The smell of the shiuli and kaash flowers in the wind… Ummm… of the autumnal days and nights transport into me, quite literally, an amazing new feeling.
The wonderful festival season meant for us Bengalis has again arrived to carve a niche – in other words, a festive epoch of a new calendar year - for much-awaited Bengali festivities to begin, and thence end, if it has to, with Kali Puja after about a month.
I love Durga Puja; it is my beloved festival. Not only has it been my one beloved festival, but also a gala fiesta that every time it brings for me - as though carefully heaped on a golden platter - its share of umpteen pleasures and of having to be given a gregarious hyperbolic whole (no less!) to all we likeminded souls who come together at the puja mandap to entertain ourselves till late in the night; and, therefore, to get a little witty and simultaneously love and be loved as well. I have so many vivid memories from my childhood days that it makes me close my eyes nostalgically and smile widely at even a mere mentioning of such a festive occasion, and that it always finds a way to tug on the strings of my heart whenever the great Durga Puja is near. Besides all else, it is perhaps the sweet sweet smell of the puja paraphernalia emanating from the vicinity of wherever I am around that is enough to make me swoon with happiness and joy.
Durga Puja in the probashi bangali setup is not just a festival but a long-standing traditional ovation to a benign Goddess who – speaking in Hindu mythological terms - fought for eternal good against evil. This Bengali carnival, in the recent past, has not only come about to be inclusive of so many things relating to Bengali caucus and genre but also, in a way, of other all-encompassing groups of people as well. But that’s a different story though.
Amongst all festival congregations that have come in vogue for over a period of time here in Hyderabad, I cherish Sarbojanin Durga Puja & Dussehra Celebrations the most. Why? Because I had literally grown up hearing the puja hymns & mantras, vernacular dramas & jaatras, cymbals & drums, and the sacred conches blown here during the time when seasonal wonders like Dussehra and Diwali come home to win through our collective consciousness. I have seen much else and also seen how all elders and young ones flock merrily to the Puja Pandals for carrying out their pujas and prayers every day, right from the Sashti Puja to Dashami’s sindoor kheyla to Dorpan Bishorjon day. I have an instant connection with this Utsav, an affection that grew as time went by.
When I was a teeny-weeny kid, I’ve always been doled out automatically with new clothes and a few extra bucks to spend for the piping hot singharas and aloo chops at the sumptuously laid out open-air cafeterias at the Pujas! I somehow was able to sense very well of the occasion that I could not have possibly spent money for more than I could hope to afford. But again, I knew how to proffer emotional yet agreeable joust of rancorous excuses for more such green wads to come forth during such eventful times as this one.
I well neigh remember: during the time when bhog prosad (khichuri) were to be given away to everyone present at the pandel, I knew I should also be one from among the jolly gang of infant brigade to get willfully into the act of distributing the fiery golden-brown tasty Doug and a couple of other ‘items’ to the mêlée of people present on the occasion. Alas, the spread-out of the hot porridge, khichuri that is, upon the large coconut bay-sized foliage was supposedly anticipated to be delectably simple and easy in taste for all the food connoisseurs lingering out there, and so it was.
During the early nineteen eighties and nineties, when I was still a little one, I simply used to be in absolute awe just by looking at the gallant spread of the steel water cans, jumbo (baltis) jugs filled with hot bhog placed openly everywhere that was used to be given away as prosad to one and all. How I and a few other jumpy kids, in a world of our own, loved waiting on being instructed and doing whatever - and whenever - we were asked to hold in one hand an extra-large steel jug filled with spicy curries and indeed a very big spatula in the other, and shot away and eventually departed ourselves for instant distribution of the bhog. All kinds of volunteers, from very young, then not-so-young to the old seniors alike were excited, innocent, and glad to be of boundless service. A sincere Thanks - in the first place - to the revered establishment of the Pujas permanent club members and all the generous contributors for what we have here as a collective religious and cultural celebration; and, therefore, the joyful rendition of the festivities is enough for each one of us to take a bow and be proud of them all!
What we have here is a perpetual, honest, and divine need to celebrate perhaps one of the superbly wonderful festivals of all times called Durga Puja alias Dussehra.
Durga Puja is so massive a festival in Kolkata that for probashi bangalis the divine need for consummating our individual lives with the performing of the five-day pujas of the Goddess Durga: The Mahishasura Mardini, along with the company of Gonesh, Kaartik, Shoroswati, and Lokkhi becomes absolutely valid a necessity for our own good. And in order to replenish our hearts, minds, and - mind you - even our stream of blood with everything vernacular in feel and of a cultural essence, almost near to that level of perfection. For us all, this avid display of celebrations is reassurance in itself for not just a Bengali way of life, but even for other beloved brethren as well.
This distinctive celebration has a great meaning and importance for us, as the inimitable Durga Puja festival just about brings in that very traditional effervescence into proper sense and sensibility for the very Bengali way of life. And for the chronic probashi bangali, this very festival becomes, no doubt, a sacred thread to keep a good hold of and, therefore, to be able to conjure up the fundamental Bengali quintessence just by being the sons and daughters of such a society immersed into an important celebratory mode during this time of the epoch-making year.
Durga Puja festivity is divine intervention in the life of every Bengali soul and this very reason is reason enough to carry on the cultural torch and blow conch shells to announce to the world that festivals are a profound way of every Hindu life - and all walks of life for that matter - bearing fruits of the all-encompassing embrace of love and prosperity therein.
May Mother Durga continue to bless us with the food on our table and bestow us with Her undivided attention of love and happiness, and forever so.
By Arindam Moulick
I love Durga Puja; it is my beloved festival. Not only has it been my one beloved festival, but also a gala fiesta that every time it brings for me - as though carefully heaped on a golden platter - its share of umpteen pleasures and of having to be given a gregarious hyperbolic whole (no less!) to all we likeminded souls who come together at the puja mandap to entertain ourselves till late in the night; and, therefore, to get a little witty and simultaneously love and be loved as well. I have so many vivid memories from my childhood days that it makes me close my eyes nostalgically and smile widely at even a mere mentioning of such a festive occasion, and that it always finds a way to tug on the strings of my heart whenever the great Durga Puja is near. Besides all else, it is perhaps the sweet sweet smell of the puja paraphernalia emanating from the vicinity of wherever I am around that is enough to make me swoon with happiness and joy.
Durga Puja in the probashi bangali setup is not just a festival but a long-standing traditional ovation to a benign Goddess who – speaking in Hindu mythological terms - fought for eternal good against evil. This Bengali carnival, in the recent past, has not only come about to be inclusive of so many things relating to Bengali caucus and genre but also, in a way, of other all-encompassing groups of people as well. But that’s a different story though.
Amongst all festival congregations that have come in vogue for over a period of time here in Hyderabad, I cherish Sarbojanin Durga Puja & Dussehra Celebrations the most. Why? Because I had literally grown up hearing the puja hymns & mantras, vernacular dramas & jaatras, cymbals & drums, and the sacred conches blown here during the time when seasonal wonders like Dussehra and Diwali come home to win through our collective consciousness. I have seen much else and also seen how all elders and young ones flock merrily to the Puja Pandals for carrying out their pujas and prayers every day, right from the Sashti Puja to Dashami’s sindoor kheyla to Dorpan Bishorjon day. I have an instant connection with this Utsav, an affection that grew as time went by.
When I was a teeny-weeny kid, I’ve always been doled out automatically with new clothes and a few extra bucks to spend for the piping hot singharas and aloo chops at the sumptuously laid out open-air cafeterias at the Pujas! I somehow was able to sense very well of the occasion that I could not have possibly spent money for more than I could hope to afford. But again, I knew how to proffer emotional yet agreeable joust of rancorous excuses for more such green wads to come forth during such eventful times as this one.
I well neigh remember: during the time when bhog prosad (khichuri) were to be given away to everyone present at the pandel, I knew I should also be one from among the jolly gang of infant brigade to get willfully into the act of distributing the fiery golden-brown tasty Doug and a couple of other ‘items’ to the mêlée of people present on the occasion. Alas, the spread-out of the hot porridge, khichuri that is, upon the large coconut bay-sized foliage was supposedly anticipated to be delectably simple and easy in taste for all the food connoisseurs lingering out there, and so it was.
During the early nineteen eighties and nineties, when I was still a little one, I simply used to be in absolute awe just by looking at the gallant spread of the steel water cans, jumbo (baltis) jugs filled with hot bhog placed openly everywhere that was used to be given away as prosad to one and all. How I and a few other jumpy kids, in a world of our own, loved waiting on being instructed and doing whatever - and whenever - we were asked to hold in one hand an extra-large steel jug filled with spicy curries and indeed a very big spatula in the other, and shot away and eventually departed ourselves for instant distribution of the bhog. All kinds of volunteers, from very young, then not-so-young to the old seniors alike were excited, innocent, and glad to be of boundless service. A sincere Thanks - in the first place - to the revered establishment of the Pujas permanent club members and all the generous contributors for what we have here as a collective religious and cultural celebration; and, therefore, the joyful rendition of the festivities is enough for each one of us to take a bow and be proud of them all!
What we have here is a perpetual, honest, and divine need to celebrate perhaps one of the superbly wonderful festivals of all times called Durga Puja alias Dussehra.
Durga Puja is so massive a festival in Kolkata that for probashi bangalis the divine need for consummating our individual lives with the performing of the five-day pujas of the Goddess Durga: The Mahishasura Mardini, along with the company of Gonesh, Kaartik, Shoroswati, and Lokkhi becomes absolutely valid a necessity for our own good. And in order to replenish our hearts, minds, and - mind you - even our stream of blood with everything vernacular in feel and of a cultural essence, almost near to that level of perfection. For us all, this avid display of celebrations is reassurance in itself for not just a Bengali way of life, but even for other beloved brethren as well.
This distinctive celebration has a great meaning and importance for us, as the inimitable Durga Puja festival just about brings in that very traditional effervescence into proper sense and sensibility for the very Bengali way of life. And for the chronic probashi bangali, this very festival becomes, no doubt, a sacred thread to keep a good hold of and, therefore, to be able to conjure up the fundamental Bengali quintessence just by being the sons and daughters of such a society immersed into an important celebratory mode during this time of the epoch-making year.
Durga Puja festivity is divine intervention in the life of every Bengali soul and this very reason is reason enough to carry on the cultural torch and blow conch shells to announce to the world that festivals are a profound way of every Hindu life - and all walks of life for that matter - bearing fruits of the all-encompassing embrace of love and prosperity therein.
May Mother Durga continue to bless us with the food on our table and bestow us with Her undivided attention of love and happiness, and forever so.
By Arindam Moulick
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