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October 02, 2000
The simplicity of the old Navratri nights should be retained
Last week witnessed the passing away of Homai Shroff. Head of the English Department and later Principal of Elphinstone College, Homai Shroff was a respected figure in the city’s academic community. In fact for many years the English Department of Elphinstone College - considered the best in the city till recently - was dominated by two formidable women. Mehroo Jussawala, the towering, silver haired expert on Spenser’s Fearie Queene who was killed in a housebreaking incident over a year ago and Homai Shroff.
As principal in the early eighties Miss Shroff - as she was generally known — also presided over a time of intense political activity on the campus, a difficult time that included a prolonged and very public hunger strike by two students. Genial and with a streak of mischief Miss Shroff was popular among her students. As a teacher she brought a touch of humour to the generally stuffy business of English Literature.
There were times when for weeks on end she would do little but read aloud and with conspicuous relish from her allotted texts. Her sonorous voice would rise and fall, amplifying the horrible doom that awaited the Ancient Mariner perhaps, or reliving Hamlet’s torment - “O! that this too too solid flesh would melt,” - at which point she would look meaningfully at her own substantial girth and declare she did not care particularly for those lines. The apparent levity however pushed a certain viewpoint that poetry was not meant to intimidate but to be memorized, enjoyed and, as she was prone to announcing : “RECITED”. Her easygoing attitude also masked a great deal of concern. Once, perturbed by the first term results she dropped everything to explain to a class of freshers what exactly was expected of students of her subject - doing more in those forty minutes for the understanding of English Literature than reams of textbook information could have achieved. For that and for everything else, she will be remembered.
It was a long time ago but I recall a time when Navratri was a small, low key festival celebrated mainly in areas with a heavy concentration of Gujaratis. Women and children would sing and do the garba in a circle.
Sometimes
there would be a dholak or, if it was a large colony that could afford
to, there would be a folk singer specially brought down from Gujarat.
As the night would wear on the men would join in to play the dandya raas
in two concentric circles moving in opposite directions. This way every
body danced with every body else and of course part of the purpose was
social. Yet it was also a religious event : representation of the amba
mata would occupy centre stage and the aarti was the high point of the
evening. Women would make innovative designs — with coloured grain,
vermillion and haldi.
The prasad would come either from contributions or from each household
in turn. Sometimes someone would be driven to a frenzy by the chanting
and
people would whisper in awe that the devi had entered the person.
These days Navratri has become a major event on the city’s calender
with special fashions and mega events with film stars, highly paid singers
and expensive entry passes.
The other day I switched on my TV set to see one Navratri celebration after another.Men and women in chic ethnic wear dancing in many small circles doing something that bore no resemblance to any form of garba.
The music, in one place was Suneeta Rao singing ‘Pari hoon main”. At another it was a live trio warbling ‘Bambai se aaya mera dost.”. At yet another there were strobe lights and singers in Arabian nights costumes. I am not complaining.
Anything that secularises events and brings a city together is to be welcomed. I just wish though that there was some place where the simplicity of the old Navratri nights could still be retained.
Updated Fortnightly
The writer is former editor of Elle.
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