15 years! Yes, that’s how long we have been celebrating Durga Pujo. Note how we Bengalis say Pujo and not Puja. At Shampa and Shekar Deb’s home, a pujo that is so quintessentially ours starts months before the pujo dates, two months to be exact, when a WhatsApp message from Shekhar kicks off the planning.
Durga Pujo is celebrated mainly in the eastern states of India and Bangladesh among the Hindus and is now inscribed on the UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. Goddess Durga symbolises feminine strength, fearlessness, and wisdom, her name signifying invincibility. In eastern India it’s believed that she descends to earth for four days with her children from Mount Kailash.
I have been part of this ‘barir pujo’, pujo at home, for 10 years and each year it brings me closer to my roots, helping me relive my childhood. Growing up in Asansol, the lead up to the pujo was always special, the air laden with the heady smell of shiuli phool (parijat flowers) and the sky a beautiful blue dotted with white fluffy clouds. It signalled the arrival of cooler weather after months of stifling heat. Here in Melbourne, it marks the beginning of spring, promising warm weather though lately it’s been more of a fake spring.
Pujos also meant celebrating it with my maternal grandmother, who was named Durga after the goddess for her strength and inner beauty. Most importantly, it meant new clothes, five days of no studies, meals at the pujo pandal (marquee), extra pocket money, and no set bedtime. I could stay up for as long as I liked.
Back in Melbourne, a few of us gathered over a weekend to turn plans into action. The men, including my husband, the only non-Bengali or o-Bangali as we call those outside our exalted circle, handled the grunt work: building the hut’s silhouette, moving the 70+ kilo pratima from storage, and hanging lights. The women took on more creative tasks, decorating, drawing alpona (intricate floor art), cooking, and of course enjoying the chance to wear sarees all week.
For host Shampa, this time of the year is special. “Pujo has been special for our family. In Malaysia, where we lived for many years, everyone, grownups and children, was involved in pujo preparations. When we moved to Melbourne nearly 20 years ago, it was a shock to see pujo celebrated only over a weekend. There was no warmth, no connection, no communication: just eat and go home. We wanted to have something more inclusive but weren’t sure how to make it work.” Thankfully close friends rallied around her and made it happen.
Shekhar says, “Over time, we’ve evolved, and our friends have been a blessing. We’ve tried different types of decorations, had multiple purohits perform pujo, and for the past four years Samya has come from Calcutta to perform the rituals. Our decorations have become more intricate and the fairy lights that envelop our home for nearly two weeks are a huge hit with our neighbours. I believe Ma Durga gives us the strength to explore new things.”
Ishita Banerjee, involved with the pujo for all of 15 years, is one of the minds behind the artwork. “I love the celebration and the connection, especially the teamwork. We agree on a theme and pour our hearts into it. The 10 days of socialising while creating alpona or the backdrop is reliving my childhood.”
Sreyasi and Souvik Chakravarty, who joined the group last year, are thrilled to have found a group of like-minded community. Newly migrated to Melbourne, they say, “Pujo is a heartwarming reminder of Kolkata, its vibrant culture, deep-rooted traditions, and the strong sense of community. We love the diversity of the group, it’s a celebration of who we are and where we come from.”
And what’s pujo without food? Here too it takes centre stage. Lunch is home-cooked for the small group attending during the day. Dinner, however, is a lavish affair for the 50+ guests who visit. The garage transforms into a commercial kitchen, and a hired chef dishes out sumptuous Bengali fare: peas pulao, luchis, peas kachori, various daals and vegetables, mishti doi, roshogolla, gulab jamuns, and a variety of chutneys.
The smell of home-cooked offerings to Durga and her children, the sound of dhak (drums), the smell of dhoop (incense), and the dhunuchi nach (dancers dance with a clay pot filled with coconut husks, incense and burning charcoal) transport me back to my childhood days in Asansol.
For us, pujo isn’t just a religious festival, it’s an emotion, a connection, of being and belonging. And as my husband, Param Singh says, “It’s a feeling like no other. Not having been part of any community celebrations in my childhood, I enjoy the warmth.”
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