Puja Story

Ronodeep sat, in the luxury of a red plastic arm chair, at the entrance of the pandal, almost in an obscure corner, surveying. He was almost a teenager and for a few years now he had been involved with the para puja but more as an errand boy .He was of course part of the chanda collecting team , a job he took on seriously and tried to meet the set target .He watched as a slow stream of visitors filed in to pay their respects to the idol .Many were from the para but there were others who were Pandal Hopping. This was, after all, Naomi and many were expected. Though this Puja was not on anybody’s list for its design and opulence, it was close in proximity to a famous one –thus many detoured a bit to seek blessings from a stoic looking Durga spearing a Mahshasur whose expression suggested that he seemed happy to be impaled. Aman looked up to see his maternal uncle enter, with his new wife- the old now a photo on the wall replete with a sandalwood garland. This was their first Puja and the new Mami sported all her wedding finery.

This is when Poltu Da entered followed by Shome Da who always sported a stubble and Singh Sir, the tutor who all said looked like Gandhiji.

A few years ago, the Para Secretary, Poltu Da, addressed by all as that, irrespective of age and class or for that matter religion, had taken on the mantle of making the para Puja on par with the success that the Puja, a few streets ahead, enjoyed. Though none would admit it but accepted by all, it was still a poor show. Strapped by funds and low popularity, the Puja Committee failed to achieve their dreams and plans to see their pandal feature in the DailyGraph. Even minor celebs refused to attend spurning the lure of small oney. In all it was a para puja and had remained so over the last few years.

This year Poltu Da had selected a Japanese Temple design and the Pandal stood two stories high - a golden pagoda look like structure. Plastic, cherry blossom flowers lined the pathway and the main pandal had multiple golden arches with golden pillars-a result of painstakingly cut Styrofoam painted in gold. The small surrounding area in front, where Varma Babu usually parked his car, was done up as a Shinto garden with fiber glass swans and ducks, floating on a small plastic held water body with live gold fish. Till date, this had been Poltu Da’s best effort. He was convinced that this year the puja would get a visit from the local daily and would get written about- after all non descript pumas held in building societies were getting a mention. He had filed a nomination with the Best Puja Pandal Contest. He had done so in the earlier year too but there had been neither a response nor a visit.

But Poltu Da was not taking any chance this year. Roy Sahab had just acquired the third floor flat in the Umang Towers,after selling off his ancestral house in the para . A ten storey structure that housed thirty flats and overshadowed the para both by its its presence and seeming opulence. Roy Sahab worked as a Senior Officer in the Information Department and had assured that the Pandal would be visited by the Jury. He had spoken to someone. According to Roy Sahab, the Jury consisted of invited members of the Society, two from the publication, a few artists and a danseuse. They were accompanied by members of the sponsor- a peculiar medley of a local FM radio station, a travel bag maker, a sweet shop chain and a sari company.

The almost quiet reverie of the afternoon was broken by the hurried entry of Poltu Da. He almost ran in and announced to no one in particular:

“Asche.”

Ma had come a few days earlier, as had the idols. The pandal had already been inaugurated by the local councilor. The caterers had set shop and all the stalls were manned. The dhakis were seated on the bench allocated to them, the pujari was sleeping in one corner of the pandal,witing for arti time .The only ones left to come were the Jury and the way Poltu Ds voiced ‘ asche’, which was a fusion of awe, respect and reverence left no doubt who he meant was coming.

As if on cue, Gopal Da scurried toward the back area of the pandal to the make shift kitchen. His job was to cater to the guests : a banana, one samosa,two sweets and a vegetarian Pattie was to be served in a paper plate that if not held on an outstretched palm would empty its contents. There was also the offer of warm Frooti or luke warm, horribly sweet chai in medicine dose size plastic cups.

The entourage arrived fifteen minutes later. The three cars that came in a convoy had the imposing words VIP printed in red on a paper and stuck on the windshield. The total jury had divided themselves into three groups and this visiting group had five members and two accompanying photographers- who had probably discovered thejoys of DLSRs a few months ago, three security personnel and of course the inevitable car drivers. Each looked more pompous than the other.

The visit lasted but a few minutes with the Jury asking questions, referring occasionally to an evaluation sheet in their hands. A few pen strokes were added to it.

Gopal Da’s plates were not much appreciated though the security personnel and drivers demolished the offer and pocketed the juice packetsand trooped back to the cars.

The Senior Jury nodded to Roy Sahab and smiled, and after a cursory look around, signaled a departure. Poltu Da and Roy Sahab escorted them out and saw them to their cars. The slam of the last door prompted the lead car to initiate a short siren and the convoy snaked past a host of pandal hoppers, some envious of them and many disdainful. Poltu Da and Roy Sahab walked back and sat in the front of the pandal.

“Cha ” commanded Poltu Da with a look towards the kitchen. Gopal Da hurried to order it. The few committee members drew up the red chairs and sat in a circle to discuss the visit. Roy Sahab and Singh Sir sat next to Poltu Da.

A few mornings later the results were announced. The idols had been immersed and the tent company was now taking down the bamboo structure, tossing them from their heights adding to the collection of faded carpets, plastic chairs and a deflated plastic pool .Varma Babus car had still not moved in and was still parked in his wife’s brother’s house. The car keys were with Varma Babu.

Poltu Da, Gopal Da, Roy Sahab and Singh Sir sat on the steps of the house of Gopal Da. It was early morning but the sun had decided to make a presence. Singh Sir almost snatched the DailyGraph from Ronodeep who had been sent to fetcha copy and opened the supplement. The tabloid was full of photos of other Puja pandals, of celebs that had graced the pandals, of film stars and models, socialites and designers, chefs and five star hotel managers,a few industrialists and expat consul members, members of a school alumni association and more but there was no mention of Singh Sirs’ Puja .Not a photo, not a line, not a mention, save that it featured in the long list of Pujas that were adjudged. The list was not even alphabetical.

Singh Sir handed the newspaper to Poltu Da who kept it on his lap without reading it. No one said a word. Poltu Da wiped the sweat on his brow with the back of his right hand and looked almost accusingly at Roy Sahab and, true to his style of speaking in monosyllables, said, almost in a gruff tone:”Gorom “.