Utsavam- celebrating a childhood



A typical scene from a Temple festival in Keralam

The limping Elephant was a painful scene to look at. The God has been taking rounds of his abode, mounted on the four legged animal. The animal could hardly walk, as one of the front legs was permenantly deformed due to an accident he met with, But, whatever His Majesty does, it needs to be royal. God needs the best and His devotees know everything about his likes and dislikes.


They offer flowers, milk, gold, money, animals and what not? O God, are you not the owner of everything in the universe? Why do You need such material things as offerings to please Yourself? Sadly, Your devotees who do not undertsnd this truth are even ready to lay down their lives to please You. For them, keeping the creator of the universe in good humor is of paramount importance. It is all right if the jumbo is inconvenienced a bit. Never mind if the tusker finds it difficult to walk with his broken leg. I am sure, the God would never have liked this, but He has no choice! Who decides about such things? Certainly not Him.

O God, do't you see those eyes??

Elephant is a wild animal. That is what everyone learns in the primary school. The wild animal is trapped and after inflicting hellish pain, transforms it into a domesticated animal.


A domesticated elephant is a symbol of extreme pain and helplessness. I only wish, sooner or later, god's managers will realise this and do away with elephants in the festivals. A mighty animal of the wild shall never be paraded in front of the devotees this way. The beleaguered quadraped has nothing but a story of agony and distress to share with all who turn up to see the gala. O dear eyes, never let me see such disturbing scenes in future

Once upon a time, we did have festivals in our village temple without elephants. A tame fastival involving a very few villagers was all that we had. All rituals connected with a festival was always there but without much fanfare. There were not many people to come forward and  lead from the front. That was the main reason for such low key festivals in our temple besides the God being "poor". Even for the evening pooja that is the most imporant ritual in a temple, only a handfull of people turned up. On normal days, only our group of children were present to share the evenings with the god. Remember, that was a time when the invasion of TV sops were yet to happen.

The only positive thing that this years festival presented was a get together of a few of the childhood buddies. Many guys and gals who are struggling to build a secured life for their children in the present phase of their life, make it a point to visit the temple once during the festival days. Perhaps, I am a defaulter, as I found myself far away from the arena during these important days of my village. 

All of us met at the temple premises and recollected a lot about the past. After the deeparadhana -  the customery evening pooja, a lady who looked in her early forties, came to me and asked after me if I recognised her. Sensing my discomfiture, she volantarily revealed her identity. It was Manikutty, our neighbour. That was really embarassing. A neighbour had to introduce herself to another neighbour. That was when I realised how much cut off I am from my beloved village. Manikutty is our guru Kunjamma's youngest of the daughters. We learnt Malayalam letters from Kunjamma, sitting along with Manikutty and her other siblings.

We had a lot to recollect. Most of them revolving around the temple itself. Those beautiful evenings we spent together in the temple premises were subject of our talk. It was not all about devotion but more than that it was about playing in the sand. We specially played a game called 'choodu pandhu', that is traslated to English as 'Hot Ball'. This ball was a cube shaped object, weaved out of a leaflets of a coconut tree. While weaving it, a small stone is kept inside to make it heavy. This ball is thrown at each other as everyone runs all over to dodge it. When it hits, it really pained the guys. That was the thrill in it- enjoy the distress. That was how we had a ball those days...

The guys turned up shirtless but like odd ones out, we two brothers in shirts. We too fought bitterly with our elder brother to avoid shirts , but at last gave in. A freedom fight for the right  not to cover the chest bit the dust, without making any mark in the history! As another oddity, we had boxes to carry books to school. Our frieds still remember those Aluminium boxes.In fact, the first thing they remember about us is these boxes. During this get together too, all of us talked about this box.

Our happiest evenings were on the occassion of 'Pradosha Vratham". We fondly called it "pradosham". (http://www.hindu-blog.com/2008/07/how-to-do-or-observe-pradosham-or.html)

The Ulavaipe Mahadevar Temple

Once in a month, Pradosham was observed in our temple. Whatever was the importance of this, we liked to see everyday Pradosham. This gifted us an extended evening in the company of so many boys and girls. Every evenings after the deeparadhana, we usually return home and prepare for the next morning's school. On pradosham day, after deeparadhana, there is another pooja and at the end of it, the poojari distrubutes payasam. We all wait for the poojari to turn up after the special pooja. He calls out our house names and we kids, one by one go in front of him. He drops a block of payasam on a plantain leaf into our little hands. As it falls on our hands, the warmth of payasam gives a burning sensation for a moment. That marks the end of a happy evening.

Our gang walks back home, accompanied by the elders. We were escorted by our grandfather -the never smiling serious stuff. I do not remember him pulling us to his side, keeping on his laps and caressing us. We never complained about it In fact, he was instrumental in encouraging and invloving us in all our traditional rituals, be it Onam, Vishu or reading Ramayanam in the month of Karkitakom. He gifted us a lot to cherish and a lot to follow in the on going saga called life. He did his duties sincerely as a local guardian.

One funny incident connected with him was his superstitious belief about calling from behind a person when he/she sets out for some work. This happens whenever our father was home and he was about to go out. As he is about to leave, we never failed to call him from his back. The moment we open our mouth, the grandfather, as if he was waiting, shouts at us. "How many times I told you, never call from behind when he is leaving for a purpose?" As usual, he would be sitting in his room. He hardly walks around in our house.

This non smiling rustic patriarch, though brooked no nonsense at any given time, was so liberal in allowing us to stay back in the Pradosham evenings in the temple.


 While walking back after the evening pooja this time, thousand elephants stood in a row in my mind with the presiding diety on the top of the most musculine tusker in a majestic display of a pompous village  festival. Long live the festivals, sans the elephants.

A village bungalow

The half a kilometer stretch of road between the temple and my home is now flanked by a number of imposing villas, a few of them are even qualified to be called bungalows. Although not much has changed in my village Olavaipe, people are a happier lot now. Lucky are the ones who enjoy it to the fullest of their satisfaction. I did come across a handfull of people there, who dare to speak in terms of  Lacs. I promise, none of them are VPs or Country Managers. I don't think they check their bank balance through the internet banking everyday. I could only envy them. For me, alas, happiness looks to be like an undefined object and I often search for it passionately in god-forsaken deserts and the maddening cities.

This time, I conciously tied a swing on one the branches of a mango tree. I wanted my kid to play in that. Somehow, for a few minutes I succeeded in my efforts. As he swung up and down, I slipped into another bout of nostalgia. Oh, those days...Within a few moments, my kid started feeling so uncofortable in this crude swing. Why not a modern, cushioned one in the air-conditioned drawing room in front of a 42 inch LED TV? Like any other kid of the modern days, my kid too tend to spend more time with the play staions and cartoon channels rather than rubbing with the remnants of a "boring" past....I only pity him. What will he be writing in his memoirs sometime down the line ? One thing is sure, he will never forget to mention those colourful plastic cards in his papa's vallet....