Onam in Attingal: An Onam of Our Times

Attingal woke up to a drizzling morning on Thiruvonam day. The town appeared deserted – save for an odd vehicle or two, a couple of morning walkers, and a few forlorn destitute men. 

While it was the morning of the grandest festival in Kerala, the town centre looked like a ground where a festival had just been over. It was in stark contrast to the chaotic previous week that had seen endless traffic jams, bullish wayside vendors, and wandering pedestrians who seemed to have been in a perpetual hurry. 

Pookkalams galore

There was at least one pookkalam at almost every bus stop in and around Attingal. None of these was hastily made. A casual enquiry revealed that young boys who used to gather at these junctions made the floral designs. They braved early morning chill and incessant rain to come up with craftily designed, impeccably arranged and gorgeously colorful pookkalams. A few of the samples are here.

Soccer in paddy fields

By about 9’o clock in the morning, rain started to subdue. The wet pookkalams bristled in sunshine. People began to come out of their houses, some in their cars. Most people were caressing their tummies as if to hasten metabolism. 

They had a number of festivities to choose from. One club was organizing an assortment of racing events, while another had quiz competition and other indoor activities. Elsewhere, there were games of musical chair, water drinking competition and kudamadi (that is, smashing a pot blindfolded). I went to none of these events; instead, I chose to go and watch a five-a-side soccer tournament. If not Mahabali, at least Vamanan would have made it into the Arsenal team.   

When I reached the place where the tournament was supposed to be held, I found no signs of a soccer tournament there. I was thinking of returning when I saw that scooter. It was painted red and green, just like the Portugal national football team’s jersey. As if to prevent any misunderstanding, “PORTUGAL” was written on its front. On the other side, it had the name of the most famous Portuguese in Kerala after Vasco de Gama: Cristiano Ronaldo.

I ventured further into those once paddy fields – now brimming with tapioca plants, banana plants, and occasional coconut trees – and found the ground. It was as green as any of the European grounds; but beneath the lush green grass, there was Indian mud. It was difficult to sprint through the field without falling.

The rules were simple: five players per side, two halves of 10 minutes each. I asked one of the organizers whether offside is applicable. He looked at me as if I came from another planet. He – surely a cricket fan – replied in haste: “all sides are there”. Then I asked again, he folded his palms together: “I don’t know, sir. Please don’t bother me”. 

There were four teams. One of the teams was a well-drilled one. They first met a bunch of local boys who gave a spirited performance. But it was like Manchester City vs Swansea. They defeated the local boys 5-2. Next game was between a team of pot-bellied grown-ups and some kids. The pot-bellied team, defying the expectations, won 5-0.

The final was between them and the earlier winners. It ended up a no-contest. The well-drilled team won the match 5-0. One of their players, Suhail, who looked like Neymar and sometimes played like him, was easily the best player in view.

Offside rule, as you may have figured out from the scores, was not applicable. Immediately after the final match, rain poured down again. All ran for cover. Somehow I reached back home, just in time for lunch.

Water games of Onam

After an hour or so, rain stopped. The biggest draw among the Onam events in our parts is what some people now call acqua-fantasia. It involves some games in a temple pond. The pond had been recently renovated. The water appeared less muddy than usual. 

The crowd was not as big as the previous year’s. Still, there were sufficient people to cheer up the competitors. Plus, there was an announcer who spoke almost like the Malayalam TV newsreaders.

The first item of the event was a swimming competition. One of the swimmers swam underwater while others were going over the water. There was no trace of him. Midway through the race, he emerges sensationally ahead of others. However, he appeared to have lost his sense of direction, as he swam towards a side than to the other end of the pool. He managed to finish second though.

The next item was what can be called water walk – simply, walk to the other end of the pond through water; no swimming. The local favorite was a boy affectionately called Kuttappan. He won with ease. He was celebrating even before he finished the walk.

Then came the turn of the most anticipated event: water pillow fight on the pond. As usual, the fight offered some hilarious moments. There was some spirited banter going on between some of the players. When the event reached the final stages, rain interrupted again. Spectators dispersed. Players, already wet by frequent falls to the pond, went on with the fight. Kuttappan won this item as well.

“In our days, Onam was …”

I returned home drenched. Onam is almost over, even though there are two more days to go officially. I don’t know these are the best – or the right – ways to celebrate Onam, which is essentially a harvest festival when the ancient king Mahabali comes to visit his one-time subjects. We do not cultivate anything these days that can be harvested. And Mahabali may have come and gone.

Perhaps, Onam celebrations evolve with times too. Onam is what Keralites celebrate. After many years, I may also tell my young generation, as today’s old-timers say to us: “In our days, Onam was …”.