our Hindu house has a Pooja room, set up by MAnjula it’s still used for certain festivals. Other households would use it everyday. Our next festival is likely to be for the big rotund guy, my favourite: Ganesh.
No two houses are the same which might be due to the specific Gods, they worship, their caste or maybe just because India is incredibly consistently inconsistent.
In memory of MAnjula as with many households a photo, is placed in the hall (lounge/living room) when people die. For the first year we’d place flowers around her every month, with a special Pooja on her annual death anniversary. This all part of a series of rituals to help her soul spirit find another body and be reincarnated into her next life.
Tanuja at Manjula’s second death anniversary.
In our house there’s a main photo of MAnjula in each of our two lounges. Fact is there are photos of her everywhere. My son thinks The whole house is becoming a shrine.
Sowbaghya who did all the preparation, cooking, decoration for each of Manjula’s death anniversaries.
Now after two years I’ve decorated her like a Christmas tree with lights all around her.
Sometimes she’ll get a little extra treatment with red or yellow dots and we’ll do a little Pooja. It’s essentially a prayer with a request to god.
We’re flexi here.
Her pic is also found on the tree out the front of our house, T-shirt’s and masks her no 1 place is in my heart.
For me it’s especially important to acknowledge our being together and celebrate Manjula as many didn’t know about our relationship.
This is the fourth Bul Bul’s nest we’ve had at Moksha Manor.
Previously on the roof garden, our mid level garden out on the first floor mini garden and even in a hanging plant above our round table in the drive.
They’re good at nesting in the most unlikely places. This time they’ve chosen our secret garden in the back yard where we hang out the washing.
There’s been a gap of two years when they didn’t nest. The year Manjula died and following year.
Not only have they returned this year Sowbaghya spotted five adult birds all gathering to welcome the new babe.
We managed to photo two of them.
They must have realised it’s been a sad time but now returned to a place they’ve made their home. They know it’s safe and welcoming, not just for our human and four legged friends.
I wonder if English birds search out quiet, withdrawn locations. Here in India they have to manage the noise and general hecticness.
The virus situation goes from bad to — we’ve got rid of it, to —- disaster.
Leaving things until the eleventh hour, no … it’s more like one moment before midnight is not a sensible policy but it’s standard practice. No lessons learned from the first wave, infrastructure collapsing, shortage of beds, no oxygen in many hospitals, exhausted staff, people confused.
Indian politicians fail their communities. They have other, presumably more important things to worry about.
Now we have a lockdown in all but name and it’s piling confusion onto inconsistency onto chaos.
Is the instruction to close most businesses for all of everyday in which case it would be a lockdown or just when there’s a curfew?
The govt diktat is totally confusing. If it’s just overnight and weekends. What’s the point it’ll have minimal effect on the virus. If it’s everyday it’s a lock down a term they don’t politically wish to use.
The police statement adds to the confusion with the statement “it will be normal from tomorrow” so there will or will not be a lockdown/curfew from tomorrow. Of course it probably means that closure of businesses will seem like normal tomorrow.
Clear as mud.
It’s the day before the non-lockdown, I’m just back from cycling, with nobody wearing masks in the villages, most wearing them back in Siddarthanagar. I passed a wedding. In a field presumably outdoors (but in tents) in response to the situation but the limit to the gathering is supposed to be 50! There’s almost that number already preparing for the event and the guests are yet to arrive.
Recently Sowbhaghya asked why a shop keeper wasn’t wearing a mask as he should be, he declared there was no coronavirus here.
The combination of poor confusing communication from authority, default to deference and the anything goes attitude of the Wild West, is part of why we’re here.
Here’s useful guardian articles summarising how we might have got into this stupid situation.
I thought I’d share this after revealing to a new friend Anjali
We have a cup caste regime
From the left steel glass ( I know it’s not glass, just ask an Indian) can be used anywhere and everywhere. Middle, one of our favourite cups with emotional attachment so can only be used in upstairs hall (lounge for you foreigners) and number three can be used anywhere in the house or downstairs sit out as we care less. The most precious, heaps of history and irreplaceable so use is severely restricted.
The point is they can be used by anyone: guests, staff, family some are higher value so should be looked after more than others.
Why do I tell you this?
I joked about the caste of cups because believe it or not in some houses in India the servants aka lower caste are only allowed to drink or eat from separate cups/glasses/plates and utensils. This presumably originates from a belief that they might defile the superior caste.
I tell you this, as you know I love and I’ve adopted India and one wonderful woman in particular. We created a shared home that didn’t reflect those primitive traditional let’s say mediaeval practices.
Sowbhagya prepares the house, the Pooja room And finally all the Gods and Goddesses including MAnjula get a turn with a agarbati and flaming camphorLucie is sad, as she probably misses MAnjula doing the puja rituals.
It’s times like this we miss our closest. It’s also why they also remember us and send a love message.
This time the messenger came to my bedroom window. It’s probably why I felt out of sorts this morning.
We went to the vets again today as Lucie was sick a few times last week.
She loves her trips out in auto and ambassador.
She has problems with her liver and kidneys maybe due to Tick Fever she caught a year ago.
It’s a chronic condition, just medication to help her organs function but not cure.
It’s very serious.
We stocked up on specialist renal diet from Austria (!) and now two drugs, probiotics and two vitamins. It’s not cheap but who cares? I’ve been here before.
It’s been a difficult few years.
The ox fell off and lost his horns. But let’s no loose sight of the positive. The Bul Bul returns. This is the fourth time a Bul Bul has nested here. First on the roof, next on the middle level, then in the drive and now in our back yard. This made MAnjula so happy.
A MAnjula print — as we clearly don’t have enough already — from our first holiday in Hampi, the year we got engaged. Catherine has kindly donated a wonderful cabinet for Manjula’s library. Those with eagle eyes will have spotted one of our awards from Trip Advisor. We’ve been number one in Mysore, because of great guest reviews, since our first year. One of Manjula’s ‘I love you’ messengers never left. It was S/he’s last journey.
This is the grinding, cutting screeching of the little mesters, the small independent traditional workshops making knives in my home city of Sheffield the cutlery capital of England.
Except it isn’t.
It feels like they’ve followed me all the way to where I live now in the genteel middle-class Siddarthanagar in Mysore.
It’s the third night of this infernal racket going on past 9 in the evening and comes from the construction site behind — making it almost impossible to have evening (international time difference) important zoom calls — so, I complain to the workers. They are cutting and grinding marble, tiles, steel and concrete. The noise should stop at the very latest at 7.00, (the actual rule is they should stop earlier) one of the workers seems to understand. That’s good, message received and understood.
But it’s not so straightforward. Is anything in India?
The construction site belongs to the next door downstairs neighbour (Jain), and he discussed this with his upstairs neighbour (who’s Brahmin) who raises it with his neighbour (Lingayat), who I cycle with most mornings, who talks to me (the Firangi aka foreigner). I might be joking but these labels of religion and community are very significant. So a simple matter of neighbourliness, and sound sensitivity becomes a big issue at the corner. They, that’s the Jain with the support of the Brahmin decide to allow the workers to continue making the noise into the evening and ignore me. The Lingayat is just the messenger 🙂
Once I realise the molehill is becoming a foot hill, I go to speak directly to the site owner, my neighbour of some years. He refuses to speak, looks down, can’t catch me in the eye and does some rude brushing away movement with his hands. Blimey.
There’s more to being kind than feeding the cows
Frankly, in my view, it should be obvious that such noise in the evening isn’t on, regardless that it’s against the regulations. Rules, what are they? Various friends agree. But lack of awareness, indifference, who knows what has stopped the bleeding obvious being well, obvious. Now they know but don’t care, they stick the proverbial finger up.
To make sure I understand, I’m cold-shouldered by the Jains and the Brahmins.
The foothill becomes a mountain. This is quite unbelievable.
The fool of the father (Jain) even instructs his young daughters to have nothing to do with the foreigner.
On a normal day and time, Lucie and I are constantly greeted, by the local children, as we walk down the street with smiles, hellos and waves but not by his two, not anymore. Hence I refer to the infantile behaviour of the kindergarten. The poor girls stick out like a sore thumb not greeting the foreigner, because of the childishness of their father.
I now realise its a common unsophisticated way of communication. For example: there’s three parts of a family live a few hundred yards away from each other who have not communicated for decades. I hear of families not talking because of perceived snubs at a wedding and how the invites had been issued.
I’ve discussed with people that I know from the Jain community who are embarrassed and apologetic and Brahmin friends, who are politically liberal anti-elitist, just shrug their shoulders and ask why I’m surprised. People talk about bad karma for the house and how they shouldn’t treat ‘guests’ like this. Me, I’ve given up.
Jain friends in England point out, that there’s more to being kind than feeding cows by the roadside.
Come on guys, get a grip. Life is too short. So I have to take the high road and provide a different example.
So Let’s be positive.
following the path of Manjula the muse, the moose, my guru
being kind
I therefore haven’t pursued this, previously I might have, mercilessly. Now I’ve adjusted, live and let live.
I don’t want the poor innocent girls affected anymore, or their new house to have a bad vibe, our respective rewards will arrive.
I hope Manjula will be contentedly happy with my approach.
Me and MYCycle 