A statue of Ganesh, the elephant God, sits on Diya’s desk.
It has a happy, relaxed demeanour.
As we all would, I suppose,
if we had six arms and a trunk.
Diya says having Ganesh there reassures her.
I look at it enviously.
I could do with something like that, I think.
Some sort of office idol.
In the following days
I test out various options,
pictures of Zorro, Genghis Khan,
Pikachu and Eric Cantona.
None prove satisfactory.
Diya senses my disappointment.
“Would you like me to lend you my Ganesh?” she asks.
“It’s a kind offer,” I say.
“But it probably won’t help.
It appears that some of us
just aren’t cut out for worship.”