Location: Teen Batti, Malabar Hill
The legend behind Baanganga and the fact that I only recently learned of its existence, led me to begin my exploration of Mumbai with it – Laxman shot an arrow into the earth to provide water for Ram, whilst in pursuit of Sita. This resulted in the Ganga over flowing into Mumbai – I was told that Baanganga serves religious as well as practical purposes and looks bigger than an Olympic sized pool. My thoughts escaped to Hrishikesh, where I understood the multi-purpose functionality of the Ganga but was perplexed by the relentless pursuit of its waters for holy reasons. How could it still remain pure? In order to substantiate this thought further, I paid a visit to our very own local substitute to the Ganga.
The entrance was a wide sloping street, on either side of which were tea shops and garland sellers. A barber shop playing Justin Bieber’s latest ‘Don’t break my heart’ stood in one corner. On the right, was a small temple, the idol within which had melted in the scorching sun. Further down, I heard chants and hymns. Several more temples of all sizes stood in the surrounding area. Up ahead, women were walking around in ankle length dresses going about their daily chores, men were zooming past on bikes and kids were coming back home from school. All around were small homes and hutments, televisions blaring through some. It was a small busy world settled around a religious pursuit.
When I approached Baanganga its sight left me spell bound. A magnificent pool, close to 300 x 100 feet lay shimmering enthusiastically under the April sun. Taking a deep breath, I sat down on the surrounding stairs. Beautiful white geese sat sunbathing near me. Small boys, tanned under a scorching sun, were diving into its waters. A group of women, sitting on their haunches, were washing their clothes in a corner. Several metres of colourful saris were drying behind them. Men, in the middle of the pool were bathing themselves clean. A pandit, followers in tow, came to release sacred offerings of a temple nearby. He then knelt and took a sip from these waters, a sight to which my insides revolted. I noticed another woman, not too far away, mouth washing in a corner.
I closed my eyes. My thoughts were at peace with the waters of Baanganga being used for daily purposes. In a city lacking basic public sanitation, the thriving of a poor community near a water body is a natural outcome. My complexities however, lie in understanding the mindset of a people who seek religion at the cost of anything. I am desperately trying to analyse how we could absolve a loved one’s remains whilst having a woman mouth-wash next to it and then drink water from that same spot. The answer perhaps stems out of a lack of choice and subsequently subscribing to a balance of sacredness and practicality. To me, it cannot be as simple as blind worship.
Foot Loose in India 