To pay obeisance to you My Lord

 

                                          

Once again at the  sacred threshold, in the divine presence of  the Lord of Guruvayoor.. The  fragrance of incense, flowers and sandalwood wafting pleasantly all around, the brass lamps glimmering and winking , the chanting of ‘ Krishna, Guruvayoorappa’, rending the air, the drums, the trumpet , and the incessant ringing of the bell adding to the air of devotion and spirituality pervading the premises.

“ Guruvayoor ambala nadayil , oru divasam njan pokum…”

Jesudas , singing of his desire to go to the temple and stand in the divine presence of  Guruvayoorappan, the presiding deity of Guruvayoor temple. The tune reverberated at the back of my mind  as  I stood with folded hands in front of the  lord of Guruvayoor , after a gap of  more than ten years.

Memories flipped back the pages of Time and I was transported virtually  to the temple visits during our vacation to Kerala . My mother in law ( Amma), an ardent devotee of Guruvayoorappan had fervently believed that He would fulfil the wish of every devotee who seeks His blessings. She used to go to the temple every month as long as her health permitted her . Her maid Meenakshi Amma was her escort during these visits. But when we were home on vacation,  she would insist on our accompanying her . Those were the days when piety and devotion were old fashioned coinages in my vocabulary. My husband was God fearing , but he too did not believe in rituals. In order to  placate  Amma,  we used  to accompany her . Compared to the serpentine queue in front of the temple door these days, the queues were much shorter in those days.  Yet we found it arduous to stand in the queue with two small kids in tow. Amma  wouldn’t eat or drink anything till she completed  darshan, so that meant no tea or breakfast till our temple darshan was over. While we stood in queue, my husband would discreetly vanish with the children , telling   Amma  , “We will just come back “. I knew what it meant because I too had been issued  an invitation to have tea and snacks from the nearby hotel and return before the queue reached the front entrance . But  the displeasure  of  Amma   combined with  the wrath of God played spoilsport in my imagination and I  reluctantly declined the offer , even while my stomach rumbled and grunted in protest. The well fed gentlemen of the family would return just in time to enter the front door while the ladies sweated it out in the queue moving at snail pace   

At the entrance , the queue dissolved and we had the hustle and bustle of people pushing from all sides. On one such occasion, Amma told me, “ I will show you a trick “. She tucked my left hand in the crook of her right arm and squeezed in through the crowd.  No one objected , though I received some dirty stares. We made our way through the melee and stood with folded hands in front of the idol. Along with all other demands and requests, I  sought forgiveness for breaking the queue . The gentlemen of the family fretted and fumed from behind but to no avail. When a harried husband along with children joined us after a considerable time gap, Amma  told him, tongue in cheek, “ Guruvayoorappan knows…. He  favours the truly devoted “

The incident flashed before my mind’s eye as I sat on the bench in front of God’s threshold. Now  the queue system has changed: you don’t have to stand in queue, you can sit. It is like musical chair , you have to shift from one bench to the next as the railings take you on a circuitous route to the temple’s front door. Drinking water is supplied by the staff of the Devaswom board to the weary devotees. I felt grateful for such  small mercies. Suddenly, without notice ,  the queue came to a standstill as the door closed for ‘ Nivedyam’  .  It was 8.35pm  when the queue started moving again. As we reached the front door,  there was the usual jostling in the cramped space, after which we had to go up a stair case in twos . Just when we reached the threshold, I discovered to my alarm that ‘might  was  right’  . You  may either be carried forth by the flow or you can use strong arm tactics and squeeze in through the crowd. Once inside, there were ladies-  volunteers I guess-   who urged the devotees forward , saying ‘Pray, pray and then move on ‘. I was bemused and befuddled. . My  list of requests, appeals and grievances  was forgotten. Pushed forward by the ones coming from behind, I somehow managed to extricate myself , all the time wondering   why Guruvayoorappan was testing me like this. 

  Acting upon the advice of more experienced devotees who briefed me about the various queues in the temple – general queue, senior citizen’s queue, neighbourhood people’s queue, privilege queue, annadanam queue and so on- I  promptly joined   the Senior citizen’s queue the next day. Feeling triumphant I stood in the queue and gloated , anticipating a good darshan. . When the door to the sanctum sanctorum was in sight, the queue was stopped  and whispered messages of ‘Seeveli’ started floating from the front to the back. I was appalled to realize that I was stuck well and good with no respite . Getting out of the queue meant brushing past all the devotees standing packed together, enclosed by railings. There were no benches on this side of the temple. I resigned myself to the situation wondering whether Guruvayoorappan was annoyed with me .

Then the  Seeveli procession came by, priests carrying long handled lamps, nadaswaram and finally Lord Guruvayoorappan Himself seated on the back of the caparisoned  elephant’, held by the chief priest, accompanied by devotees chanting payers.  My mind  brimmed with mixed emotions of joy, gratitude, fear, devotion and surprisingly, acceptance and understanding. With folded hands,  I appealed to God  to forgive me for my trespasses. Instead of seeing and worshipping Him from a distance with people all around, I could see Him close at hand, out in the open. I prayed,  with a smile playing on my lips, recalling the names of all those  who were close to me and  needed a  prayer . Later when the doors opened , I went inside to pray, the smile still lingering on my lips. ‘ Kannante leela vilasam’, they say in Malayalam. Was this a prank of our mischief- making Krishna? Testing me, then listening to my prayers, and springing a pleasant surprise when I was grumbling and  least expecting it .

 Among the  myriad secrets of life which never fail to surprise me is the rapport I have developed with my idea of God. Somewhere along life’s  winding  paths, the scepticism of youth had given  way to  profound  faith.  When life takes unexpected twists and turns, when the clear stream of reason becomes muddied with fears and doubts, you need an anchor to lend stability and a sense of direction. That is  when I turned to God . It is difficult to explain this emotion which is a mix of awe, affection,  devotion and understanding. Mine is a benevolent  God, who  supports and forgives.  And  He appears in my imagination  not only as  Krishna.  I pray to Lord Ganesha, Devi Saraswathy and every God who appears in my mind’s eye on each occasion. To those who preach single God worship, I can only say that for me there is a God in everything.  Call all it pagan worship or whatever but it gives me immense satisfaction to believe  that I am enveloped by the love and understanding of God who will never fail me.

  .

 

When the dogs are away the cats will play

 

                                              

The stray dogs on the street outside my gate did not bother me much as long as they stayed on their territory and I stayed on mine. Every time I opened the gate they would glance at me lazily and I would return the glare, seemingly without any apprehension but actually alert and ready to take cover in case one of them decides to pounce and make mincemeat of me. ‘ Let sleeping dogs lie…’ I followed the adage to the letter.

This kind of non interfering camaraderie was broken one night when a big white dog with a collar around its neck joined the pack. The normally docile dogs took a cue from the new leader and turned into a pack of aggressive canines, jumping over compound walls, chewing  shoes, sandals , and anything else they could find outside, particularly on the verandah. My neighbours had alerted me but I paid scant regard , thinking the dogs which looked so harmless could not change into ferocious beings overnight. Until one midnight when I was woken from deep slumber by the alarmed screams of an animal followed by the excited barking of dogs. As I came fully awake, I heard, mingled with the animal cries,  human voices shouting  and the pelting of stones. I switched on the CCTV camera on my mobile and found to my horror, a pack of dogs running helter skelter on my beautifully  laid out  lawn , chasing some  scurrying animal . On opening the window which overlooked the garden, I saw four young men , the tenants of the opposite house, shouting and pelting stones at the dogs which were attacking a small form that was trying to free itself and escape. The boys shouted to me not to come out as the dogs were dangerously aggressive. As they continued to pelt stones, the dogs , carrying the hapless animal, ran towards the back of the house. I switched on the master switch, illuminating  the garden and the drive way in  bright light. The sudden lights helped to disperse the dogs. As they scattered, I mustered courage and opened the back door a bit. I had kept curtain rods there to support the plants. I threw one at a dog , it yelped and ran. All other dogs followed suit, jumping over the compound wall from different sides. There was no sign of the wounded animal and no more cries. I consoled myself that perhaps it might have escaped. But the next morning revealed the mauled carcass of a civet cat in the corner of the garden. This murder of a helpless, harmless animal in the darkness of the night right in my garden disheartened and infuriated me no end .  I decided to take action.

The first phase of the action plan was to write  a message to  the Residents association authorities, drawing their  notice  to   sleep disruption caused to the residents and the mental trauma caused by the murder at mid night. Around the same time, many cases of stray dog attacks were reported in the city and the association rolled into action. The owner  of the bully dog was identified and was requested to keep the dog confined to his territory. The subsequent happenings are a little unclear to me . There were rumours of Corporation dog catchers taking away the dogs for neutering , of a shelter for stray dogs maintained by a dog lover  where  the dogs were fed and roomed. Miraculously the dog menace reduced and almost stopped.  However I was not prepared to take any chances.  The well meaning contractor who built our house , fixed railings  above the compound wall, raising the height so as to keep even the best high jumpers among the dogs at bay. I could rest easy, complacent in the belief  that my house was now secure from dog attack.

Months passed. While sitting on the verandah, enjoying my cuppa, listening to the chattering of birds on the trees , I lazily observed that the cacophonous hullaballoo created by my winged friends had somehow decreased in intensity. Soon  the reason came to light. When the dogs  were  away the cats had sprung into action . The neighbourhood cat, emboldened  by the absence of the dogs had decided to encroach upon my property. He would bask in sunlight on the driveway , striking a pose which would put even Cleopatra to shame. At times he would hide under the bushes, pouncing on the hapless birds. Though the cat was well trained in climbing walls and trees, the birds proved  too clever for him   . Soon the cat was joined by two others. One was pitch black with  bright  tawny eyes  burning and accusing me as if I was the encroacher. The other one was  in battle combat, the camouflage giving me no indication that a cat was nearby until it moved. The threesome soon joined hands, nay paws, to attack  birds, mice or anything that they could subdue with their combined strength.

My morning hour on the verandah is now interrupted not by the chirping of birds, but by my own loud shouts and screams as I try to chase away the cats before they could gobble up the birds. Evidence  by way of loose  feathers scattered on the lawn and the driveway  proved that my attempts were futile . The mynahs  which were my early morning visitors have stopped their  frequent visits. Only the tiny ones which flit in and out of the bushes and the kites which soar  far above  continue their fearless  pursuits. And the cats continue to defile my space, unabashedly claiming my property as theirs. They climb upon my dwarf coconut palm, toppling the baby elephant which is our coveted garden ornament.  They even keep vigil on the verandah when I am not around. Enhancing the height of the compound wall does not deter them, my shouts of displeasure do not hinder them, the occasional water spray that I use on them has only temporary effect. Now we have learnt to tolerate and live together in uneasy harmony.  Better by far to accommodate these smart furry creatures  who carry themselves regally with dignity than to live in fear of the four legged canines who kill for pleasure .   

Turkiye as we saw it

 

`The devastating earthquake that struck Turkey on 6 Feb 2023  evoked memories of  our trip to this fascinating country in July 2022.We( my son Siddharth, daughter in law Kivya, grand daughter Ziya and I ) landed in Turkey on Saturday  2 July. Right after landing , we  hired a cab for the entire duration of the trip.  Apartments were booked  through Air BNB in each locality which we planned to visit. This gave us a chance to acquaint ourselves with the local population . The people were cordial and the apartments were well furnished with all the required amenities. On one or two occasions we experienced some unpleasantness on account of a disruption in water supply, lack of AC , small rooms etc. But this did not deter us from exploring all the interesting facets of this wonderland.

We started our journey from Anatolia .  From the apartment where we stayed , the nearby Adalar beach and the adjoining café manned by a Turkish family could be accessed by a steep flight of steps. The seat in the café  provided  a splendid view of the Mediterranean , with rocks forming a cove , deemed to be safe for swimming. Our water baby Siddharth made a beeline for the crystal clear water, taking little Ziya with him. This was Ziya’s debut swimming session in the ocean and she was thrilled  as well as apprehensive. When the initial excitement wore off she insisted on having her Mom by her side all the time . From morning to evening we lazed about in the café eating grilled fish, sandwiches , fries, water melon and an assortment of beverages. In the evening we ventured into the nearby park which was teeming with life. Well laid out flower beds dotted with lamps, tall palms, evergreen shrubs and statues at strategic points enhanced the beauty of the place . The restaurant in the park was vibrant with music, ilght and laughter. Romance was in the air and we felt enchanted.

A mix of tradition and modernity was evident everywhere. Women wearing hijab and long kurtas shared space with women wearing hot pants and mini dresses. Most of the men were bearded though we spotted a few clean shaven ones too. Families could be seen loitering around the garden and park, some with picnic baskets , their children running about and playing on the grounds. Most of the ladies were well turned out, in stylish costumes and make up. All the streets were well lit and clean. Even in the older parts of the city, the cobbled pavements were spic and span. Toilets were available everywhere, well equipped with tissues, running water and all amenities.

One curious aspect of the country   is  the presence of cats everywhere. The feline creatures could be seen stalking the pavement, hiding in the bushes, rubbing against your feet while seated at a restaurant. In many places people were seen  patting and feeding stray cats. Perhaps the Turk’s love of cats may be the reason for such fearlessness of the cats of that  country. 

Another ubiquitous feature   is the aromatic  Turkish tea served in   a tower of two kettles stacked one upon the other. The lower one is for boiling water and the upper one for the brew. Both the kettles are continuously heated by a chunk of charcoal kept underneath each kettle. Turkish tea is served in a tulip shaped glass called ince belli  and is best when consumed   black but sugar and milk are provided on request. We got so carried away by the elegance of the tea tower and the aroma of the tea that we drank glass after glass ,  consequently  finding ourselves sleep deprived on account of the excess caffeine in our blood.

From Adalar beach we walked to the old city to see Hadrian’s Gate, which dates back to 130 AD. Originally built to commemorate the visit of Roman Emperor  Hadrian to Anatolia, it is a typical Roman triumphal arc , with three similar archways. The streets were  paved with cobblestones and they led to historic houses, restaurants and shops. We bought two beautifully carved vases as souvenirs. In the evening we shifted to an apartment in the older part of the city and had dinner at a restaurant which had a  mesmerising  performance by  belly dancers in their glittering costumes gliding to the tune of soft music  .

Our next destination was Pamukkale, the thermal l springs. Though cabs were available for hire we took the unwise decision to brave it out on foot.  The heat of the blazing sun took us unawares. We had to circumvent an amphitheatre in ruins and scale a hill to reach the springs.  I wondered at the lack of shops and stalls offering water and snacks to weary travellers. In India we can expect a small shop or stall  at every nook and corner. But this was hilly terrain, offering no shelter from  the  scorching heat of the sun.  No wonder then, that we had to deal with frayed nerves and differences of opinion by the time we reached the thermal springs.  Another  dampener was the lack of toilet facilities near the springs. We had to walk to the restaurant about half a kilometre away to find refreshment and  toilets. My pleasure in the trip took a deep plunge at this juncture and left me in a foul mood.

In Ephesus we saw the ruins of a well-planned city – a commercial market place going back to the time of Emperor Augustus , a two aisled Doric basilica built during the time of Emperor Nero. In the Temple of Hadrian, around 300 inscribed bases of Emperors were preserved while the statues were destroyed in a series of earth quakes. So earthquakes were a familiar phenomena to Turkey as could be gauged by the ruins of the fountains and theatres found at Ephesus.

On the way to Istanbul we visited  the Temple of Artemis  which was destroyed by  Herostratus. .  Impossible to fathom the depth of depravity in a mind that could reduce  one of the wonders of the ancient world   to mere  columns and foundations  just to attain  notoriety if not fame ….

“… and much it grieved my heart to think , what man has made of man..”

No wonder that the term Herostratic fame originated from the nefarious act of that vainglorious man.

The next place of interest was The House of Virgin Mary , a stone built house where Virgin Mary had spent the final years of her life. A modest chapel, with a single room . On an  altar  stood  the  statue of the blessed Virgin . We prayed and exited with Ziya sleeping on the pram beside us , but when  Ziya woke up Siddharth insisted  on paying a second visit with Ziya awake . As we came out we were surprised to see a few young men, probably the cleaning staff washing the garbage bins with soap and water .  What a wonderful precedent for cleanliness and dignity of labour! The same cleanliness was evident when we visited Grand Bazaar. It was closing time and we couldn’t do much shopping . Once the stalls were closed, the cleaning staff came in vehicles and started cleaning the pavements with soap and water using hoses connected to huge water carriers. We can take a lesson in cleanliness from the Turks.

Istanbul’s  timeless charm was evident in every facet of the grand city. Numerous architectural marvels stood  tall in the heart of the city. We visited Hagia Sophia, the mosque which had once been a cathedral built by Constantine, , rebuilt by Justinian and converted into a mosque during the Ottoman conquest . Finally when Turkey became a republic, Gen Kemal Ataturk declared it to be a museum .In Hagia Sophia, it is mandatory for ladies to cover their heads and we were well prepared with scarves and stoles  .The place was over crowded. We had to remove foot wear to enter. There was plush wall to wall carpeting inside. We sat down and observed the intricately carved ceiling , the splendid chandeliers, the inscriptions and the motifs on the walls and half walls. Men and women were sitting engrossed in prayer. The  brilliant work of art  as well as the  spiritual atmosphere that pervaded the holy place was absolutely awe inspiring.

The next day’s visit started with  the Blue Mosque, alias Sultan Ahmed mosque, where  the procedure of removing footwear and covering  the  head had to be repeated. The most intriguing monument proved to be  the Republic monument at Taksim square , which  depicts the establishment of the young Turkish republic. One side of the monument represents the war of Independence and  the other, the Republic of Turkey. Statues of two Soviet generals are incorporated into the monument, seemingly to express   gratitude to Soviet help during the war. 

 Bosphorus Bridge,  connecting  the  European  and Asian sides   of Istanbul ,  had a continuous stream of traffic. It is one of the three suspension bridges spanning the Bosphorus  Strait, that forms the continental boundary between Asia and Europe.  Previously one could walk along the length of the bridge but now bridge walk is allowed only during Istanbul Marathon which takes place in November.

The viewing platform on the  Golden Horn Bridge gave us a splendid view of graceful  cruise ships and  speed boats sailing in the Bosphorus Strait. We were startled at the sight of flying fish which we later realized were fish caught by the men sitting on the side-lines with fishing lines . The lower part of the bridge was mainly occupied by restaurants and we had delicious calamari and mussels there. Though much acclaim has been made of  Turkish food we did not find the food delectable to our palates in most of the eating places which we frequented. The bread was  rather tough and the meat tasted  bland to our Indian taste buds. But the fare served  at  the restaurant  on the  Golden  Horn  Bridge surpassed our expectations and satiated our appetites.

From where we sat we could see the Galata  Tower. Originally built as a light house by the Byzantines, it became a dungeon during the Ottoman conquest and later turned into  a fire tower. Ziya was entranced by the hustle and bustle at Golden Horn bridge. All through the trip and during the flight she enchanted us with her antics and childish pranks. Hugging her favourite doll, she made her way through the streets and pavements of Turkey, giggling breathlessly at the pranks of the ice cream vendor and later crying her heart out when the vendor playfully took away her ice cream. Finally he had to pacify her with a soft toy which belonged to his own child.  When we returned to London, we carried with us indelible memories of this beautiful land along with  plenty of souvenirs. A statue of Cleopatra , reclining  on the barge now proudly sits on my showcase , bringing to mind the memorable lines of Mark Antony:

“Age cannot wither her,

Nor custom stale her infinite variety … “