Festive Halo

Recursive celebration leaves behind insignificant memories of ample significance to be relished in future. Those were junior school days. The first high-hill shoes gifted the year we traveled to Kashmir during the Puja vacation is very vivid in mind. The blood red platform shoe that boosted height by two inches, slept by me for a few nights. That was innocent belonging-ness. The.The flowing 'Diana-gown', which Rini wore on the Astami night the year Diana got married to Prince Charles, was the first taste of what is call trend. The dance drama that was hosted in the community club during one such Panchami evening was the first public performance. Shampa Kakima and her husband organized the cultural program. Photography was just turning colorful those days.They were a few small happenings but great memories on the album. Each photo had a story beyond faces and names.

As youth engulfed, Durga Puja was a window to make new friends, catch up or occasionally iron out differences with old ones and become best friends. It was a freedom time. Special edition of popular magazines made its way to the reading table. Munnu’s father had a gramophone record player. Growing years visited their place to hear new songs released by HMV on such puja evenings. Small town was also flourishing and adopting new ways of community life. We swamped in the richness of time. Hopped pandal to pandal in Mark II Ambassador cars, tasted unbound roadside food and made social connect more than usual. Many such connects matured over years to relations with a purpose.

Life moves on and we move along. Many roads pursued, many flyovers built, many identities changed. Its twenty years since I first witnessed the city of joy decking up for the celebration. Several years now have seen the festive quotient rise and wave out with Durga Puja. Today the city had more cars than its designed for. I fail to name all models and Ambassador is history. So had been the transformation of celebration. Para Puja, big budget puja, theme puja, green puja, celebrity puja, apartment complex puja… they are all means to bundle the community joy on the ground that the goddess creates for five days at a stretch. Home coming of goddess is always heartwarming. Each home has more than one problem to solve within the four walls; however the enlightenment, levels all the pains for the sake of celebration. In the midst of overrated and branded world of change, her persistent beauty comes forth to show not all needs to change.

The alert message pops up. Friends keep sharing digital copy of goddesses being worshiped across all longitudes and latitudes. A few took vacation, images of snow clad Switzerland and sand smudged Rajasthan all unite in the smart phone picture folder. In less than two decades the world has become very close, courtesy technology. The omnipresent world is moving with you and waiting for your click. Rini’s new profile picture with Sindoor all over her forehead proclaimed they have celebrated Dashami in US last weekend.  She is still so trendy. Shampa Kakima is beyond all time zones. Fairly recall her tender hand holding. Munnu is a happy home-maker. Her vocal presentation on Saptami nights' cultural evening this year got super likes on the virtual album. 

The Dhaki's took a break, as the Sandhi Puja just got over.. The Nabami crawled in quite fast. Another year-long wait for the clock to tick the mega celebration for Bengali’s will begin soon. In the world where we are alone in virtual crowd she comes forth to show the beauty of togetherness. The chorus in the air – “Ashe bochor abar hobe!!”, keeps behind the truth of yester moments and evokes promises for tomorrow. 

Rainy Day Secret

It was almost a similar afternoon, undue rain had made me unnecessarily lazy. Our paying guest house had seven boarders. Sushila-di, a central school teacher was busy marking the half-yearly answer sheets that had to be shared before the school closes for puja vacation. My roommate had gone out for a movie with her boy-friend. The room next had a new boarder Ritu.

Those days I worked for an engineering consultancy organization, a perfect 9 to 6 affair for five days.  My wallet was lean and leisure was unbound.  In the patterned life of a bunch of Bengalis, Ritu from Bangalore was a fresh air. That was her first week end.  I must be reading some cine magazine (borrowed from Kakima – owner of the guest house), when she popped in –

-          “I would be out, do let Aunty know if she asks. Hope to join you all for dinner.”  - She informed politely. Her moves were so well managed that it left no chance to enquire more.  For a while I was left curious to think of all possible places that she may go. Young mind can think between the lines the most optimistic way.

Our rooms where located in the ground floor. One end was a small verandah and the other end was the general entrance door which was generally latched. The semi dark romantic sky had promises unseen.  Through the painted grills of the verandah moist air gushed in and out. Careless breeze left behind a few nimble drops of water, which hung from the curved edges of the grill. The black and white glam world created a rhythm of its own.  The perfect moment of silence broke on the press of the doorbell at the other end –

-          “Courier…”

I stepped forward. A middle aged courier man, in a wet rain coat stood behind the collapsible gate. In an hurried tone he proclaimed – “Ritu Sahani..” . It was a simple ask, however he sounded like a teacher calling upon rolls. I volunteered - “Am her roommate, can I?”.

My first one year of engineering consultancy was mostly about practicing autograph on sanctioned engineering drawings. With all enthusiasm I put in my signature and accepted the colorful floral pack on behalf of our new boarder. Kept the gift on her well laid out bed.  On one side of the wrapper there were two bold hand written blocks qualified as To and From. Inquisitive eyes read – Deepak Singh……Bangalore, in one of them.

Patchy rain fall continued with night setting in prematurely. With the fall of night most in-mates returned and we hurdled in our room for a while to get a first preview of cine matinée that my roommate enjoyed.  We assembled over dinner table. Ritu was only missing. Superhit Muqabla, popular TV prime time event was on. We were on parallel gossips when the doorbell buzzed.

It was me once more. I stepped down to open the gate and Ritu stepped in with all composure but her face was dull. With exuberance I said – “You have a gift from Bangalore, I received it.” Her eyes lit up and she rushed towards the room.  I sensed her need for privacy and stood back by the grill. The thin stream of rain was falling on the street light casing and the feeble neon lights refracted for pulse of a second. The beauty of night had different gifts for each one of us under the same roof.

I was about to make a move that felt Ritu had put her hand on my shoulder to say – “Thank you”.

We exchanged silent glances. I didn’t ask, but she continued.

-          “Need to share a few things with you. I was about to be married to Rajiv. He is no more. Today went to meet his mother; she stays all by her own in this city.” Empathy engulfed. She continued with enough strength – “Deepak and Rajiv shared apartment in Bangalore. They were best buddies.” She took a long breath to say – “Tomorrow is my birthday. Crazy Deepak had sent few CDs that we enjoyed listening together.”

It was a long story cut crisp and short. All my curiosity and follow up guesses fizzled in the humid breeze blowing. It took me sometime to gather my thoughts and wish her on the eve of her birthday. She was a sport to have accepted that and requested me to confide the facts revealed. Her fresh start needed a new home and no sympathy.  With all assurance I joined her towards the room.

The crushed colorful wrapper was peeping out of the overflowing room bin-box. Three CDs lied on the neatly ironed bed sheet. I picked up the first one flipped to check the numbers. “Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar, Dil Abhi Bhara Nahi”… Once more read between the lines, sorry between the choice of CDs and its songs…Prime time on idiot box was over, heard roll of laughter and varied sounds of footsteps approaching proximity. Left Ritu to settle with her ordeal and deal ahead.
 Often suffocating rainy day wash out deep down pains to give life a break. Life moves on, every turn of it you have a new tune to hum by.