I decided that I would try to post every day, and I really have tried. One of the great things about a blog is that it requires you to organise your thoughts. Impossible.
Or at the very least improbable. I guess the root problem is not time or lack of it... but the effort it requires to organise thoughts. Yes, I'm inherently lazy, but you are too, so there.
Diwali or Divali, Noun
Hindu festival: an important Hindu festival associated with Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity, held in the autumn. Late 17th century. Via Hindi diwālī from Sanskrit dīpāvalī “row of lights,” from dīpa “light, lamp.”
I dont know what Divali is like in India, but in Trinidad its wonderful. I'm Presbyterian, went to a seven year, all boys Roman Catholic school. The religous cross section of my class was approximately equally Hindu, Muslim, RC, Presbyterian. So usually we would bum food off of our Hindu friends for Divali, Muslim friends for Eid everybody else for Christmas and so on. Typical teenager Trini male stuff.
This translates into adulthood though, with a difference. I have always been captivated with Indian women in their Saris tending to visitors or family, bending to refill deyas. They're beautiful. Not erotically so, let me explain. There is an unspoken essence of pleasure in duty, each woman a monologue in character with a grace borne from navigating the little flames without catching yourself afire.
November 11th 2004 being a national holiday for Divali, (one of the many in our beloved country, I really dont know how we get anything done), I woke up at the usual time swearing I was late for work. After realising the horror of my ways, promptly settled back in to sleep. Woke up at the glorious hour of 12.00 p.m. Its been years since I've done that. Being aversely allergic to cooking on a holiday, I called the maternal provider for lazy sons who informed me that she was cooking chinese food.
WHAT...!!!!!!!!!! On Divali...!!!! No curry?!?!!? *Dammit*
It seemed as if the entire universe shifted a few millimeters to the left when she told me that. How could you not cook curry on Divali? Mind you, she's not Hindu nor is any of my immediate family. My brain now jump started into being awake and fully functional, my body trying to follow in fits and starts, I crawl off my ever enticing bed to grapple with the immediate dilemma. Who cookin' curry?
Called a Hindu cousin of mine who, like the people I'm accustomed to, invited me over. Play the odds, eventually you'll win. You can't lose all the time. After making myself somewhat presentable, I purposefully drove to San Fernando to visit the maternal curry sellout person, whom I love dearly, to find out the thought processes behind the no-curry-on-Divali syndrome.
Seems that my aunt and her husband from the UK are staying over at their house for vacation and requested her chinese cooking. And that's wonderful, I would vociferously request her chinese cuisine too if I didn't have it for the past three years. After sampling her exquisite Hoisin chicken, the universe back in its place, I ventured five minutes away to my cousins house.
In many villages in Trinidad, people take pride in laying out their deyas in all sorts of intricate patterns. On driveways, on bamboo frames, in their porches. All this in order to welcome Lakshmi , Goddess of Light in to their homes and lives.
Divali is widely celebrated as the day that Lord Rama returned triumphant to Ayodya after defeating Ravana. Many people believe that Lakshmi, the Goddess of wealth and good fortune, visit the homes of devotees on this day. It also helps Lord Rama to find his way home. Worship of Lakshmi is performed in the evening. It is usually done on the darkest night of the year, when I find out how they determine that, I'll let you know.
Fireworks, Sari and Kurta clad devotees laughing, visiting everyone on the street. Teenaged girls under the watchful eyes of their parents...and the boys across the street. Children playing, running or quarrelling with like minded friends. Babies in their mothers and fathers arms, captivated by the activity and the lights, always the lights. Everyone sharing Hindu sweetmeats, parasad, kurma, barfi, gulab jamon, all packed in oily brown or ziplock bags depending on who caught the grocery open. Sharing with neighbours regardless of religous or ethnic persuasion. All under the glimmering lights of hundreds of deyas. If I were Laksmi or Rama I would be proud. Maybe Divali should be everyday, just like Christmas.
Apparently you can't light deyas extensively if there was a recent death in the family. Maybe you're treading on Kali's turf if you do that. Or maybe not.
My aunt passed away earlier this year and my uncle, who was almost a pundit, lit two lone deyas. In a somewhat uncharacteristic emotional manner, he proceeded to bless all of us. Watching his eldest grand-daughter, he circled her with the lighted deya. "Yuh know what to do with that?", he asked her. Confused and baffled she said no. Making a movement with his hand, gracefully symbolic for an old man, a gruff man of little words, uncle passed his hand through the smoke of the lit deya to cover his face and head. "Do that", he said and left to purify or bless the rest of the house. Including the parrot.
What about the curry quest? ... you're thinking? Well maybe some things when put in its proper perspective aren't as important as you thought they were. I still got good curry though with a healthy side dish of resolve.
It's good to live here, when you let yourself.
Or at the very least improbable. I guess the root problem is not time or lack of it... but the effort it requires to organise thoughts. Yes, I'm inherently lazy, but you are too, so there.
Diwali or Divali, Noun
Hindu festival: an important Hindu festival associated with Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity, held in the autumn. Late 17th century. Via Hindi diwālī from Sanskrit dīpāvalī “row of lights,” from dīpa “light, lamp.”
I dont know what Divali is like in India, but in Trinidad its wonderful. I'm Presbyterian, went to a seven year, all boys Roman Catholic school. The religous cross section of my class was approximately equally Hindu, Muslim, RC, Presbyterian. So usually we would bum food off of our Hindu friends for Divali, Muslim friends for Eid everybody else for Christmas and so on. Typical teenager Trini male stuff.
This translates into adulthood though, with a difference. I have always been captivated with Indian women in their Saris tending to visitors or family, bending to refill deyas. They're beautiful. Not erotically so, let me explain. There is an unspoken essence of pleasure in duty, each woman a monologue in character with a grace borne from navigating the little flames without catching yourself afire.
November 11th 2004 being a national holiday for Divali, (one of the many in our beloved country, I really dont know how we get anything done), I woke up at the usual time swearing I was late for work. After realising the horror of my ways, promptly settled back in to sleep. Woke up at the glorious hour of 12.00 p.m. Its been years since I've done that. Being aversely allergic to cooking on a holiday, I called the maternal provider for lazy sons who informed me that she was cooking chinese food.
WHAT...!!!!!!!!!! On Divali...!!!! No curry?!?!!? *Dammit*
It seemed as if the entire universe shifted a few millimeters to the left when she told me that. How could you not cook curry on Divali? Mind you, she's not Hindu nor is any of my immediate family. My brain now jump started into being awake and fully functional, my body trying to follow in fits and starts, I crawl off my ever enticing bed to grapple with the immediate dilemma. Who cookin' curry?
Called a Hindu cousin of mine who, like the people I'm accustomed to, invited me over. Play the odds, eventually you'll win. You can't lose all the time. After making myself somewhat presentable, I purposefully drove to San Fernando to visit the maternal curry sellout person, whom I love dearly, to find out the thought processes behind the no-curry-on-Divali syndrome.
Seems that my aunt and her husband from the UK are staying over at their house for vacation and requested her chinese cooking. And that's wonderful, I would vociferously request her chinese cuisine too if I didn't have it for the past three years. After sampling her exquisite Hoisin chicken, the universe back in its place, I ventured five minutes away to my cousins house.
In many villages in Trinidad, people take pride in laying out their deyas in all sorts of intricate patterns. On driveways, on bamboo frames, in their porches. All this in order to welcome Lakshmi , Goddess of Light in to their homes and lives.
Divali is widely celebrated as the day that Lord Rama returned triumphant to Ayodya after defeating Ravana. Many people believe that Lakshmi, the Goddess of wealth and good fortune, visit the homes of devotees on this day. It also helps Lord Rama to find his way home. Worship of Lakshmi is performed in the evening. It is usually done on the darkest night of the year, when I find out how they determine that, I'll let you know.
Fireworks, Sari and Kurta clad devotees laughing, visiting everyone on the street. Teenaged girls under the watchful eyes of their parents...and the boys across the street. Children playing, running or quarrelling with like minded friends. Babies in their mothers and fathers arms, captivated by the activity and the lights, always the lights. Everyone sharing Hindu sweetmeats, parasad, kurma, barfi, gulab jamon, all packed in oily brown or ziplock bags depending on who caught the grocery open. Sharing with neighbours regardless of religous or ethnic persuasion. All under the glimmering lights of hundreds of deyas. If I were Laksmi or Rama I would be proud. Maybe Divali should be everyday, just like Christmas.
Apparently you can't light deyas extensively if there was a recent death in the family. Maybe you're treading on Kali's turf if you do that. Or maybe not.
My aunt passed away earlier this year and my uncle, who was almost a pundit, lit two lone deyas. In a somewhat uncharacteristic emotional manner, he proceeded to bless all of us. Watching his eldest grand-daughter, he circled her with the lighted deya. "Yuh know what to do with that?", he asked her. Confused and baffled she said no. Making a movement with his hand, gracefully symbolic for an old man, a gruff man of little words, uncle passed his hand through the smoke of the lit deya to cover his face and head. "Do that", he said and left to purify or bless the rest of the house. Including the parrot.
What about the curry quest? ... you're thinking? Well maybe some things when put in its proper perspective aren't as important as you thought they were. I still got good curry though with a healthy side dish of resolve.
It's good to live here, when you let yourself.
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