Dancing Nine Nights Away

Alexander and I heard about Navarati the day we arrived in Ahmedabad. While touring the NID campus our guide said we should look forward to the October celebrations. “There are many festivals in Gujarat,” she said, “But I think you will enjoy Navarati the most.”

Navarati is a nine-day celebration that honors the Mother Goddess and her different forms each night. Known as the world’s longest dance festival, it is celebrated in every village, town, and city across the state of Gujarat. People of all ages congregate in the night to dance Garba, a folk dance that involves circular actions and repeating steps.

In October we witnessed the city prepare for the festivities. At dusk Law Garden’s sidewalks transformed into a glittering night market selling silver jewelry and chaniya cholis- the traditional, mirror studded Gujarati dresses worn for Navarati. Groups of young men practiced complicated dance steps on the side of the road. Local residents decorated their homes with metallic streamers and strings of lights. The lawn in the center of our apartment complex was converted into a flashing atrium complete with a shrine and garlands of marigolds.

Determined to participate as best we could, Alexander and I prepared in advance. Several NID students and Jay’s girlfriend helped us learn the basic twelve steps of Garba, which included twirls, claps and synchronized steps. Alexander purchased a khuta and a colorful duppatta. We even got our hands on some traditional pointed flats made from tooled leather.

Despite our appropriate attire and skilled moves, we were not ready for the chaos that ensued. On the first night of Navarati fifteen boys from our apartment complex knocked on our door. “What is your name?” one asked Alexander. “Please- come dance with us,” another commanded. Soon we were in the crowded courtyard, surrounded by hundreds of people. Dozens of men approached Alexander, shaking his hand and asking questions. “What country? Where you from?” Two children filled our hands with an assortment of mints and sticky hard candy.

Then two gigantic speakers started to blast the first song of the night. The bass reverberated through the entire complex as the concrete driveway transformed into a pulsing dance floor. People quickly formed a circle and started to move in rhythm to the music. Round and round we went, much to the delight of onlookers. First came the sweat, rushing down our faces and soaking our cotton outfits. Next came the ache in our lungs, as the crowd insisted we continue without taking a break. After two hours of continuous dancing, blisters started to form on the soles of our feet. Finally we called it a night, but not before saying goodbye to our countless acquaintances and the band of children.

The next night we attended Garba at NID (much to the disappointment of our neighbors). The setting was far more impressive than the homemade celebrations at our apartment. A large circular dancing ground had been cordoned off with colorful bunting on a grassy field in the corner of campus. A tall, red flame-like structure stood in the center, symbolic of the “garbha deep,” the oil lamp set in a perforated earthen pot around which people traditionally dance. A live band played Navarati tunes while a man and a woman sang the accompanying lyrics. Many of the attendants wore traditional garb. Booths selling Gujarati food and water lined the periphery. The entire event was sponsored by Airtel, a popular Indian cell phone company.

Dancing at NID was a completely different experience. The steps were more complicated, but once we memorized them, we flew! The moist grass felt so good under our bare feet. Instead of thinking about the steps, I simply listened to the loud music and let my body move on its own accord. It felt as if I was connected to the other dancers in my line, as if we had turned into a single organism. Every time I twirled I caught a glimpse of Alexander as he pranced behind me. “I felt like a Modern Dancer!” he said at the end of the night.

The ninth and final night of Navarati celebrations at NID was conducted in the dark. Each dancer was given two votive candles to place in either palm. The music started slowly. From far away the scene looked like a sea of floating candles, gently moving in rhythm to the singers’ voices. As the beat quickened, so did the movement of the dancers. They spun in small circles and took large leaps forward, making their way around the circular dance floor. The warm candlelight reflected in the small mirrors stitched onto the women’s tops and skirts. By the end of the song, it was impossible to decipher the fast-moving dancers from the mass of illuminated hands, smiling faces and sparkling outfits.