mornings I am rushing to Vasco, for classes at MES College, but since the drive is beautiful and I belong to generation that has to be 5mnts ahead of appointment I leave home a little early.
I get off at chicalim take the local to zuarinagar and walk down.
The bus-stop at chicalim used be quaint, surrounded by trees and a tiny Sai Mandir which would vibrant with flowers and fragrant with incense sticks that people burned. In the vicinity is the Banyan tree which if it could tell a story probably would have stories to say.
Maybe an early morning ritual where the man of the house bathes, and does the prayers, the Lady of the house keeps the ritual offering. The children probably would have sat in front of the altar to say the evening prayers, but now with no one to tend to them they are discarded.
With newer pasture newer spaces have become home, newer gods have occupied the Altars those. The earlier nurturers of the family, the energies that fuelled the mothers blessing, and the family ambition have run out of their energies, there are no more prayers to awaken them, there are no more offerings of gratitude they have simply faded away. The more affluent gods like the gods of Tirupathi have migrated westwards with the people who energize them. it is the humble household god who remains discarded like the discarded old parents at Kumbh Mela.
These gods are awaiting burial is some land fill, when the tree their last refuge falls to the axe of development. May the energies that they fuelled prosper, may the energies that have remained in them be part of the great divinity.
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