Diwali

Last night at dinner, I was able to explain Diwali (pronounced “Divali,” and meaning “row of lamps”) to a tableful of people while my husband Mowgli (not his real name) was in another room. When he returned, he commented that I’m starting to know more about Hinduism than he does.

It’s not that I have the fervor of a convert; I don’t practice Hinduism, or any other religion, on a daily basis. But when he doesn’t know the answers to my questions, he’ll take down a book from a shelf, or go online, and then my love of research takes over.

So, though there’s a lot more to the holiday than this, here’s what I’ve learned about Diwali:

- The central theme is good triumphing over evil, and hence light over darkness. This springs from the festival being the anniversary of the death of a demon (see below) as well as a harvest festival.

- In Southern India, Diwali is celebrated as the death anniversary of the demon Narakasura, who had been terrorizing the earth and imprisoning women. There are two versions of how the demon was killed; one is that Krishna beheaded him with his discus, and the other is that his wife, Satyabhama, killed him when he knocked Krishna out. She was able to do this because the demon had received a boon from Brahma that he could only be killed by his mother – and Krishna’s wife happened to be a reincarnation of the demon’s mother.

- In Northern India, Diwali is celebrated as the homecoming of the god Rama following a 14-year exile and the defeat of the nasty king Ravana, who had kidnapped Rama’s wife, Sita. Clay lamps filled with oil are lit to welcome him.

- Lakshmi (goddess of wealth, light, prosperity, fertility and wisdom) is a central figure during Diwali; this has to do with the harvest aspect of the festival. To do a proper Diwali, you should clean your house thoroughly so that when Lakshmi visits, she will be pleased.

- Diwali is a time when you forgive transgressions and accept forgiveness. Accounts are settled, new accounts are opened, and people visit with each other and exchange sweets.

- Celebrations go on for days in India and vary according to religion (Jains, Sikhs and Buddhists also celebrate Diwali), and vary according to the region and individual traditions.

In our house, we poured water on the front walk and steps and lit sparklers, dabbed our heads with oil (probably related to Krishna taking an oil bath to cleanse himself of the demon’s blood), showered, put on new clothes, prayed in front of our house shrine, and then had some rock candy.

Mowgli might be right about my growing Hinduism knowledge in certain cases, but if there’s a pop quiz on gods and goddesses, he’ll beat me every time. And without his mother, we’d both be lost; Mowgli prepared the shrine and directed the ritual according to her directions.

Photopost: Temple Rededication

On Sunday I wrote about the local Hindu temple's kumbhabhishekam, or rededication; later that morning we attended the conclusion of the four-day ceremony. I took loads of photos, and I have to tell you, I wasn't the only one, although most people were snapping away on cell phones.

The entrance to the temple grounds, coming from the parking lot next door. The grey object in the center is the head of Ganesh; he is the remover of obstacles and the lord of beginnings.

The entrance to the tent outside the temple, where there were pujas to purify and revivify the temple and its contents going on for days. Up until a certain point, the temple was completely closed.



This was a holy occasion, and thus, a shoeless affair.



I don't know what this pole's purpose is, but it's new. At the end of the ceremony, a priest came out and put things on its base, but by the time I got up to it, all I saw was a small bowl with a bit of water. People were dipping their fingers in it and dabbing their foreheads and throats.



There are seven of these golden spikes; they're new, too, and according to a priest we flagged down, they draw divine energy into the temple.



This lady is holding a kumbha (vessel), that's wrapped with thread. A group of people (who I believe paid for the privilege) were allowed to take the vessels, which were partially filled with holy water, and pour their contents on the main altar. This is known as abhishekam, or sprinkling, and it can also be done with milk, ghee, oil or milk curds. The garlands on the door behind her are made of fresh flowers.



The only place in St. Louis I've ever been able to lose my husband in a crowd.



And then the helicopter appeared, carrying one of the temple's priests. He was flown around the various parts of the temple so he could sprinkle holy water and rice on the building. Ordinarily, this is achieved with ladders and internal staircases, but the fire codes prevent this.







Then he did the same to the crowd in front of the temple; it was windy and gritty and joyous.

Dwadasha Kumbhabhishekam

I know, it's a mouthful. Here's what it means: 12th anniversary celebrations at the Hindu Temple of St. Louis. It's both a rededication and a refreshing of sorts, involving water, fire, purification of the carvings of gods, chanting, and offerings. We were there yesterday, dropping off a 50-pound bag of rice to be used as prasadam (offering of food to the gods which is then distributed to the people), and we picked up an elaborate program that explains what's going on and why.

The temple has numerous vigrahas, or stone carvings of Hindu gods and goddesses. When they were installed 12 years ago they were purified, chanted over and generally prepared to serve as channels of the divine, and they're worshipped on a daily basis by resident priests as well as devotees. The ongoing worship is partially meant to keep the channel of divine love open, but that does not guarantee the proper level of spiritual maintenance. Here's an excerpt from the aforementioned program on this topic:

"The day-to-day rituals of temple worship act as a guide to keep the wayward mind focused. Nevertheless, the many errors of omission and commission in the daily conduct of the devotees and the comings and going of many who do not share the ethos of temple worship do diminish the spiritual intensity of the initial consecration over time."

The four days of rituals will also involve a purification of the building itself; I'm hoping we will see that later today. If we do, I'll write about it here. If we don't, I'll write about whatever we do see and experience here. As you can see from the schedule below, there's a lot going on today.

Fall Celebrations

Last weekend, I went to Nashville with an old music-making friend to contribute vocal tracks to the latest in a series of projects called poetry scores – long poems set to music as one scores a film. Click here to read a post about that trip, and listen to MP3s of the songs with me on them.

Mowgli did not go with me – the reality of owning two large dogs makes it difficult for us to take weekend trips together. When friends asked what he’d be doing, I said my best guess was that he’d be watching football and cleaning the house. I was right on both counts.

The reasons for the football are self-evident – men like sports, ugh-ugh. The cleaning is less obvious unless you’re privy to the Hindu calendar and realized that Saraswati Puja, a major Hindu observation, fell on Sunday.

Saraswati is the goddess of the arts, learning and knowledge, and she also governs language and tools. Her connection to tools mystified me until Mowgli explained that because you need knowledge to use tools, and she rules knowledge, she therefore rules tools.

We’re not just talking about hammers and screwdrivers here; the Hindu concept of tools encompasses everything that helps you do anything, and thus includes appliances, books, flashlights, computers, phones, watches, doorways, lightswitches, pens, keys, and vehicles. All of these things get daubed with both kumkum (which I think of as blessing powder) and sandalwood paste, but cars get a special treatment that’s meant to cast out the evil eye.

The passivity of being a passenger on a five-hour trip allowed me to think about the puja, and get bummed out by the prospect of missing it. Participating in Hindu rituals with my husband lets me crawl into his cultural skin a bit, and it’s plain fun to see him prepare for them rituals with joy and excitement. When I got home, I was happy to find that though Mowgli had daubed everything with the sharply sweet sandalwood and kumkum, he had waited for me to start the ceremony.

I puttered, unpacked and settled in, then showered before we lit an oil lamp, incense and camphor, and prayed over an assortment of fruit, hot milk with sugar and cardamom, and a few books, watches, keys and musical instruments. (This part of the ceremony is the same as for Ugadi, which I wrote about earlier this year.)

The serious, reflective part over with, we proceeded with the fun part. We moved the cars, one at a time, to the front of the house. Mowgli had cleaned them inside and out, and anointed the hoods and trunks with the aforementioned powders. He had also prepared the lemons by washing them, daubing them with kumkum, and scoring them widthwise before we prayed over them with the rest of the fruit.

I took four lemons and wedged one against the front of each of my car’s tires; then I drove forward slowly, squashing them, and drove around the little park in our neighborhood. As I pulled into the driveway, I could see Mowgli smiling and waving from our front porch. I smiled and waved back. I picked up the lemons I’d squashed, and watched Mowgli repeat the process with his car. As I stood on the porch waiting to see him come back from his short drive, it felt a bit like Christmas morning, with our simple actions and the smells of incense, sandalwood, lemons and cardamom standing in for the smell of a pine tree and opening presents.

Seven years ago when I first met my husband, I could not have imagined this ritual, much less that I would ever take part in it. Two years ago, as we started our married life, it wouldn’t have occurred to me that I would look forward to it. Realizing that I cherish it makes a pretty good anniversary gift. Thanks, honey.

Last Night at the Hindu Temple

For the past few weeks I've been thinking about my dad, thanks in part to the ubiquitous Father's day ads, but mostly because yesterday was both his birthday and the second anniversary of his funeral. We ended up at the Hindu temple last night, which worked out well in terms of marking the occasion; I'd wanted to do something, but wasn't sure what. Ordinarily, we go to the temple on weekends (partly for the food) but we had houseguests, and once they departed, lassitude slunk in and I was loath to change out of my lounging outfit.

The crushing heat of the last few days has been a visceral reminder of his stroke, long decline and funeral, all of which took place in Arizona. High temperatures make me wilt, and I already felt wilted on the inside. I was hoping the sweet peacefulness of the temple would perk me up, or soothe me, or otherwise make me feel better.

Not long ago, I told a friend that it doesn't seem to matter what state of mind I'm in when I enter the temple -- by the time I finish going around to all the altars and sit down to contemplate the main one, I feel deeply well. I think it has something to do with paying attention to things outside my daily grind, paying attention to my spirit life, and maybe just plain old paying attention. I don't feel the need to understand it completely, though. I'm just grateful that it works even when I'm in as sorry a state as I've been lately.

Last night we arrived to find the main tower swathed in scaffolding; Mowgli says they're cleaning it for an upcoming major festival and that they do this every so often. At first I was disappointed because I had already envisioned a stunning image of the ornate, gleaming, otherworldly structure at the top of this post. Then I realized it's an apt metaphor for how I've been feeling: in need of maintenance.

But wait, there’s more

Last night I wrote about Ugadi, or Telugu New Year. When we were talking with my amma (mother-in-law) to prepare that post, she filled us in on the full range of preparations and celebrations. I took copious notes.

Here’s a list of what else we could have done (and likely will be doing next year now that I have the lowdown):

- Decorate the mirror with jewelry and a flower on top

- Include betel nuts and leaves with the fruit

- Make sure the lamp faces out (see the picture above -- it amused my amma and produced this note)

- Prepare panchamirtham – literally, five-items elixir, which symbolizes the sweetness and bitterness of life -- a jam-like concoction of cardamom, raisins, honey, raisins, banana, tamarind, jaggery (unrefined, semi-moist molasses-tasting sugar) and rock candy, with neem flowers on top. I realize that’s more than five things, but that’s the list my mother-in-law gave me, and she’s the expert. It’s made the night before and placed on the shrine, then eaten when you drink the milk.

- Break a coconut as you’re praying (the second time) and pour its milk into a bowl with tulsi (basil) leaves

- Decorate front porch with rice flour mandala (this is done after the first prayer)

- Prepare sandalwood (a paste of sandalwood powder and water) and kunkum (I think of this as blessing powder; it’s a vermillion shade of red) and apply both to the forehead after the final prayer

- In the evening, prepare a meal of kesari, payasam, variety rice (tamarind, tomato, coconut, lemon, curd etc.), vada, appalams (you may know this as papadams), and vegetables

- Give the money from the shrine to children

- Visit the temple in the morning or evening

Clearly, I’m going to need to plan ahead – and hit the Indian grocery store. I'll also be consulting the cheat sheet I typed up.

Ugadi

Last Friday morning, as soon as we got up, Mowgli told me to close my eyes and led me into our closet. His eyes were closed, too, which made for stumbly progress. Once there, he lit a tiny oil lamp and we looked into a mirror that he’d placed on the shrine that resides there. Here’s what we saw:

Two apples, two bananas, two lemons, and a small bunch of grapes. American and Indian money, placed on a piece of new clothing. A packet of nine pulses (legumes) and grains called navadhaniyam (literally: nine grains), and a container with nine colors of crystals, called navaratnam (literally: nine gems). The aforementioned lamp, a stick of incense, a small statue of Ganesh (the Hindu god that governs auspicious beginnings and good luck).

We prayed, fed and walked the dogs (not part of the ritual, but a necessary part of our morning routine), showered, and then Mowgli boiled some milk with sugar and cardamom. He brought this up to the shrine, and lit three things: the lamp (which had since gone out), a stick of incense, and a nub of camphor in a tiny silver dish. He took the camphor in his right hand, supported with his left, and moved it in a clockwise circle three times, trailing its black smoke. Then we drank the milk, finished getting dressed and went to work.

This is how we celebrate Ugadi (“oo-GA-dee”), or Telugu New Year. It’s a recognition of the day Brahma created the universe, and marks the first day of the Telugu lunar calendar. There’s also Tamil New Year and Kerala New Year and many others; the dates shift from year to year because they're based on the Hindu calendar. We celebrate Telugu New Year because it originated in the region that Mowgli’s parents are from. Each region’s ritual is slightly different, but all are a puja with the purpose of welcoming the new year.

You may be wondering, as I did before I asked my mother-in-law, what happens to the fruit once the ceremony is over. Her answer: You eat it. You may also be wondering what I think of all this.

I consider myself a religious dilettante: I’ve never been able to get myself to commit to a particular house of worship, maybe because I’m curious about different faiths. I believe that it doesn’t matter how you pay attention to your spiritual life, or what shape, form or name of creator or god you pray to. For me, the most important thing is to pay attention to something bigger than myself.

Religious curiosity aside, I also participate in Hindu rituals to get closer to my husband. There are thousands of years of cultural, religious and spiritual depth behind the rituals he’s been performing for over 30 years, and they play a sizeable role in who he is. The most effective, and perhaps only, way for me to get some of that inside my skin is to go through the same motions he does. Even though they sometimes feel awkward, it’s like any other skill. It becomes more natural as you practice, and after a while, it’s second nature.

I don’t know any Hindu prayers yet, and in terms of a structured religious life, I’m in praying kindergarten. When I pray, regardless of whether I'm in a temple or a church or my car, I tend to have a single word in my head: Please. Even with that one word, I’m sometimes moved to tears. When I think about why that might be, I’m reminded of one of my favorite lines in Catholic rituals: Let us proclaim the mystery of faith.

Stranger in my Own Land

When I lived in Kushiro, on the island of Hokkaido in northern Japan, I was one of about 20 foreigners in a city of 200,000. As a blondish, blue-eyed person who was taller than half the population, it’s fair to say I stuck out. Once when I was taking a walk off the beaten path, a child ran screaming from me, which was only funny later. At the time, it felt like what it was: utter rejection based on nothing but my appearance.

A year ago, my family and I went to India for a wedding reception my in-laws gave me and my husband, Mowgli (not his real name). There, I experienced something similar, but more intense, as it was combined with open staring of the sort that’s somewhat evident in the photo above. It’s not malicious, it’s just unapologetically open.

The local Hindu temple is a place I adore; it is peaceful and beautiful and full of the vibes of people worshipping and meditating. The feeling I get there is akin to how I feel in an empty church. There are rituals I find comforting in both Hinduism and Catholicism, but it is the quietness inside me once the rituals are done that keeps me coming back to the temple.

We went to the temple last Sunday – they are open seven days a week, but we tend to go on Sundays because that’s when they serve the best masala dosas in town. When we walked into the basement to order food, I received an open stare, which I greeted with a smile, as usual. Because of space restrictions, we ended up sitting at the staring guy’s table, which was fine. I was occupied with Mowgli, and he was occupied with his companion. I didn’t talk with him, he didn’t talk with me.

The episode got me thinking, though, about the usefulness of feeling like a stranger in your own country. There is a visceral understanding that comes with being made to feel like an outsider, and it fosters empathy – always a good thing in my book.

Thali

Jewelry looms large in South Indian culture, and marriage is perhaps one of the easiest places to see exactly how large. Among the rituals that take place around betrothal is the groom’s family’s presentation of a thali (TALL-ee) to the bride. It’s a necklace, a long, thick gold chain connected to a string of beads and amulets that signifies the woman’s married status as well as the traditions of the family she’s marrying into. Mine has two discs imprinted with the image of Lakshmi, the goddess of material and spiritual wealth and prosperity.

Mowgli and I have done many things out of sequence, and so I received my thali from my in-laws three weeks after our Western wedding. On the other side of the world, my mother-in-law had purchased it, along with another necklace, several saris, bangles, earrings, and an outfit called a churidar, in anticipation of the wedding. These preparations were comforting; I had been worried about the family accepting me, but the moment I heard my Amma-to-be was going shopping for me, I realized I could relax.

Here in the U.S., a co-worker of Mowgli’s recommended a sari blouse seamstress. Because they are tight, they tend to be custom-made from fabric purchased at the same time as the nine yards that comprise the majority of the garment. Once the blouses were ready, I got a sari-wearing lesson, and the in-laws, Mowgli and I went to the local Hindu temple on a date that was selected for its auspiciousness, with me in an auspiciously yellow sari and Mowgli in new clothes.

As on any other temple visit, we removed our shoes, washed our feet (there’s a low shower for that), and went up to the main altar, where a priest said a special blessing over the thali and Mowgli put it around my neck. The whole process took perhaps five minutes, a far cry from the usual days of ceremonies around Indian weddings. But the brevity didn’t make it any less momentous for me; even without understanding everything about thalis, I know they symbolize commitment just as surely as my wedding ring does.

And just like a wedding ring, a thali is worn constantly. When I asked a masseuse in India if I should take mine off, she very excitedly said “no, no, no, don’t do that,” waving her hands around and looking horrified that I would suggest such a thing.


Recently I’ve been unable to wear my thali because of a (harmless, non-contagious) rash, and its absence has been unsettling after over a year of wearing it nearly 24-7. It has heft and presence and even sound (the two tiny-tiny Lakshmi, as my niece calls them, make a nice friendly jangle against the central bowl-like piece). The soft gold beads bear the marks of wear, just like my wedding ring. And similarly to my ring, I look at it and noodle with it throughout the day, often semi-consciously. It reminds me of my commitment to Mowgli and his family, and it takes me back to the moments in the temple just before he put it on me.

At the temple, I sometimes see women touching their thalis to the four sides of an altar as they walk around it, and that makes me want to know more about its religious functions. But for now, I’m content in the knowledge of what it means to me, and what it says about my mother- and father-in-law’s faith in their son’s choice.

Slumdog Millionaire Top Ten

Two guys who hopped into the frame in Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu, March 2008. I would love to know their thoughts on Slumdog Millionaire.

People who know I am married to a South Indian tend to ask me about Indian stuff, which is great. I love an opportunity to educate as much as the next person. Here’s a list of the stuff that’s been coming up lately with the success of the film Slumdog Millionaire.

1. There are Hindus and Muslims in India. Also Jews, Christians, Jains, Sikhs, Zoroastrians, Buddhists, and lots of other religious orders. It has always been that way.

2. Violence between Hindus and Muslims happens to this day, and sadly, it probably always will. See also: Catholics vs. Protestants, Bosnians vs. Serbs, Hatfields vs. McCoys.

3. Mahatma Gandhi was killed by a Hindu extremist who was upset about Muslims getting too good of a deal with the creation of Pakistan and the subsequent partition of the country.

4. Partition was voluntary. Many millions of people felt compelled to migrate to where they thought they’d be safer, and many millions of people died along the way. But many people stayed where they were, and according to Mowgli, India today has more Muslims than Pakistan.

5. Mowgli and I agree that the battery scene was torture porn. Not that torture doesn’t exist in India, but in that situation, it was gratuitous.

6. Dharavi, where parts of the film were shot, is the largest slum in Asia. It happens to sit on prime real estate, near Mumbai’s financial center, and is the center of Mumbai’s recycling industry, as its people are forced to do what they can with what they can find. To get an idea of the scale, go to this link and zoom in, and then look at the area between 90 Feet Road and Mahatma Gandhi Road.

7. Neither of us viewed the film as poverty porn. Slums are awful places where awful things happen, in addition to being full of vibrant life. The film shows both sides, and perhaps now that the world knows more about Dharavi, more will be done to help the people who live there.

8. The film is based on the book “Q&A” by Vikas Swarup, who is an Indian diplomat serving in South Africa. Interestingly, the hero’s name n the book is Ram Mohammed Thomas, a name that represents Hinduism, Islam and Christianity, respectively.

9. Dev Patel, who played Jamal Malik, was born in London and is Hindu but played a Muslim.

10. The film has had a controversial reception in India, partly because of the term “Slumdog” in the title. During a recent Skype call with my in-laws and a few cousins, I learned that it’s an extremely derogatory term left behind by the British.

Bonus fact from Mowgli, who helped me fact-check this post: Dr. Manmohan Singh, Prime Minister of India, was born in Lahore, Pakistan. General Pervez Musharraf, former President of Pakistan, was born in New Delhi, India.