Social change comes, even if slowly

 When I was expecting my first child, my parents decided they wanted to do a Valaikaapu ceremony to protect me from the evil eye and to ensure the birth of a healthy child. Though I do not believe in rituals, I agreed to let them go ahead with it, because I knew it meant a lot to them, and who doesn’t want to do all they can to ensure a safe pregnancy and a healthy delivery? The only thing I was worried about was with the glass bangles breaking, but after someone assured me that broken bangles don’t bring bad luck, I even started looking forward to it.

The night before, I casually told my mother that I would like our neighbour to be the first to put the bangles on my wrist. I was totally unprepared for the outburst- she was a widow; while she could be on the fringes, she couldn’t participate in the ceremony.

I made it clear that it was not acceptable to me- since the ceremony was to prepare the way for an uneventful childbirth, who better to bless me than a lady who had given birth to three children, and had six grandchildren?

My mother tried hard to dissuade me, but I refused to relent. Our neighbour was then called in, and she appeared even more shocked at the prospect of participating in my Valaikaapu then my mother had been.

I stood firm. If she was not going to put bangles on my wrist and bless the child, I would not go through with the ceremony. She tried telling me that her participation is inauspicious, but I informed her since she had my good at heart, there was no way she could be anything except a blessing. After a lot of arguments, when they realised that I was not going to budge, our neighbour finally relented.

On the day of the Valaikaapu, she wasn’t the first to put the bangles on my wrist- that honour went to an older lady who had not just grandchildren but also a great grandchild- but she did slip a pair of bangles on my wrist and bless me. A couple of months later, when my baby was born, she was one of the first to know, and she celebrated the hardest.

I had not set out to bring about social change- all I wanted was that someone very dear to me be a part of a day celebrating me. But that brief rebellion clearly got people thinking. During Navratri that year, a few people invited the women who had lost their husbands to view the golu and participate in the celebrations. Though they were not given manjal kungumam, they got to wear their silk sarees and sit and chit-chat with the other women.

Over time, in the apartment complex where my mother lived, the participation of widows in social and religious ceremonies got normalised. Nobody battered an eyelid when the groom’s mother draped a bright silk saree and did the aarti to welcome the new bride into her marital home. It was no longer perceived as an act of rebellion when a mother put marutāṇi on her palms and gave her daughter away.

For centuries, women have been conditioned to withdrawing from social life after losing their husband. That attitude has now changed, at least in that small apartment complex, and women continue leading the same life as they did before their official status change from ‘wife’ to ‘widow’.

No, I did not set out to change society, or even a part of it. All I wanted was that someone I cared about be a part of what was an important day for me.

No, she was just not happy when I forced her to participate in the ceremony. Had something gone wrong, I know she would have blamed herself, though in reality it was I that her taken away her choice.

But what did happen was that the traditional way of doing things was questioned, and people gradually decided they wanted to do away with it. That is really the only way to bring about social change- not by forcing big changes, but by gradually chipping away till one day when you realise that without you being aware of it, change has come about.

The United Colours of Navratri

 The Navratri Colour Code united women in a tight Sisterhood. It is meant to be celebrated, not imposed.

Twelve years back when I had re-entered the formal workforce after a break, amidst lots of discussion and banter, the “colour code” for Navratri was written out and posted on the office noticeboard. Those were days when I was going through a monochromatic phase, so on the first day, I wore red earrings with my black shirt and indigo jeans. On the second day, feeling festive, I draped a blue stole over my white shirt and faded jeans. The next day when I had to go to office, the colour was ‘cyan’, and since I happened to have a dressy cyan and purple kurta, that’s what I wore. On the way to work, I noticed something strange- almost all the women in my railway carriage were in cyan. Thinking back, I realised that most of the women had been in red and blue the previous two days too, but since they were common festive colours I hadn’t noticed. But cyan? An entire city of women in cyan, when most people don’t even own a single piece of clothing in that colour. That was my first introduction to the famous “Navaratri colour code”.

When I asked, I was told that a different manifestation of the goddess was worshipped on each day, and the colour was dedicated to her. For the next couple of years, I worked out of a home office, so the Navratri colour code was something I was only vaguely aware of, but I did notice something strange. The order in which the Goddesses were worshipped remained the same, but the order of colours changed from year to year. Clearly, the colours were not associated with the Goddesses!

Then someone then told me that the colours were decided by the Nakshatrams, but even that didn’t explain why some colours remained constant year on year, but others changed. What was also not explained was why the order of colours was never the same. Finally, I realised that even people who have been participating in the Navratri Colour Code for years have no clue where the colours came from, so I took to google to seek answers.

The mystery was finally solved. There is no religious significance to the colours. The Maharashtra Times first introduced the Navratri colour code in order to engage with the female readers and boost their circulation figures. The Navratri colour code proved to be so popular, it spread across the state, and through saree pacts spread across the nation and even abroad. Navratri Check out the popularity of Instagram or Facebook and you see how people plan their wardrobe well in advance so they can be a part of the global “Navratri colours” hashtags.

But what are these colours? Do they have any significance?

They do. The days of the week are named after the Sun, the Moon and five planets, each of which is associated with a particular colour. These are the colours that form the base of the Navratri Colour Code.

Once you know this, cracking the colour code become easy. In fact, there are many women who follow the colour code even otherwise. My grandmother, for instance, always wore red on Tuesday and black or blue on Saturday. It was something she did as a matter of course.

But hang on, what about pink and purple. Cyan, peacock green and sky blue. Where did they come from?

Good question, simple answer.

Once the first seven colours are allocated, the other two slots are determined by the person who finalises the code every year. Maybe she has a purple saree she wants to drape?

Why then is it so popular?

The Navratri colour code is popular because it is fun. Participating in the trend is a way to assert your individuality while submerging in a collective. It symbolisers Sisterhood. Whether you are the CEO or the lady cleaning her room, you were in the same colour. I have had colleagues remove their black burqas in office to reveal Navratri colours- it was a social celebration, not a religious one.

But now, the colour code is being forcibly implemented. The Senior Management of a PSU bank not only made it mandatory that all employees and vendor partners conform to the Navratri colour code, they threatened punitive action against those that did not. The circular even specified that the colour of the day should be the base colour of the outfit to be considered. While any organization is within its rights to specify and implement a dress codes, they cannot impose a custom that is religious in nature. Thankfully, it was withdrawn after public outcry, but it is a sign of a country that is moving far away from it’s secular tradition.

What is more ironicay is that the colour code which is being implemented by threatening punitive action against who do not confirm is of questionable significance. India is a pluralistic country. We have a wide diversity of customs and traditions. To impose homogeneity is to go against the ethos of the country. And that is extremely disturbing.

As for me, I did dress according to the colour code this Navratri as I have for many previous Navratris. But I did it my way. Once the seven days were completed, I circled back with yellow and green which are the ‘official’ colours of the day. My grandmother would certainly approve.

December 2014: Traditional Finery

 
The village belles dressed in traditional finery presented a picture of India that was Young, Beautiful and Traditional. An India seeped in culture. An India proud of her heritage. An India that I thought no longer existed.

How their lives will change once education and technology reach them, I thought. The thought excited me, but I was also apprehensive about how our collective heritage will be lost.
 
And then she whipped out her mobile phone, and checked her make up using the selfie mode. She was satisfied.
 
I was too. Technology and tradition do not have to be mutually exclusive.
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2014: The Year That Was

November 2014: The Village Life

The village life. The rural life. The burst of colours. Scents. And textures. We romanticise everything, from the smell of crowding to the taste of fresh food. Even the poverty, seen through city eyes, is exotic- wood fired stoves never look as good in urban slums. 

Do we look beneath? At farmers depending on the rains; at others depending on the farmers. One bad harvest can wipe out all chances of repaying loans. With the only way to create wealth being dependent on factors beyond their control, is it any wonder the menfolk all migrate to urban slums?

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2014: The Year That Was

...they should stay the way they are....

More than once, in the last five months, I’ve had ideas flit across my mind. Thoughts that I have chased with a butterfly net, striving to capture them. But when it came to it, I didn’t, or maybe I couldn’t. I’ve reached a point, where I am almost convinced I have lost the ability to pin ideas down as words. Then what am I doing signing up for NaBloWriMo? How do I expect to do one post a day for an entire month? But this is my fifth year, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to break with tradition.

“Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

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This is the fifth year that I am going to be a part of NaBloWriM. The writing mojo seems to have deserted me, but by elaborating either on a quote that touches my heart, or by attempting to capture a fleeting emotion, let me see how long I last.

I thanked tradition

Nobody goes swimming in January. Not even in a city which has but an apology for winter do people venture into a pool in January. But I had gone for a swim three days after the marathon last year, and I was determined to do so again this year. I had survived last year’s swim- I knew I would do so this year too. And I did. The water was cold, but bracing. I was happier than I have been for a very long time. I thanked tradition. If not for that, I would have missed something I really enjoyed.

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A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Traditions die hard

Three years back, when I first registered for NaBloWriMo, blogging everyday in the month of October was easy- it was what I had been doing ever since I’d started the blog a year earlier. The second year of NaBloWriMo had been no harder than the first, but sometime last year, I gave up trying to keep up with my blog. October had been a successful NaBloWriMo month, but I couldn’t sustain the momentum.

Traditions die hard, and I am back again. In October, I will attempt to blog once a day, everyday. And take it one day at a time.

Zaari, gold thread

Time was when zaari-sarees formed an essential part of every bride’s trousseau. Brightly coloured silk sarees with patterns woven in gold thread. Not gold coloured thread; but thread made by drawing pure gold into wire so thin it was almost as pliable as silk.
Zaari-sarees were precious, because they were so rare. And then gold-coloured synthetic threads came into the picture. Though purists would have nothing to do with it, you could get rip-offs of zaari-sarees at a fraction of the cost. Anyone could afford ‘zaari’. 
Any wonder that the modern bride prefers Swarovski crystals embroidered into her bridal ensemble?! 
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There are words, and there are words. Some words can be easily translated, others need to be described.  In April, I’ll attempt to capture the Soul of 26 'Indian' words in a  drabble of exactly 100 words.

Xulf, hair

A long plait snaking down her back, swaying seductively in time to her movement, the free end bouncing off her hips. She turns around, draws her hair over her face, and gives a wide-eyed stare from above her “xulf”. If Bollywood is to be believed, long, lustrous hair is the ultimate fantasy of the Indian male. 


When I was growing up, it was commonplace to see women with hair extending way past the hips. Indian women wear their hair much shorter now- it is rarely longer than waist length. But even in its shorter, straighter, more chemical avatar, "xulf" rules.
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There are words, and there are words. Some words can be easily translated, others need to be described.  In April, I’ll attempt to capture the Soul of 26 'Indian' words in a  drabble of exactly 100 words.

Raashi, signs of the Zodiac

So much of your life is governed by the “raashi” that was on an ascendant at the time of your birth. While there was a time when nothing auspicious was undertaken without checking if the stars were aligned in favour of your raashi, that is no longer the case any longer. The only time raashis really come into prominence is while checking the compatibility of raashis before solemnising a marriage. 


But if you thought belief in raashis was dying out, think again. Many are the parents who choose to have a child by C-section, so they can control the raashi.
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There are words, and there are words. Some words can be easily translated, others need to be described.  In April, I’ll attempt to capture the Soul of 26 'Indian' words in a  drabble of exactly 100 words.

Paani, water

When you visit someone, the first thing they do is offer you a glass of cold water. For long, I used to refuse it, because while water is my drink of choice, I do not like it cold. But then I came to realize that the glass of water was not just a glass of water. In a nation where potable water is scarce, it indicated that the family has water at home, and you are important enough for them to share it with you. You honour them by accepting the water, as they do by offering it to you.
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There are words, and there are words. Some words can be easily translated, others need to be described.  In April, I’ll attempt to capture the Soul of 26 'Indian' words in a  drabble of exactly 100 words.

Odhani, a traditional long scarf

Plain, printed or embroidered. Silk, cotton, chiffon or synthetic. Matched to the outfit, or contrasted. Covering the torso, or draped over one shoulder. 


Odhanis come in many forms, but have one thing in common. It is not an accessory- it is an integral part of the outfit. There are conventions to follow when you pick the particular odhani to wear with a dress, and even if you bend the rules, you do so only in certain ways. 


With Western-wear gaining popularity, odhanis are fading out. And for all that I consider them difficult to manage, I will miss them so. 
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There are words, and there are words. Some words can be easily translated, others need to be described.  In April, I’ll attempt to capture the Soul of 26 'Indian' words in a  drabble of exactly 100 words.

Namak, table salt

If you thought “salt” was something you added to food, you couldn’t be more wrong. “Namak” is one of the most loaded concepts across India. To taste someone’s ‘namak’, doesn’t just mean you have partaken in their hospitality; it means you are in a subtle way indebted to the person. It even describes people- “naman haram” is a person you cannot trust, and “namak hala” is one who is true to your salt. 


Any wonder that in many parts of the country, the first thing that is put on your plate at a wedding feast is a pinch of salt.
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There are words, and there are words. Some words can be easily translated, others need to be described.  In April, I’ll attempt to capture the Soul of 26 'Indian' words in a  drabble of exactly 100 words.

Sankranti- traditions endure

Sankranti; the Harvest Festival. One of our most important festivals. The day when you pray to the Sun God for a bountiful year. A festival which I never celebrate, because I did not see its relevance to a city-bred person like me.

And yet, on Sankranti day, dawn found me running on a bridge over an inlet of the sea. I caught the Sun playing hide and seek behind the skyscrapers. I saw its preening at its reflection in the placid waters. The Sun’s rays warmed my arms, lit up my heart.

Even if I deny my traditions, they endure.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Traditions that drive you mad

Is it only in my house that festivals end up becoming so stressful? Whether it is strictly necessary or not, you create your own traditions, and drive yourself crazy trying to maintain them even when you have barely enough time to breathe. You expect people to co-operate, but nobody seems to want to do anything except on their terms. And just when decide you will do everything yourself, instead of staying out of the way, people end up creating new problems. “Never again”, you swear. And at that point of time you mean it.

But come next year, you capitulate.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Ready to Commit?

NaBloWriMo?
National Blog Writer’s Month, that’s what!
NaBloWriMo was the first real blog event I participated in. Blogging every-day in the month of October wasn’t a big thing for me in 2009- had been doing precisely that for the previous fifteen months.
But after an unscheduled blogation, which almost became a goodbye from blogdom, committing to blog every-day for an entire month is a big deal. I am so not ready, but I wasn’t ready in April either, and yet I managed to get through the A to Z challenge.
Traditions die hard. For the third year running, I’m in!
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Are you ready to join in the maddness? Drop a word, and let them know.

Trees locked in Embrace

From a distance the two trees looked like one. The smaller, light green leaves of the Neem, merging with the larger, darker coloured leaves of the banyan. The branches were intertwined- locked together in a divine embrace. They were one, it would be impossible to tear them apart. And yet, though close together, their trunks stood apart, maintaining their separate identities.

The Neem tree is a manifestation of the Mother Goddess. Her consort, Shiva, is said to reside in the trunk of the Banyan tree. Were those two trees a representation of their Union? Did they personify a successful marriage?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Henna Tattoo Parlour

[This is a work of fiction.]

Every year at festival time, I take my place on the pavement with my friends, arrange my tubes of henna paste and pattern books around me, and set up up an alfresco henna tattoo parlour. The moment my customer gives me her hand, my fingers know exactly what to do. The henna paste flows out under my expert guidance, and peacocks, flowers and abstract designs take shape on her palms. Even the most intricate designs take me not more than ten minutes, my clients are always satisfied.

The money is good- it will pay for my canvas and oil paints.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Nights of Feasting, follow Days of Fasting

[Iftar - traditionally, the evening meal partaken by Muslims after a day of fasting. Today, a celebration which non-Muslims join in with gusto- who doesn't love a good meal?]


Be prepared to loosen your belt by an inch if you choose to walk down a street selling Ramazan delicacies. The aroma from the mutton kebabs and lamb chops travel straight up your nostrils and settle onto your hips and tummy. You can enjoy teh sensory experience of the sticky sweet jalebis and maddeningly fattening malpuas without even digging into them.

"What is the point of fasting all day, when you gorge at night?", you ask someone.
"Thinking of the evening meal helps us get through the day", they reply. "Besides many of these delicacies are available only during Ramazan.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.