Musings at Mori Road

A hundred hands and heads bobbing up and down in unison to the beats of the drums, flags waving in the air and interspersed with the bursting of crackers – it was the evening before Mahalaya and the Mother Goddess was coming home under the blazing lights. It was the street urchins in the front, followed by the band, the men folk with bandanas on their head and then the women and children in their best attire. There was the local corporator, the owner of the local grocery store, the hardworking fisher folk, street urchins and the guys who hung out on the street corner doing nothing – all dancing to one single tune. Mori Road was alive again and there could not have been a better welcome back home after a hard three months on the road across the western world. The idol placed on the mantle and with the midnight hour approaching the street fell silent again. This was the night of Mahalaya and like all Bengalis I adjusted my watch to set the alarm for a 4 AM wake up call to catch the chant

A tug on my arm. The smile of the street urchin, his arms outstretched. Traffic, smoke, heat, footpath vendors, beggars, honking of cars, confusion and an endless mass of humanity headed in the same direction. Yes, if you are guessing, it is Mori Road again. It is Wednesday, the day of Navina (the concept being that if you go to Mahim church for nine consecutive Wednesdays you get what you wish for) and it is also Christmas! Everyone is headed to the Church down the road. For years, I had not visited the Church down my lane though it is considered to be one of the most sacred places in Mumbai. But this year I deferred to the wishes of my wife, and so on Christmas morning instead of my customary practice of lazing about and dreaming of turkey and chicken, I was very much on my way to church. I fished for a coin in my pocket, almost toppled over with someone pushing me and then lost sight of the outstretched hand. All in a flash. My wife stopped to buy candles and flowers while I hopped

Mori Road is busy again. Lights, sound and action. It is Mahalaya, the firstday of Navratri. Durga Puja is round the corner. It is time for celebration once more. I remember as kids we used to look forward to the Pujas and my mother used to march the entire family to the tailor and have us measured up. We used to make for a well-attired family by the time Shasthi (the firstday of Durga Puja) would dawn. From the time I was a kid the Puja grew on me and I became increasingly involved with the Puja. I just liked being therewith the wonderful form of Shakti in Godess Durga. This Mahalaya was a bit of a disappointment as my radio decided not to work and hence I spent mostof the time doing some useless introspecting in the wee hours of the morningwhen the Chandi Path is broadcast. It had been one helluva of year. A true roller coaster ride. It zoomed past too fast I thought. But I guess in Mumbai every second person doing a bit of'introspection' would think the same. It was 4 am in

It was the Sunday before Mahalaya and it was my annual effort to makemyself look good. So I was sitting on the high chair of Popular Hair Saloon with the intention of having a good crop done, though with each passing yearthe crop on my head becomes an increasing challenge even for the best of barbers. So I restrict myself to a maximum of two hair cuts every year so that the barber has enough to harvest. The months that had gone by had left me with little time to take a look at myself. So as Munnabhai (the barber) prepared his tools to work on me, I took a close look at myself in the mirror. The only proof that I had a decent disposition in my earlier years are my photographs and that is whatI use to usually convince my wife that she did not get such a raw deal after all. Well, except for a new hue of white and grey in my hair and my eyes sunk in a little deeper than usual (a la Marlon Brando), I still could identify traces from my erstwhile photographs still intact. Munnabhai was bac

This year has been a hectic year and I had been traveling for the almost two months out of the last three. So while there has been a lot happening at Mori Road – the magical lane in Mumbai where I live, I was not there to usher in Mahalaya – the first day of the Puja on the night of the 13th October. Usually I stay awake and listen to the chants of the Chandi – invoking the Supreme power in the form of Godess Durga on All India Radio. It is ritual that I rarely miss. However, this time I was on the other side of the world at that time and rushing out of the airport at NY. It was six in the evening and NY was as aggressive as it could get. I managed to jump into a cab and headed for Manhattan. It had been a tiring tour the last two weeks before that. I was feeling exhausted and as the Manhattan skyline appeared on the horizon, I started to doze off. Usually the Puja is a time for intro-spection and when you are as far as in Manhattan rushing through thick traffic – you sometimes wonder