No subtitles for death stories

Nowadays it’s become a trend to measure the impact or severity of an ill-fated event by the death toll.

I always used to ponder loss of a life can never be reimbursed, whether it’s a life of one man or thousands. Now, sometime I surprise how many should die to make a calamity deadly enough to send a condolence to our heart. Is it because we have been made immune to be very comfortable of seeing deaths and loss around us every day in news flash? Or it’s because the valuation of a human life is reduced to a level, where people die in hunger or overeating, people die in stampede or mass-accident, people die in drought or natural calamity it does not kindle us?

That day I was in a discussion forum, where I heard comments like ‘Oh only 7 people killed, then it’s not that devastating. In the year of 1999, the cyclone killed 10,00 people!’. It was about the recent storm Phailin which hit coastal Odisha and Andhra. And I was surprised why would the number of people killed seems so less to them when this has destroyed the crop of 2400 crores! The poor farmers have roughed their lives, taken loan to by seeds and lands and ploughed those harvest out of their sweat. The missing fishermen’s families are still waiting for them to return home or they have lost their hope. The loss of house, shelters, boats, livestock, crops and many more - to measure the loss more people should have died? Does a big number make enough impact to feel their agony?

If I remember correctly, during 2013 Kumbh mela some 40 people died, and recently in Ratangarh near Delhi 112 people were killed and many more gravely injured. Both because of the mass- stampede during religious events. I saw people cursing ‘Why do they overcrowd these places! ’, little bothered of the gravity of the accident and the personal losses.

According to a latest survey, 13000 people die in train accident every year in India. Nowadays, when the news channels flashes such news we stand in front of television for 2 minutes, listen to the death toll and move on. Why?

I remember collecting funds on behalf of an organization for Uttarakhand fund in a known friends group. The Uttarakhand flood was no doubt one of the most devastating natural calamities in India in recent times. And I am not going to explain the suffering of the people who fought hard to survive. Their first reaction was “How much shall I pay? If you guarantee that my money will reach, then only …”. This friend circle of mine is well-established and affluent enough to donate a minuscule portion of their hard-earned wedges. And I could never guarantee them the genuineness of the need.

Death tolls are not as interesting as Stock market Index and I too fail to remember how many deaths do I read in newspaper every morning. It has become like a chronic disease and no cure.

But I am not losing hope that one day I will not stop by the television sipping a cup of coffee and move on. One day I will not write this blog and will be on the other side hand in hand, to bring the survivals to life and death to its deserved condolence.

Just wish I get to know my way.

Confinement of a Goddess

Memories that we engrave in our mind when we are tender and young get to walk with us through the lifetime. This thread of memories makes a life dark, grey, luminous, colorful and sometime a contrast of all these shades.

When I ask myself what is the most beautiful memory I am carrying from my childhood, it always reminds me of Durga Puja at my home. With the name of it, I can smell the fragrance of dhoop-dhuna, flower, huge garlands of marigold-lotus-hibiscus-many more, freshly grinded sandal and ‘ogoru water’ (by which we bathe the goddess) mixed with the smell of new clothes, a crowd all wearing fresh new clothes ready to give Pushpanjali.

It rendezvous me with a rush of emotions and nostalgia which has made me believe in God since even when I were not aware of what God means.

Sometime around Janmashtami, we used to get ‘Kathamo’, the wooden structure of the idol with dry grass binding. The wooden structure would not have the heads on the idols, not even palm, fingers, and feet. On arrival of this ‘Kathamo’, my granny and mother used to welcome it with Sindoor, few rice grains and tender green grass( we call it ‘doobba’).The frame structure used to have a grassy smell. We did not have a separate study room, so used to study infront of the ‘Kathamo’. By looking at this half-molded Idol, I used to imagine how will be the eyes, face, red lined feet, ten hands with ten weapons and so on. Those days my math copies’ back pages used to bear my imaginations. And after Ratha -yatra , baba used to start applying clay on the wood-n- hay structure.

Baba was a commerce teacher, with a contrast of all art elements inside him. Baba’s painting, designs, sculpture everything used to amaze me. I wanted to paint as stunningly as him, when I would grow up but of course that never transpired. I heard Baba inherited the family puja tradition, only change he brought is he started making idol for his own puja since when he was 17.

  

When clay is applied on the ‘Kathamo’, the idol starts getting shape. A big lump of clay used to put on the shoulder of every figure, and then he used to shape the cheek-forehead,head, jaw line-lips, nose with his thumb and fore-finger. I remember how during Sunday afternoon, he used to shape the fingers and palms, as they are comparatively big in quantity and take lot of time and patience. After he finished his work, he used to leave for office and I had very little sweet time in the afternoon after school when I used to touch the half-dried, freshly clayed, blackish grey idol. It used to be cold. It used to be soothing to touch the clay surface and feel the existence of a process ongoing. I will fall short of word to express that sensation. It used to surprise me how a grass-binding became so live when the clay of Ganga (Ganga-mati) gratified it.

There used to be two parts of clay coating on the idol -Sand clay and Ganga clay. After the 2^nd coating of Sand clay , the surface of the figures would start cracking. Once it’d fully dried, baba used to put the next coating by putting cotton bandages soaked in clay of Ganga and that would give it a nice finishing. THIS EARTHY GODDESS IS MRINMOYEE (goddess made of Mrittikaka or soil).

One week before the Navaratri starts, once the earthy idol is fully dried baba used to start putting colors. Coloring starts with the first most coating of ‘Khorimati’ or Zinc Oxide which would make the blackish idol divinely silvery. Then the Mother Goddess and her 4 children would be applied different colors.  Maa Durga comes alive in the golden yellow  colors, her feet and ten palms would be highlighted with Red (to demark it as Alta, a traditional Bengali liquid color) and she would have a blessing pink smile. Her two daughter Laksmi and Saraswati will be in Yellow and White color whereas the elder son Ganesha will be in dark Pink and Kartikeyan in pale yellow look.

Now, this is a question that has been invoking in mind since the puja days I remember, why do we see pink Ganesh  and  green Asura ? 

Green Asura is understandable I think,  in the age of sci-fi Hollywood film. Whatever is the reason, once we managed to convince baba to make our Asura as brown.Since then , our Asura has been Brown, Chocolate, Mehogony based on baba’s mood J.

Baba would complete the paint work before the Mahalaya. That day he would draw the ‘Mrinmoyee’ goddess  her three eyes..  her ‘tri nayan’ will be embellished with black kohl.  Burnish polish is done to give it a final touch.

Decorating the idol used to be the most interesting part for us. Me and my brother used to help baba making the idol wear “Daaker Saaj” . The dresses and ornaments would be bought from Kumortuli. May be it’s a girl n boy’s genetic tendency, but I was always interested in the saree, ornaments, face-paint, decoration around the half-circular frame around the idol (we call it ‘Chal chitra’). And my brother was fascinated on the stainless steel weapons- ‘Gada’, ‘Chakra’, ‘Tir-Dhanuk’, specially the ‘Kharga’ and sword. And, one funnier thing was, I know he will kill me if he reads this, Asura’s thick bushy moustache.

The layers behind the idols we see in the pandal or home are so beautiful to see closely. It’s like a biography of a goddess who is born on a piece of wood and sticks and then slowly becomes deific. The stories behind every texture of clay and colors and burnish and fabric are so elaborate that in can’t be told in a single story.  

As I said, memories give shades and colors to a life. And my childhood, my teenage, my 20s are full of this memories. And there is an agony behind it. I have been missing this beautiful saga of creation for last 4 years now since I have moved out of house. Baba is still creating ‘Mrinmoyee’ with his hand, still there is smell of Ganga-clay in our puja room, maa now helps him in decoration.She is a free lady nowadays as we have ‘grown up’. But I can’t be a part of this anymore as I am sitting in my cubicle 2700 kilometer away from them. And I still fantasies how good baba will draw Maa durga’s eyes. I still imagine this time what will be the color of Asura!!

It’s just that I arrive at Kolkata managing my leaves just one day before puja starts and I see a gorgeous mother, holding 10 weapons in her 10 hands looking at me with the same pink smile. And that smile makes me believe in her in every sphere of my life.