It is
that time of the year again, when high-profile stars with Bong roots are
interviewed by Bombay Times in an attempt to unravel their childhood memories.
It is Durga Puja (or Pujo, if you will), the most important Bengali-Hindu
festival, as my Bong friends would never fail to remind me.
I am not a Bong, I have never lived in Calcutta and I do not
understand the feverish excitement the festival brings with it. I am an
ordinary Tam Brahm born and brought up in small town Chennai, where Poojai is
not pronounced as Puja, let alone as Pujo.
But, I do have my own set of memories of what you may call the
Pujo, not so noisy and crowded, not so in your face colorful, but sweet,
laid-back and soft memories, as is the wont of the town I come from.
Yeah. It is an important nine day long festival for us too, that mostly
used to coincide with my Quarterly Examination holidays, year after year, as a
school going kid.
I could do a Wiki search and sound intelligent, but I had rather
be honest here, one of the very few arenas I am honest in these days. I still
have not completely figured out the significance of the “Kolu” or, for the
uninitiated, the nine-day long “Doll festival”. I do not know why we arrange
nine steps (or perhaps 6 or 3, depending on the space in the house) and place
ceramic dolls (the Gods largely, sometimes a cricket ground too, and then
significant Godly events like Ram’s coronation and Krishna stealing butter).
What I do know and remember is the fun I used to have doing it all
then. Mom used to be completely against buying a 9-step ladder and covering it
in fancy embroidered cloth for the festival. She would say, “What will we do
with the ladder later? And, besides, that sounds so templatized.” So, we would
convert the dining table into the main stay broad step; keep one carton on top
of it, a small table in front of the dining table and then maybe a smaller
carton ahead of that. And then we would cover all of them in different colored
fancy clothes. That means one whole room was cordoned off for this purpose and
the family ate not at a dining table during that period. Mom was also against
buying random play ground themes from the store. “That is so un-Godly-ish,” she
would say. And, no, we would not have any innovative themes created by us
either, as we both, actually all three of us (including Dad) were super
artistic people who could draw straight lines as perfect curves. The steps
would be adorned with the usual Rams, Lakshmans, Krishnas and the likes – all
nice, bright dolls from Khadi – Khadi being
the mecca of all Navratri dolls then (perhaps even now).
The Kolu might not have won even a consolation prize in the annual
Kolu competition (I reckon something like that happens these days) but it was
homely and inviting, making people come back year after year. Or, perhaps, it was
the snacks mom would prepare untiringly, that would make people want to come
back for more. The festival itself would end with two days of special
celebrations, the first day being “Saraswathi Poojai” when all books,
notebooks, pens and my Veena would be kept in the Puja and there being a
complete ban on any kind of productive work (wow!). The next day would be
celebrated as “Vijayadashami” when all the items placed in the Puja would be
taken out and used, signifying a new beginning.
It has been donkey’s years since I attended a Kolu, what with
spending “Saraswathi Poojai” in office year after year, feeling guilty using
pens, notebooks and laptops that day. The family doesn’t follow the practice
religiously any more, the city shuttling and inherent loss of interest in such
niceties being major contributors. But, whenever I get an overdose of the Durga
Pujo celebrations from the intense coverage in the print and visual media, I
become randomly nostalgic, missing small town Chennai, an unpretentious Kolu in
a 2 bedroom house, an endless list of guests and a lot of Carnatic music.
