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Monday, April 21, 2014
A day in Kalahasti
It was half past 10 at night and the Majestic bus terminal looked none the poorer for travelers. Espying KSRTC’s Rajahamsa, we hopped on board gladly beguiled by the charms of the cherubic bus conductor. The journey from Bangalore to Tirupati would take us approximately four and a half hours. Sri Kalahasti Temple, the abode of Kalahasteeswara was another 36 km from there. Situated in the Chitoor district of Andhra Pradesh, Sri Kalahasti is the go-to place if the Rahu, Ketu grahams are giving you a tough time in life.
Around 5 am, our bus deposited us at the Tirupati bus station, where we boarded another bus to Sri Kalahasti. An hour later we alighted to a holy dawn at the temple town. Our hotel the Sri Sai Teja Residency Hotel was a five-minute walk from the bus stand and as we sauntered along the sleepy streets of the town, the placid waters of the River Swarnamukhi greeted us in the south.
Our hotel was a modest structure that boasted of neat well-equipped rooms sufficient to cater to the needs of two unpretentious female pilgrims.
After performing the necessary ablutions, we hurriedly proceeded towards the temple. The exigency of getting off rahu-ketu from our case could not be stressed enough.
The imposing temple structure faces the West and is sculpted out of a large stone hill. To its north, south and east are the Durgambika, Kannappar and Kumaraswamy hills, respectively.
As we enter the temple we are greeted by a gopuram over the main gate tower which is 120 feet high. The walk from the temple gate to the main structure is lined by numerous stalls selling everything from camphor, flowers, fruits, idols to hats, chains, bangles, keychains, bags and even soft toys. As you drink in the motley of wares on display, chances are you tend to deviate from the true purpose of your visit. Nevertheless, when you finally reach the shrine you are instantly besotted by a spiritual fervor.
We checked out the famous well-known rahu-ketu puja in the chart. The cheapest was Rs 300. The expensive one could cost Rs 750 or Rs 1,000. The temple would provide the items necessary for puja. Neat! I thought. Not much hassle here. As we ruminated on how much we were prepared to bribe Lord Shiva, a kindly priest told us that it would suffice to settle for the Rs 300 package. After all, it was sincere devotion and belief that counted.
After collecting the receipts for the puja, we were made to wait in a queue which lasted for 10 minutes. Then, along with our fellow devotees, equally distressed by rahu-ketu, we were herded into a hall. There under the able guidance of three to four temple priests who spouted Telugu and Tamil, we completed the rituals to appease the fate-influencing grahams. Following the rites we entered the famous mantapam, a hall with hundred pillars, and then the sanctum sanctorum not without being spellbound by the striking architecture of the temple.
After we glimpsed the main deity, we found ourselves drawn to the innumerable shops at the exit. After browsing through numerous literature on the temple and haggling over a bag or two, I finally purchased two miniature shiva lingas as ideal memorabilia back home.
The same evening we were in for a surprise. A few locals informed us that as it was Mahashivratri , we would be able to watch hundreds of couples get married along with Lord Shiva and his consort Goddess Parvati.
By evening the streets wore a frenzied attitude. Policemen thronged the streets in huge numbers, some of them even finding their way to our hotel room looking for impish elements. Impressed and curious, we decided to set out on a stroll and soak in the atmosphere. The entire town glowed in golden hues, throwing the River Swarnamukhi into resplendent grandeur.
At two in the morning, we ventured into the streets to watch the grand ritual called Tirukalyanam. Hundreds of couples dotted the streets as along with the Gods they too entered into the holy world of matrimony. Having witnessed the ritual first hand, we thought it a day well-spent in the holy town after which we headed back home spiritually contented.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Momentary delight
She sat in front of me,
The perfect arch of her eyebrows
Twitching, as the winds blew
On her face, the smooth surface
Of her pointed nose, egging me
To explore further, as I looked down
On the creamy softness of her chest,
The soft sighing of her breasts,
Tickling my ears, ensnaring me,
If only those lips were deeper,
I would sip its sweetness, scarlet sour
Caressing, stroking the heaving
Wishing I had it down there,
To rip off all the facade,
Nevertheless, the throbbing desire
Sees no ire, as the beautiful form
Awakens all, in this momentary delight
I ALIGHT
The perfect arch of her eyebrows
Twitching, as the winds blew
On her face, the smooth surface
Of her pointed nose, egging me
To explore further, as I looked down
On the creamy softness of her chest,
The soft sighing of her breasts,
Tickling my ears, ensnaring me,
If only those lips were deeper,
I would sip its sweetness, scarlet sour
Caressing, stroking the heaving
Wishing I had it down there,
To rip off all the facade,
Nevertheless, the throbbing desire
Sees no ire, as the beautiful form
Awakens all, in this momentary delight
I ALIGHT
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
In sickness and in health
When it came to maintaining good health, I always considered myself invulnerable. Discussions of diseases and prevention would always be in tones of high conceit interlaced with unflagging self-confidence. Yes, I was proud of my body’s uncanny ability to avoid disease.
However, it was both with much agitation and secret complacency that I found myself at the receiving end of viral fever.
Agitated because I lost three precious days I could have spent shopping, visiting relatives, going out with friends, watching movies. What else? GO TO OFFICE.
Yes it was the season for sickness. Everywhere people were falling prey to Malaria, Dengue, and Viral, not to forget big bro swine flu.
Still, I should have been the last person to be struck by the disease. I hardly eat from out. In fact, I eat decently healthy and spend 10 precious minutes everyday tolerating the daily ablutions.
Then again, I was not displeased with the turn of events. To speak the truth, the superciliousness over my cherubic health was just a façade to hide my body’s inability to contract anything remotely debilitating. It was not without some envy that I looked upon the invalids who could just loll about at home reading a book, and be tended to. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had fallen sick.
What’s more, I looked at disease as a wonderful way of losing weight. This is one time when even the best of foods refuse to arouse your palate. All the disdain and frustration reserved for the incorrigible world is suddenly directed at food. Food that once would have your tongue sodden with saliva suddenly is just a ritual to be borne every day.
Feeling smug, I prepared to attach myself to the invalid bed for three whole days.
Unfortunately, I could never be the perfect patient. Sickness, somehow, seemed to work the reverse in my case. It just made me hungry and hungrier by the day. Apparently, it was the antibiotics working its wonders on my supposedly fragile body.
To add to that, the excruciating pain in my head and the sore, dry throat that made every morsel of food an effort to swallow were not the best of feelings in the world. And I didn’t even lose any weight!
Finally, after three days of playing the supposed invalid, coughing up abundant phlegm and dripping slimy mucus all over I realised falling sick was after all not all that cool.
So, the next time I hear of viruses, infections and ailments, I will be looking up at the heavens, and joining hands in servile poise, will importunate the stars to spare my body the favour.
However, it was both with much agitation and secret complacency that I found myself at the receiving end of viral fever.
Agitated because I lost three precious days I could have spent shopping, visiting relatives, going out with friends, watching movies. What else? GO TO OFFICE.
Yes it was the season for sickness. Everywhere people were falling prey to Malaria, Dengue, and Viral, not to forget big bro swine flu.
Still, I should have been the last person to be struck by the disease. I hardly eat from out. In fact, I eat decently healthy and spend 10 precious minutes everyday tolerating the daily ablutions.
Then again, I was not displeased with the turn of events. To speak the truth, the superciliousness over my cherubic health was just a façade to hide my body’s inability to contract anything remotely debilitating. It was not without some envy that I looked upon the invalids who could just loll about at home reading a book, and be tended to. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had fallen sick.
What’s more, I looked at disease as a wonderful way of losing weight. This is one time when even the best of foods refuse to arouse your palate. All the disdain and frustration reserved for the incorrigible world is suddenly directed at food. Food that once would have your tongue sodden with saliva suddenly is just a ritual to be borne every day.
Feeling smug, I prepared to attach myself to the invalid bed for three whole days.
Unfortunately, I could never be the perfect patient. Sickness, somehow, seemed to work the reverse in my case. It just made me hungry and hungrier by the day. Apparently, it was the antibiotics working its wonders on my supposedly fragile body.
To add to that, the excruciating pain in my head and the sore, dry throat that made every morsel of food an effort to swallow were not the best of feelings in the world. And I didn’t even lose any weight!
Finally, after three days of playing the supposed invalid, coughing up abundant phlegm and dripping slimy mucus all over I realised falling sick was after all not all that cool.
So, the next time I hear of viruses, infections and ailments, I will be looking up at the heavens, and joining hands in servile poise, will importunate the stars to spare my body the favour.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Those days of innocence
By: Manju S Chandran Date: 2010-06-16 Place: Mumbai
It's the start of yet another academic year. Little buds, gurgling with anticipation, welcome the sunshine that will transform them into discerning adults. Smart and self- important in their crisp new uniform, they are ready to embark on a new journey that will traverse the many vicissitudes of life. I still remember my first day in school. Fed on stories of termagant teachers, of ears turned sour owing to constant pinching, and of raps on knuckles at perceivable signs of naughtiness, it was not without some trepidation that ” palms tightly clasped in my father's ” I entered the school precincts.
But my anxieties were soon laid to rest as the genial teacher, led me gingerly into the class and settled me on a comfortable chair. Looking around, I was struck by the sea of faces that seemed ready to break into tears at any moment. Many were already bawling and it was matter of seconds before I joined them, as I beheld my teacher shutting the door on my father's face. Amidst blobs of tears, I tried hard to catch a glimpse of his face in the melting crowd of parents. This image still vividly flashes in my mind, when I see the same events recurring every year with yet another child.
After that, the start of each of the 12 years in school was a like a journey into the unknown. It would stir myriads of questions. Who would be my class teacher? Will I be in the same class as my best friend? Who would sit next to me? How many new students would be there in my class? Besides, an entire day would be devoted to motivating (read boring) the students with speeches, anecdotes, slide shows, which no doubt would be lost on drooping eyes, wandering minds and restlessly shifting bodies. But singularly each one would prick their ears as soon as "scholastic" year was mentioned. Nobody ever ruminated on what was it about the word that was supposedly so funny. Probably it sounded too pretentious or may be we were expecting it to pop up any moment. Nevertheless, it would set our laughter muscles rolling.
Now, looking back I realise those "scholastic" years in school were well spent. It was here that the rudiments of lifelong edification are planted. The seeds of personality sown and watered here are etched for life. Then again, they were days of innocent indulgence. Days, when you could afford to be stupid without worrying about the enormity of your actions. It was here that you made friends without being too judgmental. Where you were too young to have any political affiliations. Where hard work always paid and was appreciated, and where once you spoke to God every day!
It's the start of yet another academic year. Little buds, gurgling with anticipation, welcome the sunshine that will transform them into discerning adults. Smart and self- important in their crisp new uniform, they are ready to embark on a new journey that will traverse the many vicissitudes of life. I still remember my first day in school. Fed on stories of termagant teachers, of ears turned sour owing to constant pinching, and of raps on knuckles at perceivable signs of naughtiness, it was not without some trepidation that ” palms tightly clasped in my father's ” I entered the school precincts.
But my anxieties were soon laid to rest as the genial teacher, led me gingerly into the class and settled me on a comfortable chair. Looking around, I was struck by the sea of faces that seemed ready to break into tears at any moment. Many were already bawling and it was matter of seconds before I joined them, as I beheld my teacher shutting the door on my father's face. Amidst blobs of tears, I tried hard to catch a glimpse of his face in the melting crowd of parents. This image still vividly flashes in my mind, when I see the same events recurring every year with yet another child.
After that, the start of each of the 12 years in school was a like a journey into the unknown. It would stir myriads of questions. Who would be my class teacher? Will I be in the same class as my best friend? Who would sit next to me? How many new students would be there in my class? Besides, an entire day would be devoted to motivating (read boring) the students with speeches, anecdotes, slide shows, which no doubt would be lost on drooping eyes, wandering minds and restlessly shifting bodies. But singularly each one would prick their ears as soon as "scholastic" year was mentioned. Nobody ever ruminated on what was it about the word that was supposedly so funny. Probably it sounded too pretentious or may be we were expecting it to pop up any moment. Nevertheless, it would set our laughter muscles rolling.
Now, looking back I realise those "scholastic" years in school were well spent. It was here that the rudiments of lifelong edification are planted. The seeds of personality sown and watered here are etched for life. Then again, they were days of innocent indulgence. Days, when you could afford to be stupid without worrying about the enormity of your actions. It was here that you made friends without being too judgmental. Where you were too young to have any political affiliations. Where hard work always paid and was appreciated, and where once you spoke to God every day!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Oh, I crave
Desire is the root cause of all sorrow - Gautama Buddha.
I follow happiness, but I am unable to hold it, because desire has bound me in its tenacious arms. I try to extricate myself out of her tight grasp and start running. Yonder I see happiness tantalisingly beckoning me. But as I reach out to her, she vamooses. I feel a slight tug at my skirt. Looking down I see a gleam of wickedness in her eyes.
When will she stop bothering me? And when will I finally catch up with happiness.
I follow happiness, but I am unable to hold it, because desire has bound me in its tenacious arms. I try to extricate myself out of her tight grasp and start running. Yonder I see happiness tantalisingly beckoning me. But as I reach out to her, she vamooses. I feel a slight tug at my skirt. Looking down I see a gleam of wickedness in her eyes.
When will she stop bothering me? And when will I finally catch up with happiness.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Faithfuls on a Tuesday!
If you happen to be on the Mumbai roads - somewhere between Dadar and Worli to be precise - during the wee hours of Tuesday, something very singular will attract you.
The steady flow of people, headed towards a common destination. The unearthly hours and the consequent absence of public transport is hardly a hindrance. They are all happy enjoying their padyatra on a divine night.
I see groups of boys and girls, some in shorts and T-shirts, others in track pants legging it to Prabhadevi. I could as well have mistaken them for early bird fitness freaks or would-be doctors from the nearby medical colleges out for a morning trot.
Then there are families comprising father, mother, sons, daughters; the ladies dressed in garish sarees, salwars, a matching bindi, glass bangles, lips painted crimson, eyes coated with black liner (where do they get the time), the men relatively sober in printed shirts and matching trousers.
When I come to know it's mission "Appease Lord Ganesha", I am perplexed.
To forgo a night's sleep and legging it all the way to Prabhadevi from their homes (some do that and Mumbai is not shrinking) was truly amazing.
But why do I see girls and boys in shorts and track pants. Probably they thought they could make it a two-in-one. An early morning walk coupled with a darshan of their favourite God on his favourite day. What a holy exercise!
But, I wondered how Lord Ganesha felt when he saw these boys and girls? Would he cringe at the sight of girls shamelessly flaunting their well-toned brown legs, or would he be too shy to even sneak a look. By now, he would probably be accustomed to such sights. After all if people can change, why couldn't the Gods?
If girls could discard sarees and salwars kameez for the comforts of jeans, skirts, shorts, I am sure Ganesha would readily discard these archaic, conservative, feminist notions of propriety. He would definitely understand. And then consider their sacrifice. Wasn't it enough they had forsaken their sleep and overworked their poor legs.
And then the Siddhivinayak temple was always known for its tolerance. Isn't that the reason even faithful Christians and Muslims flock to this place without the fear of being shunned. Yes, Ganpatiji tolerates them, though the followers of his faith can't stand them. (I wonder if they can even stand each other).
For that I would thank god for the Christians and Muslims. At least the Hindus are united in disliking them. In this united mission, they at least tolerate (if not like) each other.
Especially, when a certain Bal Thackeray is busy churning out new enemies for the Marathi manoos.
Earlier, it was the South Indians stealing the coveted government jobs. Then it was the Muslims, making bomb blasts at will. And now the North Indians.
But then who can blame them for hating the North Indians. I could make a whole list of their crimes. They do think the roads are a big, public spittoon, where they can release their pan-mixed saliva at will. Why roads, buses, elevators, footpaths, staircases, public walls, building walls, walls where it is clearly written ithe thunko naka!
Then they shamelessly grope Mumbai. Yes, they almost rape her. I wish their overactive loins would behave themselves.
So, why blame the poor Maharashtrians for hating them. And these non-Maharashtrians, always stealing their jobs. So, Balasaheb has a point.
I always thought Mumbai is human because of her Maharashtrians. Simple, austere, God-fearing. They are a disciplined lot. So accommodating. A whole family of six wouldn't mind wriggling it out in a one-room flat. And then they eat non-veg only on Wednesdays and Sundays. Good way to economise as I see it. Of course, they are religious. So they even avoid killing mice, because Lord Ganesha likes them. Most make it to Siddhivinayak without fail every Tuesday and if not they ensure their presence in any of the numerous Ganesha temples in their vicinity.
I have been to Siddhivinayak just thrice to be precise in the 25 years I have been in Mumbai. Blame it on my indolence, or my inability to tolerate huge crowds. When I pray, I need a peaceful ambience. Only the occasional clonk of the bells should break my monologue with God. Nothing else. I do not want to be manhandled, pushed and jostled, when all I want is a glimpse of my God and feel his smiling, benevolent eyes on me.
But I still envy the faithful, who without fail keep their appointment with God every Tuesday, while I lazily make excuses of corruption, omnipresence, peace.
Well, if God is everywhere, why do I need to go to temple to see him, or talk to him. Wouldn't the numerous pictures I have at home suffice to appeal to his magnanimity.
Yes, you can avoid the serpentine queues and get a speed Darshan if you pay Rs 50.
But wouldn't that be exploiting people's faith?
And would this God even want to see me, if I pay money to see him quickly?
Or would he like me more because I shelled out extra to get his darshan?
Yes, and I also happen to know the guard at the temple. So if I really want he will allow me in for free that too without breaking a sweat. So would my God love me more because I happened to know the guard. Then what about those who had waited for almost three hours to get a darshan?
of course, they wouldn't know what I did, but then how would I refrain from cursing myself for the ungodly act.
So, I would rather sit at home and admire and envy those, who make it every Tuesday without fail. Or catch a fleeting glimpse of the faithfuls plodding along as I trundle past in my office transport.
The steady flow of people, headed towards a common destination. The unearthly hours and the consequent absence of public transport is hardly a hindrance. They are all happy enjoying their padyatra on a divine night.
I see groups of boys and girls, some in shorts and T-shirts, others in track pants legging it to Prabhadevi. I could as well have mistaken them for early bird fitness freaks or would-be doctors from the nearby medical colleges out for a morning trot.
Then there are families comprising father, mother, sons, daughters; the ladies dressed in garish sarees, salwars, a matching bindi, glass bangles, lips painted crimson, eyes coated with black liner (where do they get the time), the men relatively sober in printed shirts and matching trousers.
When I come to know it's mission "Appease Lord Ganesha", I am perplexed.
To forgo a night's sleep and legging it all the way to Prabhadevi from their homes (some do that and Mumbai is not shrinking) was truly amazing.
But why do I see girls and boys in shorts and track pants. Probably they thought they could make it a two-in-one. An early morning walk coupled with a darshan of their favourite God on his favourite day. What a holy exercise!
But, I wondered how Lord Ganesha felt when he saw these boys and girls? Would he cringe at the sight of girls shamelessly flaunting their well-toned brown legs, or would he be too shy to even sneak a look. By now, he would probably be accustomed to such sights. After all if people can change, why couldn't the Gods?
If girls could discard sarees and salwars kameez for the comforts of jeans, skirts, shorts, I am sure Ganesha would readily discard these archaic, conservative, feminist notions of propriety. He would definitely understand. And then consider their sacrifice. Wasn't it enough they had forsaken their sleep and overworked their poor legs.
And then the Siddhivinayak temple was always known for its tolerance. Isn't that the reason even faithful Christians and Muslims flock to this place without the fear of being shunned. Yes, Ganpatiji tolerates them, though the followers of his faith can't stand them. (I wonder if they can even stand each other).
For that I would thank god for the Christians and Muslims. At least the Hindus are united in disliking them. In this united mission, they at least tolerate (if not like) each other.
Especially, when a certain Bal Thackeray is busy churning out new enemies for the Marathi manoos.
Earlier, it was the South Indians stealing the coveted government jobs. Then it was the Muslims, making bomb blasts at will. And now the North Indians.
But then who can blame them for hating the North Indians. I could make a whole list of their crimes. They do think the roads are a big, public spittoon, where they can release their pan-mixed saliva at will. Why roads, buses, elevators, footpaths, staircases, public walls, building walls, walls where it is clearly written ithe thunko naka!
Then they shamelessly grope Mumbai. Yes, they almost rape her. I wish their overactive loins would behave themselves.
So, why blame the poor Maharashtrians for hating them. And these non-Maharashtrians, always stealing their jobs. So, Balasaheb has a point.
I always thought Mumbai is human because of her Maharashtrians. Simple, austere, God-fearing. They are a disciplined lot. So accommodating. A whole family of six wouldn't mind wriggling it out in a one-room flat. And then they eat non-veg only on Wednesdays and Sundays. Good way to economise as I see it. Of course, they are religious. So they even avoid killing mice, because Lord Ganesha likes them. Most make it to Siddhivinayak without fail every Tuesday and if not they ensure their presence in any of the numerous Ganesha temples in their vicinity.
I have been to Siddhivinayak just thrice to be precise in the 25 years I have been in Mumbai. Blame it on my indolence, or my inability to tolerate huge crowds. When I pray, I need a peaceful ambience. Only the occasional clonk of the bells should break my monologue with God. Nothing else. I do not want to be manhandled, pushed and jostled, when all I want is a glimpse of my God and feel his smiling, benevolent eyes on me.
But I still envy the faithful, who without fail keep their appointment with God every Tuesday, while I lazily make excuses of corruption, omnipresence, peace.
Well, if God is everywhere, why do I need to go to temple to see him, or talk to him. Wouldn't the numerous pictures I have at home suffice to appeal to his magnanimity.
Yes, you can avoid the serpentine queues and get a speed Darshan if you pay Rs 50.
But wouldn't that be exploiting people's faith?
And would this God even want to see me, if I pay money to see him quickly?
Or would he like me more because I shelled out extra to get his darshan?
Yes, and I also happen to know the guard at the temple. So if I really want he will allow me in for free that too without breaking a sweat. So would my God love me more because I happened to know the guard. Then what about those who had waited for almost three hours to get a darshan?
of course, they wouldn't know what I did, but then how would I refrain from cursing myself for the ungodly act.
So, I would rather sit at home and admire and envy those, who make it every Tuesday without fail. Or catch a fleeting glimpse of the faithfuls plodding along as I trundle past in my office transport.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Deed, indeed!
Producing two 10-rupees bill from my purse, I placed it into his shrivelled, doddering palms. "Nahin aap yeah rak lo" he said vehemently shaking his head. Puzzled I kept insisting with a smile. I was touched.
I had told the cab driver to keep the change. Instead of taking additional six rupees from me he preferred to forego his four. What a soul! My heart went out to that honest, old driver.
I insisted he keep the change and ran away from the scene. Contented and smug, I pondered over the event once more. I was on my way to an interview then. I had supposedly done a good deed.
Yet, something irked my conscience.
Was it unconditional? I couldn't dispel thoughts of an ulterior motive.
There probably lurked in me a latent desire to appease the gods. Would I behave the same way if I was hot, perspiring, late for work and in a foul mood?
Food for thought.
I had told the cab driver to keep the change. Instead of taking additional six rupees from me he preferred to forego his four. What a soul! My heart went out to that honest, old driver.
I insisted he keep the change and ran away from the scene. Contented and smug, I pondered over the event once more. I was on my way to an interview then. I had supposedly done a good deed.
Yet, something irked my conscience.
Was it unconditional? I couldn't dispel thoughts of an ulterior motive.
There probably lurked in me a latent desire to appease the gods. Would I behave the same way if I was hot, perspiring, late for work and in a foul mood?
Food for thought.
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