There are days, running into weeks,
when the city dresses up. In a general way, of course, you could say
that big cities are always dressed up and showing off. Bright lights
and neon define the modern urban experience and separate it from life
in small towns and villages.
Here, most streets are lit through the
night. Here, there are billboards of the glowy sort and shiny names
scratched onto the skyline. Here, glassfronted stores show off their
wares long past our bedtimes. Step out after sunset and the whole
city appears to be floating in a dozen shades of light. It is this
that brings “raunaq” to cities, or at least the illusion of it.
Raunaq literally means lustre or brightness but it implies more –
beauty, grace, freshness, an indication of well-being.
We grow immured to this everyday
raunaq. So, come dress up season, we must find fresh uses and
hangings for light. My favourite decorations are the canopies of
lights that follow you down the length of the street. At such times,
I brush away the guilt of too much electricity wasted and allow
myself to grow warmed by the idea that the city is collectively
celebrating, and that even those who are not celebrating and who may
not be able to afford such lighting for their own homes can enjoy the
beauty and symmetry of the lighting.
The season usually begins before Diwali
and goes on until Christmas and then the end of the year
celebrations. Some streets will be capped and strung with lights but
there will also be lights outside shops, malls, draped around trees
and the balconies of apartments. You don't have to celebrate any of
these festivals or go to any parties. Just take a walk outside and
you may find yourself sucked into a sense of joy, or at least the
calm self-assurance associated with the rhythm of ritual. Turn your
head this way and that and in every other window, there are tiny,
colourful fairy lights blinking right into your eyes. It is hard not
to be moved a tiny bit. If not joy, you could at least nudged towards
wistfulness and a sudden longing to call friends.
In Mumbai, though, the festivities
begin earlier in the year. There are the ten days of Navratri and
Dussera. Many suburbs are lit up all then days and a few will keep
the decorations going until Diwali. Even before Navrati, there is
Ganeshotsav, or just 'Ganpati' as many people here refer to the ten
day festivities. There will not be as many streets lit up. But there
are pandals on every corner, and sometimes even two or three on every
street, with lighting, bhajans, flowers, incense, the clash of
manjiras. Sweet shops appear to swell and spill onto the pavements
with displays on tables and not one shop seems to lack for customers.
This is a different sort of raunaq.
From August to December, it is almost
as if the city skips from celebration to celebration. Barely have the
drums and aartis for Ganeshotsav faded out that the lights for
Navratri start to go up. Children and teenagers have barely stopped
swinging the garba sticks covered in shiny paper when all the
streetside shops start to sell kandeels (lamps) made of paper and
embroidered cloth. And even though you do not need any more lamps,
and even though this may not be your way of celebrating, the raunaq
will rub off on your clothes and hair. As long as there is no rancour
of exclusion, as long as cities and celebrattions hold open their
arms to all, we can all be brushed with the grace and brightness of
the season.
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