Today is PRATHAMASTAMI, a festival very unique to Odisha where the first born child in the family is celebrated - well fed and pampered with new clothing. As the name suggests this celebratory event is held on "ASHTAMI" or the 8th day of the Lunar Month of MARGASHIRA, immediately following the better known festival of KARTIK PURNIMA. On this day, he or she, the eldest child of family goes through a PUJA, or mini worship ritual at home, where especially the women folks of the family pray for long life and prosperity of the kid.
PRATHAMASTAMI this year comes pretty close to the 7th month Anniversary of my mother's death as per the Tithi (occasion) based on Hindu lunar Calendar where a month is approximately 28 1/2 days, the time taken by Moon to revolve around planet Earth. This is slightly different from the commonly used Solar or Gregorian Calendar across the world where a month consists of 30 days based on the time taken by earth to revolve around the sun.
Being the eldest child of my parents, it was the day I would wait in eagerness to receive the rock star treatment, my day of celebratory status while it lasts. During my childhood, my mother, for whom I was the Apple of her eyes, would wash me, make me wear a new pair of clothes early in the morning. She wanted to finish the sundry rites early to make sure that her son doesn't stay hungry for a long period of time, as I had to remain in empty stomach until the Puja is performed. The rites would be followed by me breaking fast imbibing the PRASAD (offering to God) consisting of various fruits and sugary sweets.
A few years ago when I was in India during PRATHAMASTAMI, my mother became my alarm, waking me up early in the morning, reminding me of the occasion, prodding me to take a bath while limping across the house to make sure every thing is ready to for Puja. Post the rituals she would be in kitchen preparing a sumptuous lunch of NADIA KHECHADI (Ghee laced yellow rice with freshly grated coconut sprinkled on it), NADIA BARA (coconut cutlet), Puri style DALMA, again with coconut toppings or Sweet Daal, all of which tasted heavenly. During evening it is time for her to make a plethora of PITHA (rice based cakes) - varying from the thinner CHAKULI to the baked variety of slightly larger than Golf ball size "ENDURI PITHA", which no doubt healthy and tasty, but BIRI or lentil component in it produces a lot of gas. My favorite was the rice based MANDAA PITHA stuffed with grated coconut laced with a heavy dose of sweet jaggery.
These love laced heavenly delicacies have passed on to heaven along with her, like her they exist more, passed along with her. This year there will be no PRATHAMASTAMI for me or my son, as per Hindu rituals, no religion festival should be celebrated within the first year of any death in the family. With moisten eyes I still remember my mother never failing every year to call me from India to remind me of PRATHAMASTAMI, checking on to ensure that I and his "NAATI" (grandson) wear brand new clothes for the occasion.
Mummy, I will never be able to pay back your unmatched selfless love you have showered me throughout your entire life. Your love is priceless, purer than the purest spring water sourced from a pristine glacier, the pristine, crispy breeze on a mountain top, purer than 24 carat gold. I will never be able to pay back my debt in this life or next. In conflict with myself, I couldn't but murmur this Kishore Kumar number -
"LEHRON KI TARAH YAADEIN.
DIL SE TAKRAARI HAI,
TOOFAN UTHATI HAI,
LEHRON KI TARAH YAADEN" -
Roughly transliterated,
"Waves of Memories like waves,
Collides with the heart,
Raising a storm,
Like waves, those memories".
Time will fly, days will become week, weeks becomes month, months become year, but your memory will last forever, this life or next.
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