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Ladies' Day Out (BH:D218)

March 7, 2012


In 2009, the Pongala festival at the Attukal Temple at Thiruvananthapuram entered the Guiness Book as the world's largest congregation of women. 25 lakhs i.e 2.5 million had come out into the streets and the temple grounds that year to prepare hearths in which sweetened rice 'pongal' and aromatic stuffed bay leaf 'thiralis' were prepared as offering to the goddess. 
In 2012, this number has risen to a staggering 3.5 million. All the roads in the seven kilometer radius from the temple are packed with devotees. It is hot, it is smoky, it is a magnificent experience! With this annual event, the goddess, the one who according to the legend, had burnt down Madurai in her anger, proves that she can match the great god who lies on top of $22 billion worth of gold just a few hundred meters away. He has the gold, she has people...her people, the women of south India!

Few hundred thousands had already reserved their places from yesterday afternoon. Naturally, the closer you are to the temple, the better the blessings! Some chose to set up their brick hearths right outside the city railway station and bus stand based on their experience of the logistical nightmare that ensues after the festival when a few million women try to get back home. As if to keep up the spirits of these early birds, loud speakers installed at regular intervals in the city were blaring devotional and old malayalam melodies almost through the night. 

I went in the direction opposite to the temple allured by one such stream of music to start my morning walk. The Nair Service Society had organized a sheltered area in the Vellayambalam Sasthamangal road. Even before 6:30 am, around 100 hearths were on the road there. This looked like the go-to place for the posh section of the society who prioritized not wanting to rub shoulders with the sundry even if it meant they were much farther away, seven kilometers, from the divine. 

A few scant drops of rain fell for a few seconds from the pregnant morning skies. But through the "Bhakti" goggles of the devout, this was lashing rain on the city send by the goddess to clean the place before the cooking carnival.

Walking down the main road, in front of Kanakakunnu palace and museum, every inch of space was already taken. Plenty of two wheelers racing up and down with the wives in the back seat holding onto the big bundle of fuel, a mix of dried coconut flower sheaths and fronds. Despite the visible evidence, some women were walking towards the temple with their bags of raw materials, vessels and fuel, in the hope of finding a spot closer to god. Later on, Amma told me that once it nears to the official fire lighting time of 10:30am, women become more accommodating and almost everyone still standing or searching for a spot manage to squeeze in. 

The crowd near Kanakakunnu palace had made a practical choice. Though nowhere near the center of action, this place had guaranteed police, fire dept and volunteer presence. Snack and water distribution had commenced by 7am. I found a shiny brass "uruli" on a hearth right outside the palace and asked permissionn to photograph it. The young balding husband who was still there helping his wife set up gave me a questioning look. She readily agreed. This was her day and that's all the permission I needed. But I understand his concern, anyone with a camera is suspect these days, especially when they are walking around in an exclusively feminine environment. I made it a point to seek permissions every time before taking photos.

Some of the "place holders" from yesterday were catching a few winks now that their friends had arrived to take over. Coconuts being shredded. Jaggery being mashed and knifed into thin flakes. The stuffing for bay leaves being readied. Imagine the heady mix of all these smells from hundreds of sources all around. Add to that the scent of women, all bathed, oiled, and decked up with majority wearing jasmine on their hair. 
Plenty of little ones were getting their first training in the ritual.
Plenty of grannies celebrating their 20th or 25th year of Pongala.
Women of all ages. Incessant discussions. Multitasking bangled arms.
Even amongst all the "busy"ness, frequent enquiries whether the children are hungry. 

Besides the volunteers from the various organizations, both with and without agenda, there were men from the family standing around to help the women with the supplies and refreshments. "Chaya valathum venno?" (Do you want some tea?) asked an uncle, not just to his wife, but the couple of dozen women who were in the same area.
It is impossible to treat people individually in this sea of humanity. It is beautiful.

But there is ugliness in the form of discarded paper cups from the push cart tea stall outside the Men's hostel. Incredibly, some women were setting up their hearths without any intention of clearing up the filth. A white stray dog utterly bewildered by all this unexpected activity early in the morning. So much food around, yet none for it! Aren't there enough tales in Indian mythology about gods taking the dog form?

Both the Syrian church and the Mosque across from it at Palayalam were open to help the women with water supply. Women busy doing cooking prep work on the mosque steps. Few men with long beards and Islamic caps were standing ready to assist. A heartening sight!
22 mosques around the temple had opened up since yesterday so that women could have access to bathroom and drinking water. An event of this proportion does humble folks beyond any manmade divide. It is this sentiment of togetherness that political parties are failing to see as they blindly subscribe to the archaic monarchic mantra of dividing and ruling the population.

Outside the Accountant General's Office, across from the shiny new tower that houses Times of India, I ask a couple of grannies who were almost done with their "thirali" prep work if I could take a photographs. With agreeing smiles, they immediately pulled their tired, stretched legs out of the frame. Outside the old government secretariat, a female "occupy" movement in the area that usually sees clashes between protesters and the police.

Make shift shrines all along the road. 250 priests have been recruited to "bless" as many hearths as possible in the afternoon. The mix of songs assaulting the ears from the huge black box speakers is as heady as the aroma of the cooking ingredients. Meaningless devotional songs that fake smartness by sprinkling Sanskrit phrases in the lyrics like the new MBA graduate's affinity to management jargon. A song says that women understand the meaning of "Tatwamasi" when they perform the pongala. I doubt it. I am sure Dr. Azhikode will have his doubts too. Evergreen romantic melodies of Vayalar from other speakers cut across these devotional songs. While I stand watching a couple of dozen "chendas" being unloaded from the top of a minibus, Vayalar's immortal lines "ee nithya harithayam bhoomiyil allathe kamuka hridayangal undo?" (Are there lover's hearts anywhere else other than this evergreen earth?) hit me along with praises of Ganesha the elephant god's incredible abilities. 

Couple of hearths outside the "Condom shop". Prep work in progress on its steps.At the Ujjayini Mahakali Temple near Ayurveda college, the Mahakali must be surprised by the heavier than usual rush. I wonder if she feels a bit jealous of the other goddess who has managed to attract such a crowd.

I stop my walk near the Ayurveda college intersection.. The crowd doubles from there on towards East Fort and the temple. Hundreds of thousands of women in the area next to the towering buildings of Bhima Gold, Jayalakshmi Silks and Pothy Silks. But this morning, shopping wasn't on the minds. A tall foreigner slowly walks through the crowd with his massive camera. May be he works for the National Geographic!

I took a bus back home watching more ladies settling down in their spots. Official start was 10:30 am. But since Amma had to be in the bank, she made Pongala in the garden by 8:30. Sweet jaggery pongal with idlis for breakfast.

I was back on the road with the camera by 11am.
The pots, brass and aluminimum vessels were all bubbling over by then.
The city enveloped in smog.
Women bend over stirring the pots as far as the eye could see.
A homeless man with a blank stare and all his possessions bundled on his head walks around wondering about his next meal.
Autorickshaws decorated with bananas and sandalwood paste were offering free rides to women today.
Local TV channel crews covering the event.
A visibly surprised white tourist snapping away with her camera.
A turbaned Punjabi armyman drives a camouflaged water tanker lorry for drinking water assistance.
There are flames and smoke all around. But this is no war!

Various ingredients are poured into the pots with a sacrificial and experienced precision. Ground cardamom; cut small bananas; jaggery; cashew nuts; raisins. The smoke from unruly hearths stink the eye, but the nose has succumbed. Seduced! There cannot be a greater symbol of nonexistent abundance and prosperity anywhere on the planet.
A lone fish monger woman sits a couple of meters away from the first (or final) hearth on the footpath near Vellayambalam. Flies buzz around her big, much used aluminium vessel. Not a good day for her business. 

I hurry back home before this ocean of women became a tsunami trying to get back home to their regular hearths, to the regular strength of their hearts, to the numerous lives that knowingly and unknowingly depended on them...feeling blessed, having shared the city with millions of others with the same spirit, same dedication, same insecurities...till next year!

While I was reading the newspaper on the verandah this morning, the boys in the neighborhood were playing badminton on the street with a house gate as their net. It had been a cloudy morning, but suddenly the sun came out. "It must be 10:30. They must have lit the hearth at the temple. That is why the sun has come out!" shouted Achu, Omana's son. It was 10:25.
I wondered at what age I had lost such excitement that comes from beliefs. Was it around the time I stopped singing in the bathroom? Was it before I realized the futility of seeking the purpose of my life? Perhaps, I will find answers while munching on all the goodies all the aunties and grannies are bound to bring home this evening.




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