What does Christmas mean to me?

Posted on By csoundar

Growing up as a Hindu in a predominantly Hindu neighbourhood, I shouldn’t have been exposed to Christmas as much – especially in the 80s.

But I had a friend who was Christian (a few friends who are still good friends). I used to visit his place often –practically lived there – and I learnt about Good Friday, Easter, Palm Sunday, Christmas Eve, Midnight mass and nativity scenes (which is called Christmas Crib in India) . cribI went to midnight mass as a teenager much to the grief of my religious orthodox Hindu parents. I liked the bustle of organized religion. They all sang songs together – they knew these songs – and Hinduism except in a small way is not organized.

India is organized chaos and so is Hinduism in many ways. We all go to temples whenever we like, there are some specific exceptions. And we all prayed to a myriad of gods and goddesses, we had many festivals throughout the year, many anniversaries of special full-moons and new-moons to celebrate, it was difficult to be organized so often in a week. It is more of the personal relationship with their own God. My Dad was quite religious and ritualistic and he did all his prayers at home.

I knew about Santa Claus and the reindeer – but not in a big way – not like the Indian kids of today. We didn’t have too much fanfare during Christmas. Every street would have one or two Christian residents, and they would have a star hanging outside their house lit up with lights. Some had trees and some didn’t. We have those Christmas trees in abundance in the coast. People sang carols and came to the various Christian homes. They knew where the parishioners lived and they went from one home to another singing songs. I would sit by the window and watch.

I don’t think Enid Blyton wrote a lot of Christmas stories. Did she? I can’t recall reading any that explained Santa Claus or using him as a character. Maybe it was Father Christmas in the UK and Raymond Briggs’s books didn’t come to India.

And then when I moved to Singapore, I saw the decorations in the shopping district. singaporechristmastreeThe enormous Christmas Tree in their biggest mall and it was fun to watch. Chinese New Year was bigger than Christmas and hence although Singapore celebrated Christmas, it was only second to CNY which was also a 3-day holiday. I did attend midnight-mass once there, my first Christmas there. (Don’t ask me why). christmas1999When I worked there, I had Japanese clients – and they didn’t do Christmas holiday – so we too had to take turns to work. That’s when I discovered that not all countries gave it the same importance and then I realized the effect of being a British colony vs not being one.

I also had the most traumatic experience of being in Singapore during the Tsunami 10 years ago and waking up my parents to ask about it – and they were like we felt tremors, we went back to sleep and then found out it had wiped out the coast in our city and miles beyond. We had reservations at another coast in Malaysia and we had to triple check everything before we went on that holiday – everything was great except we weren’t allowed on the beach and we snuck in anyway.778671703_4bdd996c8d_z

When I moved to the UK, Christmas was not really a great time because everything shuts down. From where I come, holidays don’t keep shops closed. Even the big ones like Diwali – because we consider the festivals to be auspicious – the shops remain open on auspicious days. Only Christian shops used to be closed in Chennai on Christmas and that was a handful of grocery stores run by a specific community of people who were Christians.

I didn’t fully understand “Nothing is open” until my first Christmas when no shops, no supermarkets, no buses, no trains. I use public transport for everything and I was stranded.

But there is a silver lining – it was my time of quiet – two days of quiet when I could write – no one would bother me on those days whatever happens. The Christmas weeks were quiet at work. Many took time off and I usually covered Christmas. So that meant quieter at work, less workload and more time to get to know the people who did come to work.

Slowly that too has changed – my Christmas graph from childhood to today seems to fluctuate. Now I’m part of my sister’s family celebrating Christmas.

I know Christmas is filled with the stress of buying gifts, cooking food, going somewhere on time with the trains being as they are and all that. I also know where there is family, there would be squabble. We wouldn’t fight with strangers – just family. That’s what love is all about.

And the other best thing for me for Christmas is that Facebook is filled with good wishes, happy videos and the TV news is filled with heart-warming stories of people who are generous and find a way to include others in their celebration.

We have a tree this time, giftspresents (which I always overdo and buy lots), board games, Christmas movies and the works. And I have a nephew (and soon to be two) who loves to read books with me and loves the Big Tree in his house with baubles, surely I’m going to be celebrating as many Christmases I could with them. A great time for mulled wine (which I love), cooking food for a big group, singing songs (out of tune) and enjoying the company of people you love.

I think I get it. It’s not very different from Diwali, except for the absence of presents and tree, and with firecrackers – it is about families and friends coming together, good food and making merry with the people you love and care about. The trimmings are different across the religions and countries and communities, the food on the table is different – but the love and cheer – that crosses all boundaries.

I always think (I think a lot during this time of the year), take away the rituals and the external practices, underneath we want the same things, we enjoy the same things, we love for the same reasons and laugh for the same reasons.

falgucloseupFrom Falgu and yours truly, Merry Christmas folks! Hope you all have a wonderful time.

The South Indian Festival of Lights

Posted on By csoundar

My mum and Dad are so pleased that I am in India on the day of the festival of lights after a long time. In some southern parts of India, the festival of lights – Karthigai Deepam is celebrated from yesterday until Monday. It is confusing to anyone who doesn’t speak Tamil or Telugu – because it is hardly celebrated across the rest of India.

The streets are filled with lamp sellers – we use clay-lamps mostly and then tall bronze ones and lots of small bronze ones too. Some people would have silver ones just at the altar.  We light using oil and cotton wick.

lamps

Then of course the main sweet for this festival is a ball of sugared-puffed-rice called Pori Urundai – it is so sweet that it bruises your tongue.

poriurundai

On Diwali, which translates to a row of lamps, most of India celebrates with lamps except the South. The south waits a few weeks and celebrates the festival of lights in the lunar month of Karthiga on a full-moon day.

We began preparing the lamps and lighted them inside the house and outside.

While India is a singular entity for the outside world – India is hardly homogenous. We are multi-cultural, multi-lingual, multi-religious just within India. We have every religion that the world practices and every religious sect within Hinduism and we always took for granted that the world was different and we had to live with that. We never had a situation where everyone looked the same, spoke the same that being different was difficult.

So we have three different reasons why we celebrate Diwali and how we celebrate it is very different too. So while the North celebrates Diwali with lamps to mark the occasion of Rama returning from Lanka on a new moon night, the south doesn’t light a row of lamps for Diwali. We wait until Karthigai Deepam and then light our lamps. We do save up the firecrackers from Diwali and burst them on this day. And even Karthigai Deepam has three different reasons for celebration depending on what your religious inclinations are.

In this difference lies some similarities too – when Diwali is celebrated in the north, one of the days is ear-marked for sisters praying for their brothers. Similarly when we celebrate Karthigai Deepam a few weeks later in the south, we too have a day earmarked for brothers. We pray for our brothers and visit them and eat together. As a kid, I remember all families from my Mum’s side would congregate at my Grandpa’s house – they were two brothers and three sisters and we would pray for each other’s siblings – I didn’t have a brother – so we prayed for our cousins and secretly for our classmates too.

The other common factor of course is great food, festival specials and temples that pray for the entire nation – with the coming of cable TV, the temples broadcast these prayers to a wider audience and my mum and dad were glued to the TV set this morning to watch the prayers in a city far away.

In a modern busy life where we all are running about – perhaps it is not a bad idea to have a day earmarked for siblings – so you could get together, think of each other if you can’t be together and enjoy good food regardless.IMG_0569

Inspired by India’s Traffic

Posted on By csoundar

My writing is like the Indian traffic. 

chennai_traffic

It’s chaotic , it is filled with impatience, blaring horns and swerving bikes. I don’t plan much when I write just like the city planners in India. If I plan, I lose my interest to write – at least at the beginning. I have some stories mapped out fully, with outlines, chapter breakdowns and character sketches. Then I put them away because the joy of the telling was satisfied with all of the work I put into the prep. There was nothing left to tell the full story.

Perhaps my impatience is the reason I prefer writing in 12 spreads. Not because I don’t want to write longer text. I want to and love to. But I want the story to be told quickly and with little words. I imagine the pictures. I know what I am saying in the pictures and what in the text. Sometimes I wish I could draw or learnt drawing. I grew up without drawing a single picture, colouring or painting. Except for the once-in-a-childhood experience of egg-shell painting, I stuck to writing, stamp-collecting and reading. It never occurred to me that I could draw or even try learning.

Now I am learning to doodle and the children in my school visits tell me I’m not that bad. I guess it is all in the practice and of course if I start now, perhaps I could be an illustrator when I am 75.

I digress. I’ve been in India for a week now for my book-launch and related stuff. And I’ve been thinking of my writing as the traffic that moves around here. There is no lane discipline – but in many roads, there are no lane markings. Like when I write fiction – there are rules, but no formulae. I just have to figure it out as I go and if I have gotten lost in the melee, I have to find my way back.

IMG_0727I have so many new ideas since I came a week ago. I went to some beautiful old places in Delhi and Chennai, listened to sounds and breathed in smells of this place. Now what I need is a route map to convert one of the ideas into a story without getting lost. It needs patience – the patience to find my way, the patience to finish the journey even if i have to make a lot of detours and wrong turns. I need to trust my driving and not worry about the lanes. I need to make eye-contact with the characters I create and not just wait for traffic lights to tell me how to proceed. IMG_0718And of course call upon the myriad gods in bronze, wood and stone to guide me . 

Connemara_Public_Library_Chennai_18212I am heading to one of the oldest libraries in Chennai – the Connemara this week before I head back to London to find some research on the ideas I have. This trip has been inspiring in many ways – and the traffic is one of those urban miracles in India that has triggered me to draw the parallels with my writing.

National Poetry Day – My Tribute to Poet Suratha

Posted on By csoundar

Today is National Poetry Day and the theme is STARS. Perhaps I was no different from a small child growing up in England. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was one of my first English poems – although I did grow up with folk songs and poems in Tamil.

We weren’t really taught poetry or taught to like it. I remember we memorized “I Remember” by Thomas Hood. Ironic. I don’t remember the lines – but I remember that I learnt the poem by heart at that time.

But my real love for poetry that has lasted so long and still makes me yearn for words, language and rhythm, came from a great poet in Tamil – Poet Suratha.

surathaHis real name I am told is Rajagopalan. I had never heard of him until I was in a Tamil Class that was too young for me. In India you had to learn a minimum of two languages other than English. So I studied Hindi at school and in a special course. But I also had to enroll for Tamil. I learnt Tamil at home, I was reading ever since I was four or five and the Tamil class was literally a way to pass the grade. I could have taken French – but then I had to study and learn. So I decided school was hard already, at least in Tamil, I can pass without trying.

In one such class, where kids who couldn’t read Tamil were struggling to read, they discussed a poem by Poet Suratha. The teacher said Suratha is a famous poet, he wrote for adults and kids. He wrote lyrics for pop songs too. And he lived not far from the school.

I loved the poem – although I can’t remember which one was it now. I loved the rhyme in  it and the usage of words. I wanted to write just like him. So after school, without telling anyone, I went looking for his house. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him when I found him. But I wanted to see the person who had written the poem.

I found the house eventually and knocked on the door. Ignorance and Brute Force,  I reckon. A lady opened the door and said the poet was inside, would I like to come in. Wow! They didn’t turn me away. He was there in a chair in the living room. The room was dark. He was silhouetted against the light from the backyard.

I blurted out that I read his poem in class and I loved it and I want to write like him.  He acknowledged me. He asked me to show the poem and he said there is so much more to read. And then I should write.

I was inspired beyond imagination. The lady was not amused that a kid was visiting her famous husband. They didn’t live in a big house. I guess poets in ant age and any country didn’t make a lot of money.

I wrote every day. I filled a notebook full of Tamil poems. I still have them. My Tamil teacher was impressed. She read it and critiqued it and there I was the first poet in my family.

I am grateful to that man who didn’t turn away a shy, gawky insecure teenager who turned up at his doorstep. I am grateful that I attended the simple Tamil class and got to read his poem.

Here is to poetry day. Reach for the stars.

This Year’s Picture Books – The First One -Ramu’s Red Umbrella

Posted on By csoundar

If you are friends with me on facebook or follow me on Twitter or hang-out with me on Google, you will know that I have placed three picture books this year. They are all with independent publishers who have a niche and are extremely passionate about what they do.

The first picture book of the year was with Pratham Books, based in Bangalore, India. Their mission is

At Pratham Books, we believe that every child has the right to enjoy good books.  And we believe they should have stories set in surroundings familiar to them and in a language close to their culture. We believe that to make books accessible to every child, the price points have to be very low. Pratham Books is a brand of story books as Indian as the children who read them. As a not-for-profit publisher, our dream is to see a country where every child wants to read, is able to read, and has something good to read.

I emailed the editors a couple of times to understand what they were looking for. An idea about an umbrella and the monsoon had been in head for so long. I also wanted many Indian characters in the story. That’s how Ramu’s Red Umbrella was born. I had to find a simple Indian boy’s name and I used my Dad’s nickname. His official name is very long – but his parents and siblings call him Ramu. This book was intended as a tribute to my Dad who has been proud of my writing ever since I started.

Pratham Books were not on a reading schedule, but when they saw Ramu’s story, they loved it. The editor said I got 4/5 in their editorial meeting. What that 4 means, I am not sure. But I am glad I got it.

The brilliant thing is – this book will be published in several Indian languages and will be in the hands of thousands of kids. I can’t wait.