There has been one unexpected benefit though. Within a year, in middle school, I went from learning Hindi as a second language to learning Tamil-a historical fact that I resent, and that impacts me to this day, particularly when I travel to north India and am shamed by my stuttering Hindi.

Karunanidhi wanted all state-school students to learn Tamil. I grew up in Chennai at a time when Hindi was banned. Well, the same could be said of ancient Tamil poetry-and here, for once, unlike with Hindi and Urdu verse, I understand everything. When I ask for a translation of the Urdu verses, he tries, but says that English simply doesn’t capture the nuances of Urdu. Finally, I can relate to what my husband says when he goes into raptures over Urdu poetry. It gives me joy to listen to the words and understand their meaning. The songs that this oodhuvaar is singing are in Tamil-my mother tongue. An oodhuvaar is someone who explains, who transports an important truth through song, who convinces, who makes people understand. Oodhuvaar is a Tamil word that doesn’t just represent singing. The elderly male voice praises and entreats the god to shower his blessings. It is remarkable how similar gospel music sounds across religions. An elderly man, called an oodhuvaar, is singing free-form verse in praise of the lord. The priests are doing the raja alankaram-dressing him up as a king. It is part of the hardship or prayatanam that devotees endure in order to reach the divine-the religious version of “Eat your broccoli or bitter gourd if you want the ice cream.'īehind the curtain, a silhouette of the god is faintly visible. A crowd waits in the sanctum sanctorum-patiently, agreeably, not just resigned to their lot, but also welcoming it as part of the religious experience. The heat of the plains far below has dissipated.

Lord murugan special prasadam