Painting eggshells and loving all festivals
One year my aunt in Shimla, India, decided that her niece and nephew — my brother and I — would learn to make Easter eggs. She told us to fetch a couple of eggs from the fridge and bowls from the kitchen shelves. Our aunt, Masi, then proceeded to equip us with a sewing needle each for the purpose of pricking the shell. She, taller than us back then, demonstrated how to go about the craft. We looked up to her standing at the kitchen counter unhurriedly piercing the calcium carbonate crystals — the permeable, white exterior that I used to think was limestone.
We watched her, got the drift, and attempted our own careful jabs. The idea was to make a tiny, imperceptible hole at the base of the egg to then painstakingly drain out the yolk. That was step one. Once the yolk was drained, we would wipe the shell and let it rest for a bit before proceeding to ambush the resting shell with our set of Camlin watercolours. Omelettes with mint and leeks or scrambled eggs would be the other outcome, but let’s focus on the art angle.
Fine bristled zero number paintbrushes would come in handy. We were artists, deep in concentration transferring watercolours to our respective eggshells. There were no rules about what we could or could not paint. ‘Colour the shell how you like, with as many or as few colours (but try to make not too much of a mess of the kitchen)’ was the only instruction.
I have a faint, contestable memory of painting an egg blue in a haphazard geometric pattern. I have less recall of my brother’s genius. I imagine that to our parents’ immense relief, we were out of their way for a few hours, preoccupied with this exquisite task.
When we were done colouring our drained shells, Masi displayed both our fragile masterpieces in the TV room — our first public art installations!
It’s lovely when different faiths celebrate each other’s occasions, festivals. Friends of different faiths teach you the ropes. It’s never too late
It’s likely that until then my brother and I didn’t know a thing about Easter, possibly not even a vague notion of bunny rabbits and wicker baskets or chocolates eggs.
Along the way, we picked up a thing or two from relatives like our aunt, and from the convents our parents shepherded us into, and from even perhaps our own attempts to fix our ignorance. We learnt that apart from it being a long weekend, and a general relaxed mood to spend with friends and family over brunches and dinners, there were church services that family friends would attend (but not typically us temple goers). That you don’t wish people ‘happy Good Friday’ when Sunday rolls around, you do.
As I wrote this, I remembered to send out a few messages to friends who observe the day. I suffixed the text with the bunny emoji. “Hey, happy Easter, you guys!
There’s also the matter of participation, of being involved in whatever capacity in every festival on the calendar — indeed, making a big deal about it. It’s lovely when different faiths celebrate each other’s occasions, festivals. Friends of different faiths teach you the ropes. It’s never too late. Though I do think it starts with winking at the imaginations of toddlers. When you induct the kids — religion no bar — into the joys of going nuts with the baubles on a Christmas tree, leaving them to decorate as they like, that crafts project can later acquire a larger significance of growing into being more inclusive, harmonious people.
Would be awesome this year if I (managed time better and) made a rangoli on Diwali. And if over the Eid weekend, I picked up an easy, do-able recipe for seviiyan (vermicelli pudding), and ideally, today, used my set of colourful sharpies on emptied, pinpricked eggshells to (belatedly) have celebrated Easter.
— nivriti@khaleejtimes.com