Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam

The famous Italian astronomer, Galileo, observed that “the tickle is not in the feather”, and ever since I have often wondered and wilfully submitted myself to the Hindu belief in “maaya" as a  state of existence. Trying to comprehend this world and its multitudes, if anything, is turning out to be a daunting task and learning more is only impeding the process.

This was just another humid evening in my rather quiet apartment at Oshiwara, wherein I was yet again bemused by the Japanese ring to an otherwise Bombayish neighbourhood until my reverie was snapped tersely by the sudden belting of a Salman Khan number from yet another famous potboiler. It reminded me that the festive season was just round the bend, literally so.

Like a cat that moves around chasing its own tail ever confounded by its possible shape, size and perhaps agility, I too have often chased the extensive pantheon of Gods that is available to people of my blessed ilk (aka Brahmins). The months of August- September every year unfailingly tickles my senses at the thought of my Elephant deity doing a Hrithik or a Katrina to the catchy numbers from Bollywood such as this present one… I mean, just imagine the scene unfolding before you! It surely is a welcome change from the sedate and structured chants that we have been repeating for ages now and most of the time to no avail. Probably, the heavens above, like the lesser mortals below, are also in need of entertainment and this celestial epiphany has been rightly recognised by our political class and their junkies as they have routinely regaled every God and Goddess with the choicest item numbers possible and more recently, thanks to the new gyan dispensed by the folks from Shiv Sena and MNS, the deities are twisting and twirling to the Marathi numbers, which is now (in Bombay) the lingua franca of the Gods too!

Religion in India evokes such lofty sentiments from its believers. Even a harmless gentleman like my dad snarls in disapproval at ‘a particular community’ or people from ‘a particular faith.’ From bans on books to movies, morchas on the street about offence to religious sentiments, to conversions for convenience, religion, like the time honoured survivor, the cockroach, seems to be flitting, favouring and fancying all the sentiments it unleashes in mankind. This unleashed sentiment is splendidly enchased upon by our ever enterprising business community. Do you happen to recall when is Dhanteras? I never manage to, until a certain Tanishq or even an international jewellery venture like Caratlane, kindly remind me of it. I am sure they remind many such multitudes, for during one of my visits to the local jewellery store with my mom, this otherwise quiet and laid-back store in Mysore, turned out to be an adventure akin to one experiences at the Kumbh Mela! If you ever wanted to know the wealth quotient of Indians or are yet unaware of our collective obsession towards the yellow metal, just drop by to a jewellers’ on Dhanteras or to one of the wedding ceremonies! The bride’s smile may or may not matter, as long as the arm bands, kamar bandhs (waist bands, not waste!), nose rings and the multiple neckpieces are all exclaiming splendour and eliciting the appropriate nods from all the maamis. Probably, this is their calling post menopause! Evaluating the worth of a girl, her family, and of the gold being sported… Anyhow, she is supposedly a manifestation of the Goddess Lakshmi and one dare not cock a snook there, at least I shall desist. Imagine my plight if this deity is put off while I continue to live on in Bombay! I might see myself jostling for space and water in a rundown chawl and sport the saffron flag as an amulet of safety.

Now, that possibly could be the reason why our festivals are routinely celebrated ‘by a particular section of the society’ that is patronised by all our khadi babus… From Ganeshotsav to Holi, these are chaps who are perennially in a mood for revelry and gyrate unabashedly to the DJ music, the blinding lights, sighing traffic and the despondent gods waiting to return to their quieter heavenly abodes! Plebs from my ilk prefer to go on holidays to faraway destinations such as Pondicherry or the Andamans to escape this cultural onslaught. Gone are the days of homemade delicacies like my father’s paalpayasam, murukku or my mom’s kadubu and ellu. That is passé as chocolate modaks, also available in white chocolate, exquisite cream based confectioneries made from low fat milk and soya based wafers are boxed and hampered away to unsuspecting souls like me. If one has to savour a traditional meal, places like the Banana Leaf (in Versova, Bombay) make the “Onam Saadiyam” available for a price that numbs my appetite for the next couple of weeks. 

I guess one must make peace with the changing times, just as I have done with most of our students devotedly celebrating the Halloween, with barely any understanding of what the damn thing is all about! This is the other side of our festivities. Our present generation that hails from the section that boasts of disposable income, have disposed off their comprehension of meaning and significance of our festivals. Dussehra is reduced to garba and dandia with a Phalguni Phatak or a Bollywood number egging you on to move in some kind of rhythm. Diwali has become ‘contentious’ with people split wide apart on whether to burst crackers or not to, but lighting up every nook of their apartments with series lights (or fairy lights as I gather), wherein the electricity consumption be damned! The famously infamous kumbh mela, a chance to witness the ashen faced, pot smoking nearly nude Naga Sadhus, has redefined marketing strategies as we are escorted to AC Tents with all amenities including satellite TV that would cost one (read 6 digit)a month’s salary! The less that is said of the Holi and Iftar parties held in Bombay the better, for one’s social standing is dependent on which of these ‘celebrity parties’ does one get invited to and on which corner of the page 3 is one displayed.

It appears to me that divinity and festivity is now the domain of the celebrity marked by frivolity with little or no heed to proclivity to traditions or sentiments that initiated these festivities. Like me, even poor Ganesha must be pondering over his depiction that is sometimes in blue, at times bronzed, or sporting a snake around his neck and arrow akin to Cupid’s ensconced in his forearm. Just like all things Indian, this must be the cocktail samosa made easier to consume and encompassing the confluence and influence of cultures around the world. 

A G K