Durga Puja

For whatever reasons, since childhood, Durga Puja has always been the most awaited time of the year for me. Most people who haven't been in Bengal during the Puja would not second this. But Bengalis who have seen it and who have experienced the Puja in their lives in Bengal and more particularly in Kolkata, would perhaps agree with me, that Durga Puja is the most fun filled union for all Bengalis - not that I want to keep my non-bong friends away from this, but that fortunately all bongs are a part of this festival, by default. According to the scriptures and mythology, Uma or Durga, the daughter of Himalaya, arrives in her house every year to visit her parents, during this time of the year, away from her husband Shiva who prefers to stay back in Kailasha. She is accompanied by her sons Ganesha and Kartikeya, and her daughters Lakshmi and Saraswati. As promised Durga returns to her husband on the tenth day with all her children. It is this homecoming which is celebrated as Durga Puja or Pujo (as referred by all Bengalis), that proves to be one of the largest and one of the most fun filled and lively festivals in the whole world.

Every year, on the auspicious day of Mahalaya, my parents would wake us up at 4:00 am in the morning and make my sister and me listen to a show broadcasted on the radio, where an old man kept chanting some Sanskrit Sholkas, that was always beyond our understanding at that age. I would see my mom get very emotional even to the point when her eyes would well up. On the contrary, we (me and my sister) would wonder what the fuss was about and most times even end up falling asleep. But somehow since then, our ears got accustomed to those chants over a period of time. Ironically, today when I am 1000 miles away from home, somehow the spirit within asks me to get up early morning every Mahalaya and play the pre-recorded Mahalaya program on my laptop. Today as a grown up man, I truly understand the significance of Mahalaya - the welcoming of Ma Durga as every mother would welcome her married daughter to her house, as a messenger of all good things, ushering a new light in all our lives. Tears roll down today when I hear the chants of (once ignored, now cherished) Birendra Krishna Bhadra - something which I think will remain an emotional fervor for all Bengalis, time immemorial. The ever mesmerizing voice of Supriti Ghosh and Krishna Chattopadhyay singing "Bajlo Re" and "Akhilo Bimane" will keep touching our hearts forever.

As the Puja progresses, Shashti arrives followed by Shaptami. Our house was always a place of communion in those days. As in most Bengali families, the number of relatives and extended family members are never ending, and we were no exception to that. My maternal uncles and aunts with their families would come over to see the Puja in Kolkata. Shahsthi and Saptami would all be spent viewing the various mandaps/pandals in and around the city. While the ladies spent more time discussing what sarees they bought for the event and what jewellery would they wear on each day of the Puja, the kids on the other hand would just keep counting their dresses that they received from the relatives over and over again. We would all ride in cars and roam around, in the city, awe struck by the beauty and the exquisite art works in the mandaps (huge structures set up for the idol). I would count the number of Pujas I saw everyday and boast about it to the other kids.

We would visit our grandparents on the day of Ashtami. After the anjali (the offering and prayer to the Goddess with flowers), we would then eat the most awaited 'luchi', 'cholar daal' and 'aloor dum'. Each day we would indulge ourselves in more and more eating. Nabami was the day when we would all gather in front of the idol for the Sandhi Puja. It is said that during the hour of the Sandhi Puja, the Durga idol becomes alive. The puja would be followed by the "Dhunuchi Nritya", where the men would dance with a goblet filled with coconut shells and frankincense. As each day would would pass, all of us would get disappointed by the fact that Dashami had arrived more early than anyone had imagined. Dashami marks the end of the festival, when typically all the women in the family would dress in white-red bordered sarees and go for the Durga Baran and the famous sindoor khela. That was the time when I think, my mother looked ethereal. Clad in her traditional saree with vermillion on her face, she would come back from the mandap carrying a copper plate with betel leaves and sweets. We knew the Puja was over and it was time to say 'Shubho Bijoya' to all. 

Thus Durga Puja to me was always a less religious an affair and more an occasion to celebrate and rejoice. With time and age, the essence of devotion built up naturally. It is this time when my heart calls for to be at home with your family. It is this time when a smile develops at the corner of my lip, regardless of wherever I am. 

I am not sure if that is what each one of us feel. 
I know that I do. And I am happy that I do. Happy Puja!

Megh

  রোদের আভায় তপ্ত শহর, সবাই যখন ক্লান্ত,

  হঠাৎ করে মেঘের গুরুম, হবে কেউ কি জানতো ?

  মেঘের আবির্ভাবে যখন, হল বৃষ্টিপাত,

  আমাদের এই ছোট্টো বাসায়, পড়ল মেঘের হাত ।

  মেঘ আমাদের চোখের মণি, মেঘ আমাদের হাসি,

  মেঘের আবির্ভাবে এখন, মজা রাশি রাশি ।

  মেঘের অনেক চাহিদা যে, কে করবে ফান্ড?

  সবাই বলে "কি যে করি, মেঘের অনেক ডিমান্ড!"

  "আক্কা দাদা" বলে বলে, মেঘের অনেক কদর,

  মেঘের কথা শুনলে পরে, সবাই করে আদর ।

  সকাল হলে বাড়িতে সব, ছোটাছুটি করে,

  মেঘের পিছে ছুটে ছুটে সবাই হাঁপিয়ে পড়ে ।

  বড় হয়ে কি যে হবে, ডাক্তার? ইঞ্জিনিয়ার?

  মেঘ বলে "চাই না কিছু, চাই ‘পাওয়ার রেঞ্জার’" ।

  রাতের বেলা হয় যখন, মেঘের পায় না ঘুম,

  তখনই তো মায়ের হাতে পড়ে দুমাদ্দুম!

  সাইকেলেতে চড়ে মেঘ, দেবে চাঁদে পাড়ি,

  দুষ্টুমিতে আজকে যেন মাতাল হল বাড়ি ।

  আজ আমাদের বাড়িতে শুধু, মেঘের আনাগোনা,          

  সবার শুধু একই কথা, মেঘ আমাদের সোনা ।            

The Angel 2

The Angel would never come again...

Suns rose and suns set.

Moons became tired of shine.

The boy waited all through the day

From early dawn to late dine.

Time and again, the storms came

With black clouds and piercing rain.

Roaring thunders and lightining streaks

Grooved through the heart with more pain.

News used to come in, the angel was seen.

With heart pounding and emotions keen.

The boy was a mere fool they say,

Who needessly stood right at the window bay.

With no one to believe in words of care,

He had accepted the life long pain to bear.

Rains were common every year,

In form of dews and a drop of tear.

Beating down on earth with dare

Rolling down the cheeks with fear.

Why would the angel never come again?

The people used to ask him all the time.

Confused thoughts boggled his mind,

Like an unlucky fate of a penny and dime.

He had many stories to tell.

And numerous fond memories to share.

Words of rememberances,

Words of love and words of care

And slowly and slowly the boy lost hope.

That the angel would ever come again.

He prayed all day and prayed all night,

With anxious heart and restless mind.

Where did it rain fiercer than here?

Where were the trees that lilted with fear?

Where was the conchshell heard once more?

Where did the thunders shake with roar?

And then suddenly one fine day,

A heavenly voice gonged its way.

It echoed all over like a hungry beast,

In the form of an clergy,a didactic priest.

"Oh little boy", the voice said,

"Take some time to search your heart

And search your soul,

The angel never left you poor little child.

He was always with you,

As the conscience in your soul.

So keep up the spirit to live your life

To keep your angel always alive."

The Angel

Last night it rained,
It rained as it had never rained.
With thunder and clouds all over,
With panic and chaos strewn,
The water had finally drained.

Long back in a swarthy night,
The rains had poured like same
With a scent of sodden earth and
A light of joy and mirth.

It was a windy night they say,
The winds had changed direction,
The trees leapt to the grounds
While the leaves lilted with dare.
The sound of the conchshell shattered the clouds.
The clairvoyance was finally clear.

An angel had touched his life,
An angel had struck upon the boy,
An angel was destined to bring upon him
Copious showers of bliss and joy.

This time the rains were violent,
It was more of a tempest, they say,
The wind was full of torrent.
The clouds were as much heavier.
The rains beated mercilessly
Throughout the night and day.

News came in that the storm had stopped.
The rains had finally made peace.
The lakes were filled to the brim.
The roads were covered with broken leaves.

Devastation was all around.
Cries were helled on earth.
Everything had come to an end,
All the joy and mirth.

Far away in lonely silence,
One pair of eyes appeared from a window,
With dry tears leaving marks on cheek
With half opened eyes and heart pounding
The boy stood as a meek.

He wished for another storm.
He wished for a fiercer rain.
He wished the clouds to roar strong.
He wished the angel would come again.

The angel was never seen, they say,
The boy waited for his life,
With pounding heart and strong hopes
He wished he would meet the angel again...
He wished he would meet the angel again...
He wished he would meet the angel again...