Shivaratri
On Shivaratri we did
Many things at home,
In our different spaces.
Like Amma who would
Make some payasam, vadai or chakrapongal,
Appa who would endlessly unseeingly
Chant rudram, chamakam
And me cyclically
Learning my lessons
For exams that
Never rewarded my endless
Efforts.
Unlike
My father who was
Amply rewarded
When he quickly
Died two days before
Shiva ratri.
Leaving behind
The saligramam, spatika lingam.
Now our rudrams come
From wynks, you tubes
Even an old CD
That struts and stammers in
My father's laptop.
This shiva ratri
I bought mangoes
Raw like a wound
That won't heal.
To make pickles
Multiply flavored
Like the ones
Appa would pompously
Make and
Flamboyantly strut
Under our upturned noses.
The many miniscule pieces of
Mango I cannot see
sans my reading glasses
I shift and shuffle
Them
With sharp red chilly powder
Asfoetida, turmeric, and bitter
Fenugreek like a bad afterthought, then
The copious gingly oil.
And after soaking in the spices
Like two years of loss
I add the brilliant salt
Always to be added in the end
Like my father used to say
Else it will release water
Like tears interminable.
Salt
Like appa
Taut with its wit
Whose availability
I took for granted
Impossible to be absent
But nevertheless mortal.
Payasam: sweetened watery rice pudding; Vadai: a savoury made out of lentils and fries; Chakrapongal: a rice and jiggery dish made on special occassions
Rudram and Chamakam: sacred verses for Shiva, supposed to be sung only by upper caste Hindu men.
Saligramam: sacred stone of Vishnu ; spatika lingam: lingam made out of crystal or quartz.
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