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 why you are a part of such manic madness when the rest of the world was back home preparing for the Pujas.
From the time I was a kid I had never missed a single Puja and Mahalaya was a very special occasion as the family gathered around a little transistor in the dead of night to listen to the chants of the Chandi ushering in the festive season. That sense of excitement has never left me even as I have grown up and I guess for every Bengali Mahalaya ushers in the ten best days of his life in a given year. Any Bengali worth his salt is looking homeward and I was also thinking about getting home as I dozed off.
My cell phone rang and my wife was on the line. It was 4 am in Mumbai and she wished me happy Mahalaya. I could hear the radio play in the background and for my benefit my wife held the phone close to the radio and then I could catch the shlokas of the Chandi clearly. It felt great and for a fleeting moment the distance seemed irrelevant. I thanked my wife and was again conscious of NY and the thick traffic around me.
“Dada – East Bound traffic bhishon bhaari....shomoy laagbe” . I jumped out of my skin. This was chaste Bengali. My cab driver trying to explain to me that the eastbound traffic was thick and it would take more time. “Are you from Bengal?” I asked. Yes, he said. He was in NY for 22 years and had made a living out here. I told him it was Puja time and it was Mahalaya today. He missed his family back home, especially during the Pujas. It had been some years since he had been back home and longed to see the Pujas soon. Visiting the Puja in NY was no fun he said. His children who grew up in NY had never seen a good Puja and he was keen to take them back during Puja at least once. Since he came to NY as a young man, he wanted to go back and settle in his hometown every year after he had just managed to save enough. However, it was never enough and he was still here. He missed all of it – the pandal hopping, the dhak (drums), the fragrance of shiwli flowers, the evening arati – everything.
We turned into Seventh Avenue on Manhattan. Time had flown in chatting with him. This was Broadway (the theatre district) and up ahead was Times Square. Neon lights lit up the square with bill boards of Broadway theatres splattered in between. Bombay Dreams was playing. “If you are from Mumbai you should see this one” my cabbie said. “Don’t the neon lights at Times Square look like Kolkatta in Pujo?” I asked in return. My cabbie smiled. “Yes. But you thought I was from my Kolkatta?.” But of course I said. “Well, the name is Amin-Ur –Rehman and I am from Bangladesh – which is also Bengal. Pujo is also a big festival back there and this time it is even bigger – because the month of Ramzan accompanies it.”
We reached the 56th Street and my hotel. I got off the cab and paid him. He then extended his hand and wished me a very happy Pujo and told me that I was lucky to get back in time to catch Sasthi (the first day of worship). I wished him happy Ramzan and a great Pujo. I told him he was luckier than me. He could celebrate two festivals instead one. He smiled and retorted “So could you.! Take care”. I knew Mahalaya was here and Pujo had begun – albeit in a strange way, but there were miracles possible outside Mori Road also.
It is time to head back and try and find an answer to my cabbie friend. So I will be doing that the whole of next week. Happy Pujas to all of you.
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 why you are a part of such manic madness when the rest of the world was back home preparing for the Pujas.
From the time I was a kid I had never missed a single Puja and Mahalaya was a very special occasion as the family gathered around a little transistor in the dead of night to listen to the chants of the Chandi ushering in the festive season. That sense of excitement has never left me even as I have grown up and I guess for every Bengali Mahalaya ushers in the ten best days of his life in a given year. Any Bengali worth his salt is looking homeward and I was also thinking about getting home as I dozed off.
My cell phone rang and my wife was on the line. It was 4 am in Mumbai and she wished me happy Mahalaya. I could hear the radio play in the background and for my benefit my wife held the phone close to the radio and then I could catch the shlokas of the Chandi clearly. It felt great and for a fleeting moment the distance seemed irrelevant. I thanked my wife and was again conscious of NY and the thick traffic around me.
“Dada – East Bound traffic bhishon bhaari....shomoy laagbe” . I jumped out of my skin. This was chaste Bengali. My cab driver trying to explain to me that the eastbound traffic was thick and it would take more time. “Are you from Bengal?” I asked. Yes, he said. He was in NY for 22 years and had made a living out here. I told him it was Puja time and it was Mahalaya today. He missed his family back home, especially during the Pujas. It had been some years since he had been back home and longed to see the Pujas soon. Visiting the Puja in NY was no fun he said. His children who grew up in NY had never seen a good Puja and he was keen to take them back during Puja at least once. Since he came to NY as a young man, he wanted to go back and settle in his hometown every year after he had just managed to save enough. However, it was never enough and he was still here. He missed all of it – the pandal hopping, the dhak (drums), the fragrance of shiwli flowers, the evening arati – everything.
We turned into Seventh Avenue on Manhattan. Time had flown in chatting with him. This was Broadway (the theatre district) and up ahead was Times Square. Neon lights lit up the square with bill boards of Broadway theatres splattered in between. Bombay Dreams was playing. “If you are from Mumbai you should see this one” my cabbie said. “Don’t the neon lights at Times Square look like Kolkatta in Pujo?” I asked in return. My cabbie smiled. “Yes. But you thought I was from my Kolkatta?.” But of course I said. “Well, the name is Amin-Ur –Rehman and I am from Bangladesh – which is also Bengal. Pujo is also a big festival back there and this time it is even bigger – because the month of Ramzan accompanies it.”
We reached the 56th Street and my hotel. I got off the cab and paid him. He then extended his hand and wished me a very happy Pujo and told me that I was lucky to get back in time to catch Sasthi (the first day of worship). I wished him happy Ramzan and a great Pujo. I told him he was luckier than me. He could celebrate two festivals instead one. He smiled and retorted “So could you.! Take care”. I knew Mahalaya was here and Pujo had begun – albeit in a strange way, but there were miracles possible outside Mori Road also.
It is time to head back and try and find an answer to my cabbie friend. So I will be doing that the whole of next week. Happy Pujas to all of you.
Comments
A simple story telling style that strums the heartstrings somewhere....... Rashmi