It is that time of the year, when most Bengalis do a thorough housecleaning, stock up on their wardrobes, make plans to visit their spiritual home, Kolkata (if they are not already there), and generally have a good time. Durga Pujo.

I grew up, not in Kolkata, but in this sleepy, little town in Orissa; but Durga Pujo was always a focal point in my life. A few weeks before the festival, the air would get a little chilly, early mornings a little misty and the Shiuli flowers would blossom and fall over themselves on the lawn. And unlike the rest of the year, I would wake up early either to practice for the inter-school competitions or to help Ma pick up the Shiuli flowers. While picking up the Shiuli flowers, Ma and I would remind each other of how many days were left to Pujo.
The days would creep and soon it would be Mahalaya; the four of us would crowd around the radio to listen to the Mahalaya chants. We did it every year, same radio, same radio station, same voice, and it was always as refreshing.
Durga Pujo meant a 15-day holiday from school, new clothes, lots of good food, a crowd of cousins, and lots of pampering by uncles and aunts. Each of those 4 days would be the same as any of the other 4 days when life was played out in technicolor, what with the colourful dresses, idols and the pandal decorations. I hated the "black-and-white" idols; whats with the sobriety?

There was this one pandal that was very close to our house; we would wake up in the mornings to the loudspeaker blaring out Hindi movie hits, and just sometimes, the mantras being recited by the priest. My sister and I, with all our cousins and friends would spend the days at the pandal, playing inane games and buying stuff from the vendors. And, in the evenings, we would all pile into our old Ambassador, kids, uncles, aunts, festival finery, and loud enthusiasm included, and go driving around, paying our respects at all the different pandals. The fairs were the most fun, with the balloon shooting, Ferris wheel, and the visiting performers.

Once I reached teenage, I would spend some time with friends, doing the rounds of the pandals, and ogling at girls. It was probably since that point that Pujo lost some of its charm for me. I started noticing that for some people these days were no different from other days, that the way to the idols was lined by beggars, that the man at the "balloon shooting" shop was wearing a shirt torn at the armpit.

Durga Pujo is still a special time for me, a time which makes me very aware and proud of my heritage, evokes a wistful longing to be with my family, and see, once again, that pandal next to our house. It is a time when I feel very thankful for all the good fortune that I have had in life; sure, there have been disappointments but I am thankful for where I was born and the chances that I have had in life.

Over here Durga Pujo is a one-day event, on a Saturday close to the actual days of the festival. But it seems to have become a more focal event in my life, a time for me to get in touch with myself, my roots, and some of my aspirations. And eating "hash browns", which is what American-Bengali kids call "aloo bhaaja", or potato fries.

Tathagata Mitra