Retracing Contours Of A Lost World
A friend told me about a temple she visited in Avudiyar in Tamil Nadu. Here, you will not find statues of any deity -only a daily offering of freshly cooked rice. The local people worship the steam that rises to the sky. As she spoke, my mind flew back to my childhood. and to the cavernous kitchen, that pulsated with an energy that radiated through the house. My mother's gods lived in the kitchen alcove right above the shelves holding the rice and pulses that assuaged our hunger. They wove a daily magic from the vivid palette of haldi, red chilli powder and curry leaves that my mother mixed with abandon. The magic of the gods seemed to deepen in the evening. The diya lit for them bestowed a mysterious life on the idli-dough grind- ing stone. As my mother pre- pared to feed us, humming softly, of the intoxicating scent of the mogras adorning 1- the deities wafted across the kitchen. She first offered the cooked rice as naivedyam to the gods and if then served us the f same rice, extend Sing her nurturing hand across worlds as it were. The circle of it were. The circle of us comfortingly. Looking back, I realise it was my first experience of the seamless relationship between everyday life and the spiritual. This relationship contained the secret of the multi-faceted nature of existence and the immense possibilities of transformation. Like the metamorphosis of paddy to cooked rice or leftover white rice to the yellow lemon-rice the following morning to avoid wastage. Like the combina tion of rice dough and pulse to make soft round delis or the use of rice paste to create a kolam on the doorstep as an auspicious sign. Like rice becoming a symbol of abundance in rituals and the basis of mouth-watering sweets and savouries during festivals. An entire world view unfolded in the kitchen, based on avoiding excess, achieving a minimalist aesthetics of look, smell and taste. A world view grounded in the knowledge that food is not just a commodity to satiate hunger but an essential means of harmonising the body with the environment, the individual with society. Today, I can describe that world view as the ecology of spiritualism, imbued with the idea of free space around an individual, community or society to expand, absorb and integrate -just like grain. Since the dawn of civilisation the grain of food gave life and kept hunger and death at bay. It became the staple around which homes and communities evolved. The warm hearth became a agical place, around which developed customs, rituals, laughter, song and my the logy - what we call culture. Temples, too, originally doubled as local granaries and storage spaces for local produce. Even today, the temple at Vadtal, Gujarat, receives green chillies as offerings and returns chilli-pickle as prasad; the temple at Amba lapuzha in Kerala receives milk as offering and returns paal-payasam as prasad, paal-payasam as prasad, among others. Today, vital buffer stocks are left to rot in state godowns even in times of hunger. In the name of progress, nature's gift of diversity is being made to regress to a weed-like monoculture. Temples seem to 'feed' the cramping, exclusionary hold that organised religion demands, which goes against the grain of an organic idea of spirituality. Without space to breathe, human consciousness and a sense of the sacred can only get suffocated. But ever since I heard of the ritual of steam worship at Adayur, the memories of my mother's kitchen have become sharper. I have started retracing the contours of a lost world.
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed in the Article above are Chitra Padmanabhan views and kashmiribhatta.in is not in any way responsible for the opinions expressed in the above article. The article belongs to its respective owner or owners and this site does not claim any right over it.
Courtesy: Chitra Padmanabhan and Speaking Tree,Times of India
Retracing Contours Of A Lost World
A friend told me about a temple she visited in Avudiyar in Tamil Nadu. Here, you will not find statues of any deity -only a daily offering of freshly cooked rice. The local people worship the steam that rises to the sky. As she spoke, my mind flew back to my childhood. and to the cavernous kitchen, that pulsated with an energy that radiated through the house. My mother's gods lived in the kitchen alcove right above the shelves holding the rice and pulses that assuaged our hunger. They wove a daily magic from the vivid palette of haldi, red chilli powder and curry leaves that my mother mixed with abandon. The magic of the gods seemed to deepen in the evening. The diya lit for them bestowed a mysterious life on the idli-dough grind- ing stone. As my mother pre- pared to feed us, humming softly, of the intoxicating scent of the mogras adorning 1- the deities wafted across the kitchen. She first offered the cooked rice as naivedyam to the gods and if then served us the f same rice, extend Sing her nurturing hand across worlds as it were. The circle of it were. The circle of us comfortingly. Looking back, I realise it was my first experience of the seamless relationship between everyday life and the spiritual. This relationship contained the secret of the multi-faceted nature of existence and the immense possibilities of transformation. Like the metamorphosis of paddy to cooked rice or leftover white rice to the yellow lemon-rice the following morning to avoid wastage. Like the combina tion of rice dough and pulse to make soft round delis or the use of rice paste to create a kolam on the doorstep as an auspicious sign. Like rice becoming a symbol of abundance in rituals and the basis of mouth-watering sweets and savouries during festivals. An entire world view unfolded in the kitchen, based on avoiding excess, achieving a minimalist aesthetics of look, smell and taste. A world view grounded in the knowledge that food is not just a commodity to satiate hunger but an essential means of harmonising the body with the environment, the individual with society. Today, I can describe that world view as the ecology of spiritualism, imbued with the idea of free space around an individual, community or society to expand, absorb and integrate -just like grain. Since the dawn of civilisation the grain of food gave life and kept hunger and death at bay. It became the staple around which homes and communities evolved. The warm hearth became a agical place, around which developed customs, rituals, laughter, song and my the logy - what we call culture. Temples, too, originally doubled as local granaries and storage spaces for local produce. Even today, the temple at Vadtal, Gujarat, receives green chillies as offerings and returns chilli-pickle as prasad; the temple at Amba lapuzha in Kerala receives milk as offering and returns paal-payasam as prasad, paal-payasam as prasad, among others. Today, vital buffer stocks are left to rot in state godowns even in times of hunger. In the name of progress, nature's gift of diversity is being made to regress to a weed-like monoculture. Temples seem to 'feed' the cramping, exclusionary hold that organised religion demands, which goes against the grain of an organic idea of spirituality. Without space to breathe, human consciousness and a sense of the sacred can only get suffocated. But ever since I heard of the ritual of steam worship at Adayur, the memories of my mother's kitchen have become sharper. I have started retracing the contours of a lost world.
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed in the Article above are Chitra Padmanabhan views and kashmiribhatta.in is not in any way responsible for the opinions expressed in the above article. The article belongs to its respective owner or owners and this site does not claim any right over it.
Courtesy: Chitra Padmanabhan and Speaking Tree,Times of India