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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Family
- Published: 05/14/2014
Dussera Cocktail
Born 1977, F, from Milledgeville, United States“This time Dussera will not be fun,” said 10-year old Geetika Rao flopping down on her pillow. “It won’t be the same – celebrating it here… in this city… everything is different”
Her brother, Vishnu, elder to her by four years nodded and said, “Yeah… even Amma is different now… we no longer live in Rajmundry in our big house but in New Delhi in this apartment on the second floor…”
A short distance away, Lalitha Rao, widow of senior engineer, Suresh Rao, and elder sister to paralegal, Satya Karnal, was standing in a crowded Delhi city bus on a balmy evening in October thinking. The clock had turned five p.m. a good quarter of an hour ago and Lalitha Iyer had made her way to the office bus stop and dutifully squeezed her way into the overflowing city bus.
“The wonders of Delhi Transportation,” she now mused struggling to maintain her footing in the bus.
The bus stopped with a jerk, and Lalitha Iyer looked out of the grimy window – the bus had stopped at Khan Market – only three more stops to go and then she would be home.
At the opposite end of the capital city, paralegal Satya Karnal was wrapping up a busy day of work. He stowed away the file he had been working the entire day and picked up his office bag, “Time to go home and do another kind of duty…” he shook his head trotting down the steps into the gloomy evening light. His life had changed since his brother-in-law had been suddenly killed in a car crash in Rajmundry. After performing the necessary rites, Satya had shifted his sister and children to New Delhi. For everyone, it had been a drastic change. His sister had staunchly weathered all grief and landed a job. The children, on the other hand, were still adjusting. Language had been a major problem coupled with different traditions and lifestyle. Satya shook his head walking to the bus-stop. Vishnu seemed to have adjusted but Geetika was another matter. She hated learning Hindi, talking in Hindi, and even watching Hindi TV programs. She missed her home in Rajmundry, the people, the constant neighborhood and school bus banter in Telugu, the Telugu TV programs, and the festivals! In Delhi, Geetika had suddenly found herself at the receiving end of many religions, cultures, and languages. Satya sighed – then there was Varun who found everything bewildering!
The bus stopped churning and dropping people like flies from a honey-pot. Satya grimaced – this was one of the things he did not like about the Capital City. The buses were a panacea – but then he had grown to adore the pulsating beat of this great city – the diversity of languages, traditions, colors, and ethnicities – all stewing together in a big melting cauldron! Satya Karnal clawed his way into the bus and managed to find a seat. He collapsed breathing hard! Now onto home – somehow the idea was not awfully pleasing and relaxing! He closed his eyes as the bus gently started humming incessantly.
Back home in the small bedroom of the three children—with a bunk bed and a camp bed adorning the four corners of the pale lime colored room with long yellow flowered curtains, Geetika was sprawled on the bed watching her elder brother, Vishnu flip through his history textbook.
“I think Annaya needs to have his own room,” said Geetika looking at her elder brother..
Vishnu drew himself up to his full height of five feet nine inches and stroked the faint black line of a moustache adorning his upper lip. “Geetika… I am fine… don’t go about causing problems please! Just adjust…!”
“I just want things to be the same… and I know things are different…” his sister was shouting. Vishnu sighed and picking up his books went into the living room. The door bell sounded and he jumped. He looked outside from the small window – darkness was enveloping. Muttering he opened the door to reveal his mother with disheveled hair and angry frown lines. Lalitha Rao came in, and soon the usual evening routine swung into action.
Lalitha Rao dried the dishes and walked into the dining room. The TV was on and she switched it off. Quelling protests from her sons and brother, she sat down and began, “Dussera is this Sunday and this time we are going to celebrate it in a traditional different way…”
Lalitha cleared her throat—she could really do with some brotherly support but then Satya never did anything unless told, but back to the present -- mission at hand.
“I thought this time we could celebrate Dussera like I and your Moya used to when we were small… in our village in Andhra… ”
“I remember,” now Satya had managed to find his vocal chords, thought his elder sister, thank the Lord for small mercies.
“We had a ‘bamalakolu’ and it used to be great fun…”
“And what is that?” Geetika’s scowl was now fleeing her brown oval face to other facial lands.
“Well…” began her mother drawing her youngest to her, “we used to arrange all dolls, toys in a circle… have a puja… wear traditional clothes…”
“Like a dolls’ party,” said Varun.
“Doesn’t sound fun… sounds boring…”
“I assure you, dear niece,” said Satya yawning, “it is great fun… taking all toys… washing them, dressing them up and then arranging them in a theme like in a boat shape or leaf shape…”
“And it doesn’t have to be only your toys but all figurines in the house…”
“But why?” demanded her daughter. “ Dussera is all about Ravan and Lord Ram killing him?”
“Dussera is much more that,” said her mother. “In Andhra Pradesh and many other states of southern India, as you know so well, Dussera celebrations begin with decorating and worshipping dolls for nine days… we won’t do it for nine days… just two days … tomorrow and Saturday”
Lalitha continued, “In olden days girls used to be married off when they about 11-12 and so they used to play with their dolls and used to decorate them with the elders at their in-laws place… it was a way to bring the elders and the young daughter in-law closer… it originally began with arranging nine female dolls to represent the nine feminine forms of Durga Devi… Durga, Bhadrakali, Chandika, Lalita, Annapurna, Bhavani, Bhairavi, Amba, Mookambika,” said Lalitha Iyer holding up and counting on her thin fingers…
“One of them is your name,” said Varun.
His mother nodded and continued, “and this was followed by a grand puja where the entire village was invited…. Lord Rama, Goddess Durga, Saraswati, and Laxmi were worshipped… then in the evening, the girl and her family dressed up in finery and went to the temple… then on the last day when Durga Devi was worshipped people would also worship their tools of their trade or profession like your Satyamoya would worship his lawyer books… you, on the other hand, being students will worship your pens and pencils, books and schoolbags… this day is also known as VijayDasmi…”
“But we will do the modern north-south version of it,” said Satya grinning. “We will have our dolls party, do the puja… eat sweets and in the evening go to Ram Leela... we will celebrate Dussera in the south and North Indian tradition … we live in Delhi… and so must try to celebrate it like our Hindi friends….”
“What about VijayDasmi?” said Geetika.
“We will celebrate that also on Sunday… “Now doesn’t that sound fun?”
Geetika nodded slowly as Vishnu’s thin spectacled face broke into a broad smile.
“So tomorrow gather up all your toys… wash them and sit them near our God’s corner OK,” said Lalitha--- that was it… problem solved and everyone was happy… this time Dussera would be different.
The next morning brought with it the usual rush, as Lalitha and Satya Karnal managed to get ready in office attire and leave for their office at sharp eight in the morning. Vishnu Iyer closed the front door and could still hear his mother’s tone in the distance shouting instructions. He shook his head; if she didn’t hurry… she would miss the bus and be late for work.
Soon, all three children had had breakfast of cold upma. Varun sniffed and Vishnu shot him a dirty look, “Just because its Dussera holidays doesn’t mean you get up late in the morning. If you had got up early you would have had hot upma with Amma and Satyamoya.”
Varun shook his head saying, “But I like cold upma… anyway she also got up late.”
Geetika was smiling as Varun pointed at her. “I do as I please,” she said.
“Just finish please,” said Vishnu. “And remember to wash your plates OK.” The next few hours saw the children cleaning the house.
“Now time to find the dolls,” announced little Varun.
Geetika raised her brows and said, “It’s not a treasure hunt… everything is right here… I will get all my soft toys and dolls…”
“How about that dinosaur which Dad had got me last birthday?” said Vishnu eyes feasting on the algebra equations on the notebook page. “I can never get the hang of this x and y… why make everything so complicated?”
His sister paid no heed to his remark and continued, “It’s still in the suitcase… “
Geetika and Varun bathed the dolls, dressed them, cleaned the puja-corner and arranged the dolls in an oval shape. Evening brought mother Lalitha Rao to the fold of activities.
“It looks beautiful,” said the admiring mother. “But we can still have some more figurines – what about that ship Vishnu made in his carpentry class? “
The additions were made and the festive “bomalakolu” looked complete.
“So tomorrow, we will wash the front door floor and make a design to welcome Durga Devi,” said Lalitha fondling Varun’s hair. “But the design must have nine points to represent the nine avatars of Durga Devi and are we going to invite anyone to our ‘bamalakolu?”
There was a silence, “are we supposed to invite anyone?” said Geetika.
“Usually you do. But it is your wish”
“OK… I will invite our neighbors,” said Vishnu. Yawning mightily he mumbled, “I am going to bed…. have to get up early in the morning to study…”
Everybody followed suit, and the house on the second floor of Nilgiri Apartments was bathed in darkness.
Geetika Rao felt like a celestial being pouring mugs of water on the dry parched floor of the small front porch. The sun had risen at six o’ clock on this auspicious Saturday morning propelling everyone in the Rao household into action. Vishnu and Varun Iyer put the final finishing touches to their dolls party, adding the dolls’ house, and two stuffed giraffes to the static party. And the feline clan of the household had graced the small front porch of the apartment to wash, clean and draw the design on the floor with aplomb. Geetika was pursuing her duty seriously.
“Too seriously,” thought Satya screwing up his nose as his niece splashed another mugful of water triumphantly. “Err… I think that’s enough,” Satya said. “You better stop…. at this rate we will end up washing the floor of the entire building!”
His niece frowned and stopped. Ducking inside the apartment she yelled, “Amma! Come on”
Lalitha appeared and squatted on the floor with a stick of white chalk saying breathlessly, “Now I am making the design, which is called the “mugu”…”
“Amma,”interrupted her daughter. “I know -- please we don’t need the commentary”
Lalitha Rao glared at her daughter. “Just shut up!” she barked. “And after this all of us will go the temple. And on the way we can invite people…”
“All of us are ready,” Satya said rubbing his eyes. “Only you have to get ready…”
Lalitha Rao disappeared inside shouting instructions, “There is milk on the gas stove. Put it off after it gets thick… and also drain the rice.”
Vishnu nudged his Uncle who had come into the small dining room and was critically appraising the bamalakolu.
“I think those instructions are for you.”
Satya Karnal shrugged and went into the kitchen. In another hour, the entire family was trudging gamely to the neighborhood temple.
“Remember, we have to invite people,” said Lalitha Ier skirting around a pothole.
They finally reached the nondescript temple and paid their respects to the holy deities of Goddess Laxmi and Durga.
Geetika and Vishnu broke away from the group to invite a few neighbors to their house in the evening. Satya Karnal, Lalitha Rao with her younger son made their way home. Lalitha Rao busied herself preparing the “bellam palam pongal” a sweet delicacy of Andhra Pradesh. Satya ground the jaggery into small flakes to mix into the milk. Varun watched his mother portion the cooked rice into two parts. The former portion was mixed into the sweetened milk, while the latter was put into a round dish for the “pulihara” or saffron rice. The bell rang and their neighbors from the first floor had come to see the bamalakolu. Mrs. Ailyam and her six year- old daughter dutifully admired it. Soon, other people also came, and it became evident that the bamalakolu was a hit, and a novel idea, never done in this part of cosmopolitan New Delhi. Evening came, and the children left for the Ram Leela grounds to watch the Dusssera play.
Morning and the tenth day of Dussera i.e. VijaDasmi dawned. School books, pens, pencils were placed in front of the deity of Goddess Durga. Dressed in traditional puja attire, Satya Karnal performed the ritual of reading the story of Dussera followed by the puja. Clad in a green pavda, as bright as the plumes of a peacock, adorned with blue zari glass work, Geetika was all smiles as she watched her uncle in his white lungi mouth religious chants from a dusty book. Bedsides her, her mother wrapped in a pale yellow sari sat with head bowed. Prasadam or sweet cooked vermicelli was offered to the Goddess.
“May Goddess Durga help you to concentrate and emerge victorious in your studies,” said Lalitha.
“I really need all the help I can get,” muttered Vishnu.
Geetika giggled. Satya finished his monotonous monologue and closed the puja book. Lalitha Rao stood up and moved towards the kitchen to bring the dishes to set the table for lunch.
Satya got up holding the dish with the “Prasadam” and set it on the table. The family sat down to lunch.
“In the evening before going to Ram Leela, take your books back OK,” said Lalitha Rao cleaning the dining-room table. There were murmurs of assent and Lalitha Rao smiled thinking—yes it had been a different kind of Dussera for all of them.
Dussera Cocktail(Nirupama Akella)
“This time Dussera will not be fun,” said 10-year old Geetika Rao flopping down on her pillow. “It won’t be the same – celebrating it here… in this city… everything is different”
Her brother, Vishnu, elder to her by four years nodded and said, “Yeah… even Amma is different now… we no longer live in Rajmundry in our big house but in New Delhi in this apartment on the second floor…”
A short distance away, Lalitha Rao, widow of senior engineer, Suresh Rao, and elder sister to paralegal, Satya Karnal, was standing in a crowded Delhi city bus on a balmy evening in October thinking. The clock had turned five p.m. a good quarter of an hour ago and Lalitha Iyer had made her way to the office bus stop and dutifully squeezed her way into the overflowing city bus.
“The wonders of Delhi Transportation,” she now mused struggling to maintain her footing in the bus.
The bus stopped with a jerk, and Lalitha Iyer looked out of the grimy window – the bus had stopped at Khan Market – only three more stops to go and then she would be home.
At the opposite end of the capital city, paralegal Satya Karnal was wrapping up a busy day of work. He stowed away the file he had been working the entire day and picked up his office bag, “Time to go home and do another kind of duty…” he shook his head trotting down the steps into the gloomy evening light. His life had changed since his brother-in-law had been suddenly killed in a car crash in Rajmundry. After performing the necessary rites, Satya had shifted his sister and children to New Delhi. For everyone, it had been a drastic change. His sister had staunchly weathered all grief and landed a job. The children, on the other hand, were still adjusting. Language had been a major problem coupled with different traditions and lifestyle. Satya shook his head walking to the bus-stop. Vishnu seemed to have adjusted but Geetika was another matter. She hated learning Hindi, talking in Hindi, and even watching Hindi TV programs. She missed her home in Rajmundry, the people, the constant neighborhood and school bus banter in Telugu, the Telugu TV programs, and the festivals! In Delhi, Geetika had suddenly found herself at the receiving end of many religions, cultures, and languages. Satya sighed – then there was Varun who found everything bewildering!
The bus stopped churning and dropping people like flies from a honey-pot. Satya grimaced – this was one of the things he did not like about the Capital City. The buses were a panacea – but then he had grown to adore the pulsating beat of this great city – the diversity of languages, traditions, colors, and ethnicities – all stewing together in a big melting cauldron! Satya Karnal clawed his way into the bus and managed to find a seat. He collapsed breathing hard! Now onto home – somehow the idea was not awfully pleasing and relaxing! He closed his eyes as the bus gently started humming incessantly.
Back home in the small bedroom of the three children—with a bunk bed and a camp bed adorning the four corners of the pale lime colored room with long yellow flowered curtains, Geetika was sprawled on the bed watching her elder brother, Vishnu flip through his history textbook.
“I think Annaya needs to have his own room,” said Geetika looking at her elder brother..
Vishnu drew himself up to his full height of five feet nine inches and stroked the faint black line of a moustache adorning his upper lip. “Geetika… I am fine… don’t go about causing problems please! Just adjust…!”
“I just want things to be the same… and I know things are different…” his sister was shouting. Vishnu sighed and picking up his books went into the living room. The door bell sounded and he jumped. He looked outside from the small window – darkness was enveloping. Muttering he opened the door to reveal his mother with disheveled hair and angry frown lines. Lalitha Rao came in, and soon the usual evening routine swung into action.
Lalitha Rao dried the dishes and walked into the dining room. The TV was on and she switched it off. Quelling protests from her sons and brother, she sat down and began, “Dussera is this Sunday and this time we are going to celebrate it in a traditional different way…”
Lalitha cleared her throat—she could really do with some brotherly support but then Satya never did anything unless told, but back to the present -- mission at hand.
“I thought this time we could celebrate Dussera like I and your Moya used to when we were small… in our village in Andhra… ”
“I remember,” now Satya had managed to find his vocal chords, thought his elder sister, thank the Lord for small mercies.
“We had a ‘bamalakolu’ and it used to be great fun…”
“And what is that?” Geetika’s scowl was now fleeing her brown oval face to other facial lands.
“Well…” began her mother drawing her youngest to her, “we used to arrange all dolls, toys in a circle… have a puja… wear traditional clothes…”
“Like a dolls’ party,” said Varun.
“Doesn’t sound fun… sounds boring…”
“I assure you, dear niece,” said Satya yawning, “it is great fun… taking all toys… washing them, dressing them up and then arranging them in a theme like in a boat shape or leaf shape…”
“And it doesn’t have to be only your toys but all figurines in the house…”
“But why?” demanded her daughter. “ Dussera is all about Ravan and Lord Ram killing him?”
“Dussera is much more that,” said her mother. “In Andhra Pradesh and many other states of southern India, as you know so well, Dussera celebrations begin with decorating and worshipping dolls for nine days… we won’t do it for nine days… just two days … tomorrow and Saturday”
Lalitha continued, “In olden days girls used to be married off when they about 11-12 and so they used to play with their dolls and used to decorate them with the elders at their in-laws place… it was a way to bring the elders and the young daughter in-law closer… it originally began with arranging nine female dolls to represent the nine feminine forms of Durga Devi… Durga, Bhadrakali, Chandika, Lalita, Annapurna, Bhavani, Bhairavi, Amba, Mookambika,” said Lalitha Iyer holding up and counting on her thin fingers…
“One of them is your name,” said Varun.
His mother nodded and continued, “and this was followed by a grand puja where the entire village was invited…. Lord Rama, Goddess Durga, Saraswati, and Laxmi were worshipped… then in the evening, the girl and her family dressed up in finery and went to the temple… then on the last day when Durga Devi was worshipped people would also worship their tools of their trade or profession like your Satyamoya would worship his lawyer books… you, on the other hand, being students will worship your pens and pencils, books and schoolbags… this day is also known as VijayDasmi…”
“But we will do the modern north-south version of it,” said Satya grinning. “We will have our dolls party, do the puja… eat sweets and in the evening go to Ram Leela... we will celebrate Dussera in the south and North Indian tradition … we live in Delhi… and so must try to celebrate it like our Hindi friends….”
“What about VijayDasmi?” said Geetika.
“We will celebrate that also on Sunday… “Now doesn’t that sound fun?”
Geetika nodded slowly as Vishnu’s thin spectacled face broke into a broad smile.
“So tomorrow gather up all your toys… wash them and sit them near our God’s corner OK,” said Lalitha--- that was it… problem solved and everyone was happy… this time Dussera would be different.
The next morning brought with it the usual rush, as Lalitha and Satya Karnal managed to get ready in office attire and leave for their office at sharp eight in the morning. Vishnu Iyer closed the front door and could still hear his mother’s tone in the distance shouting instructions. He shook his head; if she didn’t hurry… she would miss the bus and be late for work.
Soon, all three children had had breakfast of cold upma. Varun sniffed and Vishnu shot him a dirty look, “Just because its Dussera holidays doesn’t mean you get up late in the morning. If you had got up early you would have had hot upma with Amma and Satyamoya.”
Varun shook his head saying, “But I like cold upma… anyway she also got up late.”
Geetika was smiling as Varun pointed at her. “I do as I please,” she said.
“Just finish please,” said Vishnu. “And remember to wash your plates OK.” The next few hours saw the children cleaning the house.
“Now time to find the dolls,” announced little Varun.
Geetika raised her brows and said, “It’s not a treasure hunt… everything is right here… I will get all my soft toys and dolls…”
“How about that dinosaur which Dad had got me last birthday?” said Vishnu eyes feasting on the algebra equations on the notebook page. “I can never get the hang of this x and y… why make everything so complicated?”
His sister paid no heed to his remark and continued, “It’s still in the suitcase… “
Geetika and Varun bathed the dolls, dressed them, cleaned the puja-corner and arranged the dolls in an oval shape. Evening brought mother Lalitha Rao to the fold of activities.
“It looks beautiful,” said the admiring mother. “But we can still have some more figurines – what about that ship Vishnu made in his carpentry class? “
The additions were made and the festive “bomalakolu” looked complete.
“So tomorrow, we will wash the front door floor and make a design to welcome Durga Devi,” said Lalitha fondling Varun’s hair. “But the design must have nine points to represent the nine avatars of Durga Devi and are we going to invite anyone to our ‘bamalakolu?”
There was a silence, “are we supposed to invite anyone?” said Geetika.
“Usually you do. But it is your wish”
“OK… I will invite our neighbors,” said Vishnu. Yawning mightily he mumbled, “I am going to bed…. have to get up early in the morning to study…”
Everybody followed suit, and the house on the second floor of Nilgiri Apartments was bathed in darkness.
Geetika Rao felt like a celestial being pouring mugs of water on the dry parched floor of the small front porch. The sun had risen at six o’ clock on this auspicious Saturday morning propelling everyone in the Rao household into action. Vishnu and Varun Iyer put the final finishing touches to their dolls party, adding the dolls’ house, and two stuffed giraffes to the static party. And the feline clan of the household had graced the small front porch of the apartment to wash, clean and draw the design on the floor with aplomb. Geetika was pursuing her duty seriously.
“Too seriously,” thought Satya screwing up his nose as his niece splashed another mugful of water triumphantly. “Err… I think that’s enough,” Satya said. “You better stop…. at this rate we will end up washing the floor of the entire building!”
His niece frowned and stopped. Ducking inside the apartment she yelled, “Amma! Come on”
Lalitha appeared and squatted on the floor with a stick of white chalk saying breathlessly, “Now I am making the design, which is called the “mugu”…”
“Amma,”interrupted her daughter. “I know -- please we don’t need the commentary”
Lalitha Rao glared at her daughter. “Just shut up!” she barked. “And after this all of us will go the temple. And on the way we can invite people…”
“All of us are ready,” Satya said rubbing his eyes. “Only you have to get ready…”
Lalitha Rao disappeared inside shouting instructions, “There is milk on the gas stove. Put it off after it gets thick… and also drain the rice.”
Vishnu nudged his Uncle who had come into the small dining room and was critically appraising the bamalakolu.
“I think those instructions are for you.”
Satya Karnal shrugged and went into the kitchen. In another hour, the entire family was trudging gamely to the neighborhood temple.
“Remember, we have to invite people,” said Lalitha Ier skirting around a pothole.
They finally reached the nondescript temple and paid their respects to the holy deities of Goddess Laxmi and Durga.
Geetika and Vishnu broke away from the group to invite a few neighbors to their house in the evening. Satya Karnal, Lalitha Rao with her younger son made their way home. Lalitha Rao busied herself preparing the “bellam palam pongal” a sweet delicacy of Andhra Pradesh. Satya ground the jaggery into small flakes to mix into the milk. Varun watched his mother portion the cooked rice into two parts. The former portion was mixed into the sweetened milk, while the latter was put into a round dish for the “pulihara” or saffron rice. The bell rang and their neighbors from the first floor had come to see the bamalakolu. Mrs. Ailyam and her six year- old daughter dutifully admired it. Soon, other people also came, and it became evident that the bamalakolu was a hit, and a novel idea, never done in this part of cosmopolitan New Delhi. Evening came, and the children left for the Ram Leela grounds to watch the Dusssera play.
Morning and the tenth day of Dussera i.e. VijaDasmi dawned. School books, pens, pencils were placed in front of the deity of Goddess Durga. Dressed in traditional puja attire, Satya Karnal performed the ritual of reading the story of Dussera followed by the puja. Clad in a green pavda, as bright as the plumes of a peacock, adorned with blue zari glass work, Geetika was all smiles as she watched her uncle in his white lungi mouth religious chants from a dusty book. Bedsides her, her mother wrapped in a pale yellow sari sat with head bowed. Prasadam or sweet cooked vermicelli was offered to the Goddess.
“May Goddess Durga help you to concentrate and emerge victorious in your studies,” said Lalitha.
“I really need all the help I can get,” muttered Vishnu.
Geetika giggled. Satya finished his monotonous monologue and closed the puja book. Lalitha Rao stood up and moved towards the kitchen to bring the dishes to set the table for lunch.
Satya got up holding the dish with the “Prasadam” and set it on the table. The family sat down to lunch.
“In the evening before going to Ram Leela, take your books back OK,” said Lalitha Rao cleaning the dining-room table. There were murmurs of assent and Lalitha Rao smiled thinking—yes it had been a different kind of Dussera for all of them.
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