1.
A new billboard advertisement on Eastern Metropolitan Bypass, on the way to Kolkata IT sector says: ‘It is lovely at the top’.
This, under a skyline penthouse picture where a formally dressed important looking young father in mid twenties holds his baby precariously. The mother, an even younger pretty thing stands by with an expression that reflects the natural triumph of having achieved everything in life by 23. With a vague but happy smile, all gaze away at the sky which is all that can be seen from their level.
I chuckle when I pass this spot every morning. I bet my little finger that someone has bought one of those penthouses as a Pujo present to his wife and child – and the entire family are now frantically trying to look as “picturesque” as that picture as practicable. People decidedly have more money and desire to spend than is needed for and satiated by just Notun Jama Juto. Pujo gifts are therefore graduating to real estates and cars and investment gold for a certain section of Kolkata elite, especially the emerging affluents.
2.
At every Durga Pujo, some of the self-proclaimed “culturally sensitive” TV channels in Kolkata broadcast a documentary on a special visit to a good looking old age home in the city. It is typically the same old age home every year, and it is typically the same kind of background score of old melodies and the same montage of clueless faces unsure of which emotion to bring out to the camera. Same or similar unknown but familiar wrinkled faces singing a Rabindrasangeet listlessly just because they were asked to do so. Neither do they want to, nor do they think it makes any sense. And at a pathetically predictable camera angle, the documentary director repeatedly zooms in and out on a forlorn face at a window. It is nauseating – this insufferable drama of commercialization of just about anything.
3.
My grandmother is 90, and her body is giving away slowly. As mine will in a few year’s time. I often imagine her breath hindering at nights when she is trying to sleep alone. The darkness must be scaring her so much and looking like death. The whole Kolkata outside with the dazzling lights and deafening sounds and spectacle of all the people and the carnivals of Pujo and smells of perfume and food – in the backdrop of her failing body which has trouble finishing up even a simple breath, must be hurting her so much. Like it will hurt mine one day soon.
I was not sure what gift I should buy for her this Pujo. Finally I bought an inexpensive saree which would be comfortable to wear as I did not want to convey that I got her something special as I was unsure if I will be able to get something next year.
4.
Pujo is 2 kids,
3.5 and 4.5,
one with an elephant and the other with a horse,
sitting still with difficulty for quarter of a second for a picture to be taken.
And Maa Durga and others looking on.
A new billboard advertisement on Eastern Metropolitan Bypass, on the way to Kolkata IT sector says: ‘It is lovely at the top’.
This, under a skyline penthouse picture where a formally dressed important looking young father in mid twenties holds his baby precariously. The mother, an even younger pretty thing stands by with an expression that reflects the natural triumph of having achieved everything in life by 23. With a vague but happy smile, all gaze away at the sky which is all that can be seen from their level.
I chuckle when I pass this spot every morning. I bet my little finger that someone has bought one of those penthouses as a Pujo present to his wife and child – and the entire family are now frantically trying to look as “picturesque” as that picture as practicable. People decidedly have more money and desire to spend than is needed for and satiated by just Notun Jama Juto. Pujo gifts are therefore graduating to real estates and cars and investment gold for a certain section of Kolkata elite, especially the emerging affluents.
2.
At every Durga Pujo, some of the self-proclaimed “culturally sensitive” TV channels in Kolkata broadcast a documentary on a special visit to a good looking old age home in the city. It is typically the same old age home every year, and it is typically the same kind of background score of old melodies and the same montage of clueless faces unsure of which emotion to bring out to the camera. Same or similar unknown but familiar wrinkled faces singing a Rabindrasangeet listlessly just because they were asked to do so. Neither do they want to, nor do they think it makes any sense. And at a pathetically predictable camera angle, the documentary director repeatedly zooms in and out on a forlorn face at a window. It is nauseating – this insufferable drama of commercialization of just about anything.
3.
My grandmother is 90, and her body is giving away slowly. As mine will in a few year’s time. I often imagine her breath hindering at nights when she is trying to sleep alone. The darkness must be scaring her so much and looking like death. The whole Kolkata outside with the dazzling lights and deafening sounds and spectacle of all the people and the carnivals of Pujo and smells of perfume and food – in the backdrop of her failing body which has trouble finishing up even a simple breath, must be hurting her so much. Like it will hurt mine one day soon.
I was not sure what gift I should buy for her this Pujo. Finally I bought an inexpensive saree which would be comfortable to wear as I did not want to convey that I got her something special as I was unsure if I will be able to get something next year.
4.
Pujo is 2 kids,
3.5 and 4.5,
one with an elephant and the other with a horse,
sitting still with difficulty for quarter of a second for a picture to be taken.
And Maa Durga and others looking on.
