Ganesha Habba

A real trip down memory lane these postings on ACK. Remember the Ganesha habbas? “Associations” on every road with exotic names?  On my particular street, Central Street, in Kumara Park West, we had the “Twinkling Star Association”, “Golden Students Association” and the “Red Sun Association”. The last mentioned owed its name to my friend who owned the garage in which the idol would be installed. He had apparently watched a movie by the name “Red Sun” and no amount of cajoling would make him agree to another name! “Golden Students” then merged with “Red Sun” to form the “Golden Sun Association”.

The days preceding the habba (festival) would start off with collecting money. Armed with hundis (collection boxes) and receipt books, we would start our rounds. “Yenu aunty..last time neevu hatthu rupai kotidiri”. (What aunty, you had donated Rs 10 last time). English would always creep in. Reactions were almost always favorable. Caste, religion and community never seemed to matter.

The day prior to the festival itself would be very busy.  The garage had to be cleaned, decorated and the idol had to be purchased. The more the “collection”, the larger the idol! Of course, there was the “gunpowder”.  At least that’s what we used to call the prasadam (food offering that is consecrated and consumed) which would have to be packed into paper packets, not more than 2 tablespoons and then stapled. There would be the occasional “bumper” packet which would have 4 tablespoons! It was mighty hard to resist eating the prasadam.

The day itself would be marked with a lot of fervor.  A puja (religious ceremony) in the morning followed by the aarthi (ceremonial fire that is part of the ritual).  Of course, there would be lots of great food.  Deepu’s mother made some awesome Rasayana, prepared with bananas, honey, ghee, coconut and jaggery. My mom used to make some awesome Panchakadai and  Raghu’s granny used to contribute Sundal. Slurp! the list goes on! Then the news would percolate in that the Kumara Park Students Association, the big boys had arranged for an “ Aarkestra” (orchestra). P.B. Srinivas, Tomato Somu (the good ole 70’s) were expected in the evening.  A struggle would ensue, everybody would want to go. A couple of guys would reluctantly stay back after being bribed with some prasadam and the promise that they could go to Sankey Tank on the day the idol was being immersed.

The immersion was another story. The tempo could accommodate only so few. The braver ones would cycle down to Sankey tank. Cries of “Ganesha bandha, kai kadubu thinda, chikka kerele bidda, dodda kereli edda”,  (Ganesha arrived, ate the coconut and prasadam.  He was immersed in a small tank but arose in the large one) would rent the air when the idol itself was immersed. A feeling of gloom would set in, back to school again. The bubble would burst. Of course, there would be the inevitable post-mortem, “Next timu bega collection shuru madu beku. Bommbatage madu beku” (The next time we should start our collection earlier and celebrate on a grander scale).

The illustration accompanying this article is by my wife.  She had sketched this in 1995 before we had met.  It is a coincidence that I had written this article roughly around the same time.