Reverence for the Divine, Apathy for the Real

We are in the middle of yet another hectic season of Puja revelries. This year has not been kind and especially in the streets of Calcutta the shadow of recent events will mingle sadly with the haze and smoke of the dhunachis. For a moment though the hurt and the tragedy of a young life lost in the most meaningless of manner will be drowned in the noise of the dhols however muted.

For me, the Durga Puja was a time of fun and frolic in more ways than one. Raised in a cosmopolitan family and environment, October ushered three variants of the festival into my home. From my Nepalese mother, we received the blessings of Dashai or dassein, the main feature of which was the sacrifice of a buffalo, preferably killed with a single stroke of the Khukri. I remember the time spent in Nepal when assorted animals were sacrificed and boars were hunted by my uncles to kick start the festive season. Later in school, I would wander from house to house with my Nepali friends as a singing troupe who performed songs and dances in exchange for cash and the odd bottle of rum for the more adventurous kids!

My father had grown up in a Bengali environment with home-based tutors and caretakers from the community. Bengali was the language spoken and Durga Puja was the most important festival for many Tripuris. Our home would be alight with diyas and the sound of excitement as female relatives walked in and out of the house with puja thalis and the older men sat around smoking while young men and women played hide and seek with each other. For the children, it was the time to buy new dresses and everyone would be attired in new neatly creased clothes straight from the shop.

Dussehra as celebrated in North India became a part of my life when we shifted to Delhi after my father was posted to Army HQ in the early 70s. He would take us in his red Morris Minor car to the Ram Lila grounds and the sight of Ravan and his ten heads going up in flames never failed to raise our adrenalin no matter how many times we witnessed it over the years. Of course, Dussehra would not be complete without the paper swords, bow and arrows and Hanuman’s mace which were deployed by the children’s army on the ground before the final bonfire of the enemies.

It was fun in all forms. The common theme of a good time being had by all ran through the different rituals stoked by a warm fire of piety and spirituality for those so inclined. For me, as the years went by the most important takeaway became the opportunity to meet friends, relive younger days by pandal hopping to the extent weary legs allowed now and a rare chance to pay obeisance to a deity who was so much a part of our childhood but now increasingly absent.

This year as has been the case for quite some time now, the festivities began with a close look at the various traffic restrictions imposed on the general public. If that was not restrictive enough, we are also now subjected to struggling to compete with VVIPs who feel that the Gods favour only those who come laden with gifts that would have drawn an appreciative nod from the Egyptian Queen Cleopatra, an authority I am told in such matters. The common man is used to being pushed around but now even this last refuge where everyone was thought to be equal has vanished.

I do not go to pandals anymore unless there is a deserted one right next to my home. Uric acid has put paid to my walking around aimlessly days. But there are other graver reasons which weigh me down. Ironically, we are celebrating Maa Durga just a few months after we had desecrated her image in the vilest manner. India purports to celebrate women as mothers, daughters, sisters, wives and creators. We lose no opportunity to assert that women are revered here and point out the many Goddesses we worship. And that’s where my problem lies. Yes, we revere women but only when they come before us as Maa Durga, Maa Lakshmi, Maa Kali and so many other Goddesses and their various forms and avatars. But when it comes to real women in physical form, we have a very different way of dealing with them.

We continue to burn brides for dowry, we continue to abandon female babies, we continue to rape them, we continue to use them as punching bags for our caste and community egos whenever these are threatened and above all we continue to forget each atrocity till the next one is committed.

We have found a way to exonerate ourselves from every crime against women by seeking refuge in the world of religion and spirituality where we lie prostrating before them. We are often reminded that this is a land that worships women and all bad things are aberrations. We celebrate Nari-Shakti only in public speeches because in reality we are threatened unless we strip away the Shakti from her entity.

The lights of the puja pandals have dimmed considerably for me at least for this year. Maybe I have grown old and no longer have the patience to deal with a world that is becoming harsher. I miss the gentleness of words that wafted through the rooms of my childhood homes midst the sounds of bells and conches. Even if there was noise, it did not jar your nerves. When people talked, it was rarely about sad events. One could enter a house or an eating joint without having to check the nameplate on the door. We were like the wind unaware of the breed of the trees and the branches we brushed past.

Maa Durga has always been a healer for those who come to her. However, it’s becoming difficult to believe that even she can continue to embrace those who remember her only for one month in a year and that too in the form of lifeless idols sculpted by the same human hands that strike at her human forms without mercy. She has never failed the faithful. But the faithful have certainly failed her.

Views expressed are personal