For me, Ganesha is there-yet-not-there. I don’t worship God in the form of Ganesha. I probably never will. Ganapati idols and pictures evoke no reverence or feelings of sanctity in me. And yet… and yet… This happened on 18th September 1998: Back then, I was fanatically regular about my daily morning swim, driving to a nearby club in my little green Maruti 800. Dad and Mom often accompanied me. That day, Dad was terribly busy and wouldn’t come. Neither would Mom. “Krish, won’t you stay home and help me out?” Dad pleaded. He isn’t someone who normally asks for help. He isn’t the sort of guy who would ask me to cancel my swim, knowing how much it meant to me. But that day, he asked, he pleaded. “No, Dad… sorry. I can’t miss my swim.” Blunt refusal. Somewhere inside me, a little niggling voice was asking whether I was doing the right thing, but I brushed it aside. As I drove out of our neighbourhood, its narrow link to the highway was totally blocked, all du...