A cool breeze blows and gently tugs at strands in my braid. The same cheeky strands which try to escape from the quick fish tail I've twisted them into early in the morning. While I stand on the long winding road waiting for my conveyance I can hear distant chants from the Krishna temple 'om namo narayana' ... I feel a deep sense of calm and detachment from all mundane problems. As I inhale a deep breath and look around me I realise how beautiful nature is and how easy it is to get in tune with our inner selves. I wonder why don't we do it more often. All that we require is some silence. A strand of thought tries to creep in reminding me of the innumerable tasks lined up at work especially considering an almost impossible assignment that I've taken up. I firmly squash it away! This is my time, a few minutes of tranquility that I allow myself to indulge in every morning. This helps me remember that in the larger scheme of things there is so much more to life than what I can imagine. I am not big on meditation since controlling a monkey mind like mine is quite a task. But these couple of minutes each morning is my way of staying sane in my fast paced high stress world. Sometimes I wish this sense of calm could stay on throughout my day but as I see the vehicle (which picks me up daily) speeding towards me I know for a fact that its too much to expect. Sigh! Let's hope my day isn't too rough ;)
Friday, 7 August 2015
Sunday, 2 August 2015
Folk art
Rangoli ....
Growing up this word symbolized two major festivals for me. Diwali and Kaartigai. Two days in a year when my mother would request the caretaker of the building not to wash and clean the building's hallway thus protecting her precious art. Most neighbors of ours (being a mixed lot of Indians and of other ethnicity) would watch in awe as Amma would begin her art with quick strokes of deft fingers creating intricate patterns on the small square space outside our apartment. As a child this meant long hours of patient waiting and watching while squatting outside the doorway in pin drop silence as she wasn't to be disturbed. Finally would come the fun part-filling in the empty spaces with colored powders. A myriad of colors would be on display. Patiently Amma would fill a sieve or a tea strainer and cover each gap with a color which compliments the next gap. A very excited me would find immense pleasure in picking up packets of colored powder and handing it over to her as and when she demanded. It would go on for four-five hours with Appa peaking in between to see how far she's progressed. Eventually we would be done. All her effort up for display. And what a sight it was to behold! Stunning... The entire building would find a reason to pass by our apartment and kids would be cautioned to watch from a distance.
Fast forward to ten years later....
Today while I live and work in a different city, away from people who complete my home, I reminisce those days when putting a Rangoli was an annual affair. Since Amma and Appa returned to the country and set up their home in India, Rangolis have become a daily affair thanks to a. living in India and b. having ample space to exhibit her talent. Every morning Amma meticulously wakes up, cleans the vaasapadi and then her hands begin their magical weaving of patterns which her mind conjures up without fail.
As my late aunt rightly said, "The Divine speaks through your fingers" ....
I wait eagerly for holidays when i can escape from the humdrum of daily work and rush back home to stand leaning against the gate with a huge mug of filter kaapi in hand and quietly watch Amma work her magic...
A
Growing up this word symbolized two major festivals for me. Diwali and Kaartigai. Two days in a year when my mother would request the caretaker of the building not to wash and clean the building's hallway thus protecting her precious art. Most neighbors of ours (being a mixed lot of Indians and of other ethnicity) would watch in awe as Amma would begin her art with quick strokes of deft fingers creating intricate patterns on the small square space outside our apartment. As a child this meant long hours of patient waiting and watching while squatting outside the doorway in pin drop silence as she wasn't to be disturbed. Finally would come the fun part-filling in the empty spaces with colored powders. A myriad of colors would be on display. Patiently Amma would fill a sieve or a tea strainer and cover each gap with a color which compliments the next gap. A very excited me would find immense pleasure in picking up packets of colored powder and handing it over to her as and when she demanded. It would go on for four-five hours with Appa peaking in between to see how far she's progressed. Eventually we would be done. All her effort up for display. And what a sight it was to behold! Stunning... The entire building would find a reason to pass by our apartment and kids would be cautioned to watch from a distance.
Fast forward to ten years later....
Today while I live and work in a different city, away from people who complete my home, I reminisce those days when putting a Rangoli was an annual affair. Since Amma and Appa returned to the country and set up their home in India, Rangolis have become a daily affair thanks to a. living in India and b. having ample space to exhibit her talent. Every morning Amma meticulously wakes up, cleans the vaasapadi and then her hands begin their magical weaving of patterns which her mind conjures up without fail.
As my late aunt rightly said, "The Divine speaks through your fingers" ....
I wait eagerly for holidays when i can escape from the humdrum of daily work and rush back home to stand leaning against the gate with a huge mug of filter kaapi in hand and quietly watch Amma work her magic...
A
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