Maa Durga in my life

Its festival time again and i would like to talk about one of my interests here.

Come October and festival spirit ensues all over Bengal, Jharkhand, Bihar and the other north eastern states. Although not as magnanimously as in Kolkata, durga puja is celebrated with as much gusto in my native place as well. May be because of the Bengali influence here.

Large statues of goddess durga mark the festival. The murtikars start making the clay idols months before the puja starts. The goddess is depicted with ten hands, carrying different weapons in each hand to fight the evil mahishasur. Sometimes she is shown in an angry mood and sometimes her eyes pour out her love and compassion for the devotees.

Durga Statue

As a kid i used to adore the statues. I would go from one puja pandal to another to have a sight of the various forms of Durga. Slowly, the praise for the statues turned into a desire to carve a statue myself. At our place there was abundance of red clay, best for carving clay idols. I picked it from the temple itself or go pick it from the farm land, recently wetted by the monsoon rains.

In those days, the dreams were easily acheivable (by present standards) but the hands to realise those dreams were too small (by past standards). My only desire then was to make a statue of durga with all her hands intact. Many days spent in the backyard trying to carve a statute of durga, with no less than ten hands, but no success found each time i took up the venture.

The ten hands made the statue heavy and every time the statue fell down. In the past years, I had compromised with the situation by having a couple of hands less. Mahishasur, the demon who was killed by Mother Durga, often got a step motherly treatment. By the time it was time to make the idol of mahisasur, i was entirely drenched of energy and my back pained like anything from sitting continuously. Also most of the clay was over. So, the idol of mahishasur was made half-heartedly. But this year i had bigger plans and without compromises.

Maa Durga

Durga Puja mostly fell during the monsoon vacations, after the second term exams at school were over. So there wasn’t pressure of studies. But this particular year, the Durga Puja fell a little earlier and students were not particularly happy since the second term exams were immediately after school resumed.

I wasn’t happy either. The puja celebrations were banned at home. There was a bit of a relaxation – you can return home at 7 instead of 5 in the evening. There were strict instructions from father to concentrate on studies – mother was strictly instructed not to interfere.

For me it was a double whammy – no enjoyment and also no time to devote to my dream – of building a durga idol with all hands intact.

But that didn’t stop me from following my desire. I did build one – after father left for office – and with mummy shouting that father will be very angry. surprisingly, this one stood intact although it had all the ten hands and the mahishasura too was carved with patience.

Once completed, i safely kept in the verandah, away from father’s attention. I would let it to dry tomorrow. Soon my mind veered to how beautiful it would look once it is dry and painted. The image of the painted durga, with big black eyes, a red sari, fake jewellery, and weapons (in those days i used to make weapons with aluminium foils collected from tin cans) started revolving in my mind.

Between studies at evening, i couldn’t stop myself from having a sight of the divine creation. I still couldn’t believe that the statue was standing intact.

However, father was annoyed by my restlessness during study time. Every time, i would go to the verandah giving some or other excuse. He was worried about my preparation, although i had assured him many a times that i was fully ready for the exams.

Papa soon learned what was diverting my attention. He came to the verandah and instantly pounced for the durga statue. Ma tried to stop him. I was all in awe when father grabbed the statue in his hands and threw it in the drain outside.

All my dreams were shattered in a moment. I didn’t know how to react. It looked as if i had been struck by a deep grief. It was food time in half an hour and i refused to eat. Ma scolded me for acting childishly. Father was feeling guilty now for his act. That night i was revengeful for papa.

In the morning, i tried looking for the statue; still some hope of restoring it for the festival. On close observation. I did spot some parts of it. However it didn’t look as appealing now with black drain water flowing over it. That year Maa Durga departed for her heavenly abode much before visharjan.

VISHARJAN

Why no TAM for Bihar

Did you know this?

Except for Bihar, Jharkhand, J&K, and the North Eastern states, TAM meters are available in all states.

For those who do not know, TAM meters are used to calculate TRP or Television Rating Points.

The voice of biharis (jharkhandis included) is considered insignificant in media. and therefore no TAM for bihar.

For J&K and the North Eastern States, this is well understood because they are war torn and certain rights of people living in these states are curtailed.

but why Bihar and Jharkhand.

Don’t media habits of the people of these states have any impact on the advertisers?

this explains why bihar finds so little mention in print and electronic media.

and whenever biharis find mention in media, it is to make fun of their rustic habits.

being rustic for a punjabi sikh is worth showing. being rustic for a bihari is worth nothing.

Where is the civic sense in Indians?

if mumbai is infamous for its gang-wars, delhi rues about the rallies that are organised here almost everyday.

just a day after mayawati brandished her support with the crowd collected from all parts of northern india in delhi, BJP and akali dal decided to hold a rally of its supporters from punjab. so there was an entire punjab on buses, trucks, and all forms of vehicles on the roads of delhi. they had come here to pressurise government to waive off the loans to farmers. whether the government was moved by such pressure tactics is still unsure; however, this really brought traffic on the outer ring road to a standstill.

Good things end fast

don’t know why good things have to come to an end so soon. brother’s marriage that i talked about in so many of my last posts is over now. yeah you have guessed it right. i wasn’t blogging because i was not here in delhi. moreover, my reliance datacard wasn’t working there. so i had to use the local cyber cafe, some 4 kms away (proves how underdeveloped jharkhand is; still the presence of a cyber cafe was evidence that the state was making attempts at development) when there was some official work to be done.

The dying city of Jharia

came across a very interesting post on jharia, near to my home place dhanbad in jharkhand. but as you continue reading, you will soon find yourself witnessing the end of a city that was once sprawling with activity, that with the find of large mines of coal, in those days the principal source of energy.

“The fire is rapidly taking the old mine workings beneath the settlement in its grasp and could also spread beneath the two concrete dam situated near the workings making the area prone to flooding also”.

Read the complete article here:

Global warming is just round the corner

With a bucket full of clothes to clean and no water in the tap, I start pondering about times when there will actually be no water on the earth. As newspapers make it a point to include one such item about global warming every other day, concerns about a forever water shortage are only heightened.

However, as I shuffle through the morning newspaper, there isn’t any attribution of this ceased water supply to global warming; instead it is the high levels of ammonia in water, upto 4 ppm, that has led to the closure of Wazirabad and Chandrawal water projects in Delhi.

Although, for a layman, tantalised with the lethal effects of global warming, the high levels of ammonia in water too may be one of the effects – of global warming; who knows, until proved otherwise by scientists.

Scientists too are unambiguous about the causes and effects of this phenomenon. Looks like countries, corporates and people in a capacity to influence are influencing scientists’ corroboration according to their degree of comfortability.

Now who is to be believed? Who isn’t to be believed?

My take is that global warming has already set in. Last summer was a way too hot and prolonged as well. Last year, winter descended very late. Monsoons were delayed. It rained heavily at a time when it was least expected. And this year winter has come way too early. Isn’t that one of the many symptoms of global warming – erratic seasons.

Not long ago, during the good old days, seasons used to be so well differentiated. Summers were on time. So were winters. There was a day or two of raining, which embarked the arrival of a new season.

So now that the word is out, shan’t we start preparing for the times when there will actually be no water. May be scientists then will invent ways of living with minimal water- like there will be special clothes that will not require cleaning; small blue tablets will suffice your thirst each day; tissues will find more use than in the loos; temple priests will not require you to bathe before entering the temple; plants will be hybridised to do away with the need for watering; cars will be dry-cleaned just as clothes, and water will be valued as much as gold. People would have special lockers in banks for storing their prized catch of water. Water riots will increase. People would seldom come out of their home to avoid dehydration in open sun.

Looks like times are really tough ahead. Who knows if the scientists then are able to find such solutions? Or that we are actually able to get accustomed to the new ways.

Instead of preparing for a bad future, can’t we do something in the present that stops the bad future from emerging. Precaution is always better than cure. Is it so hard to stop the wastage of water? Now that there is no water in the taps, I complete all the chores in less than two buckets of water (because I have to draw those two buckets from a handpump few blocks away). Why not the same care when the taps are running?

Also we seldom practise care for our rivers that we otherwise consider sacred.Would one have done the same to the water that they use for drinking or bathing? Isn’t that double standards that we are resorting to. If this continues, and people (that includes me and you) don’t take it as a personal issue to keep the water around them clean, and not waste the water resources available to them, there soon will be no water available on the earth.

The nostalgic journey

Since my father used to work in a city, some eight hours far, we got a chance to visit the village only during the summer vacations or when any marriage was organised during other times of the year.

Most of my memories about village are about my mother’s paternal home (our nani-ghar). My dadaji used to live just a few miles from us in the city, so the village house was closed for a major part of the year. Also there was the usual bitterness between the sas and bahu; so nanighar was frequented more often.

We would heave a sigh of relief when the summer vacations were announced. Normally the journey was fixed for a day or two after the vacations started. Papa would buy us new clothes (in those days he could hardly afford more than a pair of clothes for us- we belonged to a middle class family and only recently we have started to enjoy the luxuries of life. but that’s a different story and we will talk about that some other time). We would eagerly share our journey plans with friends, also getting to know where they would be headed.

Finally the day approached. The bus was more often scheduled in the morning, so that we can reach home by the evening. Mother would wake up early to start preparations for the journey. Finally, we were woken off from our bed. Just a call of name was enough to wake me up. My cousin, who used to live with us, however had to be shaken off from bed. It was really tough task for our parents to manage an army of four spoilt brats.

We would dress in our best. In those days, anything other than the school uniform was more than a luxury. Mother was the last to get dressed. She wasn’t like the other women who were forever dressing. Instead, she had all the household chores to complete, to ensure that all dishes were done, to ensure that the cans containing food items were tightly closed, and finally to ensure that no window was open.

The bus stand was about two kilometers from our place. So father dropped us in his Bajaj Chetak scooter in three trips. Lal (eldest of all siblings) and Manish were the first to be dropped. Then Anupam and I was herded to the bus stand. Finally, father would come with mother. He would park his scooter at his office just a few blocks away and we would all be eagerly waiting for the bus.

The bus arrives, usually on time. The bookings were already done. But the usual squabble about the little kids (me and anupam) and their fares was a necessity. The issue more often was settled in our favour.

But the squabble between we siblings was still remaining to be resolved. Who will take the window seat? Anupam and I were the ones who were in the fray. The elder siblings had already learnt that it’s not good manners to fight in the public. Although they wouldn’t mind putting some fuel in the fight. Finally papa would have to interfere and gives us two window seats each, if available. Or else, I was forced to stay with father, which I would dislike the most since he was very fussy with how children must behave.

Now that the issues are resolved and we have all settled on our respective seats, it’s time to do some sightseeing from bus. We pass the Maithon Dam area, the luxury available to us only during the annual picnic.

The bus would generally stop at a few big stands to take in more passengers. Not all are as fortunate to have got a seat. Some tribal women too come aboard and the conductor makes lewd remarks at them, many times in the presence of their men.

The important places are Mihijam (Chittranjan), Dumka, Hasdiha, Godda etc. To cater to the passengers, many roadside stalls and dhabas have come up. These sell sweat meats like rasgulla, gulabjamun, tikri, khaja, kalakand, jalebi etc. Also these store snacks like pakoda, samosa, kachri etc. We very much like a particular preparation made out of muri, pakoda, ghugni, kachri and mustard oil etc (not available in those days in the coalfield area). We would relish it and every time we visit these places we make it a point to have our hand on this spicy dish.

Somewhere at two in the noon we would reach dumka, which has now been given second capital status. It’s a big city and the bus has to wind its way to come to this place, so that the passengers can have some lunch. It’s not like the Delhi to Vaishno Devi Yatra, where the bus-wallah would make it a point to stop at the most expensive restaurant on way.

Papa has a weak stomach, so he prefers to abstain from oily foods. So chawal dal is the best bet. But ma hates this the most. So you want to show how poor you are by eating this even outside. They always get a reason to fight. But they are a lovely couple. Don’t they say “jahan ikrar hota hai wahin pyar hota hai”.

After a half hour break, we finally move from dumka. Dumka can also be called a door to the Ang Pradesh or Manihari Pradesh. From here onwards you slowly leave behind the Bengali influence and more often than not you will come across people speaking Angika, a mixed form of Maithili.

Ma starts recount stories about this place. About relatives living here. About the wrong and right people have done. Many things to speak.

At three in the noon, we reach a place called Nonihat. It is known for the best sonpapri (although of Bengali origin, most dishes come to acquire their own popularity at different places). Ma is sure to purchase a kilogram or two of these delicious sonpapris for the journey and for taking to her relatives.

We have left Nonihat and we are coming closer to the final destination that this bus can take us to. At Godda, we have to drop off the bus. A 6-7 hours journey on bumpy roads of ill kept Jharkhand and Bihar in such hot climate has tired all of us.

But I can see ma’s eyes glowing with excitement. Really women can’t give up the attachment with their maykaas.

From here we will take a local bus to our village. At the bus stand, many people recognise ma. They begin sharing news about the village and the people. More often it’s about someone’s death, marriage, or birth. Really people in the villages have so little to think about.

The bus is a little late today. Then someone talks about news that the bus is stuck at the police station for some offences by the driver. We are frantic. Now I really want to reach home fast. Fortunately the bus comes and the conductor here is biased towards the fairer people, since he too belongs to the upper caste Rajput. The woman we just met has given our introductions and we are promised seats. The bus is packed. Not only are there people inside the bus and clinging to the door, there are also people packed at the roof top.

Winding through many villages and through metalled roads and cart tracks, the bus finally arrives at the village. It’s the last stop for the bus as well. Except for a few lighted shops, it’s all dark by now. Each family has people to recieve them at the bus stop. There are people you will have to stoop down to do the usual Hindu salutation. There are people who would be doing the same to you since you are elder to them. Finally you are escorted to the home where there are the women folk eagerly awaiting your homecoming. Nani is all tears at meeting her daughter after so many months. She loves us too. Father is sitting on an old charpoy laid for the guests in the courtyard. His salas (ma’s younger brothers) have gathered around him to do some bantering. The journey has ended and marks the start of a two months sometimes exciting sometimes boring summer vacation in the village.