Passion of the faithful

Good Friday is usually a day-long event for us Kerala Orthodox Christians; the mass runs from 7.30 am to about 3.30 pm. It is a bit longer in the main churches in the UAE since much of the burgeoning crowds of faithful have to do the kumbideel - or worshipping/kneeling before the cross covered in white cloth symbolic of Jesus' burial - and it takes about 2 hours in the second half of the day. To me, that looks like the most sacred part though the procession holding a small wooden cross -- thankfully not hefty like the one carried by Catholics on the same day -- seems just as holy. 

Much to Ash's relief, there was no mass braving crowds and the summer sun this year. Owing to the conflict, authorities directed the churches in the main emirates to hold the service online. Outdoor gathering was not permitted even on Palm Sunday, and we had to fit inside the church and auditorium. The two of us did a few token kumbideel while the father was away at work. I belted out the hymns for the day finding special meaning and satisfaction in the one that went "Jalathayezhum joothanmaraal..." (He was crucified by the arrogant/idiotic Jews - not sure if jalatha means idiocy or arrogance). It is more a feeling instituted by my granny whose narration of the crucifixion saga stressed on the Jewish insistence on having poor JC sentenced to death on the Cross.

The mass was over by 1.20 pm. We missed the kanji-payar-papadam combo at church after mass but I made the same for lunch. 

Like Dawkins, I like to call myself a cultural Christian. Happy Easter, folks!

Grim times

Obliterate must be the longest word in Trum*'s 200-word vocabulary. Whatever, he has been providing us much mirth in these grim times. Our lives continue to be uncertain though things are quiet here as of now. Will things change after Easter? Should I think of heading home before war reaches our doorsteps and the evacuation of 9 mn Indians in the Gulf becomes a Herculean task?

p.s. Back home, Brutus had to be neutered as he was becoming troublesome around his female caretaker. 

Hubris

There was a time in my childhood when we would rush out of the house and squint our eyes at the sky to spot a passing aeroplane. We've reached that stage again _ with flights and airspace closed, the occasional aircraft or drone is reason enough to gaze at the sky and fathom what's happening.

Sharjah has been relatively safe and we've had our usual life so far. One emergency bag is packed and a few essential items have been stocked. 

May this madness end soon.

Kenya again

 A first cousin's 50th birthday was a good reason to visit Nairobi again from Feb 13_22. It was a week of endless partying _ the scheduled dinners at  Capital Club, an outdoor venue and at home _ as well as lunch or dinner at other restaurants and clubs or at home.

I had not attended anything of this scale before. The crowd was intimate and fun - they included apart from a few of us relatives - mother, sister, first cousins and relatives from the wife's side -- his friends from his student days in Belgaum, US, France and his work life in Germany and Kenya. Ash got a special invite too since he has been in regular touch with the ammacha (uncle). 

Just after I had booked on Kenya Airways, the cousin told us that he would like us to carry some 15 kg fish food for his koi fish; soon after, he asked Ash if he could bring his DJ set to play at the party. After some dillydallying, we decided to take in its original packing material -- discarding the box I got from Amazon. The fish food and set filled one passenger's luggage allowance, so the two of us managed to fit in our wardrobe for the week in the second suitcase. 

We were not prepared for the long-winding, slow-moving queue at the check-in counter in T1 of DXB on 12th midnight; some carried bulky shapeless sacks probably filled with consumer durables and other goodies that would have a good retail market in Kenya. Our DJ set was specially marked fragile and sent separately for loading in the aircraft after we had paid a fee of AED 45.. The journey was thoroughly uncomfortable and sleep was difficult in the 5 hours we were in the flight. Food was overcooked and nothing we would remotely fancy. 

We were accommodated at Novotel in Nairobi Westlands for the 7 days we were in the capital and Temple Point Resort for the 4 days we were in Watamu, a beach town that had the humid weather of Kerala and the development level of a North Indian small town. Apart from the complimentary hotel breakfast, we could troop to cousin's house near the embassies (the isrl one being the only ominous one with gun-toting security men and no photography signboards) which was an Uber ride away for lunch and a few dinners (the dinner parties on 14th, 15th and 16th were formal, casual and semi-casual respectively and grand affairs in their own way).  Ash played his DJ on the third night -- an informal garden party at home that was half ruined by an unexpected summer rain. 

On 15th, I joined a motley team for a city tour that included viewing the capital from a helipad. A hippie draped in a keffiyeh and a couple of African man sporting t-shirts displaying the Palestinian flag made a half-Palestinian guest among us happy and emotional. On 19th, my brother took us and his family for an early-morning safari in the Nairobi National Park where we saw three of Africa's Big Five -- lion, rhino and African buffalo. A huge baboon peeped in through the roof of our vehicle and went off with the breakfast that the hotel had packed for me -- that was fine; my only worry was the plastic caps and cases polluting the park.

The foodie that my cousin is, we feasted and drank like the gods on Olympus. As with the Australia vacation, it seemed unreal once I set foot back here. The only real and tangible parts were the goodies I brought home - tea and coffee packets, Masai-beaded mirrors and sandals, and other knick-knacks. 

Photo captions (clockwise from left): Barbeque party in the garden; the big formal party in Capital Club; the outdoor party in Langata; atop the helipad with the hippie couple in front; cousin's multi-level home near the Karura Forest; my cousin Rose feeding a Rothschild giraffe at the Giraffe Centre in Nairobi. 

Forced vegetarianism

 The New Year has started with travel. After returning from Kerala on January 14 - spending one night at the iconic Mascot Hotel by KTDC in the capital -- we played host to a Jain couple for 10 days beginning  end Jan.

Though it was difficult for us to abstain from non-vegetarian fare except during Lent, we took it in our stride and decided to learn some pure vegetarian, non-onion, non-tubers cooking. We bent backwards to accommodate the elderly couple we knew from our Chennai days. I provided them the Ganesha figurines to make their morning prayers. The man was not interested in the Sivakami figurine I treasured in my collection, and placed the  Ganeshas alone on a paper tissue in Mira's room. He also made it a point to turn the Masai family sculpture away to ward off evil energy in the room. 

V took physical and financial pains to take them around - Miracle Garden, Dubai Mall, the new Hindu temple in Abu Dhabi etc - while I escaped the first half because of a gig. My birthday also was marked by an eggless pista cake and some dinner at a veg restaurant nearby.

They left happy and content about a comfortable trip, blessing me before they made their way to immigration in Terminal 3. But would I have them again. God forbid. 

Much as we call it cultural exchange and tolerance, I dont like the air of superiority of vegetarians. Come on, humans are meant to be carnivores. 

Instead of meat and fish, we gulped down litres of oil and ghee under the lady's specialty cooking. 

The maid and me mopped up the water they splashed on the bathroom floor outside the tub. I sent the pillows stained with coconut oil to the laundry  -- some Indians like to apply oil on their hair after a hairwash. 

Two days after they left, me and Ash packed our bags to leave for Kenya to attend a first cousin's 50th birthday celebration.

Three weddings

... and a memorial service

In Kerala, a vacation well-spent.

BFIW 3

The reception the next night was equally grand. The couple entered through a cloudy, smoky path created by dry ice. Food flowed while dancing, gifting and photo ops went on in the background. Even by the most stringent belt tightening standards, the expenses would've crossed 25 lakh.

I departed the next day with a return gift and a box of sweets stuffed into my suitcase. After a quick trip to Gurgaon to meet a school friend I hadn't seen in 40 years, I boarded an Air India Vistara flight to Dubai. It was one helluva trip; I particularly liked the fact that i could go on a solo trip to my favorite Mughal monuments in Delhi  _ Qutb Minar, Humayun's Tomb _ on the morning of the reception! Random tourists obliged me to click photographs of myself. 

Key takeaways from being a part of a big fat wedding: they lack the grace and sophistication of a present-day Kerala Syrian Christian wedding but they are earthy and fun. They don't work with any clockwork precision and lack the organised brevity of xian weddings _ but there's food to keep people entertained, so noone has complaints. It's not the mad rush to the buffet halls we see in Kerala. There's more generosity in the hosting as I experienced in the hotel booking and food; our folks would expect us to fend for ourselves. The family bonhomie on the surface (at least) is endearing.  That people, despite the division and bigotry one sees online, are nicer, kinder and caring. 

I came back feeling happy and much loved.