Awakening.

Dark is still upon this place,
Night creatures silent just before the dawn
Those of the day awaiting,
An expectant hush over all.
I am startled awake by the loud chant
Ringing across the water
The Hindu priest on his way to the temple
Calling awake the river.
Calling awake his people.
Morning is broken.

Sounds of this place.

I am listening to crickets or tree frogs, or both, the whirling fan overhead, night bird calls and the occasional splash as someone steps into the river outside for their evening bath.

This place has a rhythm which I am coming to recognize through sound, patterns of sound, and especially water sounds. The first noise though, and noise it is, for the speakers are scratchy, is the temple music which starts shortly after 5 am. As the light comes up, so do the songs of the day birds. The one I most recognize is the kingfisher, who is really quite raucous in the coconut palms over the water. Next I hear the scraping of footsteps on gravel, as the ayurvedic therapist arrives with my first morning dose of the day's herbal concoctions. At about the same time, men's voices waft in through the window, along with the sound of splashing that accompanies their washing under the foot bridge, before heading off to work. Boy's voices soon follow, the splashing intensifies as some one or two of them slap a few pre-school front crawl strokes to wash off the soap that they have lathered all over body parts exposed and on body parts under their innerwear. Quite amazing how they do it, really.

Women come next, with their laundry. Thwack, thwack as they hit it against the stone steps. Large vehicular traffic can now be heard in the distance. Bicycles and motorcycles move across the bridge in both directions. Pedestrians call down to those below at the water.

Each day, a man or a woman comes, with two cows and a calf. The animals are pushed in to the slow moving water for their daily swim and bath. As the calf gets ducked, he lows for his mother.

Throughout the day, the voices are constant, the bridge is a connector, thus steadily used. Unless it's raining, the drumming sound of which drowns out everything else.

Come evening, the sounds again become water based. At dusk, this day, I have witnessed two women undress in the water, yet remain fully covered, wash themselves, like the boys, everywhere covered and uncovered, wash their hair, wash the clothes they arrived in, including their bras, thwack, thwack thwack to remove the excess moisture, then gracefully get redressed in the now clean, albeit, wet, clothes. All this while maintaining absolute decorum, for they are full on in the public eye. I can't help but watch for it is fascinating.

After the women, at day's end, darkness falling, are men again, washing away the dust of day's labor and toil. The crickets strike up, the night birds call, a backup band to the river's cleansing song.

Falling in Love with Ayurveda

The rain beats on the tin roof, a rhythm not unlike the one being drummed onto my body by the two ayurvedic therapists. The table is hard, fibreglass, with no padding. I am naked, except for a thong. This is the second day of a healing retreat at Sreedhari Ayurvedic Resort, on the Peechi River, in Kerala, India. Except for the occassional interjections to turn over, I am allowing myself to drift, the therapists' gentle chatter washing over me, like the rain up above. I am receiving a treatment called Dhaniya Kizhi - dry, heated herbal poutices are being tapped/pounded, simultaneously by two therapists, from head to knees., all four sides of my body in rotation. A third therapist is in charge of heating the poultices in a well-used pan, over a kerosene burner. In a practiced cadence, the cool are switched for the warm, each time they reach my knees. After my initial surprise at the feeling, I have surrendered and am fully enjoying the sensations of warm heat moving downwards, of the aroma coming from the herbs, of the pounding contact with muscle and bone, the rain on the roof... In fact, this is lulling my into somnolence, not asleep, not awake, my mind is drifting. My mind, not able to keep track of all the sensations, too much information to process, lets go its' control, and I am relaxing more than I thought possible given the hard table, my nakedness and the chatter.
I will this experiene to go on longer, and, it does! Front, turn, left side, turn, back, turn, right side, turn, and back to the front once more, where they repeat. Bliss. But wait, there is even more! My lower legs have not yet been done. There is a momentary pause, the pounding stops, as has the rain. A small clatter, and I become aware of a new sensation on my shins: warm oil is being laddled in waves, from my knees to my toes. Again, both legs simultaneously. Wave after wave after wave. I breathe deeply. I sigh. I relax even more, my lips curving into a contented smile. I look inside for words to describe the experience. The best I can manage is a visual image of warm syrup sliding over hot pancakes. I leave the search for descriptive words and free float once more until the directive comes to turn comes once more and the same, sweet laddling of warm, medicated oil is administered to on my calves. Ekangadhara. This just could be my new favorite ayurvedice treatment.
After every session, I am led to the shower where a bucket of heated water awaits. A fresh paste is made from ground lentils or peas, I'm not sure which, and the therapist washes my back with it. I am then directed to wash the rest of me, and do, scrubbing all over with the gritty mixture. No soap, no shampoo, is the advisory for the duration of the treatment program. The oils and herbs are meant to penetrate. The paste takes away the excess. I am slooshed with the warm water, rinsed clean. After towelling dry, a powder, Rasnathi Choornam, is rubbed over my crown chakra, to ward off colds and flu.
Completed, I am sent back to my room for rest and relaxation. Time to let the treatment set.

Kashmiri wedding - Day 3

We dress up the most for day 3. Early afternoon we head out, which confuses me, because I thought they told me it would be about 7:30. I have only a few minutes to don my finery, which is the wedding costume of the year before, dark aqua with gold thread embroidered designs.
For me, the events begin to blur.

We are first in the onland tent. It takes a while, but becomes filled with women and children. The singing begins. Always the same beat, and cadence. Three big chairs are brought in, then the bride and two attendants arrive. Gift giving time. One by one, the women approach with envelops of money, boxes with gold rings or other ornamentation, though always gold, or both. A cousin is opening the envelopes, a sister-in-law is carefully notating the name of the giver and the exact amount of the gift. (At a later date, her family will gift in kind to a wedding in the giver's family).

When this is complete, there is another feast in the big barge. Luncheon: the sides are open to the air. This feast, again with the platter of rice, the X and four sharing communely, has about 8 meat courses. We eat, and eat, and eat. Well, me not so much. I like rice, but not in these vast quantities. Same for the meat.
After the meal, our family heads home to rest and let the children run around. When later, the women are preparing to return, I bow out, for guest what? Yes, another meal.
I stay in our boat and hobnob with an Indian family who has arrived for the night. I watch them shop, jewels and shawls (the vendors come onto the house boat with their wares), until dinner time. I am gifted a silver chain which I receive with both delight and surprise, as they press me to join them for dinner. It is about 9:30 pm. As I am enjoying the conversation, I accept the invite, though still in my wedding clothes. During the meal, they receive a call from Javeed (one of my Kashmiri sons), who tells them that if they'd like to come see the bride and groom, to come now.
Yes, this is when the boy, in his finery and his family come to get the girl.
When we step out to the deck of the houseboat, we can see, down the lake another,smaller barge tied to the big one.
This evening, the men from the girl's side are hosting the men from the boy's side on the big barge. The women are in the tent on the land. Except for the bride and groom themselves, everyone has had another big meal. The women are singing Kashmiri songs when we arrive, and I am motioned to sit and join in. I do, thinking that things are about wound up and we will be taking the girl over soon.
I couldn't be more wrong. It is now about 11 pm and the bride and the groom will be fed(in their seperate locations), along with select relatives of both sides. It is her last meal before leaving. I can't help but wonder if it takes so long because she is doing all she can to delay departure. While she eats, the rest of us sing, huddled under blankets for the evening, turned to night, is cool and damp. Finally she is done, has been taken to the house for a session in the "fresh" room, and then women singing at full voice, she is led to the smaller barge. Just before stepping onto the gangplank, she shares an emotional and poignant hug with her father. We crowd onto the barge behind her. At the far end are two elaborate, plush cushioned chairs. She takes one, with an uncle and female companions beside her. Her shawl is pulled down over her face. The groom is led in, and takes the other chair. They each sit stiffly, looking at no one. She because of the veil, he because... well, imagine it! Everyone staring, women singing loudly, and not one, but two videographers - hers and his - filming everything.
With fireworks flashing, the barge, powered by long poles, pushes off. It takes about 20 minutes to get to the groom's home, where yes, another huge tent is set up. The escorts lead the now married couple out of the barge onto the land, with the rest of us following. In the tent, another set of chair, women sitting on mattresses around the edges, and singing. Now it is all out rivalry, her women, his women singing not in rounds as before, but at the same time, trying to outdo each other.
After a few moments, we are shushed. A senior female from the groom's side is feeding the bride a glass of milk and cake. This ritual of welcome. Once done, she really is their family. After she is fed, the cake is passed around to her entourage. This is our sign to leave.
We head back to the boat, her sister and niece, and some of her friends, sobbing openly. She now belongs to his family.
It is pointed out to me, that even with all this emotion, her parents place is really just across the water, in sight even. It is more the symbology of her removal from the family by marriage.
Under starlight and a shining moon, with occassional bursts of firecrackers, we are poled back to our starting place, where everyone rapidly disperses. Our own small shikara is waiting for us and as we paddle away, I watch the barge being poled, for it has no motor, off down the lake for it's next engagement.

The Real Henna Party - Second night

Well, the first night, while it involved henna, was not the real henna party. The first night is actually the night the marriage contract is signed by the men of both sides, along with an Iman and male witnesses. The men are also fed a meal while the women are quietly (hahah) waiting in another room. Then it is the scene I described in my first post.
The second evening, a little dressier than the first, we all gather again, women and men in seperate locations. Because this is a wedding involving families who live on Dal Lake and own houseboats, there is also a large rented barge which serves as the dining hall. As the women arrive, shoes are removed and they quickly choose the most advantageous spots for sitting during what will be a long evening, and night. Back to the wall is preferred. In this case, the wall is really a sheet hanging over the open space of the side of the barge. Still it offers more support and much better viewing than back to the middle of the room.
A meal which has been cooking all day,on open fires on the small piece of land, is served to us by the men. We women and children form two lines, seated cross-legged and facing each other, in groups of four. First, a large ewer of water and a elaborate basin are carried through the lines, for each woman to wash her right hand. Then a long cloth is rolled out between us to serve as our "table". Next, a chain line of men, hands forward from the outdoor kitchen, large platters of rice, garnished in an X with the first of the mutton dishes, which is mainly juice and small meaty tidbits. The X marks our 4 eating sections as this is a communal platter. Gleefully the women dig in, mixing rice and the juices with their fingers. As the meal progresses, the chefs bring in and dole out, various preparations of mutton, usually one chicken dish, and palak or spinach. After we have eaten our fill, water is offered to drink, then again, a chain line of men remove the platters and roll up the cloth. Finally water is again offered from the ewer for hand washing.
Meal done, women scramble up for mattresses which have been piled in the corner. They are spread around the edges of the room. Families tend to congregate together, sisters, aunts, mothers and children. Talk is a big part of these events, which are, really, like any wedding anywhere, family reunions.
As we get settled in, young children fade, and are covered with blankets or a second mattress (a thin cotton quilt). Older girls gather in groups and chat animatedly. Older women, sit back, toothpicks in hand, and survey the scene.
It is about 11 pm. The musicians arrive. A group of men, bearing hand drums, harmonium, and other Kashmiri stringed instruments. Plus microphones and amplifier. They squeeze into one end of the hall. For the next several hours, until morning, they will entertain with Sufi music and traditional Kashmiri songs.

While they are playing, the real henna party begins. The bride is brought forth, and esconced on a carpet and cushions. She is very elaborately dressed now, in traditional Kashmiri wedding costume. Female relatives surround her and sing, then boxes of cake are brought forth from every family. Then the cake is distributed to the rest of us around the room.
For the next several hours, from her hands to her elbows, and her feet to her knees, the bride is painted with intricate designs. For the duration of this, she is bascially unable to move as the henna takes some time to dry and the least movement may smudge the design. Torture. Around her, the young girls are also decorating themselves. When it is done (about 4 in the morning), they help her to lay back. All around the room, I see young women falling asleep with their hands held up to the sky.
All the while the muscians have been playing and singing, with only small breaks for chai and a smoke. Now, the dancing begins. Garbed in a long dress type garment, one of the troupe begins to dance, each ankle swathed in bells. He performs classic dance moves I have seen used by many women belly dancers. Some of the men have come in and join him for a bit. It seems the women don't dance but I know they'd like to, for when the opportunity for tipping the band comes, many of them do it, by asking the dancer to spin them, before handing him their money.
Even as this exuberance is happening, on mattresses everywhere, women and children sleep. They will stay until morning, be served chai and they will head home for a few hours of sleep before the third set of festivities begins. I lasted until 5 am. Left as the mosque calls were beginning to sound. The muscians were gearing up for another round and a second dancer was starting.

The Henna Party

Ok, so the first step of the wedding is the henna party. I had forgotten my experience with the groom, last year, and thought it had to do with painting the beautiful patterns on the hands with henna. No, not yet. At this party, the bride had her baby finger liberally lathered with mendi (henna) and one by one the women tied money onto it, until it was quite a huge apendage. This money is like pin money, hers to do with as she wants. After this piece of ceremony, the women sing and drum songs from the Koran, which to my uneducated ears, sound all the same, but seem to bring them good pleasure and a lot of laughs. Often there are two parts - a call and a response. I gladly clap along. We did the same with the groom last year, and when the bride and groom's parties came together, it became like a sing-off, with the two groups trying to outdo each other in volume. This picture is the bride and some of her relatives.

Resting in Kashmir

Morning in Kashmir
Waking on the houseboat, this day, I am the only guest. But am I a guest, when they call me family, Mum, and treat me with great reverence? The day begins with sound, everyday begins with sound, the mosque callsradiating across the city, eagles screeing over the water, traffic, at first occassional, but with the light building into honking and tweeting along with the roar of motorcycles and the rumble of trucks. Birds scratch on the tin roof. Workmen, who are refinishing the ornately carved furniture, arrive for the day, to their work station just outside my window.
After a deliciously hot shower and delightfully cold rinse, I go back to the family home, for the morning tea and bread. And talk. Always talk.
No self-service for independant me, as the elder, I am taken care of with the fine china and my own special pot. And, I guess, my own special blend, as my request is always little or no sugar, somewhat of an oddity in this culture that loves sweets. The baby is crawling amongst us, and outside the children are playing , no school today, as it is a wedding day.
Soon we will be dressing up in our finery to go for the exchange of rings. For this ceremony we will be served tea and cake, and I think it likely, a meal. My first time, I was surprised that the women weren't eating the cake (men were in another room), as it was wonderful. It wasn't until after the cake plates were cleared and large platters of rice and meat were brought in, that I understood the reticence about the cake!
The wedding will take place over three days, as there are many rituals to meet. Each day will get a little longer, the clothing more elaborate, and the food more complicated.
Away I go!