The mythical King Mahabali comes visiting Kerala every year. The state is bedecked with elaborate pookalams. People adorn themselves. Homes are re-painted. Boats are primed up for the annual races which attract tourists from all over the world. Onam is one of the few truly secular festivals in that it cuts across caste, creed and religion, all attributed to the benevolence of King Mahabali in that mythical age.
This year, however, Onam came in the aftermath of the most severe rains Kerala has had in almost a 100 years. Millions of people were displaced, thousands of houses washed away, and hundreds killed, both human and animal. Initial estimates of the damage peg the figure at Rs.20,000 crore.
A proud, prosperous people, have been brought to their knees.
On Onam day, I began to make the perfunctory phone calls to wish my family in Kerala.
"Not much to be happy, is there?", said Vallyappachan, my father's elder brother. "Thankfully, we've been spared", he continued, "but it feels inhumane to celebrate anything when there's so much of gloom all around".
True, that.
"Happy Onam!", I chirped on the phone to my Jimmy, my cousin.
"We've been out of home for the past couple of days", he said. "There's much help needed at relief camps, and a bunch of us have travelled over to Chengannur to distribute foodstuff, blankets and other essential stuff. There's just misery everywhere, Shyjuachayan," he trailed off.
I commiserated.
"This is simply the worst Onam ever, Chettai", said Jaison when I called him to wish him. "The water has receded, but the homes are unlivable. There's residual muck, appliances have been destroyed. It'll take people at least 2-3 months to move in. The church has been organizing teams of people to go out to houses and help restore them, and we've been out on the streets doing our bit."
And so it went on.
There were stories of snakes making their way into people's houses, whole areas covered in the stench of rotting grain and carcasses, dead bodies being tied together and tethered to poles so they don't float away...
The mood across was sepulcrhral. There were no celebrations even among those that weren't affected by the catastrophe. Instead, they were throwing themselves into relief and rehabilitation work, even going into towns, cities and villages that were far away from where they stayed.
When I dialled Kuttan's number, I already knew what I would hear.
Kuttan is my second cousin. His father and my mother are cousins. He's now settled in Trivandrum with his wife and three teenaged children, after having earned this chops in the Middle East for close to two decades. Having now set anchor in Trivandrum, Kuttan, when free from his corporate responsibilities at a global consultancy firm, actively involves himself in the local church scene, be it attending mass every weekend, or being part of the choir or several other engagements that his local parish involves itself in. Needless to say, the past couple of weeks have been extremely hectic for him because he'd thrown himself headlong into rehabilitation work that the church was driving.
"This hasn't been the usual Onam, obviously. However, what I've been seeing is Onam in its truest spirit", Kuttan chimed. "To see people from all walks of life going out of their way to help their affected brethren, irrespective of caste, creed or gender, has been symbolic of what Onam is really about".
This was a different take, alright.
"How differently you view this from the rest that I've been speaking to all day!", I just had to let him know. "Everyone's painting a picture of gloom"
There was a brief silence on the phone.
"That could be because this has been an Onam sans its usual trappings - of the commercial variety. Come to think of it, it's such a pity. For too long now, we've been caught up in the cesspool of commercialization. Everything's begun to revolve around physical symbols - and about whose symbol is better than the other's. Houses, cars, jewelry, clothes. Even in the case of Onam celebrations, it's about whose sadhya is grander, whose Pookalam is bigger or whose gold shines brighter. The spirit of the festival itself has been completely buried under these symbols, so much so, that we're only celebrating the symbols now"
The legend of Onam and Mahabali is one of generosity and altruism. So magnanimous was the great king, that he lost everything he had. His goodness, however, entitled him to a boon from Lord Vishnu, and he chose to visit his people once every year, just so he could see for himself that the spirit he hoped to imbue in them lived on.
"Hopefully, people will realise that the peripherals around the festival really don't matter. It is the
core - kindness, empathy and service to fellow human beings - that should be celebrated", Kuttan wound up.
Surely, there is something to be said about the phenomenon of celebrating the Mahabali we're expecting to visit us when we don't even see the Mahabali in ourselves, leave alone celebrating it?
Perhaps we celebrate the wrong things.
This year, however, Onam came in the aftermath of the most severe rains Kerala has had in almost a 100 years. Millions of people were displaced, thousands of houses washed away, and hundreds killed, both human and animal. Initial estimates of the damage peg the figure at Rs.20,000 crore.
A proud, prosperous people, have been brought to their knees.
On Onam day, I began to make the perfunctory phone calls to wish my family in Kerala.
"Not much to be happy, is there?", said Vallyappachan, my father's elder brother. "Thankfully, we've been spared", he continued, "but it feels inhumane to celebrate anything when there's so much of gloom all around".
True, that.
"Happy Onam!", I chirped on the phone to my Jimmy, my cousin.
"We've been out of home for the past couple of days", he said. "There's much help needed at relief camps, and a bunch of us have travelled over to Chengannur to distribute foodstuff, blankets and other essential stuff. There's just misery everywhere, Shyjuachayan," he trailed off.
I commiserated.
"This is simply the worst Onam ever, Chettai", said Jaison when I called him to wish him. "The water has receded, but the homes are unlivable. There's residual muck, appliances have been destroyed. It'll take people at least 2-3 months to move in. The church has been organizing teams of people to go out to houses and help restore them, and we've been out on the streets doing our bit."
And so it went on.
There were stories of snakes making their way into people's houses, whole areas covered in the stench of rotting grain and carcasses, dead bodies being tied together and tethered to poles so they don't float away...
The mood across was sepulcrhral. There were no celebrations even among those that weren't affected by the catastrophe. Instead, they were throwing themselves into relief and rehabilitation work, even going into towns, cities and villages that were far away from where they stayed.
When I dialled Kuttan's number, I already knew what I would hear.
Kuttan is my second cousin. His father and my mother are cousins. He's now settled in Trivandrum with his wife and three teenaged children, after having earned this chops in the Middle East for close to two decades. Having now set anchor in Trivandrum, Kuttan, when free from his corporate responsibilities at a global consultancy firm, actively involves himself in the local church scene, be it attending mass every weekend, or being part of the choir or several other engagements that his local parish involves itself in. Needless to say, the past couple of weeks have been extremely hectic for him because he'd thrown himself headlong into rehabilitation work that the church was driving.
"This hasn't been the usual Onam, obviously. However, what I've been seeing is Onam in its truest spirit", Kuttan chimed. "To see people from all walks of life going out of their way to help their affected brethren, irrespective of caste, creed or gender, has been symbolic of what Onam is really about".
This was a different take, alright.
"How differently you view this from the rest that I've been speaking to all day!", I just had to let him know. "Everyone's painting a picture of gloom"
There was a brief silence on the phone.
"That could be because this has been an Onam sans its usual trappings - of the commercial variety. Come to think of it, it's such a pity. For too long now, we've been caught up in the cesspool of commercialization. Everything's begun to revolve around physical symbols - and about whose symbol is better than the other's. Houses, cars, jewelry, clothes. Even in the case of Onam celebrations, it's about whose sadhya is grander, whose Pookalam is bigger or whose gold shines brighter. The spirit of the festival itself has been completely buried under these symbols, so much so, that we're only celebrating the symbols now"
The legend of Onam and Mahabali is one of generosity and altruism. So magnanimous was the great king, that he lost everything he had. His goodness, however, entitled him to a boon from Lord Vishnu, and he chose to visit his people once every year, just so he could see for himself that the spirit he hoped to imbue in them lived on.
"Hopefully, people will realise that the peripherals around the festival really don't matter. It is the
core - kindness, empathy and service to fellow human beings - that should be celebrated", Kuttan wound up.
Surely, there is something to be said about the phenomenon of celebrating the Mahabali we're expecting to visit us when we don't even see the Mahabali in ourselves, leave alone celebrating it?
Perhaps we celebrate the wrong things.
Fantastically articulated and a great perspecive to share
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