Subir Roy: Pujas made for Bangalore

OFFBEAT

The architect with whom I shared the dais at the discussion on the challenges of globalisation could not hide his fascination with the way the pujas, just round the corner, are celebrated in Kolkata. He was overwhelmed by a Discovery Channel documentary which depicted how, despite a sea of surging humanity, things remained under control. I realised I was getting rootless and promised myself I would celebrate the pujas a little more this time than I normally did.

Bangalore hosts well over 30 pujas, so there were enough to go to. We began at the beginning by visiting on saptami day what was billed as the oldest puja in town, on for 37 years, always at the same place and as robust as ever.

Reaching the place, down a narrow street jammed with cars and late monsoon muck was an act of faith but was worth it when you saw the images "" quietly splendid, done in the traditional dakershaj style.

A couple of software bigwigs stood around, relaxed and unselfconscious, we discussed where one could pick up an Anandabazar group puja special number and I was ready to put the hassle of getting there behind me and do what all good Bengalis do at community pujas, locate and down a mughlai paratha and get the regulation heartburn.

But the attempt to get near the food stalls threatened to banish the good feeling. Long waits and doubtful cooking hygiene were par for the course. But could not the organisers have sprayed a bit of sand to counter the rain-soaked soggy clay in which your sandalled feet quickly sank? After all, the area was not too large.

But what was much worse was the way people simply dumped paper plates and leftovers right there in that muddy muck as dustbins were few and overflowing. The discordant note was made worse by the group dance number on at the stage next to the puja enclosure. It was a salad of poor Bollywood and fake folk tossed together with discordant notes.

Getting out of the lane was painful, with a Maruti van sunk in the roadside mud blocking the traffic. A software CEO scolded his driver in immaculate English for having carelessly kept his cellphone off and I realised that here again was Bangalore in a microcosm, appalling civic conditions tolerated by the highly professional.

The next evening being mahaashtami, the big day, we decided to visit the biggest puja in town. The grounds were huge, the car park was a half-lit field with overgrown grass and as I stepped out, my feet sank into inches of soft mud. This place is too big for anyone to spray sand, I rationalised, and gingerly pretended this was like puja in the countryside when the rains had overstayed.

The images were again as pleasing and sublime as ever, large numbers of people sat around and chatted amiably and things would have been fine but for the horrid music from the stage nearby, a tuneless mixture of folk and rock.

But the good feeling left as I looked for a stall to pick up some books or music. There was just one selling Ananda Publishers titles, no stall selling music and endless others serving food to overdressed people who ate heartily and merrily dumped empty plates and leftovers on the soggy mud.

We ate our regulation anda-paratha roll, added to the litter on the ground, and drove off. My car was more mud-caked than literally ever. I felt glad the architect hadn't come with us.