An ode to Memories and CelebrationsWe sit crossed-legged on the floor.
A plantain leaf half my size is placed before me.
Soon it's filled with dishes of all colours and flavours.
I see my sister eyeing the sharkkaravaratti on my leaf.
When she tunrs her head to take a bite of the wound pappadam, I put the sweet on her leaf.
When she finds out, she laughs and so do her eyes.
Red hibiscus flowers are sought after the most. To get hold of them, one has to be out and about at the break of down.
My tall friend helps. Her long hands reach heights I can only imagine and when required she lifts me up so that my tiny hands grab the flowers I can only see otherwise.
Together we make the prettiest pookkalam with the flowers gathered.
Onakodi is a saree this year; one that is light like the clouds and blue like the sky.
My aunt drapes it for me. I tell her that I am scared of sarees and refuse to budge. She hops around in hers, shakes her hips and laughs at me.
I take her challenge and try to move about a little.
Soon, I get the hang of it and start to breathe properly.
"A saree should just be tied tightly around your hips so that it never ties you down." She winks at me.