Bringing Pillayar home – Ganesh Chaturthi at Gokulam

Bringing Pillayar home for Ganesh Chaturthi meant an early morning trek to the bustling Patel Road market – the team of kids led by thatha on the morning before the puja. “MaNai” in tow, we trotted behind thatha holding the wooden seat for Ganesha carefully. Patti’s elaborate kolam in wet rice flour was already on it, now dried, decorating the space on which Ganesha was going to sit. Choosing the Pillayar would be a tricky affair, though. 

Rows and rows of street shops had emerged overnight, each displaying an array of pillayars, various shapes and sizes – all in traditional clay. Each of us, tried to pitch our choice. “That one, thatha – looks very good... No, this is really bigger than the rest.. this one has such a kind face.. this one has a different design.” Yet, usually thatha made the choice “Give me this one,” he would command the nervous shopkeeper as they hurried to pack his choice. Carefully placing the idol on the manai, we would pick up all the accessories – the umbrella, the garland, the flowers etc and trot back home, chattering excitedly. “Why did you pick this one thatha? Was it better than the rest?” He would always say “No, this is my pillayar, that’s why.” “How can you be sure?” “I just know it” – at which we wouldn’t know what to say.

It was thatha’s constant story each year – there was one pillayar that belonged to him and returned year after year to his puja. We never tired of listening though we frequently tried to break through this argument. “All the pillayars look alike... we don’t see any difference; how did you make out?” “He winks at me to tell me that he’s the one.” 

“We didn’t see it, we were also with you.” “That’s because he winks only at me. He doesn’t want anyone else to notice.” 

“Come on thatha...” 

“Really. Didn’t you see I picked him almost right away?” and so on.

It took a busy hour to decorate the Pillayar – the little dhoti, the cotton “poonal” the coin in his belly-button, the holy ash applied delicately on his forehead and limbs – after which he looked content and complete. Post puja, we gathered around and with kozhakattais stuffed in our mouth, too satisfied with the treats to really go back to the Ganesha story. 

For two days, thatha’s Ganesha stayed with us in our puja room, then it was time to immerse it. I always worried about this bit. “Do we have to immerse him? He’s so much a part of the puja room now.” “Don’t worry,” thatha would reassure me. “He has already told me where he will be next year and how to find him.” As thatha dropped the Ganesha we watched it swirling and then going out of sight in the waters of the well in our backyard. 

Perhaps I did not completely believe him, but these reassurances made me feel less bad about losing the winking Ganesha who adorned our puja room for three days every year. I felt comforted by the thought that he would be waiting for us in the Patel Road market again next year, waiting to give thatha his signal and come back home to us. 

In an unconscious way, it also instilled in me early in life, the idea that one could have personal connections with God. Thatha’s stories brought the thought that beyond the custom and tradition of bringing a clay idol home, this was a way to relate to God coming home to us. It made the Ganesh Chathurthi idol buying walk, a spiritual journey in itself. 

Spell-o-Fun: A Holiday Tradition with Thatha

It was usually a holiday trademark event and a family tradition when all of us gathered around the Spell-o-Fun board, the board game, picked the coins and started building the words. The image of thatha in the midst of it all - dominant, vociferous, usually good-humoured swings into the frame. She is too small to make the words on her own, they usually said and I and the other children had an adult to "supervise" and "help". Sometimes I got thatha. The start of the word-building game was always good. We were all well-behaved, seated on the floor, coins and board spread out and if there was something good one of us spotted, then a separate secret exchange to ensure that the word was right, spellings correct etc. As the pressure and the points started building, the elders usually took over the 'fun game', sometimes nearly snatching the coins out of our hand, making a grab for the dictionary to strongly contest an opponent's word and sometimes stealing sly glances through other possible bonus point words while turning the pages.

Thatha, of course had to steamroller ahead - in points, in words or in the way in which he finished. As the board filled, he would get restless, usually stand up and after a point lean over the board as if an aerial view would give him some clue - some brainwave that being seated on the floor eluded. Towards the end, when it was those critical last couple of words and letters left he would pick up the unspent letter and chase around the board with his eyes, looking for that gap or that space where it could fit. I would coax quietly or make a timid suggestion if I was on his team, but more often than not he would try to shout down the "opponent's" words or moves as being illegal, muting his protest when he found that actually he hadn't much of a case, or better still, the other move had given him an advantage. 

The classic finale of the family gathering, was the best . With all these vocal cord advantages, thatha was usually ahead in the game, but if anyone else dared finish their coins first while he was still struggling with those remaining letters, he had a simple but effective finishing touch. After the usual attempts at protest that he would unveil, if he did find no use in that, he would just bend over and swoop down on some two hours of labour and jumble the whole board with one sweep of his hand. Even as we watched aghast, he would pick himself up and walk off - "I have to rush for something important, I am not playing in this game" giving us a good long view of his receding back. 

As it was thatha, we usually never said anything. The next time around, when we played Spell-o-Fun, he was back, boisterous and enthusiastic as ever. Of course, we just played along.