Muhurto...

Muhurto'ra komte thake
Tophat'ra jaye bere
Muhurto'ra jomte thake
Dekhi pichon phire
Muhurto'ra kothaye chilo
Elo hothath kaache
Bujhte pari ora sobai
Chupti kore aache...

Ekta shokal...

Ekta shokal cholche kaal theke
Odekha neel onekta gaye mekhe
Ekta shokal laagche khub bhalo
Rod'ta kom onek ta tai alo
Ekta shokal onek kotha aane
Kichu'ta mone baki'ta tai prane
Ekta shokal koruk elomelo
Hoyeto tai shobur kore elo...

it all started with a divine disobedience...

Confession of an irreligious mind…or rooted in rootlessness

During this time of the year, when Autumn tiptoes into the pristine Bengali psyche letting a brewing festivity sweep through beating hearts in sweet anticipation of an imminent rendezvous called Durga Puja, I begin contemplating means to fit into that overwhelming scheme – often groping for some divine intervention. 

Why? Because I’m a brazenly irreligious fellow.

Being born into a Brahmin family I inherited my religion and cared for it just like any other heirloom – shelved and dusted occasionally - routinely bowing to deities wherever asked to. As ‘Divinity’ remained a nameless presence to me, I kept scouting for a ‘reason’ to align with the thought behind this grand affair, blend into a celebration that verily owed it root to religion. 

I am one of those who left home for good – an outcast by choice – gladly blending into a population remorselessly seeking empathy in the company of fellow outcasts. Any random recollection of my unripe years prompts joyous memories of accompanying Ma on her Puja shopping sprees, the scent of ‘Sharodiya’ magazines or the thrill at the prospect of donning new dresses during Puja days. Could that joy be disproved by any intrusive Rationality that I yielded to as I grew up? Perhaps I just traded simplicity for something unworthy, untenable, unsteady. I just grew up yet didn’t grow! Those sweet recollections stood out as stark souvenirs of an innocent, happier time. Along the way I just feigned contentment yet remained rooted to the rootlessness. 

Questions and answers cannot coexist. To let the answers surface I had to drown the questions…and so did I. Durga Puja reappeared with a new agenda – as a synthesizing platform for collective prayer, a divine excuse to rejoice. I happily succumbed - bowed to the spirit of festivity.

I am a Chartered Accountant almost by inheritance and Photographer by choice. The Puja pandal generously lets my passion flourish by turning into an expansive studio with an infinite assortment of photogenic faces. I walk around the ground sneaking into huddles [often stepping into puddles too] and snooping into gossips freezing fleeting moments. I find my innocence back during Puja.

…and I do not need to be religious where celebration far outgrows religiosity.

Found the confrontational self back after long...unsure if I would feed him to death or starve to life! Does an obliging life accrue all that it promises to shower...or just bite the dust in the end?

Watched 'Manjhi' - a cinematic lowdown on the conundrum of Love - nourished and fondly left undeciphered for ages. With its endearing clumsiness and engaging disorder the movie turned out to be a perfect ode to the absurdity of love. I soaked in!

Night has a mystical, innocuous yet opaque dishonesty that dies in morning's luminous flatness...intriguing and inspiring at once.