“Dad….., this ‘Kodimaram’ and ‘Kolaveri’ the same?”

M.T.Vasudevan Nair, the renowned story teller in Malayalam literature needs no introduction. His evergreen short stories and other literary works has earned him the much coveted ‘Gyanpeeth Award’ in the year 1995. On all occasions, especially when I read his old generation short stories, I got truly amazed by the genuine life experiences he gained as a youngster.  But that, I realize, is a phenomenon not frequented so often. In this new generation of social networking and third generation iPods, human values and ethics doesn’t matter much and thus, the genuine life experiences are in much scarcity. Writings of such temperament needs an environment, not only that of a calm and composed interiors but also of green and elegant surroundings.  I can easily go for any repetitions reading his old Malayalam short stories, for the more you read, the more you get the pleasure from.  Yesterday in my camp office in the evening, when I got terribly nostalgic about my home town, I read one of his old short stories ‘Padakkam’ written a few decades ago. The story revolves around a remorseful protagonist, a child, who made a thievery of twenty five paisa from a temple to buy fire crackers to celebrate ‘Vishu’ (a prominent harvest festival of Kerala). What needs to be seen here is, how valuable was a twenty five paisa coin, which is now faded away into history as the reserve bank of India bid farewell to it recently, had played an important role in the  society at a time when a stupendous meal would costs you two naya paisa. The child in his sling trousers had been forced to steal a meager twenty five paisa for what? - to celebrate a festival!
In an era where news of Rs.1.76 lakh crore scams are read and forgotten the other day, this boy who made up his mind to celebrate a -festival -even at the cost of an unpardonable theft, illustrates the evils of generation gap. Festivals are now being celebrated in our Lap Tops. An e-card send to your ‘intimate friend’ with copy to all, is what you can do the maximum while getting up from the bed near mid noon after a cocktail bash the previous night for celebrating a deal came as a surprise, when the other competitor got killed in an accident. An off-day came in the name of that silly festival in the midst of all the work is what needs to be celebrated… Right?

Whenever I’am on leave, happily away from the conundrums of mid night special operations and other hectic office works, I never let go an opportunity to attend a temple festival celebrated anywhere near my home town.  Even though the intensity with which those festivals were celebrated a few decades ago has been considerably diminished now, it gives me an extreme sense of satisfaction to see that, almost every temple in Trivandrum city still has their own festivals being celebrated as per their unique customs and rites on distinct months. Many a time these festivals coincides with my much sought after leave taken for some other domestic purposes. But it is for me to believe that, such coincidences are true blessings of god and nothing else. Jokes apart, policemen are considered to be the most god fearing creatures in this universe.

Marappalam Devi temple is one such temple, just a five minute stroll from my house, celebrated its traditional fete this year in the month of January when I was on leave. This time, I got this rare opportunity of enjoying the festival with my family amidst all my relatives. This time in a different place, I felt an umpteen flock of joy emanates from my heart by seeing me free from all responsibility and that too in the ambience of my loved ones.   

 Devotional songs from loud speakers, spectacularly illuminated road side trees and structures, huge cut outs of the goddess at the traffic intersections and a sudden hullabaloo in the bylines announced the commencement of the festival.

This time also, as usual, the festival has started off with a jubilant procession (Ezhunnalathu). Time and again my elder son was jogging my memory, telling me about the estimated time the procession would cross my house on the D-day as he could not resist his curiosity. I told him to be unwearied as we could easily catch it from the sound of drums, trumpeting the arrival of the procession.  And finally when it was heard from a distance, my kids and I were running, literally running very fast to the road head.

My small house, built in a meager three cents of land due to space constrictions, is almost fifty meters away from the road head.  Built in COSTFORD model, an architectural innovation by the legendary Laurie Baker, who was renowned for his initiatives in cost- effective, energy- efficient house building, my house is nothing but a personal delight for me.  The thoroughfare leading to my house is not wide enough to accommodate my car up to the car porch made on the basement of my house, thanks to the mindless partition made by great ancestors in the family, few decades ago. Still I won’t blame them. It is all part and parcel of our society where such practices are common! Now that, the reason why I built the car porch, instead of making one more room in its place- the reason is simple. In a house where there is no courtyard for my children to play, this car shed is an off the cuff cricket stadium for them.  Oh..Sorry! I have deviated from the subject.

We were gasping. Not even a single event could afford to be missed. Ranging from Colorful flouts, small children dressed as lions and tigers, beautiful young dancers performing to the classical music, rock band and plenty of other entertainments would be there to see. No, Iam not forgetting the Elephants. Elephants have always fascinated me even during my childhood, be it as a part of a procession or walking leisurely on the road, I always stopped my vehicle and watch them for a while.  Notwithstanding several deaths are being reported every year in Kerala due to elephant rage, a festival or a celebration without a bull elephant in the forefront is still an undesirable phenomenon to the public. The sheer strength and confidence with which an elephant walks with its head held high resembles to me an undisputed world heavyweight boxing champion walking down the street in an imposing manner. These highly intelligent and sensitive animals have become an indispensable part of the culture and tradition of Kerala since time immemorial.

Now that, I could see at a distance in all its majesty, the caparisoned elephant walking majestically with several mesmerized eyes glued on him, my joy went sky-high. I took my mind off for a while to a place, where every now and then a festival procession would be taken out with much zeal and gusto. Hyderabad or in that matter the whole Andhra Pradesh is one such place where festivals are being celebrated commencing with a grand procession taken out with huge flouts and loud speakers through its streets. Somewhere there on the route, I would be standing in blue uniform with a “T-Baton” firmly clasped in one hand, heading a one hundred strong   riot control unit of the Rapid Action Force in their riot drill equipment - Just in case anything goes wrong. Known for its high sensitivity towards communal overtones, particularly during festivals, my main concern would always be the obscure presence of a wrong element at a wrong place at a wrong time to topple the whole deal in a matter of seconds. Eyes wandering in search of such mischievous crooks, RAF personnel or in that matter any police personnel on duty, abstain from all sorts of enjoyment offered by the fete. Though the security arrangements during such festivals are purely a state subject and as such the central police forces have no distinct role in it, it has now become a necessity to deploy the central forces, particularly in those disturbed areas where mixed population resides.  (I will blog on this subject some other day)

Our hearts were thumping in unison with the drums as the procession came closer and closer.  My elder son, caught up in the frenzy, started dancing to the sound of those percussion instruments.  I too could not resist tapping my foot. Now came the first plot, an improvised three wheeler, marvelously decorated with nine incarnations of  goddess ‘Durga’ embedded on the walls of a temple replica with an idol placed inside which made me lower my head and wish with folded hands for her graciousness she bestowed on me. Somebody offered  ‘Vibhuti’ the holy ash believed to have spiritual healing remedy, which drives away negative energy and makes you more visible to angelic beings. As the idol pass by, there came the elephant and all its paraphernalia. I was spellbound. As expected the view was a definite feast for my eyes. Now that, iam looking for the entertainment part of the whole episode, the floats, the dancers, the music and all those small kids in fancy dress coming in as an entertainment for my kids, my neck stretched around.  My inquisitiveness had no state line. But to my sheer astonishment, all I could see was a posse of young locals dancing and shouting to the tune of drums led by few local youth leaders waving their hands towards the onlookers, a gesture, universally accepted in India during election time. But what astounded me was the music with which they were dancing. It was none other than the super duper hit of the Indian music world….”why this Kolaveri… Kolaveri ….Kolaveri …Diii…. !!! But that didn’t last long. Thank God, the rapidity of the song helped them sped away from me as fast as possible.  I just couldn’t understand the need of dance and that too rock dance in our traditional temple festivals. Iam sure the God won’t be enjoying it either.  Now, just behind them I found my breed, a police jeep rolling down slowly giving an obvious impression that the procession had now been all but over. The whole affair took not more than ten minutes to conclude.  When the street was almost deserted after the procession passed by Marappalam road and turned towards Kurunganoor junction, an air of dejection hung like a frozen sentiment over me.

Getting back into my house, the sweet reminiscence of temple festivals celebrated with much passion and exuberance during my childhood days struck me as a cool breeze. I had all the reason in the world to be disturbed mentally. Festivals were celebrated in its true letter and spirit those days. Notices were served much before by responsible populace of the area, who arrives at each house to collect donations. Such house to house visits by the prominent members of the society, often acted as interactive sessions where grievances would be shared and redressal found. A journey down the old childhood memories reminds me of vast area of empty paddy fields after the rice was harvested which would accommodate huge crowd from several places in the city. Those days, temple festivals were considered as an opportunity for family reunions. Few beautifully decorated podiums on which cultural programme were conducted in the evening would provide an adorned look to the otherwise barren paddy fields. The festival begins with ‘Kodiyettu’ the hoisting of flag which was and still is a big event for the local people. Erecting a ‘Kodimaram’ – the flag post -involves a lot of rituals. A tall areca nut tree, identified early or in some cases donated by a devotee as an offering, would be cut with utmost care to not to allow even a leaf of the tree to  touch the ground. It would then be taken to the temple premises on people’s shoulders in a procession. I remember, as a kid in half knickers, I had, once got an opportunity to run across the street touching the tree with my lean hand as I was not tall enough to connect my shoulder to it. How, as a human being, could I forget that?
Few more rituals by the main priest and the flag post would be erected which also mark the official beginning of the festival. I still treasure that lone opportunity I got to participate and carry a tree to the temple among others on that day. One more opportunity, this time for my kids, to possess that unique feeling, is what Iam searching for now a days when almost all temples have their own permanent flag posts.    

 ‘Thottam Pattu’ chorus, who sings sacred Devi rhymes, the story of Kannaki in Chilapathikaram text throughout seven days of the festival is an extremely impressive art form. They describe the origin of the deity, its beauty, grandeur, power and boldness through these rhymes. These songs, though their authorship remains unknown, are being transmitted orally from generation to generation. Sitting in front of that thatched hut where they perform, I spend several hours with my mother listening to those songs on holidays. For new generation, this might be news hard to believe. Evenings carried a carnival look with the whole area well   illuminated with bright lights, enriched with various cultural programmes including Ballets, Dances and concerts. Children arguing with their parents for few coins to make their entry into those stalls where they can compete with ping pong balls and bangle throws were a common sight.   For adults, lost in the crowd, wandering without any particular aim and peeping inside a stall in search of bangles or plastic ornaments for their women folk, is a feeling across all comparison. Inside the temple, priests would remain busy the whole day and night performing various ‘poojas’ and occasional ‘ezhunnallathu (the grand procession) when the idol mounted on an elephant back took out of the temple premises as a ritual. Festival ends with Aarattu (holy bath) and a magnificent display of fireworks at midnight.

Iam sure, I can go any extent explaining the exuberance and enthusiasm with which festivals were celebrated during those days. But I have to stop somewhere. So here it is.

At a time when ‘Marconi’ tube radio and transistors played a prominent role and computers were not even heard of, life was not as fast as it is now. With the emergence of nuclear family culture, family members prefer to confine in the air-conditioned potholes in their house and glued to the television screens or updating face book. Taking time out for an occasional visit to a temple and participate in other social activities have become a daunting task.  

 My dear youngsters, Iam sure, you are missing a lot. Don’t you? Yes I know, you are far advanced and much faster than those old generation lot so called plebian, but are you sure that you worth it? Are you sure that your face in the recently taken photograph got more glee than what you see on the picture dangled proudly on your southern wall, that of your great grandfather? If yes, better give your views. I may like to have a read.

Now that, temple festivals are becoming more and more commercial where old folk arts are gradually disappearing or reduced considerably, the days are not far away when your child will ask at your face..”Dad is this ‘Kodimaram’ and ‘Kolaveri’ the same?” God save them.