<p>'<span class="italic"><em>Vara veena mrudu paani...</em></span>' I remember bleating this out under duress, or so it seemed.</p>.<p>The year was 1982, and the occasion, 'Golu' at a Tamil family's house in the steel city of Bhilai. I was not yet ten. My attempt to render this <span class="italic"><em>geethe</em></span> was encouraged by the aunties gathered around. I can recollect to this day the snigger of the motley gathering of 'more' accomplished youngsters. Have to add though that this was about the only odd note to the otherwise wonderful festival of dolls aka <span class="italic"><em>Gombe Habba</em></span>. </p>.<p>I remember visiting a Bengali auntie's house along with a few other girls of my age. She would do '<span class="italic"><em>Puja</em></span>' to us and give us small gifts — chocolates, hair bands, colour pencils, scented erasers and the like. I remember the <span class="italic"><em>shundal</em></span> that used to be given as <span class="italic"><em>prasada</em></span> in some houses. And the fancy moving robots and cars arranged in other houses.</p>.<p>In Vizag, added to this mix of experiences was the <span class="italic"><em>Pujo</em></span>. We kids-who-grew-into-teenagers would, among other things, gather there for the <span class="italic"><em>bhog</em></span>, and dance to<span class="italic"><em> Rabindra Sangeet</em></span>. Also not to be forgotten were the '<span class="italic"><em>Ayudha Pooja</em></span>' sweets — we were after all a steel plant.</p>.<p>Through the years, one thing remained constant — the theme-based dolls' arrangement by <span class="italic"><em>amma</em></span> — never the traditional <span class="italic"><em>padi</em></span> (steps) <span class="italic"><em>bombe</em></span>. I vaguely remember her arranging <span class="italic"><em>Krishnavatara</em></span> when I was a toddler. And then it was nursery rhymes like <span class="italic"><em>Twinkle Twinkle, Jack and Jill, Hickory Dickory Dock</em></span>, etc. Scenes from fairy tales like <span class="italic"><em>Cinderella</em></span> and <span class="italic">Snow White</span> were next. One year it was <span class="italic">Gulliver's Travels</span> and another year it was <span class="italic">The Pied Piper of Hamlin</span> with mice made from countless seeds of dates — grey paint, nose, ears and tail, all. As also <span class="italic">Maya Bazaar. </span></p>.<p>As time went by and we moved to Bangalore, the themes changed and evolved. From <span class="italic"><em>Ramayana</em></span> to <span class="italic"><em>Bhagavata</em></span>, and from <span class="italic"><em>Dashavatara</em></span> to <span class="italic"><em>Lakshmi Nrusimha Karavalamba Stotram</em></span>, with other themes like <span class="italic"><em>Lalitha Sahasranama, Venkatesha Suprabhata, Shodasha Samskara, </em></span>'Glimpses from Kannada Literature' and 'Contributions of Indians to the World'. The zeal remained the same though. As also the Pattada Gombe of 'Raja Rani' who would grace each festival.</p>.<p>Another thing that continued was having friends and family members visit our home during the festival, and the encouraging / cajoling of children and adults to sing <span class="italic"><em>devara naamas</em></span> or <span class="italic"><em>kritis</em></span>.</p>.<p>Phone calls would start from the evening of <span class="italic"><em>Mahalaya</em></span> and visitors would pour in over the next 10-odd days — sometimes a trickle or a stream, and other times, a waterfall. And <span class="italic"><em>amma </em></span>would be there, smilingly welcoming them, asking after their family, and accompanying them around the room(s) as they saw the arrangements. We made many new friends in the process. </p>.<p>Seven <span class="italic"><em>Navaratri</em></span>s have gone by since she passed on. For me, though, this festival will always be a reminder of the zest for life that my mother, Smt. Usha Madhuranathan, was.</p>
<p>'<span class="italic"><em>Vara veena mrudu paani...</em></span>' I remember bleating this out under duress, or so it seemed.</p>.<p>The year was 1982, and the occasion, 'Golu' at a Tamil family's house in the steel city of Bhilai. I was not yet ten. My attempt to render this <span class="italic"><em>geethe</em></span> was encouraged by the aunties gathered around. I can recollect to this day the snigger of the motley gathering of 'more' accomplished youngsters. Have to add though that this was about the only odd note to the otherwise wonderful festival of dolls aka <span class="italic"><em>Gombe Habba</em></span>. </p>.<p>I remember visiting a Bengali auntie's house along with a few other girls of my age. She would do '<span class="italic"><em>Puja</em></span>' to us and give us small gifts — chocolates, hair bands, colour pencils, scented erasers and the like. I remember the <span class="italic"><em>shundal</em></span> that used to be given as <span class="italic"><em>prasada</em></span> in some houses. And the fancy moving robots and cars arranged in other houses.</p>.<p>In Vizag, added to this mix of experiences was the <span class="italic"><em>Pujo</em></span>. We kids-who-grew-into-teenagers would, among other things, gather there for the <span class="italic"><em>bhog</em></span>, and dance to<span class="italic"><em> Rabindra Sangeet</em></span>. Also not to be forgotten were the '<span class="italic"><em>Ayudha Pooja</em></span>' sweets — we were after all a steel plant.</p>.<p>Through the years, one thing remained constant — the theme-based dolls' arrangement by <span class="italic"><em>amma</em></span> — never the traditional <span class="italic"><em>padi</em></span> (steps) <span class="italic"><em>bombe</em></span>. I vaguely remember her arranging <span class="italic"><em>Krishnavatara</em></span> when I was a toddler. And then it was nursery rhymes like <span class="italic"><em>Twinkle Twinkle, Jack and Jill, Hickory Dickory Dock</em></span>, etc. Scenes from fairy tales like <span class="italic"><em>Cinderella</em></span> and <span class="italic">Snow White</span> were next. One year it was <span class="italic">Gulliver's Travels</span> and another year it was <span class="italic">The Pied Piper of Hamlin</span> with mice made from countless seeds of dates — grey paint, nose, ears and tail, all. As also <span class="italic">Maya Bazaar. </span></p>.<p>As time went by and we moved to Bangalore, the themes changed and evolved. From <span class="italic"><em>Ramayana</em></span> to <span class="italic"><em>Bhagavata</em></span>, and from <span class="italic"><em>Dashavatara</em></span> to <span class="italic"><em>Lakshmi Nrusimha Karavalamba Stotram</em></span>, with other themes like <span class="italic"><em>Lalitha Sahasranama, Venkatesha Suprabhata, Shodasha Samskara, </em></span>'Glimpses from Kannada Literature' and 'Contributions of Indians to the World'. The zeal remained the same though. As also the Pattada Gombe of 'Raja Rani' who would grace each festival.</p>.<p>Another thing that continued was having friends and family members visit our home during the festival, and the encouraging / cajoling of children and adults to sing <span class="italic"><em>devara naamas</em></span> or <span class="italic"><em>kritis</em></span>.</p>.<p>Phone calls would start from the evening of <span class="italic"><em>Mahalaya</em></span> and visitors would pour in over the next 10-odd days — sometimes a trickle or a stream, and other times, a waterfall. And <span class="italic"><em>amma </em></span>would be there, smilingly welcoming them, asking after their family, and accompanying them around the room(s) as they saw the arrangements. We made many new friends in the process. </p>.<p>Seven <span class="italic"><em>Navaratri</em></span>s have gone by since she passed on. For me, though, this festival will always be a reminder of the zest for life that my mother, Smt. Usha Madhuranathan, was.</p>