Dancing in circles

It’s getting to be that time of year again, when all of Mumbai goes crazy. I am sure the virus attacks various other parts of the country as well, especially Gujarat and Rajasthan, but for now my own city is in focus. The festival of Navaratri is on, in full swing, as commonly stated, and the noise levels are blasting through the roof in many parts of town. For the most part, people have started making the revelry a sarvajanik one, gathering in huge vacant spaces to dance the night…or at least as much of it as the local authorities will allow…away to the syncopated sound of synthesised beats. Where I live, the sounds are barely discernible, a marked change from even just a few years ago, when my parents’ bedroom echoed with the rhythms of dandiya and sleep was at a premium that we non-participating folk could never afford.

It was even louder when we lived in South Mumbai, on top of a huge apartment block perched at the highest point of a hill. It had a fabulous view from all sides – in fact, we often said that even my bathroom had the best view this side of the world! It was set bang in the middle of an area densely populated by Gujaratis, for whom the festival and the dance has special significance, and the celebrating went on all night, with no ‘quiet time’ rules to stop the clamour. From about 7:30, when the sun was truly down and the lights went on, until long past our collective bedtimes, the tinny, electronic wail of synthesisers and regular thump of disco drums would batter past the window glass, covered with thick brocade curtains and heavy blinds, straight against our vulnerable eardrums.

And the views from every balcony and window would include whirling skirts, glittering fairy lights, long buffet tables, strobes, car beams and mirrors…always mirrors reflecting millions of tiny images of dancers spinning around the circle, bobbing and weaving to the beat of traditional music, revamped and rejiggered with a Bollywood twist. Falguni Pathak wailed along with other famous voices, the same tunes ringing in various pitches with the words changing according to the fad of the time.

Today, nights are strangely silent, even boring. But I can – if I really wanted – catch the action on the channel my cable television provider has saved for the local telecasts of events. So when I do my dose of surfing before going off to bed bearing small cat, I see glimpses of my own past in full colour. Thankfully without the deafening decibels.