Awaara - Part 2 or changed my mind

 So, I ended my last essay wondering what I was doing here -- "here" could mean home, country, planet ... . I still am not sure why I am here, but I am glad I am here. Now why am I sure about that? 

I always admired Abraham Lincoln. Who could not? (And he is an Aquarian like me.) Today we visited the Lincoln Museum in Springfield. A chance to get a glimpse of his life and times. I went in expecting to see some old world items and photos and writings. I did not expect to feel anything intense. Was I wrong! It was an emotional experience to go through those rooms. This was some man! The legend. The hero. The martyr. The saint. I felt as if I were walking on hallowed grounds. I was humbled at the great suffering that he went through. The extensive, deeply hurtful, shameful public ridicule, the criticism, the mockery that he and his family was subject to. I had no idea.

The great ambition of this boy who was not born with a silver spoon, who went on to get a good education, became the President of the United States, twice, put his family name among the ones in the top societal roster, single handedly. The strength of character, of purpose, of vision. And the dreams he had, the sublime goals he met, despite people pulling him in opposite directions, despite his own melancholy, the sweeping changes he could bring about, I was moved, to say the least.  My thinking about his wife underwent a transformation too. Not the unstable old lady that I have heard about at all. An educated, intelligent woman who knew her own mind, but who suffered along with her husband.

I have never felt anything like this before, I am sure. Even in the Holy Land, I was not as emotional as I had thought I would be. This person brought about some tangible changes for a better world. He was crucified by words and actions, and in the end, assassinated. He did not die to wash away my original sin, but for the very real, dangerous sins of hatred and bigotry. No religion has sprouted up in his name, nor has that religion plundered the world in its name. He is not God. He was the 16th President of the United States of America. 

And I am glad I live here, in the Land of Lincoln. I am fortunate. 

 

Awaara

"Awaara hoon!" I used to like that song. "My shoes are from Japan, my trousers are from England, and my red hat is from Russia." Raj Kapoor, as the lovable vagrant singing his heart out as he roams around, the citizen of the world.

These days, as I walk my dog, I feel the same. I even look like him, at least my outfit does. I don't look lovable, though. And I am no citizen of the world. I live in America. As I get older, I am more and more aware of my "homelessness". I do not belong anywhere. Like many an expatriate, I feel alienated and alone no matter where I am. I know you will say that alienation is felt by many people, even in their own homelands, even in their own homes.True. And that there are people who are really homeless. True, again. Just that this is one other offshoot of this thing called "life', and mind.

I love watching the geese and their young ones. I love to watch them cross busy streets. The leader up front, stepping gracefully, pompously even, the rest following, with another adult keeping guard, at the very end, checking to see if all the youngsters are gathered all right. I know they are a nuisance to many, as they waste the time of busy people who are on the go, holding up the traffic. And especially when they dirty up the sidewalks and yards. That does not make me stop feeling sorry for them. When we installed ponds and lakes in our neighborhoods maybe we didn't think that these exotic guests would arrive. Or maybe we thought they would leave. But they either liked it here or they just did not have the energy to leave, or they just did not have any place to go to anymore, or cannot go at all. Not that those who are not visitors, but existed (anywhere) way before, fared any better.

I love watching the geese and their young ones. I love to watch them cross busy streets. The leader up front, stepping gracefully, pompously even, the rest following, with another adult keeping guard, at the very end, checking to see if all the youngsters are gathered all right. I know they are a nuisance to many, as they waste the time of busy people who are on the go, holding up the traffic. And especially when they dirty up the sidewalks and yards. That does not make me stop feeling sorry for them. When we installed ponds and lakes in our neighborhoods maybe we didn't think that these exotic guests would arrive. Or maybe we thought they would leave. But they either liked it here or they just did not have the energy to leave, or they just did not have any place to go to anymore, or cannot go at all. Not that those who are not visitors, but existed (anywhere) way before, fared any better.

I find myself asking a goose who comes close to my parked car, hoping for a treat-- why are you even here, you silly goose? No one wants you here anymore, they never did.  Why don't you go back to where you came from? They have already started killing you, your babies, destroying your eggs before they hatched. Run! Run as far away as you can! But-- you can fly! did you forget that? Fly! Fly away! Far away! Where no one will touch you. Get away! for yourself! For your babies! For the survival of your species.

I am in my well- worn linen pants that shrunk in the wash, so they reach just above the ankle, my faded oversize jacket, and my walking shoes and khaki hat.  As I walk my dog, thinking I look like a clown, I amend myself, no, not just a clown, but an "awaara"--vagrant.  And, what AM I doing here? 

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

Can someone get me an Antikythera mechanism? The ancient astronomical prediction machine is the Dial of Destiny in the new Indiana Jones movie. In the movie, it has time travel power. Which is always attractive to this multiverse hopeful. And the moment when Indy meets Archimedes! Wow! Tear inducing emotional moment. And they had just been to his tomb and retrieved the other half of the mechanism from the remains. Now to see the man in person. I am not sure if age has anything to do with my reaction. Time. The passing of time. The ability to stop its movement, even for a few minutes, the ability to travel through different time periods, places, worlds, past, present, future. The possibilities. And you never die!

I love it when they show time travel in movies. And in this one, when they show the late sixties, that is the moon landing time, in New York, those scenes could really make me feel I was a part of it. That I was in it! Amazing power of this thing called movies!

On the way out of the movie theater, I was thinking which time period would I like to visit, or live in for a little time or longer? The romanticized version of the Middle Ages? At Taxila or the later Nalanda? During the Indus Valley civilization? On the Silk road? Which figure in history would I like to meet? The Buddha? Bronte sisters? Dracula? Just random names. But now I know whoever it is, those people may not choose to meet me! Or if they did, maybe I will not think it as special as I may have imagined! I came to the conclusion that I would want to live it all! Travel through all times, all places, be all people, be each person! Impossible? Shouldn’t be. What if I am already doing it? How can you or I tell if I am not?

Before going to the movie, I had read a few reviews about it. One reviewer was miffed about Indy getting old and having to be rescued by a girl, even as he acknowledged the passing of the torch to the young. That latter part, yes, but did not feel that Indy was being weak, or that he was “rescued” by a girl. I thought he still held his own. And it is more of an equal opportunity thing. Maybe some do not like that. Also, Indy is more philosophical, which is usually what happens as we get older. We learn from our experiences, from the world around us. And I totally understand the character wanting to stay in that other world. What else to do if we don’t have anything to come back to?

And you will be philosophical if you see the world through the lens of history. Nothing has changed much, on many levels. Wars, for instance. The movie begins with World War II. It ends in the Battle of Syracuse between Greeks and Romans in 213 BC. Now that doesn’t mean you cannot try and make the world a better place for everyone or that you shouldn’t live a good life, but it is as it is. There are moon landings and parades and loving and laughing in between, as then, as now. “Life” is something else, all right!

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!