The regular readers of this blog might have noticed that after my attempts at waxing poetic about plumbers and (human) plumbing in late November, I have been silent. If you haven't, then you are either irregular or you don't care, neither of which possibility augurs well for my literary ambitions.
Now this word "irregular" means a lot where I live. Preceded by "highly" it denotes cause for extreme alarm, annoyance and disfavour, as in "what you have done is Highly Irregular". That phrase used to be the death-knell of many a budding career, but with a steep decline in public morals and financial propriety at workplace it is no longer so. Unless you are "Highly Irregular" you are not even trying. It has become a badge of honour just as a Tax Raid signifies having arrived.
The word is also used to describe someone's bowel habits or in a delicate reference to the possibility of a bun in the oven. Unlike the English the Tamils are not obsessed with the former, perhaps because we are full of it. The latter is a matter of great concern for the mothers of unmarried girls and of anticipation to mums of the married ones. The word "Regular" or its variants are also used by banks in India to refer to the conduct of loan accounts. That was of course before Loans became "Assets" and their condition began to be referred to as "Prime", "Impaired", or "Non-Performing" and Gibberish replaced English as the principal language of Banking.
Down where we live there is nothing irregular about giving and receiving, though. It is the very basis of all retail therapy in which a certain area of Chennai tops the rest of the country. Accordingly we have created many occasions for giving and receiving. Childbirth, naming of the baby, its first birthday (even when it is given its first rice-feed - feeding rice-based infant formula does not count), various birthdays, what is referred to obliquely as "coming of age" - or its male equivalent the "thread ceremony"- engagement, marriage, getting pregnant, becoming parent(s), men turning sixty, them turning eighty, completing every decade thereafter and finally on being bid the final goodbye, and so on.
There's a long gap between getting married and the man tuning sixty during which he may not receive gifts; the modern lot celebrate all sorts of events in between like birthdays, promotions at work, successful deal-making and stuff like that, but none of them carry the weight or sanction of tradition. Traditionalist or modernist, he will however be expected to give gifts on various occasions listed above in the lives of those near, not so near, dear, as well as despised ones. Our forefathers knew a thing or two about economics of retail consumption and realized that giving and receiving made the world go round.
The art of giving - and what a fine art it is - has its own overt and covert rules, practices and traditions. The act of giving is an expression of respect or blessing depending on whether the recipient is superior to the giver in age and social and economic statuses. It must be appropriate to the occasion, and must always reflect the financial position of the giver while being sensitive to that of the receiver. For example back issues of Playboy magazine is not appropriate for the sacred thread ceremony, even though a portion of the cash gifts received may find itself surreptitiously invested thus; a loud Hawaiian party shirt is not an appropriate sixtieth birthday gift.
A popular gift at weddings is the Taj Mahal. Not the real one, but a miniature look-alike. It symbolizes not only the love between a husband and his wife but also their fecundity - after all Mumtaz Mahal died delivering her fourteenth child. When you have no idea what to gift the couple at an Indian wedding, especially a South Indian wedding, a miniature Taj Mahal is a safe bet. These items come in plastic, plaster of paris, terracotta painted white, or in marble, enclosed in a glass cube or without one, and with or without little blinking lights. When we wed, my wife and I received many Taj Mahals; we remain married but only have two children. Modern couple cleverly get around this problem by prohibiting the giving of gifts, shrewdly guessing that the Indian habit of never going to a wedding empty-handed would result in cash gifts!
The second most popular wedding gift is the "lemon set" comprising a glass carafe ( brittle plastic is a popular alternative) and six matching glasses. This is expected to enable serving visitors lemonade on a hot summer's day. Whereas one is expected to wear the items of clothing received as gift, Taj Mahals and Lemon sets are marked for recycling; that is, it is perfectly OK to repack them and gift them at another wedding or some such occasion. After all what would anyone do with a dozen Taj Mahals and even more Lemon Sets? One must not be too disappointed to see a Ta Mahal gifted at a long ago wedding coming back as a sixtieth birthday gift. What goes around, comes around.
Sarees and Veshtis (aka Dhoti) are for the close family. These items being open-ended fixed-lengths of fabric, are free-size and can be worn by anyone within a fairly wide range of waist sizes. They are thus ideally suited for recycling, but the eagle eyed females of the species are bound to catch you out if you tried to recycle a saree. The women commit to permanent memory the colour, shade, patterns and fabric of every saree ever gifted and god help you if you tried to recycle one back to her. The Veshti, being white in colour, is difficult to identify as the one you or I gave and is therefore shamelessly recycled. I once tried to set off the inflows of Veshtis with the outflows but the timing went awry and I was left with three dozen Veshtis which was three dozen too many for someone who never wears them. The timing is impossible to get right, so one has to accept a certain idle inventory of veshtis.
It is mandatory in Southern India to gift women guests of whatever status, rank or relationship with shorter pieces of fabric known as "Blouse Pieces" or fabric to make bodices with. The precise significance escapes me, but I suspect it is a not-so-subtle injunction to other women to cover up and not tempt our men. These items are always recycled. I have noticed, partly with alarm and mostly with glee that the length of fabric so given is shrinking with time and am hoping that I live till ninety.
Reciprocity rules giving and receiving. As you give, so shall you receive. Quality and quantity of textiles (read veshtis, saris, shirts, etc) given shall determine what you will receive when your turn comes.
To assist in this process, the price tag is thoughtfully left on the gifts.
Now this word "irregular" means a lot where I live. Preceded by "highly" it denotes cause for extreme alarm, annoyance and disfavour, as in "what you have done is Highly Irregular". That phrase used to be the death-knell of many a budding career, but with a steep decline in public morals and financial propriety at workplace it is no longer so. Unless you are "Highly Irregular" you are not even trying. It has become a badge of honour just as a Tax Raid signifies having arrived.
The word is also used to describe someone's bowel habits or in a delicate reference to the possibility of a bun in the oven. Unlike the English the Tamils are not obsessed with the former, perhaps because we are full of it. The latter is a matter of great concern for the mothers of unmarried girls and of anticipation to mums of the married ones. The word "Regular" or its variants are also used by banks in India to refer to the conduct of loan accounts. That was of course before Loans became "Assets" and their condition began to be referred to as "Prime", "Impaired", or "Non-Performing" and Gibberish replaced English as the principal language of Banking.
Down where we live there is nothing irregular about giving and receiving, though. It is the very basis of all retail therapy in which a certain area of Chennai tops the rest of the country. Accordingly we have created many occasions for giving and receiving. Childbirth, naming of the baby, its first birthday (even when it is given its first rice-feed - feeding rice-based infant formula does not count), various birthdays, what is referred to obliquely as "coming of age" - or its male equivalent the "thread ceremony"- engagement, marriage, getting pregnant, becoming parent(s), men turning sixty, them turning eighty, completing every decade thereafter and finally on being bid the final goodbye, and so on.
There's a long gap between getting married and the man tuning sixty during which he may not receive gifts; the modern lot celebrate all sorts of events in between like birthdays, promotions at work, successful deal-making and stuff like that, but none of them carry the weight or sanction of tradition. Traditionalist or modernist, he will however be expected to give gifts on various occasions listed above in the lives of those near, not so near, dear, as well as despised ones. Our forefathers knew a thing or two about economics of retail consumption and realized that giving and receiving made the world go round.
The art of giving - and what a fine art it is - has its own overt and covert rules, practices and traditions. The act of giving is an expression of respect or blessing depending on whether the recipient is superior to the giver in age and social and economic statuses. It must be appropriate to the occasion, and must always reflect the financial position of the giver while being sensitive to that of the receiver. For example back issues of Playboy magazine is not appropriate for the sacred thread ceremony, even though a portion of the cash gifts received may find itself surreptitiously invested thus; a loud Hawaiian party shirt is not an appropriate sixtieth birthday gift.
A popular gift at weddings is the Taj Mahal. Not the real one, but a miniature look-alike. It symbolizes not only the love between a husband and his wife but also their fecundity - after all Mumtaz Mahal died delivering her fourteenth child. When you have no idea what to gift the couple at an Indian wedding, especially a South Indian wedding, a miniature Taj Mahal is a safe bet. These items come in plastic, plaster of paris, terracotta painted white, or in marble, enclosed in a glass cube or without one, and with or without little blinking lights. When we wed, my wife and I received many Taj Mahals; we remain married but only have two children. Modern couple cleverly get around this problem by prohibiting the giving of gifts, shrewdly guessing that the Indian habit of never going to a wedding empty-handed would result in cash gifts!
The second most popular wedding gift is the "lemon set" comprising a glass carafe ( brittle plastic is a popular alternative) and six matching glasses. This is expected to enable serving visitors lemonade on a hot summer's day. Whereas one is expected to wear the items of clothing received as gift, Taj Mahals and Lemon sets are marked for recycling; that is, it is perfectly OK to repack them and gift them at another wedding or some such occasion. After all what would anyone do with a dozen Taj Mahals and even more Lemon Sets? One must not be too disappointed to see a Ta Mahal gifted at a long ago wedding coming back as a sixtieth birthday gift. What goes around, comes around.
Sarees and Veshtis (aka Dhoti) are for the close family. These items being open-ended fixed-lengths of fabric, are free-size and can be worn by anyone within a fairly wide range of waist sizes. They are thus ideally suited for recycling, but the eagle eyed females of the species are bound to catch you out if you tried to recycle a saree. The women commit to permanent memory the colour, shade, patterns and fabric of every saree ever gifted and god help you if you tried to recycle one back to her. The Veshti, being white in colour, is difficult to identify as the one you or I gave and is therefore shamelessly recycled. I once tried to set off the inflows of Veshtis with the outflows but the timing went awry and I was left with three dozen Veshtis which was three dozen too many for someone who never wears them. The timing is impossible to get right, so one has to accept a certain idle inventory of veshtis.
It is mandatory in Southern India to gift women guests of whatever status, rank or relationship with shorter pieces of fabric known as "Blouse Pieces" or fabric to make bodices with. The precise significance escapes me, but I suspect it is a not-so-subtle injunction to other women to cover up and not tempt our men. These items are always recycled. I have noticed, partly with alarm and mostly with glee that the length of fabric so given is shrinking with time and am hoping that I live till ninety.
Reciprocity rules giving and receiving. As you give, so shall you receive. Quality and quantity of textiles (read veshtis, saris, shirts, etc) given shall determine what you will receive when your turn comes.
To assist in this process, the price tag is thoughtfully left on the gifts.
