‘Pandal-monium’ Epitomizes Durga Puja 2017

“…after seeing Ma Durga dressed in a million dollar golden sari, housed in Buckingham palace, one might wonder if modern editing of the sacred Devi Mahimya Purana isn’t in order. After all, we rewrite history all the time, why not mythology?”

<CALCUTTA>

So it’s all over for Pandalmonium 2017: Seems like in a blink of an eye we went from inaugurations of pandals with much fanfare, though these events are some six or seven days old, now, to immersion controversies (more below). I recall our fearless leader being at her best – seeming to be everywhere at once, drawing eyes on the goddess for one pandal, composing the theme song for another. Posters of her were so ubiquitous, it makes me want to paraphrase Orwell: “Big Sister is Watching You.” It was a comfort to be watched over in this way, to be sure – a foreigner in the land of my roots – familiarity and bafflement co-existing at once. But, I didn’t do much pandal hopping, this year, because, well, frankly, there was no room to hop!

What began as twelve rebellious men who started the first community or ‘Barowari’ (of 12 friends) celebration of Durga Puja, put together from meager donations at a time when Calcutta’s Bahadur princes were showcasing their wealth and exerting influence, has grown year-by-year to become a kitschy carnival, rife with excess. I say this, of course, without judgment – I mean, after seeing Ma Durga dressed in a million dollar golden sari, housed in Buckingham palace, one might wonder if modern editing of the sacred Devi Mahatmya Purana isn’t in order. After all, we mess with history all the time, why not mythology?

With increasingly ambitious projects undertaken by social clubs, backed by government and corporate sponsorship, record-breaking footfalls are observed each year. And when I say footfalls, I mean the kind that would conjure up images of an ant colony descending upon some dead insect – only the dead insect can’t be moved, and is much prettier. Oh, and the ants have cellphone cams.

This year, attempting to manage the flow of crowds, a considerable police presence was visible at some 30 key Pandals of the city’s 172. As Deshopriya Park recorded its highest ever footfall at five million by the morning of Vijaya Dashami, between this club’s pandal and neighboring rival, Tridhara Sammilani’s, over six hundred police were deployed to these spots, alone. Based on the meagre response to recent communal rioting, I didn’t think the police state had that number at its disposal in the entire greater Kolkata area, let alone to spare for two pandals. But you put your money where your priorities are…

Still, the heavy presence of boots on the ground didn’t prevent public drunkenness, people vaulting bamboo barricades, pushing, shoving and general unpleasantness. Oh…and public urination, too..

Our path from Tridhara to Deshopriya Park  (the only path, permitted, unlike during other years) was lined with police. Unfortunately, their lips were glued to their whistles (I imagine a genius method of preventing loss of important police inventory). Likely unable to breathe without blowing their instruments of crowd control, the screeches were such that I felt like a dog lost on an airline landing strip. (A close second would be trapped in the back of an ice-cream truck full of 3 year olds.)

I suppose our ears were a small price to play for their expert management. I felt bad for them, though – they must have been spread thin as even one physically challenged officer was deployed in this endeavor. A man whom, I would venture to guess, suffered from an acute case of Turret’s syndrome, made repeated announcements that cameras would be confiscated if taken out for photos. His colleagues demonstrated the height of sympathy, saying nothing to the poor fellow.

In fact, when one reveler pulled out his phone and started taking a video, shouts emerged from the crowd: “Confiscate his phone! He’s taking pictures. Confiscate his phone!” The shouts proved to be fruitless: over all the whistle-blowing or consequential deafness of all the whistle-blowing – or perhaps the knowledge that the threat was empty, our reliable whites and their khaki colleagues refused to abandon their assumed positions. I found this reassuring, I confess. Imagine the additional chaos of uniforms chasing down people for using their phones to add to the pushing, the shoving, the bumping – and those weird people who think it’s ok to balance themselves by resting their sweaty hand on your back!

 

A poorly lit by-lane on our designated path smelled like a public toilet – and sure enough, our party noticed four men pissing side-by-side on the street. No police were deployed to that spot. They might have gone deaf from the noise pollution but their conspicuous absence from this stretch of road likely indicates that their olfactory glands were working just fine. Personally, I wondered what happened to all those public toilets that were supposed to be built in India after Prime Minister Modi said India needs public toilets more than temples. I suppose there must be a few lawyers on the Pandal committees, who correctly identified the loophole that temple didn’t equal pandal. And, let’s face it, the average Kolkatan can piss anywhere, so why waste money on toilets! Besides, holding one’s nose and trying not to throw-up in one’s mouth builds character. At least, that’s what I told my disgusted son. (NB: judging from the vomit strewn along our path, more than a few failed Kolkata’s character test.)

I’ve been reading these articles in newspapers, which purport that Durga Puja celebrates the triumph of good over evil. What a bunch of crap! While they’re correct that Durga Puja marks the victory of the Goddess Durga over the demon Mahisasura, and though he is depicted as a pretty bad guy –  with his swelled buffalo head, he is meant to depict human ego – not evil. And, the struggle as described in the sacred text, the Devi Mahatmya, is an internal one, signifying that ego is our own worst enemy and must be subdued on the path to awakening from the great sleep that is Maya to become one with God.

Similarly, the Shastra narrates Durga taking the form of Kali in order to kill the demon, Raktabeejj who multiplied with every drop of blood from his wounds falling to the ground. Kali, realizing she had to remove the blood from its source, sucked it all up with her long tongue. And so, Raktabeej represents ceaseless desire. The only way to get beyond desire is to remove it from its source. (Long tongue optional.)

My apologies, dear reader; I am loath to get so lectury. It’ strikes me though that the two most important lessons of Durga Puja, are lost on the organizers of Pandals as they compete for prizes to show everyone how great they are. It’s lost on most all who get gussied up to push their way through the crowd and take pictures to post on Facebook, especially those with their backs to the goddesses and gods they are supposed to be revering, relegating the deities as mere background scenery to the stars of the show – the ‘selfie photogs’.

FB, Google+, Instagram, Pinterest, Instagram, Tumblr, Flickr, Snapchat and the host of other social networking sites have perhaps make those of us alive and able to type or snap a picture in the 2010s, the most self-centered sets of generations to ever walk this Earth. So it’s no wonder that police were deployed so heavily to keep us moving. At the same time, I felt a sense of loss, this year – a loss of wonder and interest, which was present the first few years I was in Calcutta during Durga Puja. Things had changed so dramatically in a few short years.

Pandal-hopping was no longer worth the it. By the end of the night, I craved release from the pain of being packed against other sweaty bodies in a seemingly unending throng, like one of those unfortunate foot-draggers of the  un-dead horde à la AMC’s The Walking Dead.

On other streets, as motorbikes whizzed past at breakneck speed, carrying as many as three or four bodies, sans-helmets, – maybe half of them drunk or high or just plain obnoxious – as well as the cars whose drivers didn’t care that I had an eight-year old on one hand and seventy-eight year old on my other hand, serially honking at me to get out the way, I felt that good had not at all triumphed over evil – or even bad manners. I am tempted to ask the Puja committee of the club in my neighbourhood to make next year’ theme, “triumph of good over obnoxiousness.” They might even agree if I buy them enough whisky and beer. I’ll put that on my to do list for next year.

From the longest Alpana (ground art) at 1 km to the 22kg gold sari for the Buckingham Palace murthi to the tallest Durga idol at 110 feet vying to be put in Guinness, organizing clubs seemed to be making offerings at the feet of Mammon rather than Ma. BIG, BIGGER, BIGGEST!

 

Incidentally, our fearless leader’s entire neighbourhood was turned into a faux-London for her benefit because, remember, she promised to turn this fair city into London. I think it’s great that the people are helping her keep her promise. We really are turning democracy on its head in this state; sometimes a headstand is needed, after all. Call it political  Salamba Sirsasana in terms the BJP might understand (given their lack of understanding, in general, of this state). I wonder if they’ll keep it in place after the Puja. Our great leader might be well advised to consider it urban development. I guess the only thing to say to that is, “All hail Mammon-ta!” Let us drop all our offerings at your feet (failing which would you accept droppings? You see, there are no public toilets in your London, and I really have to go!).

Shubho Bijoya, everyone!
– A/Managing Editor, TGC, September 30th, 2017

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