“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.”― Lois Lowry
After two years of the pandemic, the festivities in India began with greater fervour, almost as if people were making up for a lost time. It has been nothing different in Pune. The festival of Navratri is very special for an Indian. Every community has a different way of celebrating these nine days in the invocation of Goddess Durga but the most liked one is the Garba Dance. This is an Indian dance form that originated in Gujarat.
Alagumuthu was past her seventies and had recently moved into the Vrindavan society. Though the name Alagumuthu meant precious gem, she was ordinary and had never found anything special about her. She was a tall strapping lady who sported saris with sports shoes. She would saunter at least thrice a day on the lookout for a smiling face to ease her loneliness. She lived alone but had many of the elderly ladies as her friends in the building where she lived. Several of them had lost their husbands and moved in with their sons’ families, but they met every evening.
Initially, they would sit silently looking at their grandchildren’s play. The ladies soon got bonded with Alagumuthu. One day during the evening, they were caught unaware in heavy rains, and the group moved to a nearby vacant row house’s covered doorstep. After the rains receded, they sat for a long time before leaving for their homes. The ladies and Alagumuthu enjoyed this bonding time every day and did not want to go home any time soon.
There were intermittent rains and on another day the row house was lashed with heavy rain. The ladies and Alagumuthu stood in the parking basement waiting for the rains to recede. The pain in their feet made them want to go home. Alagumuthu did not want to part with the ladies, so she invited them to her home. She fried some fritters and the ladies made tea and enjoyed their companionship all the more. From that point on, no opportunity was wasted. Alugumuthu’s house was abuzz with activity during the festival of Navratri. Their prayers began with cymbals and bells and continued until late in the afternoon. There was always a gentleness to the sounds that spoke volumes about these ladies. The evenings were reserved for the Garba dance that happened in the building.
The young mothers and youngsters never cared to understand that these ladies also felt like shaking a leg during the annual Garba dance. They wanted them to be an audience and they became the steadfast and best ones.
Just before this weekend Garba, the gardener Mohan swept the place clean because the ladies and children would dance barefoot. The electrician and the workers were busy fixing the lights and speakers. Alagumuthu was enjoying the hustle and bustle. She would walk into the balcony, bend a little to watch the progress and then walk into the house. Alagumuthu and the ladies decided to wear the Sober Kanchipuram silk sarees. It was sunny and bright and the speakers were fixed a little away from Alagumuthu’s house. She could sit on her balcony and enjoy the dance but Alagumuthu did not want this. The evening brought warm winds and it was pleasant. Alagumuthu was ready in a maroon silk saree. She wore a maroon scarf to protect herself from the winds. She pasted a tiny vermillion mark on her forehead and tied her hair into a ponytail. She used to put a large red vermillion mark on her forehead as long as her husband was alive but after his death, it was just a small one occasionally.
The warm winds turned gusty and dragged the clouds and within seconds there were heavy unprecedented rains.
Alagumuthu went inside and changed into a white voile saree with pink flowers and a matching scarf. She lingered on the balcony for a long. By the time she had her dinner, the rains had mellowed into a scanty drizzle. Alagumuthu quickly wore her shoes and walked down to the premises. The young ladies in the building had hired the traditional clothes and quickly arranged themselves in a circle and the dance began. Alagumuthu quickly chose her place on the cemented pavement under the large palm tree. The drops of rain did not reach her. Her friends came out one after the other and sat on her left and right sides. She was warm and enjoyed the music and dance by giving rhythmic beats on her thigh gently. The young ladies swayed to the beats and everyone in the building gave thunderous applause.
The next dance was by the kids aged between seven and ten years. They were equally excited as the adults. They arranged themselves in a circle and the music began. As the little girls swayed, the raindrops grew larger. It was raining now. The ladies on the right of Alagumuthu rushed back into the covered parking. There was no protection for Alagumuthu on the right. She pulled her saree and moved to the left. The ladies advised her to go to the covered parking but Alagumuthu was in no mood. She knew she could never walk quickly to the parking. The slow walk would drench her more. She pulled her scarf tightly across her face and bent a little more towards the ladies. Alagumuthu was the oldest and the ladies understood her difficulty. She kept patting rhythmically as she saw the kids dance. It reminded her of her grandchildren when they were small, now they were young men and ladies. She kept applauding the performances wholeheartedly. The rains gradually subsided. The program was over but the young ladies clicked photographs and the music went on. None called Alagumuthu for a photograph and she did not want one. When everyone began going back, Alagumuthu got up with a smile. In spite of all the ups and downs, she managed to make it today.
“All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart.”― Tahereh Mafi
Comments
Post a Comment