Bring back Kali’s rage

Few weeks ago I came across an article about goddess Kali and how her iconography has been changing over the years. I found the read interesting; it was based on the observations of an anthropologist. 

Eleven days ago, which was the first day of Diwali, it was also Kali Puja for those who celebrate in eastern India. In Guwahati, I was very excited to dress up in my Mami's mekhela saador (my ritual upon arriving in Guwahati is to raid her wardrobe, and plan to wear all the new ones she had purchased; I'd only ever bring along the few basic blouses and a petticoat). With the cousins, the ritual of photographing each other was followed by the making of reels, and only then, the walk to the nearby Kali puja pandal.

But upon arriving there, I was shocked and disappointed to see the idol of Kali.

The lower half of her body was covered with a red and gold cloth, which is not at all common in this part of the world, but typical as a chunni in north India.

Around her were white and silver decorations of paper and glitter, which is usually visible with Durga.

Kali's three hands were empty; there were no weapons. Her fourth hand carried the head of a demon.

Her body was also covered with that mesh of white and silver.

Her face was blue. Someone there said that the Kali here is not Dakshinakali, whose face and body are black.

But the eyebrow on that blue face was decorated with white dots; the chandan art dots that adorn a Bengali Hindu bride.

Her red tongue was out, but devoid of the rage that's associated with Kali, that makes her a formidable force among humans. 

Kali in Bhangagarh in Guwahati

I remembered what I had read in that article, about the emergence of Kali: “Durga becomes Kali at the request of the gods, who have failed in their attempt to defeat the demon Rakthabija. Rakthabija has a unique boon: every drop of his blood that touches the Earth gives rise to a clone of himself. Kali, in her ferocity, ensures that not even a single drop of blood touches the ground. She drinks his blood with her tongue out, holding a bowl to catch any blood dripping from Raktabija’s severed head. But this part of the story is losing its prominence. Most of my students were only aware of the other part of the myth – of Shiva pacifying her.”

I wondered if what I seen at the Kali Puja in Bhangagarh in central Guwahati was my lone experience. So I sent out a small invitation—where else other than on social media—asking people to send me photos they may have taken of the idol on that same day, wherever they may be located, in Assam or West Bengal.

The photos trickled in. The similarity to the description of the article I had read and what I had observed, were uncanny: Kali was, as one friend commented, “femasculated.” The Kali that stands tall in her rage and stripped off all the illusions and lies of the world, was now standing stripped of her rage.

All of these photos of Kali Puja from 12 Nov 2023 were sent to me by different people. And they are all from Jorhat in Assam
(L-R): Teliya Patti, Malowali, Digambar Chowk, Gar-Ali

As I stood before Kali that night, with flowers in my palm during the onjoli offering, I remembered the words of Dr Jennifer Mullan, where she put rage on a pedestal. She wrote: “Rage is information. Rage is wisdom that hasn't been translated. Rage is a messenger. Rage is our boundary enforcer and protector. Rage can be healing when nurtured and understood. It is a spiritual, psychological, physical and political practice that invites us to sacred inquiry.”

I stood before Kali, talking to her, telling her that her rage cannot be diminished by the niceties and coyness that are projected onto her, in an increasingly let's-be-careful society. Her rage is what we feared and then celebrated, in her form of nakedness. Of her being willful, the un-tamed, the perfect in all of this. And this cannot be covered with glitter. What are we running away from confronting in doing so?

I stood before Kali watching my rage rise up while dressed in my fineries, while taking a vow, looking into her prettied eyes, that rage is necessary to see clearly the hypocrisies and brutalities of the world and the masculine dominance embodied in all institutions, from families and marriages, to universities and governments. And greeting this rage alone is the only way to heal our beings, our communities, our forests and rivers and occupied lands. May we stop glossifying Kali as a way to avoid seeing that what has to be seen and confronted. That requires the bareness of our chest and womb and souls and conscience.

"Settling Down"

"Where are you these days?" the 50-something man asks me. He, like me, grew up in the same building where my mother continues to live. His mother, owing to her age, lives with him and his family, in the US. He moved there eons ago; his older daughter who is now entering college, was born there.

So yes, he is settled there.

And I? I have been living in Ireland since nearly 18 months. Before that, I was in Japan for two and half years (of which seven months were spent in India, washing hands, and being horrified by the ways in which the poor were forced to face the COVID-19 pandemic).

When I respond with my current location, pat comes the reply: "What are your plans? Settling down there?"

I ask if there is any specific definition of "settling down". I know exactly what it means, but I no more give into answers that do not feel true. 

I get a response—with an emoji of course—that for a gypsy, there is no single place where they feel rooted.

And that is the response that made me lose my rootedness (but only for a moment, of course).

How do we define "feeling rooted"? Why is it assumed that because I am living in different places—albeit, with all the challenges that it brings, from finding a new safe circle of people to finding someone to go the doctor with to making sense of the hidden rules of a culture—I am not rooted or settled?

The person writes to me that yes indeed, being measured against traditional standards is unfair. And yet, he did ask it! And went on to say that misunderstandings are easy when standards of measure are unknown.

But it is the 21st century. Women—and men—ought to be asked better questions than those about "settling down". 

I am called a deflector. I mince no words in saying that I find this question annoying and lame. 

Yes, I wrote those exact words, adding that if older people ask such archaic questions, it's somewhat understandable.

I have stopped speaking to 2 other female friends who are just about as old as I, who would, over long-distance only-birthday phone calls, ask: "So, what are your plans to settle down?"

These are women who have, in their own definitions, "settled down" themselves: big wedding, a husband, a child, a house, a mortgage, a job, a housemaid, a car. At the very least, this list.

I would respond to them with mutterings of, "Oh when I meet the right person!"

To other people who have zero impact on my life—and me on theirs—and when I see them haggling with their kids, I would respond, "Well, I don't have one husband because that way I can have more than one boyfriend."

All of of those responses were a lie. They were the real deflections.

But my truth, as it happened over this brief chat conversation, was viewed as deflection. At least my current truth, of not wanting to feed into those questions.

Perhaps it is true that I don't feel settled at times. Heck, even those with the best of security gadgets and a life woven together rooted together with love and fear, tend to feel unsettled, more than I do. 

But this conversation was not a misunderstanding. We can ask people better questions, whether on the phone or on a chat conversation, or when we meet them at some wedding after half a million years [Hmmm, maybe I should make a list of better questions to ask people when you meet them after a long time? One of my personal favourite is, "How have you grown as a person in the past year?"]

Why do we need to project our ideas of being settled onto others?

Right, why do I need to project my ideas of being settled into someone's somewhat innocent question? Because it is laced with assumptions of what a life "should" look like.

So what is my definition of settling down?

Kamladevi Khatana: Tesgaon, Rajasthan. 

Farmer. Wife. Mother. Grandmother.

Asked me why I am walking. And I would respond. 

Asked me—like almost every single human I encountered on the Out of Eden Walk—"Are you married?"

"No."

"Good. Don't marry. Else you will be stuck with husband and kids and susu-tatti."

She, like many other older women, said versions of this. And surprised me with their candour: the older they were, the sharper their words of clarity. 

Is this what "settling down" means? Then I don't want that.

I know, I know: this is not the only marriage movie. Times are changing. Marriages are getting somewhat equitable, if not equal.

And yet, that question still comes: When are you settling down?

Men are asked शादी किया है ? (Have you committed the act of marrying?)

Women are asked शादी हुआ है ? (Has marriage happened?)

We assume that for both, it simply translates to "Are you married?"

For men, marriage is an action of their own. For women, marriage is something that happens to them.

And so, "settling down" comes with those heavy ideas of what happens to a woman versus what she chooses.

So here is my answer: is this land of rainy summer and erratic buses and happy drunks and terrible PhD stipends and dirty toilets and a Sinéad O'Connor and revolutionary songs, I am settled. I am rooted. I am happy. Not everyday, but mostly. Because: I am living my dream, mostly. 

And I have been settled in this way since my 20s, even though I was made to feel that this is not sustainable (yes, living on couches is not sustainable; investing in a brilliant duvet from Nitori in Japan is one of the few items towards that consumerist ideal of "being settled".)

And if living one's dream is not the definition of being settled, I don't know what could be. 

Because, it seems like, with being settled within their definitions, everyone is also living their dream? I really hope they are! (Except for the super-rich who fill the holes in their souls with more stuff).

Anyway. Ask better questions.