Me: What's the problem baby?
You: Think about you & love everyday.
Me: How much longer will it take to cure?
You: Just can’t cure and am not able to ignore.
Me: Learn to be lonely and learn to find path in darkness..
You: Be my companion and drench in ecstasy of wilderness..
Me: Never dreamt that out of world, your arms are here to hold me.
You: I stand in line, until you think you have the time to spend life with me.
Me: Wicked imagination and something new going on with you?
You: Dreaming is no more colourless, vision all coming are true!
Me: It is drawing me outta mind, what if it is just some despondency.
You: You’ve gotta have faith in me, impart me an empathy.
Me: Now that your silence chills me to the bone.
You: You know me and my love will never let you be alone.
Me: I have got a feeling incomplete in my heart,
You: And you make me feel complete, coz you are a piece of my heart
Me: You are giving me something to hold on to my newest infatuation!
You: Love I wanna feel your love, there is no end to devotion!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Bratabandhan (Hindu Ritual, Newari Style)
I usually get up at 7:30 or later than that, but today just to attend a Bratabandhan, more as an Anthropologist rather than guest, forcefully got up at 6. I know that is almost late for some of my early worm friends. Sait was at 7:30, and to avoid traffic at Koteshwor and reaching Bhaktapur on time, we had to depart by at 6:30.
Nepali time as it says, no one was ready when we reached Mahakali Temple in Bhaktapur, few kilometers from main Durbar Square in Bhaktapur. Priest had just arrived, and his assistant was busy drawing mandaps, rekhis, and asana, all ritual terms, and unfortunately, I don’t even know how to explain those terms in English.
I was freezing. Temperature was lower in Bhaktapur than Kathmandu. Thomas was fluttering his frozen hands, for he rode his bike all the way there. Thank god I was picked up on rotten green Toyota.
Finally at eight, ritual started. Thank god. All there boys were bathed and then lined up for shaving head. And the barber would not stop bargaining for higher dakchina between his tasks. Ritual continued… reciting mantras, showering flower and lava, putting tika, dhup batti. Time came for boys to get rid of their clothes and put on pitambar langots. I think it was symbolic of the stage when they either choose to spend Grihasta life (household) or banastha life (life in jungle and studying in ashrams). I already mentioned that Bhaktapur was chilling and also almost-nude-boys were shivering. I couldn’t help noticing their quivering dingdong veiled by translucent pitambar (Yellow garments usually used for offering to Lord Vishnu).
Oh yes! I noticed one difference between Newari bratabandhan and rest of other Hindus was, boy’s (initiate’s) phupu—paternal aunts, collect hair on brass plates when shaving initiate’s head, whereas in ours its job of sisters.
As the ritual was going on, as Thomas was busy photographing and as I was already bored and alienated for all the mantras—verses reverberating around was in Newari. Though I have grown up with few Newari friends and with their unsuccessful tries of teaching language to me, all I can understand is chu jula which means WHATS UP?? (I think) So, I thought of intervening priest, mother, boys, father and rest of the relatives with my so-called Anthropological questions. Trust me! They were quite patient and boggled me with zealous explanations in their broken Nepali mixed Newari tones. Newari was indeed MIND BLOWING for me because I couldn’t understand a word. But I managed to collect what I needed to.
One led to another, we had to go to nearby river to flow the boys’ hair, that was collected on a plate earlier. And also, readers please excuse my atrocious English. Dry season casted all over Nepal, although we should have been blessed with winter rain by now. There was no river, just the left over and path of it. So, Phupus managed to bury hair in river soil or more appropriately river sand.
Then we had a procession through the gallis of Bhaktapur’s tol or village. I enjoyed the site of tilted mud houses supported by one another, always wondered what happens if (heaven forbid) earthquake strikes. Walking on brick-paved alleys, which is uncommon in Kathmandu. Wooden Aankhi Jhyal (windows in form of net). House-well built in B.S. 2022. Friendship between vendors selling Dhaka-patasi and modern style tops side by side. Bhaktapur women washing clothes on outside porch. Sophisticated and traditional wooden mask. And Yes! The trespassers looking at me and murmuring to one another, for I was asked to carry coco cola bottle that had home-made wine instead, while other participants of procession were carrying fruits, flowers, sweets and other regular puja stuffs on tray. And there shouts a roadside romeo “Hey! Is that petrol or wine that you are carrying?” What did I do at such remarks?, Ignored and kept walking.
Then another set of puja and worship at Bhadrakali temple, which was comparatively smaller to the temple we have in Kathmandu and looked like any other byroad deity housed. Perplexing and only style of Bhaktapur, was, first, putting tika of blood from sacrificial’s head-neck portion. And the second, priest poked lower belly of the sacrificed goat and pulled its small intestine, blew it like balloon, tied knot on either end and offered it as garland to Bhadrakali. Whoops!! That is something not in practiced in Kathmandu.
We headed back to the place where bratabandhan took place i.e Mahakali temple, lit one lakh oil wicks in the name of Mahakali Devi. And then all the head-women of family started exchanging sagun complied of fried boiled-egg, fish, and bara. Luckily, I got sagun as well, and was kind of blessing to me to see food that I could actually eat, for I was starving to death, and it was already 2 PM. Phew! I was awake since 6, nothing eaten, except for 2 cups of tea and one jeri-swari.
As I took a bite of fish, Shova di screamed at me with joy “your first child will be a baby boy”. I was totally startled. How on earth she knew that?, I am not even married. She said, “Your first bite of fish was its head, so that’s the sign for your first baby will be boy.” INTERESTING, said I.
With all Luck by chance, we didn’t not hit any kind of traffic on the way back to office. Worked for 2 hours and was happy that it was weekend and I didn't have to worry about being at office sharp on time the following day. Oh yes of course, I took center-stage and narrated stories on Bratabandhan to my mom, sister, and two brothers.
It was indeed, my first date with Hindu Ritual in Newari Style.
Nepali time as it says, no one was ready when we reached Mahakali Temple in Bhaktapur, few kilometers from main Durbar Square in Bhaktapur. Priest had just arrived, and his assistant was busy drawing mandaps, rekhis, and asana, all ritual terms, and unfortunately, I don’t even know how to explain those terms in English.
I was freezing. Temperature was lower in Bhaktapur than Kathmandu. Thomas was fluttering his frozen hands, for he rode his bike all the way there. Thank god I was picked up on rotten green Toyota.
Finally at eight, ritual started. Thank god. All there boys were bathed and then lined up for shaving head. And the barber would not stop bargaining for higher dakchina between his tasks. Ritual continued… reciting mantras, showering flower and lava, putting tika, dhup batti. Time came for boys to get rid of their clothes and put on pitambar langots. I think it was symbolic of the stage when they either choose to spend Grihasta life (household) or banastha life (life in jungle and studying in ashrams). I already mentioned that Bhaktapur was chilling and also almost-nude-boys were shivering. I couldn’t help noticing their quivering dingdong veiled by translucent pitambar (Yellow garments usually used for offering to Lord Vishnu).
Oh yes! I noticed one difference between Newari bratabandhan and rest of other Hindus was, boy’s (initiate’s) phupu—paternal aunts, collect hair on brass plates when shaving initiate’s head, whereas in ours its job of sisters.
As the ritual was going on, as Thomas was busy photographing and as I was already bored and alienated for all the mantras—verses reverberating around was in Newari. Though I have grown up with few Newari friends and with their unsuccessful tries of teaching language to me, all I can understand is chu jula which means WHATS UP?? (I think) So, I thought of intervening priest, mother, boys, father and rest of the relatives with my so-called Anthropological questions. Trust me! They were quite patient and boggled me with zealous explanations in their broken Nepali mixed Newari tones. Newari was indeed MIND BLOWING for me because I couldn’t understand a word. But I managed to collect what I needed to.
One led to another, we had to go to nearby river to flow the boys’ hair, that was collected on a plate earlier. And also, readers please excuse my atrocious English. Dry season casted all over Nepal, although we should have been blessed with winter rain by now. There was no river, just the left over and path of it. So, Phupus managed to bury hair in river soil or more appropriately river sand.
Then we had a procession through the gallis of Bhaktapur’s tol or village. I enjoyed the site of tilted mud houses supported by one another, always wondered what happens if (heaven forbid) earthquake strikes. Walking on brick-paved alleys, which is uncommon in Kathmandu. Wooden Aankhi Jhyal (windows in form of net). House-well built in B.S. 2022. Friendship between vendors selling Dhaka-patasi and modern style tops side by side. Bhaktapur women washing clothes on outside porch. Sophisticated and traditional wooden mask. And Yes! The trespassers looking at me and murmuring to one another, for I was asked to carry coco cola bottle that had home-made wine instead, while other participants of procession were carrying fruits, flowers, sweets and other regular puja stuffs on tray. And there shouts a roadside romeo “Hey! Is that petrol or wine that you are carrying?” What did I do at such remarks?, Ignored and kept walking.
Then another set of puja and worship at Bhadrakali temple, which was comparatively smaller to the temple we have in Kathmandu and looked like any other byroad deity housed. Perplexing and only style of Bhaktapur, was, first, putting tika of blood from sacrificial’s head-neck portion. And the second, priest poked lower belly of the sacrificed goat and pulled its small intestine, blew it like balloon, tied knot on either end and offered it as garland to Bhadrakali. Whoops!! That is something not in practiced in Kathmandu.
We headed back to the place where bratabandhan took place i.e Mahakali temple, lit one lakh oil wicks in the name of Mahakali Devi. And then all the head-women of family started exchanging sagun complied of fried boiled-egg, fish, and bara. Luckily, I got sagun as well, and was kind of blessing to me to see food that I could actually eat, for I was starving to death, and it was already 2 PM. Phew! I was awake since 6, nothing eaten, except for 2 cups of tea and one jeri-swari.
As I took a bite of fish, Shova di screamed at me with joy “your first child will be a baby boy”. I was totally startled. How on earth she knew that?, I am not even married. She said, “Your first bite of fish was its head, so that’s the sign for your first baby will be boy.” INTERESTING, said I.
With all Luck by chance, we didn’t not hit any kind of traffic on the way back to office. Worked for 2 hours and was happy that it was weekend and I didn't have to worry about being at office sharp on time the following day. Oh yes of course, I took center-stage and narrated stories on Bratabandhan to my mom, sister, and two brothers.
It was indeed, my first date with Hindu Ritual in Newari Style.
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