Jagrata strikes again!
We
live in ‘saffron’ times. ‘Hindutva’ is everywhere: in the air we breathe, food
we eat, sleep we sleep, dresses we wear, greetings we exchange, songs and
bhajans we sing, speeches we make, slogans we shout, people we meet,
sounds we hear, arguments we exchange, movies we go to, news we watch, videos
and messages we read and share, places we visit, sights we see, brides we wed,
rehris we buy fruits and vegetables from, lawmakers we vote for or against; as
also in streets, parks, pubs, clubs, vehicles, vans, tempos, trucks and
bulldozers.
Dressed
garishly, garlanded, and flaunting a big red kumkum tikka on the forehead, it
pops its grinning, growling head even when least expected in our daily lives.
On mobiles too it sneaks in unbidden and armed, baring its fangs and cracking
its whip to turn a light-hearted tete-a-tete between two good friends into a
sour and bitter cocktail of main-main-tu-tu. At times, like a raptor, it swoops
down from the high skies, at others it surfaces up worshipfully from the depths
of salty seas. Ubiquitous, omnipotent and omniscient, it lords over our
destinies and has become the very raison d’ etre of our whole worldly
existence.
Therefore, it was no surprise when I had a
triad of neighbourhood-visitors descend on me the other day. A Sunday forenoon
it was: circumspect and ambivalent like a shy bride nursing a seductive
half-smile in anticipation of a balmy summer day but afraid lest a sudden
sortie by the rain-gods should bedraggle her festive bridal wear and dampen her
sensuous mood…
So
it was going to be the customary ‘jagrata’ – an annual feature – this evening
through the night, I learn. I knew the visitors’ purpose beforehand looking at
the ongoing hectic preparations at the usual venue about 300 meters from our
home. While we exchanged pleasantries, my better-half promptly handed them a
crisp handsome bill as contribution (which didn’t amuse me much!). Finally,
with folded hands and a smile, I made a humble request: “Please, please, do
stop the loudspeaker after 10.30… For the sake of my 95-year-old mother and a
6-month-old infant, at least.” While the two guys seemed to acquiesce, the moustachioed
organiser-in-chief however – having more saffron both outside and inside him – was
non-committal. At last, on persuasion, as a compromise deal, it was agreed that
the loudspeaker would be turned off at 12.
But
alas! it was not to be.
The
loud drums kept pounding our hearts, and cacophonous, jarring bhajans imitating
Bollywood songs our ears, well past the ‘12’ deadline. Fuming and fretting, we
went for a softer option. My prudent wife had the number and she called one of
the morning visitors (other than the 'chief'). He not only answered the call but
acceding to our request, had the volume lowered and even called back to ask if
it was fine now. Bearable as it was, we said yes and thanked him. But it was a
short-lived relief. After a while, the loudspeakers returned with full
vengeance. Desperate, we had no choice but to try the harder option which, a
few years back had riled my neighbourhood. The police came. Again the
loudspeakers went low- but only to resume their onslaught soon after the police
had gone. When even after 3 AM there was no respite, we phoned the police
again. Again they came. Again we had a spell of reprieve, and again, after a
short break, it was back to the same ear-splitting, nerve-shattering toxic mix
of harmonium, drums, music and bhajans punctuated by the booming male voice
expounding on the sin-dissipating, soul-enriching, boon-granting, benedictory
power of a jagrata on its participants. Sleepless, I wondered how this fine traditional
folk ritual of song, music and drama once, that held us spellbound as school
children, has been upended into this grotesque, hell-raising assault. Assault on
us humans and on the slumbering nature. Assault on the tranquil summer night spreading
its silken, star-embroidered wings with its sensuous susurrations borne on gentle
breeze whispering a lullaby for a restful sleep for all its denizens: voiceless
trees, roosting birds and resting animals…
Nursing
a burn in the eyes in the morning, my first thoughts were of having earned the
neighbours’ wrath yet again and the disconcerting realisation that while
earlier the police intervention had worked, this time it didn’t.
Didn’t
I say: “We live in ‘saffron’ times?”
*
True, religion is a licence to be uncivil. Even the authorities develop cold feet while enforcing laws if religious belief is involved. All in God's name.
ReplyDeleteकंक्कर पत्थार जोड़ के , मस्जिद लिया बनाए। ता पर मल्ला बांग दे , किया बेहरा हुआ खुदा ।
ReplyDeletePeople in Himachal are quite insensitive to feelings of others be it local jagrata or traffic rules. We are utterly helpless to persuade the organisers and in process we spoil our relations though much against our intentions.
ReplyDelete