We spent this past weekend with our dear friends in their fabulously HUGE backyard picking their home-grown black berries,roasting marsh-mellow on fire and deer-watching from their kitchen window. As the evening darkened, Anurag and I could not stop thinking and saying how much it felt like being in a village. The loud noise of cicada and crickets filled the air with warmth of well-lit fire as we chatted around it.
Fire is mesmerizing! As I sit down to write about it, there are so many things which come to my mind and stir the memory-pot. Good as well as scary ! For as long as I can remember, every fall my family invited a priest in the house on the last day of Navratri to perform ''Havan'' (sacred fire lit with sandal wood and mango tree wood, grown with pots of ghee ,samidha , havan samagri and kapur ). Family and friends were invited and we listened to Priest's mantras and chantings intently and with devotion. My father offered aahuti with every mantra and the flames grew high with each offering. I loved how my home smelled during and after the havan , a peaceful scent spreading calmness and reassurance of good which was supposed to follow afterwards.
In spring, my family has the tradition of burning fire in the wee hours of morning of Holi (a festival of colors popularly celebrated in India) which allured me for different reasons. The night before Holi , Hindi Bollywood songs blared on loud speakers and it may term as 'noise'' to my ears now but back then it was the anticipation of playing with colors in the daytime, dressing up and visiting & welcoming friends in the evening and simply having fun. A big fire was lit on our neighborhood Chowki where teenagers and young people collected tree branches and wood for weeks. My father and brothers would go early in the morning with a big thali (plate) filled with new wheat grain, abir& gulal (green, yellow and red powdered colors) and home-made sweets. They would offer it in the fire , make rounds of it and would come back home with a piece of fired up wood to light up the fire in our aangan (courtyard of our house) which I would arrange the night before in a shape of a pyramid of dry cow-dung cakes . Our family would gather around it and we would make seven rounds while roasting the new wheat grain on it and offering our prayers. My Dadi would put tilak with color on everyone's forehead and we would touch our elders feet to seek their blessings. Holi fire is a symbol of burning all evil and welcoming the good. I still remember sitting around that fire, watching the ambers in the flames, very much enjoying their chattering sounds on those crisp mornings and sipping my chai.
I also remember the chilly winter nights of my childhood when we preferred to keep warm with charcoal lit Angithi than electrical heaters. Eating Revadis and Gajak around Angithi could never compare with the cold experience of an otherwise hot electric heater !
When I moved to Allahabad for College, we did Bonfire in the girls hostel and the only thing it symbolized was youth and fun. Fun it was, as the girls danced the night away in pretty clothes. I don't remember sitting around the fire and being hypnotized by the blazing flames but what I do remember is that the dreams, desires, aspirations and promises glowed and warmed my young heart and that the fire was my spectator !
And then there was the fire around which my husband and I took vows to join two lives into one. Fire was our witness as we united in matrimony. Anurag had a tough time being around it (he is allergic to smoke) and kept sneezing (we have kept his kerchief safe which proved to be his best man during the ceremony :)) but Acharyaji (our priest) had no intentions of either toning down the flames or rushing through the vows:) . You see he's a bit old school :)
Like I said in the beginning, all my fire memoirs are not pleasant ! During one summer vacation ,I remember visiting my Nani's house in the village and a neighbor's thatched roof catching fire. I remember the panicked feeling and loss of the family who lost their roof.
Another year, that loss hit home and in a big way! I can't remember the year but my father's factory got burnt in fire that summer. We did not have phone then, just a message in the afternoon brought the bad news and we were worried sick and scared. And It is for one of the numerous reasons that I say my father is my hero because he came late in the night , looked at the ashen faces of his children, kissed them and said, "don't you worry, I am here and everything is going to be alright'' !
In 2008 we came pretty close to evacuating when infamous California wildfire came dangerously close to Irvine.The sky turned gray and air was unbreathable. Our porch was covered with ashes and soot. We were glued to the TV , our hearts anxious and our bags packed. So many people lost their homes, it was heartbreaking to read and watch their stories.
And then I lost my mother and could not go for her funeral. With sorrow in my heart I could only imagine the pyre of wood on which she was laid to rest , her body engulfed by fire turning into ashes. I imagined her spirit leaving the world but before it did, wrapping me up to say goodbye!
Fire is powerful !
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