An Anniversary


It's two months today, two months since the day I packed my bags and left for this place in the middle of nowhere. Two months of a steady implausibility, of a refusal to downgrade, to compromise. Two months of shuttling between the fire and the frying pan, of late nights and early mornings, of stifling afternoons and lazy pointless evenings. Of trying to find an escape, of losing oneself in a lie. Of naming insects and hiding laptops. Of skipping meals and craving for Frooti. Of the urge to jump and the cowardice to not. Of vindictive beginnings and repentance. Of remembering and yearning. Of waiting and waiting. Its been two very long months. And now, I’m going to start the insanity again.


Its durga pujo’s first day- shoshti(sixth). The goddess is supposed to be here by choturthi(fourth) riding on her tiger from her heavenly abode in the Himalayas. She probably takes rest for two days before launching into the festivities. Well even she’s human, right. Today is the day of anondomela, the food competition. A day of great gluttony, the reason why durga pujo is such fun. From tomorrow the celebrations start full steam. Hoardes of bongs, gearing up for three days of undiluted pujo entertainment will swamp the pandals generally spreading enthu. All instinctive bong snobbery and bitchiness will be put on hold and there’ll be a let down of the elite guard. There’ll be break-the-matka competition for couples, ‘talent’ shows for kids and musical chairs for octogenarians( shudu mohilader jonno). People will generally loose it during the dhunuchi naach, swaying and gyrating, as if in a trance, to the aggressive beating of the dholok . Calcutta(it’ll always remain Calcutta for me)-based 'rock' groups will perform at night and the archaic sound system will fail like every time. Kids will play throughout the day with balloons and will recite evergreen poems of tagore that they’ve been made to memorise by their overenthusiastic nostalgic parents. A four-year old will shift his feet shyly on the stage, his kaka-jhaitha-pishis will gently coax him. He’ll mumble a few words, forget and run off the stage in tears to be consoled by the anxious mother. Young men and women will gently flirt with each others, bonds will be forged under the unblinking austere stare of the goddess. Everyone, big and small, poor and not-so-poor will sit on the floor, eat off a banana leaf the food served by Levid, Tommy Hilfigered guys and girls of all ages. There’ll be the earnest recreations of Calcutta for the middle-aged, benign smiling for the old, and blessings of the fond past for the young. There’ll be memories, happy ones.

And I’ll miss it. Atleast most of it. Because of some godforsaken workshop practice test which has been created for the sole purpose that someday I’ll mess it up.

Such, as they say, is life.