I could hear the plonks & clanks in the kitchen. It is the wee hours on Ganesh chaturthi - the festival of the elephant headed god with a bursting stomach.
"Shree!" Amma is calling.
I sneak in deeper into my blanket. I am awake, but I just want to snooze.
"Shree! Wake up it is 6am already!"
"Argh! Why do I have to wake up at 6 am! Why do Indian gods have to have everything at sunrise." I protest from my bed. Arguing with Amma. Hoping my reluctance annoys her and she lets me be.
"Shree! You need to wake up before the pooja (prayers) start. Clean up, wash take a bath. Come help me out."
She never needs my help & I don't want to help, I wish my sister was never married, I would have another lazy soul to compete against.
Its 6:30. After a few more reminders I am up. Oiling my hair. Readying for a bath. There are rules. Dad is donning the silk panche (dhoti/ waist cloth) and a shalya (shawl). He looks handsome as ever. Mom is still in her nightdress, which has been transformed to the holy clothing which is clean & pure to cook the food for gods in.
Mom hands me my new festival clothes. She keeps them with the ceremonial vermilion in the bathroom.
"Don't touch them till you have had a bath Shree!" She reminds me.
I am ready. I bow to the gods. I feel pretty. I am signed up as a solider and help dad and mom with odd jobs. Mostly dad. Mom has always been a one woman army.
Hunger is difficult to battle. It has been six hours since that sole glass of milk, a poor substitute for my daily breakfast. Why do Indian gods like hungry cranky devotees?
Ah well. I can smell the fried sweet stuffed flatbread. Now I see fresh fruits. So difficult to listen to dad chanting in Sanskrit all the glorious names of the god when all I want is a bite of all the food on offer to the gods placed inconviniently in front of me.
Dad says the last chants. Mom and I stand besides him looking perfect in our new festive clothes. We are missing my sister again.
He blows the conch, sounds the bells and ends the prayers.
It is now time to feast.
The banana leaf is laid out. Mom serves everything. I am overwhelmed. An hour back I wanted it all. Now I am just too tired to eat.
All that changes the minute the sweet payasam (rice pudding) touches my lips. I eat in the order I am taught. rice pudding, spiced rice, rice with lentils & ghee, the chickpeas and pomegranate salad, beans, fried papad followed by a generous serving of sweet stuffed flatbread with milk. The list goes on.
I cannot eat a morsel more.
Amma serves rice and curd on my banana leaf.
"No more! Amma!" I look pleadingly at my mother.
"Eat Shree. Today is festival."
My protests are in vain.
Slowly, steadily, sometimes forcibly, I am done. I wash my hands & clean up after everyone reluctantly.
The banana leaves are in the bin.
I sit now, solidly, resonating with the overfed elephant headed god with my full, nearly bursting tummy.
Thinking to myself, with satisfaction - the best feasts are the festive feasts.
