And today my most favourite month is born. Amongst Tamilians, Marghazi is the month of auspicious activities. It is supposed to be the favourite month of Lord Krishna and his famous devotee Andal. This month bears a lot of beauty and it is the singular set of human activities (driven by the divine will of bliss) that makes this month very special to me. For a billion dollar prize I couldn't get to recite the thiruppaavai and the like.
The beauty of this month (which straddles the Gregorian months of December and January) is best felt in the southern parts of India, more so in Tamil Nadu. To me it was always the crispness of winter that made it a tingling month, but Madras made me see more. I was exposed to the sheer ringing bliss of this month when I was 12 years
old. We had moved to Madras then and were living in the "old" part of Madras which contains Mylapore, Alwarpet, Abhiramapuram and other localities. From the terrace of our house we could see the Santhome Church to the east, the Kabaleeshwarar temple to the west and the Kutcheri road mosque to the north. My best friend lived to the south of my house! The setting is vital to realise how well trapped I was. There was no escaping this onslaught of tremendous overwhelming other-worldliness.
A typical marghazi day starts at 4:00 hrs. Mom would wake up as stealthily as she could and shake her head when she would see me lift my head from my pillow as soon as her feet touched the floor beside her bed.
"Poi thoongu paa!" (Go sleep, dear)
But I wasn't interested in sleeping. I had 11 months to do that! I would rush to brush my teeth. The world that blanketed my home was still dark, but that was well planned too. Mom would complete her preparations for the day and draw the kolam (and example of that can be found
here). I would watch from the stairs. Dad and my sis loved sleeping any time of the year and more so through the chilly mornings of winter! Mom would hum one of the typical songs that are sung during these months. I know the tunes by heart, but can never get the words in my mouth. It was sheer pleasure to watch the white rice-flour design glistening in the light of some distant street-light with all those dots and curves dancing to the humming tunes which filled the darkness... borne by the darkness. I would hug my knees tightly and hope that the beauty was caught as completely as my shin and thigh.
Then mom would return to the prayer room and go about preparing pongal (a rice, legume, pepper, ginger, cashewnut preparation. Not sweet.) and singing the paasuram of the day. She would often sing offbeat (as I later got to know) but it was better than all the correctly sung songs by others. Her hair would still be drying in those thin towels which we called Malayala Thundu (for reasons unknown) and then the incense would be lit. Lamps, music, fresh flowers, incense, birds, slowly increasing glow of the morning... what more could I ask for?
I would then take a walk down the streets which lead to the Kabaleeshwarar temple. All the houses dotting the lane were prepared with rice-flour designs and a quaint decoration of a yellow flower in a small mound of cow-dung (which served as a holder for the flower). A yellow flower rising out of the brownish-olive green mound was very beautiful especially when surrounded by the rice-flour designs. All the houses smelled of warm hearths. Married women with a bright red pottu (mark on the forehead) were so beautiful. I would smile at all of them as I continued my morning trip down an otherwise plain lane.
The music in the temple (Srinivasa Perumaal temple) mingled with the beautifully metered hymns and periodical ringing of brass bells rang sharp in my chest and softened my nerves. There is very little that compares to that feeling. Then I would walk back to my home. What follows is what I loved the most.
The streets bloomed with chirpy young girls fresh out of their blessed ritual of decorating themselves with the bright colours of their paavaadai-dhaavani (also called a half-saree:
basically a long flowing skirt, a short blouse and a long stole) and their tresses rising from between long strands of jasmines and roses -- a black that held many braids, flowers and my heart. I walked through the lane which jingled with fresh giggles like the dew that trembles at the tip of a leaf. The rice-flour designs giggled and the rapid run of anklets and fragrance left me walking in an intoxicated dizzy.
I would reach home to find pongal ready. I liked it without any salt in it, the way mom used to make it for Uppiliappan Perumal. The ghee (clarified butter) would glide down the scoop and quench the sizzling thirst of the hot fried cashews. This usually was breakfast too.
What everyone gets to see of Marghazi are the numerous concerts and temple festivals. What endeared me was more than that. This month is for the gods and everything is offered to the gods. People do not buy anything special for themselves nor do they occupy new houses or conduct weddings. This month is dedicated to the sheer bliss of remembering the gods and in the many man-made wonders of realising the beauty that we all think resides only in the Heavens... please do walk into Madras at this time of the year -- it is not often that the heavens descend beneath our feet and fill our being.
