November light

Diwali. The festival of lights, the time I wait for, for most part of the year. A golden warmth spreads to the root of every heart. The earthy scent of the oil-drunk clay diyas. Orange-yellow marigold patterns adorning doorsteps. The crisp November air thick with an amalgamation of smells, mostly that of fried sweets and noisy firecrackers. Happy people, reunited in a bubble of joy, tucking away their differences for a day or two. A perfect world.

Happy Diwali dear friends.

Phailin's Durga Puja

I was home last week. But so was Cyclone Phailin, and there started the drama of it all. What had been dreamed, hoped, and rejoiced about since the last one month, all started to fall apart like the places and people that were exposed to the wrath of the brutal storm. As if being stranded in a place without electricity for three days and not being able to make that journey for which you had planned days ahead wasn't enough, I also had to fall sick. After somehow managing to waddle through the waves and howling winds, we finally reached home only to be in the throws of a bad bacterial stomach infection. The festive season which starts with the Durga Puja had anyway become dim due to Phailin's threat, and there wasn't much that I could have missed celebrations-wise.

Still, for someone who was visiting home after more than a year, it didn't feel right. My days were robbed and the stay at home was cut short by forces beyond my control. Amid candle-lit nights and overcast days, streets strewn with uprooted trees and disheveled decorations from Durga's pandals, I felt cheated. I know, my litany of woes are mercilessly self-centred and indecorous when compared to the immeasurable grief of the cyclone-ravaged people, but that's what I feel. Other than a handful glimpses of the puja on the tenth and the final day, I have got nothing this year. And that's what I shall give to you.

Durga in all her golden glory, punishing the sinners and yet smiling through that veil of radiant calm. The idol of Ardhanarishwar, literally meaning 'the Lord who is half woman'. Shiva and his consort Parvati, another avatar of Durga, come together symbolizing the inherent androgynous nature in a human being. Having never witnessed its presence in the pandals before, it came as a pleasant surprise. Childhood revisited it was, for every corner and every turn of the town reminded me of the joys of many a Durga Puja holiday. And it was almost a decade since I had been home during the pujas. So homecoming it was, in some way at least.  

Diwali

The diyas are out again. Everywhere, on doorsteps, on terrace borders, on balcony lattices, and inside homes, warming them up to a toasty perfection. Glitzy and pretty, like small wonders they shine, as they unveil the hidden joy from bustling city lives. Gone are those days when lines of traditional earthen diyas would adorn every veranda in the town. I still have fond remembrances of  the crisp October-November evenings, when I would sit beside grandma and watch her make wicks from coarse cotton, which would be later dipped in diyas filled with castor oil on the evening of Diwali. Sadly, the lack of time and tradition in our urban lives and rampant consumerism have replaced this beautiful ritual with ready-made jazzy and colourful lamps that are mostly a cross between a diya and a candle. So this time, I got little pot-shaped lamps filled with wax with a wee bit of fancy lace tied around the neck.

We have been waiting for the last five years, and how desperately, to celebrate this much loved festival of lights in the home country. And here we are at last. What adds a big dollop of happiness to this Diwali is the joy of lighting firecrackers, a thrill we so dearly missed in the States. The husband has gone back to being a gleeful ten-year-old (himself, that is) and has come back from the market with a bursting bag of firecrackers. We can't wait for the evening twilight to fade and the night sky to turn into a twinkling canvas of light and colours. One luminous, kaleidoscopic feast it will be. If only I wasn't bitten by nasty cold bug! Nevertheless, wrapped in the warmth of festivity and well-being, I hope to make the most of it.
'Tis time then, to pop, fizz and sparkle. Wishing one and all a very happy Diwali.

PS. Here's a glimpse of our cracker craze!

Durga's October

The end of October draws near, that much awaited month of celebrations. The monsoons are long gone and there is a sudden crispness in the air, particularly in the late afternoons. True, one doesn't have that quintessential kaleidoscopic autumn of the West here, but the air still smells as much ripe. It is plump with expectations - of days of revelry and restlessness, of streets thronged with enthusiastic faces, and of homes filled with a harmonious warmth. During this time of the year, a meaningless mirth floods the city, reaching to its very nooks and crannies, even to its most hideous, unsightly of gutters. After all, joy never differentiates between the beautiful and the ugly, the rich and the poor. Joy is joy, unpretentious and a shade of pristine white, like the untainted heart of a five-year-old.

Today marks the tenth and final day of Durga Puja, the time when the goddess Durga completes her annual journey in the world of mortals. Ten days of her overwhelming presence take one to another world altogether - the charged, carnivalesque atmosphere (not so much here as much as back home, the eastern part of India that is); narrow lighted streets chocked with busy hawkers; the air smelling of incense, ghee and happiness... The three-eyed and ten-handed goddess is the harbinger of good times for the Hindus, and for us women, she is the Maa (mother) from whom we draw the strength to battle evil and the fortitude to bear the worldly burdens. 

After the immersion of the idol this afternoon, though not many here in the southern part of the country, there's a sudden, pervading emptiness. Perhaps it's the accumulative nostalgia of the void since one's childhood, when we would all utter bittersweet sighs after seeing the idol sink and reappear, before finally disappearing into the silty depths of the nearby pond. Time hangs like a giant caged bird, still, yet breathing, and even the blaring highway right next to the apartment cannot wipe out the uncomfortable silence. The wind-chimes in the balcony make the only din in this otherwise empty evening.

Here's a lovely painting of Maa Durga that I stumbled upon in a nearby community puja. Until next year then...

Merry Christmas

Wishing everyone
all things happy and bright
the dainty twinkle of bells
feisty poinsettia's delight
a lively, lovely day
laced with a starlit night
a heart full of love
an embrace warm and tight.

Merry Christmas dear friends.

Say "Boo"!

It's pumpkin time. When its overwhelming mellowness follows you in an aroma trail wherever you go - pies, breads, lattes, lanterns, pumpkin patches, and sometimes in the most unusual of places, my head. Because it's Halloween. Another colourful festival. Another excuse to switch off the unmelodious, humdrum song of life. And surely another day to live and love.

So when a much preoccupied devil woman was baking these pumpkin spice cupcakes and fretting over the messy icing, her hippie husband was beaming over how perfect his carving of a spider was. And what a contest of charades - his abnormally large, bouncy wigged head to her glaring red horns!
The warmth oozing from the heady mix of the pumpkin and the spices, and the quaking golden leaves from the kitchen window painted a perfect little autumn paradise. Dusk fell and then came along the other masqueraders, some ghostly and other adorable but all radiant in their bizarre best. And it was a happy, happy night that followed. Of fun, food and friendship. 

Wish you all a very happy Halloween! Boo!!

Let there be light

It is that time of the year again. Back home, of course.
Diwali, our festival of lights.

When the beautiful diyas on everyone's front porches do the talking... When their orange-yellow flames envelop all in a tight bond of love and togetherness... When the air is filled with the boom and roar of colorful firecrackers... When happiness is all you could smell and be... When the tempting aroma of sweets wafts from warm homes...
When it feels all is well. And even if it isn't, it will be. Someday it has to be.

This time, I won't do my regular share of homesickness rant here that I am so used to during these festive times. Instead I will show you the sparkling diyas that lighted our home and warmed our hearts this evening. I also made gulab jamun, a traditional Diwali fare which is dumplings made from milk powder dough which are deep fried and then soaked in a fragrant rose syrup. And yes, the garnish includes crushed almonds and pistachios.

Here is a glimpse of the little India that the husband and I put together this evening.
Wish you all a very happy Diwali, dear friends.

Farewell September

"September: it was the most beautiful of words, he'd always felt, evoking orange flowers, swallows and regret."

~ Alexander Theroux

Come October and it will all be about spreading the joy - puja and its colourful air, glittering diyas and aromatic sweets, fat pumpkins and lovely pies. 
And yes, bucket-loads of bright chrysanthemums and smiles galore.