Introduction - Initiation into Diwali: When I was a kid and studying in
the village school in the 1970s, Diwali used to be a roaring affair. The
government was yet to codify and consolidate public holidays in Bhutan. As a
result, communities and districts were allowed to observe holidays according to
local ethnic requirements. At Neoly Bhutan we got a three-day holiday for Diwali
– which was locally known as Tihar. Although festivities would start on ‘kaag tihar’ (day of worship of the crow) day,
mass celebrations started on ‘gai tihar’/Laxmi
Puja day. I remember our parents garlanding, oiling, massaging and feeding our
cattle in the morning. On that day, we were not allowed to shout nor stick the
cows. Even taray and puday (names of
our oxen) our healthy pair of oxen got a day off from their daily routine of
ploughing the fields. That evening, after sunset and at a time predetermined by
Hindu astrologers, dad and mom would light oil lamps and offer prayers at the
family altar. Thereafter, we would be given candles to light along the
staircase, around the verandah and on the ‘sikwa’
(front portico of a house usually smeared with fresh cow dung on auspicious
days). Although limited, the bursting of crackers and fireworks followed
it.
Deusi-bhailo – Cultural entertainment: An important aspect of Diwali is
the tradition of deusi-bhailo. On Laxmi Puja day, after the puja is over, girls
and women went around the village singing bhaileni. The next day, after sunset,
we formed into small groups and went around singing ‘deusi’ (deusi and bhaili may
be compared to carol singing during Christmas) until dawn. It was a lot of fun.
By the time I was in class five, I
had memorized all of Ramayana and Mahabharata to use it to lead the deusi
singing. After a few rounds of customary deusi lines, such as ‘raato maato, chiplo baato, etc. and after
rhythmically informing the hosts that we were deputed and authorized by none
other than Lord Baliraja himself, we got into narrating either the Ramayana or
the Mahabharata. By the time, Ram killed Ravana and rescued Sita with the help
of his brother and Hanuman, the lady of the house would come out to the ‘aangan’ (courtyard) with a big ‘nanglo’
(a large plate like thing woven from cane
or bamboo) with rice, selroti, flowers, oil lamp, burning incense and, most
importantly, some money!
Beliefs make humanity go! On
seeing the nanglo, we changed the tune and intonation of our singing. It was
now time for us to thank the hosts and bless them. And bless we did, rather
profusely! As was common, we wished that ‘water
turned into oil’; ‘soil turned into
gold’; and that the man and woman of the house lived forever. I wonder what
would the poor farmers have done if our wish had come true and all the water
had turned into oil! During the young days playing deusi was largely cultural
and recreational – whatever money happened was incidental – not that we minded
that!
Deusi at YCS – Money makes a mare go: More for the want of money than
for real cultural leanings, I continued playing deusi at Yangchenphug. The school
principal Mr. Ipe, who, otherwise, was very strict about students leaving the school
premises, was considerate enough to let us out celebrating deusi. When I was in
class ten, my late friend and then classmate Omnath Pokhrel, Madan Chhetri of
class nine and I organised a group of boys and visited several houses in
Thimphu playing deusi. We had a ‘maadal’
(Nepali hand drum) and an old guitar,
with one of its strings missing, for musical company. It didn’t matter though,
as we drummed up our boyish enthusiasm and plucked on our youthful vigour to
brave the cold of Thimphu to visit houses. I still remember the good
hospitality and reception provided at Dasho JB’s place in Motithang.
Deusi-Bhaili in Thimphu today – Cultural to commercial: I turn the clock forward by four
decades from the 1970s to 21st century; change the place from remote
Neoly to bustling Thimphu and watch Diwali and deusi being celebrated. In
Thimphu, it is not necessarily the Lhotsampas (southern Bhutanese) alone who go singing deusi. Urban urchins and rustics
from all communities join the fun. Perhaps the aroma of selroti and the lure of
easy money are too hard to resist! Indeed, it is not uncommon to find groups of
small boys ring your doorbell and sing ‘Akhum
chakhum…selroti chakhum’ (a poetic
attempt at asking for selroti).
Overall, the purpose and organisation
of deusi has changed and deusi has now metamorphosed into a musical
orchestra. Now, it is more commercial
than cultural. Ladies with painted lips and scented thighs team up with half-drunk
young and not-so-young men and visit houses forcefully entertaining reluctant
hosts. While there are some groups who
try to infuse good level of creativity and perform deusis with the desired
level of religious purity, most groups indulge in loud scale braying, binge
drinking and disturbing neighbourhoods. Alas! It is so different from old Neoly
Bhutan! Good for the mares, I guess!
Selroti – The multipurpose fox-bread: Selroti is a Nepali delicacy made of rice-flour
batter dropped and fried in boiling oil.
At its best, it is round, crunchy and mildly sweet. At its worst, it can
look like an ill drawn map of peninsular India and taste like dough dipped in
sugary syrup. Although it is done with a lot of enthusiasm, it is never easy to
prepare selroti of an acceptable quality. In that regard, selroti may be one of
the most difficult cuisines to master.
When I got married, my wife, who
was a young school dropout, barely knew how to make selroti. As her mother had
been forced to divorce her father when she was a child, my wife didn’t receive
the proverbial ‘wind under the wings’ from her mother. So, she had to learn
most cultural things, including cooking, on-the-job. Preparation of selroti
requires a combination of female ingenuity and male masculinity. Getting the
batter to its ideal consistency is the biggest challenge. I still prepare the
batter under the supervision of my wife.
Willy-nilly, selroti has found its
place in the Bhutanese society, beyond the Lhotsampa kitchen. Indeed, it is one
delicacy that our brothers and sisters from all parts of the country –
Sarchops, Ngalongs, and Khengpas – like. So, when Diwali appears on the
horizon, your office colleagues and neighbours, who are not necessarily Hindus,
decide that ‘you will prepare selroti’. As soon as they know Diwali is around
the corner, they start asking ‘when will you bring selroti for me?’ Never mind,
for selroti helps build community brotherhood. Seriously!
Bhai Tika: The epitome of sister-brother relationship: Among Nepali Hindu communities,
Bhai Tika is considered as one of the most auspicious occasions. It is a highly
emotional and relation binding moment, when your sisters, at least once a year,
think good about you, shower plenty of love on you and actually pray for your
long life.
As a young boy, I remember that even
if I had fought with them the previous evening, my sisters were always cordial,
caring and loving the morning of Bhai Tika. At dawn, the boys in the family
would go to the nearby stream (on the way to aantary bau’s house) and have
quick baths. Back home, we would dress in our best attires and get ready for
the Tika. Generally, our new clothes were the ones dad had bought for us for dasain.
We were a large family and although we had enough grains and cereals, cash was
always a problem. So dad was not able to provide us with new clothes just twenty
days after dasain.
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| Buku applying the return Tika on Bunu (Esha Basnet) |
When our sisters were ready with
the preparations, we sat on a ‘radi’
(a thick mat made of coarse sheep wool)
and received the eternal and heavenly Tika and blessings from our sisters. Our
sisters would circumambulate us three times in a clockwise direction,
sprinkling oil and water along the way. At the end of the third round, they
would smash a couple of hard walnuts with a ‘lohoro’ (a round and polished
stone that served as a pestle). Then, they would adorn our foreheads with
colourful Tikas and hang garlands of marigold and makhamali (Gomphrena globosa/globe amaranth) on our necks. Next, they would feed us a bit of all the
delicacies they had prepared. We would then get up, fish out the one or two
ngultrum earned from the previous day’s deusi, put it on the sisters’ feet and
bow down in complete amour and respect. In return, we received some gifts from
our sisters - usually a ‘gamcha’ (Assamese towel) or a proper towel.
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| Buku receiving Bhai Tika from his Bindhya didi |
I left my village when I was
barely thirteen years old. After I completed by village school and went to the
boarding school in Pema Gatshel, I was detached from Diwali, Bhai Tika and my
lovely sisters. I haven’t met some of them for Bhai Tika ever since! Being an
orphan, I had extra emotional attachments with my sisters than other boys of my
age probably had. Depending on the appearance of the moon, Diwali falls either
in October or November, when I was always at school, somewhere far from Neoly –
Pema Gatshel, Thimphu, Kanglung, or Delhi. At the boarding schools in Bhutan, Diwali and
Bhai Tika were soon consigned to the back of my memory.
Diwali – The Indian experience: After completing my higher secondary from Sherubtse
College in Kanglung, I went to Delhi, India to pursue my first degree. During
my three years at the Sri Ram College of Commerce, I experienced Diwali the way
Indian students celebrate it (I didn’t get an opportunity to visit an Indian
family, so my experience is limited to Diwali celebrated by hostel mates). I
was grown up and observant enough by then to assess the differences and the
similarities between Indian and Nepali Diwali.
For one, I found the Indian Diwali
very loud and intimidating. Indians would start firing and bursting crackers
and fireworks at least a fortnight before Diwali. The frightening explosions
and deafening sounds would hit a crescendo on Diwali eve. While I liked the
passion, the gala and the positivity brought about by Diwali, I dreaded the
intimidating explosions and noise. Indian students are not necessarily the most
docile in the world and it was during Diwali that I got to see their
mischievous footings. They would buy firecrackers aplenty from Kamala Nagar or
Kingsway Camp and create havoc in the campus in the guise of celebrating
Diwali. Some notorious ones would even throw live bombs under the doors of
student rooms and along hostel corridors.
While Diwali among Nepali
communities culminate in the beautiful sister-brother Tika and blessing
ceremony, I believe that not all Indian Hindus have an equivalent tradition. There
probably lies the biggest difference. While I am aware of Bhai Phota/Bhai Dooj/and
similar traditions in different parts of India, it is not as universal among
Indians as Bhai Tika is among Nepalese Hindus.
Conclusions – Reflections: As another Diwali dawns in, I am glad that at least one
of my sisters (besides cousins and nieces) is within walking distance of where
I live in Thimphu. I am sure all my sisters continue to bless me, if not 24x7,
on this auspicious day. On my part, I take the opportunity provided by the
occasion to renew my special relationship with my sisters.
