What would you get if you put a ceilidh on a fairground carousel? A dandiya!
Last weekend we were treated to an audiovisual feast of stunning sartorial flair, ear-busting drumming, and whirling dance moves at the first post-COVID event to be hosted in our compound. The usually peaceful garden area was transformed into a wonderland of fairy lights, a bright red dance floor, cabaret seating, buffet dinner and at least a 12 piece band, with a rumoured 400 attendees over the course of the night. The colours, the sounds and the movements were at an intensity level neither Dylan nor I have explored before and it made us realise just how bland Jasper might find his own culture(s) once we leave India.
A Dandiya is a traditional folk dance from the state of Gujarat, and is held or performed during the 9-day Navaratri Festival, in honour of the Goddess Durga. This festival comes to an end with Dussehra which marks 20 days until Diwali. The 9 days of the Navaratri Festival are each dedicated to one of the 9 forms of the Goddess Durga, and the festival celebrates the victory of good over evil. As part of the Dandiya dance, participants sometimes wield two sticks which are said to represent Goddess Durga’s sword which she used to overcome the demon Mahishasura.
Jasper had sticks. Although to our knowledge, he didn’t use them for anything other than a little light tapping. In the true spirit of a Dandiya, all three of us were dressed in traditional Gujarati Dandiya dress. This involves a 3-part set for women, comprising a billowing skirt, blouse and shawl, all adorned with bright coloured embroidery and tiny mirrors. I borrowed my outfit, which was a good thing, because all that fabric would take up quite a lot of wardrobe space for the 364 days on which I am not wearing it. Jasper was also kitted out in mirrors and threads, carefully tracked down and purchased by our driver’s wife. At his own request, he finished off his outfit with his bright yellow crocs, a decision neither Dylan nor I could talk him out of. Dylan was the most reserved of the three of us, in a new and very smart long kurta with some white pyjama pants underneath. While I was grappling with what felt like about 5kgs of skirt, Dylan was floating around in his light cottons, extolling the virtues of traditional Indian dress.
The format of the evening was such that the kids had their own mini dandiya party with a toddler-safe dance floor and some prizes for best dressed and best dancer before the majority of the adults arrived. Once the littles had danced and partied, the oldies were called to the floor, a move we initially found slightly odd. That was, until we watched just how raucous and wild and genuinely dangerous the dances became when the younger, clearly very experienced and enormously passionate residents had their turn. Toddlers and grandpas would have been at real risk of a rhythmic trampling. The Dandiya for grown ups began with a ceremonial ritual or ‘aarti’, which I mistook for a moody ballad by the band, but which was actually the religious portion of the evening. From there, the senior citizens, all of whom were more agile and more steady through their rotations than I was, took to the floor in huge circles, all facing inwards towards one another. To a layman, the dance is essentially a few steps to the left and right, with a continued travelling motion towards one direction or the other. It started slow, and that was when I joined in, but it soon picked up the pace, and by the time I decided to bow out (of the senior citizens dance, I remind you), the spinning had doubled, and the arm actions had gone way beyond me. Dylan spent the entire time laughing and filming from outside the circle and outside the dance floor which was not the show of solidarity I expected. I left well before the sticks were deployed which was better for everyone as I had enough trouble keeping up with a simple off-beat finger click.
There were some professional dancers thrown into the mix to keep the circles moving at an approved speed and in the same direction. And we think these hired hands were the ones dictating the increasingly complex arm movements. There were times where one side of a circle appeared to be doing different hand actions to the other, but we assumed the message hadn't made it down the line to switch, rather than there being a rebel dance faction.
Jasper and I had actually attended a rehearsal for the dancing, a perk of being one of the first 100 ticket-purchasers. In fact, I later found out, we were the FIRST people to pay for our tickets, but that did nothing to improve our dancing. I was glad for the rehearsal in that it showed me what to expect; large, perpetually moving circles of fancy feet and flailing arms, and steady, melodic songs that go on forever with no apparent chorus or climax. Back in Yangon I always enjoyed the rehearsals for the Burns’ Night, but while as far as an eightsome reel is concerned, I am confident I can hold my own, it would take a lot more than one rehearsal a year to see me through to the advanced levels of a dandiya.
The most amazing thing about the Dandiya party was the way everyone was dressed. People we see on a day to day basis in sports kit or jeans were decorated in layers and layers of intricately woven fabrics in the brightest of bright colours. And once the dancing ramped up, the effect was an endless, rainbow sea of flying fabrics. The challenge we faced, in trying to avoid embarrassing ourselves, was that the entire event was dry. Gone was the excuse of being parched, and sneaking off to prop up the bar for a set. Or, as per Burns’ Night protocol, sit back down at the dinner table for a wee dram of whiskey. Waiters were too efficient in hydrating dancers and spectators with sugar cane juice and water, so we took to hiding in plain sight just on the edge of a dandiya circle, where we hoped we were invisible between the swathes of undulating skirts and shawls.
Dandiya-ing appears to be highly competitive. On more than one occasion we watched a serene, graceful circle be usurped by an inner ring of more energetic freestylers who essentially pushed the outer circle off the dance floor by expanding their own by way of a high speed, twirling land grab. There was one woman who made such good use of the dance floor that on more than one occasion she came very close to smacking a spectator in the face, and I am pretty sure she tripped over a sitting granny too. Her skirts, which she flourished and flounced like a flamenco dancer, were a shimmering green and golden yellow and she had definitely been to more than one rehearsal. Even during a pause between songs, the extreme dandiya circles were easy to spot by the mountain of shoes at their centre. A dedicated dandiya-er clearly can’t be held back by footwear.
I haven’t seen Diwali yet, but Dylan and I have decided that this is our favourite Indian festival. It was energetic, fun and colourful. Jasper, on the other hand, is still asking for the “man up”, so we can assume the Dahi Handi has yet to be knocked off his top spot. I hope that his outfit will still fit him next year, and that I can borrow another, because if there’s a party, we will definitely be going. Although perhaps I’ll try to be less conspicuously eager in my approach to ticket buying. I might also look into some dance lessons so I can dance with my own age group next year.
Video Note: Jasper was trying to follow the camera as it spun around us.
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