Festival fever

The essence of our Indian heritage comes alive through our festivals, says MADHUCHANDA DAS, while urging us to celebrate them with deserving enthusiasm

It’s that time of the year when, no matter which corner of the world you inhabit, the Indian in you starts craving for the home and the hearth… Yes, the festive season’s here and that unmistakable scent of misty autumn breeze blowing across the homeland around now doesn’t fail to twitch you too. Atlanta or Antigua, Adelaide or Aberdeen - the quintessence of the Indian identity and ethos lies in its festivals. Festivals symbolize our unparalleled penchant for family, friends, frolic, for fasting, food, fashion, for fanfare, faith, flurry, fervour, fairs and the list goes on and on. They are the unquestionable testimony of “We, The People”, a collective celebration of life itself that connects and conjoins us, in spite of our regional diversities.

Indisputably, Indians celebrate more festivals than the rest of the world put together.

Come September or may be even end August, and our calendars start getting chocka-block. The desi zest for gaiety and gala sets itself free and warm hues of red, gold, orange, yellow and pink commence colouring everything from our choice of saris, salwars and kurtas, to our mithai, our mehendi, makeup, music and even our minds if I may say so. The supremely satisfying shopping sprees and the even more soul gratifying receipt of gifts make us thank our Indian stars profusely. Dietary restrictions are conveniently tossed out of the window as we’re heralded into the delectable world of gastronomic divinity. Right from the motichoor laddoo that, if you remember, we’d stolen from the carefully stashed away stack in the fridge as perennially hungry 9-year-olds, to the enduringly appetising badam halwa and puri that took us straight to seventh heaven over the yearshappy days are here again!

It’s the time to not only throw lavish parties, but also to catch up with friends who were eclipsed from memory of late, to laugh out ragingly, to bond, share, bow in respect, to bless with magnanimity, to embrace with unqualified affection, to dance and sing with careless abandon, to stay connected with tradition and roots, to reaffirm our belief in the victory of good over evil, and yet to forgive and forget. Hopping with cousins and friends from one pandal to another during Durga Puja and Ganesh Chaturthi or gliding from one auntie’s to another, not so much for the kanya puja on ashtami as for the love of kale chane and puris; gorging on the irresistible Id spread of biryani and seviyan at Rizvi Chachu’s amidst the customary Id Mubarak greetings; grooving to the beats of disco dandiya; joining in the building society’s ear-splitting shrieks on seeing glittering fireworks brighten the Diwali sky or clandestinely counting the money that big bro had hurriedly slipped into our hands after bhai duj. These chapters from history may agonise us with memories of times gone by and make us feel forlorn and desolate momentarily, but festivals celebrate our values, our profoundly intense emotions and our spirit of community and brotherhood. No matter which corner of the globe we’re perched in today, festivals evoke the same engaging merriment and endearment, be it in the form of compact, private cards sessions during Lakshmi Puja in Manhattan, grooving to the beats of the electronic dhol in Macau or a mammoth audience watching a celebrity from India perform live in Melbourne. They, unfailingly, help us to recline, repose, reconcile, re-kindle, recreate and regain everything, including the few kilos we’d surprisingly managed to lose on that hair-raising diet. Hopefully or hopelessly we’re reinspired to hit the gym with renewed gusto thereafter.

Devi Durga’s ceremonial immersion or Ravana’s effigy eventually going up in flames has eternally wrenched our hearts, whether we viewed it live as kids in Kolkata or on satellite TV as the eternally kids-at-heart in Kentucky. They signified the close of festivities, as also the fleeting holidays. But again, festivals are about hope and prospect.

And thankfully, there’ve always been more to follow. The chocolate and raisin cake during Christmas at Aunt Jenny’s has forever occupied a special place in our hearts.

And the tackily embellished Xmas tree in the corner of the room looked on triumphantly as we shrieked ‘Happy New Year’ as the clock struck midnight.

Baaro maashey tero paarbon goes a Bengali saying, which stands for thirteen festivals in twelve months. It succinctly sums up our compulsive urge to publicly rejoice at the drop of a hat. The modes and the manifestations may have changed over the decades that have rolled past, but the mood, morale and motivation remain indomitable. As we prepare to plunge into a sea of revelry this festive season, let’s be thankful for our festivals – they provide the succour, solace and sustenance that we desperately need in these challenging times.

So, on this peppy note, happy gorging and forging.