Remembering
Navratri – and Watching Kids Today Growing up Without Childhoods
Written
by Dr. Seshadri Kumar, 10 October, 2013
Copyright © Dr. Seshadri Kumar. All Rights Reserved.
Disclaimer: All the opinions expressed in this article are
the opinions of Dr. Seshadri Kumar alone and should not be construed to mean
the opinions of any other person or organization, unless explicitly stated
otherwise in the article.
*********************************
It is Navratri in India – the festival of nine nights
celebrating the different forms of the goddess, the female force in the
world. It is one of the most important
festivals of Hinduism, and is marked by much pageantry.
In Tamil homes, Navratri is celebrated by having doll
displays (Golu) in homes. The dolls are
of gods and goddesses, as well as secular figures, and usually arranged in a
mini-staircase arrangement (see this for a
fairly elaborate Golu). Often, along
with the dolls, people create contemporary urban or rural scenes in miniature,
such as schools, railway stations, temples, merry-go-rounds, wells, parks,
fields, cattle, roads, and the like with small dolls of people engaged in
assorted occupations. A Navratri display
in a Tamil home can be as elaborate as one wants it to be. People often search for interesting and unique
dolls far and wide so they can showcase them in their golu.
Conversations between old-timers often are on the lines:
“Look at my golu doll of Lord Krishna. I
bought it in 1962 – see how fresh the paint on it still looks! Nowadays, the idols are not so well-made, the
features are not so good, and the paint also flakes off very soon. Everything is going down the drain.” Everyone else nods sagely in agreement. Or, “Look at those unique Chinese dolls that
I found a few years ago – I just had to have them in my golu!” Or, "My husband got those two dolls for me when he went to Jaipur 2 years ago. And those dolls on the third row are from a business trip he made to Japan. And the ones on the bottom we picked up from Poompuhar - aren't they cute?"
When I was a child, we used to have elaborate Navratri golu
displays in our homes. We also had toy
trains, matchbox cars with elaborate tracks, and electric toy race tracks with
cars, all of which would go on display along with the golu.
Our home was one of the most decorated homes during Navratri.
Maami
Sundal!
Festivals are useless without special foods, and Navratri is
no exception. In Tamil homes, every
evening of Navratri is an occasion for the preparation of a “sundal,” a spicy
and savory treat made with pulses. Each
day the pulse is varied – one day with garbanzo beans, another day with
black-eyed peas, another day with peanuts, one day with peas, and so on. Some days snacks other than pulses are also
prepared. For example, my mom made
sankar pela, a fried savory item, yesterday.
Every evening, all the children of the neighbourhood would
come and knock on the doors of our flat, crying out, “Maami sundal!” (“Maami”
being an address to the lady of the house.)
We’d welcome them in, they’d look at the golu, see the train, the cars,
the pastoral doll scene, etc., and my mom would give them all packets of the
day’s sundal wrapped in newspapers. Each
day we probably had about 25 kids visiting to see the golu and partake of the
sundal. Every evening, after coming home
from school, it was part of my duties during those nine days to wrap the day’s
sundal in dozens of small packets to distribute to the kids and adults who would
visit. I also used to go to other’s
homes to see their golus and ask for their sundal. It was a great way to keep in touch with each
other.
Singing
for the Goddess
In addition to this, the ladies of the neighbourhood would
visit each other during Navratri. This
being a festival of the divine mother, ladies have a very important part to
play in it. The festival used to be a
very good way to socialize and catch up with your friends and relatives. As a small kid, I’d often be ordered by my
mom to escort her as we went to other people’s homes in the evening. I used to find this quite boring, because
they would talk about all their adult concerns which were completely
uninteresting to a kid; but I had no choice and couldn’t say no.
One of the common customs during Navratri is that people
(especially ladies, but even gents who can sing) are encouraged to sing
Carnatic classical songs in praise of the deity. So whenever someone came to our home to see
our golu, my mom would ask them to sing a song or two; and when my mom and I went to someone’s home, they’d ask my mom to sing something (I had no interest
in Carnatic music at that time.) Small
girls in Tamil Brahmin homes would usually be trained in Carnatic singing; so
one common scene during those days was to see young girls in their pavadai-davani (blouse-skirt
– similar to the North Indian choli-ghaghra) come and sing whatever they had
learnt from their teacher recently (in praise of the goddess, of course).
The final day of Navratri is Saraswati puja, in which all
the books that we study are worshipped along with Saraswati, the goddess of
learning. The day after the nine days is
Vijaya Dashami, the day when new learning is begun.
The whole festival had so much fun associated with it that
it is impossible to forget. For 16
years I lived abroad, but the memories of Navratri were always etched in my
memory – taking the dolls out of storage the day before; arranging the golu;
decorating everything; the kids ringing the bell and saying “Maami sundal”;
visiting with neighbours and relatives; and the happy occasion of Saraswati
puja (the day you were not supposed to touch your school books as you were worshipping
the goddess that day!)
Playing
in the Dark
But now, I am back in India, and yes, we do celebrate
Navratri even today – we have a golu in our home as I write this. But no kids come home saying “maami sundal.” They don’t have the time. They are too busy doing homework, going to
tuition classes, going to music, drawing, and dance classes, not to mention
personality development and other such trainings. (I should add: I live in Mumbai. I have seen the same thing in Pune and
Bangalore, but I don’t know how things are in Chennai.)
Why talk about Navratri?
When I was a kid, on any day, we used to come home from school at 4.30
pm, and immediately used to change clothes, go out and play outdoors until
sunset, which was 6.30 or 7.00 pm. The
only criterion on when to come back home was that the light was so dark that
the tennis ball which was used to play cricket could not be clearly seen any
more. Once we got home, then we’d work
on homework and other things, then have dinner and sleep. No coaching classes of any kind – but plenty
of fun! If it was raining outside, we’d
take out the carrom board and play carrom for hours on end, accompanied by cups
of hot coffee, tea, or Horlicks, and the choicest snacks to go with them.
But now, when I get home from work, I see no children
outside (if I manage to get home when there is still light). The first time I saw this was quite
unbelievable – it was 5.30 pm, bright light outside, and not a kid in sight. And then, suddenly, at 7 pm, after it was
dark and the electric lights went on in the housing society where I live, all
the kids came out to play. I couldn’t
understand why the kids weren’t playing in sunlight but preferred to play in
streetlights. On inquiring, I found out that
all the kids go to coaching classes immediately on arriving from school, and
the classes end only at 7 pm, and so that’s when they play.
This is wrong.
Children should play in the sunlight – that’s how they get Vitamin D -
from the sunlight falling on their skin.
And not just this – there is something really uplifting about playing in
the sunlight. This is why, in some
countries in the Northern Hemisphere, such as the USA, people are often afflicted
by what is known as Seasonal Affective
Disorder (SAD) – a psychological illness with the symptoms of depression
that is linked to the absence of sunlight in the winter, when days are very
short – sunrise can occur at 8 am and sunset at 4.30 pm. These people are diagnosed “light therapy” –
treatment with artificial lights to compensate for the lack of sunlight. And here in India, you are asking kids to
stay indoors and play in the darkness when there is abundant sun available!! Not to mention that you cannot possibly play
cricket in your society compound when it is hard to see the ball! And all this sacrifice for what? To attend coaching classes??
The
Coaching Class Culture
Why do children need coaching classes all their lives? I can understand if parents are concerned
about a coaching class for the kid who is in the Xth or XIIth
standard, as they are preparing for important public board exams and so think a
little extra assistance may be needed.
But why have ANY coaching for a kid in the 5th standard? When are these children going to have a
little fun and enjoy their childhood? I
am truly saddened that these kids cannot live the carefree life I lived as a
child. No coaching classes for me –
except I did try Agrawal’s classes for XIth standard, hated it, and
told my dad I wouldn’t enrol in it again in the XIIth standard. I
simply told my dad that Agrawal’s classes was robbing me of all my play time,
and he agreed.
Agrawal’s classes was the premier coaching establishment in Mumbai when I was a student, with its main branch in Dadar Circle. Their most coveted
class, the “vacation batch” of XIIth std. coaching, was a perfect
way to ruin the summer vacation before you entered the XIIth grade –
spend the entire vacation enrolled in the “vacation” batch of Agrawal’s classes
and mugging away.
No siree Bob! Not for
me. I enjoyed my vacation soundly, slept
happily every afternoon, had fun with my Dad on the weekends when we’d go to
South Mumbai to take photos and he’d teach me about photography before both of
us heading to eat at “Chetna” or “Talk of the Town” or some other place in that
area. The entire summer vacation was
meant for fun. My father wasn’t much bothered, really, whether I got into engineering or not. He used to tell me that engineering and
medicine were not the only things to study in this world. If I got in, fine; if I didn’t, he said pure
sciences were also a good option to pursue (he himself was an organic chemistry professor, and
a very successful one, so he had reason enough to say this.)
The only coaching class I took in addition to that XIth
Agrawal class was the correspondence course for IIT-JEE from Agrawal. Even in that year, I never missed my daily
dose of carrom for 2 hours a day or other games. I also got sick that year with TB and was
bed-ridden for 2.5 months. And I didn’t
do too badly – got into IIT Bombay with a pretty good rank.
I can make similar comments about music, dance
or any other personality-development class parents put their kids through.
All this is good, of course, but within bounds and in balanced
quantities. A sensitivity for music or dance in a child is desirable, but
not at the cost of basic playtime, and outdoor playtime at that. Nothing equals
the sheer joy of playing in the sun. If there is time left over, then
chuck the academic coaching class and let the kid learn one thing - be it
music, dance, or whatever he or she fancies. Don't make it an obsession.
Training your kid in music is not going to guarantee that she will become the
next Lata Mangeshkar, MS Subbulakshmi, or Kishori Amonkar, just as making your son mug all day is
not going to ensure he becomes an engineer or doctor.
You
Either Have it Or You Don’t
People have to stop obsessing about the rat race and think about
the negative consequences of denying their children childhoods and the precious
memories that go with it. My personal
belief has always been that if you’ve got what it takes, you don’t really need
any coaching classes. If you don’t have
what it takes, all the coaching classes won’t help you. I think most people’s experience, if they are
honest about it, will bear this out. The
coaching establishments are taking everyone for a ride.
It’s much like that exam, the Graduate Record Examination
(GRE), which one has to do well in to get admitted to American Universities
after an undergraduate degree. The GRE,
when I took it, had a Verbal, a Quantitative, and an Analytical section. The Quantitative was the easiest section, and
you were widely expected to ace it. The
Analytical was also easy to score, since it was mostly composed of puzzles and you could
solve all of them with a little practice.
The real roadblock for most people was the Verbal section, which tested
your English. Most people would go
around rote-memorizing words and their meanings by the hundreds, hoping that
such an effort would help them achieve success in the Verbal portion of the
GRE. But what I noticed was that only
those whose native comprehension of English and ability to use the language
well were already fairly good (because of a lifetime of reading) actually did
well in the exam. All the
rote-memorization was really of little use.
The same lessons are true for kids in today’s world. Yes, you should work and prepare for
exams. But working all the time, spending
all your free time in coaching classes, and obsessing about exams, will never
get you there. If you still made it
after all that pain, don’t attribute your success to the coaching class. You would have gotten in any way. And there is a price you are paying for all
this. Don’t forget the old saying, “All
work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
We are raising a generation of dull Jacks and Jills.
So parents, next year, please don’t ruin your kids’
childhood. Let them go around the
neighbourhood shouting “Maami sundal” and admiring each other’s golus – and
just be kids.
