Here is another attempt at fiction.
Its called The Imperfect Relationship.
Please leave your comments, good or bad :)
Thursday, October 12, 2006
The Fall of Festival
I did not ever think that I could live without Durga pujo (I insist on calling it pujo).
We, Bengalis, live from pujo to pujo i.e from one festive season to another. Come fall and the entire city of Calcutta metamorphoses into a 24 hours party zone! Yeah, I am not kidding. Its not like other festivals in India.... most of which are restricted to pujas at home. We celebrate with the entire community, we celebrate together. I have heard ganapati puja in Mumbai comes close to it. But you can't beat Durga Pujo! The festival goes on for five long days. Five days of vacations for anyone and everyone, whether you work for a mutinational or you go to school or you work as a domestic help.
So right before the pujas the city undergoes a transformation phase.
The constuction of pandals in every neighbourhood..
Rehearsles for cultural programs to be performed by the kids living together in a multi-storied building....
Young boys knocking at your door to collect funds for the neighbourhood association...
Huge sales in every mall, people spending their savings to buy new clothes; and by new clothes I don't mean one set. Everyone gets five sets for the five days! You buy for yourself and your family members, for cousins and aunts and grandmoms and even the maid and her daughter at home.
The festivities begin on the sixth day or shoshthi.
The entire city is lit up. Lights of all shapes and sizes...in fact the layout of the lights form patterns that tell stories of events that happened that year.....
Every pandal is different, every idol is unique.....
Everyone is in the best of their attire,looking good, feeling good, with friends and family, chatting, laughing while standing in long queues to catch a glimpse of the idol and the decor of the pandal. You make new friends through friends of friends and before you know you would have made new relations too.
If you step out of the house in the middle of the night, you will not be the only one. The entire city is out all night. No one sleeps.
Now you know why I called it a 24/7 party!
Then there is the beauty of the puja itself.
The sounds of dhak early morning, the loudspeakers playing songs all day...
The voice of the purohit uttering "sarva mangala mangaley..." and an entire crowd repeating after him, with flowers in their hand which they are about to offer to the goddess, a crowd that includes even small children who find it hard to follow the pace ...
The shondhi pujo with 108 lamps at dawn....
The taste of the bhog served on banana leaves, served by uncles in the neighbourhood...
The married women smearing each other with vermilion during sindoor khela...
The beauty of the idols reflecting the light of the arati, Ma Durga in her valiant pose accompanied by her four children, on a break from shivji, enjoying all the attention at her mother's abode.....
The dhunuchi naach - a dance performed by males, to the rhythm of the dhak, while balancing chalices full of smoking embers from coconut husks....
The shantir jol - the sacred holy water of the ganges sprayed on the crowd who tuck away their toes to prevent the water from touching their feet....
And the bishorjon on the final day - immersion of the idol , seeing the goddess off at the ganges, screaming "aashche bochor aabar hobe (see you next year)"........
I remember as a child I used to cry during the immersion, feeling bad that the festivities were over and everyone would be returning home and that there were no more excuses to postpone studying for the half-yearly exams that were to follow soon after the month long puja vacations.
At that time I never thought I could live without Durga Pujo.
But I have. For many years now. Many falls have passed by without the sounds of the dhak or the lights that tell stories.
This year again. I knew durga puja was around, but not the exact dates. Ma called to inform me that it was shoshthi and that she had fasted for us. I was sitting in my lab glaring at some research papers, imagining the humdrum in Kolkata. I had to save myself from getting depressed. Googled and discovered that there was a puja held right next to my house. Man I was excited or what!
So on Ashtami morning I arrived like a good girl, draped in a new tangail saree, fasting and craving for the bhog, offered pushpanjoli, prayed for the well-being of everyone unlike the "please make sure I do well in my exams" that I used to mutter as a child, and taught A who had never seen a durga puja in his life, the entire story behind it.
There were generations of Bengalis there, away from home, who probably share my feelings. There were the American born children who did not understand what the mantras meant and just followed what their mothers asked them to do....
There were middleaged women dressed in their best clothes and jewellery, not letting the rare opportunity to get dressed and show off what they owned, slip by...
There were uncles who made the crowd laugh with their funny jokes....
There were American wives of well-settled Bengali brahmin boys, trying to manage their sarees, looking slightly puzzled at what was going on....
There were the students of nearby universities who were away from home for the first time, who had dragged their non-bengali friends along, tempting them with the free delicious food that was going to be served....
And there was me, observing, reminiscing, smiling and relieved.
We, Bengalis, live from pujo to pujo i.e from one festive season to another. Come fall and the entire city of Calcutta metamorphoses into a 24 hours party zone! Yeah, I am not kidding. Its not like other festivals in India.... most of which are restricted to pujas at home. We celebrate with the entire community, we celebrate together. I have heard ganapati puja in Mumbai comes close to it. But you can't beat Durga Pujo! The festival goes on for five long days. Five days of vacations for anyone and everyone, whether you work for a mutinational or you go to school or you work as a domestic help.
So right before the pujas the city undergoes a transformation phase.
The constuction of pandals in every neighbourhood..
Rehearsles for cultural programs to be performed by the kids living together in a multi-storied building....
Young boys knocking at your door to collect funds for the neighbourhood association...
Huge sales in every mall, people spending their savings to buy new clothes; and by new clothes I don't mean one set. Everyone gets five sets for the five days! You buy for yourself and your family members, for cousins and aunts and grandmoms and even the maid and her daughter at home.
The festivities begin on the sixth day or shoshthi.
The entire city is lit up. Lights of all shapes and sizes...in fact the layout of the lights form patterns that tell stories of events that happened that year.....
Every pandal is different, every idol is unique.....
Everyone is in the best of their attire,looking good, feeling good, with friends and family, chatting, laughing while standing in long queues to catch a glimpse of the idol and the decor of the pandal. You make new friends through friends of friends and before you know you would have made new relations too.
If you step out of the house in the middle of the night, you will not be the only one. The entire city is out all night. No one sleeps.
Now you know why I called it a 24/7 party!
Then there is the beauty of the puja itself.
The sounds of dhak early morning, the loudspeakers playing songs all day...
The voice of the purohit uttering "sarva mangala mangaley..." and an entire crowd repeating after him, with flowers in their hand which they are about to offer to the goddess, a crowd that includes even small children who find it hard to follow the pace ...
The shondhi pujo with 108 lamps at dawn....
The taste of the bhog served on banana leaves, served by uncles in the neighbourhood...
The married women smearing each other with vermilion during sindoor khela...
The beauty of the idols reflecting the light of the arati, Ma Durga in her valiant pose accompanied by her four children, on a break from shivji, enjoying all the attention at her mother's abode.....
The dhunuchi naach - a dance performed by males, to the rhythm of the dhak, while balancing chalices full of smoking embers from coconut husks....
The shantir jol - the sacred holy water of the ganges sprayed on the crowd who tuck away their toes to prevent the water from touching their feet....
And the bishorjon on the final day - immersion of the idol , seeing the goddess off at the ganges, screaming "aashche bochor aabar hobe (see you next year)"........
I remember as a child I used to cry during the immersion, feeling bad that the festivities were over and everyone would be returning home and that there were no more excuses to postpone studying for the half-yearly exams that were to follow soon after the month long puja vacations.
At that time I never thought I could live without Durga Pujo.
But I have. For many years now. Many falls have passed by without the sounds of the dhak or the lights that tell stories.
This year again. I knew durga puja was around, but not the exact dates. Ma called to inform me that it was shoshthi and that she had fasted for us. I was sitting in my lab glaring at some research papers, imagining the humdrum in Kolkata. I had to save myself from getting depressed. Googled and discovered that there was a puja held right next to my house. Man I was excited or what!
So on Ashtami morning I arrived like a good girl, draped in a new tangail saree, fasting and craving for the bhog, offered pushpanjoli, prayed for the well-being of everyone unlike the "please make sure I do well in my exams" that I used to mutter as a child, and taught A who had never seen a durga puja in his life, the entire story behind it.
There were generations of Bengalis there, away from home, who probably share my feelings. There were the American born children who did not understand what the mantras meant and just followed what their mothers asked them to do....
There were middleaged women dressed in their best clothes and jewellery, not letting the rare opportunity to get dressed and show off what they owned, slip by...
There were uncles who made the crowd laugh with their funny jokes....
There were American wives of well-settled Bengali brahmin boys, trying to manage their sarees, looking slightly puzzled at what was going on....
There were the students of nearby universities who were away from home for the first time, who had dragged their non-bengali friends along, tempting them with the free delicious food that was going to be served....
And there was me, observing, reminiscing, smiling and relieved.
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