Falguni pathak family
But his comment section was rife with Gujjus tagging their relatives – “Falguni ne jo! (Look at Falguni!)”. You’d think after so many years, with so much exposure to international music, the Pathak craze might have died down. What a night that was I remember it like it happened yesterday.Ī classmate recently shared a Facebook memory of being handed a Best Solo Dancer award at our school’s garba night by Pathak. My friends and I had the time of our life, dancing, swirling, and twirling as Pathak sang one hit song after another. The head-banging between verses was Ozzy Ozbourne-like and she genuinely looked like she was having a blast up there. (Her sister-in-law was one of our school’s senior staffers.) At eight, I was going to attend my first-ever “live” concert and the hype was real.Īt a time when heteronormativity defined the Indian pop music scene, it’s especially noteworthy that Pathak never chose to reinvent herself or her music.ĭressed in her trademark shirt and trousers, Pathak was unabashedly herself. In 2000, my school announced that the annual dandiya night would be graced by Pathak. And I wanted in, but I knew no amount of pestering would make my parents buy me a ticket. I’d hear older cousins and neighbours speak about dancing the night away to her intoxicating singing. At a time when heteronormativity defined the Indian pop music scene, it’s especially noteworthy that Pathak never chose to reinvent herself or her music.īy the late ’90s, Pathak had become a huge star, the undisputed Queen of Dandiya. Her greatest legacy as an artist remains in the fact that not only does her music empower countless teenage girls to embrace their femininity and backless cholis, but through her music videos and personal brand, Pathak has also empowered millions of conflicted teenagers to wear whatever the fuck they wanted without conforming to what society deems ok. Yet her androgynous style – mirrored shirts, jackets, trousers, and boots – was pathbreaking. Her songs covered themes of teenage romance, forbidden love her tunes always remained the epitome of desi femininity. In this nine-day period of revelry, whether you were sharing iced lollies or riding pillion with bae on your papa’s Bajaj Chetak, it was Pathak playing cupid. For suburban kids at the peak of their hormonal angst who viewed Navratri less as a celebration of song-and-dance and more as an excuse to meet their crush late at night, Pathak’s songs provided the soundtrack to their first brushes with romance. Pathak became as synonymous with Navratri as the flamboyant dhotis, cholis, and decorated dandiya sticks. Before she exploded into public consciousness, Navratri celebrations were a relatively low-key affair for middle-class families in Mumbai – restricted to dancing in the building compound to songs that were played on a screechy loudspeaker. Pathak after all transformed the way we garba. Definitely not for Gujju families the world over. It’s been more than 20 years, but even today the place Pathak holds in our lives has not faded. Even today when I meet relatives at shaadis, all my childhood tales begin with, “We still remember your Falguni Pathak performances.” My uncles and aunts would ask us to do a Falguni and two of us would just need a bit of coaxing to dish out some moves. Our little performance became a ritual of sorts.
#Falguni pathak family tv
My cousin and I would stand in front of our boxy Onida TV and try to match the dance steps – she’d borrow my mumma’s dupatta I’d just follow her lead. If you were glued to music channels like I was, the background score to your adolescent years was in all likelihood, Pathak’s “Maine Payal Hai Chankai” and “Meri Chunar Udd Udd Jaaye”. But none among them had the appeal of Falguni Pathak. My dose of pop culture came from music videos on MTV and Channel V and I gushed over locally grown stars like Alisha Chinai or Bombay Vikings. Growing up in the ’90s in Vile Parle, I wasn’t exposed to English music like the other “ cool kids ”.