The months of August and September,
Bring with them sullen clouds and fat, cheerful raindrops.
Either month also brings with it,
One of the many Gods in our pantheon,
My home state's especially beloved God,
Lord Ganesha, the Elephant God.
After thirteen long years, I happen to be in my hometown,
In our housing colony, and cannot help but recall and reminiscence.
The nostalgia, the memories, sometimes threaten to overwhelm...
My mother and I, we enter the venue on the dot,
Only to be greeted by an empty hall.
The God there by himself, in isolation,
The guard tells us the ceremony 'is pushed by an hour'.
Our immediate neighbours trail in, shake their heads at the blatant exhibition
Of Indian Standard Time and leave, saying they would be back.
Meanwhile, I take in the 'hastily cobbled together' decor.
The guard helpfully tells me he helped put it up mere minutes ago...
Time was when we, the young teens of the society, stayed up until midnight,
Decorating the Lord's pandal, hanging up streamers, sticking buntings.
The camaraderie, the chatter, the fun , the laughter,
Where have all the faces gone?
When the time came to worship our beloved God,
A dull, tired, tarnished copper plate was produced,
I could hear our God laughing at the farce.
Then someone ran home and brought a bright, sparkling silver one, fit for the Gods.
And the worship commenced , pushed by more than an hour...
The lamp was lit, incense burned, prayers were chanted by a handful of motley folk,
So many voices who would, in years past, their timbre add, now missing...
Where have all the faces and the voices gone?
Time was when after the 'Aarti' , we would line up like little dominoes,
( Had never heard of the pizza brand then.)
Arms outstretched, our well scrubbed steel plates clutched tightly in our hands,
Waiting eagerly to receive the venerated food offering.
Different families would cater each day for five days ,
And we would willingly partake of the blessed food.
It cannot be denied, we had our favourites.
And the 'store bought' sweets were placed a notch above the ones
Made by harried but willing hands at home.
Today, I craved the human touch, a home made dish,
Not the caterer's impeccable offering, but there was none.
Where have all the faces, the voices and the skilled hands gone?
No performances marked the post worship eve,
Time was when 'entertainment ' would stretch long into the night.
Even though as a child and then a teen, I would often doze off,
Today I longed to watch a dance, a play or listen to a talk or some songs.
But everyone present hurried home,
They have all the entertainment they need, in their hand held device.
Where have the all the faces, the voices, the skilled hands and the talented personalities gone?
The God and I face each other .
I ask : Where have all the faces gone?
Why does the celebration lack heart and mind and body and soul?
He seems to look back at me with a twinkle in his eye,
And says, " The Faces, the Voices, the Skilled Hands, the Talented Personalities.
Are in YOUR mind, in YOUR soul, in YOUR heart and in YOUR recollections,
Through YOU they live on,
Those faces, those voices, those skilled hands, those talented personalities have never gone...
