Pushp Saraf
pushpsaraf@yahoo.com
Year after year-nearly a decade now-I have witnessed a quietly remarkable phenomenon: our home city of Jammu springing to life thousands of miles away in the Sultanate of Oman. Every January 13, Lohri is celebrated with rare fervour in Muscat, its elegant capital. On that day, one expatriate family from Jammu makes a conscious effort to bring together fellow migrant families from their homeland, recreating the emotions, ambience, and cultural pulse of a land from which they have long been separated. For a few precious hours, they return to their early years, reclaiming memories that distance and time have tried to erode. Joining them are others who instinctively understand the significance of the occasion.
When the refrain of “Sundar Mundri, Ho” cuts through the salubrious evening air, one is left spellbound. By the time the song fades, it no longer feels like a celebration hosted by a single family-everyone has taken over. Participation becomes universal, spontaneous, and deeply heartfelt. “Jammu,” along with Dogri, rises above all streets and districts-whether Panjtirthi, Raghunath Pura, Lakhdata Bazar, Gandhi Nagar, Kathua, or Udhampur.
This powerful sense of collective ownership appears to be precisely what Sudhakar and his wife, Ranjana, envisioned-transforming the gathering into a much-anticipated annual tradition for nearly two decades, one they intend to sustain for as long as they can. Its impact extends far beyond festivity. It yields lasting emotional dividends: reviving childhood memories, reconstructing a sense of home, reaffirming cultural identity, and gently bridging generational divides.
Years ago, my childhood friend Arvind Raina captured this ache of separation in a Dogri poem, pouring out his wistful emotions and the quiet trauma of leaving home. The distinguished poetess Padma Sachdev, like many others, was deeply moved and did not hide her feelings. “When you leave home and work in other lands, you feel this way,” she said. Arvind, long a medical practitioner in the Middle East, has simultaneously built a strong reputation as a Dogri poet, writer, and singer.
What makes such gatherings truly extraordinary is their ability to awaken multiple layers of nostalgia at once. As it turned out, Sudhakar is the nephew of Ramesh Mehta, a friend from my days at Jammu’s Maulana Azad Memorial College, whom we lost not very long ago and whom we remember as a Hindi writer and scholar. Ranjana is the daughter of the late Bandhu Sharma, the noted Dogri writer.
I had extensive interactions with Bandhu Sharma in 1983, when he served as Deputy Chief Electoral Officer during the intensely fought election between Indira Gandhi and Farooq Abdullah. The Indian Express had deputed me from Lucknow-where I was posted at the time-to cover the polls. During my stay, I met him almost every day. Only gradually did I realise that he was a literary figure of considerable stature: a Dogri writer, essayist, and vocalist. His works included Parchhame, Kingre, Sangam, and the edited collection Kathya Kayari, along with numerous short stories translated into several languages. My uncle Ved Rahi, a literary giant, once told me that he had urged Bandhu to write more, because he wrote so exceptionally well.
The commitment of a single family to create a “home away from home” gives rise to many reflections. Sudhakar and Ranjana are ably supported by their daughters, Shaivya and Maninee, both of whom have been actively involved since their school days in Muscat. No matter where life takes them, they make it a point to return for the celebration. This time too, Shaivya flew in from Australia and Maninee from the United States.
While all become part of the proceedings a key participant is Dr Ashok Verma who becomes virtually master of the show dwelling at length on the history and background of Lohri. The moment bonfire is lit and all of us offer peanuts, popcorn, jaggery, rewri, and gajak to the fire he holds forth as an authority as he dwells at length on the history and significance of Lohri. “Sundar mundri, ho!” centres on folk hero Dulla Bhatti and his zeal for ensuring the marriages of poor girls with dignity:
“Sundar mundri, ho!; Tera kaun vichara, ho!; Dulla Bhatti wala, ho!; Dulle di dhi vyahi, ho!; Ser shakar pai, ho!; Kudi da lal pathaka, ho!” (“O beautiful girl / precious one; Who will look after you; Dulla Bhatti will take care of you; He got his daughter married; A measure of jaggery was given; The girl is like a red firecracker!” (symbol of joy)”. Lohri is synonymous with social justice, richness of agricultural fields and households. It symbolises hope for prosperous days.
Dr Verma is the son of the late Jagdish Verma, whom I had known well in my younger days-a prominent leader of the Praja Socialist Party, which occupied the centre stage of national politics until the late 1960s and was led in Jammu and Kashmir by my father.
For the moment, however, such recollections gently receded. It was time simply to dance around the fire to the timeless refrain of “Sundar Mundri, Ho!” In that shared circle of warmth and song, tradition reasserted itself-quietly, instinctively, and with enduring power.
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