Opposite my grandmother's house is an old Kali temple and a municipality park. The proximity of the two made her balcony the perfect vantage point to watch the festivities that happened during Navratri - specially the small time theatre troupes that enacted scenes from the Ramayan. There was nothing sophisticated about the performances but as a child I absolutely loved the over the top storytelling.
Listening to Bil Lepp perform this evening as we sat under a tent sipping hot apple cider reminded me unaccountably of my grandma's house. It's about the same time of year. I am much older and a mother myself. Instead of many flickering earthen lamps dotting the neighborhood there were a few merry bonfires in the field where people roasted marshmallows.
Bil Lepp's stories were side-splittingly funny and had nothing in common with the histrionics of Ravana from the Ram Lilas of my childhood. Worlds apart and yet there is a tie that binds. The nip in the air, the stars in the sky, listening to a story teller with a whole bunch of people and the flickering flames - that was enough to take me back home and to my childhood. J has seen one world and I eager for her to see the other.
crossings as in traversals, contradictions, counterpoints of the heart though often not..
Subscribe to my Substack: Signals in the Noise
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
One Size
Most of the arguments that the author makes about the dangers of ubiquitous use of AI would hold true for other technologies that were fund...
-
An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no ma...
-
Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that suc...
-
I, Ananya, am a suburban single mother minus the SUV that often comes with the territory. Ten years ago, I would have been awed by someone i...
No comments:
Post a Comment