The drum's thumped rhythmically as I watched the people dance wildly into the streets. If I was lucky, I got a glimpse of Ganesh Ji, riding proudly on top of a few lucky men's shoulders. His shape was impeccably formed by highly trained artists from but a pile of clay.His freshly painted eyes would glisten in the sunlight, the jewel's he was adorned in sparkled and I would smile, because back then, Ganesh Ji was my source of strength, energy and power. Whenever I was scared, i'd close my eyes and chant his name over and over, and slowly, my fears would be assuaged. He made me fearless. I would imagine the clay statue to wink at me, or throw me a smile, and i'd be satisfied the rest of the week.

People passed Modak around and ate it joyfully, but not before offering it to Ganesh Ji first. We all danced and chanted and laughed our way to the sea side, where our chanting grew louder still, where color and flowers fell down like rain upon us, where people from all different walks of life united as one through our culture and religion. We all watched in joy and anticipation as the clay model sunk to the bottom on the sea. Loud applauses and whistles were heard all around, but not before we all muttered a quiet word of prayer and joined our hands in thanks.

I giggled happily as my dad danced me around on his shoulders still chanting, still singing, with color's strewn all over the floor and Modak still being passed around in celebration.

I wish I was back home for this holiday.