BENGALURU: I vividly remember that visit to the great marketplace of 8th Cross, Malleswaram. It was the onset of Dasara in 2003, and my mother and I were on this sloping street, scouting small shops, makeshift sheds and pushcarts for something very beautiful. The day was chaotic, but the smell of incense and fresh flowers and the sight of traditional wares, made it resplendent.
Crossing the busy Sampige Road, we came upon a row of stalls retailing what we were looking for – ‘Golu’ or ‘Gombe’. We immediately picked up a few of these doll sets, of Krishna’s Leelas, Tirupati Brahmotsavam, and a South Indian wedding, and welcomed them home to be displayed for the festival. This was not a tradition or custom in our family, but we wanted to indulge in this delightful cultural extravaganza for the sheer fun, beauty and creativity of it. Over the years, these colourful dolls came to be joined by a hundred more.
It’s Dasara again, and the melodic cacophony that these dolls bring, reverberates through my home. The excitement of my family members is palpable, to carefully bring these figurines out of hibernation since the previous year, to prepare and arrange them in a specific three-dimensional mise en scene, and watch them come to life. This is one moment when the entire pantheon of Gods and Goddesses arrive together, turning the occasion all the more blessed. There are Puranic lores on full display, as spectacularly as mentioned in the scriptures, and it is a fascinating treat to watch them play out in our own home. Navadurgas, Kumbhakarna’s Sleep, Kubera Lakshmi, Sri Krishna Vishwaroopa, and Mount Kailash, among others, are the cynosure of all eyes.
Dolls tell stories. Children often find a best friend in a favourite doll, and keep this friend around as they grow up. ‘Golu’ has many stories to tell as well, and there are lessons I learnt from these dolls and their tales. As a people lover, I learn a lot about life by just watching them. The dolls that depict regular people in regular settings, going through life’s happy moments, are very close to my heart. For over nine days, they graced my house and my being with their exuberance and vitality. They are full of life, despite being lifeless. They originate from the Earth, thanks to the clay out of which they are fashioned, and evolve into eternal Dasara companions in the hands of humble artisans.
There are family dolls, with all the regalia, highlighting tradition, such as a wedding, a Seemantham, a naming ceremony, and a couple’s golden wedding, to name a few. Dressed in traditional attire, some are seen visiting a Ganesha temple, praying under an Ashwatha Katte, or rejoicing at their housewarming ceremony. There are many such occasions which these dolls relive and take us back in time, to an age which was defined by its simplicity and soul.
A set of dolls shows little children attentively listening to their tutor, while some kids are seen frolicking in traditional yesteryear games. There is also a restaurant with waiters waiting tables for hungry customers. We come to a scene of evening amusement, where kids are buying balloons and ice cream, men with newspapers in hand are exchanging thoughts at a tea shop, and women are busy selling vegetables at the market. It’s a town in stoic motion. These dolls arranged in sequence reflect the different hues and variety of people. There is a contented silence on their face, yet they effectively communicate. All of them sport a distinct courteous smile with warm eyes, as they face one another.
When I sit in front of them, I feel I am part of all their glad tidings and childish mischief. It reminds me to admire life and say, “Thanks.” And yet, there is a sense of calm. Perhaps, in our busy lives, where career and social media take a chunk of our time, these dolls are telling us to slow down and savour life in all its fun and gratefulness. They are reminding us, “Go for a walk in the evening, and have some gupshup over tea with forgotten friends.” They are also saying, “Meet new people, and love them all.” These dolls ensure that relatives and neighbours, lost in touch and in time, ring our doorbell. They spread hope year after year, every Dasara when new dolls are welcomed home, expanding my view of the world and its simple little joys.
The writers’ views are their own