As we move deeper into the month
of April and must, almost automatically, consider its traditional song and
dance, our thoughts are collectively overshadowed by this other
consideration. Both, in the minds of
many, have to do with the unseen, the unknown and the frightening. On the one
hand, we want to engage in activities we normally won’t be doing like cracking
out the crackers, lighting weird shaped lamps, beating drums and engaging with
family members and strangers in weird, ritualistic ways wearing new, bright
clothes all to ward off unseen inimicals lurking behind Pisces and Ares and
invite benevolents waving from behind the sun and the moon. On the other, we
are told to engage in activities we normally won’t want to like staying
indoors, staying away from the fridge, staying close to hot drinks, washing
hands raw, engaging with family members and strangers in weird, ritualistic
ways wearing masks or space suits or both all to ward of some unseen inimical
lurking in the throat of one’s best friend or watching one with vicious
anticipation from one’s spouse’s car bonnet. As we move deeper into the month of April we
must, almost necessarily, consider its traditional song and dance, this time
glorified twice over by two entirely different but superbly complimentary and
congruent set of unknowns and vagaries.
The key here is unknown and
vague. Very few know that Avurudu is a harvest celebration and not a Buddhist or
Hindu religious ritual. Most think it is the Sri Lankan version of the bacchanalian.
A booze fest disguised as a fashion pageant. Few thought quarantine was a form
of voluntary self-denial of bad habits until the authorities literally had to
point a gun and say “quarantine is not valentine” and put everyone under
enforced house arrest.
Very few urbanites know that
Avurudu achieved social sanctity and relevance to our farmers because they
toiled in the field, worked the land, planted things and reaped the reward of
their labors. It is they who are justified in giving thanks and giving gifts to
one another to commemorate a bountiful harvest, and, for those that way
inclined, giving alms to the clergy of their new produce, and, transferring the
good karma of meritorious deeds to their departed. Or, when their crops failed,
convert the celebration into an understanding of climate change, failure of
science to predict the lack of rain, karmic causality, inability of
agrochemicals to do much more than poison the earth, god’s will and other
similar religious instruments for dealing with setbacks while resolving to bear
the hardship, giving and sharing of what little they have and, either feeling
strengthened by their sacrifice or, for those that way inclined, holding those
acts of merit gained despite of their suffering as their forfeit to create the
spiritually valid enabling conditions for better times next year.
Very few know that the Venetians
forced ships to stay isolated outside port for forty days (quarantina)
during the Black Death or bubonic plague of the 14th Century that
also originated in china and attacked Italy first among Europeans before
decimating a third of its population. Nor do they know that the only way to
stem this almost unstoppable, unseen and deadly juggernaut of death was to take
themselves out of the ecosystem of disease transmission either out of
desperation or enforcement or social responsibility.
Ah but how things have changed.
Regardless of how dumbed out our
urban population is, COVID has done something that other world threatening
crises such as the food crisis, the energy crisis, the climate crisis, the
environment crisis, the conflict crisis and the religious crisis tried hard to
do but never actually got any global traction.
It has proved to the world that
the world is in serious trouble.
It has proven to the urbanites
that their white collar jobs, their ties and designer shoes, their desk jobs
and their debt ridden wealth display are useless. It has shown the world that
there is a very good reason to stem exclusively profit oriented industry. It
has told the world to recognize the song of birds, to listen for the tune of
the bread man, to speak to one’s neighbors, to engage in family activities. It
has actually made people aware that the simpler life removed from the
complications of competition, gain, fame and pleasure is actually a great way
of being. It has proved to the urbanites the truth of the fact that health is
indeed the greatest profit and happiness is the greatest wealth. It has
demonstrated that growing one’s own food and sharing one’s wherewithal with the
community is more important that 10 foot tall walls, roller doors and SUVs. In
fact, for the first time in a long time, the urbanites are actually justified
in celebrating avurudu because they too are now societally engaged and
agriculturally enabled. They, in fact, have reason to think, “thank whatever
determinants, dynamics, deities, defenses, deployments, displacements, devices,
dogmas and dodges for the fact that we are still alive”.
As urban life progresses suddenly
non-linearly with swirls and clouds of unseen particles proximating everyone to
disease and death, as urbanites growl and grumble at the speed at which their
comfort zones were assaulted and violated, as urban travails are suddenly
reduced to the mundane through the COVID treatment of social astigmatism, let
us be thankful that as a collective, either through force or necessity or sheer
darn desperation, we have been awoken from our social slumber, we have been
recharged by our recognition of the ultimate levelling of human existence, we
have been made to renew our license to live through the payment of our dues to
the country.
Avurudu is ultimately a
celebration of renewal. COVID19 has sloshed a big bucket of deep cleanser over
our urban population. We have been washed cleaner if not completely free of
social sickness. It is truly a time to celebrate.
