Photo by Mahesh MV on Unsplash
One of my zen teachers tells a story, which might be the stuff of apocryphal parable. It succeeds because it makes an important point.
He was in southern India, traveling by hired car to visit various Tantric temples in the South known for apparitions and other cool religious experiences. He was in a hurry, owing to previous delays, and he grew frustrated with his driver, who would pull off at every roadside statue of Ganesha to petition for blessings (and make a donation).
After containing his frustration for several hours, he finally asked his driver to skip the next one.
“Oh sir, that is not a good idea.” came the meek reply. “Please reconsider your request?”
He insisted, of course. That’s why we have this story.
The driver proceeded, passing several of these roadside altars on the way to the final temple on their tour, where my teacher planned to part ways with this driver and stay for the night.
My teacher then needed to pee. When he decided he could no longer hold it, he asked his driver to pull over so he could relieve himself.
It was nighttime, and the road they were on ran along a river and was lined with trees which ran through an otherwise large open plain. That night, it was lit by a full moon. My teacher saw the open plain, lit by moonlight, through the trees and walked to the other side of the thin tree line to take in the view while he emptied his now very full bladder.
The driver stayed in the car.
Mid-emptying his bladder, he heard a subtle thumpity-thump sound, feeling it through the ground with his feet. He looked to his left and saw a full-grown bull elephant charging him from a distance. My teacher immediately sprinted to the car, pulling up his underwear and putting his robes back together on the way. When he got to the treeline, he heard the beast slow down to a trot and snort before giving up pursuit.
Incredulous, he told his driver about this when he jumped back in the car, urging him to resume driving post-haste, fearing the beast may change his mind and charge through the trees to target the vehicle and put them both in harm’s way.
His driver turned around, peered at him over his glasses, and said in a soft, yet firm voice, “don’t fuck with Ganesha.” He then resumed driving, chuckling to himself.
My teacher wraps up the story by telling his tale of paying the driver extra to remain with him for the rest of his tour. But I digress.
On my flight home from San Francisco to Boston Tuesday night, I connected through Newark. I did this so I could spend the overnight part of the journey on a plane with full-recline seats and get some sleep. My layover in Newark was long, but I felt it was worth it to snooze. It was.
I had originally accepted the longish layover because I thought I could visit a few of my loved ones in the New York City area in-between flights. It then dawned on me in mid-flight, to my dismay, that the time of my Newark to Boston leg double-booked my psychotherapy appointment (which I can do by zoom). It was too late to move the appointment. I could either show up or not, but I would have to pay either way.
Now, staying longer in the City had real meaning, like a full bladder urging relief, and I went to a gate agent in Newark after we landed and request the change in person that I could not accomplish on the app in mid-air. It did not occur to me to double-check my shrink’s appointment time. I was confident I had that right.
When I got off the plane at 9 am, the gates near where I disembarked had long lines. I walked for a bit and found a gate with only one person talking to the agent, a large dark-skinned man who was wearing a hoodie with a large silk-screened print of Ganesha on the back. He looked like a huge, gorgeous, walking Ganesha billboard from the back.
I stood behind him long enough to understand he was trying to change his international itinerary on an economy ticket using a combination of cash and miles to make it happen. It frustrated the agent. The counter was littered with print-outs of apparently unsatisfactory boarding passes.
To my left, was a sign with a QR code from United Airlines that said, “Need travel assistance? Scan this!” I did that and ended up on the phone with a travel agent.
This dear woman on the phone, whose accent reminded me of my friends from India, struggled to get me on another flight. There had been cancellations the night before, and she warned me that changing this leg might put me in the middle seat of economy seating, upon which they would refund to my friend some of the travel miles used to ease my return from San Francisco. That felt like a good thing. My friend is generous with her miles, I’d like to think I steward her gifts well.
I kid you not. At this moment I looked up to see the man with the Ganesha hoodie walking along the terminal in front of me. I took one last look at his hoodie, wishing I had one myself. I considered just emailing my therapist my explanation and apologies for missing today’s session and just get on with my day with the itinerary I had. I dismissed this notion as the man with the Genesha hoodie disappeared from my view.
Ganesha was trying to help me. I didn’t realize this.
I got booked on a later flight, satisfied by my madd savvy air travel skillz. I looked forward to a few local hours with friends and congratulated myself on being mad skilled enough to make this psychotherapy session in person with my Manhattan-based therapist. What a modern air travel ninja I had become!
Guess what?
My original itinerary HAD NOT double-booked my psychotherapy appointment. I had mis-remembered my psychotherapy appointment (it was actually three hours earlier) and I was on the 7 train in Manhattan when my psychotherapist called to find out where the hell I was and why I no-showed our appointment.
I jumped off the train and into a cab, in mid-town, during Christmas, at mid-day, and we had to drive by 30 Rock (with the tree) in order to get to my psychotherapist’s office. She had agreed to wait for my arrival as long as I could get there within about thirty minutes, which would require some good fortune.
What did my taxi driver have hanging from his rear-view mirror?
You guessed it, a Ganesha air freshener.
I put my palms together, closed my eyes, apologized to Ganesha for ignoring his previous attempts to help me, and prayed for my obstacles to get to my shrink’s office to be removed. I chanted a Tantric chant I know to myself and told Ganesha my now planned $20 tip to my driver if we made it would also be an offering to him.
We made it. My driver was grateful for the tip. Thank you Ganesha.
That evening. The flight they put me on was full. The plane at the gate before ours broke down at the gate. It had been de-boarded, repaired, and re-boarded before they found something else wrong, further delaying their departure.
We finally boarded, an hour later, this full to the gills aircraft for a forty-three minute flight to Boston. I sat in my seat in first class (boarding first) for forty-five minutes while they worked out how to get all the carry-on baggage stowed on the flight, having to gate-check most of the luggage for the people in the back of the plane.
I overheard the flight crew mention that if we couldn’t close the aircraft doors by 9 pm (our original departure was 7:30 pm) they would need a new flight crew because they’d “be over the legal time,” whatever that means. I prayed again to Ganesha. They closed the door at 8:58 pm.
Thank you, Ganesha.
You’d think this story would be over here, but it isn’t.
We got to Logan late. Several people sprinted off the plane to make tight connections to London.
It was too late to ask any of my Boston friends to pick me up, so I booked a ride-share home. After the sticker shock, I had two drivers cancel on me, leaving me in the Boston cold while everyone else got a ride.
When I booked a third ride, I watched the driver approach the airport on the app and stop for a few minutes at a particular intersection just outside the airport entrances, on the other side of the tunnel. I feared he or she was also pondering cancellation, not wanting to end up in the boonies when they dropped me off.
I texted the driver a plaintive “please come, it’s cold” and said another of my many prayers to Ganesha.
He texted back, “Don’t worry, I’m on my way, needed to stop for gas.”
He came, picked me up, and drove skillfully and efficiently to drop me off right in front of my home. I tipped him $20 in the app and told Ganesha it was another offering for his help on this miserable trip. I had effed-up despite Ganesha’s attempts to keep me from doing so.
It is important to note that if I had just checked my appointment recall, which is notoriously bad, I would have been in bed about four hours earlier. Despite my stubborn humanity, Ganesha pitched in and did the best he could for me, anyway.
Don’t fuck with Ganesha.
Great story !! Here, many a corollary to your story. Today's was my promise to a brother who is repairing the ceiling in my room, already having done the first steps, measuring the space, tracing and then cutting a piece of sheetrock and then screwing it in place. It then needed to be primed and for this, a dropcloth, which unbelievably they do not own here, was needed (before I left for Ukraine, by the way, I sold my huge dropcloth collection to a young Indian man), so, my friend Sasha asked if I could buy one, to which I replied, I'll have it by noon.
This was all before today's power cut, "Trivoga" (air-raid prep and all power,
city-wide was cut). Lights out and doors closed everywhere. So, we, my taxi friend/brother Benedikt and I, after sharing morning coffee, oatmeal and toast, had to find a dropcloth somewhere. Epicenter (a big Home Depot type place was first choice (maybe they had generators), but NO, second choice, Versailles (slightly smaller, also NO), then, a rinok (tented, but basically an outdoor place) only had tablecloths, again, NO...last check was a fabric store (like a Joanne's in the USA)..
They were open and had some waterproof fabric, not my first choice, but I said fine, "davai", let's do it. As we're leaving the store, my Ganesh, a backroom helper at the store, offered us two gorgeous pieces of thick plastic (used to wrap big rolls of fabric), for free, that perfectly fit the two beds in my room !! Wow, Ganesh, you are a wonder !
I loved this story, I think "Don't Fuck with Ganesha" will be my new mantra.
Susan