My Navratri When Navaratri Meant Golu Dolls & Sundal Evenings

Growing up in Chennai, the arrival of Navaratri was marked by the heavy sound of steel trunks being lowered from the loft. Inside, layers of dhotis and worn cotton sarees kept the dolls safe from chipped fingers and broken noses. Without screens to distract us, our imaginations took over as we planned the year’s arrangement. Setting up the wooden steps was a quiet ritual of its own. First came the deities, followed by the Chettiar couple, the wooden marapachi dolls and little menageries of animals and birds. One of the simplest joys was sowing mustard and methi seeds in shallow trays of damp soil, waiting each morning for the first green shoots that turned a corner of the display into miniature fields. Menus were planned with unspoken care so no two houses served the same variety of sundal on the same day. For those nine evenings, the television remained off. Instead, living rooms filled with impromptu songs and cups of warm sundal handed out alongside the tamboolam. We walked home clutching our little gift bags, content with the warmth of an evening well spent.

For my fellow students and me, Navaratri was also deeply rooted in learning. My guru, Seetha Narayanan Mami, organised nine days of music at the Kasi Viswanathar temple, giving us the space to present full two-hour concerts. It was a gentle ground to find our footing, build discipline and share our music with a listening community.

That thread of music has remained unbroken. This Navaratri at Saptaparni, we presented this year’s edition of Dial 9 for Devi, curating nine songs in praise of the goddess. One of my favourite kritis to sing during this season is O Jagadamba in Anandabhairavi. It evokes the vatsalya bhavam — an earnest plea to a mother.

The Varnam Amma Ananda Daayini in Ragam Gambhira Nattai by Balamuralikrishna garu is another favourite. I usually end with everyone in the audience singing Aigiri Nandini in unison. It leaves us all in a happy state of mind.

“For those nine evenings, the television remained off. Instead, living rooms filled with impromptu songs and cups of warm sundal handed out alongside the tamboolam. We walked home clutching our little gift bags.”