It was 5:00 a.m. The beginning of a new day, a new start. For most of us, the sun hadn't risen but in a vibrant town in South India; the young dancers, musicians and artists had already begun their morning. They were people who had dedicated their lives to a certain art form. Their lives naturally followed a certain rhythm, a rhythm of routine.
It had been 8 long years since they were doing this. Their mornings began with the chanting of prayers. As the sun spread its golden rays across the sky, they would attend their classes. They would learn the science of life through Ayurveda and Siddha. They would immerse themselves in Sanskrit literature by living through the lessons they read. The aspiring musicians and singers focused on getting the rhythm and pitch right. These are little things that common man would probably ignore, but to them, these little things were the fundamentals to their future. The dancers worked on perfecting every move, they strived to perfect each interpretation. The art students made magic with colours, making rangolis and paintings that brought mere grey life to colour. The students keen on yoga learnt and practiced with a completely peaceful state of mind. As dusk drew closer, they gathered under the banyan tree and concluded their day with a visit to the neighbouring temple.
This is what the citizens of Bharat had been following for years. Festivals were celebrated for a reason, rituals were performed to maintain the sanctity of a place. There was love, joy and prosperity all around. We were a nation that valued our tradition. It's unfortunate that such a great legacy is now nothing but history. It is painful to see that a land that once flourished with the sound of anklets and the echoing of chants and songs, now ceases to follow its own culture.
Author: Amrita Pillai