Durga Pujo - Life in Itself

 Durga Pujo conjures up an image of a beautiful pandal floating in a sea of lights, with an exquisite idol artistically placed amidst a plethora of stunningly imaginative installations based on the theme of the season.  Of the melody of Dhaks in the background, and colourful, gay, festive people in the foreground. Yes, Durga Pujo is, indeed, all of that. But much, much more, too. While I grew up with Barir Pujo, I spent the most of my adult life celebrating Pujo in cities outside Bengal. And then, this year I got an opportunity to spend the festive season in Kolkata, the city famous for the Pujo celebrations.

As I sit down to pen my experiences, I am reminded of a poem I read in school, where a group of blind men go to see an elephant. One touches the trunk, and exclaims: “Oh! It is like a snake”. The other touches the torso and imagines it to be like a wall. The third man touches the ears and says, “A fan, indeed”. While the fourth man touches the legs, and says, “You are all wrong. An elephant is like a pillar.” Pujo, too, has a myriad of emotions and flavours attached to it. Understanding the whole of it at one go is very unlikely.

For Barir Pujo, Ma Durga is the daughter who also happens to be a goddess. While we seek Her refuge for any problem big or small all through the year, we treat these five days as Her personal visit to our home, or Her Home, rather. All relatives from across the globe gather together for the occasion, and an entire universe of homecoming and catching-up runs in parallel. Inside the Mandir premises, you will find Choto Kakima flaunting her new designer saree her sister from Delhi has gifted her, while checking out Mejo Jethima’s new pair of bangles, and Minti Pishi filling up Piyali Didi (who has been in the USA for the last 2 years) with the gossip of how Ratan Mama’s daughter married some lowly village urchin. Outside, in the courtyard, you would hear Boro Jethu informing Baba of how he donated 3 acres of land for a new college coming up in the village, while the other uncles huddle together, draw up somber faces and mutter statements like ‘we should get our share’, ‘he is selling off everything’, ‘we should ask for a partition now’ under their breaths. Amidst all of this, you will find the devoted priest continue to chant the Holy Scriptures, and the Puja will go on seamlessly. And not to mention the incessant servings of tea that keep pouring in. Truly, in moments like these, I have always felt as if the Goddess is also a part of these family gossips and conspiracies. Perched up high on a pedestal, in a haze of smoke wafting from numerous incense sticks, oil lamps and dhoop, Her smiling know-it-all face seems to enjoy every bit of every conversation floating around. She nods to a ‘Did you see ShibuDa’s wife? Isn’t she throwing a lot of attitude this time?’ with as much happiness as she does to ‘That girl in your Instagram post is your girlfriend?’ In fact, I wonder if all that rustling of new silk sarees and tinkling of gold ornaments tempts Her enough to come down and get some for Herself, too?

Also, Barir Pujo is all about traditions and rituals. Every single mantra, every single offering holds a special significance. Anything goes amiss, a small error, and the entire family broods about the inauspicious event.

Some rituals, in fact, are steeped deep in patriarchy. For example, if a woman in the family consumes the banana that has been burnt in the Navami Yagya, she will sear a son without fail. With the Goddess standing tall in front of them, exuberating female power at its best, here we have the disciples, fellow-women of the household, praying to Her for a son! She keeps on smiling, though. Bemused, maybe. Irritated? Or, maybe, Herself being a mother of four, she tries to suppress a chortle, knowing fully well what havoc people are asking to bring in their lives!

Some, are outright funny. Like, when The Nabapatrika (aka Ganesh’s wife) goes off for Visarjan, the wooden stool on which she had been worshipped is kept aside to be occupied by any unmarried girl in the family. Whoever sits on it is bound to get married within the same year. I am sure many would want to play a game of musical chairs to occupy the ‘Throne’, but the giggling Aunts do not give you a choice. The pre-decided candidate is pushed forward, and amidst a lot of jokes and laughter she does the honours. The Goddess has a hearty laugh over this, knowing full well what is going on in each one’s mind.

Some rituals are personal. On Dashami mornings, everyone in the family, young or old, writes letters to the goddess on Bel leaves, and posts them to her via the Pushpanjali. Of course, there are some that take up extra leaves for extra-long letters. And then there are ones who peep into others’ stuff, and try to read them aloud. Adults, for most part, are grim and silent while penning down their thoughts. I remember being tensed about how the Goddess wouldn’t know which letter is mine, and hence signing my name in capitals. My cousins thought I was a fool, for having wasted so much space in writing the name. I could have asked for a couple of more wishes, instead, they told me. From up above, the Goddess smiled. At me? At them? I still don’t know.

Some rituals are scary, too. During Sandhi Puja, the eldest member in the family fires three rounds of a family rifle in the air. As a child I was so scared that maybe one of the bullets would do a zig-zag in the air, and come down to hit me! As the folklore goes, Sandhi Puja is the time when the Goddess killed the Asur, and hence that is the time the family has to offer its gun salute.

Speaking of folklore, every Barir Pujo has a story on how it started. Ours has one, too. Many years ago, while the Durga idol of the village was being taken for Visarjan, the procession suddenly came to a halt in front of the gates of my great-great-grandfather’s house. The idol suddenly became very heavy, and could not be lifted up by all the men put together. With folded hands, my ancestor then prayed to the Goddess that he would worship Her with all pomp and show every year. And then, only after all prayers were offered, were the men able to lift the idol back on their shoulders, and resume their visarjan yatra. Thereafter, Durga Pujo started in the family.

 If Barir Pujo is a wedding affair of the daughter in the family, Parar Pujo aka Pujo in the neighborhood is similar to a collective gathering at a neighbor’s son’s wedding reception. With the bride sitting pretty and important in her decorated arm chair, a Mrs. Sen and a Mrs. Mitra exchange pleasantries, and talk about how humid the weather is. And, if they are relatively close, maybe they also discuss the recent scandal at Mrs. Banerjee’s home, where the daughter-in-law bangs pots & pans in the middle of the night.

Parar Pujo is more about festivity and adda. If anyone cares a dime about the rituals, it is the usual priest who has been appointed to perform the Puja for the season. In fact, once I even saw him cry profusely during Ghat Visarjan, when he was chanting mantras asking the Goddess to return back to her abode in the Himalayas. People found it laughable and dramatic, but having the Barir Pujo for so long, I could relate.

Do not expect the whole of the neighbourhood to turn out in huge numbers, but everyone does pay a customary visit to the Pujo Pandal at least once during the five days. While most people are busy planning their pandal-hopping for the day, and drawing up a chart of whom to meet up where, there are a bunch of loyal enthusiasts, who usually happen to be the Committee-members and their families,  that can be spotted at all times in the Parar Pujo premises.

Non one misses the community lunches, though. Enjoying a Khichuri Labra on Ashtami or a Polao Mangsho on Nabami, with the Dhak playing in the background, and the air filled with laughter and gossip, is an experience in itself.

Not to mention the usual Visarjan dance, and the procession that goes with it. During my recent trip, I remember a couple stopping their bike, and asking us if they can join in. We were more than happy to welcome them, and these young kids danced with us through the roads of Kolkata for quite some time, before bidding audieu and going back to where they came from. No one exchanged names, and no one cared about identities. Celebratory fun, extended to all. That, for me, is the exact spirit of Durga Pujo.

 Irrespective of the kind of Pujo, what is spectacular is how every nook and corner of the entire state dresses up in lights, banners and festivity during these 5 days! Be it breath-taking art installations depicting the current socio-political affairs, entire Pandals made out of recycled plastic, or simple ones with nothing fancy, the happy and gay spirit in each one of them is remarkable. A crowd of colorfully dressed up humans, passing through archways built out of fairy lights, staring in awe at the beauty of the structures, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the splendor of the idols, chatting & laughing while thronging road-stalls and eating egg-rolls and phuchkas. That, when it happens in all neighborhoods in all cities, towns and villages across a state, is a sight to behold.

Durga Pujo is as much about worshipping the Goddess as it is about celebrating Her home-coming. With her, She brings along families staying in different parts of the globe. She tags along neighbours who haven’t spoken for a while, acquaintances who do not know each other beyond their last names. Even strangers, who meet for the first time. Durga Pujo is about solidarity. For 5 days, people shun their mundane existence and participate in this blissful euphoria. Durga Pujo is the inner-self in each one of us wanting to celebrate life. In fact, Durga Pujo is an encapsulated manifestation of life itself.