Pongalo Pongal!!

 பொங்கலோ பொங்கல்! Happy Pongal.

“The boundless ocean will be shrunk, If the thick rising clouds fail to shower the rain”-Tiruvalluvar.

“Nedunkadalum thaan-neermai kundrum thadinthu-ezhili

Thaan-nalkaa thaagi Vidin”.

Weekend and also a weakened sky. “Rain” and it rained in various formats, shapes and noises. Breezy and cool. Lazy and sleepy. Bass and arrogant. Two weekends have disappeared and 51 more left. Already tumultuous past few days and week; need more Vipassana and certainly more incessant rain.

On a brighter note, It’s also Pongal, aka, harvest festival time and week,  back in India and its various lovely regions; and also at our home, where PONGAL is numero one amongst the festivals. Pongal, is thus perhaps endlessly etched in my mind for various reasons; intricacies and nuances. It’s like well-made layered Tiramisu; Claude Monet’s Lillie’s, in vibrancy, joviality and jolliness; University camaraderie of anxiety and excitement; different shades of hues and colours; nostalgia and angst, longing with a faint a bit of loneliness, saneness, solitude, emotional match making sojourn and it has brought to all my five decades of life, all these years and hence always ranked as number one.

It’s celebrated usually this week of January, every year, when we are reminded of nature and nurture. The earliest I could remember is when I was, may be five, visiting my grandparents in a town called Kanchipuram, itself, at least 2500 years old; one of the ancients in India; been looked after by ancient and modern day Tamil kings ( Cholas, Pandya’s and Cheras}  and also the great Pallavas and few others  including the French and British. Emperor Asoka and Aurangzeb, were almost there but not there.  

The town in and around is full of surprises, artefacts; sacred ancient temples and ruins; saturated antique wisdom; was a citadel for Jainism, Saivism and Vaishnavism, together, centuries ago. The festivities and gatherings at my grandparents in Kanchipuram for PONGAL festival, would last a week, every year, in January, until 1994, (when I invaded UK), hence never faded away, neither from my eyes, tongue, nostrils nor my wafer thin mind.

Tirukkural is beautiful, when Valluvar says

“Neer indri amaiyaathu Ulagu-enin yaar yaarkkum

Vaanindru amaiyaathu oyukku”

“Without rain, this earth cannot sustain

Nor can virtue without sky (shower)”.

Everything is rain and in rain. Mind is  a snail trail laid  incessantly,  a   tarmac layer on sub conscious by conscious. Some stays longer and most not.  Wet sneezy shoes on yellowy roasted leaves; murmuring schools ever make you wish, back at desks; it’s cool; cool; cold with sweat less shirts. Virtue or virtue less and yet it rains for us all. That’s rain’s virtue. 

Isn’t it?