Colors of a Lost Tradition

It is not often that one can tell the front porch of an NRI household from that of others. Especially not in the winter, when everything around is bleak and bare, sparing the holiday lights that dot and adorn a few. So when I went to visit a friend who has just given birth to adorable twin girls, I was rather flummoxed --- a fine pattern of dove-white “rangoli,” outline, filled with dazzling Holi-like colors that had stood the test of Chicago’s brutal winds, welcomed me. And even as I was reveling in it, I saw were blobs of turmeric and vermillion here and there, and a wind chime of Ganeshas in different postures was swaying gently, as if to say amen and complement the other endearing displays.

Now, knowing my friend, she barely has the time to water her tulips in the summer. And I’m sure she wouldn’t be able to draw a straight line with the silken “rangoli” powder even with the aid of a scale. And now, with the double dolls in tow, it would hardly be expected of her to keep awake for guests. And so at once I knew that it must be the handiwork of her mother, or mother-in-law, depending, obviously, on who got their visa cleared first.

For people who know the significance and splendor of “rangoli,” the sight I witnessed would surely have brought the ultimate joy. Growing up as a little girl in Southern India, I would often witness my mother’s nifty hands create magic with the powder. It was a daily ritual --- the front porch would be cleansed with water, and once the water had run off, the pattern would take form, curve by glorious curve, line by shipshape line. My mother has never been fond of rules with respect to anything, and certainly not in this regard. No clean slated dots and connecting-the-dots designs for her; she believes in letting her passion and creativity rule. Well, more than that, actually, given her Godliness and devotional spirit.

The “rangoli” sessions didn’t stop there. There was a theme set for every occasion. Sugarcane sticks and leafy designs during Sankranthi, lotuses and miniature Ganeshas during the Ganesh Chathurthi celebrations, diyas and glowing, colored flames at Diwali, and so on. There would be an unstated contest for the house with the best-adorned front porch, in the neighborhood. And despite some bright, impressive flowery creations during Onam by some others, my mother’s “rangoli” pattern always stood out, like a lone shining star in a galaxy of dim spots.

And today, it nearly has been reduced to a has-been art form, given the mass production of sticker rangolis. One can see these brick-red strips with painted motifs that glue onto any surface, and even though they stand out on white marbles and wooden planks that sit pretty on carpeted floors, they’re not even close to the real thing. They’re even sold off the shelves in Indian stores, alongside “aarti thaalis,” and assorted “puja items,” including but not limited to artificial, turmeric-lined coconuts stuck to small white silver ewers, plastic rows of mango leaves, and other oddments.

While some of these modern day simulations of traditionalism have caught up even in India, there are still pockets of authenticity that yearn to be noticed, and they’re rather mind boggling if you ask me. And out here, the pleasure of witnessing them are a rarity, and limited only to the time of year when the mothers and mothers-in-law visit. Be it summer, spring or winter, they take the time to transform desi houses into homes, even if it means creating an array of colorful designs that gets trampled on by sloppy visitors. Of course, some of them prefer to use the good old chalk in the Fall, lest the winds that tweak the leaves off trees muss their labor of love up.

And when I returned home that evening, I saw what a contrast the bareness of my front door was, despite its fancy holiday wreath. But there seems to be hope, because the local Hindu temple has scheduled a “rangoli” competition, later this month. Even though I may not exactly partake in it, I’d really like to see if the children’s creations of those time-honored, symmetric patterns can match up to their other works that often adorn refrigerator doors.