I remember reading somewhere in the context of Dwarkanath
Tagore, about how the protestant ethic of Bengalis helped them succeed in
business. That theory doesn’t quite explain the subsequent shrinking of the
list of pre-eminent Bengali owned businesses. And I don’t quite know whether ‘protestant’
is the right word. But in no other Indian community, is religion such a matter
of convenience. My mother, who considers herself to be quite religious, has forever had a
scientific aversion to fasting. My grandmother is considerably more devout,
having observed Shiv Ratri since she was twelve. She once told me not to say
out loud the prayers that the priest calls out during pushpanjali since the Sanskrit words often hide behind them, quite
regressive ideas. She encouraged me instead, to make up my own prayers in any
language I preferred. And it’s not just a family. Our main
festival, Durga Pujo, is essentially an excuse to overhaul wardrobes, dig into
non-vegetarian food (to the consternation of the Navratri-observing, abstemious
‘non-bengalis’), and bond with old friends over aadda. Saraswati Pujo,
unofficially Bengal’s own Valentines’ Day, is another one of those occasions
when we mix pleasure with piety.
Saraswati in Hindu Mythology is the goddess of learning.
This time it ‘fell on’ 15 February, though in the past, and especially in my
board years had the tendency to be right in the middle of exams. Yet, I
remember devotedly giving up all my books to lay at the feet of the Goddess and
solemnly observe the ritual of not studying. To make up for that, I would
concentrate on the prayers a little harder (notwithstanding my grandmom’s
advice) and sometimes also offer to distribute the bhog- all to curry favour
with Maa. Now of course things have changed. I no longer attend the pujo that
the Bengalis of the middle-class colony I grew up in, conduct. We have a small
pujo at home. Which my mom performs. Unlike in my old colony, where the priest
had a day-job as a scientist. And there is no gaggle of gossiping women
chopping fruits for the prasad. Only
me, grudgingly carrying out the errands my mother sets out for me. We have the
bhog at our dining table. Earlier, I would squat on the floor with my friends while
an adult would dump khichdi and labra on our Styrofoam plates. And the celebrations would take all day. Now we are through by noon.
One thing remains the same though.
No studying.
This piece made me miss my para Saraswati Pujo now more than I did on the Pujo day. Oh and back at home, my friends celebrated V-day 2 two days in a row this year. *Sigh*
ReplyDeleteHahaha. Though the V-day bit is a bit muted in Delhi. Only all the mashis talk lovingly about how they spent the day in their youth :p
DeleteHahaha! Love it :D
ReplyDelete