Every year, Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations remind us of Bappa, who bestows us with his bounty, removes obstacles and brings wisdom. But beyond the rituals and humdrum of celebrations lies a subtle ecological message in Ganesha’s iconography, one that has profound meaning  in today’s age of biodiversity loss and disruption.

According to the Matsya Purana and Ganesha Purana, Ganesha once subdued a demon, who, scared of the defeat, transformed into a tiny mouse, Mushika. Instead of destroying him, Ganesha accepted the mouse as his vahana, or vehicle. This is how the largest-bodied and elephant-headed deity came to ride the smallest of creatures. This symbolism has survived through centuries of storytelling and art.

The mighty Ganesha perched on a scurrying rodent, seems like a quirky contrast at first. But ecologically, its a strong reminder of the interconnectedness of extremes in nature. Just as elephants shape landscapes by dispersing seeds and maintaining forest canopies, mice and other rodents play a key role in soil turnover, seed scattering, and serve as prey for owls, snakes, and foxes. Remove the mouse, and a ripple spreads through the food chain and biodiversity realm. 

What modern ecology teaches us, has long been there in our simple illustrations and stories. No matter how small a species is, its impact in biodiversity is immeasurable. Yet, in the Anthropocene, human activity tends to celebrate megafauna such as the tiger, the elephant, the rhino, while ignoring or exterminating the “smaller” species, some which we label as pests. But the ecological web does not allow such selective reverence. A healthy forest is not just elephant tracks and banyan trees; it is also the silent work of rodents, insects, fungi, and microbes.

Ganesha’s choice of the mouse as his companion is thus a metaphor for humility in coexistence. It tells us that wisdom lies not in domination but in living alongside the smallest beings. In an age where most human activities threaten delicate ecological balances, this reminds us that safeguarding biodiversity requires attention at every scale.

As we celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi with clay idols and chants of “Ganpati Bappa Morya,” perhaps it is also time to celebrate the ecological wisdom hidden in his iconography. The remover of obstacles is gently telling us: protect the small, respect the overlooked, because without them, the great balance of nature cannot survive.

When I stepped into the world of research, I didn’t just pick a topic,  but signed up for an expedition into uncharted terrain. While everyone else seemed to be walking well-paved roads lined with popular research themes and neatly signposted career paths, I wandered off into the thickets of industrial biotechnology, waving at people who gave me puzzled looks like, “You sure about that?”

I chose to work on biofuels and waste valorization, which sounds much less like a scientific dream and more like what happens when you forget taking out the garbage. But there was something about turning waste into something useful that made sense to me. It felt right. Sustainable. Poetic, also on some days. 

But what I didn’t expect was how quiet it would be. No bustling community. Just me, some bacteria (often uncooperative, I must add), and an endless stream of “Why is this not working?” moments. However, it wasn’t lonely in a sad way, but more like hiking solo in the mountains: peaceful, confusing, beautiful, and sometimes mildly terrifying.

There were days I wished someone else was also working on the same weird little bug or staring at waste with the same obsession. But most days, I just embraced it. I made peace with being the odd one out. I danced alone at the party, and eventually, I started liking the music.

My PhD became less about fitting in and more about carving out space for ideas that don’t trend on Twitter, for processes that smell weird but save the planet, and for a voice that doesn’t need an echo to keep going.

So no, I didn’t find many people on this road. But I found grit. I found quiet joy. I found that the road less taken may not have company, but it can still lead to someplace extraordinary.

And the view from here? Well for that I must quote Robert Frost : I shall be telling this with a sigh. Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.