we used to have durga puja in our mamabari even a few years ago.
i was a kid then.celebrations started early.the drawing room would be vacated and all furnitures got stashed below the staircase.during those few days the staircase would become our makeshift playroom.and the cocacola cretes could easily be tucked beneath the cumbersome and greasy sofas.
the pandal would jut out into the pavement.the tables were all laid out there.
and 'Maa' would come on chaturthi.riding the lorry was then the biggest proof of how 'brave and strong' you were.once home,Maa's face would be covered by a hankerchief followed by great disputes over the ownership of the cloth once it would be unfurled.i was too small and thus never considered.
panchami was non descript and i would mostly stay flopped on the couch in the staircase voraciously gorging on the contents of the sharodia.
the footfall happenned shashthi onwards and would go on till dashami.
there were relatives you chanced upon only on those four days of the year.there were others whom you had never seen but who squeezed your cheeks and patted and ruffled your hair,all the same.and there were still others who you had,allegedly,seen before but couldnt recall even if you tried real hard.and all of them came everyday and the familiarity grew.uncannily these were people you could go and confide in if ma had been very harsh on you.but the sulking and weeping happenned alone,in the staircase.
kumari pujo and sandhi pujo intrigued me much.
the latter would mostly happen in the dead of the night or in the wee hours of the morning.there were cousins who would go and snooze off in the loo.and even heavy banging on the door couldnt perturb them!
the kumari was draped in a benarasi.gold jewellery and alta would complete her look.and chhotomamu carried her in his arms and took her inside.
clearly the kumari would demand all attention and that pissed me greatly.
i had envied her so much i craved to be a kumari myself but was told i couldn't as "i wasnt a brahmin",something i havent figured out till this day.
asthami and nabami bhog comprised the best of bangali cuisines.that was probably why so many people came on those two days.
dashami had an eternal melancholy attached to it.it still does.i would wake up with a bad feeling that lingered throughout the day.the pujo got over by morning.shidur khela happenned till late afternoon.and i would go about the entire affair cluthching onto ma's anchal and end up looking like a red babbon with vermillion smeared all over.
bhashan was what i looked forward to the most.the elder cousins would have their friends come over and they would all dance through the entire journey while i sat next to Ganesha as per ma's dictum.she probably feared a stampede in the lorry and me being her only progeny,didnt want to risk it!
babu ghat would always be mobbed.amidst the din and gyrations of the bhashan parties,'Maa' would be thrown into the river,already clattered with several such idols afloat.
and while the rest danced as if taken by a wild frenzy,i would listlessly gape at Maa's demure face.i cant tell what i saw in those two eyes but they seemed a lot different from the idol we had brought home.

rangamamu died in a major heart attack.it was totally unexpected and we didnt know how to react till very lately.but what probably struck everyone is that the man behind our pujo was no longer.
pujo stopped in 2002.five years since then pujo still happens in our lives.albeit a lot differently.cousins have moved to other cities,countries.
i tried making myself acquanited with para pujo.but the thing never sunk in and i moved on.i tried the college pujo last time.but guess that is not working out either.i am thinking of spending pujo outside kolkata this time.in places in the outskirts.mofussils.
i am trying hard.but the void will remain.i know.