A Different Dawn

When the phone rang unexpectedly at 6:30 in the evening, only to hear Birendra Kishore Bhadras immortal voice, I ran up to our deck to see if I could find any similarity between the dawn of Mahalaya back home and the dusk of New Jersey. Just when I was trying to simulate the feeling, a gust of cold breeze dashed away the riveting cloud of thoughts. It’s autumn and the tree tops are tinted red, golden and orange; far from the humid autumn of Kolkata.

As I put down my thoughts of the times spent in Kolkata, they float more vividly and becomes bright. As if I am straddled on a time-machine that is whiz passing the cherished moments of life till date and landing me wherever and whenever I want. Holding baba’s hand to carefully cruise through the impregnable crowd of pandal hoppers with a constant fear of getting lost, is one memory that remains. That was when I was 9, when Kolkata was still an unknown place for me. Pujo gained a separate recognition as I grew up. It became one of the most exciting times of the year, while I was in school. Perhaps the only time of the year when, severing ties with school books were legal at home. Compared to maa’s army orders of day-to-day life, this period was that of licentious freedom.

Distinct thoughts resonate with the word ‘Pujo’ as I smile away my ineptitude to live the festival in Kolkata this year. The ones with indelible impressions are those of mass dhunuchi naach and last minute dance performances at our housing complex at Kolkata, helping maa preparing Naru , Nimki and Elo-Jhelo in Bijoya Dashami only to pocket a handful without her notice. Perhaps, corruption begins in the kitchen and I am glad that it ends in my mouth.

As I evaluate the experience of Durga Pujo abroad, I see myself as one of those seasonal migratory birds who shift base in accordance with their needs. The only difference is they have been doing this since they took flight and I left home after spending a third of my probable life time. A giant leap of time, backwards. The leap has created a vacuum and I am trapped in it floating weightlessly. Am I enjoying it?

It’s the strangeness of life that you experience happiness and achievement the most when u win over the most unwanted situation and not when you get things as expected. This strangeness qualifies us as doers and not as mere victims of situation. Often a sense of hollowness spikes my realization to reach out for something meaningful. With that as a standard, I am yet to find out the reaches in an expanded tenure of hollowness. Who knows what’s in store?