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The Nellore District where I grew up in the 1950s is on the famed Coromandel Coast of Yonghy Bonghy Bo. During my time there, the Buckingham Canal was a maritime waterway running parallel to the sea coast.
The Coromandel Coast is in a rain-shadow region of the South-West Monsoon that floods the rest of India. We have but drizzles during June-September. But this is compensated by the North-East Monsoon in October-November, often with cyclones that fill the reservoirs and lakes. Post monsoon, in December, it is delightful to travel in the Nellore District. Greenery and rice fields and soothing sea breeze.
Nellore District is home to two famous heronries, Nelapattu and Pulicat, where herons, pelicans and flamingos breed undisturbed and travel back to wherever they came from.
Bring me a crane, stork, pelican, heron and a flamingo on a silver salver...and I won't be able to tell them apart. We called all of them 'cranes' in our Nellore English and Kongalu in Telugu. I first read of flamingos from Alice in Wonderland where the crazy Queen used them as mallets in her weird game of croquet...perhaps I can recognize them.
Often we used to sight flocks of cranes flying in majestic formations in our skies. And word would spread among kids. And all of us used to rush out and tilt our hands skywards so that our fingernails faced the flock of milk-white cranes, singing:
"Konga Konga Gollu Kokkirai Gollu!"
till the flock disappeared. There was this superstition among us, foisted by our elders, that this crazy ritual would turn our nails as white as the cranes flying away in the sky. And would look at our nails and feel great. I can't say how a milk-white fingernail is better than a rosy red...it only indicates anemia as I learned later...but there it is!
This reminds me of another funny ritual our ladies used to indulge in. When they happened to sight the crescent on the fourth day of the new moon (Chaturdhi), they would peel apart a single cotton fiber from whatever sari they were wearing and fling it towards the moon...it is supposed to fetch dozens of new saris anon.
Come rains in November, our tank in Muthukur used to fill up and overflow towards its flat bund. And in its full tide the water would fetch lots of fingerlings and baby frogs and wash them ashore.
That was when our cranes would descend from the heavens and stand by the shore on one leg without stirring for hours together:
The pose is famous. Once in a while when a fingerling gets washed up within its reach, the crane would halt its meditations and dip its beak into the water and lift up its prey and gobble it.
And back to the one-legged pose again till the next catch.
I read all about food-hunters and food-gatherers but our Muthukur cranes were a class apart...they were food-lifters.
And their pose is called:
"Konga Japam"
in Telugu...meaning...the Crane Yoga...implies a fake yogic posture in which the sustained stillness is only for show...in reality the mind is not introverted but slyly on the look out for gullible prey.
Before we were served our lunch we, the brahmins with the sacred thread, had to do Gayatri Japam. It is a ritual in our home. Father would be busy with his office work till a bell rings in the Puja Room. That meant 10 minutes to go for food. And he would rush, wash, wear his dhoti, fetch the special Gayatri Japam Implements like a glass, a dish and a spoon made of pure copper or silver, and start his water-sprinkling and sipping and pouring ritual...all the time wondering what was cooking.
And my mom would taunt him as indulging in :
"Konga Japam"
Later it was my turn after my Upanayanam.
After I left Muthukur I never saw these devout cranes...neither in Vizagh nor at KGP. The campus in KGP didn't have tanks that overflowed their bunds in rains...there were overflowing drains alright...but no cranes...
But several of us were doing Konga Japam of a different sort alright!
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The Nellore District where I grew up in the 1950s is on the famed Coromandel Coast of Yonghy Bonghy Bo. During my time there, the Buckingham Canal was a maritime waterway running parallel to the sea coast.
The Coromandel Coast is in a rain-shadow region of the South-West Monsoon that floods the rest of India. We have but drizzles during June-September. But this is compensated by the North-East Monsoon in October-November, often with cyclones that fill the reservoirs and lakes. Post monsoon, in December, it is delightful to travel in the Nellore District. Greenery and rice fields and soothing sea breeze.
Nellore District is home to two famous heronries, Nelapattu and Pulicat, where herons, pelicans and flamingos breed undisturbed and travel back to wherever they came from.
Bring me a crane, stork, pelican, heron and a flamingo on a silver salver...and I won't be able to tell them apart. We called all of them 'cranes' in our Nellore English and Kongalu in Telugu. I first read of flamingos from Alice in Wonderland where the crazy Queen used them as mallets in her weird game of croquet...perhaps I can recognize them.
Often we used to sight flocks of cranes flying in majestic formations in our skies. And word would spread among kids. And all of us used to rush out and tilt our hands skywards so that our fingernails faced the flock of milk-white cranes, singing:
"Konga Konga Gollu Kokkirai Gollu!"
till the flock disappeared. There was this superstition among us, foisted by our elders, that this crazy ritual would turn our nails as white as the cranes flying away in the sky. And would look at our nails and feel great. I can't say how a milk-white fingernail is better than a rosy red...it only indicates anemia as I learned later...but there it is!
This reminds me of another funny ritual our ladies used to indulge in. When they happened to sight the crescent on the fourth day of the new moon (Chaturdhi), they would peel apart a single cotton fiber from whatever sari they were wearing and fling it towards the moon...it is supposed to fetch dozens of new saris anon.
Come rains in November, our tank in Muthukur used to fill up and overflow towards its flat bund. And in its full tide the water would fetch lots of fingerlings and baby frogs and wash them ashore.
That was when our cranes would descend from the heavens and stand by the shore on one leg without stirring for hours together:
The pose is famous. Once in a while when a fingerling gets washed up within its reach, the crane would halt its meditations and dip its beak into the water and lift up its prey and gobble it.
And back to the one-legged pose again till the next catch.
I read all about food-hunters and food-gatherers but our Muthukur cranes were a class apart...they were food-lifters.
And their pose is called:
"Konga Japam"
in Telugu...meaning...the Crane Yoga...implies a fake yogic posture in which the sustained stillness is only for show...in reality the mind is not introverted but slyly on the look out for gullible prey.
Before we were served our lunch we, the brahmins with the sacred thread, had to do Gayatri Japam. It is a ritual in our home. Father would be busy with his office work till a bell rings in the Puja Room. That meant 10 minutes to go for food. And he would rush, wash, wear his dhoti, fetch the special Gayatri Japam Implements like a glass, a dish and a spoon made of pure copper or silver, and start his water-sprinkling and sipping and pouring ritual...all the time wondering what was cooking.
And my mom would taunt him as indulging in :
"Konga Japam"
Later it was my turn after my Upanayanam.
After I left Muthukur I never saw these devout cranes...neither in Vizagh nor at KGP. The campus in KGP didn't have tanks that overflowed their bunds in rains...there were overflowing drains alright...but no cranes...
But several of us were doing Konga Japam of a different sort alright!
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