In the center there is a murti, a likeness of Durga Mata, the Hindu goddess of strength. She is a sight to see, riding a tiger and holding weapons in four of her eight hands. She has a crown, conch shell, sword, mace, bow and arrow. Durga Mata's murti is in the middle of the room and around her, in many concentric circles, are the dancers. There are so many dancers that it is entirely possible to lose people in the crowd. They move in circles, around and around again and again.
I've been moving in these circles all my life. My mom spun with me on her hip when I was barely able to walk. These circles of dance and devotion form every year at garba events around the world during Navratri, the nine-day Hindu festival honoring Durga Mata's strength. This year's Navratri celebrations just passed, and as I reflect on the garba events I have been to over the years, I cannot help but marvel at the tradition I have inherited.
My earliest memories include wearing colorful Gujarati chaniya cholis against the white backdrop of snowy Chicago winters in preparation for these nights of dancing. After securing my sister's blouse, floor length skirt and 3-meter scarf into place with four or five small safety pins, my mom would turn to me. From the time I was six years old, my mom did the work of carefully pleating my scarf and pinning all the pieces of my outfit into place. When she too was dressed and colorful, with bindis on our foreheads, we would be all ready to go.
At garba events, the dancing itself is done in circles, with repetitive movements and a fast drumbeat. Over many years, I learned the progression of steps by following people in front of me in the circle. My right arm would rise when my sister's did, and her arm would rise when my mom's did. My back would bend when my sister's did, and her back would bend when my mom's did. I followed exactly my sister's movement and she followed exactly our mother's. When I was in high school, my uncle told my sister and I that when we danced with our mom, he could tell we were family. He said our movement styles, just slightly distinct from the crowd, were synchronized.
This was how I learned womanhood, in step behind my sister, my mother, and her mothers. This was how I learned confidence, slowly but surely. This was where I fit seamlessly in a circle, a tradition passed down from generations past. This wasn't just choreography, it was a devotion that I grew into an understanding of as I grew older; a devotion to strength, to a feminine divine.
Growing up Indian-American and Hindu-American has had its ups and downs, but garba has been a constant source of celebration, love and bonding with family. This year, when Navratri came, I missed my family most. In college away from home, with no one to help with the safety pins, I stabbed myself a couple of times while getting ready to go to a garba event nearby. The tiny little pricks of blood reminded me to call my mom to tell her how much I missed her. I pleated my scarf myself, and after three or four attempts, it looked almost as neat as when my mom did it. I danced, and although they weren't there in front of me, I'm sure my every sway and turn and dip matched exactly with my mom's and with my sister's.
As I repeatedly circled around Durga Mata's murti, I could feel the beginning and the end and the middle of so much, all at once. That, I guess, is how circles work. And circles with strength at the center are my favorite.
My name, Durva, sounds a lot like Durga. When I was younger, I hated when people accidentally called me Durga. Durga Mata was a goddess with too many weapons, too fierce a beauty, too violent a story for me to want her as a namesake.
Now, however, I no longer cringe at the association. I have come to covet that strength. Growing up and growing into my own has been an exercise in dance, strength, and a legacy of love. Someday, I hope to share that legacy with my own children--when we come full circle, when I dress them up, pleat their scarves and pin them in, when they too, are negotiating their strength and their differences and their colors in a world that is dizzyingly different. Hopefully, I'll be able to give my children this gift that mothers in my family have been giving for ages. This gift that is joyful, graceful, colorful, beautiful, and above all, strong.