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V Gangadhar

Navratri: The more things change, the more they remain same

Navratri has become totally noisy in the west, that is Gujarat and Maharashtra. The festival is nothing but night-long song and dance programmes that are modernised version of the traditional garba. Today, the focus is on the more filmi disco dandiya.

But the Tamilian Navratri is more subdued. Called the kolu, it consists of arranging traditional and modern dolls on wooden planks put up for the purpose. Women visit each others's homes, sing songs and offer prasad in which the sundal takes the pride of place. Made from dal and pulses, the sundal could be sweet or spicy.

A week before kolu was due, the servants took down from the attic the heavy boxes which contained the dolls. Wooden planks which were lying outside the home were brought in and arranged like stands in the stadium. The dolls were made of glass, wood and metal and the special, traditional wooden dolls were called marapachi. They were both male and female and were dressed up in colourful and shining clothes.

Some of the more affluent homes displayed more scientific toys including battery-operated trains which moved on narrow tracks and even whistled while in motion. But the traditional toys were regarded as more important.

My memories of Navratri are very pleasant, despite the fact that men played negligible roles. But being the only male among four sisters, I enjoyed certain privileges and accompanied them on their rounds of the kolu visits. Aged eight or nine, I was too young to ogle the attractive girls I came across. But my attention was on the prasad, particularly sundal.

On these kolu expeditions, I was always accompanied by my best friend, Veluswamy, who had to keep himself in the background because he was not a brahmin. He too was after the sundals and depended on me to feed him. I did this without regret. But if the sundal was sweet (made from either jaggery or sugar) I gulped it down fast, rubbed my hands on the seat of my shorts and told Venu that there was no prasad in that particular home except paan leaves.

I generously gave him the salty sundal. I do not know if Veluswamy ever caught on to my deception but, being possessed by a devilish sweet tooth, I would not part with the sweet stuff.

Another enjoyable aspect of the kolu festival was watching the women sing. Some of them had to be cajoled to sing, though very few of them refused outright. But most of the women viewed the kolu visits as outlets for these singing 'talents' and burst out into song without even the formality of an invitation! Sometimes it was difficult to make them stop.

I used to nudge my sisters who frantically rolled their eyes and shushed me into not laughing. But as soon as the woman who sang off-key departed, we used to burst out laughing and imitate the poor women. It was rather a cruel joke but, then, it had its funny aspects!

While my sisters always judged the kolu in various homes by the attractiveness of display, my ranking was entirely based on the quality and quantity of the prasad offered. Some of the households could manage only bananas and they went down in my esteem. Those which offered halwa, Mysore pak, hot vadas and sweet sundal got my five-star rating. The village boys walked around singing a ditty which went something like this: "Bommai kilu bakshnam, Thandal lakshanam, tharattal avalakshanam..." Roughly translated into English, it praised the homes which offered lavish snacks and put down those which did not.

Kolu, in those days, was strictly a brahmin affair and non-brahmin visitors were discouraged. At Chokknathapuram village where we stayed for some years, my grandfather, a crusty old man of 70 plus to whom the caste system was the lifeblood of Indian life, queried every male visitor if he was a brahmin or not. My friends and I very quickly caught on to the act and I instructed them always to reply, "We are brahmins, thatha." Grandfather did not bother to check if they wore the traditional holy thread and allowed them entry!

For the senior boys, kolu was a happy period for ogling. They rated the girls on the basis of beauty, voice and the dresses they wore. The girls knew they were being scrutinised and acted coquettish. But then it was all in gentle innocence and there was no question of the boys being able to talk or make friends with the girls. The girls travelled in groups and were always chaperoned by their mothers, aunts or cousins.

Later on, I found that kolu was more organised and formal in the big cities. In New Delhi, members of the south Indian brahmin community left cards at the homes of their friends, specifying the dates they were expected to visit.

The nine-day festival was split into visiting days and hosting days. I though it was a good arrangement. The snacks also became more modern and I was astonished when one household served ice cream. I am sure my friend Veluswamy would have enjoyed it!

The caste barrier was slowly breaking and, in the big cities, no one bothered about the caste or religion of the visitors. But, in one Madras home, I overheard the aged mother-in-law asking her daughter-in-law if they should wash the kolu room which had played host earlier in the day to some foreign couples. The old lady muttered to herself, "Rellamo ippo varal (All sorts of people now visit)." Well, some things never change!

Illustrations: Dominic Xavier