Overdue entry: Saraswati Puja

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Hm, here is an entry I wrote in maybe February on my laptop but didn't post on the internet. It's really old.


So, today was Saraswati Puja—one special Hindu holiday among three thousand other special Hindu holidays. Saraswati, the goddess of wisdom, seems to be similar to Durga (the only other Hindu goddess that I know of, due to Durga Puja in October), except she’s got less arms. Well that, plus she either rides around on a swan, or has a sideways swan beneath her torso in lieu of legs. It’s hard to tell just from looking at the statue. But anyway it was a pretty exciting day because Sonali invited us (me, Tiffany, Sixtine) to her house to celebrate. I thought this invitation meant that the four of us would simply eat lunch together, but it was much more involved than that. When we arrived at her apartment we were greeted by the sight of Sonali, her daughter, all of her daughter’s friends, all of Sonali’s friends, one Hindu priest clad in ceremonial garb, approximately twenty sticks of burning incense, and what looked like a gigantic medieval battle feast spread out upon the floor. There were tin platters piled with plump, transparent green grapes, broad trays brimming with lentils and peas, terra cotta pots filled with…yogurt(?), a box of small Indian cakes, a carton of milk, large piles of orange segments, gooseberries, pear pieces, whole oranges, peeled bananas, fruit baskets, and wide chalices stuffed with orange and yellow flowers. Also, someone (I’m guessing it was the Hindu priest) had used white powder and dried, crushed flowers to create intricate designs on the polished floor—perfect spirals and curlicues and flower shapes and tendrils. In the corner there was another stout little chalice filled with some smoldering black substance that produced a woodsy, clean-smelling smoke. There were actually a million different smells—besides the woodsy smell there was a sharp fresh smell of citrus, the sweetness of fruit, the honeyed pollen of the flowers, and the ceremonial perfume of incense. I was quite impressed with the whole ambiance. This, I thought to myself, is a very chic idea for a party—kind of like a Tupperware party, only not as tacky, and more spiritual. Then I remembered that this was not a trendy party, but a religious ritual. Still, I won’t be surprised if Saraswati Puja becomes really hot in Hollywood like three years from now.
The prayer began unexpectedly when the priest suddenly tied an orange cloth around his shoulders and sat down on the floor in the middle of the middle of the medieval feast. He commenced by ringing a bell, and then proceeded to spend approximately one hour making minuscule alterations to the arrangement of the feast items. He lifted a single banana from the fruit basket and transferred it to a little bowl of milk—where it lay, half-submerged, for the remainder of the prayer. He dipped his hand into a liquid substance and sprinkled the substance over all of the food items. He methodically destroyed the orange and yellow flowers, scattering their torn petals across the food and onto the defenseless Saraswati statue. He spent some time signing his hands above the food. He scooped a small spoonful of ghee from a jar and dropped it into a bowl of milk. He then spooned out more ghee, pressed the paste into the separate compartments of a flat lamp-like thing, and lit the ghee on fire. He rang the bell again and all of the guests automatically cupped their hands to their mouths and produced a ghostly high-pitched howl—at which point the only infant who was present became terrified and started to bawl. The infant was removed from the room. Then the priest stood up and began to spoon small amounts of the ghee/milk mixture into the cupped hands of the guests. The guests slurped the milk/ghee from their hands and then slicked back their hair with whatever unslurpable remains were left in their palms. Then the priest sat down again and wrapped up the ceremony with ten more minutes of fidgeting with the food. To me it just looked like he was very finicky about the placement of his grapes and orange segments, but I know that all of it had some sort of significant meaning. The whole banquet was meant to be an offering to the goddess Saraswati—but the REALLY cool thing is that, when the goddess didn’t particularly make a move for the food, WE got to eat it. And it was a really tasty offering, too—lots of fresh fruit and cakes and dates and a yogurt salad with chewy rice and coconut, and tea. I ate so much that I thought I would be sick—and then Sonali came and told us that lunch was almost ready, which made me panic. I thought that the giant plateful of food I had just consumed was lunch; but apparently that was just tea. Lunch was a plateful of rice and dal and vegetables and a soupy sweet tomato chutney, and then she made the stupid mistake of giving us rice pudding for dessert, and I made the stupid mistake of eating it—and then I was really sure I would be sick. But I wasn’t—instead, me and Tiffany and Sixtine went outside lounged in the sun until we felt less bloated. I spent the entire bus ride home looking out the window and admiring the incredibly beautiful saris worn by all the women today for the special holiday. I have decided that I want a sari. Despite the fact that I will never, ever wear have an occasion to wear it once I go home, and despite the fact that the sari seems to be the most uncomfortable and impractical form of dress ever created, I want one. I WILL have a sari.

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