Calcutta has become the home of LED light art. Every Festival, mind you we have many, the main streets are decked with lights as if an installation is being created on the streets. The city that usually goes back home by nine and sleeps by ten, finds a burst of activity on such occasions. The first was Durga Puja, then Kali Puja followed by Id and Chatth puja. Come festival and you can be sure that some arterial road would be blocked.
On Christmas it was Eliot street and Park Street. Eliot street is home to St. Pauls Cathedral and it closed by 4:00 pm on Christmas. Park Street is where the sea of humanity, a major part of a highly populated city of a highly populated country, descends to “see the lights”. The second vocation of all Bengalis is eating. Kakori kababs , puchkas and jhalmuri compete with plum cakes, Christmas mince pies and turkey pies on this street alone.
I must appreciate efforts of the local Kolkata Police. They barricaded two ways along the street, one way up and the other down. I wondered if any entertainment happened in the open space between the barricades.
“None today” said a friendly policeman on duty, ” Everyone just goes straight up, eats from the stalls or the restaurants, then turns around and goes back.
We did exactly that; picking up a parcel from Flurrys, a well known tea shop; before leaving the street with moments always to cherish.
It was maddening traffic outside. A yellow cab, some white ubers, motely crowd of audi, honda and few others were stuck on the red light as a procession for immersion slowly weaved its way on the road. A clay figurine of a God, probably Vishwakarma, the celestial architect and craftsman, was being taken for immersion after its puja. The young boys accompanying the idol enjoy a smoke between shouting slogans, the wind blowing the ashes right on top of the face of the deity.
Sometimes one wonders how many puja can there be. In Calcutta, each day becomes a day of puja, with the queen of all puja, the Durga Puja, stopping everything in mid for ten days. And we are only talking about the Hinduism culture. On another days there are the various forms of Id and sometimes innocent people sleeping are woken with sounds of exploding crackers at three in the morning , as another procession for Chhaat makes way, a primarily bihari migrant population festival.
Days without puja seem to be few and far in between. Noisy processions stop life midway. Commerce depends on these festivals. The central avenues get blocked and traffic stands waiting. In other cities while the policemen tell traffic to stop, in Calcutta, the policemen actually go on the street and wave the traffic to move ahead quickly as people and drivers slowly crawl on the road.
Such is the movement and languid pace of a city, once been and lost somewhere in its crowded culture.
It’s raining. The sun is about to set. We needed to reach across the river to the Dakshineshwar Kali temple from Belur Math.
The story of the Math (pronounced “mutth”) started from a dream. Queen Rukmini of Bengal had a vision of goddess Kaali instructing her to build a temple on the banks of the Hooghly river. A priest, Ramakrishna Parmahanas was detailed with the worship. Some years later after his death, a disciple of the priest, Swami Vivekanand established the Belur math on the opposite side of the shore.
When you visit the Math, you get a sense of cleanliness and discipline. It has none of the commercial frills and fancies associated with an Indian religious place.
Later that evening, I skimmed through the book that I purchased from the store during my visit.
It spoke about how there is a field of energy all around us and within us. Between each cell, protons, electrons is the energy force. Basics physics. It lead me to visualise the chart below. Can you make sense?
Just over a hundred kilometers from where the periphery of Mumbai city ends, a stretch of road takes us to the eastward side, where basalt rock formations dot the landscape. The landscape is dry and dotted with thorny trees, quite a contrast from the lush lonavala road.
“This falls in the rain shadow area” explains my colleague.
We look at wonder at the miraculous formations springing up as we go further.
If you are familiar with Indian Mythology, you would have heard of Lord Ram and the story of Ramayana. According to the story, an exiled King Ram stayed with his wife, Sita and brother Laxman in a hut in the Dandaka forest. That place is said to be in Nasik from where the Demon King Ravana had kidnapped the Queen Sita. Looking for his wife, the Lord Ram then travelled on foot for a day until he reached the edge of the land where the sea starts. He was thirsty, so his brother Laxman shot an arrow into the ground from where sprang fresh sweet water. This place is today called “Banganga” and lies hidden and forgotten in the plush locality of Malabar hill in Bombay.
If you were to roam around Bull Temple Road area early morning in Bangalore, you would perhaps see more flower and fruit sellers than other places. Women in swishing silk saris and the smell of filter coffee and freshly made Mangalore bun in the cafe across jostle for space with McDonald’s. An electric car which still looks in beta stage is parked outside the idli joint facing the temple.
Cubbon park on a Sunday morning appears no different from central park, till of course you get into the interiors. It is there another world exists which is non-tech-ed, non-gizmo-ed and unrelated, strangely though part of the same whole.