My Durga Pujo

Durga Pujo brings out many emotions in the Bengali psyche. There is euphoria mixed with the excitement of meeting friends and families, new clothes and shoes, festive food, pandal hopping. Did I mention new clothes and shoes of the latest designs, going out on a tour, watching new movies, the Pujo-Shonkhya magazines. Did I mention the new clothes and shoes? These five days of fun and festivity are what each Bengali in every nook and corner of the world looks forward to every year and says "asche bochor abar hobe".

Ekchala Durga Protima

My childhood Pujo is an experience that I have always treasured and tucked in a box full of precious trinkets and carried with me everywhere I went. I have never dared show it to anyone lest it loses its shine until now and that too at the request of another childhood friend who treasures it as much as I do. We all grew up with the Durga Pujo of The Park, in Ichapur. Our Pujo used to be a pretty small affair but we never had the urge to go anywhere else during the five days of celebrations. 

The Pujo used to start many moons before the real event with intense planning of the dance-dramas for various age groups, the plays for the boys and the adults and also contacting the famous Jatra and theatre groups of Kolkata. The talks in the school used to be around our rehearsal times and the costumes. We did do our Pujo shopping too - remember the new clothes and the shoes? The idol used to be a sweet ekchala always done locally at the KumorTuli in Store-Bazar, Ichapur. Our priest used to be Bhattacharjee-Dadu who happened to be the father-in-law of my mother's school friend and hence my Dadu.

Sheuli 

Ganga, from The Park

On the day of Mahalaya, my friend and I would accompany our fathers plying on their bicycle to the Ganga. Biren Bhadra would still be on his last verses on the radio at that hour! A priest would help them offer water to their forefathers at the break of the dawn. There used to be just the two of them, the priest, my friend and I on the steps of the Ganga. I did not understand the gravity of the affair at that age but liked the foggy river, the dewy grass and the smell of the first Sheuli that would start flowering at that time. From that day onwards, my mother had to remind me everyday that I still had my homework to do, tests to write, music to practice, and above all it still was not the Pujo yet. On and on it went until the day of Shashti!

The stage where we performed. It is put to good use in the off-season too!

That was the day when I meticulously gathered my books and banished them to the nether world not to be seen or thought of for the next few days. With the first roll of the drums, the dhak, it was Pujo! Finally! The evening of Shasti was mostly dedicated to not so flashy new dresses and the Jatra. Our fathers still had to go to work during the Pujo and words such as, "production", "over-time", "break-down" used to be uttered with frowns on my parents' faces. These words are still very unwelcome in my vocabulary!

Tray full of Sthal Padma and Sheuli

The next three days of the Pujo used to pass in giddy excitement. Our mothers used to be busy from the day break in arranging the nitty gritty details of the Pujo rituals. They would be threading the numerous garlands, cutting fruits, making the Bhog (for the goddess) in the kitchen, pouring oil in the numerous diyas, arranging the petals of half opened 108 lotus for Sandhi Pujo...everything doused with a healthy dose of giggling. Our fathers (if they were not working) would be assembled near-by, smoking like chimneys and immersing themselves in unadulterated Adda. Cups after cups of tea would be consumed.

One of our performances

I do not remember what exactly we used to do in particular but we would laugh ourselves hoarse for no reason at all. In fact, at the end of the Pujo we all used to have achy jaws and twisted faces for our relentless chattering and laughter! Then there was the excitement of our performances - which used to be very serious affair! Months of practice and rehearsals would culminate on that day and I used to be nervous, but happily so. The excitement of dressing up, wearing the colourful costumes and performance in front of  a large audience used to make us feel very special indeed.

Khichadi, Pankti-Bhoj style

Pankti-Bhoj

The locked door of the Pankti-Bhoj hall

Another highlight used to be the Pankti-bhoj whose literal meaning would be the meal eaten sitting in a row. Over the years I had many nice meals and attended many banquets, but none compared to the lunch with friends during the Pujo. We would sit in a row on wobbly benches inside a large hall and we would be served the most scrumptious meal. Piping hot Khichadi, Labda, Beguni, Papad, Chatni and Bondey would be ladled on green banana leaves! I used to sit next to one of my mates who hated Beguni so that I would get her share. She is the most unlikely Bengali and I think she owes her sharp business acumen solely to hating Beguni. It is quite likely that the Bengalis' love for Beguni has robbed them of their head for business.

Every good thing must come to an end. The Pujo would end on the day of Dussera or Bijoya Dashami, the day we bade farewell to the goddess along with the happiness attached to her presence amongst us. Our mothers also did the ritual of Sindur Khela wearing weary, tired and tearful faces unlike the modern crops of women who are decked in their chaste fineries and expensive jewelries. We would follow the procession in the truck, the drums would beat madly, people (sometimes even we) would dance on the beat and then....you guessed it. Life went back to its own pace. The drummer (dhaki) and his little boy (who played the Kansor) would come to collect alms after the Dussera playing on his drum. I could never go out and face them because of my heavy heart and unchecked tears.

Pujo mandir 

I went back to The Park during a Durga Pujo, twenty years later, tugging my husband and son along with me. I was anticipating the same exhilarations and was looking around madly to find the same happiness that I cherished so much! The Pujo was there and there too were these people enjoying everything around it, but it didn't feel the same to me. My Pujo was graced with the carefree innocence of childhood and the presence of my friends. It was ensconced in the affections of my parents, the Kakimas and Kakus. I realized that it was not the place but the people that made my Pujo special and gave me the sense of belonging. No matter how much I tried, the revelations felt empty.  I am now trying to create my new Pujo with its own charm.

Acknowledgment: The pictures used in this article are courtesy of the two very good friends of mine who have taken the trouble of physically going to The Park and taking the pictures, and also looking through their archives and lending them to me. I should also thank the internet!