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Society
Happy Dusshera!
by
Glory Sasikala Franklin
 There
is this something between the flower people and me. One look at my long
hair and they make a beeline for me with their jasmines and roses. I've
learnt to appreciate flowers strung in my hair too ever since a flower
vendor in Calcutta had held out a length of jasmines (strung for the
Goddess) to me and said wistfully, "Phool rakhben? Eikane kaeo phool
raakhe na." (Will you keep these flowers? No one keeps flowers
here.)
My saris and my glass bangles and long hair and jasmines. And my
celebration of being an Indian woman.
They say Indians are the fourth happiest people in the world. It doesn't
take much to make an Indian happy. Just a clay idol of Ganesha (the
elephant God) on Vinayaka Chaturthi or a Saraswati idol on Saraswati
pooja is prize enough. They carry away these idols home, holding them
close to their chest, a smile of utter bliss on their faces, a priceless
trophy.
This Vinayaka Chaturthi, I watched a man carrying away an idol that was
still wet and brown and was just the suggestion of Ganesha. Obviously,
he had struck a bargain.
Tomorrow, these idols won’t sell. Tomorrow, these idols have to be
carried amidst bursting crackers and dances and immersed in the ocean.
In Bangalore, they have built a tank to immerse these idols because
there is no ocean there. It is later cleaned up.
That is how high joy and the celebration of living rates on the priority
list of Indians.
And then it is Ayudha pooja and all the machines and vehicles and
computers get their due quota of vermillion dots and flowers. And sweets
are distributed.
The auto rickshaw is to Indian roads, what camels are to the desert.
They can ply down all the ditches and puddles and bone wracking cracks
and dents that are there. But today, of course the autos are all off the
road. They stand in rows, with their vermillion dots and banana saplings
and flower garlands. If you are wondering what the pandal and
loudspeaker and balloons and color papers are all about, keep such
doubts to yourself. Who said that anything and everything should have a
meaning to it?
Just celebrate!
Shopping of course is a must. I heard a lady standing at the doorway of
a shop and saying petulantly to her husband (who was carrying the baby),
"If you can, go in and buy me that sari. Otherwise, take me home. I
don't want any other."
Well, what do you know, the man had come all this way and was carrying
the baby only to hear her say that. So of course, she must be ushered
in, the sari bought and the wads of notes taken out of the pocket and
paid. Later, he will have the additional pleasure of complaining to his
friends about what a costly maintenance she is.
My paper vendor boy had tied banana saplings and color papers to his
van. He had burst crackers early morning and distributed apples and
oranges and rice flakes and now he had the loudspeaker going full swing,
blasting out the latest songs. Half-hearted complaints on everyone's
lips, "I wish he would lower to volume," knowing fully well that
Dusshera would not be Dusshera without the right amount of sound
pollution.
My landlord in Kolkata was one of the richest guys, owning the whole
complex of apartments and shops and the school. He had money enough to
feed generations to come and not a day's work to do to earn it. And so
he sat all day at the sweet shop.
But unfortunately, he was also Kipte. "Kipte" - that wonderful
sounding word means a "miser" in Bengali.
So this Dusshera, he was in a dilemma. He never gave anyone anything,
but he had grown fond of me. And so I was startled by a knock on my door
and he handed me the smallest mud pot of Prashad there ever was and
hurried off leaving me laughing and laughing till tears poured down my
face.
Dusshera in Calcutta meant for us, new clothes, going from one pandal to
another, looking at the Goddess and asking for Prashad, holding out the
hand for the holy water and drinking it and rubbing it over the head.
Giant wheels, candy floss, crackers, drums, balloons and fire and
incense.
Having parents who dint seem to come from one particular place and
having been a part of the floating population of India all my life,
wandering from one city to another, I have come to appreciate my
Indianess more than a lot of people do.
And so it is that I string jasmines in my hair, tinkle my glass bangles
and walk down the road, a happy song in my heart.
October 8, 2006
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Society
The Week of October 8, 2006
Goodbye America? N-deal Setback may be Tip of
Iceberg! by Rajinder Puri
India's Leadership Crisis : Impact on Defense and
Politics by Gaurang Bhatt, MD
Presidential System of Government for India
by Dr. Subhash Kapila
Always Yes to Planned Murder by Terrorists by
V. Sundaram
Parliament Attack: The Clemency Chaos by
Nagesh Padmanaban
Indo-Pak relations: It’s time to end the relations
by Dr. Deepak Pawar
Dengue Et Al: A Billion Terrorists Strike
by Col. Rahul K. Bhonsle
SPAC: Special Purpose Acquisition Company by
Deepak Dahiya
Railway Safety is No Accident! by Arya Bhushan
Empires and Dust: Travels in Modern India -
III by Ashish Nangia
Distressed Habitation by VK Joshi
Dal: A Lake or a Polluted Pond? by Naira
Yaqoob
A Matter of Faith by Naira Yaqoob
In Search of God by Pradeep Joshi
Mahisasura-Mardini: The Sacred Narrative of Durga
Ma by Aparna Chatterjee
Is Hero Worship still there? by TA Ramesh
Pandit Shyamaji Krishna Verma: Salutations to a
Great Revolutionary by V. Sundaram
Secret India at war celebrates its re-invented
past by Marc-Olivier Parlatano
Creation of a second capital of Karnataka in Belgaum
by Niranjan Babu Bangalore
The Future History of Taiwan by William R.
Stimson
Sex Workers Take Charge by Usha Revelli
New Day Dawns for Child Servants by Mini Sharma
From Tashkent to the World by Albina Belevich
A Circle of Peace by Stephanie Hiller
Text Books for Change by Deepti Priya Mehrotra
Happy Dusshera! by Glory Sasikala Franklin
Where Myths & Superstitions Heal by Anil Gulati
Of Birds, Bees, Beasts and Other Animals by
Julia Dutta
When I was Pin-ned down! by Prakash Pathre
The Witty Side by Melvin Durai
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