Q. As a British-Asian of Punjabi
descent, how did you become interested in the Ganpati festival here?
A. My introduction to the festival
was in 1991 when I visited Mumbai. A dancing woman saw me clicking snaps
from a taxi in Lalbagh and forced me to join in. The focus of my study
initially was the relation between art, religion and nationalism but it
shifted to how politics is performed through culture and art.
Q. How have the pandals transformed
over the decades?
A. Historically, it was not the
displays which were the main attraction but the idols. Elaborate displays
were introduced in the 50s and 60s, drawing on film culture.
This had to do with drama dying out. Before Independence, the city had drama procession troupes which provided cultural and political skits, often anti-colonial in nature. After Independence, these were seen as anachronistic. In the 70s, pressure on public space also meant that permission was difficult to get for doing anything on the street except having Ganpati pandals.
In the 80s, TV influenced the pandals and in the 90s we've seen the commentative aspect gain prominence. Every year, pandals take up the biggest news of the year. In '98 it was Pokhran, in '99 Kargil and in 2000, KBC and match fixing. It's a sign of the topicality of the festival. The 90s also saw increased mechanised sound and with it the need for control. This year, contestation over public space has been the highest, with noise pollution laws being implemented fairly strictly. So, on the one hand, the 90s were bubbling but there was also increased regulation.
Q. How has commercialisation influenced
the festival?
A. Commercialisation began in mid-'80s
with sponsorship banners, but it went haywire in the '90s after liberalisation.
The amount of finance available has increased enormously, leading to more
elaborate sets and sound, more rackets and increased competition between
pandals. Rivalries are more virulent than before, with many groups splintering
which sometimes puts more pressure on local residents. The violence connected
with it has also increased.
At the same time, in response to this, more people are reacting to “vulgarisation” and seeking to go back to “pure” religion and aesthetics. Some of this has to do with class-the sarvajanik style is the forte of the lower middle classes, whereas the elite are withdrawing to the idea of private space, either through a return to austerity in the festival or through regulations against what they perceive as a nuisance.
Q. What role does the festival have
in the city?
A. In Andheri, there is a pandal
displaying an overloaded suburban train, a comment on overpopulation. The
festival expresses the imagination of the city through local talent. Anyone
who can draw or paint in the neighbourhood is drawn together in a collective
effort.
And the notion of the city is as a physical space, one through which you have to walk or commute by train, the experience of it physically as opposed to intellectual reflections in drawing rooms. It could be considered kitsch, and its a lot like Hindi films in its way of imagining the city, especially the colour.
Q. How has the festival managed
to stay relevant?
A. When the festival went sarvajanik
in the 1890s it entered public space and became social and political. The
city may have seen globalisation but it's also seen Hindutva. Nationalism
and identity has as much relevance today when there are concerns over migrants,
over Pakistan. This in the concept of youth shakti has been used by many
pandals, specially those of the working class who have not benefited from
liberalisation, exhorting resistance to the MTV culture, keeping children
in the fold. The ethical and religious inner motor is what keeps the festival
going, and this has nothing to do with politics or commerce. Some people
move to the suburbs from Girgaum but come back to their chawls during the
festival because their heart lies there even if their body is in Dahisar.
And Ganpati has to do with the heart.