My city is soaring high with the Pujo fever. The streets are lit up,
and so are people's hearts. Boys and girls have commenced with their
Pujo special romances (a certain romance that is meant to suffice the
Pujo period). Middle class fathers hold their little girl's hand in
the crowded markets selling bedazzling happiness. 'Shimmer' is the
order of the day. It's spread on the heart and the emotions.
My family has been a huge Pujo enthusiast since I've ever come to
senses. Our home is a three storied house in an upper middle class
Bengali locality. We have hence never had problems with accommodating
as many relatives, friends, their friends, domestic helps, drivers,
their families, so on and so forth in the house during these four
days. Not that everyone has had a bed to himself or herself. But
sharing and caring was the way to go. 3 people on the single bed. Two
kids on the sofa. Three people on the mattress. And every room looked
like that. The bedrooms, the living room, the dining space, the
kitchen, the passage... every room looked like the bedroom.
The only man who was behind this pandemonium was my dadu, a tall
lanky, stubborn body, the fingers of an artist, the heart of a lover,
and mind you.. the mind of a child. To him festivity is the only
logic, holidays are the dates, and celebrations are the reason. It did
not matter how much money you spend on the petrol, nor the time you
spent on the planning. It was all very practical to him. Even today
is. He is 88. My uncle (dadu's son), has lost his wife to cancer a few
months back, my mother (his daughter) does not live with him anymore.
The family has shattered into pieces; the home has come to exist as a
decent piece of property. The glories of financial extravaganza are
lost. Relatives have all moved on, happiness and calm are obviously a
better choice. A drunkard widower of 44 sits in his room drinking the
mundane sorrows. About at midnight, when he is done with the intake,
he vomits out the hatred for life… onto his old parents.
I can't believe I fought with my entire family in late school and
early college coz I wanted to be out with friends, and the family
functions just did not end. I cant believe my grandparents don't have
a car to roam around Calcutta in. I can't believe dadu does not have
money nor the energy to shop for us all. I cant believe the last day I
took him out, I had to hold his hands as he could not see the road
properly. (He's the same man who held my hand to the nursery school, I
remember, I would hold one finger of his with both my hands)
I have no idea why this Pujo does not free butterflies in my stomach
like every other until this one, has… I probably have done plenty of
shopping but I don't know what it is that I have completely lost, what
it is that I am on my way to lose, and what it is that shall remain.
Is this the last Pujo I am waiting for? May be I am compensating for
all of you, who were not having so good a time while I did, all those
years. We've got to maintain the balance after all. Or may be, I am
finally growing old? Is dadu's age withering me too? Or is my
withering away, aging dadu?

Time is a pebble I'd like to keep. Only if I could.