The simple (and noisy) pleasures of life

It was 3.30 pm. I was grumbling to myself about having to leave work early. I was being dragged out of office by my mom, since it is Ganpati Visarjan today. I told myself, why must a whole city suffer because one section wants to celebrate this festival? I could have gotten so much work done if I had stayed a few hours more! I got home, seemingly at a loss as to what to do for the rest of the day. I hung out with my brother, wandered aimlessly on the internet, all the while complaining in my head about the non-stop cacophony of drums that was underway seventeen stories below.

The day passed nevertheless, and soon it was time to sleep. I shut all the windows tight, hoping that they would keep the noise out. The same noise which was like a hammer to my skull, which had gotten steadily louder as high tide approached and the larger idols were brought to be immersed. I live in a part of town which serves as a passage for a large number of idols as they make their way to Chowpatty Beach. The sound is amplified as it reaches me up here and comes loud and clear to my window. I wondered when I would be able to sleep, and how I would pull off a productive day at work tomorrow without proper rest.

As I pulled my curtains to a close, I took what I thought would be one last fleeting glance at the commotion below. What I saw left me mesmerized. It was raining, no, pouring down. The sky was lit up brilliantly by flashes of lightning. Water had started to collect near the drains, and the street has begun to flood up to one's ankles. There was a long line of cars, held back by a large procession slowly making its way towards Chowpatty. By slowly, I mean it was moving a metre a minute. There were people dancing in front and at the back of the procession, at the centre of which was a truck with a beautiful idol of Lord Ganesha on it. The idol seemed to be smiling down at the crowd, which looked even happier. There were children, adults, men, women, even a dog or two. They were completely engrossed in the dancing, there was not a trace of worry on their faces. They didn't seem to care about anything around them; neither the water fast filling the street, the cars honking behind them, nor the rain pouring down on their already drenched bodies. Their lives were probably full of problems, but for this one day and night everything was forgotten in the magical experience that was the Visarjan.

In that one moment, it struck me that this was the happiest Bombay could ever be. The combined joy that the people of this city get when they immerse their favorite idol in the mirky waters of the Arabian Sea is far more than the inconvenience caused to those who choose not to participate in this festival. No doubt, life will go back to normal tomorrow, except for the eerie body parts of the clay Ganesha idols that will wash up on shore all along the city's coastline. But it will be a happier life, one filled with memories of the last few days gone by. The dancing, the modaks, the drums, the idols...the beautiful, beautiful idols. This festival unites the masses. It weaves back together the social fabric of a city whose patience is tested every single day of the year, of a city, which seems to be at its wit's end at every traffic jam, power cut and late train.

Thank you Lord Ganesha, you unite this city in a way no political leader ever will.