My Puja diary......and hers

This autumn, one morning, my daughter woke up and walked into the balcony, stood there for some time, breathing in the fresh crisp morning air.   I myself was in the ‘special Puja’ mood, which every Bengali is, a few weeks before the Durga Puja.

With the clear sky, the autumn air, we can hear the footsteps of Sharodiya Durga Puja.

As I looked at my daughter, I wondered what she is felt.  Did my child feel the similar craze, as I would feel, as a child, just before the Puja? Did her heart too sing, “Pujo Aashche?” Did she smell the Shiuli in the air and did she feel the soothing cold? What was she looking at?

Pujo and its arrival has never been the same, after I left my home town about sixteen years back!  As a child,   every single vein in my body would sing to the tune of ‘Pujo Aashche’.  My childhood Puja was marked with the arrival of pleasant autumn in the Chota Nagpu plateau.   The sky would be so clear and in the little town of Ranchi, I could hear the festival arriving, each day. 

The weather would itself tell us what vehicle Durga Ma would be using for arriving during the Sharodiya Puja.  If there were heavy rains during the monsoons, we knew she would arrive on a boat; during the years when we witnessed storms, we were sure Ma Durga would arrive on a horse-chariot.  That was what our childhood fantasy about Puja, was like!

It was also about buying new clothes, piling them up in one bundle in the ‘Godrej’, marvelling at the hoardings of Bata shoe (Pujoe chai notun juto), also buying a nice pair. I remember my parents drawing our little steps on papers for buying our foot-wear, before they left for shopping, sometimes without us.

 Planning the design we wanted for our dresses and buying (once a year) those much desired make-up stuff.  Mother’s special sari would also be bought during the Puja.

The annual visit to ‘Rampuriya’ cloth store in father’s scooter and coming home happy with the shopping was one of the best memories I have.  Ma would stich pretty dresses for me and my dolls and when I was a bit grown up, the dress material would go to the tailor.

Whenever we had visitors, we would proudly show off our dresses to them.  “Eta Mama diyeche, eta boro ma  diyeche”.  And we would keep aside the best one for Ashtami.

The rough sound of Radio-waves going up and down at the start of Mahalaya, has a special sweet memory which no smooth You Tube relay can replace.  In the sleepy dark night, Birendra Krishna’s voice would awaken our heart, soul and wash us with craving for Aagomoni.  We would sleep and also be awake, while the Mahalaya played through the dark into the sunrise.

On Ashtami days, we would take the Prasad Thali to the Puja Pandal and later bring it back; this task delegated by mother was a matter of pride, in itself.  Durga Puja also marked our independence since we could go Pandal hopping with friends and eat some of the ‘Phuchka’ or ‘Chat’.  My mother’s bare feet, adorned with Red aalta,  walking towards the Pujo Pandal brightened the Ashtami mornings.  The Navami would bring with it a stint of sadness that the festivity would now end.  Dashami mornings were spent helping Mother with the Nimki frying.   Me along with my father and brother, cousin, would cut the Nimkis neatly while mother fried and stored them for ‘Vijaya Dashami’.  After witnessing Ravan-Poda in the evening, the postcards were filled up with wishes to the relatives.

Small though was our neighbourhood Puja Pandal, we always returned to it even when we shifted house to some other neighbourhood. I have never again felt this level of enthusiasm about Puja, once I left the little home town, no not even in a bigger place in West Bengal.  In the last few years it was as if Durga Puja started and ended before I even realised, before I even felt ‘Pujo-Pujo’!

I kept trying to fit-in my childhood experiences to the frame of every city, every neighbourhood I have been and it only saddened me more, filling me with yearning for those days.  I tried to recreate the same experience for my child too but it made me more nostalgic. 

So, that autumn morning when I saw my child taking in the air, I thought, did she have the same feeling about Puja? Did she have a similar sentiment which I brought back from my home town, preserved and carried within me wherever I went?

I always tried to give her the joy of buying new dresses during Puja but found that she did not care for preserving those for the festival, as, unlike me, she gets to wear new dresses every now and then.  She does not have to wait for Puja. She does not have a long holiday, so a visit to Puja Pandal is not ‘non-negotiable’.  So, how can I recreate the same Puja for her? I always wondered!

Taking in the crisp air, she said to me, “Amma, I will be so happy when the last period ends today, for this will mark the beginning of my Navratri.  When do we go to buy some new Chania Cholis and shoe for me?”

So, she was waiting for Navratri to begin! And from then, she counted every moment for the Navratri, decked up in her best for Garba, enjoyed the Durga Puja Bhog and on Navami, she said, “Let us enjoy since this is the last day”.

My craving for my childhood Durga Puja came to a pause.  It dawned upon me that my child is building her own memories around her life.  It is not essential for me to fit in my piece of memory in to hers, she has her own set to put together, I need not Script her memories as per my own childhood memory.

So, she enjoyed the Navratri.  Is she happy? Yes.  Am I happy? Now, yes, certainly.  The moment I acknowledged that my own memories are precious and I may keep them safe within me, without trying to fit them in to the present, I was happy.  I have decided to enjoy these ten days, the way it is celebrated, wherever I am, in space and time.

The Autumn wind? Yes, it will come back next year and take my hands back to my beloved birth place but will safely land me back to where I am, at present.

Happy Dusshera to all my friends.