MAKAR SANKRANTI- LOST AND FOUND

 

                                                

 Like all other festivals, yesterday, Lohri too was celebrated collectively at Magarpatta, Pune, with great fervor and the usual gaiety of ‘dhol dhamaka’ accompanied by ‘boliyan’ and ‘tappe’, to the rhythm of which  the young and old, the shy and bold, the hot and cold, all felt compelled to dance, each to his own rhythm whether it was 'giddha, bhangra, dandiya' or just a hotchpotch of gyrations and twirling around to the clapping that everyone boisterously joined in.  A  large bonfire warmed hearts and hands as people gathered, bonhomie all round, greeting each other, circumbulating the sacred fire symbolic of the sun, offering to it groundnuts, ‘til-gatchak, revari and poha’ before partaking of it as ‘prasad.’

Some families brought dry fruits as well. North Indians blessed with a son, distributed sweets with proud smiles on their well fed faces. Little infants, all bundled up in thick woolens and cuddled up in the arms of proud parents or doting grandparents, either slept unmindful of the ear splitting beats of drums, or if awake, cried in fright at the disturbance in their daily routines. The slightly older ones looked around with their round eyes full of wonder at the lights, noise and hectic activity. Irrespective of how the children felt, grownups continued with their festivities. So I was told by a neighbor who attended the function.

 It is ten years since I left Punjab for other lands. Six years in Chennai, I did not miss the Lohri celebrations much, as Pongal was celebrated with great gusto and zeal. There were games for children from early morning - including kite flying, pottery making, a ‘kolam’ competition for women, which brought out the artist in most of them, who created extremely intricate designs. Many other activities and a sale kept everyone in a celebratory mood and occupied.


In the evening women dressed in resplendent brightly colored Kanjeevaram silk saris, teenagers and children in trendy outfits, gathered in the community area where bullock cart rides for the kids, drew screams of delight and fright, as they all tried to pile into one cart simultaneously. Parents anxious for their young ones to have a great time and yet worried for their safety, as they all jostled and pushed to get on board, ran all the length of the ride along with the bullock. I am certain the bullock must have been glad that he was not the only beast of burden as I saw him shake his head, (with mirth?) jingling the bells and festoons tied to his horns and in his neck !

 
Since shifting to Pune, I lost touch with most North Indian festivals out of sheer disinterestedness.  Yesterday, visitors kept me busy in the evening and although I could hear sounds of the drums and singing from far, I did not think of going there.

Today, when my daughter, Vidisha, told me about the crowds that had gathered for kite flying in Aditi Gardens, a beautifully landscaped park in the heart of Magarpatta, I had just finished reading Santosh Bakaya’s post on Sankranti and kite flying.  Santosh’s description of the sky being painted with all the hues possible with kites of all sizes, shapes and colors made me wonder if I should have gone to Aditi Gardens too. Santosh has a way of doing this to her readers- she carries you into another world, wherever it be !

Something akin to ‘Punjabiyat’ stirred inside me. I have never tried my hand at this sport and have never been too interested either, but today I felt I had missed something that is probably a very exhilarating experience.  All of a sudden I was all nostalgia. I started missing seeing the mounds of groundnuts by roadsides or on carts, along with the ritualistic 'gatchak and revari'.



The smell of freshly popped corn and roasted groundnuts travelled all those miles, assailing my olfactory nerves, reviving subconscious memories and I was back in my homeland where every street and corner was bursting at the seams with revelers, newly married couples, newly become parents and all that is associated with this festival signaling harvesting, abundance and gratitude for all that nature bestows on us. I felt I had missed attending the celebration but consoled myself that it would not have been the same as back home.

I have always resented the fact that Punjabis celebrate Lohri for a son only. To assert my own independent thinking, ingrained in us by a very broadminded and revolutionary father, I have celebrated Lohri for my daughter as well as my two granddaughters, just as my parents did on the birth of my sister and me.

At dusk, the sounds of children playing in the play area opposite our house, their screaming and shouting, the thudding of their ball, carried through my bedroom window. I felt life was passing me by as I just sat around whiling time, and decided to go for a walk to lift my spirits.

 I donned my walking shoes and went down to the ground floor. Walking along the length of our whole block as I turned the corner, I saw an unusual and intriguing sight.


 
 An elderly man  was sitting on a chair under the trees that lined the outer wall. In front of him, the dancing orange flames of a bonfire glowed in the approaching dusk. As I drew closer I saw that he had lit the fire on a corrugated iron sheet and on another chair rested a large ‘thal’ with groundnuts, ‘gatchak- revri’ and popcorn. I stopped out of curiosity and courtesy as he spoke, ‘Bhenji , Lohri Mubarak.’

 
I too wished him and took some of the sweets which he offered, flung some into the fire, bowing my head in reverence to the Sun God. On his insistence I picked up another fistful to eat. Recognizing a fellow Punjabi from his accent, I asked him where he was from. When he said Jalandhar, I felt an empty space which my homeland had previously occupied, getting filled. I started speaking in Punjabi and he was equally delighted to meet someone from his own home town speak his mother tongue.

 
He told me why they could not celebrate or join in the collective celebrations the previous day, as his little new born granddaughter was a little unwell. The party for his son’s and daughter in law’s colleagues had just got over and he was waiting for the fire to burn out completely. It was the time of the evening when many people took a walk around that block and he was offering sweets to everyone asking them to bless his little girl. I too blessed the little angel and continued with my walk, feeling happy that other people too, celebrated Lohri for baby girls ! I specially felt happy that he had taken all the trouble to take permission from the administration to have this little celebration, as it is otherwise not allowed in Magarpatta on an individual level within the precincts.

 I climbed the steps that led to the play area built on a second level and sat down on a stone bench to catch my breath. Just then a rustling sound above my head made me look upwards, as a kite hovered undecidedly in the sky. Some boys were trying their best to get it higher up. The lawn in this park is quite large but since it lies in the centre, hemmed all round by high rise apartments, it is an airless still space, unless a breeze is blowing.


 
A little girl,l whom I recognized as the daughter of one of the maids, came running and offered to help. As she shouted ‘kani dey, kani’, a little boy stretching the thread taut, lifted it as high as possible above his head and gave it a shove upwards. It rose for a short while and then came cruising down, close above my head. Hurriedly jumping up I caught the crashing kite and gave it another push upwards. A sudden gust of wind caught it in its flow and carried it on its wings, the little girl expertly giving it more and more 'dheel' to the 'dor' and at intervals letting the kite just sail around. As it rose higher and higher above in the sky, I watched it silhouetted against the setting sun till it became a tiny speck.


At 73, I was acquiring a new skill. The girl and I were scaling new heights.

Just as I am so fond of saying, ‘One rose shall be my garden,’ that day one kite had made my Makar Sankranti celebrations complete.

 
Reaching home I headed straight towards the kitchen, lit the gas, put a ‘tawa’ on it, roasted some poha and til on it, in place of a bonfire - fire is equally sacred whether it be from wood or gas; opened a packet of salted peanuts, took out the gatchak –revri I had carried back from Chandigarh a few days back .(For which I had paid around Rs 2000  as excess baggage, on the flight back to Pune,for a few hundreds worth of sweets and felt like a fool for it.) But today I had got my money’s worth as it brought along the flavor of Punjab, Lohri and Makar Sankranti, as I sat down to celebrate, understanding the dictum better -
                                HOME IS WHERE THE HEART LIES !!

My takeaway can be expressed in my daughter Vidisha Kaushal's favourite words--

                                             "DON'T LOOK FOR JOY
                                                                  BE THE JOY"

               HOPE YOU ALL HAD A GREAT LOHRI AND MAKAR SANKRANTI !!

                    
                           GREETINGS TO ALL MY FRIENDS IN INDIA AND ABROAD