It was just before Diwali when one morning while I was busy making breakfast that I heard a vendor's call.
कलरवाली रांगोळी दहा दहा रुपयाला. टेम्पो आलाय भरून.
Our housing society being adjacent to a thoroughfare, witnesses its daily share of vegetable and fruit sellers, bhangarwallas pushing their handcarts laden with all the household junk, a tea vendor on his bicycle with a stainless steel thermos flask tied to the handle, supplying the piping hot beverage early morning and afternoon to the shopkeepers in the vicinity, mattress makers pedalling along making peculiar sounds with the strings on their portable machine, the dhaarwalla - and so the variety continues....
Each one of them has his own unique sales pitch that attracts curious onlookers and definitely prompts a sale or two.
This rangoli seller too was no exception. He had recorded his catchphrase and was playing it on a loop intermittently, on a hand held loudspeaker using the same strategy adopted by many vendors during the two years of covid.
Sure enough he soon had a group of women of all ages surrounding the tempo pointing to the colourful mounds of rangoli of their choice.
I could see him doing brisk business from the vantage point of my window.
The brilliant reds, maroons and orange heaps of coloured powder vied for attention along with the parrot green, magenta and shimmering shades of blue.
The soft yellow wedged between deep purple and bottle green, invited glances too.
Colours fascinate us all, don't they!
As I looked at the scene outside the window I saw a little girl in my mind's eye, gazing in absolute wonder at the box she held in her hands.
It contained a small round white case with a pastel green cover that opened to show twelve triangular compartments filled with kumkum in a variety of colours. It was in the form of a paste that could be applied using the rounded tip of a small thin plastic applicator that was kept in a separate niche.
Similarly the other box had twelve small elongated slender necked glass bottles with rubber stoppers, filled with dry sparkling kumkum powder, again in an array of pretty colours.
This was her prize for securing the third place in the annual kathak exam held by the local dance class.
It was such a prized possession that she kept it hidden in the cupboard drawer far away from prying eyes.
I remember using the contents sparingly to make them last for years and years.
My enchantment with colours probably started from there putting me under their timeless spell.
Our pooja room had a small cupboard with the upper shelves filled with packs of agarbatti, camphor, small ghee soaked, ready to light cotton wicks meant for lighting the diya in the morning and evening. Also a large steel container with separate compartments for storing the haldi kumkum, the orange powder called shendur {not to be confused with the red sindoor}, the kumkum mixed rice grains and dhoop powder.
The lower shelves were reserved for rows and rows of used coffee tins that stored practically every shade of rangoli.
These tins were meant to be used during festivals when the pooja room, the front entrance and sometimes the space in front of the tulsi vrindavan would be adorned with eye catching designs embellished with the coloured rangoli powders.
On a daily basis my mother would use the pure white rangoli and the haldi kumkum to make a beautiful Swastik in all the three places. Being an artist she drew the white lines with consummate ease,all equal in thickness and straight as an arrow.
The edges of the swastik had a
distinctly different design - sometimes a set of three small symmetrical petals, at times just three white dots with a short white curl rising up in their midst or a simple curving line that added so much beauty to this holy symbol.
That was her trademark swastik.
During Diwali the front entrance and the courtyard would be ablaze with colour that we would fill into the designs copied painstakingly from the printed books. As was customary in those days rangoli prints would be available amongst the pages of most Marathi Diwali Ank (magazines) of reputed publishing houses.
I would often end up wondering if I would ever able to master the skill of making a perfect rangoli complete with vibrant colours that never crossed borders and remained confined to their own boundaries.
In later years plastic stencils bearing pretty designs flooded the market. Also the wire mesh ones having the holy symbols etched on them. My special favourite out of all those is the Chaitrangan. It has most of the symbols related to our festivals and our culture and also the celestial bodies that we worship.
The Gudhi Padwa or the Hindu New Year
fallls on the first day of the month of Chaitra. As the name suggests this rangoli is specifically made during this month.
It is not just the beauty that appeals to me but the underlying thread of gratitude that runs through everything that we hold sacred.
The heavens, the plants, the animals - in short the entire cosmic arrangement is our raison d'être, and what better way to show our gratitude than to worship it in the way we know best!!
In the days gone by when houses were
earthen structures as dwellings were made of materials that were easily available, they were not compleyely guarded against the insects and other creatures that had easy access to the house. The rangoli outside the house prevented them from entering. The positivity it radiated was as good as a welcoming smile.
When creativity is given a free rein the results can be amazing.
The ubiquitous flower rangoli proves the point. It is equally colourful and as pleasing to the eye as the traditional one.
I remember one particular rangoli made of parijatak flowers. The monsoon had arrived amidst the usual fanfare. It was the day of Ashadhi Ekadashi and it was almost like the air was pulsating with the name of Lord Vitthal that was being chanted by the devotees.
There were several whatsap messages about the auspicious day and among them all was the replica of Vithuraaya made of parijatak flowers.
There was nothing out of place and the image was perfect. Set against the background of a black stone the image was thrown into relief and it was an amalgamation of simplicity and beauty.
It was as if the small fragrant flowers with orange stems had offered themselves to the Divine.
I feel all of us have to create our own rangoli suited to our needs, requirements and passion. We can then proceed to fill them with colours of our choice - the colours of happiness.
The blue of the sky
The brown of the earth
The green of the grass
The warmth of the hearth.
The flight of a bird
The flower jewels glowing
The kiss of the breeze
The stream gently flowing
The sounds of joy
Of the heavenly choir
Their notes find an echo
In our own little lyre.....
My not so perfect rangoli
Lovely! Brought to mind a different era and then again the tradition of Rangoli has continued to date with some 'modern' help added to it! So the sense of loss isn't as keen, the way it is for most things of the bygone era, these days. Could picture your Mother's rangolis....Keep writing! Always a joy to read...
ReplyDelete