Krishna Jayanthi ...

This morning mom sent me an offline message wishing me for Janmashtami (I suspect she issued a warning so that I was atleast aware of it and stayed away from non-veg food). She missed me on such an auspicious occassion.

Her message flooded me with memories of Janmashtami (or Krishna Jayanthi as we knew it). It is truly a great festival and a harbinger of hope. It was my saviour from the tyranny of the prevailing holiday-less calendar. When this festival came, the floodgates were open. We'd soon have Ganesh Chaturthi, Navarathri, Diwali and Christmas (read no school and good food). Somehow the Gods above conspired to load the second half of the year with goodies, while the first part had a dry spell (I can only remember the Tamil New year and that too came during the beginning of the exam season).

Krishna Jayanthi is a foodies' delight - mom would spend weeks thinking about the menu and days making them. It had the best assortment of food - sigidai, different varieties of murukku, sev, sweet poori (Swami, are you reading this?), maida biscuit, "mixture", boondi (sweet and karam varieties), vadai, kasavathu, payasam, assorted chocolates, butter etc etc.

The worst part however, was the build-up to that day - mom would pester us for weeks and have us clean up the house, especially the attic (trust me when I say it was a very messy and grimy place). We had to clean all the doors and window frames while mom would wipe clean the photos of various Gods in the puja room and clean ALL the utensils we ever possessed (she had an enviable collection thanks to her affinity for anything stainless steel and numerous trips to Madras). My brother and I had to deal with the tough task of dividing the labor (we even had points to measure difficulty level of the task and argue about the merits of the metrics - I'll leave that topic for another blog).

A week before D-day, I'd often accompany mom to the flour mill (or "machine" as she called it) and wait in the long queue of people. She was very picky about how the rice had to be ground - especially when the same "machine" ground many cereals (she'd never put it after some person had just ground ragi or wheat since the quality would be compromised). She'd wait longer and even give up her turn so that someone else could grind rice before she did thereby ensuring that grain-flow-path was "pure" once again. She would dictate terms with the operator as to how fine it must be ground until the right texture was reached. I was allergic to all the dust (especially chilli powder) around and would wander off to watch more interesting things - fish mongers (I still remember Managalore Fish stall and Bombay Fish stall) selling assorted varieties of fish or the numerous mutton and chicken shops in that compound (I know mom was never too pleased when she had to be there, especially when she was making food for the Gods).

The next big thing was to control myself. Mom would usually start making goodies a day or two before and we were expressly forbidden to eat any of these things beforehand (She often told me as a kid that God would poke my eyes at night if I did evil things and since then I've been a little careful when it comes to defying Him). It was indeed very difficult to control since I was the official food-taster at home, a role that I relished :). God was indeed very demanding. I vividly remember the times when mom would make my lil' brother Gopi walk down the hall to imprint Baby Krishna's steps. The footprint marks were made from ground rice water.

On the fateful day, we'd wait and watch the streams of friends and neighbors drop by and pay their respects to the God. I'd be watching the food layout on the table even more carefully, mentally planning my moves when the signal would be given. Time was less, the competition was fierce and premium food was limited by our voracious appetite! Then finally, when they guests left, and after mom finished her prayers - the signal would be given! It was every man to himself. We'd eat like crazy and attack the best parts first. I've had many fist-fights with Swami since both of us had common favorites - most notably the sweet poori. Almost always they would be gone faster than we realized.

Now as I sit here typing this out, I realize that I can easily afford good food (there are a dozen restaraunts spread over a half-mile radius) - but the ambience and experience isn't there. Tomorrow I'll probably make some "sundal" and "Instant Mix" Gulab Jamun and recall those priceless moments!