Girls of today no longer cook like their mothers but surely drink/smoke like their fathers

The latter part of the statement might look a little offensive to a few but nevertheless the statement precisely tries to capture the simple changes in the social lives that our generation has witnessed. The change was inevitable with the change in millennium and we the kids of today might consider ourselves lucky to see it in the happening. 

As a male of the late twenties, I admit that this abrupt change in social standing has deeper repercussions in our lives and I am sympathetic to my friends out there who are in the same boat. We are the innocent bunch of idiots who believed that our lives would end without an actual personal visit to the forbidden room of the house, the most magical of all 'The Kitchen'. The nomenclature seems amusing is it ? well how else do you explain the stinking fishes, smelly garlic, soiled vegetables and other such items entering the room and out comes on a dish the most beautiful creation of all, that satisfies 4 out of the 5 senses (viz. sight, smell, touch & taste). A closer look might reveal that they are washed cut and then put into the Frying pan and as if by sorcery after a few pinches of salt, spices and an intermittent pattern of turning the ladle your dish is ready and served on the table. It is a different thing that we never put much thought about it once it is on the table as we are then busy savoring it. As a kid you are almost always swat away from that room, often due to the sharp and dangerous utensils that are left unattended in that area of the house.  While growing up even when you at times had the urge to unravel the mystery, you are either put down or ridiculed to even have made an attempt. The girls on the other hand seem to have a right to enter that room but the ones with whom we grew up with even renounced that. I am sure that a great deal of knowledge might have lived and died with the lady of the house. Alas the most important stake holders of the recipe, we the guys of today might be loosing everything if we don't stand up, not as a protest but in an attempt to at least keep the home cooked tradition alive.

One such day  in my life when I was fed up with the occasional visits to the eateries where either the food was too greasy or too spicy. It takes much to see in life and years of travelling away from home to actually realize that home cooked food might not be a taken for granted thing anymore. You keep begging the hotel owners, with an added incentives but you never get your taste buds satisfied. We than feel apologetic to the times when we used to whine and be choosy as to what was in lunch while today we gladly accept what the others have to offer with a basic expectation on the table but even that is barely satisfied. During such hard times I pulled up my socks or rather a simple jute bag and went to the nearby vegetable shops that I found typical of 'Rajajinagara' a residential area in the not so modern parts of Bengaluru. Instead of what today's generation might get back to for a quick fix I was quite an old-fashioned , partly due to inadequacy of internet connectivity and primarily because it would not be wrong to term me a person close to his mother.... OK OK I get it I am a 'mamma's boy ', well all your taste buds were seasoned after consuming her food for almost 18 prime years of your lives and going back to the source is what seemed legit. I called her up as usual to mark my attendance, yes my mother expects a call everyday as if it is an attendance register and any act of absence will be dealt with harsh emotional rebuke resulting in compensation for the lost time on the following days.  Well on that occasion, I ,answering her most important question ' Have you had your food?'/" Khana khaya?"/"Khaisos?" with no general response but an honest plea of unraveling the mystery of cooking. Housewives have always been seen to guard that one knowledge that seems to give them the important respectable position in the family. Numerous examples are hovering my mind but the one that aptly and subtly supports the claim is the scene from the Ray classic ' Ashani Sanket' where after a hard day work the main protagonist who is a learned Brahman overwhelmed with satisfaction from the food served asks the mystery behind. 'Babita' who plays his wife replies that he is a learned man and the whole village acknowledges his wisdom, as his wife he demands the same respect with her unique culinary skills.
Well anyhow with the little guidance that she was able to give me on the phone I took the ladle and other tools, holding them like swords and shield to conquer the territories of mankind that was actually aloof from men. I don't know what came out of it and don't remember how things went on, but may be through numerous attempts and trying them on hungry guinea pigs who happen to be my room mates or friends who came to visit me, I gathered the basic idea of making a dish which is not a bad development after all. Now at least I am confident that I can make something out of a bunch of edible raw materials and present something on the table that might not be a culinary delight but not a disaster either. It is said that the knowledge transfer from a Guru to the disciple reaches a mile stone when you are able to outperform the Guru. May be it's a great expectation but glad that it already started, for instance I can use the knife better than her or make perfect sunny side ups. Since my sister would never venture this area I really feel about a special family recipes that I was introduced to as the "Paul Saaag". Seems after the death of my grandparents my mother reserves the patented rights to prepare that, hope I will prove to be a rightful heir.
My experiences in this foreign land might also develop many of my competencies or rather reveal many which I already have.The best thing about a person from the Indian subcontinent is that we are pretty well versed with the spices. Now I understand why the western world was so eager to visit India, our spices actually make them crazy. Even an average preparation would pass by them as the best dish of the day or even their lives. With the arrangements that I see a normal European kitchen to be equipped with, the possibilities seems endless.
Saying this I suddenly realize that was not the first I had ventured in the kitchen, it was when my maa ordered me to make 'Chaa' or Tea. I remember how I lit the match and held it to the burner of the gas stove and in contrary to the usual golden yellow flame that we see in fire , I was amazed at the cool blue light. The water filled vessel mounted on  top of it with bubbles forming random  patterns and circling the pan in a whirlpool, to which I sprinkled the tea granules. Magically in the same pattern the colorless fluid kept taking the brownish tinge that darkened with time. If this is not magic what is ?

দূর্গা পূজা, the 3 sides of the same coin

If you have the slightest tinge of blood flowing in your veins out of which Bengal is made up of, you will surely go crazy at this time of the year.It might not be a good idea to describe it by comparing with similar events that happen at this time of the year in India, by this I mean the likes of  "Dandiya" and "Garba". People will then definitely miss the core idea and flavor that this festival represents. 

Let me get started with mythology or rather it might be apt to view them as legends or just exaggeration of mere historical events.Took place after the DevAsur Sangram, which can be compared to some kind of a World War that might have happened at that point of time. The capital A in the middle (DevAsur) is put knowingly to bring out the superhuman attributes that we attribute to the two group of people who were always seen at daggers end.  The Devas (The blessed lot) and the Asuras (The not so lucky ones). As per me it was nothing but the Aryans and the Dravidians the two large group of races which inhabits almost all of the Indian subcontinent that exists today. The Devas had tricked the Asuras in attaining the potion which provided longer life or arguably immortality. Now since the reason for the war is justified lets move ahead in the story and learn that the Asuras were left in rags and after that two brothers named "Rambha" and "Karambha" were bent on to safeguard their identity or the Asura lineage thorough toil and penance towards the two of the basic elements, fire and water. The king of Devas named Indra again tricked them and managed to kill one of them. The survivor Rambha managed to become powerful and out of very comic circumstances fell in love with a water buffalo and a son was born out of them whom we popularly know as "Mahisasur". That explains a lot how he could turn easily to a  Buffalo (Mahish). He went on to become more powerful and managed to receive a boon from Mahadev (The third of the three main gods of Hinduism). On being refused immortality he tried to get a boon that was equally powerful and hence as a rule of elimination tried to mention all the types of people who would not be able to kill him. Considering woman to be mere weaklings he didn't bother to mention them and hence left the loophole which one day brought his downfall. Convinced that he was invincible he went on conquering and left everything in chaos It was then necessary to stop him and hence it is said that the female forms of the Trinity combined to form a goddess who had all the power of the universe(Shakti), expert in sorcery(Mahamaya) and was invincible (Durga). I still remember the video they used to show on the day of "Mahalaya" which is considered to be the birthday of Maa Durga and it marks the starting day of the festival as well. In that they showed that all the weapons that the Gods had were bestowed on her. She was the epitome of beauty, power and strength, most aptly the representation of Womanhood . Mahisasura lured by her charm and strength wanted to conquer her and died in that attempt after the ten day long battle. The battle took place on the "Chamundi Hills" and from the name 'Mysuru' present day 'Mysore' derives it's name. 

An interesting fact is that it happened during the spring time and hence Basanti Puja is what is left of that actual incident which I think very few people are nowadays aware of. It was in the Treta Yuga or the time of Lord Rama when he required to get all the power possible to kill Ravana and due to lack of time to wait till Spring time, he forcibly called the Goddess Durga during the Autumn .The present day Durga Puja is hence also called as "Okal Bodhon" or the untimely summon. 

Having made the background clear lets get to the more recent days. I still need some time to come to the exact present day as there are more of the story that needs to be revealed. Durga as the source of strength was regularly worshiped and hence the tradition was born. Due to the hugeness of the festival it was rather not possible for any tom dick and harry to arrange or manage it. And looking at the economic system of the then Bengal, it was clear that only the landlords or the 'Zamindars' were wealthy enough to perform that. Even though the commoners protested by arranging by themselves after collecting money and making the so called tradition of ' Sarvojonin Dugotsav' or the public celebration of the worship of Durga. This also has led to the evil practices of forcibly asking for donations which defies the main idea of donation as per my opinion. Getting back to the topic of discussion it was much like a worship during the day and in the evening it was merrymaking with the magical beats of the pair of drum instruments called " Dhak and Dhol". So strong and magical were the beats that the players of the instruments called ' Dhakis' would happily bear the after effects of spine damage and other complications due to continuous playing of the heavy instrument. To keep up to the tempo they sometimes indulged in opium as well. Although an independent form was developing but the traditional Durga Puja remained in the hands of the elite.

Probably one of them was my distant grandfather belonging to my bloodline who started that in our house. I don't think anyone among my friends will be able to remember how a traditional idol for the occasion was made, other than the 'Kumhartuli' or the area  of the clay artisans. Well I had an advantageous first hand information in that matter as the idol that was worshiped in our house was totally made in our house and the artisan used to come before the puja, stay for months to give final shapes to the so called 'Durga Protima' or the idol of Durga. I used to manage bunking classes to just visit my grandfather's house after crossing the border in not so legal ways and see it in the making. I can distinctly remember the way the bamboo pieces were placed and tied to form the base. Then the main structure was visualized in a few bamboo stick which looked awkward to a random eye but to the eyes of the artisan it was his god. The artisans were so devoted that they used to take bath before working on it as if it was no less than a serious worship. I still remember how they put the hays and tied them together to form the rough naked structures of the gods and goddesses. It was on account of this that my great great grandfather didn't want it to be made that way as for a great period of time the idols would look naked before they were adorned with a sari, the traditional dress for the women of India. Our family legend says that Maa Durga visited my grandfather in his dreams and scolded him about the form that was made and as a result the idol in our house had to be made totally of mud including the sari. There were basically two types of mud used. One was that of the sticky black kind that we find near the river banks which forms the inner layer and gave strength to the idol while the upper layer was spread with mud having high percentage of sand in it which was softer and ideal for small etches and other minute details that needed to be put on the idol. Only recently had I come to know that it was compulsory to use the mud from the living area of the Whorehouses in idol making, how the tradition came to its form is still a puzzle for me. Well anyways the idols would then be left to dry in the sun when cracks came up on the surface. Much of expertise and precision was employed to correct them and than came the time of painting. Perhaps the vivid colors that I saw them mixing, gave me the inspiration to play with them and make a painter out of myself, having not much paintings to my credit. It was interesting how they used to finish the whole idol but always left the eyes white. It seemed as if they were not idols of Goddesses but eyeless, lifeless ghosts. The artisans used to tell me that the eyes are a reflection of the self and its presence and absence will be a depiction of  the person's existence and non-existence respectively. It was believed that once the eyes were made the idol would come to life. I used to laugh at them till I personally saw it and was amazed as the idols do turn life like just after drawing the eyes, which usually happened on the Mahalaya.

The next few days would just be a wait until the idol was unveiled on the sixth day which marks the beginning of the festival. Everyday I was excited to fast till the puja was over and when I got the chance to chant prayers three times in succession offering flowers and trifoliated leaves of Bel. I even seemed to remember by heart the mantras and felt as if I knew a lot of ancient scriptures, just to forget them in some days and get reminded in the next puja. The best part was playing  the "Kaasha" with the dhaakis. I had a good sense of rhythm and that made me be a good companion to them . My big brother sometimes claimed that in a period of five days of the pujas he used to beat the Kaasha so hard that by the end of the puja it would break. I believed him totally and used to dream in amazement of the day when I would be that strong. After all its really an effort to break a solid metal drum like instrument by repeated banging with the small wooden branch usually from the jack fruit or mango tree. 
On the tenth day when the idol was taken towards the pond or river to be drowned, I have no idea how everyone seemed so sad for a life less idol who just happen to be there for five days. I guess you have to get involved in the puja to actually feel the pain on the tenth day or Dashami. My mother and my other family members used to sob like anything and perhaps that primarily made me sad and there are some instances I too remember the warm fluid running down my own cheeks. In short this was what this festival meant in the not so distant past to a guy like me.

Coming to the present day everything seems to change or  some parts of the celebration definitely lost it's importance. All I can  associate with 'Pujo' is the new set of clothes from all of my relatives which made it easy to change my attire twice or thrice in a day during the puja. It was partly to satisfy the expectations of the relatives who gifted you the dress and mostly because that was the time you showed off your best look. After all during that time of the year the boys could wear the most sough after fashion statement ' The jacket' due to the weather which was apt and not cold enough that your parents would chase you to wear  the infamous 'monkey cap'. I am sure the girls also saved their best dresses so as to be the center of attraction with young boys drooling them over. Well admit it,  that at this time of the year every street where puja is celebrated becomes a ramp with models walking around.  Puja also means non stop electricity, yes in India it is something very rare and till today I cannot figure out how they managed that only during that time of the year. Puja also means that the buddies you grew up with or the so called 'Chuddy Buddy' will all be back to their respective home. And being from a small time without exception all might have left to bigger cities or abroad in search of better opportunities. Only at that time could you find the houses with their rightful owners and seems you are able to walk down the memory lane, along with laughter and chatter all night long. As it is the only time of the year when the kids are allowed to roam freely without any fear through out the night and as a kid from a small town it is something of an impossible made possible. People use this once in a year opportunity to just do Pandal hopping and each and every street is in open competition in display of  their power either in money, lighting arrangement, glitters, display of sophisticated art or it's likes. The themes that they have are sometimes so expensive and mesmerizing that you would rather see the glittering Eiffel Tower as a pandal than go to Paris to view the original. These were the times when anything was possible, every dream could come true. Some of my friends considered it the apt time for flirting and I know some who even proposed.

I perhaps got the chance to see both the sides of the so called 'Durga Puja' with which we the Bengalees as a community are always associated with. Any depiction whatsoever of Bengalees are incomplete without the portrayal of a Durga Puja and the movie makers know that very well. Little did I know that there is a third perspective that was still obscured from my view which is visible to the "Probashi Bangali" a term which which can loosely be translated to the term Non Resident Indians only restricted to the Bengalee community.

My endeavors in Germany exposed  me to that as well. Firstly you need to convince yourself that there is great possible chance that you will not find any in your vicinity. But in the age of Internet nothing seems to be far away. If you give an honest look in google you will definitely find numerous forums, groups or other such updates which will eventually lead to some mention of Durga Puja and you end up finding one. Puja there has a totally different meaning. You feel for the first time at home although being seven oceans and thirteen rivers away from your homeland. You end up meeting other Bengalees whom you might have bumped into on the streets but suddenly on that day he seems all of a sudden your Bengali dada with the typical Panjabi ,although Pyjamas would definitely be replaced by a pair of jeans. You suddenly feel the urge to be obedient to the elders. Touching feet doesn't seem old fashioned, and the person who managed to wear the sari properly is a celebrity. You suddenly cannot bear to miss the beats of Dhaak. You discover more cool features of the puja like the 'Dhunuchi naach', the importance of Pushpanjali, the significance of using the number 108 and many more. The artist in you rise up for the neat and small arrangement of the Puja tent  also called as 'Montop'. You feel the necessity to have a concert with guitars and tabla playing to old and new tunes of Bengali and Hindi Songs. Even though you know you are missing the tempo or the Harmonium(similar to a piano) is not tuned with the song still the audience seem to love it and cheer you up encouraging you to move ahead perfectly fine as if it is an island of misfit toys. The fun frolic and all the arrangement needs to be wrapped up in a weekend as no one would dare to risk their professional lives for the puja. Immersing the idol as per the usual custom or in our term ' Bishorjon' might be a little different as they seem to like the idol so much that they keep it to be reused the coming year. And who can forget the special mutton dishes(Mutton Kasha)  that completes that day .

Being able to see all of these I as a Bengali am utterly confused and cannot find a concrete way of describing the festival which runs in my blood and is an irreplaceable facet of my identity.