Rose at 3.30am. Showered. Was at Shivananda Samadhi Shrine by 5am. Attended prayers, meditation, did Abhishekam for Shiva lingam atop Swamiji’s Samadhi. Fought back the urge to bawl my eyes out, no, my heart, my soul out. No idea why. But felt so much of emotion, gratitude, grace? Went over to the Vishwanath Mandir. Watched divine abhishekam and archana of Vishwanath backed by a life size Kaalaa Krishna. Beautiful Aarthi, again fought back tears. Went to get breakfast at the Dining Hall, being Ekadasi, no rice or food was served, had a steaming hot rejuvenating tea. Off to the Reception to complete overseas guest registration. Visited Shivananda Kutir. Thoughts of Swamiji. Then to Swami Shivananda’s rooms. Bedroom. Desk where his divine literature and outpourings flowed. Ganga Snanam/bath. Sanyasins needed to bathe there so we moved to another ghat. Took a dip in the freezing cold waters in my bright pink saree. Colours ran. Somehow got changed into my housecoat. Two persistent little boys got us to purchase Ganga Arti plates. Did abhishekam with Ganga water and archana to Meru and Guru Paduka. Recited Lalitha Trishati and Ganga stotram. Took Ganga Artis for Meru, Paduka and Ganga Ma. Let lit plates float away on Her back. The duo pointed out their school beyond Lakshman Jhula. Had Kulfi/ice cream. Showered, washed hung clothes out to dry in the scorching 43 degree heat. Burning cheeks. Lunch, prayers first then chappatti, veg curry, vermicelli Payasam, buttermilk. No rice being Ekadasi. Washed utensils. Off to the Book shop, purchased some books. Rested in Room. Fan full blast, doors open, power cuts. Hotttt. Evening back to office to complete registration. To sign printouts. To be contd..
Landed at Dehradun. Huge mural of Himalayas, Adi Shankaracharya, Vyasa, Ganesha on airport wall. Ethereal feeling driving through Dehradun to Rishikesh, Muni ki Reti. Mountain ranges, forests, dried up river beds. Hummed the Abhang Pandharicha vaas chandrabhage snaana as we passed the Chandrabhaga (dried up) river on the left. A little choked up as we parked at Shivananda Ashram. Put our bags in the rooms. Sparse, clean, twin beds, a balcony, a bathroom, fan. Coincidentally today was the final day of the Sanyasi Diksha Centenary Celebrations. Divine Life Societies from all over the world had converged here. Attended satsangh, too late for dinner, Took a walk through the Ashram, saw gloriously lit Ram Jhula and Lakshman Jhula opposite, Shivananda Samadhi and Kuttir, bookstore, library, all closed. Attended the closing satsangh and watched and sang the Aarthi I’d sung as a child at DLS KL. Shared a tiny plate of prasad. Then showered, got clothes ready for a predawn rise, prayers, Yoga and a Ganga dip.
Depending on time zones, yes, Day 2. A long day/night. Had risen at 1am for a 3am shuttle and a 6am flight. Landed in Bengaluru/Bangalore late evening. 20++ hours of travel.. Beautiful clean modern city. Hotel check in. Snacks in room. An early rise for what’s in store today. A steaming filter coffee as I write this. More to come..
Of Luggage, physical and non Hari Om. How do I describe what I feel? Happy? Excited? Apprehensive? Appreciative? Nervous? Blessed? All and none of this. Embarking on a Yatra. External and Internal. Visiting my Guru’s Guru’s Samadhi, my Guru’s Samadhi and some of India’s Holiest Shrines. With D2 before she embarks on yet another journey of self-discovery.. Meeting Husband and Sister-in-law in Bangalore before we take the flight to our first port of call. Love and Hari Oms.
Saturday. A two saree day but Vain Me prefers single photo posts. I will therefore ramble enough for two or more posts 😎 I’d received the Travelling Kunbi earlier in the week. Attempted some planning of her future travels. A few nights ago, drove to Rajni’s house after class to drop the kunbi. Sweet of her – she was standing outside waiting to receive her at 10pm. Check out her lovely post. The Kunbi has since moved on to Sudeshna check out her gorgeous shots too. She’s now with some sakhis who will drape, click, post, thank, pass. The cycle continues. To get back to my start to the weekend. Rose early. Cooked lunch. Was going to be an eventful day. A Brunch and an Out of Town Birthday Party (next post). Brunch was with my lovely ex work colleagues at the Buddhist temple cafe a hop skip and jump away from my home. Doubly energised by temple ambience and the beautiful souls I was “brunch”ing with. Got home. Draped a breezy blue linen Saree with floral patterns on the body zig zags on pallu and greyish borders. Apt for a beautiful blue sky spring day. Got Husband to click a shot or two before heading out to the Temple for a Puratassi Sani visit.
This past week has been hectic. The usual spring cleaning but now it’s just the two of us. Not much home baking or palaharam prep this time as husband has been down with the flu, and both of us having been swept off our feet with work, classes, Navarathri. Anyway, being D1’s first Deepavali as a newly wed or Thalai Deepavali, I wanted to “pass it on”. And so we made mysore pak together.
To digress a little, On our Thalai Deepavali in ‘92, we attempted Muruku, Ribbon Muruku using hastily written recipes from mum, Mysore Pak from my dear aunt, who’s not with us anymore, mixture from Rajamani Akka, fondly known as Pa ka. These recipes, written in illegible script, adorn pages of my recipe file, which I still refer to, to this day. Each year, each time, I read half pound ghee and translate that to grams, I remember my dear Kuantan Mami (yes, we all have aunts and uncles named after the towns they used to live in) telling me to add besan flour tablespoon by tablespoon carefully into the ghee, until mixed, something which I never do anyway. But..every time I take that first bite of melt in the mouth deliciousness, I remember Mami with fondness, she lives on. And now with Kuantan Mama too having passed on suddenly very recently, making this Mysore Pak has been an emotional experience. Thoughts of Mama telling me to add more sugar and ghee with Mami chiding him, D1 reading the recipe, measuring the flour, sugar, ghee with the precision of a pharmacist, and us taking turns to stir the mix over a low flame, Got me swallowing a lump in my throat and fighting back tears. Mix done, we poured it into a tray, watched it set, then cut mix into cubes. Tried a tiny misshapen piece, and It was/is out of this world delicious. Felt thrilled that we had done it together. Previous Deepavalis had the girls baking, prepping the rangoli, decorating the house. It’s a little quiet this year. D2 just arrived last night. She will take over the decor and some last minute baking.
And so I suppose this is what makes a festival special. As with everything in life, it’s the days leading up to the THE day. And sometimes because the path or our journey on that path is so eventful – the actual destination or the day becomes an anti climax. I have always loved the idea of families getting together to make palaharams for Deepavali, or setting up the altar room for Navarathri, or putting up the Christmas tree for Christmas. I love the jokes, squabbles, everything about it. I hang on it, in the earnest, fervent hope, that these traditions, rituals, are passed down to the next generation, to my daughters, nieces, stutdents so that they do the same with their progeny. I remember my grandmothers and aunts around coal stoves frying muruku, achu muruku and ribbon muruku in batches. Storing them in huge metal biscuit tins grudgingly given by grocery shop owners. Us children playing tag, hide-and-seek in the garden, kari-masak, baby sitting the younger ones, no maids then. The uncles lounging on chairs in the hall or verandah, supposedly watching us. Where has all this gotong-royong, doing-things-together gone? Most families have become nuclear. I fondly remember mum filling huge eversilver trays with palaharams and offering to our Chinese neighbour on our left, Malay neighbours in front, Indian neighbours on the right. Those were the days when festivals were celebrated in full force, with such gusto. Over the years, I have attempted this family-palaharams-making with sisters, cousins, mum, aunts. And in NZ with my daughters and husband. This year the birds have flown the nest, but they return to do a palaharam or two, share a giggle, laugh, hug, meal. Celebrating in a land so far away from your homeland or your place of birth, can be difficult, but in this adopted land, we nuclear families adapt, adjust, accommodate. Because ultimately, A Festival is about Love. The love you feel, that surrounds you, when you give, receive, share, laugh, rejoice, reminisce.
Happy Deepavali/Diwali to you dear Ladies. Here’s wishing you Light. Love. Peace. Great Health. Joy. Abundance.
A few days ago, draped this resplendent doubletoned purplish magenta kanjivaram silk, with magenta, gold and coloured stripes on borders and pallu. Gifted by husband on a trip to India some years ago.
Watched the older one D1’s and son-in-law’s housewarming ceremony online in the morning. Returned in the evening from settling little one D2 in her new home away from home. Then visited the couple in their new home. Took some dinner. Was a joyous treat to walk through the rooms, the kitchen, to be part of the excitement and their new adventures. The next day was spent getting our house back in order. We’d flown out immediately after the wedding to settle D2. Husband had got it to a semblance of normalcy after the tsunami state of house, post wedding, having returned a week earlier.
Draped this midnight blue light cotton silk with pink and gold korvai borders and pallu. For an evening temple visit. Felt calm and peaceful. Had prasad – simple, delicious thayir satham, watched some of The Grand Budapest Hotel.
This morning, went about my standard morning chores – picking up laundry baskets, stopped for a bit – the girls’ basket was empty. Onto the drinks. Took out the mugs. D1’s smaller white mug and D2’s Friends mug for their coffee and mocha. Stopped once again. Made my coffee, sipped. Googled “empty nesters”. Apparently even birds undergo the Empty Nester’s Syndrome. Obviously. It’s a syndrome named after their Home. Read a line that said ” Every bird you see outside your window is a survivor”. Felt better. The Ds will survive. I will survive.
A shower at 11.30pm, air conditioning turned on full blast at 17C, husband deep in slumberland. Yesterday. Went by in a blur of work, a visit to D1’s, a video call with D2. Happened to visit D2’s old primary school for a workplace assessment. Went by her year 2 and 3 classrooms. Way back in 2006. Reminisced about her being told to call her teacher by name! Refusing to write an essay for fear of spelling mistakes! And what a journey hers has been.. Later drove to D1’s to drop off some items, husband and I chatted with D2 while she went about making dinner, fried noodles. Her verdict was that it was so good she had two helpings and was going to pack the balance for lunch tomorrow. D1 insisted we stay for dinner but we decided to get some vege rottis on the way home, however, all sold out and it was quite late. Got home, cooked up some rice vermicelli/mee hoon/noodles, inspired by D2’s dish. A late dinner. Typed up part of post while thinking of the next day, a relatively free evening – plans to rearrange/reset rooms, declutter. And to plan commencement of music classes, to teach and to be taught. Slept off, found the writeup with a paragraph of ggģgggggggs and mmmmmms and gibberish. Had dozed off.. Retyped and here it is today. Days are still busy, Nurturing never stops.. Draped a rust brown, maroon tussar silk with musical instruments on borders and palllu for a dinner with friends earlier this week. Photo credit – husband. Photo in comments show me in giggles as I watch him crouch to take a full length pic. The Ds and my nieces reckon he is a great photographer ❤
Overhauling of house almost done. D2’s room reset. D1’s in a state of transition. Awaiting rightful owner to claim items, to rehouse items in her new home. Master bedroom looks like a master bedroom now. Replaced torn inner lace curtains with new ones. A little long but nothing some needlework skills couldn’t handle. Guest room converted into a study. Some general housework and cleaning to be done. Had hot soup and momos and went through the motions of completing The Grand Budapest Hotel. Rose this morning to a near impeccable house. But, where are the sparks? The morning texts asking for coffee. The sneaking into my walk in wardrobe to “borrow” a scarf or sweater. Note “borrow” in D1’s dictionary translates to “gone and never to be returned”. The languid Saturday morning conversations. The arguments about who needed to vaccum and who had to dust and my insisting that D1 excelled at vaccumming, D2 at dusting. Going berserk about the state of their rooms. Glowing with happiness at the transformed state of their rooms. Anyway, D1 is a hop skip jump away. D2 a video call and a long drive or an hour’s flight away. So, am going to enjoy this coffee in silence and rest assured in the knowledge that “No daughter and mother ever live apart, no matter what the distance between them”, quote by Christie Walters, British author. Epilogue. Attended a birthday lunch today. Draped this soft cotton saree with colourful geometric designs. Googled a green colour chart. Trust Google to come up with Lizard green? Photo credit. D1. Yes, D1. The newly weds attended the lunch too. Husband had to leave early as he had lectures. They dropped me home, I asked for a quick shoot and D1 happily obliged.
Vaccummed a clean house this morning. Don’t ask me why. And even went on to wipe down sparkling mirrors, glass tops. Dusted off already dusted surface. Probably because it felt normal, like the old days. The Saturdays when the Ds were around and the chores had to be done. D1 grumbling about having to vaccuum. Me praising the probable outcome. D2 dusting and wiping mirrors and glass tops. Me announcing how spotless the place was going to look. And now, I derive comfort from moving the noisy appliance, my trusted buddy, all over the house, especially their bedrooms, while hubby is in the garden. Then I get a call. D1. She’s unable to come by. She’s cleaning her home with her hubby. “The house is a pig-sty, Mum!” she exclaims, or claims. Told her not to get stuck into it but to get out on a lovely Saturday morning. She’s her mother’s daughter, so advice flies out the window. I call D2 later in the afternoon. No reply. 5 (alright, alright, 8) missed calls later, D2 answers. I ask her if everything’s alright, my voice a little too high for comfort. She laughs and says she’s cleaning her tiny apartment too. And to top it all, she’s cooked a delicious meal. Old habits die hard. We all seem to have adopted Saturday as our official house cleaning day, in preparation for the work week ahead. For the Ds’ it’s a necessity, For the Mum, it’s yet another comforting ritual.
In line with this month’s theme, draped a colourful Kalamkari light silk for a dinner party the evening before at a friend’s home. The body has musical instruments – veenas, sitars, tablas, mridhangams, the works, colourful against light green. The pallu has 2 gorgeous swans in yellow and red, and lotuses all over, my favourite motifs. Gifted by a dear friend with impeccable taste. Matched with a silk maroon blouse with sleeves edged with red and green leaves. Photo credit : Husband. Discarded photos due to closed eye syndrome. Some reclaimed photos in comments. One taken by yours truly to showcase the pallu.
Bavani’s Happy Place 