I am hosting my own blog now.
www.activelazy.com
thank you
Ashish
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Friday, 15 October 2010
Jai Mata Di / Hail the Goddess
I made a total of 1 rupee and 20 paise that day. I was over the moon. I was still too young to realise that this festival and its oblations were meant for girls and not for boys. So, ideally, I should not have been a part of it in the first place.
Neighbour from house number 7 was always first to invite me, “come soon, we are waiting for you to start the prayers”. I was ready with my spanking new stainless steel plate and a hanky to cover the plate with, once it will be full of propitiatory offerings and some coin of money, generally 10 paise. I went to the neighbour’s house, sat on a rug. I was surrounded by at least 7 girls of my age, just under 10. They are supposed to have at least 7 girls for this. One boy is usually ideal to be part of the group.
We were all sitting on the rug, cross legged with our plates lying in front of us. The scent of sandalwood and aroma of incense sticks was spreading everywhere in the house. Lying in front of the idol and a huge photo of Durga goddess was another big shiny plate in silver. In the plate there were some silver coins, some grains of rice, a small roll of thin red thread and a red powder. Some fruits and dry fruits also adored the front of the goddess outside the silver plate in separate bamboo baskets. The photo of the goddess had a garland of sunflowers on it. She appeared to be looking at me with her dark black big eyes. She always rode a lion symbolising that god has the energy to destroy the World apart from being able to create and preserve it.
When the girl sitting next to me started talking to me, the neighbour told us to keep quiet. The prayers started soon. They first sprinkled a small amount of water and washed our feet. As the chanting of mantras was on, one member of family started tying the red thread on our wrists like a friendship band. We were now friends with the goddess. To me, now the lion was not going to say anything to us. Then they applied the red powder on our foreheads with their ring finger as if we were going to fight in a war.
Within a few minutes the prayers were over and each of us was given two puris - small round cakes of unleavened wheat flour, deep fried in ghee, some halwa – pudding of flour and sugar made in ghee, and some black chickpeas. And the best of all, a coin of 10 paise that rested in the middle of the halwa.
All the girls and I quickly came out of house no. 7 and we all went back to our houses to empty our plates for the next invite. I pocketed the money. My mom told me to go to house no. 5 now. Someone had been from there in the meantime. I quickly grabbed one puri, it melted in my mouth, and ran to house no. 5. House no. 5 always did white chickpeas rather than black and I liked them. Same procedures were performed again. End result, another 10 paise in my pocket on top of more puris, halwa and chickpeas. Some girls got some colourful hair bands or ear rings. No such thing for me, I did not want it anyway.
We came out of house no. 5. Our slippers were lying outside. We always moved around in slippers at this time because if we had shoes on we will have to remove them outside every house every time and then put them back on while going back. We agreed to go back and empty our plates in our houses. Mom said now I had to go to house no. 17. I was now richer and she was my secretary now keeping a record of my appointments.
It started early in the morning so it was important to wake up fairly early and get ready after a shower as you can not participate in any religious event if you are not clean. A shower and clean clothes is a must.
All this finished by early afternoon.
I invested my money in a new wooden bow and arrows set. This was a season of bows and arrows as it was that time of the year just before Diwali when Rama the God’s avatar would kill Ravana the evil with his bow and arrow symbolising the fact that truth prevails or wins over lies. The happiness that I had on having that bow and arrow that day has remained unrivalled to date. Not even my latest iPhone 4 could give me the same level of happiness today.
Anyhow, my new bow had a red and silvery strip of foil kind of thing wrapped around it from one corner to the other. It looked so shiny. It had a thin steel string joining both ends which acted as the launcher for the bamboo arrows. I showed the girls my new bow and arrows. They were not very keen on it. Only Saina wanted to know how to use it. I think she was the only girl in the group who always tied her hair in a pony tail and I like pony tails. I stood behind her, helped her to hold the bow in correct position and we shot the arrow together. It was great charm to have done it together.
Saina complained it did not go far enough. I knew it did not, it was not meant to. They were such light weight arrows. I knew a way to make them go faster and farther. Put some melted coal-tar or asphalt on top edge and give it a straight and rounded shape like a lollipop. I went out hunting for some. I knew they were paving some new roads near the market place. When I reached there, a big road roller decorated with tinsel almost similar to the one on my bow was levelling the road and a man was throwing water on its hot and burning wheel from a canister. The festivities were so huge and widespread that they seemed to have taken even this ugly looking road roller into its embrace. Everything and every place looked and smelled of festivities. I asked the short man in big moustaches and he gave me some coal-tar for my arrows. It was hot and melted so I could not put it on arrows then and there.
I was back. Saina and I launched this ultimate arrow. And it actually went so high that it went out of sight and came back after a few seconds tumbling its way down. We really thought it will never come back. It was brilliant. We were loving it now. We took position again. Bow in her left hand; arrow in my right hand. We pulled the bottom of the arrow down on the launching string together while its top rested on the shiny bow. Pulled the string hard and left it. Once again, we believed it will pierce through the sky. Instead, it cracked the window pane of house no. 8. The lady came out shouting. Even the power of goddess Durga would have been bleak in front of her.
We were already on the run. We ran as fast as we could. I held my bow and other arrows in one hand and Saina’s one hand in the other because I did not think she was running fast enough. My special arrow which was equipped with the power of coal-tar was left behind. Fortunately, the lady had not seen us or else she would know where to complain.
Raja, one of the boys in my playgroup had seen us running from there together. I knew he was jealous of my company. Only two days were left before evil lies will vanish when Ravana, the powerful evil, will be killed by the mighty and powerful, man of self control, Rama. Truth will prevail, I thought. I knew it will because I was told it’s a universal truth.
I decided I will go back and admit my doing. When I reached home I first munched on the puris and halwa which came from the house of the broken window pane and then told my mom about the incidence. She was not very happy about it initially but because I had spoken the truth she embraced me in her arms and promised me that I will be fine. After all, her teaching me over and over again that there is nothing more important than speaking the truth, had not gone waste.
Two days later, Rama killed Ravana and the lady from house number 8 never complained because my mom had told her before anyone else could.
xxx
Anyone is welcome to leave a comment or moral of the story in the comments.
Neighbour from house number 7 was always first to invite me, “come soon, we are waiting for you to start the prayers”. I was ready with my spanking new stainless steel plate and a hanky to cover the plate with, once it will be full of propitiatory offerings and some coin of money, generally 10 paise. I went to the neighbour’s house, sat on a rug. I was surrounded by at least 7 girls of my age, just under 10. They are supposed to have at least 7 girls for this. One boy is usually ideal to be part of the group.
We were all sitting on the rug, cross legged with our plates lying in front of us. The scent of sandalwood and aroma of incense sticks was spreading everywhere in the house. Lying in front of the idol and a huge photo of Durga goddess was another big shiny plate in silver. In the plate there were some silver coins, some grains of rice, a small roll of thin red thread and a red powder. Some fruits and dry fruits also adored the front of the goddess outside the silver plate in separate bamboo baskets. The photo of the goddess had a garland of sunflowers on it. She appeared to be looking at me with her dark black big eyes. She always rode a lion symbolising that god has the energy to destroy the World apart from being able to create and preserve it.
When the girl sitting next to me started talking to me, the neighbour told us to keep quiet. The prayers started soon. They first sprinkled a small amount of water and washed our feet. As the chanting of mantras was on, one member of family started tying the red thread on our wrists like a friendship band. We were now friends with the goddess. To me, now the lion was not going to say anything to us. Then they applied the red powder on our foreheads with their ring finger as if we were going to fight in a war.
Within a few minutes the prayers were over and each of us was given two puris - small round cakes of unleavened wheat flour, deep fried in ghee, some halwa – pudding of flour and sugar made in ghee, and some black chickpeas. And the best of all, a coin of 10 paise that rested in the middle of the halwa.
All the girls and I quickly came out of house no. 7 and we all went back to our houses to empty our plates for the next invite. I pocketed the money. My mom told me to go to house no. 5 now. Someone had been from there in the meantime. I quickly grabbed one puri, it melted in my mouth, and ran to house no. 5. House no. 5 always did white chickpeas rather than black and I liked them. Same procedures were performed again. End result, another 10 paise in my pocket on top of more puris, halwa and chickpeas. Some girls got some colourful hair bands or ear rings. No such thing for me, I did not want it anyway.
We came out of house no. 5. Our slippers were lying outside. We always moved around in slippers at this time because if we had shoes on we will have to remove them outside every house every time and then put them back on while going back. We agreed to go back and empty our plates in our houses. Mom said now I had to go to house no. 17. I was now richer and she was my secretary now keeping a record of my appointments.
It started early in the morning so it was important to wake up fairly early and get ready after a shower as you can not participate in any religious event if you are not clean. A shower and clean clothes is a must.
All this finished by early afternoon.
I invested my money in a new wooden bow and arrows set. This was a season of bows and arrows as it was that time of the year just before Diwali when Rama the God’s avatar would kill Ravana the evil with his bow and arrow symbolising the fact that truth prevails or wins over lies. The happiness that I had on having that bow and arrow that day has remained unrivalled to date. Not even my latest iPhone 4 could give me the same level of happiness today.
Anyhow, my new bow had a red and silvery strip of foil kind of thing wrapped around it from one corner to the other. It looked so shiny. It had a thin steel string joining both ends which acted as the launcher for the bamboo arrows. I showed the girls my new bow and arrows. They were not very keen on it. Only Saina wanted to know how to use it. I think she was the only girl in the group who always tied her hair in a pony tail and I like pony tails. I stood behind her, helped her to hold the bow in correct position and we shot the arrow together. It was great charm to have done it together.
Saina complained it did not go far enough. I knew it did not, it was not meant to. They were such light weight arrows. I knew a way to make them go faster and farther. Put some melted coal-tar or asphalt on top edge and give it a straight and rounded shape like a lollipop. I went out hunting for some. I knew they were paving some new roads near the market place. When I reached there, a big road roller decorated with tinsel almost similar to the one on my bow was levelling the road and a man was throwing water on its hot and burning wheel from a canister. The festivities were so huge and widespread that they seemed to have taken even this ugly looking road roller into its embrace. Everything and every place looked and smelled of festivities. I asked the short man in big moustaches and he gave me some coal-tar for my arrows. It was hot and melted so I could not put it on arrows then and there.
I was back. Saina and I launched this ultimate arrow. And it actually went so high that it went out of sight and came back after a few seconds tumbling its way down. We really thought it will never come back. It was brilliant. We were loving it now. We took position again. Bow in her left hand; arrow in my right hand. We pulled the bottom of the arrow down on the launching string together while its top rested on the shiny bow. Pulled the string hard and left it. Once again, we believed it will pierce through the sky. Instead, it cracked the window pane of house no. 8. The lady came out shouting. Even the power of goddess Durga would have been bleak in front of her.
We were already on the run. We ran as fast as we could. I held my bow and other arrows in one hand and Saina’s one hand in the other because I did not think she was running fast enough. My special arrow which was equipped with the power of coal-tar was left behind. Fortunately, the lady had not seen us or else she would know where to complain.
Raja, one of the boys in my playgroup had seen us running from there together. I knew he was jealous of my company. Only two days were left before evil lies will vanish when Ravana, the powerful evil, will be killed by the mighty and powerful, man of self control, Rama. Truth will prevail, I thought. I knew it will because I was told it’s a universal truth.
I decided I will go back and admit my doing. When I reached home I first munched on the puris and halwa which came from the house of the broken window pane and then told my mom about the incidence. She was not very happy about it initially but because I had spoken the truth she embraced me in her arms and promised me that I will be fine. After all, her teaching me over and over again that there is nothing more important than speaking the truth, had not gone waste.
Two days later, Rama killed Ravana and the lady from house number 8 never complained because my mom had told her before anyone else could.
xxx
Anyone is welcome to leave a comment or moral of the story in the comments.
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
Singh - Part I
I first met Singh on a warm afternoon in 1989 on a local city bus in New Delhi while I was travelling back home from college. He was standing next to me holding a black loopy flap that hung from the one inch wide pole that ran parallel to the roof of the bus in the same direction as the bus itself was. I was holding a similar flap next to it. These support flaps were put in there at equal distances for people to hold onto in case they had to stand in the absence of any vacant seats.
“Hi”, he said to me and smiled. I returned the same and asked him which college he was in as he looked like a college goer just like me. His response was the name of the college I was in too.
“Which course”, I asked. This time he really surprised me when he said the same course and year as I was in. He was in my class! I was in second year of my three year degree course and so was he but I had never seen him there before.
He was wearing a blue turban. Sikhs always wear turbans or some other form of head covering scarves in pursuance of their religious beliefs. He looked very smart in his wrangler jeans and white tee shirt. His sparkling grey eyes were trying to say something as he had guessed the suspense that encroached my mind as to why we had never met before if we were in the same class for last more than a year. I thought may be he was transferred from another college. He clarified this was not the case. He had been in my class since the course began. I was perplexed.
The green and yellow coloured bus was continuing to its destination amidst the wide variety of traffic ranging from a bicycle rickshaw to a 4x4 Ford, all on the same road. As it approached my bus stop, I readied myself to get off. So did Singh.
“Where do you live”, I asked.
“G block”, he replied.
Something was very weird about the whole situation as we even lived in the same block. The walking distance between our houses was no more than 2 minutes. He told me his house number. I told mine to him and invited him to come over some time.
Walking from a point which stood in the middle of our houses, which we later called “point of separation” as it became the point where we would separate each day and even meet each day in the evenings or whenever we wanted to, I was thinking about the reason for him not being at college for such a long time. I could not think about it for long as within 2 minutes I was at my house.
After that day, he regularly attended college and we started knowing each other more and more. We travelled together most of the times. Soon, one day when I was doing some college work, he came over to my house to surprise me. It was nice to see him. I introduced him to my family.
I become friends with sikhs easily and get along with them very well. I don’t know if it is something to do with me or with them. Soon we became friends and gradually very close friends. Within the next few weeks we were going to college together, coming back home together, sitting in the class rooms together, missing classes together, eating in the college canteen together, going out together, eating each other’s packed lunches, getting attracted to the same girls, and what not together.
We became very used to each other. Our day started with ringing each other to confirm the exact setting off time to meet at the bus stop so we could get the special bus to the university. We never wanted to miss the university special bus as it was packed of university students and there was a special charm in travelling with the fellow students rather than public at large. We never got a seat in the bus as it was already full by the time it reached our stop but we never wanted a seat anyway. We just used to squash ourselves in the very rear corner of the bus near the back door of the bus as it was possible to get full view of the bus and the girls in the bus from there. Our college was the last to be reached so we knew which girl was in which college as the bus lingered through them one by one dropping the boys and the girls off to their colleges. We loved going in that bus. If one of us was late in getting ready then we would miss the bus rather than choosing not to travel together that day. We could miss the bus but not each other.
After college, we would hardly spend any time at our own houses before ringing each other again. We would talk to each other on phone for long as if we had not seen each other for a while. After our evening meal we were programmed to go for a walk every night just after a quick check with each other if we had finished our meals. We would walk to the point of separation and actually start our formal walk from there.
“Hi”, he said to me and smiled. I returned the same and asked him which college he was in as he looked like a college goer just like me. His response was the name of the college I was in too.
“Which course”, I asked. This time he really surprised me when he said the same course and year as I was in. He was in my class! I was in second year of my three year degree course and so was he but I had never seen him there before.
He was wearing a blue turban. Sikhs always wear turbans or some other form of head covering scarves in pursuance of their religious beliefs. He looked very smart in his wrangler jeans and white tee shirt. His sparkling grey eyes were trying to say something as he had guessed the suspense that encroached my mind as to why we had never met before if we were in the same class for last more than a year. I thought may be he was transferred from another college. He clarified this was not the case. He had been in my class since the course began. I was perplexed.
The green and yellow coloured bus was continuing to its destination amidst the wide variety of traffic ranging from a bicycle rickshaw to a 4x4 Ford, all on the same road. As it approached my bus stop, I readied myself to get off. So did Singh.
“Where do you live”, I asked.
“G block”, he replied.
Something was very weird about the whole situation as we even lived in the same block. The walking distance between our houses was no more than 2 minutes. He told me his house number. I told mine to him and invited him to come over some time.
Walking from a point which stood in the middle of our houses, which we later called “point of separation” as it became the point where we would separate each day and even meet each day in the evenings or whenever we wanted to, I was thinking about the reason for him not being at college for such a long time. I could not think about it for long as within 2 minutes I was at my house.
After that day, he regularly attended college and we started knowing each other more and more. We travelled together most of the times. Soon, one day when I was doing some college work, he came over to my house to surprise me. It was nice to see him. I introduced him to my family.
I become friends with sikhs easily and get along with them very well. I don’t know if it is something to do with me or with them. Soon we became friends and gradually very close friends. Within the next few weeks we were going to college together, coming back home together, sitting in the class rooms together, missing classes together, eating in the college canteen together, going out together, eating each other’s packed lunches, getting attracted to the same girls, and what not together.
We became very used to each other. Our day started with ringing each other to confirm the exact setting off time to meet at the bus stop so we could get the special bus to the university. We never wanted to miss the university special bus as it was packed of university students and there was a special charm in travelling with the fellow students rather than public at large. We never got a seat in the bus as it was already full by the time it reached our stop but we never wanted a seat anyway. We just used to squash ourselves in the very rear corner of the bus near the back door of the bus as it was possible to get full view of the bus and the girls in the bus from there. Our college was the last to be reached so we knew which girl was in which college as the bus lingered through them one by one dropping the boys and the girls off to their colleges. We loved going in that bus. If one of us was late in getting ready then we would miss the bus rather than choosing not to travel together that day. We could miss the bus but not each other.
After college, we would hardly spend any time at our own houses before ringing each other again. We would talk to each other on phone for long as if we had not seen each other for a while. After our evening meal we were programmed to go for a walk every night just after a quick check with each other if we had finished our meals. We would walk to the point of separation and actually start our formal walk from there.
Thursday, 10 June 2010
Language, Clouds and Aeroplanes
“As soon as I reached the station, the train arrived”, this could also be worded as “I reached the station no sooner than the train arrived” said my dad. He was looking at his favourite English daily which he had been reading for the last 30 years or so. It was very important for him that I understood the basics of the language well enough even though he had no formal higher qualifications in the language himself. For me, it was boring and stressful as I thought (in my language) if something can be said effectively in one way then what is the need for saying it in another way as well. What a waste of time! Anyhow, my job was to translate 10 sentences into English. It was a daily thing.
We did not speak English at home, or at school or elsewhere. But it was still important to learn it. I must have learned a-z before I was 2 or 3, can not remember precisely. And that should have been sufficient. But this foreign language was being increasingly considered supreme and therefore had to be learned in greater detail, in greater detail than our own language.
The complex form of tenses always haunted me. I was happy with present, past and future but any suffixes at the end would crumble me down e.g. present indefinite or past participle.
At the outset of the learning programme, I was explained the basics of prepositions, articles, verbs, nouns, adjectives and gerunds. Then, everyday, if there were any words, from amongst those 10 sentences, which I did not know what they were called in English, I was supposed to ask before starting to translate them. Once I was equipped with necessary vocabulary it was expected that I would translate them to the best of my ability.
It was a weekend morning and I was not very keen on this exercise. I was looking out of the window. The sky was almost clear. There were some scattered white clouds making an impression of white cotton used in quilts and pillows by the man who used to come on his bicycle with a long wooden tool with a few strings on one end to give the old cotton a fresh and musical spin and make it into new before refilling it back into the quilt cloth. The shapes of these clouds always caught my eye. I could always see them emanating from one another, often overlapping. I never understood how they were designed. The east facing ones were shining bright due to being sun facing. A flock of birds forming a long queue appeared in the foreground from the left of the window with vertical iron bars across its antique wooden frame and started to immerse into the right hand side panel. I thought for a second that a streak would appear on the white wall between the window and the far right corner of the room but it didn’t.
“I want to go out and play” I said to my dad.
“Have you finished your sentences yet?” He asked without even looking at me. He was looking at some dark and tiny creatures on his paper which described the sentiments and reactions of the readers to some then current affairs in the form of letters to the editor. He found them interesting!!
“No, but I will, as soon as I come back” I said. The birds had gone but the clouds were still contributing to the panoramic view on the window’s rectangular canvas.
My request was refused. I bowed my head in serenity and started to think how to begin; my brain was preoccupied with white cotton. Since there was no other way I could get away from there, I somehow completed the sentences and handed my notebook to dad in jubilation. I still could not go until he had checked them. This was the only time when newspaper could have a rest. He checked them all in less than no time. I got 2 correct. I was amazed that not all were wrong. Now was the time for me to understand where I went wrong. I tried but the list was long so I just heard and nodded in affirmation.
After having been booked for next morning, I was freed to go out and play or do whatever.
Later, this affliction continued for a few years. Over time I started enjoying this a bit. However, English still was not my cup of tea. My learning was confined to this very activity. At school, I studied all the subjects in my language except the subject called “English”. If I had to study history in English, it would have no longer been “history” for me; it would have become “English”, with no importance left in it for the emperors, kings or the Victorian staff. I would have struggled to finish chapter no.1 of my book. But the emperors, kings and the Queen were very fortunate as I had to conquer them in my language. It’s a different thing that I was still not keen on any of the subjects and struggled to make it through my books in time for exams, always. There seemed to be no light at the end of the tunnel. I had to study at least until I was graduate; future appeared bleak.
Soon I was outside the house. I had forgotten about the clouds in the sky. I no longer needed them to amuse myself. I knocked at the door of a friend’s house. He opened the door and let me in and asked me not to make any noise as he did not want his parents to know that we will be going on the roof terrace. We walked sneakily towards the door which hid behind it the staircase leading to the terrace. This staircase was common to two houses. The two doors to either side of the first step were facing each other. One of them was the one we had just come through. The other one was of the neighbour next door. We were now leaping towards the terrace.
Roof terrace sat on top of the two houses which shared the staircase. So, the whole terrace was divided into two parts, one each allocated to the two houses and had two openings without any actual doors hanging on either side on top of the staircase just similar to the two doors at the bottom of the staircase. We turned left to confine ourselves to the terrace that belonged to my friend’s house.
Zzzoooommmmm went my paper aeroplane from top of the two storeys building hurtling its way to the ground. “Lets see whose aeroplane goes farthest” I said and started to tear off another page from my English notebook. I could not see a better use for it than this. He was busy making his own aeroplane from his most hated notebook, I suppose. Soon the ground was full of paper aeroplanes. I had quickly exhausted with my notebook. I looked down, with my hand supporting my chin, and my elbow resting on the two and a half feet tall boundary wall erected on the terrace for safety. It looked quite white, the ground. Wherever there were no aeroplanes landed, it looked green of the grass. Suddenly, my eye caught a shiny white cloud on the horizon. I wanted to go there and touch it but my aeroplanes were not strong enough to take me up to there.
We did not speak English at home, or at school or elsewhere. But it was still important to learn it. I must have learned a-z before I was 2 or 3, can not remember precisely. And that should have been sufficient. But this foreign language was being increasingly considered supreme and therefore had to be learned in greater detail, in greater detail than our own language.
The complex form of tenses always haunted me. I was happy with present, past and future but any suffixes at the end would crumble me down e.g. present indefinite or past participle.
At the outset of the learning programme, I was explained the basics of prepositions, articles, verbs, nouns, adjectives and gerunds. Then, everyday, if there were any words, from amongst those 10 sentences, which I did not know what they were called in English, I was supposed to ask before starting to translate them. Once I was equipped with necessary vocabulary it was expected that I would translate them to the best of my ability.
It was a weekend morning and I was not very keen on this exercise. I was looking out of the window. The sky was almost clear. There were some scattered white clouds making an impression of white cotton used in quilts and pillows by the man who used to come on his bicycle with a long wooden tool with a few strings on one end to give the old cotton a fresh and musical spin and make it into new before refilling it back into the quilt cloth. The shapes of these clouds always caught my eye. I could always see them emanating from one another, often overlapping. I never understood how they were designed. The east facing ones were shining bright due to being sun facing. A flock of birds forming a long queue appeared in the foreground from the left of the window with vertical iron bars across its antique wooden frame and started to immerse into the right hand side panel. I thought for a second that a streak would appear on the white wall between the window and the far right corner of the room but it didn’t.
“I want to go out and play” I said to my dad.
“Have you finished your sentences yet?” He asked without even looking at me. He was looking at some dark and tiny creatures on his paper which described the sentiments and reactions of the readers to some then current affairs in the form of letters to the editor. He found them interesting!!
“No, but I will, as soon as I come back” I said. The birds had gone but the clouds were still contributing to the panoramic view on the window’s rectangular canvas.
My request was refused. I bowed my head in serenity and started to think how to begin; my brain was preoccupied with white cotton. Since there was no other way I could get away from there, I somehow completed the sentences and handed my notebook to dad in jubilation. I still could not go until he had checked them. This was the only time when newspaper could have a rest. He checked them all in less than no time. I got 2 correct. I was amazed that not all were wrong. Now was the time for me to understand where I went wrong. I tried but the list was long so I just heard and nodded in affirmation.
After having been booked for next morning, I was freed to go out and play or do whatever.
Later, this affliction continued for a few years. Over time I started enjoying this a bit. However, English still was not my cup of tea. My learning was confined to this very activity. At school, I studied all the subjects in my language except the subject called “English”. If I had to study history in English, it would have no longer been “history” for me; it would have become “English”, with no importance left in it for the emperors, kings or the Victorian staff. I would have struggled to finish chapter no.1 of my book. But the emperors, kings and the Queen were very fortunate as I had to conquer them in my language. It’s a different thing that I was still not keen on any of the subjects and struggled to make it through my books in time for exams, always. There seemed to be no light at the end of the tunnel. I had to study at least until I was graduate; future appeared bleak.
Soon I was outside the house. I had forgotten about the clouds in the sky. I no longer needed them to amuse myself. I knocked at the door of a friend’s house. He opened the door and let me in and asked me not to make any noise as he did not want his parents to know that we will be going on the roof terrace. We walked sneakily towards the door which hid behind it the staircase leading to the terrace. This staircase was common to two houses. The two doors to either side of the first step were facing each other. One of them was the one we had just come through. The other one was of the neighbour next door. We were now leaping towards the terrace.
Roof terrace sat on top of the two houses which shared the staircase. So, the whole terrace was divided into two parts, one each allocated to the two houses and had two openings without any actual doors hanging on either side on top of the staircase just similar to the two doors at the bottom of the staircase. We turned left to confine ourselves to the terrace that belonged to my friend’s house.
Zzzoooommmmm went my paper aeroplane from top of the two storeys building hurtling its way to the ground. “Lets see whose aeroplane goes farthest” I said and started to tear off another page from my English notebook. I could not see a better use for it than this. He was busy making his own aeroplane from his most hated notebook, I suppose. Soon the ground was full of paper aeroplanes. I had quickly exhausted with my notebook. I looked down, with my hand supporting my chin, and my elbow resting on the two and a half feet tall boundary wall erected on the terrace for safety. It looked quite white, the ground. Wherever there were no aeroplanes landed, it looked green of the grass. Suddenly, my eye caught a shiny white cloud on the horizon. I wanted to go there and touch it but my aeroplanes were not strong enough to take me up to there.
Sunday, 6 June 2010
Indian Wedding
Before you start reading; you might like to play the following music in the background. However, if it distracts you from reading its better to stop playing it.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The sound of the brass could be heard from four streets away from the venue of the wedding. The bride’s family and their relatives had gathered in the local community centre before the arrival of the groom’s party (baraat) so that they could welcome them. There was lot of hustle and bustle going on inside. As the sound started to become clearer upon them approaching nearer, the tension in the bride’s camp started to mount. Everybody in the close family seemed to be giving instructions to everybody else.
Others who were not so close but were classed as related to the bride in one way or the other were busy munching the scrumptious savoury snacks unaware of the proximity of the baraat. The bride’s immediate family was concerned about this as this was important that there were enough of snacks left for the baraat. If not, it would be a disgrace.
The baraat was taking a long time to arrive. This inordinate delay was one of the several hot topics for the bride’s not so close relatives to deliberate on to give the bride’s immediate family a real feel of the wedding pressure even though they had no role to play in the baraat’s slow speed.
The baraat, headed by a display of fireworks, was moving at a snail’s pace because its members were performing a very important ritual of dancing to the highly acclaimed tunes of the brass and the dhol. The wedding ceremony could not be completed without it. The members of the band were giving their best by blowing hard the trumpets and beating hard the drums. Their grimaces remained completely unnoticed by the members of the baraat who were dancing; or rambling on either side of the circle made by the chain of the generator powered lights resting on the shoulders of the men who were specially hired for the purpose and who gave a perfect look of someone who had been starving for at least two days. Their eyes looked hungry too for the money which was being flung into the air by the members of the baraat to express their joy for the occasion.
The groom, with his face hidden behind a headdress with hanging garlands, was sitting on a female horse(a mare) symbolising the age old manly conviction that man has to take charge of the female he is going to bind with, for a lifetime, irrespective of the contemporary realities. The groom and his mare were covered in finery. Just like the lights carrying crew the mare also did not seem strong enough to carry the groom.
The baraat had come a bit closer to the venue but not quite there as yet. The elderly members wanted to go a bit faster unlike the younger ones who wanted to carry on dancing for a little bit more as this was a life time opportunity to dance on the wedding of this groom. This was not supposed to happen again in his life ever again.
The constant and poignant beat of the dhol was echoing into the air calling all the residents of the nearby street onto their terraces and balconies out of curiosity to see the baraat. For some, the aerial view was rather spectacular.
Eventually, the baraat arrived in front of the main gate of the wedding venue. It appeared that the band will stop playing now but it did not. It was continuing as some members of the baraat were still keen on dancing. However, after a few minutes, the band stopped playing and it sounded utterly peaceful similar to a ceasefire. Now was the time for the groom to get off his unusual conveyance. The owner of the horse, however, did not let the groom get off until his father paid him a specified amount of money. It was a part of the tradition. After some bargaining, the father of the groom paid him the agreed amount and the groom jumped off in such a way that if he did not rush, the bride would run away with someone else.
The family members of the bride and very close relatives were all there right in front of the entrance gate to welcome the groom and his baraat. It was time for milni, i.e. exchanging garlands by individual male counterpart relatives of the bride and the groom. The groom’s dad will exchange a garland with bride’s dad and bride’s dad will also give a present to the groom’s dad. The groom’s dad will not give anything to the bride’s dad except the garland. The same will apply to bride’s and groom’s brothers, their maternal and paternal uncles and even their grandfathers, if they were still alive. If one of the two was alive then a substitute will have to be found for the other. After this exchanging of garlands and giving of presents, the bride’s family made way for the groom’s family. The baraat just followed. In fact, during the garland exchanging process many members of the baraat, who had no interest in this ritual, had already escaped inside the venue. They were mainly the loyal dancers who were very thirsty after all this hard work of dancing on the broken and unlevelled roads. It was not easy after all.
The bride’s family escorted the groom and his family to the sofas on the front. These sofas in elegant white covers had been reserved for them already. The ordinary members of the baraat were not allowed to sit on these. There were ordinary chairs elsewhere for them. The sofas were right in front of the dais which was going to be used later for dignified occupancy. There were two chairs on the dais, one each for the bride and the groom. Since the bride had not arrived yet the groom sat on the sofa for the first few minutes.
The members of the baraat and those from the host camp were busy relishing the starters and the appetisers. There were stalls of food from one end of the hall to the other. The serving staff of the caterer was wearing smart brilliant white hats almost totally in contrast to their own colour. The colour of the aprons was red. There were lots of girls wanting to be served on the paani puri stall. They looked mouth watering, the paani puris. The man who was serving these was doing it rather mechanically. His hands moved in a very systematic manner. He was picking paani puris up with his left hand, piercing a whole with his thumb on the top of them while the right hand brought, in a spoon, some small pieces of boiled potatoes cut about the size of a small dice of a board game and some boiled chick peas. After pouring some chutneys and a very special spicy water in it he was transferring the paani puris from his left hand into his right hand and then straight into the bowls in the hands of people eagerly waiting to be served. There was also a very long wait for the Paneer (Indian Cheese) Tikka. It looked very succulent as it clung the long skewers and was rotated on the giant bar-be-que . It seemed really busy in every corner of the hall where food arrangements were made.
All of a sudden, a car stopped at the entrance and came out the bride dressed in a gorgeous red ethnic bridal saari. She was covered in all sorts of jewellery from head to toe and was looking like a fairy princess. However, her dress and jewellery together were either heavier than her or were arranged in such a way that she was finding it extremely difficult to walk. She must have been over the moon and excited for the biggest day of her life but there was no such manifestation visible on her face as it was covered a bit too much by the layers of the items of ornamental importance. The bridesmaid was rather visible and looked more cheerful and excited as if it was her wedding. She and some other girls escorted the bride to the dais. The step by step progression towards the dais was no less than the entire journey of the baraat from their assembly point to the wedding venue.
The groom who was moved from the white sofa to his special chair on the dais few minutes ago tried desperately to peek through the garlands hanging from his headdress so he could see the bride. There was no end to his happiness at this time as he was going to sit next to the girl who would soon be his wife. The bond was becoming stronger every minute. The bride sat on her special silvery red chair next to the groom. She was very shy but somehow managed to have a glimpse of the groom.
Now was the time for each related family to come along on the dais to feed sweets to the bride and the groom and get a picture taken of them with the celebrities of the day. There was an informal understanding that each family will try to feed them, have a picture taken and get off the dais as quickly as possible. There were a couple of kids who had decided to be in each photo of this wedding album so would not get off at all. After some time the bride and the groom were asked to stand up. It was time for varmala. Some one gave them a garland each. They were asked to garland each other. First the bride was asked to garland him. Apparently, the groom was already instructed by his friends and family not to bend down so as to make it a bit difficult for the poor bride. In fact, it seemed that he was told beforehand that he had to keep his head as high as he could. This was to symbolise that men never bend in front of their women. The groom’s facial expression suggested, however, that reality was far from this. He apparently wanted to make it easier for the bride. But the age old customs did not permit him to do so.
Somehow, the bride flung the garland around his neck and everybody clapped. Then groom did his bit. He did not have any problem as he was taller than the bride. Then they were asked to sit back again on their respective chairs as some more photos were to be taken particularly of the bride, her delicate make up including the henna on her hands which looked like a classic piece of embroidery. It was important to take the pictures of henna on bride’s hands as otherwise it will be a complete waste as no one will ever see this piece of art. Not even the groom. Not that he was not romantic but because he was not familiar with this form of romance.
The night was progressing fast and the auspicious moment for wedding was gone past an hour ago. This was quite reasonable considering the sequence of events and procedures that had been completed so far. Guests who had had their meals and were not very keen on attending the rituals to bind the two souls together had started leaving after handing their envelopes containing their wishes for the couple in the form of an odd amount of money, always ending in 1.
It was time for the groom, his family, the bride, her family and a few more people who were instrumental to the wedding agreement to have their meals. There was a special long table at the far right corner of the dinner hall reserved for this elite group. The waiters had strict instructions to make sure that everybody on this table admired the service. This was critical to the amount of gratuities that will be paid to the catering and serving staff at the end, generally by bride’s dad. But they tried to target the groom as well to cash in on his overwhelming joy.
After the feast, the bride, the groom and their close family members were to go and sit where the actual ceremony was to be performed. Before they could settle down on the floor, which was well carpeted to provide the performers of the rituals with a good comfort level, the bride, the groom and their families were supposed to take their shoes off. This was because shoes were not allowed near the bowl which was to be used for lighting the sacred fire to witness the act of super bonding of the two souls for the next few incarnations, generally 7.
Everybody was happy to take his/her shoes off except the groom. He was a bit worried about his brand new shoes. This was because bride’s brother/sister were likely to steal his shoes as part of a tradition and later, at the end of the ceremony, demand a ransom for safe return of shoes to enable the groom to go home with his brand new wife for which he would not be willing to wait. Somehow, he had to take his shoes off to get married in the first place. He had instructed one of his own friends to keep an eye on his shoes to save himself from being blackmailed later.
The pundit ji asked the bride's dad to tie the long scarf looping around the groom’s neck with the dangling end of the bride’s saari. Theoretically, this was the first step in tying the knot but practically it was to ensure that when it comes to walk around the sacred fire, they walk at the same speed or if one falls in it the other should invariably follow because they had now committed to sign the “till death do us part” agreement.
Within no time, the pundit ji made the parents of both the bride and the groom sit in a particular arrangement and started to ignite the small wooden sticks in the fire bowl. The fire started to gradually leap within the bowl. The pundit ji was delivering the mantras (vedic chants). After each mantra he was asking the bride and the groom to pour together, as one person, some ghee (a form of butter) on top of the burning sticks. This was making the fire rising really high. This was now making a blustery noise and felt very warm on such a cold wintry night. The bride’s hand was constantly touching the groom’s hand so that he could add ghee to the fire after every mantra as they had to do it together. Her hand touching him was like adding ghee to the fire anyway. This was making the atmosphere even warmer for them. This was making them unaware of what pundit ji had to convey to the deities. It’s a different thing that they would not have understood the language of the Vedas anyway. This went on for a while.
Meanwhile, the great pump and show had started to wind up with the catering and other staff finishing their meals. There was still the coffee machine on to provide regular drink of coffee to the people attending to the late night rituals to keep them warm or awake. The coffee making staff was trying their best to provide a good service as they looked forward to a good tip at the end. The Band members were resting on the chairs elsewhere after having their dinner. They knew they will be called again to perform on the last leg of the extravaganza later.
While close family members paid attention to the mantras and other procedures being performed or solicited by pundit ji, other residual guests spent some lighter moments sharing jokes with each other and trying to pull groom’s and bride’s legs. Some elderly members of their families did not like it; but nobody cared. Some kids were still playing with balloons and some very young ones were trying to sleep in their mothers’ laps. Pundit ji asked the bride and the groom to stand up as he prepared for the pheras. He then asked them to go round in a circle around the sacred fire 7 times stopping intermittently to make them understand the importance of each promise they made after completing each phera or the round. The pheras were completed amidst the noisy but fun filled running commentary from a group of young friends and relatives whose objective seemed to be having as much fun as possible from the event leading to a joint venture with unforeseen outcomes.
Then pundit ji called for the groom to put vermillion on the bride’s forehead near the hairline where the hair parted on either side of her head. The groom felt overjoyed while his right hand’s thumb dragged through the bride’s forehead delicately displaying a streak of the bright red sindoor powder. Then he put the mangal sutra (the sacred thread embedded with dazzling jewels) around her neck. This felt like a fairy tale of a little princess who was adored by a charming prince before she was taken away from everyone else to make her his very own.
Everyone attending clapped their hands. The groom and the bride were now man and wife. Pundit ji, parents, uncles, aunties, etc. blessed them with a shower of flowers. Everyone was now allowed to get up and put their shoes on. The ultimate witness to the wedding, the sacred fire, was now being doused by pundit ji after it having sincerely performed its duty of witnessing the union of two souls. The groom’s friends could not keep a very good eye on his shoes and they were indeed stolen by the bride’s brother(s)/ sister(s)/ friends. So, he was not left with any other choice but to pay for his own shoes. He bought them for less than what he had to pay for them now. But never mind…. He was still happy.
It was nearly dawn……. Everything had come to a standstill but the soothing sound of the mantras was still echoing in the ears of all. There appeared to have been created a big vacuum as if someone had pressed the pause button in the middle of a rock number. The bride’s family members had lost their speech before the very moment when they will give her away to someone else. So, with their lips sealed and their hands joined together, their eyes told of their heartfelt request to the groom’s family to wait for a while before leaving so they could gather the courage to part from their lovingly brought up girl, who was still a little girl for them. The silent request was granted a nod of approval and everyone settled for a while. The bride was happy and apprehensive of the future outcomes at the same time but the very thought of being separated from her parents/family was just so powerful that she seemed to have forgotten about her future. The moment in time seemed to have pushed and stuck something down her throat which was making her choke. She must have felt that she was going to die. Her family members were feeling the same, choking with sadness. Their damp eyes were making it even more difficult for them to see their already disappearing little girl. This was the most difficult moment of their lives. They knew from the day she was born but never realised that, the one who used to fill the whole house with her mystical sounds as a child, one who always asked questions because of her inquisitiveness, and one who, as a grown up, always endeavoured to make their house a home, will leave them aspiring for her one day. But…the moment had come. She had to go now. Something which was stuck in their throats had to be swallowed down. The bride broke into tears. She cried and cried on the shoulders of her dad. He pacified her while his own tears rolled down his cheeks onto her head covered in the beautiful red saari.
The band members, who were almost asleep, were called again to get ready for giving this event a final touch. No body ever thought that the brass band of the British army from the pre independence era would become such a phenomenon later in the celebration of Indian weddings, but it did.
This time they had to perform a number signifying moments of separation only to add to the already sorrowful atmosphere. This time they had to perform only for a few minutes while the bride walked up to the groom’s conveyance. This was not a horse anymore. It was a car. The couple settled themselves in the back seat when the bride was still continuously crying like a child. The bride’s brother was also pushed in as he, as part of a tradition, was supposed to go with her, only for a day. He was going to see that she will be happy in her new home.
The doors of the meticulously decorated car shut…....!! So did the hearts of the bride and her family. As the car started to move, the bride felt as if she was leaving her own soul behind. She was struggling to cope with this separation of her body from her soul which was trying to come out of her through her mouth, trying to choke her again. A big silence hovered over the whole place. With the progression of the car further down the road, only the fainting sounds of the band could be heard which also eventually died.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The sound of the brass could be heard from four streets away from the venue of the wedding. The bride’s family and their relatives had gathered in the local community centre before the arrival of the groom’s party (baraat) so that they could welcome them. There was lot of hustle and bustle going on inside. As the sound started to become clearer upon them approaching nearer, the tension in the bride’s camp started to mount. Everybody in the close family seemed to be giving instructions to everybody else.
Others who were not so close but were classed as related to the bride in one way or the other were busy munching the scrumptious savoury snacks unaware of the proximity of the baraat. The bride’s immediate family was concerned about this as this was important that there were enough of snacks left for the baraat. If not, it would be a disgrace.
The baraat was taking a long time to arrive. This inordinate delay was one of the several hot topics for the bride’s not so close relatives to deliberate on to give the bride’s immediate family a real feel of the wedding pressure even though they had no role to play in the baraat’s slow speed.
The baraat, headed by a display of fireworks, was moving at a snail’s pace because its members were performing a very important ritual of dancing to the highly acclaimed tunes of the brass and the dhol. The wedding ceremony could not be completed without it. The members of the band were giving their best by blowing hard the trumpets and beating hard the drums. Their grimaces remained completely unnoticed by the members of the baraat who were dancing; or rambling on either side of the circle made by the chain of the generator powered lights resting on the shoulders of the men who were specially hired for the purpose and who gave a perfect look of someone who had been starving for at least two days. Their eyes looked hungry too for the money which was being flung into the air by the members of the baraat to express their joy for the occasion.
The groom, with his face hidden behind a headdress with hanging garlands, was sitting on a female horse(a mare) symbolising the age old manly conviction that man has to take charge of the female he is going to bind with, for a lifetime, irrespective of the contemporary realities. The groom and his mare were covered in finery. Just like the lights carrying crew the mare also did not seem strong enough to carry the groom.
The baraat had come a bit closer to the venue but not quite there as yet. The elderly members wanted to go a bit faster unlike the younger ones who wanted to carry on dancing for a little bit more as this was a life time opportunity to dance on the wedding of this groom. This was not supposed to happen again in his life ever again.
The constant and poignant beat of the dhol was echoing into the air calling all the residents of the nearby street onto their terraces and balconies out of curiosity to see the baraat. For some, the aerial view was rather spectacular.
Eventually, the baraat arrived in front of the main gate of the wedding venue. It appeared that the band will stop playing now but it did not. It was continuing as some members of the baraat were still keen on dancing. However, after a few minutes, the band stopped playing and it sounded utterly peaceful similar to a ceasefire. Now was the time for the groom to get off his unusual conveyance. The owner of the horse, however, did not let the groom get off until his father paid him a specified amount of money. It was a part of the tradition. After some bargaining, the father of the groom paid him the agreed amount and the groom jumped off in such a way that if he did not rush, the bride would run away with someone else.
The family members of the bride and very close relatives were all there right in front of the entrance gate to welcome the groom and his baraat. It was time for milni, i.e. exchanging garlands by individual male counterpart relatives of the bride and the groom. The groom’s dad will exchange a garland with bride’s dad and bride’s dad will also give a present to the groom’s dad. The groom’s dad will not give anything to the bride’s dad except the garland. The same will apply to bride’s and groom’s brothers, their maternal and paternal uncles and even their grandfathers, if they were still alive. If one of the two was alive then a substitute will have to be found for the other. After this exchanging of garlands and giving of presents, the bride’s family made way for the groom’s family. The baraat just followed. In fact, during the garland exchanging process many members of the baraat, who had no interest in this ritual, had already escaped inside the venue. They were mainly the loyal dancers who were very thirsty after all this hard work of dancing on the broken and unlevelled roads. It was not easy after all.
The bride’s family escorted the groom and his family to the sofas on the front. These sofas in elegant white covers had been reserved for them already. The ordinary members of the baraat were not allowed to sit on these. There were ordinary chairs elsewhere for them. The sofas were right in front of the dais which was going to be used later for dignified occupancy. There were two chairs on the dais, one each for the bride and the groom. Since the bride had not arrived yet the groom sat on the sofa for the first few minutes.
The members of the baraat and those from the host camp were busy relishing the starters and the appetisers. There were stalls of food from one end of the hall to the other. The serving staff of the caterer was wearing smart brilliant white hats almost totally in contrast to their own colour. The colour of the aprons was red. There were lots of girls wanting to be served on the paani puri stall. They looked mouth watering, the paani puris. The man who was serving these was doing it rather mechanically. His hands moved in a very systematic manner. He was picking paani puris up with his left hand, piercing a whole with his thumb on the top of them while the right hand brought, in a spoon, some small pieces of boiled potatoes cut about the size of a small dice of a board game and some boiled chick peas. After pouring some chutneys and a very special spicy water in it he was transferring the paani puris from his left hand into his right hand and then straight into the bowls in the hands of people eagerly waiting to be served. There was also a very long wait for the Paneer (Indian Cheese) Tikka. It looked very succulent as it clung the long skewers and was rotated on the giant bar-be-que . It seemed really busy in every corner of the hall where food arrangements were made.
All of a sudden, a car stopped at the entrance and came out the bride dressed in a gorgeous red ethnic bridal saari. She was covered in all sorts of jewellery from head to toe and was looking like a fairy princess. However, her dress and jewellery together were either heavier than her or were arranged in such a way that she was finding it extremely difficult to walk. She must have been over the moon and excited for the biggest day of her life but there was no such manifestation visible on her face as it was covered a bit too much by the layers of the items of ornamental importance. The bridesmaid was rather visible and looked more cheerful and excited as if it was her wedding. She and some other girls escorted the bride to the dais. The step by step progression towards the dais was no less than the entire journey of the baraat from their assembly point to the wedding venue.
The groom who was moved from the white sofa to his special chair on the dais few minutes ago tried desperately to peek through the garlands hanging from his headdress so he could see the bride. There was no end to his happiness at this time as he was going to sit next to the girl who would soon be his wife. The bond was becoming stronger every minute. The bride sat on her special silvery red chair next to the groom. She was very shy but somehow managed to have a glimpse of the groom.
Now was the time for each related family to come along on the dais to feed sweets to the bride and the groom and get a picture taken of them with the celebrities of the day. There was an informal understanding that each family will try to feed them, have a picture taken and get off the dais as quickly as possible. There were a couple of kids who had decided to be in each photo of this wedding album so would not get off at all. After some time the bride and the groom were asked to stand up. It was time for varmala. Some one gave them a garland each. They were asked to garland each other. First the bride was asked to garland him. Apparently, the groom was already instructed by his friends and family not to bend down so as to make it a bit difficult for the poor bride. In fact, it seemed that he was told beforehand that he had to keep his head as high as he could. This was to symbolise that men never bend in front of their women. The groom’s facial expression suggested, however, that reality was far from this. He apparently wanted to make it easier for the bride. But the age old customs did not permit him to do so.
Somehow, the bride flung the garland around his neck and everybody clapped. Then groom did his bit. He did not have any problem as he was taller than the bride. Then they were asked to sit back again on their respective chairs as some more photos were to be taken particularly of the bride, her delicate make up including the henna on her hands which looked like a classic piece of embroidery. It was important to take the pictures of henna on bride’s hands as otherwise it will be a complete waste as no one will ever see this piece of art. Not even the groom. Not that he was not romantic but because he was not familiar with this form of romance.
The night was progressing fast and the auspicious moment for wedding was gone past an hour ago. This was quite reasonable considering the sequence of events and procedures that had been completed so far. Guests who had had their meals and were not very keen on attending the rituals to bind the two souls together had started leaving after handing their envelopes containing their wishes for the couple in the form of an odd amount of money, always ending in 1.
It was time for the groom, his family, the bride, her family and a few more people who were instrumental to the wedding agreement to have their meals. There was a special long table at the far right corner of the dinner hall reserved for this elite group. The waiters had strict instructions to make sure that everybody on this table admired the service. This was critical to the amount of gratuities that will be paid to the catering and serving staff at the end, generally by bride’s dad. But they tried to target the groom as well to cash in on his overwhelming joy.
After the feast, the bride, the groom and their close family members were to go and sit where the actual ceremony was to be performed. Before they could settle down on the floor, which was well carpeted to provide the performers of the rituals with a good comfort level, the bride, the groom and their families were supposed to take their shoes off. This was because shoes were not allowed near the bowl which was to be used for lighting the sacred fire to witness the act of super bonding of the two souls for the next few incarnations, generally 7.
Everybody was happy to take his/her shoes off except the groom. He was a bit worried about his brand new shoes. This was because bride’s brother/sister were likely to steal his shoes as part of a tradition and later, at the end of the ceremony, demand a ransom for safe return of shoes to enable the groom to go home with his brand new wife for which he would not be willing to wait. Somehow, he had to take his shoes off to get married in the first place. He had instructed one of his own friends to keep an eye on his shoes to save himself from being blackmailed later.
The pundit ji asked the bride's dad to tie the long scarf looping around the groom’s neck with the dangling end of the bride’s saari. Theoretically, this was the first step in tying the knot but practically it was to ensure that when it comes to walk around the sacred fire, they walk at the same speed or if one falls in it the other should invariably follow because they had now committed to sign the “till death do us part” agreement.
Within no time, the pundit ji made the parents of both the bride and the groom sit in a particular arrangement and started to ignite the small wooden sticks in the fire bowl. The fire started to gradually leap within the bowl. The pundit ji was delivering the mantras (vedic chants). After each mantra he was asking the bride and the groom to pour together, as one person, some ghee (a form of butter) on top of the burning sticks. This was making the fire rising really high. This was now making a blustery noise and felt very warm on such a cold wintry night. The bride’s hand was constantly touching the groom’s hand so that he could add ghee to the fire after every mantra as they had to do it together. Her hand touching him was like adding ghee to the fire anyway. This was making the atmosphere even warmer for them. This was making them unaware of what pundit ji had to convey to the deities. It’s a different thing that they would not have understood the language of the Vedas anyway. This went on for a while.
Meanwhile, the great pump and show had started to wind up with the catering and other staff finishing their meals. There was still the coffee machine on to provide regular drink of coffee to the people attending to the late night rituals to keep them warm or awake. The coffee making staff was trying their best to provide a good service as they looked forward to a good tip at the end. The Band members were resting on the chairs elsewhere after having their dinner. They knew they will be called again to perform on the last leg of the extravaganza later.
While close family members paid attention to the mantras and other procedures being performed or solicited by pundit ji, other residual guests spent some lighter moments sharing jokes with each other and trying to pull groom’s and bride’s legs. Some elderly members of their families did not like it; but nobody cared. Some kids were still playing with balloons and some very young ones were trying to sleep in their mothers’ laps. Pundit ji asked the bride and the groom to stand up as he prepared for the pheras. He then asked them to go round in a circle around the sacred fire 7 times stopping intermittently to make them understand the importance of each promise they made after completing each phera or the round. The pheras were completed amidst the noisy but fun filled running commentary from a group of young friends and relatives whose objective seemed to be having as much fun as possible from the event leading to a joint venture with unforeseen outcomes.
Then pundit ji called for the groom to put vermillion on the bride’s forehead near the hairline where the hair parted on either side of her head. The groom felt overjoyed while his right hand’s thumb dragged through the bride’s forehead delicately displaying a streak of the bright red sindoor powder. Then he put the mangal sutra (the sacred thread embedded with dazzling jewels) around her neck. This felt like a fairy tale of a little princess who was adored by a charming prince before she was taken away from everyone else to make her his very own.
Everyone attending clapped their hands. The groom and the bride were now man and wife. Pundit ji, parents, uncles, aunties, etc. blessed them with a shower of flowers. Everyone was now allowed to get up and put their shoes on. The ultimate witness to the wedding, the sacred fire, was now being doused by pundit ji after it having sincerely performed its duty of witnessing the union of two souls. The groom’s friends could not keep a very good eye on his shoes and they were indeed stolen by the bride’s brother(s)/ sister(s)/ friends. So, he was not left with any other choice but to pay for his own shoes. He bought them for less than what he had to pay for them now. But never mind…. He was still happy.
It was nearly dawn……. Everything had come to a standstill but the soothing sound of the mantras was still echoing in the ears of all. There appeared to have been created a big vacuum as if someone had pressed the pause button in the middle of a rock number. The bride’s family members had lost their speech before the very moment when they will give her away to someone else. So, with their lips sealed and their hands joined together, their eyes told of their heartfelt request to the groom’s family to wait for a while before leaving so they could gather the courage to part from their lovingly brought up girl, who was still a little girl for them. The silent request was granted a nod of approval and everyone settled for a while. The bride was happy and apprehensive of the future outcomes at the same time but the very thought of being separated from her parents/family was just so powerful that she seemed to have forgotten about her future. The moment in time seemed to have pushed and stuck something down her throat which was making her choke. She must have felt that she was going to die. Her family members were feeling the same, choking with sadness. Their damp eyes were making it even more difficult for them to see their already disappearing little girl. This was the most difficult moment of their lives. They knew from the day she was born but never realised that, the one who used to fill the whole house with her mystical sounds as a child, one who always asked questions because of her inquisitiveness, and one who, as a grown up, always endeavoured to make their house a home, will leave them aspiring for her one day. But…the moment had come. She had to go now. Something which was stuck in their throats had to be swallowed down. The bride broke into tears. She cried and cried on the shoulders of her dad. He pacified her while his own tears rolled down his cheeks onto her head covered in the beautiful red saari.
The band members, who were almost asleep, were called again to get ready for giving this event a final touch. No body ever thought that the brass band of the British army from the pre independence era would become such a phenomenon later in the celebration of Indian weddings, but it did.
This time they had to perform a number signifying moments of separation only to add to the already sorrowful atmosphere. This time they had to perform only for a few minutes while the bride walked up to the groom’s conveyance. This was not a horse anymore. It was a car. The couple settled themselves in the back seat when the bride was still continuously crying like a child. The bride’s brother was also pushed in as he, as part of a tradition, was supposed to go with her, only for a day. He was going to see that she will be happy in her new home.
The doors of the meticulously decorated car shut…....!! So did the hearts of the bride and her family. As the car started to move, the bride felt as if she was leaving her own soul behind. She was struggling to cope with this separation of her body from her soul which was trying to come out of her through her mouth, trying to choke her again. A big silence hovered over the whole place. With the progression of the car further down the road, only the fainting sounds of the band could be heard which also eventually died.
Sunday, 23 May 2010
A day from my childhood
It was a hot summer day in New Delhi in May 1982. The mercury had soared up to 37 degrees. I could feel the sweat rolling down my head onto my face and further down to my chest through my already wet shirt. The 5 minutes walk from school back home felt like a marathon of 5 hours.
I was only 11 years old and it was a routine thing for me to argue with my mother about there being no cold water in our house as there was no fridge in our house at that time. The water in the hand made clay container was presumably cold but not for me. I think it was just a little less hot than the water in any other container. Running water from the tap would have been a bit better but the supply was restricted only to an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening. This used to be time when everybody who was in the house had a duty to fill any container available in the house with water after having a quick shower.
I reached home and knocked at the backdoor because that was the door we mainly used rather than the front door. The back door was an old wooden frame with some light weight metal net running across the frame. Our house was part of a very old building built by the British. My mom must have opened the door within a few seconds but felt like an unnecessary delay on her part. She should have kept it open already as she knew what time I will be back. The heat was unbearable.
Life never seemed interesting at that time of the day not only because it was the hottest time of the day but also because I had just got too much homework to do. On top of that I was exhausted. I put my school bag on one side and my shoes and uniform on the other. It usually was not a case of changing but just taking the uniform off. My head was going round and round in the wake of the heat and all that I wanted was to have some cold water to quench my thirst.
Mom would never let me drink cold water for the first few minutes after my return from school as it was too dangerous to drink cold water right after walking in the blow of hot and humid winds.
So, I had to wait. Something which was impossible had to be done. The dire physical consequences were described to me a few times to keep me at a bay from cold water or water at all.
After a long wait of around two minutes I attacked the tumbler and gobbled down all of the water in it. It did not seem sufficient so had another one. This made me feel better.
Now when some thirst had been quenched it was time to satisfy my hunger. My angel mother was ready to give me some delicious chapattis with vegetables and curd. It could be war like situation if the sabzi (vegetable) was not of my choice or if dahi (yoghurt) was not thick enough. The kitchen was the first room on the right as we entered the house (from the back door).
My dad’s reading/eating table was right in front of the back door leaning against the wall between the two doors leading to two rooms; living room through the door on the left of that wall and bedroom through the door on the right of that wall; the wall which accommodated the table. The kitchen was a complete right turn. I went in and sat on a small hand woven rug. The heat of the flame of the angithi (home made clay oven – generally made out of a metal bucket) resting on the floor could be felt from a distance but mom was sitting just next to it relentlessly. After having finished my lunch quickly I came out of the kitchen and headed straight to the bed for a nap for an hour or so. The ceiling fan was running at number 5, the maximum speed possible and was also making a rattling noise which did not seem to matter. This was heaven now.
By the time I woke up from my nap a cooler evening popped in with the grace of the setting sun. I could hear the noises of children playing outside in the ground. I could also hear a distant voice of the ice cream seller who used to come dragging his hand pushed cart with icy blue stripes all around its white surface full of ice creams in an ice cooled compartment. My favourite was the milky ice cream which used to sell at 25 paise. I did not think I would have got it that day so did not ask for it. I could not wait. Got dressed quickly as one of my friends will soon be shouting my name outside and I did not want to be held responsible for any delay in start of the play. After being permitted by mom I quickly went out with a smile on my face. I did not know what we were going to play that day. It could be cricket, chupan chupai, pakram pakrai, maaram pitti, pithu, gilli danda…or something else.
While I was still playing, I could see my sister on the edge of the playground coming back from her office walking towards our house. It must be around 6 pm and I knew I will soon be called in. After my name being shouted at least 3 or 4 times I was compelled to go inside the house. A quick snack was followed by a reminder to do my homework which was the worst thing to do. I hated it, always. But somehow, I had to do it, generally with my sister’s help. She was very kind and very strict. It was amazing the way she could effectively portray both these characteristics at the same time. She had all the power to handle me affectionately or otherwise as appropriate.
At last the home work was finished and I had a sigh of relief. Now was the time to watch some tv which will not last long as the broadcasting would be stopped soon. Tv did not use to be 24 hours a day but only about a couple of hours every evening. And there was only one channel. But it was much more powerful entertainment source than today’s 24x7 hundreds of channels.
Soon my brother appeared from somewhere. I was the youngest of all. It was great fun always to have him around. He was usually quite engaged in his own stuff as he was older than me. He and his friends were a different group than me and my friends. I remember his attendance at college was not usually very good which annoyed my dad. Just like me he was also not very keen on studies. On study front I believe we somehow used to manage. But for me he always was my big brother who helped me as much as he could. I still remember one day he came to my school and asked the teacher if he could take me with him at the end of half day because there were some important things at house and took me to our local cinema and we watched a popular bollywood movie of that time. This was great!
It was soon night time and it used to be a story telling time even at the age of 11 because childhood used to last much longer those days than today. I now wish if those days could come back. I think I quite miss them. Today, I have my own happy family but I miss the happy family of my mom and dad of which I was a part!!!
I was only 11 years old and it was a routine thing for me to argue with my mother about there being no cold water in our house as there was no fridge in our house at that time. The water in the hand made clay container was presumably cold but not for me. I think it was just a little less hot than the water in any other container. Running water from the tap would have been a bit better but the supply was restricted only to an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening. This used to be time when everybody who was in the house had a duty to fill any container available in the house with water after having a quick shower.
I reached home and knocked at the backdoor because that was the door we mainly used rather than the front door. The back door was an old wooden frame with some light weight metal net running across the frame. Our house was part of a very old building built by the British. My mom must have opened the door within a few seconds but felt like an unnecessary delay on her part. She should have kept it open already as she knew what time I will be back. The heat was unbearable.
Life never seemed interesting at that time of the day not only because it was the hottest time of the day but also because I had just got too much homework to do. On top of that I was exhausted. I put my school bag on one side and my shoes and uniform on the other. It usually was not a case of changing but just taking the uniform off. My head was going round and round in the wake of the heat and all that I wanted was to have some cold water to quench my thirst.
Mom would never let me drink cold water for the first few minutes after my return from school as it was too dangerous to drink cold water right after walking in the blow of hot and humid winds.
So, I had to wait. Something which was impossible had to be done. The dire physical consequences were described to me a few times to keep me at a bay from cold water or water at all.
After a long wait of around two minutes I attacked the tumbler and gobbled down all of the water in it. It did not seem sufficient so had another one. This made me feel better.
Now when some thirst had been quenched it was time to satisfy my hunger. My angel mother was ready to give me some delicious chapattis with vegetables and curd. It could be war like situation if the sabzi (vegetable) was not of my choice or if dahi (yoghurt) was not thick enough. The kitchen was the first room on the right as we entered the house (from the back door).
My dad’s reading/eating table was right in front of the back door leaning against the wall between the two doors leading to two rooms; living room through the door on the left of that wall and bedroom through the door on the right of that wall; the wall which accommodated the table. The kitchen was a complete right turn. I went in and sat on a small hand woven rug. The heat of the flame of the angithi (home made clay oven – generally made out of a metal bucket) resting on the floor could be felt from a distance but mom was sitting just next to it relentlessly. After having finished my lunch quickly I came out of the kitchen and headed straight to the bed for a nap for an hour or so. The ceiling fan was running at number 5, the maximum speed possible and was also making a rattling noise which did not seem to matter. This was heaven now.
By the time I woke up from my nap a cooler evening popped in with the grace of the setting sun. I could hear the noises of children playing outside in the ground. I could also hear a distant voice of the ice cream seller who used to come dragging his hand pushed cart with icy blue stripes all around its white surface full of ice creams in an ice cooled compartment. My favourite was the milky ice cream which used to sell at 25 paise. I did not think I would have got it that day so did not ask for it. I could not wait. Got dressed quickly as one of my friends will soon be shouting my name outside and I did not want to be held responsible for any delay in start of the play. After being permitted by mom I quickly went out with a smile on my face. I did not know what we were going to play that day. It could be cricket, chupan chupai, pakram pakrai, maaram pitti, pithu, gilli danda…or something else.
While I was still playing, I could see my sister on the edge of the playground coming back from her office walking towards our house. It must be around 6 pm and I knew I will soon be called in. After my name being shouted at least 3 or 4 times I was compelled to go inside the house. A quick snack was followed by a reminder to do my homework which was the worst thing to do. I hated it, always. But somehow, I had to do it, generally with my sister’s help. She was very kind and very strict. It was amazing the way she could effectively portray both these characteristics at the same time. She had all the power to handle me affectionately or otherwise as appropriate.
At last the home work was finished and I had a sigh of relief. Now was the time to watch some tv which will not last long as the broadcasting would be stopped soon. Tv did not use to be 24 hours a day but only about a couple of hours every evening. And there was only one channel. But it was much more powerful entertainment source than today’s 24x7 hundreds of channels.
Soon my brother appeared from somewhere. I was the youngest of all. It was great fun always to have him around. He was usually quite engaged in his own stuff as he was older than me. He and his friends were a different group than me and my friends. I remember his attendance at college was not usually very good which annoyed my dad. Just like me he was also not very keen on studies. On study front I believe we somehow used to manage. But for me he always was my big brother who helped me as much as he could. I still remember one day he came to my school and asked the teacher if he could take me with him at the end of half day because there were some important things at house and took me to our local cinema and we watched a popular bollywood movie of that time. This was great!
It was soon night time and it used to be a story telling time even at the age of 11 because childhood used to last much longer those days than today. I now wish if those days could come back. I think I quite miss them. Today, I have my own happy family but I miss the happy family of my mom and dad of which I was a part!!!
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