Auspicious Beginnings

Sunday, 04 April 2010

Dodda Ganapathy Temple, Basavangudi


Our first ‘expedition’ (and it certainly feels like an expedition when you have to pack for every possible contingency when going anywhere with a one year old) began with far less enthusiasm than I had hoped.

An ex-colleague of mine suggested that I start the blog after aptly paying my respects to the Lord of Obstacles, Ganapathy. Why not start at Dodda (Big) Ganapathy?

It was a hot and rather lazy day and after a particularly scrumptious tea with moist pastries from Sweet Chariot and a couple of blazing hot Meddur Vadas with my parents and brother, Prashant (P) and I mustered up our somewhat weak will power and packed ourselves into our tinny and tiny little Santro. The roads were surprisingly empty – it seemed like the rest of Bangalore had the sense to stay in and laze around under the fan on a nice summery Sunday like this.

This made the normally discouragingly long drive from Indiranagar to Basavangudi surprisingly easy and fast. Pranav settled cosily into my lap, clapping and shaking his head to the music on the radio and pointing at autorickshaws, scooters, and small cars alike, pursing his lips and softly whispering “owwwtho” with great affection for the vehicle.

As we drove past Town Hall, we left the more familiar and cosmopolitan Bangalore behind and entered Bengaluru, which has a decidedly more South Indian feel to it. The roads are narrower lined with old and somewhat poorly maintained shops, shaded by enormous trees. Here a larger percentage of women walk in sarees and fewer percentage of men are found in jeans. It almost has a small town feel to it.

After a wrong turn and asking policemen, watermelon vendors and a jaywalker for directions, we finally reach the base of a small little hill which is home to a colony of some of Bangalore’s oldest Temples.

We arrived exactly at 5:30pm – when Dodda Ganapathy temple just opened its doors. After depositing our shoes, we hurried along to be part of the first aarti. Despite a board that asks men to stand to the left of the divider and women to the right, the rule is blatantly flouted and the priest takes no notice. Already a small and rather pushy crowd had gathered.

I love to watch the people who come to temples because they are nearly as interesting as the temple itself (and sometimes more interesting even!). There are always a certain type of people you find in nearly every temple – the regular visitors, the VIPs, the weekend pilgrim with enormous families, and the sincere devotees.


The regulars - the people who confidently cut in line and stand right in front of the altar, making un-selfconscious gestures of piety which occasionally involves paying large obeisance inconveniencing most people around them. Also there are those regular visitors, more timid in nature, who prefer to stand in an odd corner, praying silently and for whom the priest tends to wait for very patiently before retiring with the aarti platter.

The weekend pilgrim – the large families where the adults plan that perhaps today is a good day to go out and see a temple. Their children, nieces, nephews, grand children are all dressed in their Sunday best, hair oiled, combed, plaited and black kajal marks appropriately placed before piling into autos, cars or taxis. Upon arrival, there is usually a great deal of chaos. The loudest and most enterprising adult shepherds the troop into the temple and the party invariably stands together organized by age and gender – the older males in the front, followed by younger males, then older females and finally younger females with unruly offspring. As the aarti comes around, the wives seek out their husbands for change – everyone digs their various pockets and purses, even the children who thus far were staring up strangers’ nostrils, trying to get other babies’ attentions, or knocking and slapping each other come to offer help, tugging at their mothers’ purses and offering their services to explore the mysterious contents of her bag. The priest waits patiently with the completely blank expression of one who has temporarily surrendered all his emotions at the feet of the lord. Suddenly the coins come –a-pouring. Big hairy hands, wrinkly hands, smooth well manicured hands, tiny grubby hands all descend upon the tiny little flame at once.

Prashant and Pranav, my fellow weekend pilgrims

Finally, the sincere devotee - One for whom the temple is really meant. He or she does not notice any of what I notice. They don’t even really notice the idol or the temple. They are unobtrusive and almost invisible. Having completed their prayer, they take the aarti, Prasad and leave in silence.

At Dodda Ganapathy temple, they were all present and they all distracted me from the deity of whom I could barely get a glimpse as they all jostled ahead of me. At my side, Pranav was folding his hands and Om-ing, looking at the other grown-ups hoping for a “Good Boy!” which he normally receives in reward for good piety.

Finally as the crowd dispersed, in the little room I could see the enormous black rock, covered with wonderful garlands of yellow shevanti, orange kanakambara, fragrant white tuber-rose and jasmine, red roses, bunches of durvasa grass, and really vibrant purple flowers. Peering through all this decoration, I detected large silver eyes and with some difficulty, I was finally able to discern the trunk and tusks.


The deity itself is carved out of a single large grey rock and is 18ft in height and 16 ft in width. With all the decoration, it is difficult to make out what the Ganapathi really looks like. I have read that as part of the decoration, the idol is covered with a 100kg layer of butter. In this heat, it is possible that all the butter had melted and hence I could not really make it out. Perhaps it is a style of decoration reserved for the winters? In any case, I could not find anyone who could give me more information about it.

After the aarti we proceeded to do a pradakshina of the inner sanctum. The walls are lined with large prints of the different forms of Ganesha, Hanuman, Karthikeya, Parvathi, etc. Prashant and I couldn’t help finding it funny that these picture frames were used as a kind of advertising, where the donor of the picture pastes his business card in a prominent place within the frame. How effective is it, as a form of advertising? Alternatively, Prashant had the idea that it might be a card left for the Lord so He knows who donated it, when He plans to dispense grace. Both options were rather funny.

After that we proceeded up the hill to the famous Bull Temple, leaving our precious footware in the care of a rather harassed looking chappal-official. By the way, he charged us Rs 2. So carry change.

Here is how you get there from MG Road
Parking is on the street around the temple and park, although I can foresee major problems on festival days.