Ganesh Chaturthi: Faith, Noise, and Nonsense

Every year, India erupts in the spectacle of Ganesh Chaturthi. Streets fill with massive idols, loudspeakers scream bhajans late into the night, people dance in processions, and at the end of it all, tons of plaster-of-Paris statues end up choking our rivers and seas. For many, this is devotion. For me, as an atheist, it feels like an annual reminder of how deeply superstition and blind ritual still govern our society.

The Idol Problem

We are told that Ganesha is the remover of obstacles, the god of wisdom. Ironically, wisdom is the one thing missing in how this festival is celebrated. Statues of clay or plaster are “brought to life” by a priest chanting mantras, worshipped for a few days, and then dumped into water as though the god somehow swims back to heaven. If that isn’t magical thinking bordering on absurdity, I don’t know what is.

If obstacles in life were really removed by offering coconuts and sweets, India would have solved poverty, unemployment, corruption, and inequality decades ago. Real obstacles are removed through human effort, science, and social reform—not by feeding modaks to an idol.

The Home Poojas and Rituals

It’s not just the big pandals and processions. Step into any house during Ganesh Chaturthi and you’ll see miniature versions of the same circus. People set up clay idols on makeshift altars, decorate them with flowers, light incense sticks, and perform endless poojas as if chanting a few Sanskrit verses will magically solve their problems.

Every morning and evening, families gather around the idol, offering sweets, fruits, and coconuts—only to eat them themselves a few minutes later. If god is all-powerful, why does he need incense, bananas, or plates of food he never touches? And if he actually wanted these offerings, wouldn’t that make him more of a demanding guest than a divine being?

To me, it feels like theater—repeating rituals because parents and grandparents did them, not because anyone truly believes in their efficacy. The only thing these rituals successfully achieve is wasted time, wasted money, and a sense of guilt if you dare to skip a step in the script.

The Business of Faith

Of course, behind all the “devotion” lies big business. Idol makers, decorators, tent contractors, caterers, and politicians all make a fortune. Faith becomes a commodity. The god of wisdom gets packaged in thermocol, painted with toxic colors, and sold in the market like any other product. Religion thrives, not because people are wiser, but because someone always profits from their unquestioning faith.

Devotion vs. Destruction

The environmental cost is staggering. Rivers poisoned with plaster, lakes suffocated by paint, fish killed in the process—all in the name of faith. We lecture schoolchildren about “Save Water” campaigns while adults happily dump truckloads of painted plaster into the same water bodies. If hypocrisy were an Olympic sport, Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations would win gold for India every year.

Why I Don’t Buy Into It

As someone who doesn’t believe in gods, I find the whole thing unnecessary at best, harmful at worst. I don’t need an idol to tell me to work hard, think rationally, or face obstacles with courage. These are human qualities, not divine gifts. For me, morality, joy, and purpose come from human connection, not from rituals that demand money, time, and blind obedience.

What We Could Do Instead

I’m not against celebrating. Humans need joy, color, music, and festivals. But why not celebrate with intelligence? Why not channel the same energy and resources into community service, art festivals, science exhibitions, or cleaning up our neighborhoods? Imagine if instead of polluting rivers, we used the festival days for planting trees, feeding the poor, or funding education. That would truly honor the idea of wisdom and obstacle removal—without invoking imaginary gods.

The Bottom Line

Ganesh Chaturthi, like most religious festivals, shows the power of tradition to keep people locked in habits without questioning their meaning. For me, it’s a reminder of why atheism feels liberating: I don’t need rituals or gods to give my life meaning. I’d rather place my faith in humanity, reason, and action.

Because in the end, no elephant-headed deity is going to remove your obstacles. You are.