Nostalgia Trip

This morning I listened to Mahishasurmardini after about 12 years. I heard it last in 1995, just before landing my first job in The Telegraph. Night shifts for five years thereafter ensured that I got out of the habit of getting up at 4 am to listen to Birendra Krishna Bhadra's baritone. And I got married to someone who was never really into Mahishasurmardini to begin with. So, even when I had eased into regular work hours following Riju's arrival, rising early on Mahalaya was never on the agenda for me.

It wasn't this year too. But, somehow last night I set the alarm for 4 am, instead of 6.30. And this morning, somehow I actually remembered why I set the alarm and plugged in the headset.

To me, Mahishasurmardini is associated with travel. My father has always favoured travelling in autumn when the weather's great and you can escape the Calcutta crowds. Never one for pandal-hopping, I loved spending the Pujas away from the chaos. So, Mahalaya meant packing bags and airing woollens. It meant helping ma make luchi and alur dam for dinner on train. It meant buying toothpastes and splitting hairs on which clothes to take and which to leave behind. Mahalaya meant anticipation. It still does, but in a different way.

Growing up in central Calcutta, I've never had any para friends to spend the Pujas with. When we were younger, ma used to whisk us away to her parents' place on those rare vacations when we were not travelling. Spending the holidays with cousins was fun, but it stopped us — my brother and myself — from getting to know any children in our locality. In high school and college, when, like my cousins, I became busy with studies, Puja evenings would be spent on our verandah, gazing at the gay parade of pandal-hoppers: families, lovers, children. And then, from 1995 onwards, I worked through the Pujas and cursed the crowd as I wearily made my way home well after midnight.

The picture didn't quite change after marriage, as both my husband and I continued to work on the four days. Then, as I began to forge tentative friendships with Dhiman's para friends, adda (with booze) sessions were planned on the Puja evenings. These proved a great success and are now a regular Puja feature. Something I wouldn't miss for the world. Travelling can wait till after Dashami. So, Mahalaya now means I need to stock up on munchies and alcohol. And plan.

Today, I listened to Mahishasurmardini with my son. It was his first time. And, wonder of wonders, he liked it. No. Come to think of it, it isn't really a wonder. Birendra Krishna Bhadra's evocative early-morning chants spell exactly the same thing for him as they do for millions of Bengalis and Calcuttans — anticipation.