Durga Puja, Disappointment and Coming Home

How does one deal with disappointment? How does one cope up with the cancellation of plans? This week I experienced a pot hole in the road to life and found myself disheartened, disappointed and broken. The reason was simple – it was Durga Puja and for the first time in 33 years of my life, there were chances that I would be spending it away from home. For the average Indian, it is hardly something to feel bad about, one only has to look at it as a leave that was cancelled - happens, life goes on. However, for the Bengali, things are a little bit different.

Statutory Warning: I am an atheist, but the greatest festival on earth had me hooked since as long as I can remember.

When I was a little child, we waited for Durga Puja all year long. The wait normally started with the earth-crumbling pains from the immersion of Maa Durga on Dashami night. Slowly, the grandiloquent lights of the festive season would go out, one by one, until the merry streets turned to regular roads, unromantic, silent and dark except for its regular street lights. The first real break would come within a few weeks though, with the arrival of Kali Puja. The streets would lit up again, there would be an added perk of crackers, some would be lucky enough to get new dresses, but for the rest of us, the fragrance of Durga Maa still residing in our dresses would suffice. Kali Puja would culminate in Bhai phota and for the regular Bengali, the wait would officially begin.

The joys of the new dresses would succumb within the depths of the almirahs; these dresses would see light again, during the odd special occasions, a birthday here and there, a visit to relatives, but their mystic charms would be gone by then. Slowly, the normalcy of life would return, the year long wait would be painfully slow now.

I had always associated Durga Puja with the month of October, which was my second favourite month of the year. November would turn to April in a whimper and we would submerge ourselves in our regular lives, which would be occupied with homework and books and slowly move on to presentations and reports. All the while, one peek at the calendar, or the office holiday list and we would occasionally be reminded that Maa is coming. Soon enough, July would end and it would be just over two months to Puja. Excitement would be bubbling up in little me, pestering my parents for that Sukhtara and Anandamela Puja Edition, waiting patiently for Puja shopping and crossing each day as it passes on the calendar. The countdown to Durga Puja, had started!

Autumn would bring with her pleasant weather, clear skies and my favourite Kash Ful. It did not feel like Durga Puja was around the corner until I had spotted them. The herd of silvery white puffs on blades, swinging slowly with the pleasant breeze would give me chills down my spines. I would begin to spend time at the Kumartulis, the places where they craft the idol of Maa Durga, watching in glee as the slow and cumbersome progress announced that there were only a few days left. Puja shopping would be over soon, and there would be dress rehearsals in the confinements of my room, away from my parents’ notice.

For the only time of the year, the old radio in our house would suddenly become very dear to me. On Mahalaya, we would get up early to Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s legendary voice reciting “Mahisasurmardini” on the All India Radio. His mesmerizing voice would enthral me as Maa Durga would battle Mahisasur in my head. For the whole day, there would be only one thing in my mind – Namstashay, Namastashay, Namastashay, Namo Namaha.

Just before the start of Durga Puja, I would accompany my parents and travel to our ancestral place, to spend the holidays with my cousins. Nestled in a quiet village in rural bengal, it was the stuff dreams are made of. Back then, the weather would begin to turn cold before the pujas and we would get up early to see the first yellow rays of the morning sun, dissolving the fog of the dawn. Dew drops would stay collected on leaves in the garden and the courtyard would be decorated with fresh “shiuly” flower. We kids would rush and shake the tree repeatedly, inflicting innocent harassment in the process, and the selfless being would shower us with more flower. In the afternoons, the normal games and play time would end earlier than usual, as we would put on our new clothes and accompany our parents to go pandel hopping long before the term was invented. 3 days that made up our year and the 4^th day culminating in the painful goodbye to Maa Durga. These were the 4 most memorable days of the year for us.

Years went by, the ritual continued. Venues changed, as did the events of the times, only the coming home part stayed constant. Friends made the days brighter, we grew up and with us Durga Puja changed too. The hardest bit to accept was the goodbye we had to say to people close to our hearts, without whom, Puja lost a bit of its charm and warmth. They remained etched to memories, never to return and it made the Durga Pujas of those bygone era a whole lot sweeter.

But even devoid of some of its past glories, it is hard to deny the homeward draw that this time brings with itself. A Durga Puja not spent at home – which for me, by the way, is Malbazar – was still unimaginable. And so I returned, year after year after year, even though under the brightest of lights, there were pains of separation, there were moments where I would look over the shoulder and remember the ones who were gone forever. Yet, there still was a contentment in being home for Puja. Which brings us to the present scenario.

Just a week before the day my leave was scheduled for, the sky crumbled down upon me. A severe emergency at work meant that everyone’s leaves were put on hold. We strived for a solution and paced through the CAPAs and RCAs, however, with each passing day, my chances looked bleak. The pain that engulfed me when I had to wake up and go to office on the day I was supposed to go on that long drive home, broke my heart. On Panchami, I sat on my desk and looked out the window. The sky was the brightest shade of blue, the courtyard tree was basking in the pleasant warmth of the autumn sun, its leaves swaying occasionally from the gentle breeze blowing. There was the aura of Durga Puja in the air, but the glass panes of the window forbade it from touching me. I brushed my pen aside, disappointed and leaned back into my chair. I could have been standing in front of our pandal back home, watching the artisans speeding through the final touches. I could have been indulging in those minute details. I took in a deep breathe and tried to stay hopeful. Maybe tomorrow, things would be better and I could go home.

Durga Puja from Barpeta Road

Sasthi morning almost chocked me up. While everyone dwelled in the dhoop dhuna and the Sasthi puja, I dressed for work. Once again the open skies beckoned me through the window. I wiped away a hint of a tear in the corner of my eyes and continued working on my keyboard, pressing the keys a little too violently at times. No one cared. When I returned from work at 8 pm in the evening, I tried to imagine my town lit up with the lights of the festival. Disappointment had a foul smell and its stench had already blown all the fun out of me. As I walked through the door at home, a little voice said “Baba!” Dressed in his new clothes, my son was ready for pandel hopping. I smiled as little Messi rushed ahead, hugged me and asked to climb up to my lap. At that very moment, as his little hands grasped me with all his might, I had an epiphany. I saw my entire life flash in front of me.

I remembered how my Father found his joy in my moments of fun. I remember him giving me all the riches of the world and watching my content smile. I realized that there comes a moment in time when you find your happiness in the happiness of people who matter the most to you. I guess that is what Durga Puja is all about. It is a time to be with family, to celebrate life and to celebrate having someone to care for.

Messi enjoying in Sasthi

 
I hugged my little Messi and took him out to visit the nearby pandals. I watched his joy at the sight of the Asur and the Lion. I watched him run around the pandal, full of life. I saw him smile at me, the way I smiled at my Father years ago and I watched over him as my Father did before. We came home later at night, content and happy. Fortunately, the story does not end here.

Something happened in the night. Maybe it was divine intervention, maybe it was compassionate seniors at work, but I started writing this article in the confinements of my office desk, dejected and sad and I finish it in the comforts of my home on Asthami morning. The Sky is still a brilliant shade of blue, the morning sun is still comfortingly warm. The fragrance of Shiuly is filling up the air and blowing into me abundantly. But none of that matches up to the sight of little Messi running around excited, ecstatic and busy as a bee. And I know, as long as he's happy, I am content.

How does one best deal with disappointment? In the comfort of Family. Durga Puja spent at home certainly has no match in the World, but it is the company of your loved ones during this time, irrespective of wherever you might be, that makes Durga Puja the greatest festival on earth.

Subho Saradiya.