Onam, the festival of unity

Onam lands on September 8th this year, and every Malayali heart wherever it is, will skip a beat that day. It’s a nostalgic season which takes us back to our childhoods, to the country lanes, swings hung on the branches of mango trees, green rice fields, blue skies and clear streams hugging coconut palm groves. Here’s the story behind it, a story close to our hearts.

Once upon a time  Keralam was ruled by the perfect Asura/demon King Mahabali /the Great Bali. During his reign all were equal. No cheating, lying, or thieving or plundering. No wars, diseases or famine. Happy, content, the people loved their King. The gods/devas got jealous, and worried that they maybe forgotten, rushed over to their chief, Maha Vishnu. A plan was devised to exploit the king’s famed generosity. Vishnu took the form of a dwarf Brahmin/Vamana, went to Bali, and asked for three feet of land, which Mahabali granted. The Vamana grew huge, as he measured all of earth with one step, and the heavens with the other. He looked at the king for the third, by then the King knew who this person was. The King bowed his head before the god, and Vishnu placed his third step on the King’s head. Before he was sent to the netherworld, Mahabali asked for one thing - could he come visit his people once a  year? Vishnu agreed. 

So every year on Onam day, Mahabali or Maveli returns. No matter how hard their lives are, people present  happy faces to their king. Onam is our harvest festival.The heavy rains gone, the harvesting will be ongoing, the roadsides green, heavy with wild flowers. Dragonflies assume their drone duties. Decked in  traditional outfits, we prepare our world for Mahabali. Depicted as a jovial, big bellied, big mustached man, in a yellow dhothi and wooden slippers, a golden crown on his head, a palm leaf umbrella in his hand, the return of the King, is the magical bittersweet foundation of the season. Following the Malayalam calendar, the festivities begin on Atham day, and on the tenth day, the grand finale of Thiruvonam occurs. Pookkalams, designs with fresh flowers appear in yards, along with clay Thrikkakarappans/Father Onams representing Vishnu. As the end of quarterly exams coincides with Onam vacation, children participate joyously.

Laughter, games, dances, and sadhya, the elaborate vegetarian lunch served on banana leaves. The star of the sadhya is our own brown streaked plump matta rice, accompanied by a number of  dishes, most embellished with coconut in various forms- ground, grated, dried, fried, milked, and spiced. A place is set for the King. We begin dipping daintily into parippu and neyyu/ daal and ghee, followed by a frenzied nosedive into Sambar, Aviyal, oalan, erissery, koottucurry, to a steady glide over kaalan, mezhukkupuratti, thoaran, injanpuli, varavukal, wading in pachadi, kichadi, pappadam, ripe plantain, coming up for air with banana chips, in several avatars, pickles/achar, relishes, a  gentle splashing in spiced buttermilk, and  rasam, and end in an exhilarating plunge into the  sweet oblivion of payasams. 

Apart from the sadhya, each region, each temple, and each Hindu family  has its own traditional rituals. Aranmula temple traditions come to mind, for instance . Pulikkali/tiger dance, Kummattikali, Onatheyyam are some of the various folk arts performed during Onam. Vallamkali, Kerala’s snake boat races, accompanied by its rhythmic vanchipattu/boat songs is a staple.

The paradox that is the story of Onam, where the good demon is  punished by  the good gods, is intriguing. And while Malayalis celebrate the return of our King, other Indians celebrate Vamanjayanthi, victory of Vamana/ Vishnu, the god over the demon. Kerala Hindus worship  Vishnu and Vamana, but they also celebrate Bali. We all do. And we don’t just give the devil his due, grudgingly, we give it wholeheartedly, gleefully, proudly.  Food for thought.

Significantly, now I am aware that things aren’t idyllic at all behind the scenes. Not sure if there was a real King named Mahabali, if the myth was real. I hear there is an Emperor mentioned in the Bhagavad Gita, on the banks of the Narmada named Bali. That his flaw was his great pride in his goodness, for which he was punished by the gods. Then I hear that Thrikkakara in Kerala was where his palace was, and that is where Vamana appeared. And then there is the other side. The Onam story, as with many romanticized holiday origin stories, has some legitimately sinister, very real hurtful, ugly truths behind it, the consequences of which are still experienced by many. History/her stories of domination and plundering of the indigenous people of a land, by newcomers. Whatever the story is behind the myth, I prefer the part of the story where we, as one, wait for our great and good King, showing our best sides to him. 

And While acknowledging all that pain and anger of the displaced and the dispossessed , and knowing that we have a long way to go to reach that perfect world, with love and respect, during Onam, we focus on our collective intermingled cultural and genetic ancestry. A culture that evolved out of a coexistence spanning over thousands of years. Bringing people together, Onam is a symbol of hope- for a better, equal world for all.

Happy Onam, everyone!

 Patterns

I see a pattern in some of my recent dealings. Well, over time I have seen many different patterns in my life, patterns that sometimes I shouldn’t allow to perpetuate, but does anyway. Not going to analyze what is behind that attitude right now. In any case, one instance was when I went to this Hindu temple. Even though I am not a believer in gods and organized religion, at that point in time, I respected spirituality, that supposed positive energy centering around a certain spot where people sent up their prayers and good vibes, hopefully, over centuries . And an incidental pattern here - my eagerness, sometimes, to please, to belong, to feel good with my friends. And it was a secret! At my age, I shouldn’t have been so thrilled to be keeping such a secret, any secret, but I was. I was a good girl in my youth, and you can deduce the rest.

Anyway, the visit with one of my friends went well. I was enamored of the interiors and surroundings of the little temple, the rituals and the traditions. I conveniently forgot that I was not allowed in there, because I was not a Hindu. It was a collusion between me and my friend who is a Hindu. (Which pact later was broken, which was a betrayal to me, by the way, and I felt a rift between me and the friend. Not a big deal that the “ secret” was out, but still, it disturbed me some. I shouldn’t have been, I guess. )The  next day I visited a Church too where miracles were supposed to happen. For an atheist, this was way out of character, as you may have noticed..  Coincidentally, a “miracle” happened the next day. Well, kind of. So now I had to pay the gods. This time, I went alone to the temple. This is when the pattern occurs. I knew I was going to feel bad, but still I went ahead and did it. I went to pay the gods to the cash counter at the temple, and told the priest there that I was not a Hindu, and if I could enter the temple. He said, no, not that. I said ok, I would like to pay the nercha for a wish granted, and wondered maybe he wouldn’t take a pariah’s money, as touching and using that may entail a cleansing of the temple. Not a problem there! He gladly accepted the money. I came away from that spiritual place feeling hurt, sad, angry, and dirty. As if I had tainted myself and him with the whole experience. What did I expect? Even though I had known this was what would happen, I went ahead and did it like that. No one to blame but myself.

Recently I sent an article to my local newspaper. Even though there were doubts as to their accepting it,  because it is specifically about my culture, which was not easy for them to relate to, or they knew their readers would not,  and it stated some ugly truths, I went ahead and did it. I reasoned that it is my voice, and I am one of the voices that exist around here. And when they did not publish it, I was disappointed, even though both their not accepting it, and my being disappointed at that was expected.  

Somewhat similar is my dealings with a rude neighbor. It was a sharp jolt to my system when I first encountered that baseless hatred towards me. Inviting someone to your house and then treating you like you don’t exist - even though I have been subject to versions of it before, never had I felt such intense, visceral aversion. After this happened twice, apparently, I was still not convinced! How else could I explain my accepting her invitation again? I am not a masochist, I think, but I do give people the benefit of the doubt thanks to my upbringing. It is always my fault, according to my people. So again I go, and experience that utter degradation where she and this time, her husband too, speak over my head while standing near me, complement someone’s potluck item profusely, without touching it. And ignore me and if at all her eyes landed on me, turn away suddenly like she was shot. So it was mind boggling to see them both turn away from me and stuff their faces with the dish I had brought! What is this, kindergarten? The hatred and rudeness towards me did not stop them from eating that, sort of like the priest in that temple! So what do I do? I make it a point to get her attention and say my proper goodbyes to her as a guest at her place, deciding never to be in that space ever again.

One reason for this pattern that I can discern is that it gives me a sort of closure. Making  sure that I did my part. Another variation of this maybe picking a fight with someone or something that you would not want to have anything to do with ever again. Burning bridges, however, is not ideal. That I have learned over the years. But, I do need  a kind of closure, and this pattern facilitates that, for good or bad. But then we never know, things change, of course.

The Horse Whisperer (1995&1998)

 I read the book last week, and saw the movie afterwards. After all these years! Just didn’t get around to to it till now. Don’t need me to tell you that they have  been best sellers, both the book and the movie. And I am a little hesitant to air my opinions regarding them. I am going to, anyway. First, I will talk about my thoughts on reading the book. Briefly, I liked the parts about the horse(s), about the young Grace and her mother, Grace and her father, Tom Booker’s character, his family, his land. Not so much the oh so sublime divine lust between Annie and Tom. Just wasn’t touched by it as I was say, by the love in The Notebook, or the one in Bridges of Madison County. And while Tom’s mind boggling sacrifice  made me thoughtful,  ( why did he do it? To prove that it was not mere lust? To make Grace’s world a better place? Then what about his son? Or just because he  was fed up with life, with the whole love thing?) it still breezed past me without sowing any seed of pain or awe or regret in my mind. Could be that I am older and jaded,

Now, for the movie. I liked all the actors, especially Redford and a young Scarlett Johansson. They are good together. Kristin Scott Thomas is nice too, even though she looked different from Annie in the book. But I just did not get the chemistry between Tom and Annie. Beautiful land, beautiful horses. The ending is different from the book, which I did not mind. Usually I  get so mad when they change a book for a movie. But when I heard little Grace talk about how her parents met, I couldn’t help but wonder why they had to change their place of meeting! In the book we are told they met in Africa, where the newcomer Annie was directed to the “tubab’s”/ white man house. In the movie, we are told they meet in India, and she was directed to the “ tubab’s” house! Why? We don’t say tubab!  Is India and Africa the same to those who made the movie? And why spew misinformation for no apparent gain? Mind boggling. My natural reaction is to think it’s all phony, the “ love”, the sacrifice. I know movies are constructs  , but you know what I mean. That willing suspension of disbelief that we happily offer, I can’t seem to do that here totally.Whereas I got lost with tears in my eyes in the movie Bridges of Madison County and The Notebook.  Here the horse did make me feel that a little, but more in the book than in the movie. But in the book too,the  affair overshadowed the horse story. The rather phony affair. In the movie everything seemed to be  washed out, faded.