The only thing that has kept me from completely wallowing in self pity has been humour thanks to friends who see the light side of any problem. “Who would fit into your clothes?”, “oh! my god…your clothes have been stolen! That means your lingerie disappeared too?” (why on earth would I do that in the first place?) and the latest, “are you going to travel wrapped in a towel?”. Ridiculous…Funny…All I wanted was some sympathy and all I got in return were these one liners. Well I’ve got to put this behind me. But I still miss my clothes.

While walking I remembered the various exercises Pat would make us write. One of them being to observe the sights and sounds around you. Putting my “observational” skills to use, I decided to tune in to nature. The entire place was green right till where my eyes could reach. The natural path formed from daily travelling of people and cattle and strewn with gravel and pebbles stretched far like a serpent. Dotted with plants, shrubs, bushes and trees, the image was one of lush fertile greenery. Due to rains, water had collected in places forming small pools. Ahead of us the hills loomed large in all their emerald glory with their peaks enveloped in dense mist. It seemed straight out of a Mani Ratnam movie, only difference being I was aware that this was all too real. The rains had washed the dust off the leaves unearthing various hues of green and bright yellow. The soil let off a natural fragrance as though these were the the first rains. A heady mix it was as the drops fell on your parched lips, the melody of the sheets of water filling your ears, the fragrant soil tickling your nostrils and the flora strutting its stuff in a rainbow of colours letting your eyes drink in their beauty.

The skies had opened up generously and the rain kept coming down in a steady stream creating an orchestra of sorts as it fell on trees, rocks, roofs and the puddles. The colourless water blended into the surrounding like a chameleon; turning brown when mixed with mud, green as it formed pearls on leaves. The few crows that were flying around cawed pitiably as they too were drenched from head to claw; their silky greyish black feathers ruffled to give then an ‘out of the nest’ look. Our rooms faced the Kundalika river, a majestic river flanked by dense foliage on either sides, the silt and soil in her womb giving her a muddy brown colour. She flowed calmly pregnant with all the water from various tributaries as well as the rain. But we knew that beneath her calm exterior was a restlessness that was growing by the minute. The life giving Kundalika was also capable of taking lives if one did not pay heed to the strong currents that were masked by her serenity.

The steady stream of rain seemed music to my ears, almost welcome from the sounds horns blaring any time of the day, the dip in temperature was natural as against the artificial cooling of an air conditioner. At that moment I realised how in cities most of us consider rains to be a nuisance. As a kid I always thought, “why did it have to rain everywhere?”, “why couldn’t it rain only above rivers, wells, lakes and other water bodies suppling drinking water?”, “why does it have to rain above the sea and gutters and roads when that water is obviously going to waste?”. I know now that it is not the rain that wastes itself but us who do not capitalise on this natural resource. How much would it take for the municipal corporations to encourage water harvesting so that the city does not face water crunch? People in dry states view us enviously while we let all of this elixir of life go waste. Have we actually reached the point of no return? If we do not act now it will be too late. Like they say, “you realise the worth of something only when you cease to have it.” We owe this much to our future generations.

I remember a marathi poem that went like this:

“ye re ye re pavasa, tula deto paisa

paisa zhaala khota, paus aala motha.

paus padto jhim jhim jhim, angan zhale ole chim

paus padto musaldhaar, raan zhaale hirvegaar.

ye ga ye ga sari, maazhe madke bhari

sar aali dhavoon, madke gele vahoon.”

The story began some months ago, when one of our classmates, PR took the effort to scan our Std. Xth class photograph, upload it on Facebook and tag as many as 50 of us. What followed was completely unbelievable. In a matter of days, everyone was commenting on the pic. Those who were not on our friends list were being traced and added. Everyone seemed to go back in time recollecting stories from school. I was extremely happy to be connected to my classmates as back then I wasn’t very social and hardly ever spoke to anyone outside of my group. And boys were certainly a big ‘no’ save for NM (Nilu) who was my childhood buddy (who I would rightfully bully). From here stemmed the idea to have a reunion, something that was immediately lapped up by all. The date was set, venue fixed and curiosity heightened. Though many of us were out of Bombay and out of India, we didn’t let that be a damper. The idea was to set the ball rolling.

And so the evening dawned and I set off with mixed feelings of anticipation and excitement. Anticipation at the numbers that would show up (it will be demoralising if it turns out to be a no show) and excitement at seeing them all again after 15 years. As I reached Azzuri, I was filled with dread thinking I was the first one to reach. Thankfully BM, MC and SG were already present. We made our way up to the 1st floor; everyone with similar thought, “how many of us are going to turn up tonight?” Then came NM and we waited, chatted up with each other, catching up on long lost years. Then came DB and for a long time no one came. We looked at the door anxiously everytime it opened. That’s it just 6 of us. For the all the conversations we had we expected at least 15 people and 3 of them (AD, HS, ND) had messaged their apologies due to some sudden developments. So if not 12 at least 10 as a saving grace. And then it happened as one by one the rest started trooping in – RB, HP, SB. Phew we were now 10…sigh of relief. MK who was the most enthusiastic had to drop out as he was down with bad flu and we were truly sorry that he would have to skip this evening. KM one of our classmates who was in the US had asked us to call him once we had a good enough quorum so he could be present in spirit if not in flesh. Looking at the projector and big screen I was thinking to myself how good it would have been to see KM on the big screen and talk to him at the same time. And as if someone read my mind, the door opened and in stepped KM himself in flesh and blood. Amidst loud exclamations, hugs and pat on the back we chided KM and EK (not present) for successfully pulling off the surprise as we were all under the impression that KM would not be able to make it for this meet. Indeed what a pleasant surprise it was.

It was nearing 11.30pm and we were almost through with our drinks and sizzlers when NM announced that he’s still optimistic. “Everytime that door opens I feel someone will walk in”, said he. And lo! behold who should walk in but MK with his wife. Oh! my god. Were we dreaming…no he was here coughing and obviously under the weather in health but not in spirit. It was really touching to see that he took the effort of putting their baby to sleep, take his dose of medicine and reach Chembur only to meet us despite the unearthly hour. Some conviction he had that we would still be there.

SB suggested we all narrate an incident from school time that stayed in our memory or that nobody else knew. Of course this was like an invitation to open the Pandora’s box and we all delved into the recesses of our memory to dig out that embarrassing anecdote of those present or absent. A lot of stories came out and I was astonished as I had been very oblivious to almost all of them. The clock ticked 12.30am reminding us that we had to make a move. Reluctantly everyone called for the bill and when it arrived we again fought over the payment with the division being handed to those good with numbers. It seemed like we just wanted to drag the time and not let go so soon. Finally the bill was paid and we trudged downstairs but not before clicking loads of pictures for those who missed out. Loads of hugs and kisses followed, BM & NM offered to drop the rest home and we bid adieu to each other with the promise of meeting again.

We were all of 15 when we left the haloed precincts of our alma mater and today we are 30. We learnt many new things in our journey from adolescence to adulthood; we also let go off many things as we travelled. But one thing remained constant and that was to be a child at heart forever.

To those who came; thanks guys for making this evening special. To those who missed out; there will be another time.

And to those reading this post; welcome to Std. Xth, Div. A…the Class of GEA ’95.

Ant R and her mother dropped me to the airport and with a heavy heart I bid them adieu. As I walked through all the formalities I couldn’t help but get emotional at the thought of leaving this beautiful city with its old world charm and delicate balance between history and modernism. As I deliberated if I should call Ant R and speak to her mother (lest I give in to my emotions), Ant R called and as her mother spoke to me, we both opened our tear gates and let our emotions flow freely much to the amusement of my fellow travellers.

Finally boarded the aircraft and soon I was back in Bombay. My Bombay, my home, my city on which I prided. But what was happening? Why wasn’t I happy, excited, elated at returning home? I don’t know. I can’t explain. I didn’t look forward to it one bit. I trudged home with a heavy feet and an heavier heart. I was longing to go back to the simplicity of Calcutta. It took me a long time to get over it and I almost gave my mother a heart attack when I wistfully confided in her that I wished to quit my job and go to Shanti Niketan. “But what will you do there?” was her anguished response. Anything. Study dance or music. Maybe learn pottery and sell terracotta artefacts by the road side. Anything that will let me live there. Wisely she left me to myself hoping that I will come around soon. Well come around I did (better sense prevails everyone) but I know now where my heart truly lies and where do I truly belong. So yes in a way I am at peace having calmed my restlessness with answers.

Thus ended my sojourn with the erstwhile capital of the East India Company. A city that captivates you with its simplicity yet surprises you with its traces of modernity. Calcutta truly is a city of joy.

But its identity sure comes from the Viswabharati University set up by Gurudev. Vast acres of land adorned with banyan trees are reminiscent of the time when girls studied here in open air. For those unaware, Shanti Niketan boasted of being the first open air school for girls at a time when education for women was looked down upon. A litterateur, a poet, a social worker and a Nobel Peace Prize winner, Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore was a man way ahead of his times. His contribution to Bengali literature and music is still evident when you hear strains of Rabindra Sangeet or quote verses from ‘Gitanjali’. The University has expanded from being just a school for girls. Today it has incorporated various streams of fine & performing arts like architecture, music, dance, sculpting and painting to name a few. This is visible through various sculptures installed across the university and murals & charcoal sketches on various faculty buildings all created by the students themselves.

As the University and various museums were shut due to Pujo, we didn’t get to see a lot of work that is otherwise displayed. However while taking a walk in the haloed precincts of the university, we chanced upon an art exhibition by artist Prof. Selim Munshi at Niharika Art Gallery. Prof. Selim has painted the landscapes of old Shanti Niketan on the exact spots themselves. Many of the then spots are now either modified or demolished. Apart from water and oil colour paintings, the artist had also put graphics, sketches and sculptures on display. The works displayed were simply awesome that depicted the Shanti Niketan of yore. While meandering aimlessly we also chanced upon the ancestral home of Nobel Peace Prize winner Amartya Sen apart from the house of Gurudev’s wife, which is now being used as a room for prayers and yoga to keep the mind, body and soul intact.

From here we visited Shyamolie (meaning black beauty), a cluster of houses with granite sculptures engraved on the walls. The sculptures were truly breath taking as each of them depicted figures in various dance poses. We drank in the finesse of the sculptures and marvelled at the artistic talents with hungry eyes yet we couldn’t have enough of them. A befitting gift to an Alma Mater committed to enhancing artistic pursuits. Not just the university, but even while walking, one comes across small huts that double up as art galleries probably displaying works by students or novices who may not have the means for a grand exhibition.

Another interesting place we visited was Srijani Shilpagram that hosted models of country life in the states surrounding West Bengal comprising Andaman & Nicobar, Bihar, Sikkim, Meghalaya, Manipur, Nagaland, Assam, Orissa. For someone who has visited only Sikkim out of the entire list, I was fascinated by the models. The jewelery, the pots n pans, clothes, structure of homes was so captivating that each model transported me to those states amidst the natives. Then entrance too was a huge terracotta structure with intricate carvings all over it. It was extremely painful to tear ourselves away from the place.

As with every tourist, there was a comedy of errors that happened with us too. Our return train was at 7.30am but Ant R mistook it for 19.30. We spent the whole day roaming in the lush countryside, shopping for terracotta artefacts, famed Shanti Niketan bags and batik & kanthawork sarees. Thank God for Ant R’s mother who happened to (like all mothers) goad her daughter to recheck the timings, coach number and other details that Ant R let out a gasp at the faux pas. She and her cousin hurried to the station to check for a later train or one early next morning but to no avail. Since it was past 8pm, everything was dark and it was unsafe to undertake the journey as the route was via the highway. Eventually it was decided that we leave at the crack of dawn the next day and accordingly booked a cab. In this entire milieu I was plagued by mild panic attacks as next day I was to fly back to Bombay in the afternoon and I still had some more things to do and see. Well since the damage couldn’t be undone, we passed the night and next morning set off to Calcutta reaching home by about 9am.

However something in me just didn’t want to leave as I could feel the invisible hands tugging at my heart strings beseeching me to not forsake it for the city life. Never before have I ever experienced such belonging to any place and I was shocked at my own silent tears that kept my eyes misty for the entire 3 odd hours. Never before have I turned back forlornly with a promise to return. I have to keep my promise and hopefully someday I will go back (hopefully as an accomplished Odissi dancer).

The whole experience was purely magical and in every grain, every granule of mud, every drop of water and every whiff of air you find Gurudev’s presence overlooking his beautiful Shanti Niketan.

Built in 1814, the museum was a beautiful one storeyed structure. Ant R was anyway cribbing about having to make this trip once even suggesting (to my dismay) that I hail a cab and go myself. Those of you who know me also know about my impeccable sense of direction (pun intended) and resulting travel paranoia. Ant R was under the impression that it was a 4 storeyed structure (reason for the crib) and was pleasantly happy to be proved wrong. But what it lacked in height, it made up in length & breadth. There were so many rooms within rooms that it easily took us more than an hour to see the entire place (this after excluding the industrial & geological sections at Ant R’s protest. She is an environment consultant you see and has had enough of stones, soil, etc.). The museum is famous for a 4000 year Mummy of an Egyptian Noble Lady. Apparently there are only 3 such mummies in India’s museums (the other 2 being in Hyderabad & Baroda). The mummy was well maintained with a detailed description on the embalming process. This was part of the Egyptian wing in the Archaeological section, the other sections being Anthropological, Art, Geological, Zoological and Industrial. The Zoological section as usual had taxidermied animals, birds and marine creatures. The entrance to this section is marked by giant jaw bones (obviously belonging to a gigantic aquatic creature probably the whale family) forming an arch. The flip side were the loves notes scribbled by insensitive tourists on its white surface. It really is sad to know that 2 people decide to profess their love by desecrating public property. But the sections I loved the most were the archaeological & art sections that had sculptures in both stone & bronze depicting Indian God & Goddesses. This section seemed endless as each room opened into another one. There were statues from the times of Gautam Buddha depicting mythological lores along with Indo-Chinese artistry. The regional differences were evident as in the case of Indian craftsmanship, the structures were more voluptuous while in the case of Chinese sculptures the statues had slant eyes, high cheekbones and leaner physiques. I personally preferred the stone sculptures and as is my wont went about touching & feeling all the statues transporting myself tothat period for sometime.

From here we went to the Victoria Memorial (and also had a fight with the cab driver for cheating us with the fare as well as the route and not dropping us closer to the memorial. For the first time I saw Ant R in her angry young woman avtaar as she fought with the cabbie refusing to pay him a dime for his impudence). There was a serpentine queue at the ticket counter on an extremely hot and sunny day. On Ant R’s suggestion that there is nothing much to see inside the memorial per say we bought tickets for the garden. The Victoria Memorial lawns are a treat to sore eyes. Lush green, well manicured and interspersed with fountains and artificial streams, the garden also serves a lover’s park (you are sure to find lovebirds under trees trying to shield themselves from the harsh rays of the sun while whispering sweet nothings). The pristine white building is both majestic and impressive and you can’t help but marvel at the architecture of olden times.

A day well spent and we were to leave for Shanti Niketan the next day.

Apart from malls we also visited couple of pubs like I-Bar (where I danced to my heart’s content) and Afraa (a lounge bar where we won free beers and chewing gums for participating in an on-the-spot contest). Surprisingly both of them had minimal crowd (could be due to Pujo) but what was jaw dropping was that we saw families coming to these pubs to dine…imagine grandparents, husband, wife and toddlers…wow. Now that’s a sight one doesn’t get to see in Bombay. And I found it very warm and comforting. I mean we don’t really need to be uptight about sartorial preferences, do we? Can women who are comfortable in a saree (salwar kameez is still accepted) not crave a drink? Do we need to scrutinise them like they were from outer space? No…it’s a democratic country and as long as certain club rules are maintained, anyone should have the freedom to dress comfortably.

In between the Pujo frenzy, I was slated to meet a friend of mine who was coming down all the way from Jamshedpur. Now I have known RB for about 9 months but the funniest fact was that this was to be our first meeting. How? Well it just so happens that we are SMS friends.Yeah, the world is moving at a rapid pace…from pen pals to phone pals to chat friends to Orkut/Facebook friends, we have now progressed to SMS friends. What this means is that we text more than we speak. Don’t ask me why? Not all actions have justifiable responses. In my defense I can say that after a long time I have found someone who can match my wit and intellect. Its a pleasure talking to him and I can’t seem to have enough of his repartees. How did I make an SMS friend? Well, it started with a wrong number or rather a case of mistaken identity that led to a few war of words initially only to end up as friends. And no I am not sharing any more juicy tidbits .

So RB came down to Calcutta and met us at Adi Dhakeshwari (a well known saree shop with an amazing collection of sarees right from cotton to silk to kanthawork, etc.) since SK was shopping for sarees for her family (which my friends was quite a trying experience for Ant R and me as SK almost did not like any saree shown to her while we who were sort of saree connoisseurs couldn’t resist most of them). After some co-ordination (me being geographically challenged and his driver being a non-Bong), RB managed to located the shop. From 4th floor, I went all the way to the ground floor to greet him. And I will let you in on just one tidbit…I was freakin nervous. My legs felt heavy, there were huuugggeee butterflies in my tummy and my pulse rate was quickening. In hindsight it was very crazy the way I felt…but at that time I just felt like a giggly gaggly teenager. RB was near the lift while I had taken the stairs (just to buy some time and steady myself before I could meet him). I almost missed him as I entered the main store and realising that someone was at the lift, I came back. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “he’s so tall”. And when we greeted each other I felt like a dwarf (no actually pygmy is more like it). For sometime I really couldn’t believe that we had actually met (since this was on cards since a really long time and wasn’t materialising at all) and it took me a while to get my bearings back .

From here we went for lunch to 6 Ballygunge Place (6BP) for an authentic Bong cuisine (which aunty was anyway serving us everyday at home). But no…we wanted to experience old world charm and quaint eating places. And 6BP was a challenge for us. You see the last time we went there for lunch we had to wait for an hour before being told that since we hadn’t booked a table 15-20days in advance it was unlikely that there would be a vacant table for us. Even Mainland China was overcrowded and guess what we finally had lunch at a Barista…taaa daaa….Chewing on insipid quiches and sandwiches, washing them down with iced teas and evesdropping on a group of socialites discussing scandalous details of their friends was certainly not our idea of old world charm.

So anyway we lunched at 6BP (which by the way is really a nice warm place…an old house converted into an eating joint. It had wood panelled libraries with Bengali literature books, bamboo blinds and was done up in warm shades of ochre) and from there proceeded to a lounge bar called Starstruck (coz when out of Jamshedpur, RB only sticks to a liquid diet comprising beer and whiskey). So here we were at Starstruck having a drink bang in the middle of afternoon. The bar was nice, spacious but sadly empty (translate: no eye candy ). From here we went to Swabhumi (that houses stalls selling ethnic handicraft, jewelry, apparels and other artefacts). It was refreshing to see a guy accompany 3 gurls for shopping and that too patiently. RB sure gets full marks on that front . Not only that he was also good company and thankfully there was never an awkward moment where we looked at each one’s faces wondering how to keep the conversation going. It flowed as smoothly and was as varied as the whiskey and beer. 

After meandering in Swabhumi, we headed to…you guessed it right another pub (time for RB’s liquid diet you see). So off we went to Afraa for a drink (this time sitting in their open air section). It was beautiful as it gave a panoramic view of the skyline and everytime vehicles would blink their lights it would reflect on the partial glass ceiling (giving an impression of a dozens planes flying one behind the other). RB exclaimed that this was just the kind of place he would like to introduce in Jamshedpur (though he wasn’t sure if his patrons would pay up for the experience). Amen to that.

Soon it was time for us to head our ways…we to Ant R’s bari and RB to the station to catch a train. Before parting we peeked into a stationery horse driven tram called ‘The Kolkata Store’. The store had lovely knick knacks and artefacts in terracotta, dokara (an alloy of copper, bronze and other metals) to name a few. I picked up a set of 3 turtles in terracotta for a colleague (who was big on amphibians), a terracotta piggy bank (for my little cousin brother) and a Maa Durga in ‘shola’ on a cane scoop (for my Bong colleague). The best part was that though they looked expensive, the prices were not at all exorbitant (ekdum paisa vasool). Happy and content, I bid adieu to RB (glad that after months of anticipation we had finally met).

It was a day well spent and will be etched in my memory for a long time to come.

PS: today is RB’s birthday…so here’s wishing him a very Happy Birthday.

Well Belur Math is really beautiful and embodies everything that Ramakrishna Paramahansa followed. Located on the banks of the river Hooghly, the shrine is a pristine white structure with serenity and calm surrounding the sanctum sanctorum. Large banyan trees provide shelter to the weary devotees while the cool river breeze gently fans the heat away. However it was slightly humid due to the heat coupled with unexpected showers and the ground was hot to the bare feet.

On the opposite side of the river is the Dakshineshwar Temple that can be reached via a boat. The boat ride was an absolute joy and thrill for both SK & I as it was one of the check list on our ‘old world charm’ to-do list. It seemed like a scene straight out of a Satyajit Roy, Bimal Roy of Shakti Samanta film with the central portion of the boat covered by an arch shaped tarpaulin to keep the sun and rains away. However SK & I wanted to rough it out and we sat on the hull watching the banks disappear from sight as the boat made way to the temple. Never mind the fact that after a while the sun shone mercilessly on us with SK going red in the face and me getting royally tanned. Still we stayed put imagining the scores of Sharmila Tagore and Rajesh Kanna scenes filmed on such boats. We sailed under bridges that gave us some respite from the harsh rays of the sun, saw localites going about their chores for the day like bathing, washing clothes and even spreading their nets to catch fish. The water sadly was muddy brown and I wondered if anybody used it for drinking. My thoughts were soon confirmed when as we reached the temple banks, I saw some people filling water bottles with the waters of Hooghly (also known as Ganga). Anybody could have said that the water was impure and unfit for driniking. But superstitious a lot as we are, we choose to ignore these glaring facts in the name of religion.

The temple was a pretty red & white structure with lots of Shiv Mandirs ensconsed in its compound. The ground being terribly hot we just visited 2 temples and ran back to the stalls where we had to keep our footwear. Our Gods are kind and surely they won’t mind if we took some shotcuts this way .

We took a boat ride back to Belur Math and this time wisely sat near the arch so as to slip under it should it get hot. Thankfully it was cloudy and we got to enjoy our ride. Embarking on the banks, we visited the hordes of stalls selling conch shells (a must have in every Bengali household. It is mostly kept near the idols and is blown everyday as part of the religious ritual. Also during marriages, Bengali women blow the conch shell in a bid to keep away evil eye). The conch shells come in different shapes and sizes and blowing them takes quite an effort but the music from it is very melodious and can be heard from a distance. Apart from conch shells, there were stalls selling, items used for religious purposes like lamps, bells along with the symbols of matrimony for a bengali women like the white and red bangles also known as shankha-poila. Along with this the married women also wear a bangle made of iron which is called ‘lohu’. One is never supposed to remove it from her wrist as long as her husband is alive and the iron is supposed to touch the wrist at all times.

Also there were stalls selling eatables and other refreshments. We tasted the famed ‘jhal muri’ (which in Bombay is ‘bhel puri)…jhal means ‘spicy’ and muri means ‘kurmura’ or ‘puffed rice’. As soon as we exited the gates, it began drizzling which soon turned into a torrential downpour forcing us to take refuge under the eatery stalls and any other place that had a tarpauling covering. Finally we managed to find Ant R’s driver (who has a knack of disappearing when most wanted) and sped away home before we got cuaght in the deluge.

On Ashtami most girls wear a saree and deck up in their finery. Aunty lent me her Bonkai Oriya Silk sari (which I draped in typical Bengali style complete with a cotton jhola and keychain) and Ant R wore a black & red batik print sari while SK who hates draping saris stuck to a loose silk black and white salwar kameez. At the risk of sounding pompous, I will say that all of us looked pretty in our Indian wear; a far cry from the usual denims we lounge around in. The cotton jhola (bag) that I carried had the message ’save the tigers’ with saffron and bottle green stripes on an off white background. Seeing this Ant R’s dad remarked “Mamta Bannerjee will be very happy to see you”. I thought it was because of the tiger message till he clarified that these were similar to the colours of Trinamool Congress .

Aunty for some reason felt very happy to see us and since I kinda matched her in size (am not really thin you see), announced that she had adopted me for a day:-). Not only this she went on to add that she had titles for us to introduce to prospective grooms. Since I was the most traditionally dressed, I was titled ‘ready to serve’ (it conjured an image of me on a serving tray like a stuffed turkey taken to be carved), SK was ‘easy to handle’ (a title by which both Ant R & I disagreed…SK is anything but easy to handle and her bark is worse than her bite) and lastly Ant R was ‘handle with care’ (due to her petite frame and sharp tongue).  

The entire group trooped to the Sovabazar Rajbati (or Purani Bari as it is popularly known) where Durga Puja was first celebrated in October 1757 (2 months after the battle of Plassey). Since then the Puja has been held here every year with descendents of the family coming down only for the festival. The bari which surrounds a garden area on 4 sides is in ruins with the back portion having almost caved in. Only a small part is habitable which is where the Durga Puja is held. The casts used to make the idols are the same as those used in 1757 resulting in the idols looking the same till date. 

On Dashami (the last day of Durga Puja, which is also the time for immersion), we accompanied aunty to a nearby pandal for Sindoor Khela (celebrated or rather played by married women only). In this, the women first apply sindoor (vermillion powder symbolising matrimony) to all the statues, stuff Sandesh (a traditional milk based Bengali sweet) into their mouths and wipe their faces with betel leaves. This is symbolic of wiping Ma Durga’s tears as she is supposedly headed to her in-law’s place from her maternal home.

The immersion process too is very different as compared to our Ganesh visarjan. The entire set of idols are first tied to a wooden or bamboo frame which is then tied between 2 boats that go deep into the river and gradually drift apart thereby slowly immersing the idols in the water. Since the idols are made of clay, they quickly dissolve in water unlike Ganesh idols that are washed ashore often dismembered and in pitiable conditions. The frames are retained to be recycled and reused fo Laxmi Puja or Kali Puja and in many cases even till the next Durga Puja. Those pandals that have terracota work sell the murals, panels etc. to devotees who install these in their homes.

With this the 10days of Durga Puja come to an end and the simplicity of the festival truly strikes a harmonious balance between nature & devotion.

Anyway we set out and were left spellbound at the sight of the festive decorations. Every nook and corner had set up pandals (aking to our Ganesh Chaturthi mandals) with the entire celestial family comprising Maa Durga (on her vehicle, the tiger), Godesses Laskshmi (wealth) and Saraswati (learning), Lord Ganesha (with a shy banana tree as his consort), Lord Kartikeya (on his vehicle, the peacock) and Mahishasur (the demon killed by Maa Durga in the form of Goddess Kali). The pandals were beautiful, each better than the other and depicting the festival in its own way. Some had terracota work on them, some had illustrations from mythology yet others depicted rustic life. But the most noteworthy feature of these pandals was its eco-friendliness. From clay, grass, hay to cane, bamboo, jute and vegetable colours, these pandals were and epitome of environment friendliness. No POP (plaster of the paris), no artificial colours, no OTT (over the top) decorations (standard trademarks of our Ganesh mandals), the pandals were elegance personified in a humble way. All the extravaganza of our Ganesh Chaturthi notwithstanding, the decorations of Durga Puja are a treat for sore eyes. Couple this with soulful Rabindra Sangeet playing in the background (unlike our remixed Bollywood Bhajans) and you truly feel closer to divinity.

As I mentioned earlier, pandal hopping is a big activity during Pujo. Families throng the pandals in droves…almost seems like they have set out to achieve a target of covering ’x’ number of pandals. Debargha’s 50-60 pandals was probably an understatement. Some take their cars and check out pandals from out, some halt at every pandals for darshan, most go in the evenings as it is pleasant and yet other like Ant R & here friends set out at night from 11pm onwards till about 2am or so. Since there is no 10pm deadline unlike Bombay, the pandals are open all night. However SK & I managed a measly 5-6 pandals and cheated on the rest by clicking snaps from the confines of our car. However to make the number more respectable, SK decided to keep a track of all the pandals we passed on our way. Trust a Bombayite to use shortcuts .

Majority of these pandals serve food to the devotees. This food is known as ‘bhog’ (offering) and consists of the staple maach bhaat and tarkari (barring Ashtami or the 8th day which is strictly vegetarian, Bengalis have non-veg food all days during Pujo).

Pujo is indeed West Bengal in all its glory with streets lit up in fancy lanterns and people in their fineries. It is difficult to not be cuaght in the Pujo fever.