Cancelled Train to Faith
The best things in life happen in fleeting moments, but sometimes ever so rarely if you are fortunate enough to notice, they stare you in the face and command you to take an experience for a lifetime. Ganapati 2017, I was all set to go home, seat reserved in my loyal-Jhelum Express, goodbye Pune for a week and hello Bhopal! That is the thing though, plans never really work out the way you expect them to, and as it were, my train got cancelled. Depressed and homesick I left the railway station while working my phone trying to book a cab. I was greeted by a swarm of rickshaw drivers, who kept asking me where I would like to go. As I tried doing away with them by telling them my cab was on the way I heard one of them say, “Ma’am these cab guys have left no business for us,” hearing him say that, stirred something in me and I went on to ask the guy how much would he charge to take me to my college — Symbiosis in Hinjewadi. “Rs. 400 ma’am,” he replied. I told him my cab was only Rs. 300, to which he simply said, “Rs. 300 would be fine ma’am.” I’m usually skeptical of taking rickshaws alone because you cannot have your friends track them, but I agreed anyway as it was still light out.
Once in the rickshaw, I called home and filled my family in on the events that had transpired. The rickshaw guy overheard my conversation about how sad I was for missing Ganesh festival at home and when I hung up said to me, “ You are in Pune ma’am, enjoy Ganapati here this year, it wouldn’t be like home but the festival here is also pretty good.” I went on to tell him, “Sir, I have been living here for some time now and know how great the festival here is,” and it really is. Maharashtra lights up with beautiful lights for 11 days straight, the air is pregnant with the overtures of Ganesh aarti as the synchronized beats of Dhol Tasha compel you to dance till you drop. The festival truly is something one cannot be witness to anywhere else in India. The entire atmosphere of the festival feels like a tangible force of faith and glee.
“You must go to Dagdu Seth sometime ma’am,” he added. Dagdu Seth is the most famous Ganesh temple in Pune, known for a humungous golden statue of Lord Ganesha adorned with beautiful gold ornaments. Now, I am a very spontaneous person but what I said next surprised me in spite of my rabid volatile nature, cause I generally avoid being in large crowds alone, (more in lieu of the fact that I am a very tiny person) and Dagdu Seth was bound to be swarming with people at the peak of Ganesh festival. “Sir, please take me to Dagdu Seth instead,” before I took a moment to consider, the words flew out of my mouth, worried about the traffic, he reluctantly agreed. I figured I could just see the place from outside and go back. But have I ever been wrong.
As we ventured towards Lakshmi road, where the temple was situated, the roads kept getting thinner and the crowd kept getting thicker. We took a turn and I found myself smack in the middle of the red light area of the city, the hair at the back of my neck stood up and shivers of fear ran through my body, as scantily clad women peered at me from colorful windows of low ceilinged houses that seemed to have an aura of unmistakable grief. The rueful smiles, broad on faces plastered with makeup, that these women were giving the men passing by, haunt me to this day. I realized that what they show in Mumbai based gangster movies has more than an element of truth to it, it really is real! I have lead a protected and privileged life and this was a jolt of reality that had hit me hard. Overcoming my paralysis of fright I brought myself to call a friend, to let someone know what was happening to me, but before I could dial the rickshaw came to a halt.
I felt like my heart would leap out of my chest and make a run for it! The rickshaw guy said, “We are here ma’am, Dagdu Seth,” I looked up and relief flooded over me. The first thing I saw was a train of police cars and more police men and women than I have ever collectively encountered. There were so many people, I couldn’t see where the temple was. The driver locked his rickshaw and asked me to follow him, I protested as there was no way I could bring along my suitcase into the thicket of people amassed before me. He assured me nothing would happen to it, and I reluctantly followed with my purse and laptop in tow. With the mixture of fear and relief, the adrenaline coursing through my body was in a total fix. I had hardly ventured 10 steps and I lost the guy. Instead what I discovered were queues of people holding things ranging from flowers, coconuts and sweets to jewelry in gold and baskets full of wads of cash. I knew this was the general area but had no clue how to maneuver to the temple, which is when I saw a person waving me over and realized it was the driver. As I tried to tell him the queue began on the other end of where we stood, he egged me on towards a stringent passage, hinting and pointing at the policemen nearby to let me through. I had barely made it 4 steps when towering upon me was the giant Ganapati — Dagdu Seth.
I stood barely 2 feet from the statue clad in layers of gold and dressed beautifully in hues of peach and red, in non-motion I stood, mesmerized for a few minutes completely taken, by its majestic beauty until somebody behind me literally pushed me into reality. As I held my hands up in prayer I was pushed further towards the aarti, I took the blessings, the priest gave me some Prasad, a flower sitting at the statue’s feet and applied tilak on my forehead. I took out my wallet to leave an offering and was met with a scold from a police women I hadn’t noticed earlier, who was standing right next to me, she lead me out as I hastily left a 100 rupee note in the deposit box, all the while scolding me about how careless I was to take out my wallet amidst such a large crowd. I was surprised to note how clearly I understood her over the sound of the aarti, the noise of the gathering and on top of everything the fact that she was speaking in Marathi, and I can barely understand the language.
Sure enough upon my exit I found the rickshaw guy waiting for me and was delighted to find my suitcase right where I had left it, safely sitting at the back of the rickshaw. I sat myself down in the rickshaw and as soon as I had gathered my wits about myself, profusely started thanking the man for such an amazing experience. To this, his simple reply touched my heart, “Ma’am this was my duty and besides you gave me a reason to visit Bappa, so, I am equally thankful to you.” As we started back, I called my best friend, I couldn’t wait any longer to boast of my escapades, which of course were met with rebuke upon my recklessness and relief in the knowledge that I was safe. I was hit by the sense of eerie gloom yet again, as we had to back into the red light area for the crowd had made it impossible to make it to the main road. I was however, more at ease this time around, given that firstly, I was on the phone and secondly, I felt Bappa’s strong presence. I stayed on the phone as we treaded through the dank streets and hung up ensuring my friend I was fine, once I saw a clearer market place. Throughout the way, the driver pointed out places I could come to shop and have snacks around the area. He took the road to Shanivarwada and showed me the beautiful fort, once, home to Bajirao, the great Peshwa of the Maratha Empire.
On the consequent 15 odd kilometers to my college, I kept reliving my experience in my mind as I indulged in an animated discussion with the man about places I had been to in the city, while he supplied information about more places I could visit. He asked me if I would give him Rs. 350 instead, for the detour we took and I gladly obliged.
My college welcomed me back with amazing friends pondering over my adventure, thoroughly scolding me and a night of crazy dancing to Dhol Tasha which I had completely forgotten was arranged for that very night!
The city of Pune frightened me into one of the most beautiful experiences of my life that day. I never asked the guy his name but the spirt of Ganesh Festival will keep him etched in my memory forever.
By,
A humbled Gunjan Bhatnagar
