Years ago, I found dessert in the temple .....

 

To be able to live a stone’s throw away, sorry I correct that..( I can imagine my elders wrinkling their forehead) a flower’s throw away from one of the historical monument like temple is considered a privilege and undoubtedly a blessing. But when you are young,  I mean hold your palm out and” that’s the size of my leg kind of age”, you are pushed, prodded and woken up at hours much before the hen deems fit to wake the world up as every week there would be a reason to pray. My mom and aunts would say the names of those special days but when you are little there’s only so much you grasp. The wakeup calls almost always begin with the lady crooning Suprabhaatham in our ears through Ammuma’s bigger than life radio which we cousins have failingly tried reducing the volume countless number of times. But she would each time drop her breakfast prep in the kitchen and come to the big hall where we all slept like assembly line factory produce and turn the knob till the sound vibrates in our soul. Its only when our elders threaten to dump bucket of water that we wake up.. who can blame us .. we look out to see sky is greyish hue with continuous rains hitting the asbestos sheets in various parts of the house amplifying the sounds of orchestra in the heavens.

We get ready in the gorgeous silk pattu pavadas stitched in designs that promise to make our sleeves puffed and skirts flare like umbrella, I liked to imagine it as Cinderella’s ball gown shape by the way. We set out with matching umbrellas of course and that’s when Amma places a two rupee coin in my hand and says if there isn’t much crowd I’ll let you buy “thirumathiram” from Paramekavu temple. My eyes light up at the prospects and suddenly the early rise is not so bad. After minutes of balancing my walk through the rains holding my skirts just above the ankles so that only my recently bought silver anklets get wet..amma tells me fold your umbrella and hold it facing down ,watch your step ..place your right foot not left, touch the padiketu and touch your forehead ..I did it all and I pray fervently to devi with the coin held tight in my tiny sweaty palms by now.

As soon as amma nods okay, I dash to the counter- the speed is equivalent to Tinkerbell’s flight up & in between the treesJ . There are a few devotees in line so I patiently wait using this time to twirl my skirts and count many spots of mud that have splashed on it while occasionally turning back to see if I can spot amma or any of my cousins. Since I heard a few before me say their names with repective zodiac signs while paying money at the counter, I thought I had to say it too..

When it is my turn, I realize the counter is way above but victory is for the one who pursues.. I jump once so he is aware of someone in queue.. My tiny hands reach the counter and the kind man has to stand up to ask me what I want .. I proudly say my name and my zodiac sign and tell him I want thirumathiram. He smiles and writes a pink receipt and again stands up to give me instructions as to how to procure this solid elixir from gods. I nod my head, tell him “sheri to” and dash again to my cousins who want to know what was I buying at the counter..like I’d tell them and then I would have to share which I had no intention of.

I enter Devi’s shrine and each time I am dazzled by the aura, the jewels, the silks that adorn her. I automatically recite the prayers by heart which ammuma taught us every evening in her sanctum sanctorum. There is a divine fragrance of flowers everywhere, a tranquil like calm; I look around to see everyone carrying plates of small earthen diyas full of turmeric, bright vermillion and a banana to be offered to Devi. Little did I know that these images were getting imprinted in my mind so deep that I can close my eyes today and still remember every fine aspect even the wet oily feel of the stone slab beneath my feet.

Decades later, I hold the pink receipt in my hands and as I wait for my thirumathiram, I slowly open the tightly folded pink paper to read “Rs.5” with no name or zodiac sign scribbled on it because to get prasadam you don’t need to  state anything which I realized much later in life.. But that kind man never corrected me. All these years he let me think my name and zodiac sign are important…

 I stumble out of my day dream when the thirumathiram filled plantain leaf lands with a soft thud on my palms. I look at it with a smile and see nothing has changed.. The coconut roasted in jaggery syrup and ghee with a topping of rice puffs that have brown specks on it and the one odd strand of thechi poovu beautifying it.. I scoop it up with my ring finger and thumb and swallow it right there reveling in the subtle smoky taste of it as its till date made in the urli warm with the wooden fires below in Devi’s kitchen.

I am transported back to the day when it rained, when the silk skirt poked my little ankles, when all that mattered was this prasadam is in my name so I get to eat it all.. Several times this thirumathiram was made at home but something was amiss and now I know there is a reason why it is called prasadam. The divine blessings elevate the taste in leaps & bounds. We are blessed to live this close,I say…