Shubho Bijoya

There are times when I regret not blogging in my native tongue. Few minutes ago while watching Belur Math’s thakur bhasan on tv I again felt a pang of that regret. Every year, every single year when Ma’s idol hits the water and it sounds jhopang I realize the inevitable lump in my throat doesn’t speak any other language but Bangla and Bangla only. Every year I think I have grown up this year; I am not going to cry. And then Navami nishi comes and the lump begins to build up. By the time the idol boards the mini-truck and Ma’s vermilion smeared face suddenly starts to look unbelievably alive in dying yellow light my self-control betrays me. My vision goes blurred and I have to make excuses to people for leaving the Bijoya gathering. I look at my eyes, the tip of the nose in the mirror and wonder. Even after all this time? Where do you keep all this innocent sentiment you silly girl? I don’t have an answer. I am just having a hard time taming this engulfing emptiness in my chest that I have been feeling on every single Bijoya Dashami since I learned how to feel. Wasn't it only last week I was coming home from work and they were taking Her to the pandals? Didn't I look at Her cellophane covered face and prayed for Pujo to get over as quickly as possible this year? And yet here I am trying hard not to make any silly typo owing to my temporarily compromised vision. Ma is going home. The countdown for next year will begin as soon as the day gets over. The promises of next year’s celebration will start flying about. Everyone’s facebook, instagram feed will be flooded with Pujo moments until Diwali. So many things will change in this coming 365 days. So many endings await. So many new beginnings will follow. And the sentimental Bengali’s life will go on until he will start rejoicing in the thrilling promise of Pujo asche!

Shubho Bijoya'r priti o shubheccha sobbaike. Asche bochhor abar hobe.

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