Navratri season is on and as a journalist living in Tamil Nadu I have checked out and written about the traditional doll displays that mark the dussehra festival in this part of the country. But as a Bengali, I am not feeling the way I ought to be during this time of the year. To every Bengali, it’s time for Durga Puja and oh, the ‘pujo’ feeling!
I have been filled with “ sharadiyo ” greetings by friends and family from all over the world. Yet I feel lost. My mind fights hard to imagine miles of silver kaash phool swaying to gentle autumn breeze when the city I live in continues to blaze under hot sun during the day. An occasional shower does usher in the nippiness but I don’t smell the fragrance of the dew-kissed orange-stemmed shiuli in the mornings or the heady scent from dhunuchi in the evenings.
October 6 was Panchami and my childhood friends and family scattered over Kolkata, Delhi, Mumbai excitedly shared their plans of either putting up stalls or eating at the Anandamela – a food expo of sorts where ladies cook and bring the goodies to the puja pandal and almost everything is a sell-out -- from the famous mutton ghugni, fish fry, vegetable chop, jhaalmuri and green peas kachori to roshogolla and sandesh – in no time. I fought hard to imagine and recall all the delightful gastronomical journeys I had been through in the years left behind and perhaps gradually receding from memory.
“ Debir bodhon ” (awakening the goddess) inside the brightly lit and beautifully decorated pandals always brought life to a pause. Decked in our new colourful dresses, we would gather around the protima (idol) to be unveiled amidst chanting of stotras. The excitement was all about to see how Ma Durga looked. We would carefully examine her face -- so kind and composed, her big eyes gleaming with power and intellect, her thick wavy black hair, the weapons in the ten-handed mahisasur-mardini . Nothing else felt more magical!
I fought hard to recollect that over-poweringly beautiful image and our endless aaddas (chats) over cha (tea) and choked on emotions and memories. It drove me to search for the office-bearers of the local Durga puja committee who disappear into oblivion during the year and somehow resurface with the onset of Mahalaya. A dwindling group of goldsmiths from Murshidabad, who have made the temple town their home and have been celebrating Durga puja since 2011 out of a small kalayana mandapam on the South Masi Street, are finding it hard by the year.
“Didi, come in the morning for the pujo,” said the voice over the phone and rattled out the puja schedule for the next four days (starting today saptami to dashami). I asked how big they planned the celebration this year. “We have carried over the same fervour, passion and love. Only chaanda (donation) is very less,” he replied, prompting me to get more details.
The cost of the Durga idol has increased but since the samiti members have been getting it from the same sculptor near Erode every year, a decent size protima cost them Rs.30,000. About a lakh-and-a-half goes in renting the mandapam, paying the electricity bill and the minimum decoration with plastic flowers and few banners. One more lakh is required for making arrangements for the proshad and bhog – downsized to cut fruits daily and khichdi on ashtami and navami – for all. Another Rs.1.5 lakh goes towards paying the dhakia (the drum beater who comes from Kolkata), the priest, transportation cost, cultural programmes and competitions and other miscellaneous expenses.
“Within a tight budget of Rs.Four lakhs we are managing with last year’s savings because people who used to give Rs.1,500-5,000 as donations have given only Rs.500-1,000 this year,” he says, and adds, “but you must come, after all Durga pujo is all about bonding.”
I realise in a small town swathed in a different culture it is not easy. That feeling of para (neighbourhood) pujo is amiss. It is a minimalist pujo, much unlike the grandeur of what I have grown up with. Perhaps it is a mirror to overriding realities in life. And yet this autumnal hallmark of places with even few hundred Bengali families remains the same in some critical ways.
At the core remains the worship of goddess Durga and it should not matter whether you are in the North, South, East or West. Festivals are meant to bring us closer, in any which way. And one such celebration of joy marking Navratri was going on Friday morning on the vast grounds of Mahatma School Baba Building. The effervescence of the popular Garba dance and creativity was on display with over 1,000 students -- drawn from the five branches of Mahatma group of schools -- synchronising their steps to some upbeat music.
The middle school children along with their teachers just let themselves down enjoying the spirit of the season. It was not a professionally organised dance programme executed to perfection. But the joy was in just being you and matching the steps with the rest with broad smiles on the faces. Yes, the festive season reflected popular culture and reality in other ways too. There was cheer and music, laughter and noise that melted barriers between regions.
When the sense of belonging to any event is passionate and consuming, you can only feel happiness. On that note, I am off for the Saptami puja today!
