God, in the Reflection of a Leaf.

“Aycho! Ithu nammude kutty alley? Angu valluthaayallo!” Oh! You’ve gotten so big, the older women would exclaim as they pinched my cheeks. By the time their hands reached my face, I’d be safely sheltered behind my Ammachi’s sari. Cotton saris with floral prints in pale shades- whites, soft pinks and purples. My face would be completely engulfed in their pleated scents before my grandmother’s chocolate hands pulled me out. Girls from Ooty shouldn’t be so shy! She’s Ammachi’s tail, always attached to the ends of her sari! Don’t those dialogues sound ridiculous translated into English? Well, it really didn’t sound any better to my Kerala-deprived ears then either. And by now, my bare foot would have drawn maps of Africas and Australias and South Americas in my church’s white-sanded courtyard. They’d laugh and I’d just stand there- endlessly smiling, squinting at the sun, with a glistening, oily cross on my forehead.
.

Holding those pink flowers on a white backdrop, I’d enter a million and a half prayer meetings, weddings and masses. My tryst with religion had begun with the words my grandmother taught me to recite by the age of four at the end of prayers: “pithavaya dheivathinte snehavum, ekajathanaaya puthrante krupayum, ashwasippikkuna parishudha roohayude sammandhavum sahavasavum, njangalodum njangalorthu praarthikunna ella karyangalkkum ennekkum undayirukkenneme.” May the love of the Father, the grace of the Son and the abundance and fellowship of the comforting Holy Spirit, be with us and with those we remember. Now always and forever and ever. I always said the “ella” with an extra emphasis and the child in me never understood why everyone laughed at it. (And it still remains an undying, popular teasing bait.) Ammachi made sure this religious relationship continued by providing me with quotas on how much of the Bible I should’ve read before vacation times and of course, by taking me to an endless saga of Orthodox events. As for me, well, let’s just say I was content with going anywhere as long as my hands were in hers and her sari-thumbu existed in case I needed a quick refuge.
.

My favorites of these trips involved a particular church. Paliakkara Palli. My geographical sense of Kerala is quite insufficient so I do not quite know where it is; only that it’s somewhere near Thiruvalla and that it’s famous enough for that to be its sole needed description. It’s a very old church, small but somehow grand. During prayers, old Ammachis, who were even older than my own, would sit in the back on wooden chairs and say “Amen”s and “Kureilaison”s intermittently and seemingly, randomly. The small church teemed with the scent of incense, kunthirikkam, and oil from the tall lamps.

.

Now, orthodoxy loves our passion weeks. Our services never cease to be less than double the length of a perfectly-normal Catholic service! And Good Friday is the epitome of the extent of our love of length. The service that begins around eight in the morning ends around four or five in the evening! And since one has to attend fasting, this involves staying hungry for the whole day, through the heat, tiring legs and burning throats. Needless to say, the kanji and payar served at the end is one of the most gratifying and delicious meals in the course of a human lifetime.

.

But Paliakkara’s kanji and payar were even more meritorious. They were special and something I utterly looked forward to. Why? Well, simply because kanji tastes amazing with a spoon made out of a leaf, specifically one from a jackfruit tree (plaavu ella). A plain, green leaf wrapped into the shape of a spoon, with its extra stick used as a pin to hold it together. A million lines and a hundred scorching suns are worth a spoonful of that kanji and payar. That leaf is quite blessed indeed!

.

I was told that other churches do this too- spoons of plaavellas. But I’m convinced that the Paliakkara ones are simply special. And Good Friday will never be the same anywhere else in the world! It’s an obsession.. of sorts.

.

Yesterday’s Good Friday service was just as long but, I wasn’t hungry. The plastic white spoons that we bought in big red boxes.. they’ll never live up to their counterparts! Organic, third-world.. and yes, amazing.

.

.

.

—————————————————————————

(Other stuff)

1. I used to think that happiness is brought about by doing something I’ve always wanted. Does success bring happiness? Not quite.

2. So what does? Why does it still feel.. empty? No, not empty.. just unfull.

3. It’s not about dreams, in the end. It’s all of reality.  All it takes is one word from the right people, perhaps. But.. I’m talking about deaf ears.

—————————————————————————————

So we called Appachen and Ammachi today to wish them a happy Easter. And my sister told them about how I got into UPenn. My Ammachi immediately said, “oh that’s Ben Franklin’s college. It’s that big university with that big bronze statue of Franklin! Wow!” For record’s sake, she had a very limited education and saw UPenn once when she came to visit America. Now, that’s genius.

About these ads