The Dagdushet Halwai Ganapti Mandir
temple is located in the older part of Pune, an area filled with commanding,
dusty, stone buildings three and four stories tall and vast maze-like markets.
It’s shape, crowds, and surprising whiteness make it an instantly recognizable
landmark.
Built in the 1930s, the temple is a
spot to worship Ganesha, the elephant-god and destroyer of evils and obstacles.
Regularly visited by students wishing for good grades, the poor suffering
hardships, parents with sick children, and all others with current trouble, the
temple was erected by a king wishing for a son. Shortly after he built the
round, turreted hall and placed the statue of Ganesha inside, he was blessed
with a brother for his many daughters.
A visit inside the temple begins with a long line to hand in your shoes. Being given a number in exchange for my purple flip-flops reminds me of going bowling. (Trying to avoid chewing gum in my bare feet, however, soon cures me of this comparison.) Then it is through a quick security check, first to inspect whether your cell phone is off, then through a couple of switchbacks to the metal detectors, and a bag scanner. Then you are inside the small but ornate metal hall. My eyes were immediately drawn to the wide, glittering, chandelier in the room. The grandeur of it tempted me to see if I could sneak a picture, but the seriousness of those around me convinced me to not play the part of ignorant, disrespectful foreigner. Being jostled along by the crowd, I passed by the statue of Ganesha, with his large rotund belly, one broken tusk, and small mouse companion while others stop. They hold their hands under their chin and mouth prayers, before offering the god wreaths of flowers, small sweet treats, or other trinkets. Then others go and kneel on the marble to continue earnestly praying. Our large group of American girls and Indian buddies instead troop out the door.
A visit inside the temple begins with a long line to hand in your shoes. Being given a number in exchange for my purple flip-flops reminds me of going bowling. (Trying to avoid chewing gum in my bare feet, however, soon cures me of this comparison.) Then it is through a quick security check, first to inspect whether your cell phone is off, then through a couple of switchbacks to the metal detectors, and a bag scanner. Then you are inside the small but ornate metal hall. My eyes were immediately drawn to the wide, glittering, chandelier in the room. The grandeur of it tempted me to see if I could sneak a picture, but the seriousness of those around me convinced me to not play the part of ignorant, disrespectful foreigner. Being jostled along by the crowd, I passed by the statue of Ganesha, with his large rotund belly, one broken tusk, and small mouse companion while others stop. They hold their hands under their chin and mouth prayers, before offering the god wreaths of flowers, small sweet treats, or other trinkets. Then others go and kneel on the marble to continue earnestly praying. Our large group of American girls and Indian buddies instead troop out the door.
Although
the entire temple leaves me in awe of its beauty, my favorite part comes when
we wind around back towards our shoes. A devotee gives us all a sip of water to
remind us of how the gods refresh our spirit. And we each a sweet sugar treat as
a symbol of the sweetness of hope for the future that will surely come after we
have just given Lord Ganesha all of our bitterness and suffering.
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