Pujo! Pujo! Pujo!

The very utterance of that word beats drums in my ears. I started writing with the objective of explaining how I’ve been feeling since yesterday. But I’m not really sure if I can drive home the point.

The morning of Mahalaya brought with it a strange warmth coupled with the familiar experience of joy and expectations…the time had come to welcome Maa Durga to our hearts. The whiff of the morning breeze that hit my nose when I went out to the balcony suddenly told me that the day had come. Of course there is no smell of ‘shiuli’ in Bangalore or the sight of the swaying ‘kaash ful’. Even the clouds are different. And surely nowhere close is the breathtaking sound of the conch shells blown in unison by the women when the idol of Durga is brought to the neighborhood. Yet the morning told me that it undoubtedly was Mahalaya.

Mahalaya of our childhood is clearly sketched in my mind, waking up at four in the morning and listening to the ‘Chandi Paath’ and the ‘agomoni’ (welcome) songs on radio. Even today the sound of Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s voice gives me goosebumps. Much later, when we were privileged with the television in our drawing rooms, did we get to see the Mahalaya acted out with the usual background scores. Of course it was always a holiday and sometimes we even wore new clothes on this day to feel the festive mood.

Thanks to technology, we can listen to Mahalaya any time and every time on You tube or any other music site. But the innocence of listening to it drowsily at four in the morning was an experience by itself. It’s a pity that our children, staying away from Bengal, will never get the feel of it. Again due to technology, I could sit at my workplace in Bangalore and get a slice of Mahalaya in Kolkata. The early morning update on Facebook from a neighbor’s son in Kolkata was that they were going to bring the idol. As a tradition, the idol is always brought to the neighborhood (where the Sarvajanin puja is held) on the day of Mahalaya every year. By then the ‘pandal’ or the ‘mantap’ is already set. So quite naturally, the update on FB brought back loads of memories of bygone days. Then FB was flooded with wishes and updates from Bengali friends all over the world. There were videos too of the ‘dhaak’ (drum) being played and the decorated idols of the Devi. That was enough to make me float all day long.

Durga Puja is like an irrevocable experience of the true meaning of festival. A time of fun and frolic, the smell of new clothes, the illuminated streets, the chants of the mantras, the beats of the drums, food, music and friends. A time when Kolkata forgets to sleep. There are millions and millions of people in the streets all night for all the five days of the puja. People dressed in their best, sometimes limping due to the fresh blisters from new shoes, walking for miles together to get a glimpse of the idols and the pandals all over the city. For some love birds, this is the only time when even parents lift all curfews and young boys and girls uninhibitedly walk about hand in hand. The cultural programs that are organised by some groups, the competition to win the Asian Paints Award for the best pandal or idol, the incessant chattering of decked up Bong ‘aunties’, the ‘aarti’, the ‘dhunuchi naach’ – there is no end to the flavors. I think, by far, the craziest and the warmest of all festivals where every soul is involved from every walk of life.

I am going to my beloved Kolkata this year after three long years. Hence, my excitement! I wish I could take all my friends from Bangalore to Kolkata just to give them a hint of the real flavor. Wishing all my well wishers a very happy Durga Puja.

Pixie Dust

I think I have left it somewhere. I look for it more often now than ever before but I have no clue about its whereabouts. When was the last time I had felt its presence?

I am growing older by day and life is not the same anymore. Of course, during the course of this life, I’ve learnt many things, discovered and developed, laughed and cried…but I have stopped feeling that special thing I used to feel when I was younger.

I don’t know how I lost it all. Was it lost one fine day or on a midsummer night? Or was it lost in my rueful journey to enlightenment?

Whatever the case maybe, I have to live with the fact that I don’t dream the same dreams anymore. I don’t laugh or cry at the tiniest bits of things any more. Small things that used to mesmerize me don’t affect me anymore. The pitter patter of the first drops of rain used to make me dance. Getting drenched in the rain on our terrace was unjaded joy. Now, when it rains, I feel so fussy about my feet getting dirty, the leather shoes being spoilt, the clothes not drying. When did this change happen?

The unpretentious laughter of those days has become so sophisticated. I don’t remember the last time I laughed my heart out, totally happy with the world…like I used to when I was with friends. I remember spending endless hours babbling uselessly with them and laughing uncontrollably at silly jokes. The world was so beautiful then. Now, every word I utter is measured, filtered and weighed. Laughter is so fake, so hollow.

Circumstances have made me strong and mature, practical and responsible, but they have surely stolen my innocence, my dreams and fantasies, my innocuous self.

For men, it may be called the ‘Peter Pan Syndrome’. I don’t know what to call it for me. But yes, I never wanted to grow up. It was great just being in school with the friends who are almost lost now. School hours and even after hours at times were like a journey to Neverland. We had our own sets of mermaids and pixies and fairies. We had our special Tinker Bells too. The school had not one but several Captain Hooks. And we used to spend hours plotting their doom. There were loads of nonsensical secrets that we treasured and communicated with each other in idiotic code languages. The reason for writing all this is that looking back, I miss those days and those friends who had made my life so beautiful. When nostalgia grips me, I feel that if I were Peter Pan, I would never have had to grow up in this world so full of sham. “Growing up is such a barbarous business full of inconvenience and pimples.” My son so fondly assures me that he will build me a time machine someday so that I can go back and re-live those days.

The truth is that as much as I miss my friends today, I know that they have also lost that special feeling like I have. They have all grown up and have mastered the art of living in this world. What bothers me is that we have left those days behind and will never get them back. Does growing up only mean losing the innocent fun of life? Does ageing mean learning to be hypocrites? Does it mean that if we enjoy the childish pleasures of life, we will be branded as immature, imprudent?

If you are reading about my anguish today, I hope it rings a bell. I’m not asking you to be Peter Pan or bring the feeling out of the rusting, worn out chest from the attic. All I’m asking you is not to kill the Peter Pan if you find it in someone. We cannot change the world, but can change ourselves and our dear ones. We can sprinkle pixie dust on ourselves and chant, “I do believe in fairies, I do, I do!” Let us all live like never before. Let us enjoy the tiniest joys of life, away from the complicated turmoil of this world. Let us help each other to turn away from the sordid realities at least for a while each day. Let us find more people laughing and enjoying unpretentiously. Let’s be Peter Pan!

Facts of life!

Sitting near the window, I was staring out at the raindrops lashing against the glass panes. My thoughts were all over the place. I was thinking idly about all the years that I had spent on earth. So many years of growing up; playing different roles at different times. When I look back, I wonder was it me then, the same person, who used to go to school holding the hands of my kid sisters. It is so different now…work, responsibilities, stress, and most importantly the endless battle of maintaining a good image in front of all.

You can’t live as you want to, you can’t say this and that, you have to maintain all the protocol and you can’t show your true emotions to anyone. All you have to do is abide by the rules of the society, the rules which some weird nutcase had formulated epochs ago. And strangely enough, people don’t mind following these rules even in this modern era. I was chatting with a friend about this the other day and she also seconded me on this, saying when rules and customs become rampant, life takes a backseat. When societal, familial and professional pressures impinge on our daily lives, we feel so bewildered, so stupefied!

How many times do we undergo identity crisis in our lives? How often do we undergo the identity versus role confusion?

Perhaps, we generally encounter this confusion because we constantly experience transitions in life and our roles and identities change. We oscillate between different areas of functioning: occupational role, values, prejudices, ethics and gender.

Sometimes a child, sometimes a parent and sometimes a spouse…gosh, the roles are endless. Initially we have dreams…big ones…but as we grow older they start deflating. From hot air balloons to bubbles to nothing! I had lost my identity when I married. Then again when my first child was born. And yet again when there is such a plateau stage in life at times, when nothing new ever happens, the total existence becomes stagnant and one wonders, “Why should I wake up tomorrow?” But so many of us actually don’t have the courage to fight or change things. We wear a smile on our face, sigh and say, “Well, that’s life!”

Shame on us if we can’t change. Shame on us if we can’t take the reins of life in our own hands. I have fought endlessly. And I have brought about change! I can’t give up my life to the demanding circumstances. I can’t bow down for mercy at all times. I have learnt how to fight. I have metamorphosed from the caterpillar to the butterfly. It took me some time to break out of the cocoon, but here I am!

There are so many small things in life that bring change and fill up the otherwise drab daily life. Small things like a quiet family dinner, a discussion, a (meaningful) soap on TV, a book, coffee with friends, a long distance phone call, just being silly, a family outing, a day at the beautician’s, shopping…I can go on and on. Small changes that we bring on ourselves make our lives livable, that make us feel – I am important as I am, not for the roles that I play.

Just last Sunday, I wanted to bring some change in our routine. My younger son complained one Sunday, “I hate Sundays. We only work and do our homework”. I had to change that notion. He had apparently read about a family picnic in his text book and I caught him eying the coveted picture of the family sitting on a mat and enjoying a picnic.

I planned a family picnic on Sunday. The smile on the kids’ faces when I announced this overwhelmed me. I fulfilled yet another duty as a parent. And there was no identity crisis. We just loved the picnic. Tiny things bring so much joy. All we need to do is rise up and move on. There’s no point in depending on anyone to come and change your life. I guess we have to do it ourselves!

Just wanted to share some pix with you...

Sitting near the wind

The ‘F’ Word

My blog. My first post. Feels good.

Well, I am Seema. I live in Bangalore and I am a content writer. But those, I suppose, are the most insignificant and uninteresting details about my existence. There can be more interesting information about a person's life rather than these quintessential details alone. I, for one, have always believed that it is not possible to know about a person even after a dozen meetings. There are such subtle nuances embedded in a person's characteristics that are even difficult for the person to figure out all at once.

When encountered by questions like: What do you like most? Or, what is it that you dislike? - I am posed with a serious threat. It really makes me wonder, do I know myself enough? After several days of soul searching, I found out that there is much in me that is undiscovered or maybe, things that can describe me and not what I do.

That's where the 'F' word makes a grand entry. The most important thing about me is the fact that I am a female. Born in a society which is subjected to gender conditioning, I have had my fair share of good and bad, mostly being in the receiving end. But with age I have learnt and intensified the power within me (the 'shakti', that is undoubtedly present in all females, only some are oblivious of it) which makes me armed with greater pride about my sex. Subjugation, suppression and hostility - all can go on from the male dominated society. But I am confident that life in my family wouldn’t have been hunky-dory if I were not there. That's my reason to feel powerful...a powerful daughter, sister, wife and a mother!

Fantasy is the next word that can describe me. Imagine a world without ideas or fantasy? What is fantasy today is reality tomorrow. I bask in fantasy, always dreaming of the things that I am yet to achieve. Sometimes, they turn to reality, sometimes they remain as myths. But the fact that they exist for me spurs fresh energy in me to move on. And I must confess that I am a die hard romantic. So my life is meaningless sans fantasy.

My feelings are highly deep seated. I have always let my heart rule my head and I hardly regret. Be it feelings of agony or ecstasy, I have carried them with me and have built my life based on them.

My world begins and ends with friends and fun. Can't survive for too long keeping my nose to the grindstone. As much as one cannot describe me as frivolous, it is also not apt to tag me as grave. Regular breaks are sacrosanct in my work pattern which always pump me up with sporadic renewals of enthusiasm.

Fun for me is a beach surrounded by coconut groves, blue sea and sparkling white sand where I can lie on a hammock with my favourite work of fiction. Reading is quite a luxury for me – all thanks to my perpetual effort of balancing work and life. But every time I’m blessed with some free time I surrender myself to a book. I hate non-fiction – wonder how people devour pages and pages of ‘gyan’. I’m all for the dreamy eyed hero (could even be a vampire) in a romantic novel or a spine tingling thriller, a scintillating drama or even a short story which leaves me wondering even after days of finishing it.

Most Bongs are food freaks, and I am no exception. Never mind if my culinary skills are rather limited, but my taste buds aren’t. Life would have fewer flavors without the right taste buds. Trying different types of food is part of my weekend regime. Here, I am blessed with a spouse who equally indulges in this original sin. Saturday and Sunday evenings are spent splurging in various cuisines and Monday mornings are stored for guilt, repentance and regret for adding another ounce of cellulite to the body. I hold onto this feeling strongly till weekend approaches and the devil looms large again. Who cares? Pity the ones who eat to live!

Another welcome devilish passion of my life is footwear. I have lost count of the number of pairs I have, albeit every trip to Commercial Street makes me feel that I don’t even have a single pair worth wearing the next day.

To keep these devils at bay, there is yet another ‘F’ in my life – faith. No, not a fastidious devout, strangulated with the minutia of religion; just a God fearing individual, aware of the power of the omnipotent. Probably, the greatest driving force behind my existence – which makes me believe in myself.

That’s me in a nutshell. Finding me was a welcome sojourn. Life maybe short, but it’s my life after all. Let’s enjoy to the fullest. Let’s live and let live! The ‘F’ word after all is my path finder, a reflection of me as an individual – it’s my looking glass!