Of Dance, Departure, Dal ... Waking Up This Space!

A beloved coconut tree that grew to the south west of my home would dance for me in the breeze and shift the patterns of her fronds with the elements. I beheld with joy the flowers turn into green coconuts through the cycles. She was flourishing ... till she was not. I stood before this tree in the park and was reminded of her. This post is dedicated to her. Channel your spirit through these kith and kin, my departed friend. My father loved your kind and was the first one to point out to me the subtle shifts you made as you tuned into the elements.  

 

And thus I introduce my post for what is usually a difficult period as it comes in the wake of New Year's celebrations, and sharing how I'm turning that around. This time I feel the urge again to write. To open up about the personal. So let the ink flow - never leave it unwritten.

Memories of this time of year bring joy and pain tossed together. And nothing brought that out better than yesterday when early morning brought recall of loss even as part of me embraced and celebrated Nataraja's Ananda Tandava (ecstatic dance) that mom would honor year after year with wonder and delight.

This year the festival chose for itself the 3rd of Jan - a day that took my brother across eight years ago.

The time the journey ended (or another journey began) at 5:30 on a bitterly cold dawn - at such times, cold even in a city that delights in its all too fleeting winter, feels bitter - is something father and son shared 26 years apart. Our father went peacefully (no doubt triggered 11 months earlier by a needless health crisis that signaled the countdown to the end) in what felt like old age, though we never have enough of a parent's lifetime. His son went in pain, struggling. Needlessly (yes there is a story) and far too young. It felt poignantly peaceful that it was over - because with the end of life came the end of pain It's strange how 68 and 81 are only 13 years apart, yet each of those evening years is worth several.

There has never been a celebration of my brother's life - that must be the loneliest feeling for a spirit in the sky. And that doesn't feel right for me. Some day I will celebrate - under the stars he loved so much, stars that urban light pollution have denied me a sight of from the very windows he stood at holding my hand and telling me all their names as I gazed in wonder. The stars will choose their time to shine down and they will tell me. And all the world will know about him and smile.

Note to the Lord of Dance - when I'm done dancing around the mess in this house, I'll make that traditional treat (called kali - pronounced cully) for you. And if enough of you read this and post a comment, I'll come back and edit this post with my mom's recipe.

I rather think my brother would have enjoyed it - he loved any treat with gur (jaggery). Though not sure about the spicy-sour accompaniment (called thalagam and made with sesame seeds, tamarind, spices and desi vegetables) that went with the sweet - I can devour dollops of that. And talking of coconut palms, there's the delectable date palm jaggery that's in season right now and which I have been lapping up.

And that's Nolen Gur (date palm jaggery) in sippable form - make believe and enjoy or look for it online or if you are in Bengal stroll down to the market. These days they sell it even on the streets in plastic containers. Watch out where you source yours though - they aren't all the same. I would love those precious clay pots they came in sealed with a clay lid. While today's plastic jars feel convenient because they're light I want those back.