Easter yearnings…
Easter does not break away from bitterness and suffering altogether. Photo: Ridwan Adid Rupon
Easter is the time when all go in for prayers, and meals to mark the Resurrection of Christ. This is the time not only for adults to keep in mind, but also for little ones to go in for Easter bunnies, and hot cross buns, hoping they are yummy and sweet--laden with sugar and spice.
The Armenian Church, in Old Dhaka, often had prayers--which my friend Goldie and I attended, in the form of choir. For Goldie and me and others -- with an education which involved the Roman Catholic Church, English backdrop and illustrations in story books -- Easter was a part and parcel of the celebration of life, like Christmas. One could belong to any race or religion, and yet it caught up with us like Valentine's Day.
Yet praising God for Yuletime, for the fun and joy of life and living, was like taking a break from the cram-jam chart of life, in the hub of the city, what with its piling of cement jungles. The reddish Easter lilies, with their thick gorgeous, fleshy, petals -- which as a schoolgirl I painted -- along with others, and which I found once more in aunt Suraiya's wide and spacious garden of potted plants, in Dhanmandi, made me homesick for the happy, holidays of my schooldays, in the past, in Karachi.
Sure, we looked out for praying the nuns, in their white habits, outward opening hoods and shining black, rosary beads to keep away from, at least the nuns, specially at Easterwhen we painted away in the afternoon heat, as if it were a part of life, in the happy schooldays of our youth -- with its brick walls and balconies in the school premises, not far from the city's Cathedral, where we girls often sat and played for hours. Aunts and nieces, all had English idylls as an integral part in our existence.
Easter, if we remembered Pablo Picasso's paintings, or TS Eliot's poems, did not break away from bitterness and sufferings altogether. Yet the magical, mysterious moments, whether we remembered them in Melbourne, in the Maldives, Karachi or Dhaka, were not empty of choir singing--and harking for the angels in the sky. Whether one recalled Mary Magdalene or the saints on the Sistine Chapel in the Renaissance churches on Easter holidays, novels and paint brushes were an integral part of our lives. Camaraderie and bonhomie were a part and parcel. Saints and sinners, at Medieval and Renaissance paintingswhether they are from coloured church windows or from frescos on the ceilings or wallsfilled our memories of Dutch, Spanish and Roman paintingsfrom memories of the past. Whether remembering Michelangelo or El Greco, or even Goya, Easter is a time for both fasting of lent, and feasting, with “cakes and ale”. This could be at Jahanara Gardens, at present, nearby, or in our dreams and memories of the nostalgic past, which can never be wiped off.
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