As Christmas at home comes to a close, we awaken from the sleep of our Christmas night in India. The hotel is draped with long strands of red and green lights, certainly an acknowledgment of the holiday. The occasional shopping mall is similarly draped. Billboards offer holiday bargains against photographs of snowy landscapes that seem so incongruous with the dusty, dry, semi-tropical environment that surrounds them. HBO presents an extravaganza of Hollywood blockbusters all day long. But when I say, “Merry Christmas,” to the hotel staff, most are puzzled, not even recognizing the words. It’s true, that most of the staff here at the Hotel Priya do not speak much, if any, English. But clearly, Christmas doesn’t carry nearly the significance it has in the U.S. This is true despite the fact that all Hindu, Muslim, and Christian holidays are “officially” celebrated in India.
What do we do for Christmas in India?
Well, it begins, as it has most of my life, on Christmas Eve. I was raised by an Italian Catholic mother and, throughout my childhood, we attended Midnight Mass.
Five years ago, Sarvani and I attended Midnight Mass in the large Catholic Church here in Bhubaneswar. That evening, we arrived at the church in plenty of time to get a seat near the front. Mass was spoken in both English and Oriya (the regional language), and accompanied by Indian music played on Indian instruments as well as classic Christmas carols in English. Many children sat on the altar.
What stuck with Sarvani was the very odd experience she had when we went to Communion. First, she was nine years old at the time and had received her First Communion the previous year. But, when we went to receive Communion here, the priest didn’t want to give it to her, thinking she was too young. Eventually he did give her the host but it became evident that children do not complete this Sacrament in India at the same early age that they do in the US. If that weren’t enough, standing just behind the priest was a photographer from one of the national newspapers. Just as she received the host, he took a photograph that was printed on the front page of the paper and distributed throughout India! Sarvani was mortified. Now she is not at all enthused about returning to this Church.
But three other dancers want to join us, so we arrange transportation and set out a little after 11:00pm. When we arrive, we discover that our assumption about Mass starting at midnight is wrong. Mass is already well underway, with many people standing outside the entrances, seated in an outdoor area, and walking about looking at the well-lit scenes that include the traditional crèche of Baby Jesus.
We, too, walk around, sit a bit, and share stories and perspectives on spirituality. We are an eclectic group and I am eclectic person, having at times described myself as a “Hindu-Catholic on the pagan path.” Indeed, it suited my outlook when a friend once said, “God is a potato with many eyes.” Tonight, one of the dancers offers another image I find fitting: God is the light of the Sun, and various religions are like the panels of a stained glass window that allow us to look at the light through the lenses of human creativity.
We return home and fall asleep at a very VERY late hour.
Then, at 7:30 on Christmas morning, I head for my daily mardala (also known as a pakwaj) drum lesson with the renown Guru Sri Bonima Moliharana, Guru of Gurus, whom we call Bona Sir. Mardala is the drum that is traditionally used to accompany Odissi dance.
I had one private lesson and then one of the dancers wished to join. While I have previously studied tabla (North Indian classical drums) with pre-eminent tabla master, Ustad Zakir Hussain, it was a very long time ago. My experience with tabla both helps and hinders because the two types of drums are very different from each other.
Still, I begin to learn proper hand placement and movement, and a simple composition with additional parts to be taught at each lesson. I decide to bring a mardala home with me so I can continue to practice and possibly even play for some of Sarvani’s Odissi exercises. Drumming has always been a great joy for me. I love rhythm, the backbone of movement and even breath.
Upon returning to our hotel after the lesson, the girls and I watch part of the Hollywood extravaganza on TV while we dress, rest, wait for our room service food, and eat.
From there, we catch an auto rickshaw to the open air market where we shop. Sarvani buys silver nose rings and kajal (an eyeliner pencil that contains soothing herbs), and we each buy two sets of “salwar kameez” – the outfit that women wear most (in addition to saris) – that consist of a long top, blousy coordinated pants, and a long scarf called a “dupatta.” They can be purchased from small stalls, or mall-style stores, at prices that range from about $5 to $30 depending on the garment’s quality and my bargaining success. Usually, the sleeves have not been sewn in so we walk across the busy central lane to one of several tailors who sits outside at an old-fashioned treadle sewing machine where, for $1.80, he sews in three sets of sleeves and slightly narrows the width of one of the tops.
The Market
One of many clothing stalls at the Market
Our favorite tailor at the Market
It is now dark. One of the shop owners helps us snake our way through the crowded marketplace to catch a rickshaw. He is careful to be sure I only pay 40 Rs. (about 80 cents) but I have already learned the proper amount and feel more confident in my independent travel skills, at least to the very few spots I have already traveled.
We return to the hotel, quickly change into our new outfits, and head out for the next celebration of the day. I made plans to have dinner at the Trident Hilton buffet, and invited others to join in. Almost everyone accepts the invitation, making us a group of 8.
sarvanidance 