Navratri is synonymous with Gujarat and Gujaratis across India and the world. Starting after dinner, with women moving gracefully in circles, clapping joyously, surely the garba [listen!] must rank among the world's finest folk dances: simple enough for any village belle to join in, yet sufficiently aesthetic for the connoisseur. If I may borrow a famous line, it is a time when the streets come alive with the sound of music and dance! There is also the more popular dandia raas, one of the rare Indian folk dances wherein men join the women and dance to the beat of drums and music. The fact that most Indian dances would see the men and women segregated might go some way in explaining the phenomenal popularity of the dandia raas. Today it has become famous (or infamous) as the 'disco dandia'. At a personal level, in Baroda from where I finished my schooling, Navratri (literally, nine nights) was always a great time. Permission to go out was always available (did one even ask?) even if it meant returning in the wee hours of the morning. My friends and I'd cycle all over the town to see the pretty girls at their best, and eat lots of bhelpuri and kulfi. Baroda is considered the cultural capital of Gujarat, a city of refined sensibilities and distinguished taste. Of Gujarat's major cities, Ahmedabad is considered too brash, Surat too diamond-minded, and Rajkot too far away to matter. But Baroda... the Banyan Tree City, as it is called, has a charm all its own that flowers during the nine nights' festival. During Navratri, the two most popular centres would be the garbas performed at Race Course (since Gujarat does not allow any form of gambling, the Race Course sees no races!) and at the Faculty of Fine Arts, Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda. Both did not permit men. But men compensated by coming over to watch the awesome spectacle. And awesome it surely was! The Fine Arts garba, perhaps due to the strict girls' hostel rule, would start early and end early (whoever heard of garba getting over by 2200 or 2300 hours?), but the one at Race Course would go on and on, till the dancers and viewers were ready to drop dead and dawn began creeping into the still blackness of the sky. At Race Course, the dance would start with just a single ring of women. But soon that would become five rings (over 2000 participants) as they twirled, clapped, sang and laughed, their bright skirts flaring, their jewellery sparkling, and night turned into day with joy. But if these two were well-known, there were countless others taking place all over the city, in small corners, in courtyards, on public roads that were shamelessly blocked for the night, in bastis and slums, among the old residents of Baroda and the recent migrants of the villages. The city would be all lit up and everyone seemed to have a good time, except for the poor policemen who had to patrol the cities to ensure that trouble did not break out anywhere. What is the magic of Navratri? And what is the tradition behind it? Why did Mediaeval India, socially the dark ages of the country, suddenly permit women such late nights and even allow them to dance with unknown men? Was it to allow men and women a chance to meet and marry before the new year began 21 days later? Was it a celebration of harvest? Perhaps the popularity of garba and dandia stems from the fact that it actually gave the women, repressed at home, a whiff of freedom. Traditional garba songs contain lyrics where the teenage girls, all married by then, would sing about fighting their mothers-in-law, of economic freedom, of less cruel husbands, and perhaps even fantasise. That it actually provides an outlet, even if for just nine nights out of 365, is undeniable. Poor girls and women, cooped up in the confines of their small homes, even in today's world, suddenly have the right to step out and stay late. Is it any wonder that every 'pole' (akin to village corners) in Baroda would see women laughing and singing, enjoying every minute of their cherished freedom? Navratri has also undergone momentous changes over the past two decades. While earlier, the garba dominated, today, disco dandia with music from Hindi films blaring over microphones, and a dance that has little resemblance to the movements of just a few decades ago, is the king. Disco dandia was born not in Gujarat but in cosmopolitan Bombay. With many non-Gujaratis joining in the dancing, the traditional songs comprising lyrics that few understood and fewer cared for, were given the go-by. Hindi film songs (India's true national language) were the handy replacement. And given that Hindi film songs in the 1980s aped the West and its disco beats, we had the kitsch of disco dandia upon us. Gujarat, alas, did not remain unaffected. Disco dandia overwhelmed the true forms of Navratri in Bombay and the larger cities of Gujarat, being especially popular with the youngsters who at that age tend to reject anything traditional. Luckily, the traditional Navratri dances still survive in the villages and poorer quarters of cities such as Baroda and Rajkot, but for how long is anybody's guess. Aiding this is the massive commercialisation that has become part of our festivals. The lights have got brighter and bigger (but not necessarily prettier), the music louder (so loud that nowadays the police is called in to stop the dandia raas so that people may sleep and hospital areas remain undisturbed), and the crowds bigger, almost uncontrollably so. It is also a reflection of our times that today, doctors report a massive rise in abortions weeks after Navratri grinds to a halt. Change is inevitable, both good and bad. But the Navratri of Baroda will remain unmatched. Perhaps it was the elixir of my youth! Amberish K Diwanji is not as old as he would have you think. Tell us what you think of this diary
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