Festive Rhythms

When you spend some time in a country culturally very different from your own, you begin to notice that one very important change is the difference of Festive Rhythms.

The rhythm of the season of convivial expectations, legal work breaks, visits and visitors.The time of the year one is expected to look forward to as a time of celebration, and its very nature.

Having spent two years away from the mayhem of Durgo Pujo in dear Ole Baridih (in case you were wondering, Baridih is my hometown,actually a small part of Jamshedpur) I can, may be, begin to paint a picture of the things I miss.

Knowledgeable readers would agree that Autumn as compared to spring is the best time of the year in most parts of India. The earth having slaked it's thirst after the tormentous summer months looks forgiving again. The green flag of truce it covers itself with- a soothing sight for the eyes .....and the promise of an infinitely more comfortable winter all add to the man made gaiety that coincides with Autumn.

For about two whole months the succession of select gods and goddesses descend upon the, by now, lush terrain of the whole of India- heartland,plateaus, coasts and Hillside alike. The minimal resources of a lot of the devotees now buttressed by the standing crops in the fields provides ample possibilties for the ritual gratification of the gods. If you ask me , their moment of arrival could not have been better chosen: poor monsoons can always be supplemented with divine benediction and in case the rains have been merciful already -well ,then everyone knows who to thank it for!The manner of thanks though is to be dictated by the caste of people who as a birthright (and some rudimentary training) know, how to convey lesser mortals' token of thanks to the high and mighty.

No....!The cynic within can wait for it's turn at Push button publishing !

I write today to lament the lack of deafening drumbeats surrounding me,of incantation barely comprehensible , of blaring loudspeakers through the extent of my small city, of foodstalls that come up overnight, of the chilli chicken served at such places (the origin of the chicken in question at best being apocryphal), of swathes of humanity moved by devotion, of women and girls draped in beautiful sarees and their legions of followers-who give "Devi-Darshan" a whole new meaning at this time of the year, of the nouveau-rich feeling a fifty Rupee note induced in me for such days, of being allowed to wear crisp new shirts on the 3 main days of the pujos (contingent upon rising early, showering and subsequent praying), of some of us school friends who would tour the city together- pool our estates together to manage some grub from the overcrowded stalls-hop from pandal to pandal ,mainly on foot-return home late with only perfunctory repudiations, of the despondent devotees on Dashami-the tenth and the final day of the Navaratri (better known as Bijoya), of the sublime food and sweets that day that took some of the pain away , of the smell of air thick with incense and cheap perfume and fragrant talcum powder at this time allover my city, of .......

Yeah, I think I lament the lack of an aid to Nostalgia.

I remember that the three days of the Pujos happened to be the only other time except for Saraswati Puja that my mother did not tell me to study.Infact she insisted I don't study. Apparently the books in order to disseminate knowledge had to absorb it first from the Goddess and they could only do so in-situ . This was the express purpose of keeping them unused for the duration of the Pujos and on Dashami taking the books I thought to be particularly important to the deity herself and smearing some sindoor to rub in some of the benediction -visibly.

Made perfect sense to an eager believer.(and not in the least cause it gave me 4 days to absolutely while away !)

I lament how I got ideas into my head that took some of the magic away.

I had verbally expressed my disapproval of some of the things I mentioned above to Maa, when she had asked me to be a bit more enthusiastic about the whole affair of the Pujas over the last few years. How hard did I strive then to be different! Knowing better, being objective ...you know ...the whole Logical approach to Faith thing!

But I have discovered that my soul has a rhythm tied to the rhythm of the land I was born in- and that will never change.

I remember that for most of my childhood I had been the one to pester Bapi mama, my youngest maternal uncle to take me around during Puja time. This changed when I grew up to be in class 9 or so when I decided that such frivolous forays into the multitude were a waste of my time and had to be convinced by him to come tour the city with the rest of the family.

Today, I remember my indifferent saunter and supercilious smile when I did so and wish I had Bapi mama now, to convince me to go round the city with him.

Someday, Someday.

To end on an optimistic note, though it does not befit the end exactly. Let me repeat what the Bengalis say when they meet on the last day of the Pujos- On Bijoya:

"Aasche Bochor Aabar Hobe"

(Next year, we Shall celebrate again!!!)

References

a) http://www.durga-puja.org/photo-gallery.html

b) dictionary.com