When I arrived in Mumbai, the city’s energy overwhelmed me: the relentless honking of rickshaws, the chatter of street vendors, and the aroma of spiced chaat wafting through the air. Amidst this sensory overload, my eyes caught something small but omnipresent: statues of Ganesha, the elephant-headed Hindu god of beginnings, placed discreetly in shops, taxis, and even street stalls.

“You see him everywhere because he’s good luck,” explained Meera, a jewelry vendor in Colaba Market. She pointed to the tiny, gilded Ganesha figurine perched above her cash register. “If we forget him, our day doesn’t start right.”

This is not uncommon in India, where the gods of the Hindu pantheon quietly permeate daily life. But what struck me was how adaptable these traditions have become. Ganesha, traditionally worshipped through elaborate pujas, has now been transformed into a modern talisman, protecting everything from family-owned tea shops to towering office buildings. According to India’s Ministry of Culture (2023), nearly 70% of urban small businesses still perform rituals dedicated to gods like Ganesha annually, blending ancient practices with modern aspirations.

The Rice Gods of Bali: A Farmer’s Quiet Prayer

Bali’s rice paddies are famous for their emerald beauty, but beneath that picturesque surface lies a spiritual practice as old as the island itself. One humid afternoon, I joined a group of farmers preparing their fields for planting. Kadek, a weathered farmer with kind eyes, handed me a small, handwoven basket filled with rice and flowers.

“It’s for Dewi Sri,” she explained, referring to the Balinese goddess of rice and fertility. “She’s the one who keeps us fed.”

Dewi Sri’s presence is subtle but deeply ingrained in Balinese life. Small shrines dot the fields, adorned with offerings of fruit, incense, and palm-leaf decorations. The farmers believe that honoring her ensures a bountiful harvest. What’s remarkable, though, is how these traditions persist despite Bali’s booming tourism industry.

A report from UNESCO (2024) highlighted the role of these rituals in maintaining Bali’s agricultural system, noting that the Subak irrigation network—over 1,000 years old—is still guided by spiritual principles linked to Dewi Sri. As Kadek put it, “Without her, the rice will forget how to grow.”

Tengu Festivals: Japan’s Trickster Spirits in a Modern World

I arrived in Mount Takao, Japan, during the annual Tengu Matsuri, a festival dedicated to Tengu, the long-nosed, mischievous spirits of Japanese folklore. The mountain’s trails were alive with drummers, dancers, and the rhythmic chanting of monks.

“Tengu are protectors, but also troublemakers,” laughed Hiroshi, a local guide I befriended. “They remind us not to take life too seriously.”

Tengu are considered “minor” deities in Shintoism, but their influence is far-reaching. From the red-faced masks in kabuki theater to their role in anime and manga, Tengu have transcended religion to become cultural icons. Even their mischief serves a purpose: they’re a reminder of humanity’s flaws and the need for humility.

Interestingly, a 2023 survey by the Japan Folklore Society found that over 60% of Japanese citizens could identify Tengu in popular culture, but less than 20% knew their religious origins. This duality—ancient yet modern, sacred yet secular—is what makes Japan’s approach to spirituality so unique.

The Gods May Not be Immortal

As I traveled, I began to notice a common thread: these ancient gods, though resilient, are increasingly under threat. Urbanization, globalization, and even climate change are disrupting the ecosystems—both physical and cultural—that sustain these traditions.

Take Bali, for example. The World Bank’s 2024 Climate Impact Report predicts a 15% decline in rice yields over the next decade due to rising temperatures. Without rice farming, what happens to Dewi Sri’s worship? Similarly, in India, the shift toward digital payments has made the physical placement of Ganesha statues in shops less common, potentially weakening this everyday ritual.

And yet, there is hope. Across Asia, young artists and activists are finding creative ways to keep these traditions alive. In Japan, sound designer Rika Nakamura recently created an audio installation blending modern beats with recordings of Tengu festival chants. In Bali, eco-tourism initiatives are incorporating rituals for Dewi Sri into their programs, ensuring that visitors not only see the island’s beauty but also understand its spiritual roots.

But Gods do Matter

As I write this, I’m sitting in a quiet café in Taipei, where the scent of jasmine tea mingles with the hum of conversation. Outside, a street vendor rings his bell, calling customers to his stall. It’s a small, almost insignificant sound, but to me, it feels like a prayer—a reminder of how the gods of the past still linger in our present.

These gods matter because they ground us. They remind us of where we come from and the stories that shaped us. They’re not just relics of history; they’re living, breathing parts of our world, even if we don’t always see them.

So, next time you’re wandering through the streets of Asia, look closer. Listen. You might just find a god waiting to tell you their story.

Eleanor Harper is a 37-year-old cultural anthropologist, writer, and sometimes traveler. She’s spent most of her career documenting folklore and spiritual traditions across Asia, blending a love for mythology with a passion for storytelling. Over the past year, Eleanor has been researching how ancient gods—some dating back millennia—still leave their mark on the vibrant chaos of modern life.