Shilpi Madan comes away enlightened after a styled darshan.
Post the deluge, the act of remembering God has struck a chord in many.
With the forms varying from simple havans to impromptu kirtans to ruddy
Mata Di Chowkis. And the devotional fervour is slowly setting the mood in
Thakur Village for the grand Ganapati pooja that will set in next month.
A veteran of maybe a dozen odd MDCs, what I find baffling is the belief
most swaying bhakts commonly nurse: That the louder and with more gusto
you call out to Maa, the greater the possibility of her listening to your
pleas, first. Belonging to the neo-bhakt brigade, I subscribe to the view
that Maa hears your prayers (if you’re sincere) even if you don’t clang
the cymbals to bring about a deafening crescendo in sync with your taut
vocal chords. And Maa doesn’t care for the winking rocks and colour
coordinated gems that most garrulous folk don as a style statement when
they mark their attendance at MDCs. Anyways, back to the Chowki-thon, I
participated in yet another acoustically vibrant affair a few days ago.
(Considering they are almost becoming a signature weekly affair in apro
Village)
And I discovered that there is a process to MDCs. There doth a floating
mandli of six to seven women that organizes these gatherings at homes,
gratis, and complete et al with the red chunnis, portraits of the
tiger-mounted goddess and bhajan booklets. (And call me a heartless
skeptic), with a styled darshan thrown in for a sound measure. Passionate
chants to sonorous beats, vigorous to and fro swaying, and the manic
rattling of mini cymbals forms the prelude. And sure enough, lo behold! a
dramatic transformation takes place. Hot and flushed, the lady possessed
(almost quite) flings herself sideways (onto the laps of entranced women)
with stupefied kids looking on in wondrous amazement in a paroxysm of
hysterical writhing. And the hushed exclamations of “Maata aa gayi” adding
to tempo of the consistent dholak beats. Eyebrows furrowed deeply in
veneration, the veterans (they’ve probably witnessed such happenings
earlier) continue flipping pages of the booklets, unperturbed. Probably
their enthusiasm wizened along with their faces over the years. A glass of
water, splashes of aqua on the face and vigorous fanning of the lady of
the hour takes place. And minutes later she merges into the flow again,
eyes closed sage-like, wearing a beatific expression. Quite a performance.
It takes remarkable penance to work one’s self up into an enthralling
state like that, time and again.
At the risk of scathing criticism, I firmly believe that those who host
MDC, do so with utmost sincerity. But the frivolousness and hollowness
pervades through the gossip sessions and who’s-wearing-what attitude
amongst the attendees. And in the orchestrated element of drama that
colours many MDCs. I say what comes from the heart, is heard always. Right
Maa? |
