Pudhchya varshi lavkarya

Anant Chaturdashi is here. Across Maharashtra, the beats of the dhol-tasha grow louder with every passing moment. The streets are painted in vibrant red gulaal, saffron flags fly high above the crowd, and one unified chant echoes through the air: “Ganpati Bappa Morya, pudhchya varshi lavkar ya!”

But this time, my farewell comes with a deeply personal prayer.

Bappa, as you leave, please take my pain with you. Take my heartaches. And take away this heavy chapter of my life.

Ten days ago, we welcomed you into our homes and hearts with fresh flowers, durva grass, sweet modaks, and warm aartis. Diya lamps flickered, the sweet scent of incense filled the room, and together we sang:

“Sukhkarta Dukhharta…”

The bringer of joy. The remover of sorrow.

This year, though, those sacred words held a completely different meaning for me. I didn't stand before you asking for grand success or effortless miracles. I came carrying betrayal, humiliation, silent rage, deep exhaustion, and memories that keep rushing back uninvited. I came with a heavy pain that has overshadowed years of my honest hard work and achievements.

Some chapters of life don't end just because the calendar pages flip. They stay buried inside us, trailing into every new beginning and making us doubt our own self-worth.

Today, all of Maharashtra will dance through its tears. The drums will echo, steps will match the rhythm of the lezim, and amid rain, tears, and gulaal, we will bid you farewell. Perhaps that is what visarjan truly means—that even through heartbreak, we can still find the strength to celebrate; that we can love something deeply and still learn to let it go.

So Bappa, before you depart, please accept one last offering from me. Not of coconut, jaggery, or modak, but an offering of everything I can no longer bear to carry.

Take away the words that taught me to doubt myself.

Take away the anger I had to swallow in silence.

Take away those restless nights spent overthinking every memory.

Take away the lingering fear that my past will haunt every tomorrow.

Leave my lessons behind. Leave me my achievements and my strength. Just take away this pain that still claims ownership over my soul.

When your idol touches the water, let this painful phase of my life drown with it. Let the waves loosen its grip on me. Let the red powder wash away the shame that was never mine to carry. And let the thunderous drumbeats drown out every voice of doubt I’ve carried inside for far too long.

And when you return next year, find me in a better place.

A little lighter.

Laughing without a trace of guilt.

Working without fear.

Remembering my past but no longer dragged back into its darkness.

Bappa, when you come back next year, find me whole and victorious again.

Ganpati Bappa Morya. Pudhchya varshi lavkarya.