Ganesh Chaturthi Noise Pollution: Dearest PPB, Dearer Ganesh

Dearest PPB, Dearer Ganesh

(A love letter from the hostage apartment life)

For three long days now, my apartment has been under siege by Ganesh Chaturthi noise pollution. This isn’t the work of burglars, landlords, or even the ominous water shortage notice that usually lurks on the lift wall. No, this time it’s the Public Party Board (let’s call them PPB for short) and their unholy alliance with speakers the size of refrigerators.

Dearer Ganesh, Where Art Thou in the Noise?

This, apparently, is all in the name of Ganesh Chaturthi noise pollution…

This, apparently, is all in the name of Ganesh Chaturthi. But here’s my problem: if devotion looks like Ganesh Chaturthi noise pollution, then maybe the gods have already abandoned us.

Because if you showed up, Ganesh, maybe you’d confirm whether the shrill announcements of the mystery mic-lady are divine praise or just sonic warfare. She has done the impossible: invaded my home without opening the door.

The Apartment Hostage Diaries of Noise Pollution

Here’s the thing: I’m not against festivals. Faith deserves its joy. Community deserves its togetherness. But for the rest of us — the elderly, newborns, night-shift workers, and dogs who just want to pee in peace — Ganesh Chaturthi noise pollution feels less like celebration and more like captivity inside a badly tuned speaker box.

Show Up Already

So, Ganesh, please. Make an appearance. If I’m going to lose sleep, sanity, and Zoe’s bladder control, at least let me know who I’m suffering for. Until then, I’ll be here — earplugs in, patience out, and typing this hostage note from the echo chamber once known as my home.