TRIPPING - KERALA STYLE!

Lazy as usual…so posting something I wrote about a year back after going to the Pooram (temple festival) at the Tripunithra temple. Unwillingly dragged off by an over-enthued roomie, I later ended up spending the entire night there and returned back to my flat at 4am…mind still resounding from the sounds and the furies whipped up as the night unfolded. Originally had named this in a minimalist fashion “Old man to young boy”, but later my ego took over for want of a creative, “funny” title. As is apparent, I am not as funny as I think am.

I didn’t want to make it mushy-mushy at the end…but sometimes you don’t make the end, it makes you ;-)


HOW TO TRIP AT THE TRIPUNITHRA TEMPLE FESTIVAL(

Walk slowly in, past a half-demolished arch
that once was heaven's gate,
taking in deep whiffs of elephant dung,
lime-soda and the masses.
This evening and the lighted night to come
must be done slowly,
imbibed in, like a rare wine,
salvaged from a shipwreck in the Atlantic,
to be seen, stirred, smelled,
Let it seep slowly through all the senses,
into every dark corner of your mind.

Walk slowly in, dont miss a thing,
it is essential that you do not
miss even the small sleeping figures
of resting elephant-men,
lying beneath the grey mountainous figures
of fifteen majestic pachyderms,
this is their day out, decorated as they are
with chrome & gold,
coloured plastic paper and small umbrellas,
its all about symbolism.
Maybe the seven on each side are jealous,
to only stand and wait,
beside the alpha-animal, the 8th elephant,
the bearer of a Golden god,
and so deserves a bigger umbrella, more colourful paper
and generally better things in life.

If you had come there earlier, perhaps
you would not have missed
these gentle giants extending a foot,
for their mahouts to hold their trunk
and jump on for the ride of the evening.
not very unlike a dog offering a handshake,
friendly, final acceptance.
If you had come earlier,
you would not have missed this.

But you still have time
to see, feel and maybe get dripped upon,
with hot oil by the many six-footed candelabra
that wiry old men carry with Christ's ease
and light the temple's world,
burning torches towering high,
but not so high as any of the 15 elephants.
This being the era of affectations,
of artificial light, sound and thunder
you think that the strobes and speakers would
somehow overshadow these antiquated bearers,
not so, not so,
these men seem to stand out, seem to burn
with the vigour of a lamp in its last minutes.
But do not get mesmerized,
by the burning of the candles,
or the bearing of the bearers,
this is the side show.

That was a sideshow,
but the Carnatic concert in a dark long hall
with a holy-ash smeared singer,
a man with an upturned pot, a Ghatam,
and a small mridangam player,
is most definitely not a sideshow.
Since you are late, you will miss
the frenzied competition between
the Ghatam and the mridangam,
these men do it with utter ease,
as if to play were to breathe,
reflexes born of a million hours' practice,
But you are late and have missed this,
so try to elbow your way into the front
and get a glimpse of the ecstatic singer,
as he launches into the final stage
of a performance closer to his heart
than all than those done in the big cities,
for this is his temple, his town,his own.
Listen carefully for you might miss
the lowermost note of the sonograph
that his voice flows down to,
before reaching a crashing crescendo,
as he smiles at his brothers-in-arms,
some understanding, some heavenly concord,
some magic seems to bind them
in a way you simply would not understand
unless you have seen them caught,
immersed & finally engulfed,
in the rhythm of one equal music.
John Donne's words, not mine.

But you cannot risk missing
what the French would call
the tour-de-force, a beginning
of the end of all ends,
the panchavadyam,
music of three drums,
clashing cymbals,
and shining horns,
music that whirls your mind
into thoughtless throbbing,
music that seems to resonate
from times older than mankind itself,
music that seems to evolve
from the centre of your gut,
and slowly flows through
the corridors of the temple,
music that seems to make
the warm yellow lamps flicker and
frenzied sweat from ebony skin glitter.

You cannot risk missing this,
so go in advance, well in advance
so that you can stand before the God,
well before the God's bearer,
the gold & grey mammoths,
and the dripping oil of the warriors of light.
Stand well in advance and safely bask
in the noisy glory
that temples and men's belief can evoke.

As you stand so,
doubtless you will be distracted,
being the hot-blooded young man you are,
I know you will be...
by the whitesaree clad,genteel girls
sometimes looking back at you,
with such boldness,
as even your girl back home wouldnt.
At your age, boy, it would seem
that a challenge has been thrown,
perhaps a call for a duel,
and an invitation to meet your destiny,
If you feel so, if your head reels,
and your skin flushes, rest easy, boy.
Rest easy for it is not you or them,
it is the crackling hypnotic air,
the air that lilts
with the blowing of the ancient horns,
the air that pulses
with the beat of the drums,
the air that sparkles
with the fire of the torches,
the air that resounds
of bygone aeons,
with only this day and time left,
to deliver us ,if only briefly,
back to our confused, entangled roots.

But if you must be distracted by the women,
be distracted in their entirety,
by their gold entwined sarees,
by their sandal dotted foreheads,
by their lush black hair,
by their small bare feet,
Be distracted by the ones who look back at you,
and the ones who coyly turn away.

Be distracted by the royals,
who shun the common & bare ground,
and stand and sway a floor above,
watching the rest of humanity,
15 elephants and one golden god,
from lofty imperial heights.

Be distracted as I was every year,
by a serene, smiling princess,
some vestige of nobility,
a reminder of the royal past,
caught, framed and enshrined,
in my mind,
at this meeting,
this meeting of all the ancient arts,
this meeting - the Pooram.

Be distracted as I was,
for all the 3 years that we were there,
and looked at each other,
swaying gently to the hypnotic waves,
that the panchavadyam washes you with,
as we looked and looked,
not a word spoken, the glance unbroken.
Be distracted and give yourself wholly
to the girl you are distracted by,
your eyes, ears, skin, everything
tingling with a heightened madness,
that you can experience only in the magic
that is the temple festival of Tripunithra.