Saturday, 20 October 2018

When Ma Durga is not a devi.

Every year Durga Pujo comes and brings with it a fair share of heartache. The pain of staying away from home, from my parents, family, friends (most of them), and those lanes of my para (locality) which carries millions of memories. But this year the heartache was lot less. Because this year, we brought a piece of our home to Bangalore. The idea was hatched in our living rooms, and within a span of few months it slowly took its wings and was transformed into a beautiful reality called Harmony Mahotsav.

All these years I have grown up seeing the elders in my neighbourhood, do all the pujo arrangements. We would be mere spectators, watching all the grand arrangements be done for the almighty Mother Goddess. So to me, Ma Durga was the diva goddess who wanted her devotees to flawlessly carry on all her rituals. But this year as 12-13 inexperienced families came forward to welcome Goddess Durga home, she effortlessly slipped into being the daughter-next-door and was quick in forgiving our numerous faux pas. While I will not remember many of my old pujos back home, I will never forget the joy I felt, as we ladies sat together picking flowers, arranging 108 diyas and lotus flowers for Sandhi pujo, cutting fruits for bhog, making noibadya, preparing bhog for Ma with my own hands. It is difficult to explain this feeling. It is a strange feeling of fulfilment only Ma Durga can bestow on us.


































While I should thank a lot of people, I don’t want to say it loud here, in the apprehension of missing out anyone unknowingly.  But one person I cannot miss thanking is Dhriti di, for giving me the chance to do my little bit, knowing very well that I will not be available always (thanks to office and Mr Toddler).
On a parting note, it felt refreshing to welcome Ma as a family member rather than the devi who is shrouded by religious fanaticism. Eibhabei nijer hoe esho protyek bocchor Ma...


Friday, 23 March 2018

The son speaks, Again


Hello MumMum,

How are you doing? I heard my last letter to you was very much loved by your ‘big-people’ friends (please note, any individual above the age of 5 will be referred to as ‘big-people’).  Well, just like last time, I will come straight to the point, as now I have even less time. Growing up is not easy, you see. Last time when I wrote to you, I was just 10 months old, and what I said was merely babbling baby-talks. But I have grown up now, I am 21 months old and I have my responsibilities. Ohh, yes I do. Don’t look so bewildered MumMum. 

My foremost responsibility is to let you and other big-people know that we babies have a life which is much bigger than eating broccoli, being potty-trained or knowing our ‘first 100’ words. We have millions of stars to be stared at, thousands of fireflies to chase and a whole new world to explore. And this we want to do our way....the fun, messy, crazy way! 

Talking about crazy, I know my latest, “I point, you tell’ game is turning you crazy MumMum. But I don’t understand why you are having so much trouble with it really. It is a very simple game. Whenever I feel like (which is all my waking hours), I will point at some things around the house, in a book, or on the road (if we are travelling), and you simply will have to name the things I’m pointing at. See, it’s super fun! Yes, I agree sometimes I point at several things at a time. I do that just to mess around with your head. But even you hide broccoli and paneer (cottage cheese) pieces in my food (yuukkk!). So, we are even now.

But you are not the only person I want to be even with MumMum. DaDa tops my list actually. Well, he continues to manhandle me, and seems like with each passing day he is getting better at it. You know, how he keeps telling you that he loves playing ball with me. Well, he misses out the most important point here, I guess. He doesn’t kick the ball with me, he kicks it at me. Ohh great, now you are laughing. I thought the mother is always supposed to be on her boy’s side, but you seem to be teaming up with the wrong boy here. You know, in some countries this might be considered as child abuse. 

Okay enough complaining. I guess I just need to be the bigger person here and forgive you guys. I just need to think of my happy memories. And my one most happy memory is of DaDa tucking me in for the night. Every night just before putting me to sleep, he holds me gently with both hands and says, “When I first saw you, you were so small you hardly reached to my elbow, and look at you now”. Seriously, you can ask him to say something new now.

I want to tell you something MumMum. I love you! You say this to me some hundred times in a day, and I know you’re dying to hear it from my lips. Since I cannot say it out loud, yet, I’m going to say it here. I love you to the moon, sun, stars and back. Whenever you are around, my world seems perfect. Whenever you are playing with me, I feel the happiest. Every time you pick me up, I feel like I’m on cloud nine. Every time you read to me, I feel loved. The sound of your voice soothes me. Now now, please do not cry MumMum, I hate to see you crying. Crying in front of a toddler is really not a good idea, as it might lead me to jump to conclusions and believe that I am the reason why you are upset. What? Do not look at me like that, it is what Google says! But Google knows nothing about us little people. So take it from me MumMum, cry, laugh, kiss, sing, hug and dance in front of me. Only when you do all that will I learn to accept them as natural part of life. 

MumMum I know sometimes you get upset with me. Sometimes when I spill food or drink on the floor, or when I smuggle your spice jars from the kitchen cabinet, or when I splash water at you during bath times, or when I throw the trash cans upside down. From where you stand MumMum I might be wrong, but if you just slip into my booties and see for a moment, you will know I do all this (and much more)because I love you. Only when I spill something on the floor do you bring your washcloth and bend on the floor to clean, and that is exactly when I get to come and hug you from behind and get a piggyback ride. Ohh MumMum I love our piggyback rides...they are precious. Now about the spice jars. Sometimes when you are busy in the kitchen and you don’t play with me, I feel lonely. So i bring your spice jars and hide them in my toys. Because I know after a while you will come looking for them and spend some time with me. Ohh and the water splashing during bath time is my absolute favourite one. I know you secretly love that too, you just pretend to be angry at me.  And that leaves us with the trash cans. Well, that I just do to annoy you. Sorry. 

It’s almost my nap-time MumMum, so I will be quick. This thing that I’m about to say is something that all my friends want you big-people to know. We little ones are supposed to learn the ropes of life from you, and we do. We laugh, walk, talk and eat like you. We look at you and we want to be like you.But there are certain things that big-people should be learning from us too. The first thing is to laugh. I have seen many big-people laugh, but something always seems to be missing from your laugh. It is like, your lips are laughing, but your eyes are not. Look at us babies, we laugh with our lips, eyes, tummy, ears and sometimes even our toes! Why can’t big-people laugh like that? The second thing that you can learn from us is to listen. We babies see and hear EVERYTHING. We listen to the things that you tell us, and listen more keenly to things you do not want to tell us.  But as per my observation, big-people do not seem to listen a lot. They always seem to be in a hurry. MumMum even you seem to be in rush sometimes, and it seems like you are here, but not really here. And I do not like those days. I like the days when we are quiet, and we are here. Like the days we spend time gardening. I love the way you tend to the flowers, talk to the plants, and listen to the buds in bloom. I love being with you on those days, digging the soil with you and watering the plants.

MumMum, I’m very sleepy now (stifles a long yawn). Good night.  I might write to you soon, or not. Till then you laugh more, sing more, dream more, cuddle me more and worry less.

I love you,
The son
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*In 2017 I wrote a blog post, The son speaks. The above blog is an extension of the same.