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In New York, I met a Thai woman who sought out a Ganesha temple to connect with her Bangkok home.
“I owe growing up in this city to be the person that I am today.” For Aditya Bhattacharjee, Assistant Professor and ethnographer of South and Southeast Asian religions at Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), Bangkok is more than just a city; it is a vibrant tapestry of influences. He describes it as an “enchanted primate city”— a metropolis disproportionately larger than any other in its nation — a place where all walks of life converge, demanding constant code-switching to navigate its social landscape.
From these bustling streets, his path took an unexpected turn. While initially pursuing a pre-med track in McGill University in Canada, Aditya recounts a pivotal moment: leaving a chemistry lab and encountering a flyer for a lecture on religious poetry of Mirabai.
As he describes, “That talk really moved me. It dawned on me that not only can you study the history and the arts, but you can also educate others about them in meaningful ways. So, I thought, let’s not study biology anymore, let’s study history.”
Much like the legend of Ganesha who, in a fervour, broke his own tusk to scribe the Mahabharata, Aditya’s passion for religious history ignites his language and mindset. While completing his PhD at the University of Pennsylvania under the supervision of Dr. Justin McDaniel, he spent years exploring the intersection of Hindu and Buddhist traditions in contemporary Thai society. In an illuminating conversation with Masala, Aditya reveals himself as a man driven to document the divine, the spiritual, and the enduring power of faith.
What is ethnography?
Ethnos means nation – a geographical place with a map and borders, containing a group of people who share a passport or ethnicity – or circumstances of birth. The concept of ethnos refers to people and the relationships that they have towards or against larger markers of human identity - language, culture, politics, or religion. Graphia means to write or to document. An ethnographer documents human experiences and human life. I look at stories of the sacred in places like Bangkok, document them, and try to figure out what makes this story important. What can someone far away, who doesn’t understand the language or culture, gain from it?
What does a typical day look like for you as an ethnographer?
No two days are ever the same. When I’m not teaching, I tend to wake up late, have a quick breakfast, and then plan my day. Bangkok is a truly enchanting city, and I’m hungry to document the many encounters people have with the sacred. I spend a lot of time searching online, looking for new sites of religious expression. Has a new temple opened? Is there a newly erected spirit house? Perhaps a Ganesha statue has appeared in a new neighbourhood. I’m always asking: Where is it? Why is it there?
What motivated the people who created it? When I’m not out exploring Bangkok, I’m at home, usually at my computer or with a book, reflecting on what I’ve seen and experienced. Sometimes I simply ponder what stories to pursue next, or how to distil the knowledge I’ve gathered into something meaningful and shareable.
Your grandmother’s bedtime stories about Ganesha sound magical. Could you share a moment or anecdote about those stories that still sticks with you today?
If my grandparents weren’t around, I don’t think I’d have been interested in religion. My Amma (maternal grandmother) grandmother lived with my family, and I used to fall asleep next to her. Before going to bed, she would tell me stories of gods and goddesses. Having a grandmother tell me stories about heroes from your culture was really empowering. The stories of the Mahabharata were really good for me.
I remember Ganesha, though, particularly. My grandmother was very devoted to Murugan, who is Ganesha’s brother. But she’d always tell me, even though she liked Murugan, “Ganesha is even stronger than Karthikeya. So, you should like Ganesha.” That’s what she used to tell me.
Could you briefly describe Ganesha’s origins and early history within the broader Hindu tradition?
Ganesha is a fascinating god. His history is relatively recent, roughly second century BCE to second century AD. That’s when Ganesha shows up in the archaeological record of South Asia. There probably was some kind of elephant-headed deity before, but in terms of seeing that deity as a physical presence, this is the timeframe. Why do they show up? Who worships them? We’re not completely sure. He shows up out of nowhere. But the moment he shows up, he starts showing up everywhere. The oldest Ganesha shrine we know is in Central India. Within a hundred years, Ganesha shrines are popping up all over South Asia, and in China and Thailand.
Where is the oldest archaeological evidence of Ganesha worship in Thailand?
Right now, we think the oldest statue in Thailand is in Prachinburi. In the area around it, there’s the archaeological site Si Mahosot. During the reigns of Rama V and VI, there was a push for archaeology comparable to Europe. Rama V sponsored digs, and at Si Mahosot, a dig produced a statue art historians identified as Ganesha, likely from 600-780 AD. It’s now in the National Museum. After the Ganesha fever of the 2000s, the museum used this statue to attract visitors.
What is the significance of the Ganesha shrine near centralwOrld?
Bangkok is a relatively modern city, officially founded in 1782. What’s now Pathum Wan and Siam were once swamp and forest, dotted with a few royal palaces. One palace belonged to the Prince of Phetchabun. When he passed away, the land went into a trust. Later, this former palace land became incredibly valuable.
Local lore speaks of a prince who, deeply concerned about his illegitimate children and his property, cursed the land, warning that anyone who built there or disturbed his palace’s spirit house would suffer. The construction of the nearby Erawan Shrine is linked to these beliefs.
It’s said that when centralwOrld was being built on the former palace grounds, the spirit house was disturbed. Later, the Trimurti shrine was erected, and after events like the fire in 2009, Ganesha was added. This wasn’t a coincidence but an attempt to mitigate the prince’s curse. These narratives are vital to Bangkok’s cultural fabric, reflecting how people interpret their world, weaving history with beliefs.
In your research, how do you see religious narratives evolve across generations, especially in diasporic communities?
Narratives are how religion is preserved. If my grandparents weren’t around, I don’t think I’d have been interested in religion. Narrative is the most powerful way of making sense of the world. In diaspora, narratives become even more crucial as a survival strategy, helping people maintain identity and connection to heritage, making them feel “normal” rather than “other.”
However, with the push towards certain professions in diaspora communities, people are losing their abilities to tell stories and preserve heritage in deeper ways. We need more storytellers and deeper engagement with humanities.
The diaspora of Ganesha has reached a point where it’s not just Indian people involved. In Thailand, Thai people run Ganesha-related things. In Thailand, Ganesha gives Hindus a way to connect with Thais because Thai people also love Ganesha.
Even in diaspora contexts like New York, I met a Thai woman who, even in a foreign country, sought out a Ganesha temple to connect with her Bangkok home. You can find religious stories outside your own community, among Thai or Chinese people, and as a diasporic person, find stories that make sense to you in your specific time and place. Ganesha provides perfect material for creating a Hindu story that’s also Thai.