Inadvertently misbehaving at the temple…

Walked into one of the Kapaleeshawarar temple‘s secondary entrances, barefoot, holding an offering of white flowers. People around me are moving assertively. I follow circumambulators around one of the central square buildings. I’m taking pictures, later I’ll notice a sign that clearly prohibits picture taking, at least of the deities

This is a Shiva temple, where a confluence of deities await their worshipers with stoic composure, for after all they are as still as the most inanimate of objects, while priests busy themselves with sacred verses, performing pujas, bestowing blessings on every devout visitor available to receive.

I stop to get my share, thinking of those I love, of those I miss. I receive flowers with my right hand, ashes on my forehead. I enter grounds I will later find out I was not supposed to enter -being non-Hindu. Inside, I follow those who seem to know the way, from dark room to dark room, from hallway to hallway, from line of deities to line of deities, from altar to altar.

Along the way, I bow for Darkshinamurthy, hands held together, fingers extended, feeling that it is the right thing to do. A few steps ahead, there is another puja. I linger on. A younger priest, carrying something mushy I cannot make. By hand, I am given some sort of paste to eat, gestures the man in charge of washing SelvaGamapathy. The priests don’t seem to mind. Rain is a pouring, flooding the square, washing everything.

I leave in the rain, feeling blessed, for this downpour that has inundated the streets that will lead me back to the bus stop. The smell of urine is strong. The murkiness is ankle high. I’ve been splashed a few times. I feel soiled. I feel blessed. These two, seem to go hand-in-hand in these parts. I’m eager to get back to the guesthouse, where the shower awaits. But, before I can get there, there is Krishnamurty’s temple, where a different sort of puja is scheduled to begin… If I time it right, if I can find my way back, what with the bus system being a complex affair run as if in accordance with chaos theory’s core principles, I’ll get to hit the internet shop just in time to check my emails and make a few indispensable Skype phone calls.

Be well, and if you feel like it, keep in touch.

Under a rain that won't stop

P.S: the statue is that of Vivekananda -the wondering monk