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Raman Mama

Raman Mama was a very simple soul, almost like a child, though he was above forty, with a big frame, loud voice and a lavish mustache almost covering his thick lips. He was my neighbor in ‘Panchavadi’ our bachelor ‘palace’ in a village, during my early carrier days in Hyderabad.
He preferred to mould his own idol from fresh clay, instead of buying from outside, for the week – long Vinayakachathuthy festival. Despite his best efforts, the molding failed and he started weeping, like a child, when his sister in law , an young girl living next door made fun of him. Unbelievably such an innocent soul, he was.
“I won’t live for the next Vinayaka chaturthy” he moaned and vowed,
“I won’t, I won’t”  
He is fortunately still alive after some fifty years! On the Vinayaka chaturthy pooja, that huge man, weeping inconsolably, comes to my mind and not the big God of my worship, seated silently on the stand before me.
He wept as he failed in his attempt to create an idol of God.
Many weep that God has created them !

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