A Typical Summer in Ganeshpuri

Summer in Ganeshpuri

After the so-called gruelling school exams, summer holidays had finally arrived. For us, the idea of a vacation was never about exploring hill stations or tourist spots. The only holiday destination our parents ever spoke of — and the only one that truly mattered — was Ganeshpuri.

One fine morning, we boarded a train to Virar and disembarked at Vasai. My father, a regular pilgrim, was well-known to many of the Maharashtra State Transport drivers and conductors. It was as though he were part of the local landscape, always met with nods and smiles of recognition. From Vasai, we continued our journey to Ganeshpuri by bus.

Upon arrival, we made our way to Kailash, Bhagavan’s abode. As we reached the rear entrance, my father called out in a familiar tone, “Appanna!” — the ever-faithful attendant of Bhagavan. Appanna was more than just an attendant; he was also my father’s secret beedi partner. The two would sneak away into a quiet corner to smoke, always cautious not to be seen by Bhagavan. Their camaraderie was one of silent understanding and mutual mischief.

That day, a large crowd had gathered for Darshan. But Appanna, with the stealth and devotion only a longtime sevak could have, quietly opened the back door and ushered us inside. We tiptoed into the third room and waited.

Then, after a while, Bhagavan’s voice rang out: “Hey Raghu!”

Raghunath Shenoy with folded hands near Baba’s head.

My father instantly picked me up and hurried forward, approaching the large chair where Bhagavan was reclining. He positioned himself discreetly behind a pillar, as was his humble custom. A few words were exchanged between them, words I was too young to fully grasp. What mattered more to me was what came next.

My father opened the lid of a small steel container and offered its contents to Bhagavan. Baba took the sweet delicately, glanced at me, and handed it to me with a knowing smile. I grinned wide — so wide that my missing teeth turned my face into a jack-o’-lantern of joy. Bhagavan then tasted the sweet himself and returned a portion to my father.

It was a moment of simple, silent grace. My father was beaming, and so was I, though for very different reasons.

Thus began our summer vacation, and what a perfect beginning it was.

As the day wore on, the sun bore down with unrelenting heat. The temperature soared; it was one of those afternoons when even the birds took refuge in the shade and held their songs. Silence draped the village like a blanket. The whole world seemed to pause.

Inside Kailash, my father gently waved a large hand fan made from palm leaves over Bhagavan. The room was hushed. The only sound was the rhythmic swish of the fan and the occasional whisper of a warm breeze filtering in through the cement grill. The air was heavy, but strangely, remarkably, Bhagavan’s presence made us feel cool, light, and at peace.

It was a heat we didn’t mind. Because in that stillness, in that sacred presence, the summer wasn’t scorching.
It was soothing.

Raghunath Shenoy on the left of Bhagavan