The last two years had in a way opened people’s eyes about what they considered close to them and this realisation was accompanied by a strong need to keep these things and people as close to them and safe as possible.
KONAUKANJOLI CHAKRAVARTY
Surviving the last two years has been no easy feat. The pandemic has filtered into every corner of our lives and ensured that nothing remains the same. In India, the virus did not spare our renowned festivities and
for the first time, people all over the nation were forced to celebrate through screens.
This strengthened the notion of a new era, one dominated by technology. These changes were not easy to adapt to—but the spirit remained strong and everyone overcame it to unite as far as they were allowed to. An instance of uniting to celebrate was seen among the Bengalis of Bangalore as Durga Pujo arrived both in 2020 and 2021.
As the date for Durga Pujo neared, many cultural associations found themselves with a genuine question—whether going offline was safe enough or not. While a number of Bengali cultural associations in Bangalore concluded it was not safe and it would be better to go online, there were some who chose to go offline in a bio bubble and I was privileged enough to be able to physically visit and attend pujo. However, as I entered the pandal, it was obvious that things were not the same. The absence of the normally overbearing and noisy dhak left the hall feeling hollow—as if there was a void which no one could fill. Yet, the people did not let that deter them. Dressed to the nines, they did their
best to compensate with loud conversations and laughter. What the place lacked in sound, was made up for with the warmth the people radiated towards each other.
Over the course of the five days and four evenings, everyone’s energy crescendoed as people readjusted to the new normal and skirted around the guidelines for quick mask- less selfies and photos. The bhog also felt unfamiliar as the association replaced the usual shared meals with boxed meals to take home in order to prevent unnecessary contact. This was a tragic change to adapt to as the highlight of pujo; the food was compromised. The former endless variety of stalls was replaced by a small stall selling various items which were delicious but in light of the restrictions lacked the usual thrill.
All was not lost yet. The idol of Durga Maa was truly breathtaking in her small form - the government had issued a mandate that the idol is not to be over four feet-and people could not stop themselves from fawning over the sheer talent of the artists. The decorations, too, were stunning and all the people attending could
not help but admit that Maa truly ensured that all went well for us and her. In a way, everyone present saw it as respite from the challenge
the year had been for every single individual
in that room. Those in employment took this week as an opportunity to step back from the all-consuming work from home, stepping out
in their best looks. Their joy knew no bounds
as they came in contact with each other and shared their gains and losses—something they had not done in very long.
Pujo also served as a saving grace for all those present. Prayers were rapidly murmured under people’s breaths. The last two years had in a way opened people’s eyes about what they considered close to them and this realisation was accompanied by a strong need to keep these things and people as close to them and safe as possible.
Aristotle’s statement that “man is a social animal” was proven to be true as people actively seeked out contact with each other—both physically and conversationally. Once the initial hours of pujo passed, everyone gravitated towards each other and all fears of the virus were temporarily forgotten - assurance came with the knowledge that the person in front
of them was spending their entire time in
the same two spaces—the pujo hall and their house. Conversations about all topics—clothes, food, work, families and the arrangements flowed in and out of my ears as I sat in a corner and observed everyone. Naturally, the children also gained back their energy and before any of us knew it, they were running around shrieking delightfully (temporarily delightful of course) - as if the pandemic had never happened.
It is important to note that the pandemic never stopped and the association remained alert about the same. Norms were maintained and sanitization was conducted as regularly
as possible. Cleaning aside, the people who entered were also checked and in 2021, people were encouraged to get vaccinated before they came in to ensure that all cautionary measures were taken. In fact, to a large extent, everyone tried to ensure that the person in front of them kept their masks on.
A large saviour in this situation was technology. Everyone in the association agreed on this as the speakers were used to substitute the dhak. The screen was also used to stream the cultural programme—a very important aspect of Durga Pujo for us. 2021 was also made memorable by the constant downpour. Attendees joked that Maa wanted to test their commitment as they entered, half drenched but faces glowing. And there was no denying it, Maa had truly tested us but also returned some meaning to our otherwise bleak days. People saw her arrival as the sign of the evil being vanquished—and they found their hope being restored. Faith truly proved to be a powerful thing as we all prayed that just how Maa had returned without being stopped, normalcy of some sort would be restored sooner than later.
On a slightly different and more personal note, the pandemic also helped me come a
little closer to truly embracing the spirit of
pujo. As someone who is part of the probashi (emigrant) group of Bengalis in North India, I have never had the honour of attending pujo in West Bengal. The resulting diaspora often left me wondering whether I truly understand why I attend pujo and more often than not, I was fueled by a desire to see an actual pujo. However, as the possibility of our pujo here being called became more real, I was filled with an anxiety of sorts. This is when I realised that the spirit of festivals does not come from your place of birth or origin. It is in you—somewhere in a small corner of your heart, which only thrums and comes alive once a year. The intention truly counts more than geography, and if your mind is in the right place, then, well you can switch on your laptop and look at a photo of Maa and her children and feel that you have been blessed—and nobody would question you.
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