For once in the whole twelve months of a year, our gods and goddesses, and their duplicates, get a chance to breathe fresh air, far from their suffocating interiors in the trunks, old suitcases and cardboard boxes.
Carefully unwrapping the old dresses that cushion the dolls in boxes, my mother and sister place them first on the floor. My father is busy fixing the steps made roughly out of a table, an old stool, and one of the trunks that later get wrapped with white cloth. An old suitcase makes up for a step too. `Only odd number of steps, no even numbers.' That's the thumb-rule I have not understood the logic behind yet.
As kids, once the steps project was over, my sister and I would immediately busy ourselves spreading some mud on the floor for our park. A little hut, a road, some plastic animals, a temple gopuram that my grandma gave us some years ago, a compound for the animals made with broom-sticks and thread, some green powder made with Holi colours and flour...sometimes a little pond that took shape on a plate we'd sink on the soil, even saw-dust from old chalk-boxes that made up for a road, or black velvet paper that we'd use for a clean road effect, and ...our park, our signature for the festival was ready.
We'd show off the park to other kids in our block with so much enthusiasm that they would want to help us the next year too.
Our home celebration was not as grand as in some other homes of south Bangalore, but brought some spice into our lives. Everyday it was about a new delicacy and some neighbours visiting. A chance for gossip, chatter about school life, teachers, and that vague mention of holiday homework.
During dasara vacations in Chennai (then Madras) I remember accompanying my grandma to many households in our street and the adjoining one, where the best of Kolu displays left me in awe. Steps that would begin at the floor and go all the way up to the ceiling. Dolls of Gods, goddesses, soldiers, elephants, sometimes Mysore dasara procession...each home was a treat.
I would notice while walking those streets holding Ammumma's hand, how girls of my age would be dressed up in their best paavadai and blouse, their hair done up with ornaments and braids looking all the more pretty with kutchu (hair ornament woven into the plait, to hang at its bottom). And wish for them too.
The gombe habba excitement has faded over the years, only to re-emerge in some pockets of the city. But Bangalore's tradition has only grown a little richer, with the sizeable Bengali crowd celebrating Durga pooja, in close to 30 pandals across the city. One of the oldest Bengali associations is on Assaye Road and each year it's crowd only grows bigger. I remember covering an event there when Jyoti Basu presided and we journos could understand nothing -- the whole speech was in Bengali.
All along news of dandiya raas the Gujarati version of our Kolattam/ Kolatta that is so hyped in Mumbai and Gujarat would be played up by the news channels, despite Mysore and Kolkata being the main centres of Dasara festivities.
Out here in Mumbai, my curiosity about dandiya only grew stronger. I thought the ethnic best of Gujarat would play out itself in these nine days, colourful and energetic! Sad end.
Dandiya nights in Goregaon blare with their Bollywoodised versions, minus anything traditional save for the aarti songs. Am sure it has a little less to do with Film City being right here, near home.
Housing societies here limit their commitment to as far as fixing good lights, microphones and some chairs. Even those socieities in South Bombay that hired traditional dancers no longer do so, says a news report today. True such a celebration gives a chance for the otherwise home-bound neighbours, especially women bored by their household chores and children, to come out, dance and have fun...but come to think of it, Pappu can't dance saala finding its way before a traditionally decorated Durga picture! And for kids growing up in an environment of Bollywood music onslaught, it makes them prance about with that much more energy!
It kind of struck me that over the years, these celebrations have been going a few steps closer to discos up-town.
Very party-like, minus the DJ. So much that post 10 pm, society heads stand at their gates watching out for the police jeep. Arrival of the police means all dancing must stop. At 10.30 pm sharp. Thought that was only for discos!
And I thought dandiya raas was all about turning ethnic in traditional style and going upbeat about folk music! Someone please give me traditional fare in this part of Mumbai!
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