Images , some holy , some macabre.. from a carefully crafted process of idol making to celebrate the victory of Goddess Durga over the evil demon Mahisasura
“You girls should finish the sari shopping in the next two days, shops will close down for Pujo”- my mom suggested as we settled down after dinner. My heart skipped a beat. My dear friend from Delhi who had come down to Kolkata for Pujo was gearing up with plans of shopping for exquisite saris.As the hostess, I (obviously) was entreated with the responsibility of escorting her. Coupled with my generic ignorance on matters related to the divine six yards of cloth (although I do maintain that nothing can do justice to a woman's elegance the way a sari can), my infamously short attention span when it comes to shopping and my friend's reputation of being a very..ahem..discerning shopper, the plan was ambitious to say the least. Not to mention the prospect of pre Pujo evening traffic.What followed in the next two days was a whirlwind treasure hunt- South to North Kolkata, discourses on saris from the most expert of salesmen (and women) (my respects to all of you),networking with sari merchants in Central Avenue (huge bargaining notwithstanding, we were also served coke..heh!), moments of complete misery (“Dude, just buy one!") and rare,unbelievable glory (“I think I will take this” (mental somersault)). Perks of the shopping marathon included a trip to College street, a quick tour of Mohammed Ali park and College square Pujo, taking her around the college campus and sitting in the crowded Paramount shop introducing her to Kolkata's famous sherbet and our favourite watering hole during Presidency days.
My first Pujo in Kolkata was splendid to say the least - a warm homecoming and time with family and closest of friends. Catching up with friends over breakfast at Flurys' where our unstoppable giggles invited glares from all over and clocking hours of adda at a Park street coffee shop. Gorging over fish and meals at the apartment Pujo celebrations. Catching the latest Bengali movie in town ; only to be nudged by my mom sitting beside me - “Bujhte parchish? (can you understand?)". A half day tour of the Ganges – crossing below the Howrah bridge and some of the oldest ghats in the city to Belur and back . A tour I would want to do again , after sunset. A vacation which just left me asking for more. Maybe just like the devotees bidding the Goddess goodbye as they immerse her in the Ganges -“Aschey bochor abar hobe (It'll happen again next year!)". And a strange melancholy as I packed my bags back to Bangalore. Like the lilting tune of a Tagore song I had heard as we crossed the Belur Math:
