would be left up to one of us to find a family who would take our Ganpati with the family one and immerse that too. Sometimes, when that was not possible, we would gently lift Him and place him in the empty plot of land nearby, consoling ourselves that we were returning him to his natural abode. The pandal would be gently dismantled and we would have the use of the terrace again for our daily evening games. Games with large balls held by the knuckles, 'Monkey in the Middle', 'River or Mountains', 'Sattodiyoo', 'Color, color', 'I Spy', and a dozen others.
Kids. We made up our own games, our own religion, our God and our own politics...
Religion was something that neither of us in the bunch understood quite well. Except that it was a series of rituals that elders followed. Ganpati was no different. Every year, this time would mean a few elder guys from the row house side of the colony would go door to door and ask for contributions. With that they would build up the Ganpati pandal with a blaring music system, daily evening aartis and prasad that drew us to the spectacle. That, and the chance of shouting Ganpati Bappa Morya at the top of our voice. One day, when we were old enough we decided that we could manage a Ganpati pandal of our own. We used to setup our own pandal on one of these terraces with the help of unused slabs of kota stone with jagged edges. The flattest piece formed the floor while the remaining formed the walls and the roof. The back of the one square foot abode was the parapet wall. We spent hours decorating it with colored paper. Someone contributed the motor that had been salvaged out of a broken remote controlled toy car. A circular cardboard piece colored in bright patterns with our sketch pens was stuck onto the shaft of the tiny motor that was connected to a single pencil cell. This formed the chakra behind Ganpati's head. Tiny electric bulbs from someone's electric play set enabled us to light up the tiny pandal. The idol itself was painstakingly carved from blobs of mud rolled and dried and held together by tiny sticks or paper pins. One big mound over which rested a smaller one, a curved rolled up bit of mud formed the trunk and two flattened flaps made up the ears of the great God. Beads stolen from elder sisters' trinket box made up the eyes.
And every evening, just after dusk, when we heard the chant of the 'aarti' over at the colony's bigger organized pandal, we would gather at our little pandal on the terrace, with a small cup of sweets that would make up the prasad for our little Ganpati. A bunch of four five kids, one of us was the wiser kid who knew the aarti by heart and would therefore guide the rituals. We would light a small diya and incense sticks, agarbattis and chant His name over and over again. After the shouts of Ganpati Bappa Morya had died down we'd greedily divide up the prasad amongst ourselves and gulp it down. Cut fruit, sweetmeats, et all.
One year there was a feud and our group was divided into two. Each decided to have their own pandal on the very same terrace and an unspoken competition was set off with the aim of building the better pandal. That event brought about use of actual cement stolen from some construction site in the colony and therefore better constructed pandals where the air could be kept out of God's abode and the flame of the diya would not be at risk from the stiff September draft.
The dipping of Ganpati into waters was a problem every year since none of our parents would let us go by ourselves and carry the Ganpati to the nearest water body for 'immersion'. It would be left up to one of us to find a family who would take our Ganpati with the family one and immerse that too. Sometimes, when that was not possible, we would gently lift Him and place him in the empty plot of land nearby, consoling ourselves that we were returning him to his natural abode. The pandal would be gently dismantled and we would have the use of the terrace again for our daily evening games. Games with large balls held by the knuckles, 'Monkey in the Middle', 'River or Mountains', 'Sattodiyoo', 'Color, color', 'I Spy', and a dozen others.
Kids. We made up our own games, our own religion, our God and our own politics...
3 comments:
:) this so reminds me of to kill a mocking bird.:)
a happy childhood, i had!
made me completely nostalgic! :-) very nice work!
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