Lenten Graces

Lent has always been special to me.
As a kid, I used to realize it only when Mum stopped cooking meat and fish.It used to be hard to abstain when we were in school but practice and the enlightenment on the significance of the observance made things manageable.
Palm Sunday,which opens the Holy Week sees the procession with yellow green fronds,the mini-stampede( that results from the mad rush to get them),and artistically gifted dads making crosses (and even other shapes)out of the fronds to amuse their bored kids.The media men jostle with each other to get the best shot of the day.Incidentally,my first appearance on national television was on one such a day.The prime time news showed me, a toddler of four,frolicking on the church ground ,brandishing the palm leaf.It had a wide viewership among my relatives(it was those dark ages with only Doordarshan)who describe the scene whenever they see me and make me go pink in the face.
On Maundy Thursday we would be at our native place in Ernakulam,gathered around the table for the Pesaha feast.It was an occasion for a family members to gather.The men folk turn up only when it was time to partake of the Inriappam and the Pesaha paal and declare that those in nighties are representatives of Judas Iscariot! This would cause the poor women to rush to their rooms and change into their saris.The ones who get the small crosses,made from tiny strips of the palm leaf, were pronounced 'lucky'.
I used to be scared to sleep at night, with the moon light streaming into the room,for fear of the Angel of Doom looming outside.It took an explanation from Dad, that we had marks on our heart to save us from the angel's sword,to calm my fears.As kids,we never saw the inside of the church during those three days.It was naturally crowded and Dad gladly took the opportunity to take us for a stroll by the lake behind the church and meet up with his old friends,doing exactly the same thing with their kids.
When we reached high school,Neil and I declared that we'd rather celebrate our Holy Week in Trivandrum.By then we had become fans of church music and bought prayers books to use for those days.
The Way of the Cross caught our special interest with it's magnetic music inlaid with cathartic pathos.We even started doing it in our home with rosaries positioned in 14 places around the living room.
Back in Trivandrum they annually conduct a combined Way of the Cross which brings together the Catholics of the city.It gave a sense of pride and unity to be a part of the solemn crowd that paraded the city.
Good Friday sees the maximum turn out at our parish.Classmates whom we never knew to be of the same parish,teachers,friends, good-looking gals and guys(wonder where this group hibernates for the rest of the year ?) ; a sea of familiar faces.The hot 'kanji',and mango pickle served for the lunch on Good Friday fast always tastes like ambrosia.If the volunteers were your friends you were sure to get a liberal helping of the 'kaippu neer'(juice of bitter gourd leaves) .The wry faces after tasting the juice and the railings of the church stained in green(that's the fate of the 'liberal' helping) ,the heart wrenching song "Gagultha Malayil ninnum..",the crowd elbowing each other to kiss the life-size statue of Jesus are all vivid memories of the day.As on cue down comes the Good Friday special rain.The perfect end to the day of sorrow.
It was only five years ago that I made my first pilgrimage to Malayatoor.The first visit was more of a pleasure trip because we went as a group from the youth organization.We started the ascend at one in the morning.In the dim lights it was impossible to guess the topography of the place.Far above, shone star like specks which later turned out to be the street lights positioned along the route.I was out of breath before I reached Station One.Atop the mount, I was mesmerized by the beauty of the place than it's religious significance.A panoramic view of the Periyar flowing serenely into the valley ,the valley draped in mist with a thousand shades of green,the cool breeze at 2 in the morning;how I wished to paint it as it was!
The next day however I was down with my legs revolting in pain.The second visit gave me an opportunity to sing during Mass at the hilltop.I was thrilled to hear my voice ring in that sacred chapel blessed by presence of the saint.
The Saturday before Easter is like limbo.We wait eagerly for the big day ahead.By evening the kitchen bustles with activity.Smells which had gone missing for 50 days waft about temptingly and give you a glimpse of the scrumptious feast in store.
Easter Sunday rituals begin at the wee hours of the morning and hence is usually characterized by a sparsely populated church.It takes a mammoth effort to stay awake during the homily.And when you have just thought you have done a good job,the priest sharing pleasantries after Mass,says"Hey, I saw you nodding off!"
Easter dishes feel like them only if you follow the abstinence rigorously.Dad used to hide Easter eggs (those Cadbury ones with Nutties inside)and sent us on a treasure hunt.

Last year,I celebrated Easter Mass at the Basilica in Ernakulam.Inspite of the Mass by the Cardinal,the spectacular and dramatic staging of the Resurrection,and the presence of a very fashionable crowd and I felt hollow in my heart.
Not a single familiar face,in the 500 strong crowd that night !
The biggest deprivation of our transplant to Ernakulam - the social element.Now I understand what used to make the days of this week so special.The Lord rises without a doubt,the rituals and prayers are almost similar in both places,the feast is equally delicious but the real cheer lies in the friendly faces,the smiles and simple wishes of "Happy Easter!" which flow from the profundity of the heart.

Wish you all a warm and Grace filled Easter!