Whose Puja is it?

I was attending a Durgapuja near our colony at Pune. As usual it was a typical Bengali crowd - chatting in Bengali, shouting in Bengali... As a Bengali I was feeling homely. I was not feeling alone, though I was sitting alone in a chair in front of the idol. This ambience is what we crave for during the Durga puja. Being alone gives you a golden opportuninty to watch others. Everybody dressed in ethnic dresses, men in panjabi and payjama or dhuti, ladies in cotton shaRis. Colorful children were running all around. You can distinguish two groups of children clearly. The younger group is of below ten years. They are jubiliant, careless, undivided and playing all around. The older one consists of several groups of children of preteen and adolescents. They are not as free as the younger group. They are mostly sitting and chatting in small small groups. Growing older robs the innocence of comradeship of childhood.
I rememberd my childhood days. We had a durgapuja just in front of our house. The four days puja used to be a constant playtime! Clad in new dresses we used to roam all around with toy pistols. The puja could be reflected in our bright, glowing, astonished face itself. That glow of face is what missing in the elder group of boys and girls. The younger group certainly had that glow, but I could not find the awestruck enjoyment that we used to have to savor the grandeur of the Puja in bright new dresses. It seemed to be just like a holiday for them. I know it is difficult to relate with the emotions of a child after you grow up; and this is the common mistake we make when we try to read the mind of a child.
Then I noticed few local Maharshtrian children, most probably of the bais and the caretakers who are cleaning the mess made by the crowd and keeping the place up. These children were moving in a group in ragged clothes in front of the idol gigling and running around here and there. They don't know who is Durga or what is the emotion of a Bengali's Durga puja. But they know its a grand festival, and you can realize that they are, as if, gobbling the grandeur of the festival. A girl in her teens came in fron fo dias to take a photo of the idol. This group of children gathered at her back eagerly trying to figure out how she is taking a photo in the display of her digital camera. The girl who was closer to our teenager had a triumphant look on her face for being the one having the most comprehensive look at the digital display.

And I found the emotion of awestruck enjoyment, which I was looking for. In a moment I realized who are enjoying the most out of the festival. And I felt gratified by them for making my Durgapuja complete!

A small incident

During the Durgapuja many organisers arrange for bhog, a public lunch sometimes free, sometimes paid. Simple khichdi and a typical mixed curry with some fries and payes. Simple but delicious food. I went to a Puja in Pune as a guest of a friend of mine who is a member of the organising committee. As the lunchtime neared crowd started pouring in. And the big hall room seemed to congested. Somehow, we managed a place in the first batch as we were the guest of a member! We normally don't use spoons for eating this kind of dishes. But habit of civilized society hasbeen so deeply engraved in some people's mind. They have brought their spoons and bottles of mineral water with them. The organisers start distributing food. We were hungry, the food was delicious and steamy. The typical homely and decent atmosphere of Puja. Almost hundred people were sitting in this batch. Gradually the menu comes to an end. The sweet dish payes is being distributed, when I started spotting another row of people are taking their place behind each of ours chairs. They are booking their seat in the next batch. It feels awkward. Somebody is waiting at your back to finish your meal! But in a public lunch place this is usual.
But then the problem starts. Some volunteers say they have already booked the places and whosoever is booking by standing behind a chair is not permitted to sit there. The sits are to be alloted by the volunteers. The environment starts heating up. Nobody is ready to give up. Nobody has time to wait, its a competitive world - nobody can wait and see their peers are getting serviced before them. The quarrel starts. Young volunteers on the power of their youth starts misbehaving the the elders who were standing behind chairs. Organisers try to control the mob. Everyone becomes agitated; and as usual agitated Bengali never speaks in Bengali - exchange of English and Hindi hot words is started. The soothing homely atmosphere is completely vanished now. I manage to finish my meal and come out struggling to the open place.
So impatient we have become ...

"It makes me want to run out and tell them
They've got time.
Take a step back out and warn them
I've found out I've got time... "

missing adda

Today is the Saptami. The starting day of the Grand Festival of Durgapuja; and this is for the third time in a row I am away from home in Durgapuja. I am, well, honestly speaking, homesick.
For Bengalis Durgapuja is not a mere puja - its a yearly celebration of life, a time to get together, a time of endless adda at the pandal premises. Though I am not a very enthusiastic addabaj, I like to be there. But somehow the topic of discussions of the adda we used to have in puja gathering have shifted with time. At the end the schooldays the topics had been more on the edge of vulger legpulling and trying out the taboo things, like public smoking, boozing, teasing, smacking. This was a typical growth pattern of middleclass youth in a small town, where the effects of urbanization has started creeping in with the spread of media. We had no real icon in front of us, but we had heard/seen stories of freedom of west. This was an obvious bend the suppressed youth was supposed to take.
From this time on, I started losing contact with my classmates and addamtes for two reasons; firstly many of us parted for higher studies and secondly the larger domain of IIT culture opened a new horizon for me. The major thrust came from internet, which was easlily accessible at IIT. I have never been an active addabaj during Durgapujas after that. Then came career, the distance between us got wider and wider.
But now, today, after a three year distance from Puja adda, I feel nostalgic. I know the turbulence of our old adda has settled now, everybody has matured. The charm of old adda has might not been lost, but has taken a different point of view.
I, seating alone in fornt of my computer in the Saptami night, am longing for the usual addas in pandals...

dhNeki shaak

The Puja special issues of Bengali magazines have appeared at the market. The quality has deteriorated substantially now-a-days. The obvious reason is that a writer produces ten to twelve, if not more, articles for a bunch of magazines within a couple of months. With this kind of attitude towards literature, I don't know where the Bengali Puja literature is heading!
I read a short story of Tarapado Roy in one such Puja issues. It was just like his usual style, a nostalgic story based on real charecters and incidents with an undercurrent of bleeding memories of our divided past - Deshbhaag, or the division of the country.
Author's uncle-of-village-relation, Abinash kaka is a permament resident of US for a couple of decades now with his daughter. Earlier he used to write long letters to the author, now with the advent of technology he sends occasional emails. Each of his mails bears a request to bring something exotic dug up from memories; like an old plate Abinash kaka got as a gift in his childhood, or a certain fruit that is only available in murshlands of Bengal. Tarapado Roy whenever possible carries those things overseas when he goes to visit his son settled in a town near to Abinash kaka's place.
This time Abinash kaka has requested to bring some DhNeki shaak. The author carries a bunch of it with him but the vegetable perishes on its way to Abinash kaka. But later during the trip when he meets Abinash kaka, he is surprised to have the same vegetable on his meal. Abinash kaka's daughter has found the dhNeki shaak in the market somewhere in US. This is a very insignificant issue. But considering the emotional connection of dhNeki shaak with someone who has left his motherland long ago and again the availablity of that exotic vegetabe in globalized-market produces a contrasting optimism with the underlying nostalgia.
Life is made up of small and insignificant things. Only the one who has an eye and appreciation for those insignificant things can enjoy the life to its fullest.