Its that time of the year again

I woke up this morning and was disoriented for a bit with the extreme silence around me. I then realize the ten day feast at my church down the road has drawn to an end yesterday.

Every August, my church celebrates this grand and colourful feast. Since I live four doors from this church, I can hear the festive singing like the choir was in my living room. For ten days prayers and hymns are offered throughout the day. On the other 355 days of the year, my road is one of the sleepiest in the city. But during the feast, the whole road is lit up with fairy lights and hundred of stalls selling everything from egg bhajis to glass bangles pop up.

Ever since I moved out of my hometown for studies and work, I have not had a chance to experience the whole ten days. This time around, I was surprised when i realized I missed these festivities. Every day on my way back from the evening prayers, I browse through the stalls. Though I have no intention of buying pink plastic guns or glittery purple bangles, the riot of colors is fun to watch. I was amused to note that this year's hot selling item were neon lit horns that every other person from grown men to little girls had perched on their heads.

Apart from the fun and festivities it amazes me how some of the traditions associated with this feast have been carried for more than a hundred years. Simple things like this about my town never cease to amaze me.

I was super excited to be experiencing all this after a long long time and decided to enthrall my sister on the phone. As I rattled on, she dryly replied that I sounded like a wannabe booker prize writer. Ah well I am going to pretend she meant it as a compliment.

Reason number 324 why I am grateful for my small town existence

I have lived in a small town for two thirds of my life. I confess, my town has just one traffic signal which was inaugurated with much pomp. And yes when I first came to Madras as a child I thought the Anna fly over was like the coolest thing ever. This has often been a source of amusement for my city bred friends. (yes yes you know who you are)

But I wont complain much staying in the middle of the spectrum between the urban life and rustic village life isn't too bad. Last week actually gave me a chance to thank my stars for my small town roots. We had to attend my driver's daughter's engagement at a nearby village. So off we went on a hot Sunday afternoon.

Once the groom side arrived, all the men of both families sat around in a circle with a basket of salt in the center. While the entire village stood in the sidelines. I was truly fascinated by now. The "nattamai" (village head) then announced that they could start. I thought this was where the engagement ceremony begins. But no I was wrong, here was apparently the most important part of the day. The proceedings started with a random lady from the crowd shouting "so how much dowry are you giving your daughter?".Apparently directed at the bride's father. Random aunt's friend added" speak loudly we all want to hear". My fascination gave way to horror when I realized, the brides side was expected to answer in detail to all the questions thrown at them. My poor driver answered patiently on how much gold and cash he was going to give.

Finally a lady from the groom's side stood up (Who in my humble opinion should audition for Ekta kapoor's monster mom in law teledramas) She thundered "what only so much? this is disrespectful" . The bride's side squirmed and continued their negotiation. Eventually they came to a consensus that they would give the groom a gazillion grams gold chain. Ladies, how many of you out there would marry a man who not only demands but also wears something like that?OK we digress. As ridiculous as it looked, I really felt bad for bride's family.

Thankfully the negotiation drew to a close and the rest of the ceremony went on less melodramatically. As we drove back, I realized how clean the entire village was and how much relatively cooler it was. Mainly thanks to the rows of Neem trees. But still I am grateful for my small town existence. Thank you.

Colombo Calling

Welcome to the island of Sri Lanka " drones the air hostess in her most bored tone. But I am feeling far from bored. I am feeling too many things actually. Excited about returning to my city of birth after years. Guilty that I am taking time off. Anxious - Thirteen visits to Sri Lanka and first time with no war looming overhead. Relieved that I am far away from the daily shuttle between office and hospital. But most of all happy that I will be seeing friends and family that I have missed dearly

Thirteen days is too short a time frame to visit the city you love but its also a rather long time for a corporate slave. More posts from the Emerald Isle to follow

Far from the maddening crowd

Taprobane. Serendib. Ceylon. Sri Lanka. Call it what you may. Its far from the choas of the last few weeks. And thats all I need at the moment :)

Radio Ga-ga

With C and me looking to shift, I decided to take stock of things I should get rid of. My ancient radio was first on the list. Since I barely use it, I was contemplating sending it back home. There have been only two periods in my life when the radio was part of my daily life.

In the days when Doordarshan and AIR were our only sources of entertainment, if the weather permitted, we could get the Sri Lankan channels as well. One of the most popular programs on Radio Ceylon was the birthday special. If you wrote to them and were lucky the RJ woul read out birthday wishes from extended family - thatha, paati, mama, periamma and blah. Every year my grandparents would relgiously write into the program from Colombo and a very eager me would tune in from India. In the late eighties, that was considered the wonder of globalization. Over the years Radio Ceylon was replaced with Star TV and radio greetings were replaced with e-cards.

The only other period when radio ruled, was during my college hostel days. Stella Maris would not have been the same for me , if not for crazy friends and Rainbow FM. Dedicating terribly corny songs with ridiculous messages was a favourite activity in hostel. Rain or shine, exams or assignments - the half hour before dinner was always spent in the common room with the old rickety radio.

Now that I think about it, I probably wont get rid of my old radio :)

Broken Dreams

Republished from my old blog due in a bout of homesickness :(

Summer vacations in my grandparents house in Sri Lanka were always fun. I remember being excited all through the road trip from my hometown to Trivandrum, where we would catch the flight to Colombo. The two months were action packed for my sister and me. Pampered by grandparents with trips to tea estates in hill country and picnics in fishing villages in the south. We were always close to tears when we had to fly back.
Growing up in a small town in Tamil Nadu, Colombo was the big city of wonders for me. I remember going back and proudly telling my second grade classmates that I rode an escalator. I out grew my fascination for the escalator but my fascination for Sri Lanka remains intact.
One thing I always noticed during my trips was the spirit of the people. For a country ridden with internal strife, they were a cheerful lot. Sometimes too cheerful, probably a cover for uncertainty and fear.
Two years back when I graduated, I flew over to see my grandmother. College was over, I was yet to join work. In short life was one big holiday. I spent a glorious two months there gallivanting around Sri Lanka with my gang of friends. The mood was also upbeat in the country. There was talk that the war would end soon. Immigrants and refugees were slowly coming back. There was subtle joy in the air where ever one went.
Last month, my grandmother passed away and I had to go to Colombo for her last rites. I reached the city close to midnight and even at that hour I noticed the stark differences in the city from my last trip. As a result of recent problems, security was beefed up. As my car snaked its way through the familiar tree lined avenues with Buddhist shrines, I noticed checkpoints at every corner. Over the course of the week, where ever I went I saw the same look in everybody's eyes. And I realized there was something worse that not having dreams- its called broken dreams.