There is no doubt in the fact that Bengalis, wherever they are situated; no matter how young or old; look forward to Durga Pujo like a child waiting for their favorite snack. I am no exception from the crowd. Just like the mother Goddess prepares to come home for a few days, my preparations of coming back home are always done months ahead. Tickets booked; leave application submitted duly at my college office; all the new dresses packed neatly in a suitcase, I always find myself on a train station right before Mahalaya, listening to Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s “Mahisasur Mardini” on Youtube! Apart from the Pujo itself, this has become a ritual for me for the past five years.
But Pujo was not always about homecoming. The very first memory I can recall about Pujo is that we used to wake up to the beats of the dhaak. Wearing new clothes and pandal hopping was no less than a ritual for us. But the way we received Durga Pujo has changed considerably over the years.
As a child, my main aim during Durga Pujo would be to acquire as many new dresses as I could from my parents and relatives. Then there was the constant nagging for the firecrackers and extra money for the toys and the sweets at the yearly fair. As a teenager, I looked forward to just get a glimpse of the pretty boy volunteering for Ashtami’s Pushpanjali. And if I were feeling more ambitious, all my efforts would go in trying to get him to help me out with the flowers meant for the Goddess’ feet. ‘Ashtamir prem’ used to be the most talked-about topic among giggly groups of teenagers of which I would always try to be a part. As an adult, I look back on these silly memories I have of pujos that have gone by with a similar vigor that I have for my mother’s delicious cooking and the congregation at my friends’ house. And over these 23 pujos of my life, one thing has remained the same: My love for the traditions and the customs that remind me of the fact that being old-school is not that bad.
Pujo for most of us Millennials is not really about religion or faith. It is more about reminiscence and nostalgia; it’s about meeting friends and family that we haven’t met in months or years. ‘Pujor adda’ is a real thing for Bengalis all over the world and any outsider might be surprised at the range of topics we can have! It’s a celebration nonetheless; for believers and non - believers alike.
And just like the end of every good thing, Durga Pujo ends with the Goddess going away to her beloved husband, promising us to return again next year. So we all hide our pain and sorrow of going back to our mundane lives in faraway cities by chanting ‘Asche bochor aabar hobe’ although we’re not quite sure if we’d be able to keep that promise. We know that the goddess will keep hers though. So even in a rapidly changing, covid - spreading world, the Goddess came and went last year; although rather quite silently and most of us decided to be better people and not go out. Some of us couldn’t give up on the temptation but inwardly we all hoped that we’d be able to celebrate in a better and a healed world in the coming year. So last year’s ‘Asche bochor aabar hobe’ was chanted a little louder and with a little more hope.
Can we call it a post-pandemic world yet? I’m not so sure. But it is a different world, anyhow. Most of our friends and families have fortunately been vaccinated and that is something to be celebrated for sure. With the world slowly opening up, we will be coming back home for the Pujo again but some of us might come back with a heavy heart this year, knowing that their group pictures this Pujo will have a few missing spaces: probably a friend, or a parent, a sibling, or any other beloved family member.
The question that circles my mind every now and then is: will Pujo remain the same even after we have lost so much?
I’m not looking for an answer to that question yet because I don’t know if I am prepared; for the answer might just break my heart. But I am hopeful that we’ll move past the bad things and keep the memories of the departed alive in our hearts. This year I plan to laugh a little more and walk an extra mile to see a pandal because, in an uncertain world, we never know when we are doing something for the last time.
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