***********************************************************************************************************
My ancestors were believers in a flat-earth supported by 8 elephants on its eight corners. Above was heaven and below, hell. And both these were flat. I don't know what was above heaven and below hell. Possibly vast abysses.
And they were ardent worshipers of Sun-God...Surya Bhagavan. We, South Indians, are children of sunshine which is there most of the year. But come winter, our ancestors saw their Sun God heading south inexorably and were scared He would fall down into the abyss and would be lost forever. So they prayed to Him to please forgive their sins and retrace His steps and head north and bless them with eternal sunshine. And He invariably heeded their prayers and started returning assuredly sometime around January 15th.
This event they considered the most propitious in their calender. And called it Uttarayan Punya Kalam. It also coincided with the bountiful harvest season on the Coromandel Coast.
This combo was too good to let go and so they celebrated it in various ways. Across the whole of Hindu India this Makara Sankranti is celebrated one way or the other. Some do it with bonfires. Others fly kites. Yet others with a boiled rice-milk-sugar dish known as Pongal. Yet others go to Gangasagar and take a holy dip in the spot where Ganges merges with her Sea-Lord. Most everyone offer tarpans to their ancestors. Bhishma waited for this auspicious muhurat to give up his life so that he was assured a seat in the heaven above.
In our Andhra families, the 3-day festival starts with Bhogi. I don't know the etymology of this word. Bhog has so many nuances in Indian languages.
We burn our deadwood early this morning in the shivering cold...we shiver even at +15 degrees Celsius. Snowfall is unknown to us.
In the evening of Bhogi there is a charming event in households where there are kids between 1 and 5. We have Ishani just turned 4. And she is enthroned the queen for an hour or two this evening.
Early in the morning she participates with all her zeal in making a Rangoli in front of her home. And throughout the day she anticipates the arrival of the evening. Her mom gets busy inviting a few neighboring brahmin families with ladies and kids. I for one am acutely aware of my caste although I don't follow a single injunction on brahmins like wearing the sacred thread or doing Gayatri Japam or eating only home-cooked veg dishes.
Ishani's dad gets busy shopping for making Bhogi Pallu that has various special knicknacks like red berries, cut sugarcane pieces, puffed rice and dry sweets. These are mixed in a plate along with coins and kept ready for the evening. And some sweetmeats for the invited guests who duly arrive one by one and take their seats.
A special chair is decorated for Ishani to sit down and pose for the event.
The special guests for the event were an old couple. The old man is about 82 and he had come to visit his retired son and family. His wife is 75. So far I thought I was the oldest citizen in our gated community and everyone has to bow down to me and seek blessings from me like:
But here was this Big brother Bull to me.
After everyone was more or less seated, Ishani's mom demurely requested the ladies to sing some songs. And everyone demurred saying they don't know how to sing.
And the Grand Old Man let out the cat from her bag saying his darling wife was a great singer. She chided him appropriately and declined with whatever shyness is left at 75. That was the cue for everyone to plead with her. And she fell silent. And all fell silent. Pregnant silence it is called.
After what to me was an aeon, the old lady ignited slowly and gained pace duly. Since I am a non-musical buffoon, I was watching how her two diamond nose-studs (one on either side) were quivering in resonance with her highs and lows. Suddenly she stopped. And everyone started to clap...but it turned out to be a false pause. She continued the next stanza...and the next...you know by now how it is...
After every lady present sang her song by and by, and Ishani started getting bored, each of us was asked to queue up and bless Ishani in a prescribed order of seniority...first Ishani's mom and last Ishani's dad. The chief guest was the second.
The blessing ritual consisted of walking to Ishani's throne and picking up the Bhogi Pallu in the side-plate in both fists, turning each fist three times one after the other in clockwise and counterclockwise swoops and dropping the stuff gently on Ishani's head and touching her head benevolently.
Ishani is no longer a fool-kid. She has developed a personality of her own. She has opinions, likes and dislikes, and is quite capable of expressing her approval and disapproval in words or gestures depending on the situation. She thinks all this is child's play in which the only thing she likes is her throne, and the feeling that she is the cynosure of the evening.
And there was this neighbor-kid who accompanied his mom to the function. To make the thing unanimous, this kid too sang his song. And got a terrific round of encouraging applause. Ishani's mom was so pleased with him that she beckoned him to sit beside her on the floor-mat. And he obliged.
Ishani promptly descended her makeshift throne and ran forward to her mom to prevent any chance of the songster-kid to usurp her real throne which is her mom's lap...
************************************************************************************************************
My ancestors were believers in a flat-earth supported by 8 elephants on its eight corners. Above was heaven and below, hell. And both these were flat. I don't know what was above heaven and below hell. Possibly vast abysses.
And they were ardent worshipers of Sun-God...Surya Bhagavan. We, South Indians, are children of sunshine which is there most of the year. But come winter, our ancestors saw their Sun God heading south inexorably and were scared He would fall down into the abyss and would be lost forever. So they prayed to Him to please forgive their sins and retrace His steps and head north and bless them with eternal sunshine. And He invariably heeded their prayers and started returning assuredly sometime around January 15th.
This event they considered the most propitious in their calender. And called it Uttarayan Punya Kalam. It also coincided with the bountiful harvest season on the Coromandel Coast.
This combo was too good to let go and so they celebrated it in various ways. Across the whole of Hindu India this Makara Sankranti is celebrated one way or the other. Some do it with bonfires. Others fly kites. Yet others with a boiled rice-milk-sugar dish known as Pongal. Yet others go to Gangasagar and take a holy dip in the spot where Ganges merges with her Sea-Lord. Most everyone offer tarpans to their ancestors. Bhishma waited for this auspicious muhurat to give up his life so that he was assured a seat in the heaven above.
In our Andhra families, the 3-day festival starts with Bhogi. I don't know the etymology of this word. Bhog has so many nuances in Indian languages.
We burn our deadwood early this morning in the shivering cold...we shiver even at +15 degrees Celsius. Snowfall is unknown to us.
In the evening of Bhogi there is a charming event in households where there are kids between 1 and 5. We have Ishani just turned 4. And she is enthroned the queen for an hour or two this evening.
Early in the morning she participates with all her zeal in making a Rangoli in front of her home. And throughout the day she anticipates the arrival of the evening. Her mom gets busy inviting a few neighboring brahmin families with ladies and kids. I for one am acutely aware of my caste although I don't follow a single injunction on brahmins like wearing the sacred thread or doing Gayatri Japam or eating only home-cooked veg dishes.
Ishani's dad gets busy shopping for making Bhogi Pallu that has various special knicknacks like red berries, cut sugarcane pieces, puffed rice and dry sweets. These are mixed in a plate along with coins and kept ready for the evening. And some sweetmeats for the invited guests who duly arrive one by one and take their seats.
A special chair is decorated for Ishani to sit down and pose for the event.
The special guests for the event were an old couple. The old man is about 82 and he had come to visit his retired son and family. His wife is 75. So far I thought I was the oldest citizen in our gated community and everyone has to bow down to me and seek blessings from me like:
Shatamanam bhavati
Shatayutpurusha:
Shatendriya:
Ayushyevendriye' pratishthati
After everyone was more or less seated, Ishani's mom demurely requested the ladies to sing some songs. And everyone demurred saying they don't know how to sing.
And the Grand Old Man let out the cat from her bag saying his darling wife was a great singer. She chided him appropriately and declined with whatever shyness is left at 75. That was the cue for everyone to plead with her. And she fell silent. And all fell silent. Pregnant silence it is called.
After what to me was an aeon, the old lady ignited slowly and gained pace duly. Since I am a non-musical buffoon, I was watching how her two diamond nose-studs (one on either side) were quivering in resonance with her highs and lows. Suddenly she stopped. And everyone started to clap...but it turned out to be a false pause. She continued the next stanza...and the next...you know by now how it is...
After every lady present sang her song by and by, and Ishani started getting bored, each of us was asked to queue up and bless Ishani in a prescribed order of seniority...first Ishani's mom and last Ishani's dad. The chief guest was the second.
The blessing ritual consisted of walking to Ishani's throne and picking up the Bhogi Pallu in the side-plate in both fists, turning each fist three times one after the other in clockwise and counterclockwise swoops and dropping the stuff gently on Ishani's head and touching her head benevolently.
Ishani is no longer a fool-kid. She has developed a personality of her own. She has opinions, likes and dislikes, and is quite capable of expressing her approval and disapproval in words or gestures depending on the situation. She thinks all this is child's play in which the only thing she likes is her throne, and the feeling that she is the cynosure of the evening.
And there was this neighbor-kid who accompanied his mom to the function. To make the thing unanimous, this kid too sang his song. And got a terrific round of encouraging applause. Ishani's mom was so pleased with him that she beckoned him to sit beside her on the floor-mat. And he obliged.
Ishani promptly descended her makeshift throne and ran forward to her mom to prevent any chance of the songster-kid to usurp her real throne which is her mom's lap...
************************************************************************************************************
Dear Sir,
ReplyDeleteThis post reminded me of this scene/song in "Chachi 420". Here also a kid like "Ishani" was getting bored by all the boring songs sang by the ladies of this religious gathering!! And then came Kamal Hasan ("Chachi" and father of that kid) ---------
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owrOB-f8vX8