“Dada, Taxi laagbe?” greeted me a 40 something man outside the Kolkata Airport. It was the night after Mahalaya, and finally I had landed in Kolkata. It’s not like I returned to my city after 5 yrs or something, but still a sense of reminiscence absorbed me big time. Well, I returned after 6 months and like all the previous times, this time too… nothing in the Kolkata air seemed altered. The Arrival’s gate and driveway are still a mess… with many plump Kaku-Kakimas and Ambassadors waiting eagerly.
As I dialed the number of my Chhoto-Kaku (Father’s youngest bro) who was supposed to pick me up, I did not fail to take in the familiar sounds of “Oyi je, eshe gechhe go”(There He/She comes) followed by embraces and “Babba, koto rogaa hoye gechhis?”(Look, how skinny you’ve become) Well, in my case, I knew the opposite’s gonna happen, coz am putting on a steady 3kg/yr ever since I left home. Well, predictably Kaku replied that he’s stuck in traffic and he’ll take another 10 mins or so, thus I lit up a Cigarette, heaving a sigh of relief that I have enough time to fag one and ogle at a number of pretty Bengali chicks after a long long time. I looked left and right and saw a giant hoarding reading “Kolkata Welcomes you.” In those 10 mins, my eyes and thoughts wandered from a Yellow Ambassador Taxi to a pretty girl on the Phone to a Foreigner who was being bugged by taxi-wallah’s to the new CCD opened right outside the Airport finally settling down to a group of guys who were there to receive a friend of theirs. Shouting “Eyi to ****, eshe gechhe”,(Here comes the ****) followed by few other Bengali slangs (which are not quiet conventionally used to greet someone)… but somehow the guy was happy and they hugged each other”.
Those 10 mins made me recognize how badly I have missed my city, my people, my language, my friends and my family. So, here I am, like the last 25 yrs in Kolkata during Pujas. I was born and brought up in a family where I have never ever seen an Agarbatti stick or a Phool Mala in my home ever. Idol worship was out of the question and I grew up with Portraits of Lenin, Stalin, Ray and Tagore around. My parents never felt the importance of telling me or letting me know the importance of “The God” in daily life, and me too like them grew up to become an Atheist, and I am proud of it. So what is it that brings me year after year to Kolkata during Pujas.
My thoughts were cut short on seeing Kaku wave his hand from a white Ambassador. I quickly sneaked in and before I could have even settled properly on the couch like back-seat of the Ambassador, my mouth was stuffed with my favorite Kheer Chop from Surendranath’s. Reached home along the same roads and alleys, I don’t know how many thousand times I have been through. There was the regular dose of hustle-bustle and melodrama once reaching home followed by a very simple, yet the best dinner I had in months. I was getting accustomed to my room and surroundings where the topography has changed significantly because yet another apartment has risen up right outside my only looking window.
As usual, 2 of my closest pals from school crashed at my place@ 2 a.m. without prior notice, and left
@ 4 a.m. That’s the best thing about old friends… they don’t text u “Hey, wanna catch up someday?” All they do is call and say “Gate khol, niche aachhi” in the dead of the night. The next 1-2 days were spend mainly doing some pending household action items on me, and meeting a host of neighbors and acquaintances whom I have to answer the 3 standard questions : My Organization name and what exactly it does, whether the Biriyani in Hyderabad is better than Kolkata’s and whether I have visited Ramoji Film City or not. To my astonishment, I found out that even the chai-wallah of my Para has been to Ramoji and I have not. (Action item on me once I return back to Hyd.). Pujo was looming in a rapid tempo, and like every other time, once again I lost track of the date and the day of the week. All I knew is that tomorrow is Panchami, the next day is Sosthi and so on. The whole of Kolkata is counting hours, maybe seconds as if to explode under a pressure mounting for months. So, you might question again why the hell is Pujo so important to a Bengali, that too to an atheist like me. Just like one non Bong friend at work had asked.. it might be very tough for u guys, to have veg food for 10 days?. Well, Durga Pujo is no ordinary Satyanarayan or Balaji ka Pujo where you have to fast or eat veg (see, am not comparing amongst the superiority of Gods, I don’t believe in any of them in the first place), the essence of Durga Pujo to me, and like many others is less of a deity worship, and more of a festival. It is compared to the “Rio Carnival of Brazil” and also known as the “Rio Carnival of the East.”
This is the time of the year when I clean up my friend’s puke in my washroom.
The time of the year when the weather is humid and unpredictable, the traffic is at its worst, the Taxi and Auto wallah’s charge you double with a very straight reply “Pujo’r time, dada.”
The time when there is no traffic @ 10 a.m. and a mad rush @ 1 a.m.
The time when I can sip Lebu Cha @ Maddox Square or eat Lotpot @ Kumartuli.
The time when beauty parlor owners are super rich in a week.
The time when there is a shortage of Halogens and electricians in the city.
The time when I wake up not at the sound of the alarm in my cell, but due to the Dhaaki beating the Dhaak > 60 dB.
The time when MohunBagan- EastBengal or Buddha-Mamata rivalry is forgotten.
The time when I invariably bump into old friends and class-mates at some pandal or restaurant.
The time when even the size zero girl gorges in Mutton Biriyani and Chicken Chaanp.
The time when you don’t give a damn on what P.Chidambaram says about the Maoists.
The time when I again miss the Ashtami’s Anjali due to Saptami night’s hangover.
The time when Tata Sumos are the hottest things on road because it alone can stuff the dozen something gang of friends together.
The time when we keep singing and strumming the same sets of songs from midnight to 6 a.m.
The time when I chat and laugh along with my friends imitating our teachers or other class-mates and each coming up with an almost forgotten rib-tickling story.
The time when u gotta have a new dress everyday for the five days. The time when speaker’s play “Aaguner Porosh-moni”(A famous Rabindra-sangeet) for the first couple of day and progresses to “Dekha jo Tujhe yaar”(The only thing for which people recognize Ritesh Desmukh) as the festival comes to an end.
The time when I am the best dancer on the floor during the Visarjan.
And suddenly before you blink an eye, it’s gone. Yup, plain simple, gone. The city looks suddenly deserted, since half of the people are out for vacation, just to avoid the gloom after the Pujas. 5 days later, The Lokkhi Thaakur is heavily ignored. I think, Bengalis can never make money primarily because of these 2 reasons. They are vacationing too much and ignoring Maa Lokkhi time and again. Then the dreaded day comes suddenly without a notice, when it’s time to pack your bags and make a quiet exit. As I was flying back, I was thinking is there an end to this madness or disease, when I overheard 2 kakimas in the airport waiting area chatting excitedly, “This time Pujo is early, in September, you know..?”. Barely 7 days out of the Pujos the next Pujo has already become “This Pujo”. And I concluded, No, there is no end to this madness and “Aaschhe bochhor, definitely aabar hobe”
