A large replica of the Meenakshi Temple stands quietly at a crossing,
towering over apartment complexes and palatial bungalows of the posh
neighbourhood. Painted in shades of red, yellow, green and pink, adorned
with intricately carved idols, it looks every inch the original temple
it is supposed to be. A few lanes away, the famous Ambaji temple from
Gujrat has come to life in white and gold spires. Its perfect torans
welcome you at the gate even as celestial nymphs dance on the layered
white ceiling inside; a fluttering red flag on top completes the
picture. At a little distance, the Sun God can be seen riding his
chariot pulled by seven golden horses. The chariot is decorated with
miniature paintings, peacock motifs, arched doorways and marble
lanterns. There is also Pegasus, the flying horse, created with
terracotta beads guarding a beetle-nut plantation, a large Burmese
pagoda standing majestically on a busy intersection, a studio with
angels and demons hanging from its rooftop, a tribal village set up in
the middle of the city, and much, much more.
It is humanly impossible to describe all the Puja Pandals in
Calcutta, it is perhaps not possible to see all 2000 of them either, but
it is surely worth your while to spend a few days experiencing one of
the world’s greatest art festivals that comes to life in Calcutta during
the Durga Puja.
My numerous visits to Calcutta have taught me quite a few things
about the city and its people. Being prepared for the Puja frenzy and
spending hours on the road – either stuck in traffic or standing in
queues in front of the pandals – is one of them. But it has also taught
me some shortcuts. To avoid the very first traffic jam – the perpetual
one on the Howrah Bridge – I decide to take the ferry across the river.
It is not only a time-tested method to beat the taxi queues and the
traffic at the railway station, but also provides a spectacular view of
the Calcutta sky. In less than fifteen minutes of de-boarding the train
on a busy shashti morning, I am already on the other side of the Hoogly,
standing in the shadow of colonial Calcutta.
The city seems to have just had a shower and every inch of it is now
glistening in mild autumn sun. The mild fragrance of orange-stemmed
Shiuli hangs heavy in the forever moist air of the city. Blooming of the
Shiuli flower, incidentally, is also considered the onset of autumn,
and in Calcutta, it means only one thing: Durga is on her way home with
her children. In this part of the city though there is no sign of the
mother or the children so I hail a taxi and head to where all the action
is.
Your experience of Durga Puja largely depends on which part of the
city you decide to go to: the elite South-Calcutta or the rustic
North-Calcutta. I chose to head south for it is during my stay here that
I started appreciating the festival and what it stands for. Until then,
the non-Bengali in me could never appreciate the madness around the
festival.
In hop off the taxi at the junction close to my erstwhile home and walk.
Like always, the pandal outside my apartment complex in Hindustan
Park is small but based on a contemporary theme – the recent surgical
strikes – but the showstopper here, like always, is the idol. Dressed in
a thick cotton sari, sans any jewellery, or weapons, the goddess looks
like the everyday woman of Bengal. I thank her for getting me here and
walk towards some of the most famous pandals in town – Ekdalia Evergreen
Club, Singhi Park, and Ballygunj Cultural Association.
It is barely noon now but the neighbourhood is already bursting with
colour and bustling with people. The roads are lined with colourful
banners and advertisements: on one hand you have Vidya Balan selling
jewellery and Boroline, on another you have Saina Nehwal telling you the
benefits of an anti allergy powder. Here you have Ajay Devgan riding a
horse; there you have Saurav Ganguly holding a bottle of Coke. There are
many others too who my non-Bengali eyes cannot recognize. The people
meanwhile are out in full force despite the rain and humidity, dressed
in their Puja best.
Outside the largest pandal, a replica of the Meenakshi temple of
Madurai, an army of hawkers has already set shop. They are selling
everything from puchkas to jhalmuri, from pizzas to burgers, from ice creams to mishti doi, and are doing brisk business too. Looking at people devouring puchka after puchka, I am tempted to try my hand at a few too when the sky opens up and I have to run for cover.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You must take the cab from under the flyover, it is the closest and
the cleanest way to reach Shobhabazar. I always use that road. But then
the road may be closed. What about the next signal? Why don’t you take a
right from there? I saw some taxis going that way. Oh ho! Why did you
not turn? Now we will have to stand here for another half an hour. You
should have turned right from the last intersection only.”
I sit sandwiched between my friend and her mother in the backseat of a
taxi as they try to decide on the best route to get to our destination.
It is only 5:00 PM but the road ahead is jam-packed, so is the road on
the right and the pavement on the left. The driver, an elderly Sikh
gentleman who speaks Bangla, has been trying to explain to them that
most roads have either been closed down or have been converted into
one-ways, but the mother-daughter duo is not ready to believe him. “He’s
trying to make money out of us,” they tell me in English. After an hour
and a half on the road, and listening to my friend and her mother’s
high-pitched conversation about almost everything related to the Puja,
we finally get off the cab in the heart of North Calcutta.
Unlike its posh counterpart, North Calcutta does not boast of many
large-scale pujas. The pandals here are more artsy and less commercial
and mostly hidden in narrow lanes and by lanes. The food isn’t fancy
either. Unlike the burgers and pizzas of the South, huge pots of Biryani
and Korma line the wide avenue. There are large stalls selling Chinese
food, kathi rolls and hand churned ice cream too.
Meandering through the lanes of the humble neighbourhood we spot many
innovative pandals. One of them made up entirely of scrap, another just
with washing machine pipes. Next comes a colourful Eiffel tower
followed by a jungle and a cave. My favourite is the one with a mammoth
Mahishasur pinned to the ground by Durga’s trident. The most famous puja
of North Calcutta however happens to be at the potter’s colony called
Kumhartuli. This is also the place where all the idols for the festival
are created. Owning to its popularity, the pandal is often crowded and
queues run into miles. Today is no different. The queue can be seen from
over a kilometer away. In no mood to jostle the crowd I promptly turn
back.
If there is one place in Calcutta, where you can expect some peace
and quiet even during Puja frenzy, it is Park Street. Having spent the
entire day pandal-hopping, all I can think of now is a place to sit and
something to drink. After much deliberation my friend and I settle for
Trincas, an institution best known for supplying office goers with their
daily dose of alcohol. It seems like a safe bet for hiding from the
Puja crowd: who would spend the shashti evening cooped up in a bar? What
I seemed to have forgotten is that no place can escape the puja frenzy
in Calcutta.
The bar turns out to be noisy and overflowing with people. My first
instinct is to return from the door itself but chances of finding a
table anywhere else are bleak, so we take on the only vacant table in a
corner. Next to us is a group of middle aged women drinking and singing
along the band that is dishing out bollywood numbers, to my left is a
young couple with a child, gorging on chilli chicken, in front of me is a
family of four laughing and swaying to the music. As I settle down with
my drink, I find myself enjoying too. What is Durga Puja without some
noise and crowd after all.
