Mahalakshmi

पोस्ट मराठीमध्ये वाचण्यासाठी इथे उपलब्ध आहे.

Mahalakshumya aalya
kashachya paayee?
sukh-samruddhichya paayee 

“The Mahalakshmis have arrived!” 
“On what steps do they tread?” 
“On the steps of happiness and prosperity!”

Welcoming the Mahalakshmis into our household is a beautiful, synchronized ritual performed by two ladies working in perfect tandem. Beginning right at the Tulsi plant outside the door, one person dips her palms into a metal platter (tamhan) filled with water mixed with turmeric and lime, leaving auspicious handprints of liquid red and yellow along the floor. Following closely behind, the second person carries the sacred brass masks of the Goddesses on a tray. All along the way, she chants aloud the blessings the deities bring with their steps.

At the altar and by the Tulsi plant, she calls out, “They come on the steps of righteousness and divinity!” Moving past the wardrobes, she chants, “They come on the steps of gold and silver, of diamonds and rubies!” Walking into the kitchen, she proclaims, “They come on the steps of abundance and grain!” Continuing this beautiful procession, they finally reach the sanctum where the deities are to be installed, where the Goddesses come to rest gracefully on the steps of eternal happiness and prosperity.

This grand arrival triggers a whirlwind of activity at least ten days in advance. Houses are deep cleaned, and traditional festive snacks (faral) are prepared. Back in my school days, I loved creating new decorative items for the festival at home. Polishing the brass masks of the Goddesses until they gleamed, and carefully painting their eyebrows, eyes, lips, and gandha was my favorite task. My sister and I would enthusiastically plunge into the preparations a week prior.

In the older days, we used three legged metal stands to set up the Gauris. The arrangement was a tower of tradition with a large round tin box at the base, a smaller tin box on top of it, and a metal pot (gadva) crowning the structure. The stands were then draped in elegant sarees, and the masks were fitted onto the pots. The boxes beneath were filled with traditional offerings typically given to married women (sawashna), such as grains, almonds, betel nuts, turmeric roots, coins, and dry dates. One of the boxes would always be filled with sweet festive delicacies like laddus and karanjis. Since I never had a sweet tooth, and my mother always said that the Gauris represent married daughters returning to their maternal home, I would tease her, saying, "If they are daughters like me, fill the boxes with savory chaklis and chivda instead!" Mother would smile and reply, "You can do that when you manage the setup, let me offer sweets to my daughters."

Times have changed, and Mother has now replaced the old tins with readymade fiber frames and masks. The festive snacks, instead of being hidden inside boxes, are now laid out beautifully in front of the Goddesses. I truly appreciate this trait of my mother, her willingness to evolve with the changing times while keeping the underlying emotion pristine. She refuses to cling stubbornly to rigid rituals.

Because the day was spent cleaning the house and setting up the elaborate backdrop, Mother preferred bringing the Gauris home in the evening. Even if everything was ready by noon, she would say, "Let them not walk in the scorching afternoon sun; let them arrive in the pleasant evening breeze." When I was very young, Mother would manage the complex draping of both Gauris all by herself. One year, I asked her if I could drape one of the Goddesses. It turned out beautifully, and since that day, preparing the Gauris has become our shared ritual, one is styled by Mother, and the other by me. Once the brass masks are set and the traditional vermilion and turmeric holders (karandes) are placed in their hands, the Gauris truly embody the divine, their faces instantly crackle with life. In most households, Lord Ganpati sits right in the middle with the two Gauris flanking Him. In our home, however, grandmother insisted that Ganpati should never sit between the Gauris. We never found out the reason, but we still place Ganpati to the side. On the first day of their arrival, our traditional offering consists of simple comfort food: fenugreek greens (methichi bhaji), pearl millet flatbread (bajri chi bhakri), and lentil-rice (varan bhaat).

The second day features a grand feast centered around sweet puran polis. When grandmother was alive, a staggering sixteen different vegetable dishes were prepared, today, we make five. It amazes me how I transitioned from a young girl who only handled the decorations into someone who actively cooks the festive meal. Today, the responsibility of preparing the five vegetables, the spicy-tangy panchamrut, the yogurt-based kadhi, and five varieties of chutneys and salads rests entirely on my shoulders, while Mother still handles the puran polis and the savory amti soup.

After offering the food to the Gauris, we host a traditional feast. While it is ritualistically meant for married women, our feast is a joyous gathering of everyone young, old, relatives, and neighbors alike. While the guests are still dining, the house begins buzzing again with preparations for the evening Haldi-Kumkum ceremony. The women who visit our house can always easily distinguish between the Gauri draped by Mother and the one draped by me. After my marriage, I turned this into a playful riddle for my husband. Despite both Gauris looking incredibly similar, he correctly identifies my work every single time. This second day is incredibly exhausting. By evening, I am completely drained, and I look at my mother with immense admiration, wondering how she coordinates this massive day year after year without a single sign of fatigue.

To my sister and me, the two Gauris always felt like reflections of the two of us.

The third day brings the emotional departure (visarjan). After offering curd-sugar-rice and traditional steamed dumplings (kanavale), Mother gently nudges the masks to symbolize their departure. The moment she moves them, the lifelike warmth in the statues instantly vanishes, returning them to mere metal and cloth. Through all the shifting tides of life and even during adverse financial times, Mother never let the grandeur or devotion of this festival diminish. Today, the Goddesses have blessed her in return, leaving her with absolutely no lack in life. On the night of the second day, Mother closes the lids of the flat vermilion containers and leaves them before the deities. The next morning, she opens them to check for footprints or divine impressions. When she spots faint, delicate lines etched in the powder, a deep, serene sense of fulfillment washes over her face.

(Translated from Marathi with the help of AI)

Photo

पोस्ट मराठीमध्ये वाचण्यासाठी इथे उपलब्ध आहे.

Long before the advent of photography, master artists captured the likenesses of prominent and wealthy figures on canvas. Art in those times was not merely a form of creative expression; it was a complex technology. The precise application of skill, technique, and custom made pigments demanded heavy compensation, an expense ordinary people simply could not afford. Consequently, portraiture remained a luxury reserved for the elite. Before these advancements, a person's only way to see themselves was by looking at their reflection in still water. Even then, their features could never be preserved. If someone wanted to remember a loved one, they had to rely entirely on the theater of their imagination, for there were no physical photographs or drawings to look back on.

When camera technology first arrived in India, it was met with deep superstition. People feared that capturing one’s image would shorten their lifespan. Over time, this misconception faded, and having family portraits taken, either by visiting a studio or inviting a photographer home, became a matter of great pride. Initially, these photographs were black and white. Yet, even in the age of vibrant colors, those monochrome images retain a unique, nostalgic charm. Eventually, color photography emerged, and cameras became affordable for the common man. Carrying a camera and rolls of film during festivals or family vacations was looked upon as a symbol of prestige and a grand hobby.

Those were the days of anticipation. If the film roll was not loaded correctly into the camera slot, the entire reel would go to waste, instantly turning eager excitement into deep disappointment. Each film roll eventually materialized into a physical photo album at home. These albums were treasured assets, taken out periodically to relive fond memories and spark old stories. Some households possessed vast treasures of such albums. In my early childhood, our family did not own a camera; we had only a handful of photos taken at professional studios. I remember feeling a pang of envy during my school days when I saw friends who had massive albums filled with countless pictures of their childhood. To this day, most of us still carefully preserve those old photo albums.

The true democratization of photography happened with the arrival of the mobile phone. Even when mobile cameras were limited to a mere 2 to 4 megapixels, standalone cameras still held a superior charm. Today, however, smartphone cameras have become so advanced that the need for dedicated lenses has dwindled. We now have access to thousands of editing options both while clicking a picture and after it is taken. Furthermore, landscapes that once required the refined vision of a master painter or a skilled photographer can now be generated instantly by AI.

Yet, when something becomes overly abundant, its value often diminishes, and people begin to lose interest. Photography faces a similar crisis today. While the world is full of self-indulgent people who constantly click photos, selfies, and reels everywhere they go, they often miss out on the actual experience. In the past, visiting a beautiful destination sparked an immediate desire to capture it. Today, social media is so saturated with identical images of famous landmarks taken from the exact same angles that one wonders What unique value will my photograph add?

Consequently, relationship of many people with travel and nature has shifted. We used to take pictures to relive the beauty of a place later. Now, a new sentiment is taking root, a desire to store the beauty of the world directly in our eyes and hearts rather than through a digital screen. After all, if we ever feel the need to look at those views again, thousands of identical photos are readily available on the internet.

(Translated from Marathi with the help of AI)

Laziness

पोस्ट मराठीमध्ये वाचण्यासाठी इथे उपलब्ध आहे.

I kept a topic written down all day for an article, yet the sheer inertia to write gripped me. Sometimes, human psychology operates such that unless someone demands results or a deadline looms, a task is simply not initiated. We casually label this as laziness. However, one must wonder that is this truly laziness, or is it deep-seated exhaustion? Quite often, individuals who enjoy an abundance of leisure time also struggle to find the enthusiasm to act swiftly. Society routinely brands them as lazy, but perhaps they are grappling with mental fatigue. Mental fatigue is far more dangerous than physical exhaustion. While physical weariness can be wiped away by a good night’s sleep, a tired mind refuses to even let you sleep.

Genuine, carefree lazy people, those free from underlying exhaustion, actually have it quite easy. They carry absolutely no anxiety about accomplishing goals. They effortlessly bide their time with casual refrains like "we'll see" or "I'll do it later." Fundamentally, they refuse to absorb any pressure. They seem to have unlocked a vital philosophy of life: if I don't do it, someone else will, but the work will eventually get done. If someone is bound to take care of it, why should they bother breaking a sweat? And even if things fall apart, it makes no difference to them; the world will not end, and the heavens will not fall.

Then exists another breed, the intellectually lazy. Ask them to perform four physically demanding chores, and they will gladly oblige, but do not ask them to think. Do not ask them to read a book, study, solve puzzles, or memorize information. The moment their brain experiences the slightest friction, they abandon the thought altogether. They assume the clever, intellectual members of the family or society will handle it, believing there is no compulsion for them to strain their own minds. In truth, with the massive leaps made by computers and AI, we are all progressively becoming intellectually lazy. When information is effortlessly available at our fingertips, why bother reading and storing knowledge in our brains?

When laziness is coupled with utter thick-skinned insensitivity, one can only pity their companions and family members. Such individuals develop a habit from childhood, they are perfectly willing to endure a tongue lashing if it saves them from working. They believe that while harsh words may hurt their pride, they do not pierce the flesh. They let people say what they want, but they simply will not do the assigned task. Yet, they possess one redeeming quality that they are entirely devoid of ego. They harbor no jealousy and experience no wrath. By conquering half of the Shadripus (the six internal enemies of human mind) right there, they manage the remaining three with ease. Furthermore, because they lack ambition, they are perpetually free from mental stress.

If they procrastinate at home, someone who cannot stand the mess will eventually step in and finish the job. If they drag their feet at the office, provided they can show just a bare minimum of progress, their colleagues end up pulling the extra weight. Their annual appraisal might take a hit, but their peace of mind remains intact. They live strictly by the adage, "Que será, será" Consequently, their blood pressure never spikes, though they certainly cause the blood pressure of those around them to skyrocket. So, do you have such "cool" people in your life, whom society dismisses as merely lazy?

In human evolution, organs and faculties that lose their utility and application gradually dull and vanish. If this epidemic of physical and intellectual laziness persists, humanity risks slowly losing both its physical capabilities and its cognitive edge. It would hardly be surprising if a human race reduced to such vacancy is easily superseded by AI and advanced robots of the future, leading to our ultimate extinction. It will be fascinating to see whether humanity meets its end by being defeated by artificial intelligence, wiped out by natural disasters, destroyed through mutual warfare, or erased by the reverse tide of evolution. Well, at any rate, we won’t be around to witness it.

(Translated from Marathi with the help of AI)