Things That Bang

"Bauji, please don’t let the kids sit backstage. The girls were talking about Sita smoking a beedi and stuffing her …..”

My grandfather blushed at my mother’s words.

Being the president of our community’s welfare organization my grandfather had the privilege of letting us girls sit at the backstage of the Ramleela.

We grew up looking forward to the autumn break when the weather became cold and we used to take our light blankets, assortments of dried fruits and nuts to the local park with our grandfather to see the Ramleela that started at ten in the night.

The Ramleela always started with an Aarti and a Bhajan. While most of the kids in the audience got antsy during the ‘pooja before the play’ period we were enthralled by the glamour of being backstage and watching men painting their faces and wearing exotic clothes and of course the beedi smoking Sita whose pallu was always unmanageable till ‘she’ came on stage and was suddenly transformed from a gawky adolescent to a graceful swan pleading and belting out mournful songs to the men in her life.

Our young hearts didn’t bleed for the anguish expressed by the separated lovers or for Lakshmana’s righteous anger, we invariably, as did other kids, look forward to Ravana. His cardboard cut head wobbled when he laughed and he seemed to be more animated than the talcum powered heartbroken Rama barely able to stand on his feet for two minutes and say a dialog instead of moaning for his Sita again and again on his knees.

Sita and Soorpnakha were of least importance except when Soorpnakha sang her lustful song and stalked the two 'Aryan' men around the stage. We tittered and guffawed when some smart alec from the audience would invariably make cat calls that our local eunuchs were far more seductive than Soorpnakha.

While some of the older folks in their 70s and even 80s (the aged were given chairs at the back) would break into religious songs, the kids in the front became more and more rowdy, like tipsy monkeys heckling and mocking the actors till one of the older folks half heartedly told us to behave ourselves.

During those few Ramleela nights our locality used to come alive. Music from the pandal blared late into the night and we kids used to walk back and forth from our homes to the park with our friends without any fear for our safety as the entire locality used to be up and about till one in the night.

The day before Ravana's effigy along with his son’s and brother’s was to be burned, they had the Jhankies go through the locality with all the actors sitting on them. We used to watch them go by from our balconies. The old ladies sang religious songs and we kids commented about the same chariot being used by Mr so and so’s son for his ‘Barat’.

When Dussera finally came, we used climb up our roofs and watch Ravana burn.

It used to be so much fun. But times have changed. Last year when I went back home, I was told that none of the locality people went for Ramleela, instead the slum dwellers did, it wasn’t safe for the locality people. There had been too many cases of chain-grabbing and eve-teasing, the Jhankies had stopped and so many buildings had mushroomed up that the effigy of Ravana could not be seen.

The number of crackers used in Ravana’s effigy had become drastically low, a few bangs and whistles and the show was over within ten minutes.

I was disappointed. Times have changed. Diwali too has become a quiet time back home. Since kids have become aware of child labor being used to make crackers and except for some ‘puppy-punju Lalla ji’ who would show off his largest ‘Lari’ the rest blow a few crackers most otherwise prefer to go for celebration parties held by family or friends.

Dussera and Diwali are times when I remember the older folks. For them these were times of prayer and quiet celebration. These were times when our community got together and re-affirmed their neighborly bonds.

But now these festivals have become commercialized and lack warmth since neighbors barely know each other. No more boxes of sweets are personally taken over to neighbors’ homes, friends tend to courier gifts to each other since the roads are jammed and religious prayers are supplanted with card parties.

Times change and so have people but I should be forgiven for missing those good old pre-video days when we played more, laughed more and enjoyed festivals with gusto.