The hotchpotch Ramleela

Trapped in our homes on the outskirts of Bengaluru in the autumn of 2020, and desperate for a little festive cheer, my township decided to build a 30-foot Ravana from scratch and put up a production of the Ramleela. Rachna ji’s cook was a decent carpenter and his young daughter could blow on a conch shell impressively. Brij ji’s driver’s baby girl had naughty eyes and monkey-like antics. Kamal ji’s ten-year-old grandson could pull off a booming, evil Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Armed with a bunch of yellow saris that could be swathed as either saris or dhotis, a playlist of traditional aartis and Bollywood bhajans, and a massive pile of donated cardboard cartons, bamboo poles and bright kite paper in every colour, we kickstarted our production.

- ANUJA CHAUHAN

I was the treasurer of this project. So, it is with full authority that I can report that the whole jamboree cost our resident welfare association less than ₹10,000. And, yet, as old Dr Sareen rued to me yesterday, “The sense of piety and wonder that it invoked in me, beta, was far greater than I got from watching Adipurush yesterday.”