Happy Mahanavami today and happy Vijayadashami tomorrow, dear readers. Random thoughts have a way of popping into one’s head between Navaratri and Diwali, when the mind floats freely, secure and child-like in the tangible presence of the Presence. Even the noir notion that ‘sweets to the sweet’ is literally an instance of killing with kindness, particularly if diabetics are given a tempting box of kaju katli. And it’s hard for mere mortals to resist ‘crispy lattice swirls with Indian clotted cream’. That is how jalebis with rabri were described in London’s oldest Indian restaurant, Veeraswamy, founded in March 1926 by Edward Palmer, a retired Anglo-Indian officer.
Eating our way wisely and well from festival to festival is no laughing matter. As more and more of us discover, our traditional lifestyle relied on checks and balances. So, one of the first things people did for Diwali was to prepare a medicine, like a spicy marmalade or chyavanprash, called Diwali lehiyam. Everyone at home took a spoonful to protect their tummies from the ravages of too many festival sweets. It’s available online, and the know-how to make it yourself is also a click away.
As to which, did we properly appreciate knowledge incarnate, Ma Sarasvati, a couple of days earlier on Sarasvati Puja? Her name means ‘possessor of flow’ from the Sanskrit word saras, meaning flow or water, signifying that knowledge is not a stagnant pond but a flowing river. For all we know, she’s totally stressed out as the icon of our whole knowledge economy today. It was Sarasvati as Vaak Devi who first said ‘Read!’ and ‘Write!’ to humankind. She uncaged the light, letting it shine within the hearts of sages. The romance of Urvashi and Pururavas is possibly the world’s first-known love story, in the first book known to the planet, the Rig Veda. As Vaak Devi, Sarasvati made Pururavas rub two arani sticks together to make fire, turning his suffering after Urvashi left him into something life-changingly useful. The first line of poetry known to the world is “Agnim eeley purohitam yajnasya deva rtvijam” (Rig Veda 1:1:1), meaning, “I praise Ignis, the chosen one, the priest, god and performer of sacrifice.” Our cultural link with fire is that old.
As to which, I find New India’s celebration of Dussehra most interesting. At a Dussehra fête in Delhi some years ago, I noticed several innovations and wondered if they had become the all-India norm. From what I gathered, the fête was taking place after a gap of years. For one, bomb blasts during our festivals had initially been a put-off, and in the years that followed, the prime movers had got busy with their children’s important exams and so on. But the colony committee seemed to have regrouped splendidly that year.
I almost didn’t go because I’d got so lazy that month that I felt I had to wear a joke tee proclaiming ‘I am Kumbhkaran’, for the one character who had his life inadvertently sorted was this ferocious giant who slept for six months a year. He did enough tapasya at Ravana’s behest to demand from Brahma the boon of Nirdevatam, the destruction of the Devas. Sarasvati saved the world by making his tongue stumble and say Nidratvam, long sleep.
However, I was glad I went, for I saw all kinds of heartening sights. It was slightly startling at first to see an MNC pizza chain’s stall at a Dussehra fête, but why not, I thought, something for everybody. An iconic Delhi ice-cream brand was there, too, an authentic bit of modern Delhi, while excellent, freshly made desi treats like besan-ka-chila, dahi vada, and bervi-alu flew off the counter at the Old Delhi Chaat stall, which I was irresistibly drawn to. I overheard uniquely Indian foodie grumbles like “Golgappe mein jaan nahin hai” (‘these golgappas lack life’) and saw strangers helpfully hand each other napkins and spoons. I saw long-lost friends, wished them ‘Happy Dussehra’, and enjoyed my snacks al fresco with them in the park in the soft October air.
Pleasant bhajans played at just the right soothing, not deafening, volume, and NGO stalls sold pretty gift bags, diyas and jewellery boxes. I spotted a significant act of inclusion: a well-placed stall for Kashmiri shawl-sellers next to the quilt-and-linen stall.
A bevy of gorgeous young ladies arrived beautifully dressed in lehengas for garba and dandiya, and I actually saw young boys politely jump up to give chairs to seniors.
Amid these genteel happenings, I noticed the ‘Ghost of Dussehra Past’ lingering with a novel twist. The evening's superhit was the man selling toy wooden swords, bows and arrows, the same as in my childhood and at any country fair. He did brisk business with the pre-teens, and it was a new, interesting sight for me to see little girls marching around with toy weapons, their daddies teaching them how to hold and string the bow and, of course, not shoot arrows except in the safe part of the park.
The most delightful was the laser Ramayana, with excellent images and sound, replacing the usual three effigies filled with fireworks. We also got to watch the holy epic without the pollution. Way to go, Vijayadashami, I thought, and Kolkata, too, reportedly had a wonderful laser show this year to inaugurate Durga Puja. Verily, the Light lives on as a flowing river.
Renuka Narayanan | FAITHLINE | Senior journalist
(Views are personal)
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