But M dearest seems to have noticed my silent suffering. Without any prompting (really!), she soaked the dal for two days, ground it, fermented if for a day and on Saturday morning made delicious idlis. She even made the perfect sambar, just the way I liked it – from scratch and by blending all the spices. And with lots of eggplant, peppers and potatoes. I like the gritty feel. No powders were used in the preparation of this sambar!

And yes! I went for seconds, … and thirds!

Last summer, after a week-long tour of Aihole, Badami, Pattadakal and Hampi, we took an overnight train to Tirupati. My cousin dropped us off at the base of the hill, and drove on ahead. We started walking up the hills just after 11 on a scorching hot day, with temperatures reaching 41 deg C (105 deg F).

As we started, we realized that it was a tradition here to smear the riser of each step with ochre turmeric paste and the bright vermilion sindhur. Mainly women performed this service – an act of self-sacrifice in thanks for, or in anticipation of, wishes fulfilled. Witnessing scores of women, young and old, so devoted, is what ultimately got us to the top of the mountains. What a beautiful and enlightening experience!

At the start of the walk, this life-sized figure demonstrated the correct manner of prostrating before the temple. It too was not spared the colorful demonstration of devotion.

Along the way I witnessed nearly 50 women smearing turmeric and sindhur. I gazed in wonder at their back-breaking act of devotion. Here, two women pay homage to a step. One smears the turmeric paste, while the second overlays the red naam or tikka. Then she places a small leaf on each step.

Unusually in this case, a young man followed and atop each leaf he placed a tiny piece of camphor and lit it with a matchstick. And on they went, on and on, seemingly for ever, one step at a time.

Within an hour of walking in the stifling heat, my enthusiasm waned. The camera had started to weigh a ton. Miscellaneous things in my back-pack felt like boulders. We rested often and drank copiously of the Limca or nimbu soda from wayside vendors. M's energy never ebbed! She smiled, even as she labored up the stairs, convincing me to hide my own fatigue. Thus we deluded each other, smiled and walked on. We rested often, observed others and spoke only briefly – it took so much more energy to mouth words.

Making nimbu soda: You can almost hear the distinctive TcHuckk! as he releases the marble in the top of the goli-soda bottle …

… and pours the gurgling soda in the cup with a lime already squeezed in it, along with a spoon of sugar and a pinch of salt. A completely exhausted walker awaits the potion expectedly.

Girls selling mangoes along the way.

Interlude:
The day had not started well. The train was scheduled to reach Tirupati around 7:30 am and we had hoped to start walking in the cooler air. The train was very late and the day was hot! Further, at the temple center near the station, we are told the earliest we could get entry wrist bands was for two days later! Since our plans to head back to bangalore the next day and mumbai thereafter were already fixed, we opted to forgo the temple entry.

As tired feet carried us up, this thought kept gnawing at me. “Despite this long and tiring walk, we may not be able to enter the temple and get darshan, afterall.” If I gave up, so would M. I quickly needed a save, particularly as M repeatedly asked, “If we don't have tickets, how are we getting into the temple?” I was at a loss. In desperation I tried to convince her that the divine is everywhere. What's so special about a temple anyway?

“See around you M,” I tried, “isn't the sight of all these women performing this service, by itself not worth the walk? Perhaps our destiny was to see this! This devotion by the faithful. To experience it and to learn from them. See! See how despite their poverty and pain, their faith has not wavered. Comparatively, what have we suffered? What right do we have to say that life is unfair? Have we even earned the right to enter the temple?”

Initially, my words were hollow, means to keep M motivated, but the more I mouthed them, I too started believing. I too felt the energy from the devoted women smearing turmeric.

Hear ye! Hear ye all! The divine is not in the womb of the temple on the hill, decorated with diamonds and rubies with prostrating celebrities and rich potbellied merchants. She is here on the steps! In the murmur of the women who faithfully adore each step to her abode. Their breathing is labored and sweat dribbles unnoticed. The divine is here in each step of the aged mother, as she guides her daughter to leave her mark. Her hand steadying her throbbing knees, ignoring the pain. On her lips the name of Venkateshwara! The divine resides in that little girl selling mangoes. Though only a four hour bus ride from Bangalore, – she might as well be a million miles away. Uneducated, she doesn't whine on blogs of how unfair life is. You want to make her day? Buy a mango for a little over 10 rupees (20 cents).

Yes! if you want to experience the divine, skip the air-conditioned drive to the top of the mountain and walk. Walk among the devotees. As they smear turmeric and sindhur, they chant their prayers and wishes. As our own feet fall on each step, I realize, these are not mere blocks of concrete, but lodged inside are the prayers of millions of true devotees who have walked before us. Millions of women who painstakingly smeared each step. Women, tired of body but alive with spirit, who simply said “I leave my prayers on your door step, Srinivasa!” Those are the stairs we walked on. As I raised and lowered each foot, I thought of the prayers bound to each step. What a privilege it was to walk here; on the offerings of so many. The vigor in our strides renewed and we floated on this cloud of prayers.

We walked and we smiled! We had seen the divine here! And experienced her grace. Visiting the temple would be a formality!

End of Interlude

Carving on a doorway. Above the damsel in the intertwined vines, Vishnu's varaha avataar is carved. A common observance at all Vaishnava temples.

Ananjaya (or Hanuman) towers over the devotees near the top of the mountain.

Epilogue: Once we reached the top, my cousin had arranged for me to meet with the head priest of the Tirupati temple. He was interested with the book I'm writing on Hindu prayers and agreed to help with discussions of the Venkateshwara stotra. He shared details of various services and traditions at the temple. He showed me an ancient copy of the Venkatachala Mahatmyam which his father (himself a one time head priest at the temple) had given him.

And as we chatted, … he offered passes for us to visit the temple, early the next morning! :-O After the long and exhausting day, I was simply overcome by relief.

That night we went for a walk to the temple complex and I did not even feel like taking a picture. I had already taken the important pics. What else was there to capture? And yes, the abode of Srinivasa and Padmavati appears a bit hazy here! But I'll come visiting again!

When I saw the package from the Publisher, it was actually anticlimactic. Yes! I was glad to finally hold the tome. But it represented the culmination, the end of one project; and an opportunity to focus on another. I celebrate the confidence I gained, from assembling nearly 30 leading groups from around the world to contribute. The confidence of bringing such an undertaking to completion. I celebrate the friendships I nurtured, the friends I did not let down. A time to celebrate the long journey ahead, time to energize myself for the next push.

I don't expect you to rush out and buy a copy. It's expensive! At 783 pages, it will weigh your bag down considerably, but will look impressive on your book shelf. If you are trying to impress your boyfriend/girlfriend, this can certainly be an ice-breaker. If you are considering curling up with this book and a blanket, well … I strongly recommend against it. The first page will put you to sleep and the book falling on our face can hurt you! I suggest propping it up on a heavy table and resting your chin on a pillow. A particularly safe posture, especially when falling asleep is assured. There is no plot really, and the characters are lifeless. The writing is esoteric and dense. Very few pics and importantly, there is no sex! So, there you go! Ask your doctor or a engineering/medical school library to get a copy!

Find more details at this random site.

And so, we will put together our list of things to get in india. Jewelery, salwar khameez and other dresses for her. Eating out, books, and music for me.

One thing is certain, a day before we return, one of my cousin sisters will organize a 'mehndi' session. They usually ask a talented lady to come home, and after dinner all my cousin sisters, sister-in-laws, nieces and whoever, get their hands decorated. Whenever I poke my head in, its a treat to see all the girls and women treat themselves in such a collective manner, joking with each other, giggling and sharing in the camaraderie. As one gets her left hand decorated, with her right hand she designs anothers. And so a whole chain of young women, little girls at heart, helping each other amidst a squealing cacophony. With both their hands covered with mehndi, they also relax knowing they wouldn't be called to bring water, or make chai, or other silly things for the menfolk. I only wish such joys visit them always, and for the rest of their lives. For they who make our lives worth living, what are a few diamonds!

I took this pic several years ago at such an event at home.