kaala ratri

Kaal raatri,maha raatri, moharatrischa daruna…

Pulsates in my heart. MAHALAYA ploughs the soil of my soul. My wings unfurl and glide me towards my homeland. The greenery, the splashing sound of Sati falls, the silent walks across Ghora lane. Pure. Romance. Gardened by budded love.

The term kaala raatri made understood now. Its been pretty out stretched.

Heat beats the hell out of you. And this time bracketing aside north east, everywhere else in the country sun God is dispensing his wrath. Clouds are on a blissful summer break. Wonder when the vacation would be over!

I have always understood one thing about the place I live in. It is a star-crossed land. Even the rain God isn’t too sure to step in. (The state-head claims otherwise though).  Very few are chosen to perish.

We drip our sweat irrigating our lives.

Have seen and understood a lot in the 3 scores breathing period. Difficult it seemed to explain why I was a meander. Cradled in the whirlpool of thoughts: Always. Every pujo (Durga Puja-popular amongst Bengalis), the smell of the cold breeze just missed. While in the parental threshold, visiting pandals impregnated claustrophobia. Now: Well, there is just a pandal to rush to. And. I don’t feel like returning home. I love the crowd! So much has changed.

2 months prior to pujo, Bengali families would begin their shopping, just like one does before Christmas. Planning, listing out, checking out on the wallet. I did it too. Shopping spree par se was a festival before the actual three day long pujo. Display of the things bought a ritual. The chill in the air just hinted the sounds of dhaak (the drum). There was an unexplained feel of the autumn. A welcome song reverberated from the pinetops to greet mother Durga. Something smelt good. The feel. So strong.

Growing up in a vibrant locality, pujo greeted any &every one with gusto. There was this sweet smile that Maa brought along as she landed in the pandal. Friends popped out of nowhere and everywhere. Love resonated. Dhaak tintinnabulating across. An atheist too would rise up and take a step or two towards the pandal. Maa is here to visit her parents. Look at her well- coached children accompanying her.

Half a decade and a year passed. Dhak pulsates in mind now. No arati. Just a brief darshan. Clay idol. Glitterati overhauls. Munching mouth overcrowd. One doesn’t need to cook at home. Fish, chicken, egg-whatever: please order. Professional networking… a little business; pure fun of course. The fervor mashed under feet as one strolls across eyeing eateries and salivating on decked up youngies. Maa no longer seen.

Heavy heart.

Pujo ends amid everyday work. I just hold my husband, cushion my heavy heart on his. Next day back to work.  Just me and him.

We inhale. Amdabad(the natives like it this way!) air helps us cancel another day.

Every ambitious youth from every next door have left their threshold. Standing on the platform, waving at their childhood days, pain must have clouded them too.  The ever-running metro life shaving off nostalgia. Call of the belly. Remember?

 Somewhere, someone had said- ‘things get better once you give in.’

 As of now the words put to use as a good quote.

p.b