Navratri Nostalgia

I love the Navratri festival!

To me it even takes precedence over the more popular Deepavali. It probably has to do with the variety of celebrations that one can indulge in and all enjoyed over a relaxed period of 9 days.

After two years of setting up golu in Helsinki, I am in many ways happy to be back in Singapore where the festive frenzy is very visible. Helsinki golus were low key, intimate and multicultural (we once had all of Shriya's class from her International kindergarten visit our golu, another time my Estonian and Finnish dance students were the guests of honor). Singapore golu season is one to be eagerly anticipated. Falling right after the F1 mania, it can be as heady! Music and dance concerts at over 25 different temples, golu invitations, temple sahsranamam recitings, dandiya parties, the Bengali arti and Devi (the Goddess) visarjan. The celebrations are varied and endless!

Yesterday, as I was unwrapping each doll from its protective covering (done so very well by our last movers) and arranging the golu at home, I was overcome with nostalgia. There is a pair of porcelain tigers that belonged to my maternal grandmother's mother- the great grandmother I had never met! Then there is the beautiful Vaishno Devi that was gifted by my mami. The 'wedding set' complete with a bride, groom and priest, even though a little chipped, has a special place in my heart. It has adorned my mother's golu steps for several years and continues to take pride of place in mine.

Every doll has a story, a memory. And every year as I arrange the dolls and invite the Goddess to dwell in our hearts and home for the next 9 days, I feel so much closer to the long line of matriarchs in the family. I fondly reminisce the good times I've had with each one of them and imagine how the ones I had never met must have celebrated the festival in their time.


To me,Navratri golu is as much extending the tradition to the next generation as it is about connecting with the previous ones.

Happy Navratri!

Road trip to Malacca

Before I could hear the first sign of a grunt or grumble, I quickly bundled the family into the car and directed the husband to speed towards the Causeway Link (connecting Singapore to Malaysia). Had I asked them if they wanted to go to Malacca for the weekend, they would have screamed a resounding NO. Of course, when you compare being cooped up in a car for over 3 hours each way to lounging in the condo pool, I knew that the latter was more appealing. But, how then do you break the rut and seek new experiences?

The husband and I had been to Malacca a few times before. We knew that apart from a smattering of history and quaint Dutch style buildings, there really wasn't much to see or do. It was upto the Dad and me to inject fun into the trip and set the pace for all other road trips to follow(!). I booked us into the beautiful Cyclamen Cottage, a vintage Peranakan(Chinese immigrants married to Malays, Indonesians or Indians)styled B&B. If that set the mood and got the kids exploring the traditionally decorated nooks, then the the Dad took it up a notch further by hiring the services of a brightly decorated trishaw paired with an even more colourful guide to show us around.

The next morning we were ordered by our landlady to go and taste the 'best coconut shake ever' (very popular in the region). After driving around for 30 minutes, we found the place which was nothing more than a roadside shack that could have so easily been missed. But as wierd as the concoction sounded (vanilla icecream, coconut water and the coconut tender flesh all blended), it sure did taste divine! I'd done my research on vegetarian food and we ended up having one of our best meals at the very hip Geography Cafe. We played endless rounds of scrabble and 'just a minute',stocked up on gula melaka (palm sugar for all those yummy Malay desserts), listened to all our favourite songs, bickered and simply spent two days together doing nothing. Just what we all needed!

On our way back, we got caught smack in the middle of one of the worst storms I'd seen. We had to actually park the car to the side of the highway for a long while as there was zero visibility and scary lightning attacks all around us. Some of us sent a quiet prayer while some others were very visibly scared. As we entered Singapore, I heard murmurs of- 'It was actually fun', 'the drive was not so boring afterall', 'I love coconut shakes', 'we are still alive'!

And, oh yes, I could have gloated and said 'I told you so' and started a lecture. But keeping my mouth tightly shut helped for I think we had oh so subtly nailed in a very important lesson- To never say NO to anything without trying :-)

Lady-made

Shriya: Amma, this weekend I'm not going to wear slippers, very little clothes (thank god for small mercies), no electronics. We discussed it in school and I want to feel as close as possible to nature.

Me: Sounds good!

Shriya: No lady made stuff for me

Me: What? You mean ready made stuff?

Shriya: No, lady made.You know, like man made. Not everything is made by men. We can say lady-made stuff too.

Me: Oh, ok. I'll try not to use any lady made stuff too

:-)

Tomboyishly Girly!

It was a cousin's birthday. And we were all invited. I knew it was themed around cricket and around 20 other boys had also been asked. Vaibhav was super excited to say the least and was looking forward to a fun evening with his Dad, cousins and Uncle.

Now, I had no idea how Shriya or I would fit into all this. I tried to politely decline but was very nicely told off and asked to just get there on time. Shriya said she would finish her music lesson and then head to the party, 'afterall, I'm not into cricket, ma'!

She had picked a pretty cotton dress with a delicate organza overcoat, asked me to do her hair in a french plait and borrowed a bit of my kohl for her eyes. I felt terrible that she was making so much of an effort when deep down I knew she was probably going to get utterly bored out of her mind.

When we reached, the game was nearly done and the other guests- filthy, sweaty, starving eleven year olds (and some even older) piled in and grabbed their seats around the table. Some of them stared at her as if she had ended up at the wrong party while others whispered that it was Vaibhav's sister and the birthday boy's cousin. My little girl sat demurely at one end and delicately nibbled on a piece of garlic bread while all around her pizza was being devoured at great speed. The meal being done, all the boys headed out for more games and play. And before I knew it, Shriya had left with them.

Thought to be old enough, the boys were left unsupervised which left this little knot at the pit of my stomach. What if one of those fellas bullied my girl? What if she felt very sad at being left out of their play? What if one of them had been rough during a game and knocked my little girl down?

Enough! I rushed down to protect my little girl and assure her that she had company in me for the evening. I panicked when I could not find her amidst those loud boys. And then I caught a glimpse of purple kicking a ball. She threw her wispy coat to me and screamed she did not want it to tear. Lots of cheering, laughing and backpatting later, a bunch of boys came up to me and asked if Shriya and Vaibhav could please stay back for the movie!

They did. And the movie that the boys chose was ' Jurassic Park'. Not my favourite and I was more concerned that it might be too scary for my little one. But she insisted she would be fine and went and plonked herself on a few of those dirty laps, mindless to the fact that they had all completely taken over the couch. ' Please move and make me some space or you can be my seat'! Whoa, the girl had some spunk, I thought. But to my surprise, the boys just giggled and moved to make space.

After a gory 2 hours, during which Shriya neither screamed nor seemed even a bit perturbed, we left to a lot of warm goodbyes and goodnights. Looked like they had a great time. I casually asked Shriya if she had enjoyed herself. She said that it had been a super party and the boys had even asked her to join them in the field for a round of soccer, the next time she visited her cousins.

I am amazed at how a little girl with a pink bedroom, tiara and a secret diary can transform and play like a boy and be one of them with absolute, complete ease. I loved how confidently she found her place with those boys, least bothered about their size or age. And, I have learned that Shriya can be as much a girly girl as she can strike a neat goal. Even in a pretty pink dress.

Dancing Queen, Drama Queen!

'I hate Bharatanatyam'!

Shriya has to say it every week and before every class. And as unreal as it sounds, it does not perturb me one bit. I just calmly tell her that she does not have to dance if she does not want to and walk away. Within minutes, she's apologizing and begging me profusely to give her a lesson.

I completely understand and empathize with Shriya. I felt the exact same way about dance at that age. I guess it has something to do with the mother also being the dance tutor. My mom taught me and I'm teaching Shriya. I loved that tons of kids came to my mother to learn the art. Gave me easy access to friends and I got to play with them all after lessons. But, I also hated how professional she was about not letting them play till she had finished the class.

Me being a part of those classes never arose as I had proclaimed early on that I was not interested. I was only too happy when my mother declared that she would never force me to dance.

I patiently waited for my friends to finish their lessons and also watched them advance as dancers and some even going on to perform on stage. And at the ripe age of eight, I decided to give it a shot. And that was the beginning of the end of my attitude towards dance. Once I got into it, I couldn't get out. Ever.

Shriya once asked me if she had to learn dance because her mother and grandmother taught and performed it. I told her she absolutely did not have to but she did have the responsibility of giving it a try as it could be steeped in her DNA. The logic worked and she began.

And ever since she started, I've caught her practicing her 'adavus' (basic foundation steps)in the pool, on the soft white beach sands, in the bath tub! She mumbles theory from the ' Natyashastra' (guide book) as she's completeing her homework. Many a time, I've found her neatly folding her legs and walking in a certain (Tisram) rythmic beat to and from the loo.

I can confidently say that Shriya is way better at her adavus than I was at her age. She instinctively knows when to correct her posture. She insists that I videotape her lessons so she can check on her 'araimandi' (half squat). Potential, she definitely has.

The drama queen that she is, yesterday, she began another one of her ' I hate...'. I asked her why she went through the same old routine before every class. She was quiet for a while and then simply said 'my body does not want to dance. But my genes want to'. :-)

Magical mornings

I've been accompanying Vaibhav to school every morning. The school bus comes at an unearthly hour and we decided it would be easier to simply take the public bus that stopped nearly in front of his school. What we didn't think of was the 'waking up' bit each and every morning.

Vaibhav is at an age when he requires no help getting ready for school and our housekeeper is always willing to drop him off in the mornings. So, I don't really have to be up everyday before daybreak.I could lounge in bed or even enjoy an uninterrupted hour of yoga if I chose to.But I want to be up. I so badly want to make the 20 minute bus ride with him.

As we are both still sleepy eyed, we don't say much. Once in the bus, comfortably seated, Vaibhav will lay his head on my lap while I run my fingers through his hair.For all his 'big boy' talk, he is nothing but a mere vulnerable baby then. He will suddenly spring up and educate me on the latest cricket scores of some vague game happening in some remote English county. Idle chitchat,lots of warm hugs and just some quiet time together before we get on with our respective days.

But yesterday, just as we got off the bus and started the short walk across the patch of grass field to his school, over 20 yellow butterflies took flight and flitted around us. It was like a carefully choreographed dance that was being orchestrated just for our benefit. We both stood transfixed, enjoying the special show together.

It was magical. But then, I realized that every morning is with my little boy. He'll soon want to make the trip on his own or with his friends. He'll probably be conscious about any physical contact with his mother in public. And I'm sure he'll figure out that all those cricket statistics don't make much sense to me.

So, if it means I have to be up every single day of the school year at dawn to be able to relish these magical mornings, then I'm so happy do it. In any case, can't think of a better way to begin my day.

A new kind of religious...

Vaibhav and Shriya have resumed their classical music lessons. Now, these classes happen to be every Saturday evening and is very conveniently located next to all the dosa joints and one of the oldest and most beautiful temples in Little India.

The Dad and I park the car at the temple, have our weekend dose of filter coffee and masala dosa, shop for mangoes flown in from India and then pick up the kids. Once we get the kids we feel obliged to step into the temple to pop in a hello to the Lord. Afterall, our car was parked in His official premises.

What started off as something so unplanned and casual has now become quite a ritual.The kids, who previously had to be dragged into a temple now assume that it is next on the agenda after their class.Saturday evenings, the Perumal temple is as festive as it can get. The place is teeming with devotees- some in beach shorts and tank tops and others in bright hued sarees and pristine veshtis. Luckily, as it is a sprawling area with an open, outdoor design, it can accommodate everybody comfortably.

Organized chaos at its best. There is a long queue snaking around the temple waiting for the traditional and I must very delicious 'prasadam' of Puliogare, thayir sadam, sundal and kesari.People are lighting the 'ellu vilaku' in one corner while in another, a group of elderly women fervently sing bhajans if not reciting the Vishnu Sahasarnamam.

At every sannithi, Vaibhav and Shriya check with me on the right set of shlokas they should recite for maximum benefit. We share and compare stories of Andal and Meerabhai as we circle the tulsi leaf plant. Vaibhav occasionally breaks a coconut (and is very glad that he is given the honor) and Shriya lights a lamp (after some quiet mischief with the oil dispenser).

This is exactly what we missed in Finland. Tastes, colours,smells and rituals that are so authentically Indian. However much we tried to replicate it all in our Helsinki home, we still lacked the real thing. By just observing, listening and being here, the kids are learning tons about who they are and where they really come from.

Religious or not, we just feel comforted being at the temple. As we soak in the atmosphere and breathe in the aromatic air that is a tantalizing blend of tulsi and camphor, we know that as we make these trips every week, we are also creating unspoken memories for the kids. No matter which part of the world they will live in the future, a faint smell of incense or the strained tunes of a familiar shloka will trigger the memories. And hopefully with each trigger, they will be transported to those idyllic Saturday evenings that we spent together at the temple.