The Durgo Pujo species

<i>DNA</i> profiles the various species of Bongs you’re likely to encounter in a Pujo pandal.

Talcum powder dida
Ask most pandals in the city what’s special about their pujo and amongst many answers, there will be one reply that will be common:

“We take special care of senior citizens inside the pandal. Bhog is served to them; they do not need to stand in a queue.” Indeed, for most of Mumbai’s veteran Bengalis, many of whom generally remain indoors, pujo is one of those rare occasions when they step out and socialise with the rest of the Bong community.

So they come in ones (the widows), they come in twos (the old couples), dressed in starched sharees and dhuti panjabis, their bodies bent with the pressures of a lifetime spent feeding their children maachher jhol bhaat. Notice the distinct sprinkling of talcum powder around their neck, face and shoulders, you almost want to smile in sympathy and respect, remembering the times when dressing up meant lots of powder puff.

‘Commeettee’ member kaku
He is the one who you turn to blame, if the pujo pandal chairs are half broken or if the payesh in the bhog is watery. Wearing a sweaty kurta pajama, revealing some of his chest hair and the ganjee inside, he’ll be spotted restless with all the running around to ensure that the bhog is distributed on time.

Prior to the pujo, he leads the collection of donations and funds for the “shongho” or “commeettee”  (hence the name ‘commeettee kaku’) that is responsible for putting the pujo together.

Most likely to land up at your doorstep a month before festivities begin, he displays an uncanny ability to remember exactly how much you donated for pujo the previous year and expects you to part with double that amount this year. At a journalist’s house, he’s likely to say, “Please come and cover our pujo! Your rival newspaper called me up today.”

The Obhimaani parent
Most Bengalis like to think of themselves as achievers. If you ever see a talent hunt show on TV, observe the expressions of any Bengali contestant’s parents.

It’s always, “You better win, or else I’ll give you only shukno lonka (dry chillies) for dinner” or “I’ll give you the thrashing of your life, if you don’t sing that song well.” With such immense pressures on them throughout, Bengali kids who participate in the drawing competition — characteristic of most pujos — compete hard to win the top prize. And when they win, their parents leave no stone unturned in announcing this news to whoever they meet.

Conversations which run into dry air are resurrected with the achievements of “aamar chhele” (my son) or “aamar may” (my daughter), with each trying to outdo the other. And when the kids grow up, the opening lines change into, “My son called from Boston...” or “My bou ma (daughter-in-law) sent me a lovely sharee from the States”...

The little maestros of Rabindra Sangeet
What is a Bengali gathering without some poetry and Saregama? Recitation, theatre and the sound of music are essential ingredients of Bengali culture. In families with a certain literary grounding, it is common courtesy for parents to ask their children to recite some lines from Tagore (Shakespeare and Robert Frost, if they’re snobbish) in front of visitors.

At Durga Pujo, these children get to flaunt their recitation skills with full gusto in front of the entire local community, damned if they are listening, damned if they are not. If you were to remember a Durga Pujo by sounds alone, you’d hear a mix of classical music, general chatter and Tagore’s poetry being recited over revolting microphones and loudspeakers.

Occasionally, you’ll see an enthusiastic parent who will rise and clap, reminding you that it is actually the pujo pandal where Karan Johar draws inspiration for his scripts from.

Bitchy Kakima
The Bengali kakima of your dreams can be from a Wild Stone deodorant TV commercial, but in reality she doesn’t fit that image at all. At a pujo pandal, she’ll be decked up in the best sharee shopped from Kolkata.

Shaakha on her wrists, alta on her feet, and ek chutki shidoor on her forehead and adorned in jewellery, you’ll find her gregarious, chatty, until...until...until....she spots a woman who in her view, is ‘revealing too much’ or ‘inappropriately dressed for a pujo atmosphere’.

This showstopper woman ends up being the root of her insecurity. Typically, bitchy kakima is likely to target any lady who enters the pandal in T-shirt and jeans.

Letcherbaaz
Take this in writing. Young Bengali lads in pujo pandal, after exchanging pleasantries and finishing the ‘what-have-you-been-uptos’, will come straight to guy talk.

“Not much eye-candy this year,” they shall admit, after thoroughly scanning the women gravely, as they stand in the queue for bhog. But since there’s inevitably some cricket going on during Dussehra, men will become men again and get talking about the game once the bhog has been eaten, digested and burped out in content calls of “Oh Maago!”

Bengali Matrimony dot com
Kakus and kakimas, jethus and jethimas. Admit it. The first time you met your spouse informally, was at a Durga pujo pandal. You eyed her from a distance, praying to Goddess Durga (who didn’t take long to be summoned) that he/she look in your direction. They say one should never search for a spouse-to-be at a wedding or a party, because the person is always dressed in their glamourous best, a far cry from the real thing.

Pujo is the only occasion where pretty young things (PYTs) dress appropriately, closest to what a guy would describe as ‘cultured’. Introductions happen, “Banerjee-da, meet my daughter Debanjona..”, “Ghosh-da, meet me son, Nobendu..” The rest is history.

Uninterested youngster
Most likely to have bunked college or skipped office to visit pujo with his parents, his/her pujo outing is all about the food. Also known as the typical next-generation Bengali snob, he will consume the best that Bengali culture has to offer — the sweets, the vegetable chops, and chowmein at the food stalls in the pandal — but he will not have any sense of pride about his Bengali roots.

Expect to see him telling someone on his cell phone, “I’m getting so bored yaar...I don’t know anyone in this pandal, except my parents. What are you guys doing?”