A Door’s Poetry — Varssni Karthick
கதவு கவிதை Kadhavu Kavithai, observing time-based actions such as the tracing of the Kolam in the door threshold. Image © the author, 2023.
A threshold between spaces. A portal to a home. An entry to an unfamiliar enclosure or an opening to nothing but the grass and the sky, for miles. Does a door serve a larger purpose of what’s built? Holding lessons of the past, doors contain new stories of everyday life.
Doors are witness to many rituals. Rites of passage and quirky ticks of their humans pass through a door.
I spent a few days observing these time-based actions which paved the way to understand the dichotomy of togetherness and isolation in the curious case of a kadhavu, a door’s poetry. The time of the day, occasion and the individuals in the house dictate the manner in which the door partakes in the house activities.
The door to my house of 14 years has been a silent observer of many rituals that make my house a home. My father is the first person in the morning to open the door; he is also the last at night to close the door, culminating the day’s activities. In the 6:00 AM haze, he retrieves the milk packs from a cotton bag hung from the iron grill door. Dawn hasn’t broken yet; however, the stark illumination of morning hits the eyes when he nudges the wooden door open. Slowly at first, and then with purpose, once his gaze sets on the heavily hung bag.
A gust of wind pushes past the man who is starting his day guided purely by muscle memory, the fog in his mind still unsettled. I ask him quite often why he does this every day. I could do it; my mother could do it. We could take turns. He loves sleeping in, so this was quite befuddling to us, that he would subject himself to the agony of waking up to sort out morning tea for everyone.
He didn’t have a clear answer, but said he just likes the assurance of a whole day left and the solitary sound of his movements in the house.
On special days, like Tamil New year—where we perform our assigned rituals for the auspicious pooja, and the key traditions for any South Indian celebration are Kolam (கோலம்) and Thoranam (தோரணம்)—my mother, clad in a breathable silk saree (பட்டு புடவை), makes her way to the front door at around 6:30 AM with batches of red and white slurry for painting. Crouching and with deftly confident strokes, she traces around the pre-existing Kolam.[1] Looping lines around dots, it eventually becomes difficult to decipher the beginning from the end of it. Once she scrutinizes her handiwork and proclaims them perfect, the doors are shut. Shielding the house from outside, yet again.
Around 6:45 AM my father, finished with prepping the pooka room, sips cold tea for a while and wonders why he hadn’t heard the thump of the newspaper on our grill door. He performs the repetitive act of approaching the door and squinting into the peep hole every seven minutes, until the newspaper finds itself confined between the iron bars of the grill door.
Around 7:00 AM my mother asks me, has Tofu (our neighbor’s friendly puppy) gone on her early morning walk yet? Is it too cold to open the door wide for the day or should we wait it out till 8:00 AM before the pooja? We don’t wait, we open the door at 7:15 AM when we hear the tussle of the tiny Shih-tzu on her way out with a wagging tail.
By 8:00am, the entire family is dressed in their best and ready for the first day of a Tamil year, Tamil Puthandu (தமிழ் புத்தாண்டு).[2] Since the Kolam had taken its rightful place on the threshold, it was time for the Thoranam (தோரணம்), a ritual undertaken by my father who ties the vibrant leaves over the doorway with precision, ensuring each of them is suspended symmetrically and balanced.
So, what is the poetry of my door? Well, it is more than just a protecting feature of my home. It drives the narratives in the lives of each and every person it interacts with. It holds traces of us (their occupants), while leaving traces of its presence in the lifestyle we shape for ourselves through our habits, rituals and movements.
[1] Our family has urban roots, we do not have the leisure to draw these beautiful Kolams on a daily basis, irrespective of how significant they might be in bringing positive aura to the inhabitants. Therefore, an adhesive replica of the symmetrical drawing takes center stage in front of the threshold, observing the cultural sensibility of the family.
[2] Thoranams and Kolams are symbols and tangible evidence of this celebration.
Varssni Karthick is a B. Arch student from MEASI Academy of Architecture, Chennai (2023) treading the line between the real and imagined worlds. Her academic field of interests span the study of urbanism to the discourse around architecture and cinema. Presently she is completing her undergrad studies and is excited for her future endeavors in architecture, both as a designer and a writer.
This essay is part of the Rituals Series seeking to understand what is urgent about a place that could be addressed by a ritual.
Guest Editor: Shoonya Kumar