(Picture: Teachers dancing during celebrations at our school, P.R. Khatiwala.)
I threw myself into the Navratri celebration here with real passion, beginning with my desire to take dance classes somewhere in Surat. While wandering down one of the main roads after school, in pursuit of a class, I was lured to an open downstairs dance floor by some enticing dance music. There, I caught sight of a whirling group of mixed adults and youngsters, doing some pretty cool twirling moves in a circle in perfect unison. Before I even realized that this class was being held solely in preparation for participation in Navratri, I had enrolled, paid my dues, and started going daily.
I learned a decent repertoire of dances (four or five) over a month and a half of attendance, but the partial dances or those which I had learned imperfectly were quickly forgotten when my class abruptly started doing one dance only. Every night. Repeatedly. The dance, mind you, is under a minute long, because it is a folk dance meant to be danced continuously during a celebration. So that one partial minute was put on repeat for a significant chunk of my life… but dance lover that I am, I relished the workout, and the whirling, and left beaming every day.
Up until I arrived at the Indoor Stadium in Surat on the first day of Navratri, I hadn’t realized exactly how much of a BIG DEAL this celebration really is. From what I’ve gathered, Navratri, Surat style, is significantly different from Navratri in the smaller villages (as are most festivals). Not only did I have to pay a pretty penny for the entrance fee, but once inside I realized that hundreds of people had crowded inside the stadium stands and onto the ground floor in order to both participate in and watch the festivities. I hadn’t realized it was part spectator sport… but that made it all the more exciting!
(Picture: The indoor stadium, on a less-crowded night.)
My dance group, I quickly realized, was the biggest in the stadium. We had a dress-code every night so that we could coordinate matching colors. At first I thought this was for aesthetic reasons, but I quickly realized the true need for it—once the whirling in circles starts, everything becomes incredibly hectic, especially on the busier nights. Multiple groups are attempting to make circles in dangerously close proximity to each other, and elongated ovals crash into circles which crash into some less skilled misshapen lumps and suddenly you can’t tell who’s in your group and who isn’t except by the colors they’re wearing. During this whole time judges with clip-boards weave in and out, taking note of the good dancers and groups in order to award prizes (small prizes nightly and absolute winners after the tenth evening).
In order to acquire all the necessary colors and the traditional chaniya choli dress (required to dance in the “traditional” section of the stadium, roped off from the “Western” section), I borrowed heavily from friends and neighbors. Though I wore the same basic chaniya choli each night, I coordinated scarf, or dupata, and bangle and accessory colors in order to make myself recognizably part of the group. (On only one night was I unsuccessful: the seventh night of dancing had me exhausted and I grabbed the wrong dupata as I was getting ready. I wound up a nice blue flower in a sea of red dancers. Embarrassed, I asked my fellow dancers if I should go home, by they assured me, “No, for YOU it’s alright.”)
Despite my love of dancing, though, at times it was tough to keep a beaming smile on my face. Times such as when I would step on the pins, shells, mirrors and baubles that were constantly falling off of everyone’s elaborate costumes. Times such as when the participants in the group would grow too many and my moves would be hindered by the flailing arms on each side. Times such as when the neighboring groups would nail me in the head or shoulder or foot with variously flung limbs. I realized the threat of dancer injuries, especially in bare feet. My arms grew exhausted, held as they were over my head for a nearly continuous two or three hours.
But then, as the music tempo increased, the numbers would dwindle, a little pocket of freedom to move would open up, and I’d rediscover the intoxication of the beat, feeling especially motivated when one of mine and Pamela’s new friends would start singing (he’s a successful singer here in Surat). I learned to better time my spins to avoid more collisions and to hop into the inner circle when the outer one grew too dense.
On the third night I was even awarded a prize during the nightly prize distribution ceremony: “Special Lady.” I think this means something along the lines of, “You don’t quite seem like everybody else! Because we’re happy you’re here, you get a prize.” Guess I seemed an appropriate choice. I can now get a facial, haircut, some temporary tattoos, and even a free 1-square-inch multi-color permanent tattoo. (This is a growing trend in trendy Surat.) A pic of my group dancing (me included) also made in into the Times of India, but while I was going to include the scanned image here, it unfortunately seems to have disappeared in the aftermath.
(Video: My garba group dancing in green. If you have good eyes, you might spot me... though probably not, considering the size of the screen. I start off basically center screen, and I'm the only woman in green with short hair...)
Each evening the traditional dance was broken up by an intermission of current hit bollywood numbers, during which time people would stream from the bleachers down to the ground floor to do their “Western” moves in large groups. Some nights I participated, but others I crashed exhaustedly on the sidelines. My favorite night, though, was when our friend Yatin invited Pamela and me onstage to dance during the intermission and we got to rock the stadium for a bit and bask in the glow of video cameras that were reportedly broadcasting live to 56 different countries. (Unfortunately, I didn’t know which channel, so I couldn’t tell any folks back home to look for me…)
While ten consecutive days of this celebratory nonsense had me a bit exhausted and often snoozing in the staff room between classes, I somehow gained my second-wind by the last couple of days, the soreness abated, and I was sad to see it end. Many of my students also attended the events at the indoor stadium, either as spectators or participants, and throughout the week I had a number (perhaps teasingly; calling me out) tell me, "Ma'am! I saw you last night!"
One of the coolest culminations of the festival was the Saturday that we had a dance party at school for part of the day. Though I was particularly beat that day (it was after my exhausted seventh night) I mustered up the energy to dance with my students for a bit since they were calling me from all across the grounds to come and join their dance circles. Doing the traditional garba was fun, but a bit unpleasant in bare feet on the rocky dirt, but things really livened up when the Western dancing began and I got to lead my students in some silly dance moves that they seemed to love. I wished I had the energy to stick around and party with my pupils in the Gujarati medium as well, but I went home and fell unconscious for a few hours instead.
(Video: Students and teachers dancing at P.R. Khatiwala)
Now that Navratri is officially over, it will be nice to have some free time and evenings back, but I’m sad that my dance classes have ended. I’d have been happy to go all year. Guess I’ll be searching for another dance class or some yoga from here…
Namaste,
Dalena
Navratri Celebrations I have seen that video it is very nice..in surat navratri is celebrating with full of joy.so many women are playing garba with different dress.i like it..
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