Divinity at a Distance

I leave my sandals out side and enter the hall. It8217;s been bitter cold for the last few days. I hang up my trenchcoat brushing the raindrops from it and adjust my saree underneath.

These days, the probasi Bengali does not fret if he cannot be in Kolkata for puja. Neither does he necessarily want to. While the zealous charm of visiting a puja pandal down every block can only be experienced in Bengal, Bengalis in different part of the world celebrate Maa Durga8217;s homecoming in their own distinctive styles. A probasi Bengali tells us what puja means in his/her corner of the world

I leave my sandals out side and enter the hall. It8217;s been bitter cold for the last few days. I hang up my trenchcoat brushing the raindrops from it and adjust my saree underneath. Its been almost 8 months since I last wore a saree. It8217;s a blessing after the endless succession of drab colored pant-suits. I take in a deep breath and I go back in my mind to the pujas pandal days of Kolkata with the mingled smell of dhoop, dhuno and the beat of the dhak. It feels like home again as I enter the premises of the congregation hall turned into a pujo mondop. Inside is a happy mix of what I would expect to see in any parar puja in Kolkata with a dash of something American thrown in. The flower garlands on the Durga protima are a mix of Indian and American flowers as well as the fruit offerings at Devi Durga8217;s feet. There is the familiar throng of mashima8217;s sitting near the idol, cutting fruit and a few kids running around with sweatshirts pulled over their Indian finery.

The Puja in Queens, New York, isn8217;t much different from that in say Mudiali. And having grown up in a township where Puja meant meeting up with all my friends and having long adda sessions through the day, I still crave that atmosphere. Its fun to see some of the multi cultural Bengali families coming in with either their American jamai decked out in full dhuti-punjabi and very conscious of the freely flowing garment around the lower half of his body or the American bouma looking lovely with a big red tip on her forehead and trying not step on her saree while tugging her aanchol into the right position.

Soon its time for khichuri bhog and tables are laid out. We relish our khichuri and papad and chatni, my friend8217;s american husband has a hard time coping with the food without the aid of forks or spoons but soon gets the hang of it. One mesho-moshai complains loudly that we should have kept aside enough money to get dhakis from Kolkata instead of the recorded 8216;thing8217; coming out of someone8217;s iPod.

We stay back for a little bit more to talk to some of our friends, talking about what has been going on in epar Bangla and opar Bangla. And soon its time to leave, it8217;s been a pleasant evening but tomorrow is a work day which means everyone need to head home soon. So puja still holds the same spot in my life, a time to meet up with friends and neighbours I have not seen in ages, catching up on each others stories and celebrating bangaliana in as grand a style as possible.