Janmashtami ...... A lot of Childhood Memories!

One of the things I love about our country is the myriad of festivals we celebrate. Janmashtami is one such festival, with which some of my strongest childhood memories are associated. I was kind of excited today in the morning for I was in Delhi on Janmashtami after two years. But as soon as I ventured out of my house, the excitement faded away. There were no kids running around the street digging up roadside mud to carve out a beautiful village scene with a river cutting through it, and mountains in the background. And where would they I wondered, for every inch of free earth on the roadside had been covered up with concrete tiles in the name of beautification. On my way to the market I saw this was the case in all the streets. Only in the market and the central park did I finally see a couple. And these were the big commercial ones, sponsored by the RWAs or shopkeepers' associations etc.

That old feeling was missing. During my childhood, Janmashtami was a big deal for us kids. The preparations started weeks in advance. It was a well co-ordinated exercise, with groups made for different activities, like collecting the red sand (bajri), digging up and landscaping the village scene, buying and collecting the idols of Lord Krishna and Radha, along with the gopis, the iconic image of Vasudeva carrying baby Krishna over his head through the swelling Yamuna river, supposedly trying to touch the Lord's feet, and various other idols depicting events from his life, etc. The adults pitched in, with their contributions towards preparing the prasad and setting up the lighting etc. Every year one of the moms would donate a few of her old, tattered dupattas and other rags, which we would then completely smear in roadside wet mud (keechad), so that it becomes all brown and earthy. Then sticks and rods of varying length were scavenged laboriously, and arranged methodically. The cloth was draped on them, sprinkled with chalk dust, blue powder, and other colors to re-create the beautiful Himalayan range, and specifically the abode of Lord Shiva, Kailash parbat. The Sacred Yamuna would flow from the foot hills of these mountains and into our make-believe villages of Brij, Mathura. Quaint little mud huts topped with hay roofs, and various events from Krishna's life being palyed out by the idols. Gopis crossing over mud bridges on the river yamuna, baby Krishna stealing butter on one end, young krishna dancing on top of the seven-head snake demon in the river, adolescent Krishna playing the tunes of love to Radha under a Mango tree with his beloved cow-herd grazing nearby, and the same Krishna killing demons and his evil uncle at the other end.

For those 3-4 days, nothing else in life mattered. As soon as school was over, we rushed back home, forced our meals down and rushed down to get our depictions perfectly right. After all, it was a matter of pride. Our group had to be the best in the street. This element of competition, of presenting the grandest, most beautiful and well - crafted Jhaanki of the Lord's life in the street, or maybe even the whole sector was the driving force behind the dedication. And of course, it would be accompanied by the childhood politics of copying ideas, guarding your designs, deflection of members from one group to another at the last minute, along with their prized idols. It all seems so simple and stupid now, but then, it'd be something you would lose sleep over, as if nothing worse could happen in the world. Except for one thing, the dreaded rain, which made it a point to always show up on this holy day. It was a sign that the Lord is happy and observant. But it meant a disaster for our presentations. But somehow the rain never spoiled it. And with all the roadblocks, every year we were successful and by 7 pm were ready with our jhaanki, our plates of prasad, and the donation box! Yes, that's how it was decided which group won - the one that managed to collect the maximum amount of money from the people who came to visit and admire our work and seek the blessings of the Lord. Granted, most of the contributions would be from the parents of the participating children, but the praises which came our way for our hard work from random strangers were the most valuable. They made us feel worthwhile and proud of having pulled off a remarkable feat!

Now that I think of it, even though there may not have been a lot of devotion behind our endeavours, they still were such a great exercise for us as children. An amazing outlet for expression of creativity, it was a great exercise in team work, management, leadership skills, as well as crisis-management. It made us work together, investing our pocket-money, time, efforts in it. And the collective rewards we reaped were much greater the party of pastries and chocolates we had from the money collected. Once we grew up and "got too old for such things", the younger crop, who would observe us all these years from the sidelines took over, just as we did from our elder siblings....... I wonder if the kids of the coming generations will get to experience these things or will their childhood memoirs consist of odes to video games, TV and Facebook???