Holy Land Notes

1. Herod the Great or Herod I is the Herod in the Bible. There were other Herods, his sons. 

2. Herod was not Jewish. He was from Edom, and his mother was a Nabatean, that is an Arab of the famous Petra area in Jordan.

3. Herod had a huge security detail that included Celtic and Germanic soldiers. It was a small world. Long before the Crusaders! Modern globalization is nothing.

4. Herod the great lived at the same time as Cleopatra and Mark Antony. They met.

5. St George is not English! He was a Roman soldier of Greek ancestry.

6. There were mummies in Israel too, because of the Egyptian influence. Egypt ruled over the land at one point.

7. Many of the people I met call cedars, pine, and they call cypress, oak. I heard this both in Israel and Jordan.

8. Limestone is called Jerusalem rock. All those mountains! And walls and buildings made of limestone!

9. Mountains and valleys, and valleys and mountains. Up and down and around them. Amazing landscape. The olive groves, pomegranate tree groves, vineyards. The blue skies and lush gardens.

Now they have banana and mango plantations. Thriving too.

10. Bedouins, the nomads, in Jordan have houses and cars, and of course, tents.

11. The interesting customs and traditions of the orthodox Jews and Muslims and Christians that are so alike, in spite of our preconceived notions about just the differences.

12. The keys to the place where Jesus is buried is held by a Muslim family. They open it every morning, and close it every night, apparently. This is because of the power struggles among the different Churches. Obviously everyone wants the key!

13. The place where Jesus ascended to the Heavens is a mosque owned by a Muslim who lets everyone in to visit.

14. The promised land is Jericho that Moses saw from the top of Mt Nebo. And Jericho is in Palestine.

15. The Dead sea scrolls in the Qumran caves were stored in clay urn. 

16. The innumerable excavations, the well preserved layers of history - ancient, Byzantine, Roman.
The cities and markets unearthed. The highly ascetic, disciplined (and misogynistic) lives of the scribes at the Qumran site.

17. Noah’s ark and the flood happened in Turkey. Had forgotten that point.

18. St Peter’s fish is Tilapia.

19. The significance of the undying olive trees- the tree of life. 

20. The beauty of the Sea of Galilee, which is really a lake cradled among mountains.

21. Pomegranate is the royal fruit because of the crown on it. I saw ancient pomegranates unearthed from the long time ago in Egypt or Cyprus in the 13th/ 14th century BC in the Israeli Museum.

22. Jerusalem Cross, with its 4 little extra crosses

23. The myna birds, originally from India, are considered to be invasive in Israel

24. The utter isolation and barrenness of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, near Jericho. Still, the Bedouins breath life into it.Hump backed mountains all around me. And the caves.

25. If you wondered how Queen Helena (later St Helena) knew where these significant spots were, where Jesus walked, did his miracles, preached, and died and rose again, the answer is simple. When Jesus died, and his followers started to multiply, the Romans went and built their temples in all those spots. Made it easy for Helena, I was told.

And last, but not the least, The incredible feeling of sadness and resignation. 
I had thought I would feel sad/emotional ( because even though I am not religious, I am suggestible, even gullible) when I saw the places where Jesus the man who preached indiscriminate love, walked. I did feel a little sad, at the Dominus Flevit, where Jesus wept looking at Jerusalem.

And at the fourth station in the Via Dolorosa, when Mary saw her son,beaten, bloodied and hurt and carrying this huge cross, her heart broke.Even though it was all overshadowed by the bustling market streets of the bazaar. All the life around me. it kept coming back to me in quiet moments.

Just like the amazing rock formations in southern Jordan. Some like temple gopurams carved into rocks. Others resembling elephants and camels and fish and such, and the colors on them!

Wadi Musa - Moses’ Valley- where Petra is. The mountains that built walls to block the skies.

The incredible feeling of sadness and resignation came from the extraordinary number of European churches in the most significant spots for Christians. Including the Holy Sepulcher church, (built by Queen Helena)where the tomb of Jesus is. The divisions. Among Christians, and between religions. I did feel like a new convert, Judaism being the old religion. A convert in India, where Hinduism is the old religion. A convert in Israel, where Judaism is the old religion. Yes, I am repeating myself. The paradox. And Christianity is over 2000 years old. Can’t really call it new! And my ancestors are supposed to have been Christians since that time. So it doesn’t make sense, really. But I felt the rift, the alienation, the futility- but then that’s me! 

Well, it may have been because I got a glimpse of what many Jews thought or not thought at all about Jesus and Christians. I had never given it much thought before. It was a jolt. How do they see something that doesn’t exist for them? 

However, I loved the landscapes, and the histories enveloping them, underneath them. I felt I was an organic part of it, in spite of the superficial alienation of which I spoke of earlier.

And Petra! The stories those rocks and the siqs could tell! Thousands of years worth. The camel caravans laid with goods from all corners of the then known world! The traders, the travellers, the monks. The ideas that were exchanged. The eyes that were opened to new wonders and thoughts. The crimes that must have been committed. Solved. Hidden.For ages.
The wailings. The laughter. 
The hopes.
The life. 
The death.

Fun fact: Our Lord’s prayer is displayed in many languages in the church where Jesus was supposed to have taught it to his disciples. Malayalam is there. And Sanskrit. But Sanskrit is not Sanskrit. It is Manglish! Hehe

I was a little miffed at the power of the different churches displayed in the holy spots. The Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, represented by the Italian, French and Spanish contingents, the Coptic, the Ethiopian. Yes we are Roman Catholics.But we are not there! And we are one of the oldest. Why did we run after the Europeans? Isn’t it time we had our own Church?

The one and only, the Marvelous Sylvester Stallone

 Just watched The Expendables - all 3 of them - again. And again was reminded why some actors are superstars. Like Tom Cruise. Clint Eastwood.  Dolph Lundgren. Jean Claude van Damme. Jackie Chan. Harrison Ford. Denzel Washington.Chuck Norris. Jason Statham. Liam Neeson. Scott Adkins., well his movies are direct to video,  ut that doesn’t matter, I enjoy his movies immensely. Why when I see their movies, I feel like I am seeing a movie. And why after seeing one of their movies, I come away feeling satisfied, satiated. But only Stallone can bring a bunch of those superstars together to create sweet mayhem, to dole out justice and to live to enjoy their  victory. Sweet! Fair distribution of roles, dialogues and screen time.

For the next one, he should get Jackie Chan, Clint Eastwood, and Shah Rukh Khan, Gina Carano, Michelle Yeoh, Aamir Khan, Pierce Brosnan, Lucy Liu … will be back with more

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.

Who do I think I am? Some kind of writer?!!

 What’s on your mind, Asha? Facebook asks.

Answer: do you have the time to listen?(cliche!). Because it is a long list.

of people, of matters past, present and the future. Short term goals, long term goals (?)The beginning, the middle and the end... and so on. But then that is part of my existential angst. Like everyone.

The matter of perspectives is on my mind. For instance, when I look at something as “glamorous” or “romantic”, or blessed, I am not aware of, or do not want to be aware of the amount of hard labor, the sweat and the blood , the loneliness and the feelings of alienation behind all that. But then what is the use of my understanding? I mean, my understanding or not understanding, their understanding or not understanding doesn’t mean anything. Does not matter. Most of those doings, that I do or they do, are mindless stuff in any case. Anyway all that hard work obviously makes me or that person happy, hopefully. Also, I know it is naive of me or anyone for that matter to assume that everyone understands where you are coming from, all the time! As they say, you need to walk a mile in someone’s shoes... .

Related to this is another issue that comes to mind— my unfortunate habit of oversharing, of thoughts, ideas, hopes, dreams, pictures, activities... . Who fo I think I am? Some kind of writer? Right! Mostly I do it to just prove to myself that I am alive. And to share, to inform, a wish which is a double edged sword. Actually the predilection for extremes. It is either oversharing or not sharing at all. Have never learned that balance, that lesson of putting up, maintaining boundaries in the right place, at the right time. Well, maybe I have, in some areas, but not all. Now I know I am never going to master that. Apt for a jill of many trades, and master of none.

Then there is the matter of that young man and woman who have been calling me the past two days asking me to update my credit card details over the phone.They are scammers, by the way, and they are on my mind. News Gazette, I hope you are aware of the goings on regarding this matter. They said they are from the News-Gazette, which is the local newspaper for those who wonder.I am not pointing out their accents, I don’t want to assume anything. But it is sad.

All the things I have to do today are on my mind too.. Good that I have those things to do, and that I am able to. Still, can’t help but think of that old saying in Malayalam, നായ നടന്നിട്ട് കാര്യമില്ല, നായയ്ക്കിരിയ്ക്കാൻ നേരവുമില്ല. Translation, (for those who want to know, you may not want to, which is fine, which you already know, I know 😂) anyway, it just says that you are like the dog who walks back and forth thinking he is accomplishing something, and doesn’t have the time to sit and relax, when actually you know what. A metaphor for life on the whole - you are just running towards the end. One way or the other.

So those were some of the things on my mind just now. Now I have to go do my stuff. And wear the mask. Which I like!

Thank you for asking.