🕉️ Ganesha in the Floodwaters: Four Lessons for a Time of Crisis

 

Ganesha in the Floodwaters: Four Lessons for a Time of Crisis

As the Ganesh festival unfolds with music, modaks, and clay idols returning to water, another kind of immersion is happening—one that is not chosen, but endured. Across India and neighbouring countries, floodwaters have swallowed homes, memories, and livelihoods. In this moment, the lessons of Ganesha feel less like celebration and more like quiet guidance. Some of the lessons which one can learn from Ganesha during this crisis are:

 

1.   Big Ears, Deep Listening

Ganesha’s ears remind us to listen—not just to headlines, but to the silences between them. To hear the grief of those whose stories won’t trend, and to hold space without rushing to fix or explain.

 

2.   Small Steps, Steady Hands

 The mouse at Ganesha’s feet teaches us humility. Relief doesn’t always roar—it arrives in small acts: a shared meal, a reposted fundraiser, a call to check in. Let us honour the quiet helpers.

 

3.   Broken Tusk, Unbroken Will

 Ganesha’s broken tusk is a symbol of sacrifice and creative persistence. In times of rupture, we may not feel whole—but we still act. For those watching the floods from afar, this lesson becomes a call:

a)    Share verified donation links, especially those supporting local relief efforts.

b)    Use your platform—however small—to amplify voices on the ground.

c)    Offer emotional support to friends and strangers affected, even if it’s just a message.

d)    Resist the urge to scroll past. Stay present. Stay engaged.

The tusk reminds us: we don’t need perfection to make a difference. We need willingness. Even fractured tools can carve paths of care.

 

4.   Return Again, But Differently

Each year, Ganesha returns—and departs. This cycle reminds us: presence is not permanence. Let our rituals evolve. Let our festivals hold grief as well as joy. Let us return, not to normal, but to care.

 

🌊 A Festival That Listens

This year, as Ganesha returns to the waters, let us not only celebrate but listen. Let the drums slow. Let the modaks be shared with those who’ve lost their kitchens. Let the clay remind us: everything returns, everything dissolves, and everything matters.

 

These four lessons—listening, small steps, resilience, and return—are not just spiritual metaphors. They are ethical invitations. To act. To care. To stay present.

 

May our rituals hold grief as gently as they hold joy.

May our festivals become bridges—not distractions.

And may Ganesha walk with those in the floodwaters, not just those in the processions.