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Lord Vishwakarma has paved the way and Mother Goddess Durga is coming in less than a month. Bengal and Bengalis are obviously on roll as their favorite season is knocking on the door and if enjoying is the case, if celebrating is concerned, anywhere that has a hint of Bengali odor; be it Kolkata's Beniatola lane to Birmingham and Suruchi Sangha to San Francisco, not a petal of excitement is amiss. As the biggest franchises and clubs or associations hardly take a breath in this getting ready time lets talk about the darkness that dons below the lamps.
The sound decibel limit has been extended not to mention the unrestricted use of crackers in some parts of the city and everywhere the Puja is celebrated; not taking into account the ailing, babies or people who may have problem with it. The latest inventions up this alley are nothing near to happiness or celebrations of light and sound. As the flavor of the season rises, we tend to forget the fine line between sound and noise. Our Puja and my Puja. Who cares? It's Puja , man.
The liquors and the alcohols have a free run as the seasoned drinkers and prolific 'rich' wash up their happiness with a little spirit of the Puja. The rest 'Kawra-baji' or the circus that follows after that are hard to wash up with anything and the pain stick to those people's asses who have nothing to do with. Not with those people, not with the locality. And sometimes not with the Pujas even. but who cares? It's the Puja, man.
The bikers are the most anticipated evil that needs to be recruited to the position of the 'Mahisasur'. The free run, drunk traffic guards, happy constables and Traffic sergeants always happy to receive small amounts of bounty never turn their asses to those crushing crashing and bashing the streets in the 'high-spirits'. The complains fall to deaf ears and the troubles fall on pedestrians. But who cares? It's Puja , man.
The noise of people talking and crackers bursting drown the voices of other evils taking place in this very heart of the city. The acts that are not supposed to happen to people. That are not supposed to happen to anybody. Drugs are spread, kidnapping is high, child labor increases and accidents in the form of both vehicular as well as social occur too much. Rapes and molestation are side effects and what not to say. It seems that some peoples celebrations become bother people's night mare and the onus lies on us but we are too busy spiking our hair with gel to see whether some are even smiling or not. It's not my brutal intention to glum the enjoyment. After all when we enjoy the traders awaits customers, while we move pandal to pandal addas to addas, the drivers and cab-owners keeps the city moving and the Police and the doctors; all those people who deserve a salute for staying apart from the family in the festive season for their duty. If so much toil goes into making the descend of mother Goddess into her arty abode smooth; isn't it our duty to complete the cycle.
But yet we fail every year at our resolution to be a better man. A better person. And when we, if ever notice something not in order we choose to ignore. Why? IS it because it does not belong to us or because there are other people who belong to the same responsible circle to set things in order? Nothing. No answers. Yet when everything ends and it's time to think about the next year we don't swear on being a better man. But we shout, as Goddess Durga is immersed into the water, '' Asche Bocchor abar hobe.." That it would happen next year. Same thing no change. We don't learn from mistakes. We don't learn from past. And the only questions left by the blank stares of the victims of celebrations are met with only one answer. It's Puja, man.
Then how can we spread the happiness.
How can we bring equality? And how can we celebrate the festival; when while one awaits the moments, somewhere a tearful eye sighs...
SHIT!! It's Puja, man.
Happy reading.
Lord Vishwakarma has paved the way and Mother Goddess Durga is coming in less than a month. Bengal and Bengalis are obviously on roll as their favorite season is knocking on the door and if enjoying is the case, if celebrating is concerned, anywhere that has a hint of Bengali odor; be it Kolkata's Beniatola lane to Birmingham and Suruchi Sangha to San Francisco, not a petal of excitement is amiss. As the biggest franchises and clubs or associations hardly take a breath in this getting ready time lets talk about the darkness that dons below the lamps.
The sound decibel limit has been extended not to mention the unrestricted use of crackers in some parts of the city and everywhere the Puja is celebrated; not taking into account the ailing, babies or people who may have problem with it. The latest inventions up this alley are nothing near to happiness or celebrations of light and sound. As the flavor of the season rises, we tend to forget the fine line between sound and noise. Our Puja and my Puja. Who cares? It's Puja , man.
The liquors and the alcohols have a free run as the seasoned drinkers and prolific 'rich' wash up their happiness with a little spirit of the Puja. The rest 'Kawra-baji' or the circus that follows after that are hard to wash up with anything and the pain stick to those people's asses who have nothing to do with. Not with those people, not with the locality. And sometimes not with the Pujas even. but who cares? It's the Puja, man.
The bikers are the most anticipated evil that needs to be recruited to the position of the 'Mahisasur'. The free run, drunk traffic guards, happy constables and Traffic sergeants always happy to receive small amounts of bounty never turn their asses to those crushing crashing and bashing the streets in the 'high-spirits'. The complains fall to deaf ears and the troubles fall on pedestrians. But who cares? It's Puja , man.
The noise of people talking and crackers bursting drown the voices of other evils taking place in this very heart of the city. The acts that are not supposed to happen to people. That are not supposed to happen to anybody. Drugs are spread, kidnapping is high, child labor increases and accidents in the form of both vehicular as well as social occur too much. Rapes and molestation are side effects and what not to say. It seems that some peoples celebrations become bother people's night mare and the onus lies on us but we are too busy spiking our hair with gel to see whether some are even smiling or not. It's not my brutal intention to glum the enjoyment. After all when we enjoy the traders awaits customers, while we move pandal to pandal addas to addas, the drivers and cab-owners keeps the city moving and the Police and the doctors; all those people who deserve a salute for staying apart from the family in the festive season for their duty. If so much toil goes into making the descend of mother Goddess into her arty abode smooth; isn't it our duty to complete the cycle.
But yet we fail every year at our resolution to be a better man. A better person. And when we, if ever notice something not in order we choose to ignore. Why? IS it because it does not belong to us or because there are other people who belong to the same responsible circle to set things in order? Nothing. No answers. Yet when everything ends and it's time to think about the next year we don't swear on being a better man. But we shout, as Goddess Durga is immersed into the water, '' Asche Bocchor abar hobe.." That it would happen next year. Same thing no change. We don't learn from mistakes. We don't learn from past. And the only questions left by the blank stares of the victims of celebrations are met with only one answer. It's Puja, man.
Then how can we spread the happiness.
How can we bring equality? And how can we celebrate the festival; when while one awaits the moments, somewhere a tearful eye sighs...
SHIT!! It's Puja, man.
Happy reading.
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