i was sitting in the passenger seat of dadaji's small four-door sedan, my father-in-law was driving and p was sitting in the back seat, looking tired and staring out of the window at the passing gujarati countryside.
as we drove through the backroads that weaved a serpentine pattern through lush green farmland, now buried under eight feet of monsoon water, pappa (indians are supposed to call their in-laws pappa and mamma, and ignore the strange, incestuous sound of it all) began to tell me the story of the creation of ganesh. now, to the uninitiated, driving in india seems a difficult enough task on its own. to even consider multi-tasking while weaving through traffic and swerving to narrowly avoid hitting children, cows, overturned buses and potholes that sometimes reach two feet deep is to play dice with your own mortality. but, alas, pappa is an indian, a war-weary veteran of many an overcrowded highway, who not only drives and talks at the same time, but also occasionally opens his door while speeding in order to lean out the side and spit out his red paan.
i close my eyes, force a smile onto my lips, and try to pay attention.
"mutth-you," he begins, scrunching his eyebrows down toward his eyes to underscore the seriousness of the topic. "if you are to be indian, man, then you have to know about indian gods. and the best god is ganesh. do you know ganesh?"
i nod and mumble something about an elephant head while trying not to succumb to the nausea that is slowly overtaking my sense of politeness.
"yes, yes, yes," he says dismissively, slicing through the air with his left hand. "he has elephant's head, man. but do you know how he got it?"
he misinterprets my silence as interest and continues.
"long, long ago, there lived a woman. her name was parvati. and parvati was a hottie."
i'm not kidding. he really talks like this. he apparently thinks that throwing in words and phrases like this will appeal to me as a younger person, as though i was fourteen and couldn't be troubled to be interested in a story that didn't involve a buxom blonde and breasts bouncing hypnotically in the air.
"so parvati sits in the bathtub all day long, prettying up for guests, because she's indian, man, and indian women have to pretty up. and this parvati, she's a goddess, which is what indian women think they are, man, so a goddess doesn't want to talk to anyone when she's in the bath, right? well, her husband is shiva, and shiva is the king of his castle and he says, 'i go where i want.'" (apparently, he thumps his chest for emphasis, for this is what pappa does to demonstrate how one declares lordship over his domain.)
"and shiva, he's an indian man, man, and he won't let his wife tell him what he can't do. so he goes on vacation to meditate because he's a god, man, and that's what gods do for fun."
from the backseat my wife begins to complain, pointing out the liberties that her father is taking with the story. but he is an indian man, and he is on a roll, and nothing, not even the protestations of ganesh himself, could stop him at this point.
"so parvati, she says, 'man. i don't have a servant to protect me when i am in the bath. i need some protection.' so she made a son out of perfume and oils and she said, 'i will name you ganesh.' and oh, she loved her ganesh. and he loved his mama and wouldn't let anyone inside when she was in the bath.
"and one day, after many years, shiva gets horny and says, 'man, i need some nookie.'"
at this point my wife has heard enough and interrupts.
"papa, that wasn't what he said. he didn't want nookie. he's a god, he doesn't need nookie."
really. you haven't truly experienced life until you've heard two indians arguing over the necessity of 'nookie' in ancient mythological india while playing chicken with oncoming traffic.
"p," he countered patiently, unbothered by his daughter's ignorance of the human condition. "everybody needs nookie, even gods, man. why do you think jesus made friends with the loose womens?"
apparently feeling that this point had won him the argument, he continued.
"so shiva says, 'i need some nookie. i must go home, and make the nookie with my wife.' but he doesn't know ganesh, and ganesh doesn't know him, man. and he gets home and parvati is in the bath, but he is sooo horny, man, and he knocks at the door.
"and this handsome young man answers the door and doesn't know him. and shiva says, 'man, i am the god. who the hell are you? move aside, because i want to make nookie with my wife.'
"but ganesh doesn't let him inside, because his job is to protect his mother. so shiva's brain isn't working, man, because you can't think when you're so horny, so he takes an axe and he chops of his son's head. he goes inside and upstairs and says to wife, 'hi honey. i'm home and i'm horny.'
"but his wife is worried about her son and screams when she hears what happened. so he says, 'man, this sucks. i'm so horny, i've travelled back over many years for some nookie and now i can't have it because my wife is pissed, man.'
"but shiva was horny and wanted some nookie so he sent one of his side-ees to collect a head for ganesh."
"a side-ee?" i interrupt, needing the definition.
"a side-ee, man. like his main man who works for him and follows him everywhere."
"now, the side-ee was an indian servant, man, and they're not too bright, you know, and he goes and kills an elephant and brings back the head.
"and shiva looks at head and says, 'what the hell is this, man? this is bullshit, man' but he was so horny and his wife was still bitching so to shut her up he put the head on ganesh and said, 'there. now it is all better.'
"but his wife was even more pissed now and said, 'this is messed up, man. my son didn't have an elephant head.'
"so shiva thought fast - because all indian men think fast, mutth-you - and said, 'yes, but listen, man. i added in a bonus extra for you. every time someone needs good luck, they will honor ganesh, man.
"and he got his nookie and everyone was happy. and shiva gave him a mouse to ride on."
"to ride on?" i ask, choosing this part of the story to allow my skepticism to take over. "how does a man with an elephant's head ride on a mouse?"
"he's a god, man," pappa answers in exasperation. "he rides around on whatever he wants, man."
good answer, i think to myself as we approached dadaji's house.
he rides around on whatever he wants. it's reasonable enough, and he needs some kind of permanent companion after being decapitated because his father the god wanted some nookie.
i can almost picture millions of hindu souls stir uneasily in the air at this story, but, hey - when you're horny, you're horny.
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