Mohashtomi

After I had moved to Delhi , pujo was a time, just like Maa Durga, to be with my parents, who had moved to Kolkata by then. This big metropolis and the nerve center of Bengali culture and intellectuals was a big change from the small town I had grown up in. The pandals of Raurkela were neither as creative as Kolkata, nor were they as crowded. It is no surprise that Durga Pujo in Kolkata is now a UNESCO World Heritage site as a Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. The madness that grips Kolkata during pujo is not something anyone outside of Kolkata can understand or imagine, except for those who live in Bangladesh. Yes, we Bengalis seek every event to defy the British attempt to create hate amongst us by dividing Bengal along some trumped-up religious grounds.

It is the first Asian festival to receive this prestigious recognition. When the mere mention of Durga puja sets any Bengali heart to a wild beat, this honor only intensifies the love and pride we hold in our hearts for this grandest of festivals, simply know as Pujo. 

Like Vasant Panchami, and Dol Jatra, Durga Pujo is yet another instance for us to seize the opportunity to showcase the best examples of art, music and dance. It continues to remain a thriving ground for individual artists who create the idols, and for collaborative artists and designers to design the pandals and lights. As with some of the previous festivals in this book, the divides of class, religion and ethnicities collapse as crowds of spectators walk around to admire the installations.  And this is THE NIGHT to do it. Its Ashtomi –  Pujo’s biggest night.  After all, Maa Durga has managed to do what every other God failed to do. She has annhilate Mahisasura the shape shifting buffalo demon in an epic battle.

After offering  Anjali  and eating delicious bhog in our neighbohood pandal, we decide not to venture out in the evening. My mother no longer has the energy to jostle through the crowds and my father’s biggest joy continues to remain in quietly watching over his family  – not in pandal hopping. As, for me, I am old enough to go out on my own, but my brother has just moved to the US for his Ph.D, and my sister is still a child.Suddenly…

“Knock, knock, knock!!!” It’s Monoronjon, our local rickshaw puller.

Those who are familiar with Kolkata, know that rickshaw pullers are our solution to getting to various modes of an otherwise efficient public transit system. Within every few blocks is a “rickshaw stand” marked only by a huddle of rickshaws. If you live in that neighborhood, you start using the same rickshaw puller to take you places, or to run errands. In our case, that man was Monoronjon.

“Ki Boudi, pujo dekhbeyn naa?” (Brother’s wife, don’t you want to go and see pujo?)
“Naa, eyi bheedeyr moddhey aar beyrotey bhaal laagey naa.” (No, its too crowded to be enjoyable)

“Sheyki??? Oshtomir din, protimaa dekhtey jaabeyn naa. Ey ki kothaa? Cholun. Aajkey keyu baadi boshey neyi. Cholteyi hobey.” (How can that be? Its Ashtami, Pujo’s big night. How can you not want to see Mother Goddess. No one stays home on Ashtami. I will take you through the backlanes. You have to come.

And, so we did. Through the narrow back lanes of of our crowded middle class neighborhood with its hi=uddled shelters and narrow lanes andat last a mile bearound to all the pujos in the upper middle class neighbohoods of Jodhpur Park, Jadavpur park and even as far as Santoshpur. My sister and I hung on to our mother for dear life as Monoronjon expertly swerved his way through the winding streets and impenetrable crowds. A good three hours later – we were home.

“Eyyi jey, Monoronjon. Eyto ghoraaley. Koto holo?”(you took us around quite a bit. How much?)
“Sheyki baudi? Pujor din. Aami aapnedeyr ghora tey niyey gaychhi. Aapni to amaakey daakeyn ni.” (How can you even ask me that? Its pujo. I asked you to come with me. You didn’t ask me to take you.)

And with that, Monoronjon, our illiterate, dirt-poor rickshaw puller reminded us that pujo is so much more than new clothes, food or commerce. It is about sharing joy.