The Ganesha I Had Never Seen Before!

 

I wasn't looking for him.  😊

I was just scrolling the way you do at a break, thumb moving faster than thought. And then he was there - A gigantic Ganesha wading through a river, a city skyline waiting on the far bank. I scrolled past the reel. Then I scrolled back.

That's usually how the important thoughts arrive not when you go looking for them, but when they refuse to let you keep scrolling.

Monday is Ganesha Chaturthi. I've seen this god a thousand times. But tonight I actually looked at him instead of just recognising him and once I did, I couldn't stop finding myself in the shape of him. I'm a psychotherapist, a counsellor in a common man language and a coach. I sit with people's unsaid things for a living. So maybe it's no surprise that when I finally looked closely, I didn't see a deity I saw a something more in him. 😊

Start with the ears - In temple sculpture they are often shaped like a soop - the flat winnowing fan every Indian household once used to separate grain from husk. It doesn't reject the harvest because it arrives mixed with chaff it takes in everything first, and only afterward lets the useless part fly off. Most of us listen with a sieve that's already decided what to keep. Ganesha listens with a fan that takes in the whole harvest before judging any of it.

Then the trunk - As a child in Dharmasthala and Sringeri, I had to wait to my turn for the temple elephant to lower its trunk onto my head that warm, oddly gentle weight of a blessing. What I never noticed back then, the same trunk that blessed me had just curled a banana into its mouth, and would soon spray water over its own back. One organ, three jobs - feeding, cleansing, blessing. Never confused. Biologists say an elephant's trunk can uproot a tree or lift a single grain of rice without crushing it. A counsellor needs exactly that range - strong enough to receive what's unbearably heavy, gentle enough not to break what's still fragile. And crucially, the same trunk that swallows also splashes and releases. If we only take in and never let anything pass back through us as awareness, we stop being witnesses and become storage units for other people's pain instead.

Then the boy at the door - Before he was the beloved son everyone worships, Ganesha briefly guarded Parvati's bath and was told to let no one pass. Shiva, who arrived was refused anyway. Not rebellion, but consistency. That's the earliest recorded case of professional boundaries. 😊
A counselling room has to hold the same shape of compassion and patience for everyone in the chair, powerful or wrecked, articulate or barely speaking. Rule is a rule, nothing can bend and that forms our ethics.

And the question that wouldn't leave me alone - Why did Ved Vyasa choose Ganesha, of everyone available, to write the Mahabharata? He heard every syllable of the Bhagavad Gita before anyone else on earth did and nowhere does Ganesha claim authorship, or hint that he "knows how it ends." He was the vessel the river passed through, not the source it claims to be.
But knowing someone's story does not give us the right to carry it into the world. It asks something else of us - Confidentiality. Discretion. Humility.

You may know much. You may understand much. But you do not need to announce that you know.

Perhaps that, too, is a form of wisdom. A counsellor often knows more of someone's story than their own family does, and the discipline is never letting that information become currency, not gossip, not chin-wag, not advice dropped where it wasn't asked for. You carry it the way a vessel carries water, without mistaking yourself for the river.

A quick honest pause - none of this is a settled theology. Regional traditions tell Ganesha's story differently, and the winnowing-fan reading is one of my lens among several.

Ganesha stopped being just a deity I was looking at.

He became a mirror in my thought. His ears reminded me to listen. His trunk reminded me to receive, hold and release. His story reminded me not to let identity, status or personal bias interfere with how I meet another human being and what do I share with them!

His traditional association with the Mahabharata reminded me that listening must be accompanied by understanding and that what we are entrusted with must be held with discretion.

And then I wondered: How many such lessons have we been looking at all our lives without really seeing  them?

Perhaps our epics are not always asking us to merely remember stories. Perhaps they are inviting us to interpret ourselves through them.

We often look at our traditions as something belonging to the past. But maybe the past is not always behind us.

Sometimes, it is sitting quietly in front of us - waiting for us to look at it differently.

A counsellor learns to look beneath behaviour. Perhaps we can do the same with our stories.

Look beneath the symbol. Beneath the ritual and the familiar image. Because sometimes, what we have seen a hundred times becomes meaningful only when we finally see it for the first time.

And perhaps that was my real realisation this evening.

I thought I was looking at Ganesha. But maybe Ganesha was helping me look at myself and at the way I hold things.

Maybe wisdom does not always arrive as a new idea.

Sometimes, it is an old idea… seen with new eyes.

Happy Ganesha Chaturthi.

 

The Comparison That Hurts Most Is Not With Others - It Is With Ourselves.

Recently, during a session one of the concept I spoke was on Comparison Trap.

I put up a simple picture of an apple and an orange and asked the room -

“Which is the better fruit?”

Some said, Apple | Some said, Orange.

And one person, who had been listening closely, smiled and said: “You cannot compare.”

I just had a subtle smile on my face, because I felt – someone caught my hindsight.

Perhaps the more interesting question was not which fruit is better, but:
Why did we feel compelled to answer a question whose premise itself was flawed?

We are often like that.

We rush to answer before questioning the question.
We rush to form an opinion before examining the premise.
And somewhere between the two, we enter one of the most exhausting psychological loops of human behaviour:

Comparison.

We are compared by others. And we compare ourselves with others.

And then there is a third, far more evolved possibility: We stop allowing comparison to define us.

The first can feel deeply unsettling.

Someone compares our career with another person's.
Our appearance with someone else's. Our achievements with a colleague's. Our children with someone else's children. Our lifestyle, income, relationships, credentials, influence - even our pace of life - with somebody else's.

Sometimes we retaliate. Sometimes we defend ourselves. And sometimes, we simply go quiet. Because being compared can feel like being reduced.

As though our entire journey, circumstances, struggles and strengths can somehow be compressed into a single scoreboard.

But there is an uncomfortable truth here: We cannot control how others compare us.

What we can control is what we do with the comparison once it enters our mind.

And that brings us to the more interesting and often more painful - form of comparison:

The comparison we make with ourselves.

We compare ourselves with people who appear more successful, accomplished, attractive, influential or fulfilled. The list is endless.

That reminds me to quote Leon Festinger’s Social Comparison Theory that human beings have a fundamental tendency to evaluate themselves by comparing their abilities and opinions with those of others.

Decades of research, since then has explored what happens when that comparison is upward - when we look at someone who appears to be ahead of us.

Sometimes it inspires us. Motivates us.
And sometimes, it quietly wounds us.

But I think there is another distinction worth making.  Not every comparison hurts equally.

And that is where the psychology becomes fascinating.

Why does one person's success bother us - while another's doesn't?

Think about it.

You see someone achieve something extraordinary—something so far beyond what you believe you could do that you simply admire it.

“That's incredible.”

You don't feel diminished.  Why?

Because somewhere within you, you've already placed that achievement outside your current possibility.

Now see someone doing something you genuinely believe you could do too.

They built the career you wanted. Developed the body you keep postponing.
Earned the qualification you've talked about for years. Started the business you once imagined.
Wrote the book. Travelled alone. Took the risk. Changed careers. Created something.

And suddenly, their success feels different.

It doesn't just show you what they have achieved. It confronts you with what you haven't.

That is when comparison becomes uncomfortable.

Because sometimes, we aren't threatened by how far someone else has gone.

We're disturbed by the possibility that we could have gone there too.

The person ahead of us becomes a mirror.

Not a mirror of their life - but of our unfinished one.

Their success silently asks: “If they could move forward, why haven't you?”

And that question can be far more uncomfortable than their achievement.

Because somewhere within, we may already know:

I could have done this. I could have been there. I had the ability.  I simply did not act on it.

And that creates the real conflict - not between us and them, but between what we believe we can become and what we are actually doing about it.

Perhaps, then, comparison is not always the enemy.

Unexamined comparison is.

Critical question is not: “Why are they ahead of me?”

It is: “Why does their being ahead of me affect me so deeply?”

And perhaps an even more important one is “Is this comparison revealing something I genuinely want or something I merely think I should want?”

Because not every mountain visible from our window is ours to climb.

We are not apples. We are not oranges.

We are people with different starting points, circumstances, choices, opportunities, responsibilities and timelines.

An apple does not become inferior because it is not an orange.

And an orange does not need to become an apple to establish its worth.

The mistake begins when we create a scoreboard where there was never supposed to be one.

But there is one comparison worth making.

Not: “Am I better than them?”

But - “Am I becoming better than the person I was?”

That comparison is harder.

Because there is nowhere to hide.

There is no external circumstance to blame.
No stranger to compete with. No colleague to resent. No social-media profile to scrutinize.

Only us and the uncomfortable distance between our potential and our effort.

And perhaps that is the most important insight about comparison: The person who unsettles us most may not be the person standing ahead of us.

It may be the person we know we could have become - if only we recognize and ready to start

And maybe, instead of resenting the mirror, we should finally listen to what it is trying to tell us.