Margazhi Bhajans

I was never a morning person. 6 AM is a time that usually finds me starring in the escapist fantasies of a brain that is not quite ready to accept a return to the real world. Five? Except for the rare occasion when I am recruited into an NRI reception party, I’ve never seen the hour. Perhaps I ought to have given that a thought that before agreeing to chauffeur mom to join the Bhajana Goshtis around Mylapore. Oh, I wanted to go too - but the inconvenience of the hour struck me only when…well, only when the hour actually struck!

The duet with Aishwarya Rai was, therefore, truncated just as she was belting out some cracking kannakus at ¼ idam, which I was all set to replicate in tisram…a few sobering minutes of wakefulness later, my calculations were demoted to the rather less romantic application of estimating whether I had enough petrol to get to Mylapore. A comatose drive followed, which terminated at the intended destination only because my fellow-drivers were alert enough to get out of the Brownian trajectory of my car.

I hung around awkwardly after I got out, with my desire for inconspicuousness severely compromised by the tele-zoom sticking out of my chest. Mom, evidently blessed with superior social skills, was already dispensing her latest kitchen secrets to group of madisars, which, as it turned out, was the better half of the goshti we were searching for …she looked up from her lecture and waved me in….I guess it was OK for me to tag along – not the first time that I was benefiting from her culinary expertise!

Our retinue set off from the main Gopuram and snaked along the Mada streets, bobbing in and out of the streetlights’ glare. I’d race in front of the group to snatch a shot every time the luminance climaxed. The organizer, a stocky gentleman with an intimidating moustache, caught up with me on one of these sallies, dropping a heavy arm on my shoulder. I thought I was going to be arrested…he merely wanted some copies of the photos!

The harmonium sent out a plaintive call to the wavering dawn. A street vendor nearby, rolled over on his cart, raising a groggy hand against the din. He wasn’t quite ready yet. A more energetic invitation was essayed at the next crossing where the corner of the tank points towards the Ramakrishna Mutt. The Dholak stirred and the first bus roared past, winking in approval at the catchy beat. The goshti burst into “Paalvadiyuam Mukham” in Nattaikurinji, prompting the waters of the tank to lick its walls in anticipation. The promise of morning’s milk perhaps?

We quickened our pace, setting up a fevered crescendo near the Kovil’s rear entrance. Aroused, Day peeped out to survey the commotion and the temple threw open its arms in a hearty welcome. As we entered the sanctum a few minutes later, night’s reticent curtain was finally swept aside, and a hushed silence greeted the awesome light of Kapalishwarar’s first diurnal gaze.

6 AM is a time that usually finds me starring in the escapist fantasies of a brain that is not quite ready to accept a return to the real world.

So it was that morning.