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Flushing down the Gods

Bang-bang go the bass drums. Snares crack like machine gun fire through the night. Echoes of chimes ring between each beat and a faint melody colors the whole huge cacophony a pale violet in the dwindling light of the urban evening. It’s Ganapati, the festival of the god who wears that very same name. Others know him by Ganesha, Vinayaka, Vighneshvara or Pillai. He is the lord of wisdom and intelligence, the remover of obstacles and the god of beginnings. As such people celebrate him 10 days a year in the most various ways of worship. They ornament his idol with flowers, fabrics and turmeric powder, “feed” it, bathe it, chant prayers, and practice prostration. On the last day, the idol, which is usually made of clay, is carried to a nearby well in an informal procession, and immerged into the water. So much at least for the accounts of traditional and private family “puja” [= reverence/worship]. Nowadays, these small forms of puja seem to drown in a cataclysm of mass-celebrations around the time of Ganapati. Public statues, made of plastic and construction material, are erected all across the city and revered by a much bigger amount of people. Some neighborhoods pitch together to create a Ganapati site, other places are open to the public. Puja still uses the traditional elements, but so much more aside from that, as well: Performances are being held in front of the statues, music is being played – digitally or manually, people dance, sing, drink and lose themselves in celebrations around this 10-day-event. As with all ritualistic traditions, it is hard to determine when exactly the private Ganapati puja emerged. The origin of the public version, however, can be dated back to 1893 pretty precisely. It was that year that nationalist Bal Gangadhar Tilak, a Brahman from Pune, succeeded in organizing the first public Ganapati festival. He most likely did so to partly undermine British regulations illegalizing public gatherings – and, some believe, to provide a sense of Hindu solidarity against powerful Muslim influence. Having realized independence, Indians continued to celebrate Ganapati to its full extend and the holiday still gained popularity, though mostly in Maharastra. Today, the whole city of Mumbai experiences a breakdown of regular life when Ganapati comes around again. Traffic comes to an almost complete stop, the nights are filled with the sound of drums and music and around every corner there is another big statue of the elephant-faced god, placed on stages and shadowed by large tents and illuminated by bright halogenous headlights. People take days off work to celebrate with their families and friends and to transform the streets into an emergency-state-like environment. It is not like there is no daily life happening. On the contrary: It much rather feels like a very fairly evened out struggle between those who let loose of all day-to-day constraints and those who can’t or won’t. There is actually much good to be said about Ganapati. It is an openly festive time presenting itself in an unconditionally positive character. An otherwise dull ambiance suddenly becomes an exciting, glowing and liminal experience. From an outer perspective those ten days even seem to deconstruct traditional roles and imageries and to let people enjoy themselves in an almost anarchic fashion, partying, enjoying themselves, and for once lowering culturally put on masks. That’s ten days of unruly high spirits and exceptional transgression of constructed ideas. At last comes the so-called Ganapati Visarjan, the immersion of the very idol that has been revered and celebrated for the last couple of days. The statue, small or big is carried to a water source, in a procession similar to its traditional counterpart – and, at the same time, not like it at all: If you look close enough, you can still make out elements of traditional puja and you might even come across some prayers “chanted” every once in a while. However, thickly overlaying these rites, a modern construct of digitalization, plastic and extravagance is created, adapting Ganapati festival to its fanatically urban and weirdly enormous environment. Pick-ups and small trucks carrying drum sets or huge hifi-systems slowly crawl the big streets, followed by more musicians (mostly drummers) on foot and/or a group of dancing worshippers. Depending on the procession you would find traditional music, powerful drum rudiments, or local chart hits banging off big speakers on the car leading the ensemble. The car in the back finally carries the idol of Ganesha for followers to approach it and practice puja while (really) slowly roaming the streets. Because of the size of the idol, the procession would usually head for a bigger water source, like a big river or the sea. And this is where Ganapati turns dirty – in the best cases. The statue is lowered into the water, by different means, and completely immerged. People cheerfully say goodbye to their god and ask him to come again soon next year. Ganesha is believed to thereby leave worldly realms and return to his divine abode. This concludes Ganapati. Except it really doesn’t: Visiting the sites of immersion on the next morning you would find uncountable icons, washed back to shore contaminating the beach and water, piles of dirt and waste, and plastic pieces scattered all around the area.  There have already been numerous researches on the effects of Ganapati Visarjan on the ecology of rivers and coastal areas; even Wikipedia dedicated a separate chapter on it in their article about Ganapati. Reduction of oxygen levels, aciditation through high amounts of Cadmium and heavy metals dissolving into the water, and a general environmental pollution because of all the plastic parts contaminating the shores and rivers are but the most alarming concerns researchers and environmentalists have put forward in this debate. For me as a becoming environmental anthropologist there are a couple of very intriguing thoughts connected to this phenomenon though: Since Ganapati idols were traditionally made of clay, environmental concerns are relatively recent. Accounts of Ganapati festivals dated … Read moreFlushing down the Gods

Girls’ voices

The ball hits the ground and then the bushes. A few girls grin. Laxmi, one of the smallest – and boldest, laughs aloud. I was never good at team sport, and cricket just seems to revive that uncomfortable experience back from my own school days. Except this time I don’t mind. The girls are having fun and so am I. I try another ball and this one hits the target. Laxmi, the batter, wacks the ball far away over his own head and into the garden. Soon all the girls are on their feet, searching the garden for their only cricket ball. We can’t find it and start playing running games instead. The campus of VOICE Sanjivani is located a little more than an hour outside of Mumbai. Here it feels like nature and wilderness are the hosts again already, and us merely guests in their habitat. The campus itself consists of but one long, two-storied building with a couple with different wings, a yard and two gardens. This is where more than thirty orphan girls of 7 to 18 years study, live, cook, clean and play together and where AES, the organization I am interning at, spends most of their efforts and time at. As an external educational source, AES tries to provide a practically designed and at the same time educationally relevant program on permaculture, sustainability and its practical implementations in urban or rural environments. The girls learn how to garden, compost their food, use solar energy and apply water management practices in their own little ecosystem of the orphanage. In the end this ideally makes them facilitators of permaculture practices and teachers to other kids and adults. Tomorrow is an opportunity to first test this ability of the girls. Fifty-six students from an American School in Mumbai will visit the orphanage and take part in different little laboratories where they build, plant, compost and manage things, and the VOICE girls are going to assist us guiding the students during this time. Since the American School is one of AES’ biggest clients, this is a huge thing for them. Chandan and Sukriti, right now the only two permanent members of AES have been working on this project for many weeks now and are anxious to turn it into a success by tomorrow. This is also why we are staying the night today, to use all the time possible to prepare for the big day. But activities ceased a couple of hours back already and now it is just me playing with the girls. Right now they are teaching me nursery rhymes and the hand clapping that goes along with each of them. But I can feel my clothes sticking to my body from all the sweating today and my body losing its last energy by the minute. So I soon excuse myself, bid the girls good night and go to the room I share with three other guys from AES, to take a quick “shower” with the bucket we have in the bathroom and then go to bed. The next morning everybody is soon on their feet to finish up the last preparations before the students arrive. At 10:30 three big yellow busses cramped with teenies and teachers arrive in front of the gates and soon the whole dining hall is filled with chattering kids waiting for Sukriti and teachers to split them up into groups before they go on visiting the different labs. I am co-facilitating the lab for building a solar oven. Our solar ovens are basically just black wooden boxes, which catch sunlight and focus its heat to the inside to cook a meal. The girls from VOICE have been building these boxes for the past couple of days, so four of them are with me to help the American School students in creating their own. This social experiment has a couple of potentially difficult variables though. The students of the American School are in average some of the most priviliged, modern and westernized kids in the city, some of them even enjoy a lot of prestige through their parents. The VOICE girls are outcasts of society, even their own family, and among the poorest of the poor in both wealth and reputation. Also, while all of the students of the American School speak perfect English, the VOICE girls are used to speaking Hindi only and can only manage speaking and understanding a little English. But they surprise me. The first couple of rounds Tapu, Ashvini, Paki and Vimal seem shy and quiet and only nonverbally communicate as much as necessary with the other children. But soon enough, I can catch glimpses of them talking to the American School students in simple English sentences and giving elaborate instructions on how to build the solar ovens. While the situation still feels very exceptional and fragile, you can make out potentials of some of the girls becoming comfortable with their new role as a communicator for what they have learned. The American School students seem to enjoy themselves as well and one or two even ask questions about this facility and AES’ work. That is all we could have hoped for, so two hours later, as all the students have left the orphanage again, we are all quite satisfied with the outcome of this endeavour. The girls, too, are mostly upbeat and proud of their performance and we leave them still excited from their cross-cultural experience, as we clean up the lab sites and hit the road again. AES visits the orphanage 3-4 times a week, so saying goodbye today doesn’t feel too hard. However, I still can’t wait to be there again, to see and play with the girls and learn a new nursery rhyme or two. It is a very welcoming contrast to urban Mumbai daily life: horrible traffic, constantly high noise levels, air and street pollution. This is the part of my India experience which I currently have to work on. I am … Read moreGirls’ voices

Cook it, peel it, or forget it.

That’s my mantra these days. It is like a prayer I say each time I am looking for food, to ward off evil and bring down blessings on the places I eventually end up having lunch or dinner at. I say it in fear of the higher powers that native food might have on my digestion and in respect of the unknown in every meal. Cook it, peel it, or forget it. In its essence it is actually one of the basic advices given to people who travel to foreign countries with a lower hygienic standard than their own. It suggests to buy and eat only things that either have been well cooked or fried, or that can be unpacked, unwrapped or peeled. This way you avoid being too soon exposed to too many germs and bacteria. Cook it, peel it, or forget it. However, it doesn’t take away the psychological edge of living and eating in an environment where you can witness bad hygiene first hand. I live in Bandra, a district in Mumbai renowned for its high amount on expat inhabitants. My apartment is located on the ocean side half way up a hill grown over by tall tropical trees and even taller buildings, each with hundreds of living quarters. The rooms themselves are simple but sufficiently equipped, with air conditioning, a separate kitchen and bathroom and enough space for everything I have in my luggage and more. I stay as a paying guest, at least officially. The owner swings by on Sundays to do some paperwork and his parents supposedly come once a month to stay for a couple of days, but aside from that I have the flat to myself. That also means, though, that everything is in a quite untended state: Dust and dirt on almost all the surfaces, unwashed utensils, neither Wifi nor cable, and barely any warm water access. I even have a small lizard and at least one cockroach attending me in the kitchen. Cook it, peel it, or forget it. Of course, any hassle with living arrangements is bad news at first. But there’s an upside to it as well: I was worried to have Mumbai’s authenticity spoiled by a too luxurious and westernized surrounding, but even though I live in an expat area, quite the opposite is true. The streets are dirty and badly paved, there are beggers all around the place, traffic is dense in every alley, and it feels like there are at least twenty Indians for every foreigner living here. So for now I am ok with this arrangement. If everything goes well, I should be well settled in in a few weeks. In the meantime: Cook it, peel it, or forget it.

Travel means World

At least it does to me. To me it means a lot more, tough, too: Culture, Otherness, Wanderlust, Fear, Me, People, so many people, Passion, Pain, Creation and Memories. “World” is a good summary of that, though. I am now only two more nights of doubtfully recreational sleep away to start this new-new experience. Taking a plane to Mumbai was never my intention a couple of months back, but that’s the thing with strict tolerance and keeping your options open; you might end up with something unexpected. Jackpot! Honestly, where I come from, you are actually looking for unexpectedness. Because why would anyone want to go ahead and experience everything one already knew one would? There are many more advantages in just allowing your brain to be blown out by a new piece of world. Because world necessarily means travel, means sudden- and unexpectedly being global and so much yourself as you never are in any other situation. It means having the best and worst time of your life at once – and afterwards longing for more. Concerning India: A friend today told me India was “the country of wheelers and dealers“; not too sure how much of me already feels ready for this sort of task. But I also watched a woman on YouTube (GRRRLTRAVELER) describing her experience in India as a rough rollercoaster ride you just want to take over and over again. Sounds like the right path to me, I guess. Let’s go!