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Gokulashtami, Ganpati, the Garba..

I opened my window on Sunday and heard the strains of Govinda aala re, aala zara matki sambhal Brijbala… the hit film song of the 60’s reverberating, as ‘Gokulashtami’ was being celebrated with ‘Dahi Handi’ groups moving about like warriors to win prize money.

                            I knew the festival season had arrived.

                       It’s that time of the year when potholes are forgotten, flooding overlooked and politicians forgiven. It’s that time of the year when pretty girls come on the streets and dance to sensual, scintillating drumbeats, their shy glances leaving long lasting impression on surrounding males, who dance macho steps with bravado and flourish to gain second look and maybe new courtship.

                      The festival season has started and there’s hope in the air.

                      And romance and laughter and gaiety

                      I watch the faces of devotees as they bring home the elephant god, small carts, pushed by the man of the house, with eldest son steering unwilling front wheel as daughter walks alongside, looking devoutly at sacred idol, lending a hand to steady him as pothole jolts the cart and I know a mother at home waits, with room cleaned and scrubbed for her annual guest and sweets and other delicacies for other guests who will drop in, as they do every year.

                       Ganpati stays a few days and then his journey to the sea or nearest pond, with same family accompanying him, this time the mother also to wish him tearful goodbye.

                      And then comes Navratri!

                      Many decades ago I marveled as I watched Gujarati’s dance the dandiya every night, their steps lithe, movements artistic and elegant, hardly revealing, sometimes overweight bodies. Today I see the whole of India joining in.

                       For nine days India dances.

                       Deadlines are extended and music goes on into the night as policemen become a little more tolerant to ten o clock deadline, after all their own daughters at some colony playground or club, dressed in fashionable finery are also dancing the night away, making the most of being away from watchful eyes of over possessive father.

                       Finally it’s Divali, when the country reverberates to the sound of a billion crackers and flashes and streaks fill night sky. It’s four days when work comes to a grinding halt; nobody complains; we all need to unwind, and from Gokulashtami onwards the unwinding begins..!

 

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