Reflections on Stainless Steel

For the last several years our family has been having our meals off Corelle dinner plates. Those spanking new-looking, untarnishable, unbreakable symbols of modernity in a middle-class household. The virgin-white affairs with tiny floral prints. Not that it was always like that, the precursor to this was Melamine, which over a period degenerated into a commodity. Something which got sold by the kilos off the footpaths of Dadar and Karolbagh. Or Commercial Street and Pondy Bazaar in the South.

And prior to that was stainless steel! That pristine iron alloy!

A household using stainless steel vessels had “arrived”. That was the predominant feeling when I was growing up in a small town, Jamshedpur, way back in early 70’s! Households used different kinds of utensils. And that, for keen observers, marked a sharp class difference.

Enamelled dishes were meant for household pets. Period!

Brassware was old-fashioned and were used only during pujas at home and other ceremonial occasions like marriage ceremonies, Satyanarayan Bhagwan Kathas etc.

Though light in weight, low cost and heat-efficient, aluminum vessels were considered infra-dig. I remember the arrival of the first pressure cooker into our household. As is the norm, the cooker was made of aluminum, and for good reasons. While the possession of a pressure cooker was a matter of pride, perhaps the joy would have been far greater were it to be made of stainless steel.

Chinaware was too modern and households which were lucky to have these would have them on perpetual display in a cabinet. God forbid if a plate were to break or chip! But even a damaged plate was put to use. Essentially reserved for domestic help. Or for those rare occasions when we, the siblings, would consume non-vegetarian food at home. The non-veg. stuff of course was never cooked at home but cooked and delivered by a generous neighbour!

Stainless steel was so very much “in”. Here was something which was, well, “stain”-less. It would not impart a flavor of its own to the food, and it looked silver! Just the right accessories to the dining tables which were just about gaining entry into middle-class households. There were plates and half-plates and quarter plates, katoris and glasses, spoons of various sizes and ladles for all applications and varying sizes of bartans for boiling milk, setting curd etc. There was a temporary fad for stainless steel tea-cups with insulated walls which mercifully faded very soon

When I was a kid I would insist on having my meals off a specific plate. You will wonder what distinguished one plate from another. There was one unique feature, the engraved name on the plate. Whenever new vessels were bought, our mother, mai, would have names engraved on them. Typically, names of her children. This service was provided by the shopkeeper gratis. The name would be written on a piece of paper for the reference of the engraver who would pull out his machine and diligently set to work. Soon enough the “customized” dinner plate was ready. Different vessels had different engraving locations; the outer periphery on the reverse for the plate. In case of a katori, the name showed up on top of the outer surface close to the edges. So I had at least one thali and one katori with my name and I was quite possessive of these! Initially the thali was new and all-shining. And when the metal dulled and wore with the ravages of time (and strong doses of cleaning powder), the engraving would nearly vanish and it was a game to figure out from the faded lettering which plate “belonged” to whom!

A shiny thali had one more rather creative use; it would serve as a mirror when new. With passage of time the surface would get dulled and the plate would lose its original shape and then the reflection in the plate was reminiscent of the “Hall of Horrors” which one would visit in the melas. The reflection would come out all distorted and I had hours of fun making funny faces and watching the contorted, and faded, images on the plates!

Stainless Steel was an all purpose gifting idea, the quantity and quality of steel being determined by the “weight” of the occasion (annaprashan or someone’s daughter’s wedding). A katori and chammach would do for the former while a set of six dinner plates would be more suited for the latter. The gift also depended on the strength of the relationship enjoyed. If the kid enjoying the annaprashan was of a close relative’s, the katori and chammach could even be a silver affair or at least a set of Johnson’s Baby products along with the stainless steel katori et al. Similarly, for a close relative’s daughter’s wedding, a stainless steel dinner set was in order. There were a few pre-packaged brands available, the popular one being from SAIL (the “Salem steel” set). My marriage brought with it my wife, a welcome addition to my hitherto bachelor’s den. And with my wife and her many suitcases of her clothes, arrived a most welcome enhancement for my kitchen, a whole new shiny set of stainless steel utensils and vessels!

Which brings me to a story which sounds amusing now. I had my first invite to a birthday party. I must have been in Std One or Two. Those days, birthday celebrations were limited to one’s family and a special meal cooked at home for all to relish. Maybe a book of two gifted by parents. No hoopla of birthday cakes, balloons or streamers. No kids invited either. And here I was all agog with excitement about this friend’s birthday party. But the problem was, while I knew one had to carry a gift, I had no idea what gift to give. Parents had the solution, a stainless steel katori, of course. I still remember the amazement on my friend’s face as he unwrapped the pink gift wrapper off the katori. I do not know what he did with it later, but for that evening, the katori was displayed among all the books and toys and teddys he had received! I was a bit embarrassed, but this embarrassment was soon forgotten among the fun and games. I was a wiser man afterwards, no more stainless steel katoris for a classmate’s birthday party!

Now, thinking back, stainless steel had a kind of permanence. A symbol of middle class solidity. Imperishable, indestructible, inviolate. A “stainless-ness” a middle class family covets. That I think we lack in the ceramic versions (whether melamine or Corelle). Stainless Steel had a sonorous “ring” to it- a certain tone of voice if you please- which heralded to the world that the user family had arrived! The ceramic versions announce fragility (Corelle claims apart), the ephemeral nature of relationships nowadays.

Give me stainless steel, anyday!

PS: As luck would have it, At my engineering college at BHU, Varanasi, I studied Metallurgy- the engineering science dealing with metals and alloys. Including stainless steel. For the life of me I do not remember the composition of the steel alloy beyond a cryptic set of digits, 18:8.

Do not even remind me of the dreaded iron-carbon diagram. That, dear readers, is another story!

Five Domestic Service Providers My Sons Would Never Encounter

Here is a piece about five domestic service providers from my growing-up days in the late 60’s and early 70s. My children would never encounter these gentlemen I think!

Mobile Barber:

Hiraman, the barber, strolled the streets with his boxful of implements. Implements to prune and shape your hair, to shave you, to clip your nails. Carrying his green-painted wooden box he would walk up-and-down the streets of our locality, announcing his presence. He would walk into some homes knowing fully well that he was needed by the men-folk in the household that particular day.

Ever had the pleasure of getting a hair cut on your favourite chair, sitting in the warmth of your balcony on a winter morning? Such a joy that was! Hiraman was not only an efficient barber, he was also a great raconteur. He was an endless source of tales. I actually looked forward to his hair-cutting session. Always sensitive to father’s instructions, he would never use a razor during his operation (Razors were banned on us till we had our Upnayan Sanskar done), it was always the trimmer which was called a “machine”. But for the grown-ups he would use the razor with alacrity, stropping the razor ever so often.

Over time Hiraman went on to start his “saloon”, the word then in vogue for a hair-cutting establishment. “Hiraman Hair Cutting Saloon”, it was called.

I moved away from Jamshedpur for my higher studies. I would get sporadic information about Hiraman from my father who continued to patronize him. When I visited Jamshedpur last year Hiraman Saloon had gone, there was chemist at that location instead. Wonder where Hiraman is now.

Wherever you are, thank you Hiraman ji, you played a key role in my grooming through my schooling years.

Family Dhobi:

He would come every Monday evening to pick up his load of clothes for washing. And to return the load of the previous week neatly washed and starched and ironed. Agnoo dhobi, our family washerman, was unfailingly punctual. Those were the days when there were no washing machines. No packaged starch liquid either. So father’s khadi clothes had no choice but to be left to the care of Agnoo. And our school dresses. And the home linen.

I used to address Agnoo as Spiro Agnew who was then the Vice President of USA under Richard Nixon (late 60’s to early 70’s). This was mostly to show off my general knowledge and partly due to the respect I had for Agnoo. Mr Agnew subsequently had to resign, under criminal charges, the only US VP to so. Our Agnoo’s performance was ever impeccable. No missed clothes, no burnt clothes, no misplaced clothes.

Agnoo was always clad in his white dhoti and kurta with a white turban on his head. He would reach the verandah, sit on his haunches and light up his bidi. A big smile played upon his moustachioed face. Father would take stock of the washed clothes returned by him as we would pile all the stuff to be washed. Agnoo would scan all the clothes for his special marking; two vertical parallel lines like an “equal-to” sign rotated by ninety degrees with dots on either end of the two lines. Those which did not bear the marking would be diligently marked with Agnoo’s code. He would pull out a flat black seed from his kurta pocket in which was embedded a pin. The seed had some kind of a permanent dye. He would remove the pin with a flourish and draw painstakingly his code on the new garment. He would then tie up all the clothes in a bundle, fasten it to his bicycle and off he would pedal away for his next customer.

Around the late 70’s when I was leaving Jamshedpur for further studies, Agnoo stopped coming. His place was taken by his son, a retired armyman. Agnoo was not in good health I was told. After I left Jamshedpur I forgot about him. I do not know whether he is alive now or not. But wherever he is, thank you Agnoo ji, for seeing me through my 11 years of schooling!

Flour Mill (Or Atta Chakki-wallah):

That was the time when readymade atta was looked down upon. There were no branded attas. No Shaktibhog, Annapurna or Pillsbury those days. Wheat was bought from stores, either red or white. Ration shops sold red wheat at subsidized prices and very often of “subsidized” quality too! In the 60’s and 70’s a ration card was eagerly sought after not for proof of being a citizen of India but to actually buy stuff. Like wheat, sugar and kerosene. In those days of mehengai and also short supply of essential products.

I was dispatched with a bagful (jhola bhar key) of wheat fastened to my cycle carrier to the nearest flour mill, or the atta chakki. The chakki-wallah would carefully weigh the wheat and would hand you over a little chit stating the weight. And you would place your bag in the queue of bags with wheat waiting to be ground. I would fascinatingly watch the mill owner tip the content of each bag on the hopper affixed to the top of the mill, stir the contents of the hopper a bit with his hands to hasten the passage of the wheat through the machine, occasionally shaking the output cloth pipe through which freshly ground atta would drop right into your bag. Once done, he would set aside your bag and proceed with the one next in the queue.

I would carry the bag, now filled with fresh hot atta to the weighing counter. The gentleman would weigh the bag afresh and deduct the standard percent in lieu of the wheat which may have “burnt-off” or “evaporated” in the grinding process. If did not belong to the school of thought which believed in this compensatory charge then you had to pay a higher grinding rate.

And I would return home ready for some hot rotis made of freshly ground atta.

Doodhwala:

Doodh, or milk, is what is delivered in neat packets early in the morning at home. You keep the coupons outside the door at night, 3 coupons if you want three liters of milk. When you get up in the morning and open the door and there you see the milk packets lying outside. Along with the morning papers. You get to see the doodhwala maybe once a month when he comes round at a saner hour to collect money for the following month’s supply of milk coupons.

There was no packaged milk when I was growing up. Milk would be delivered at home by the doodhwala every morning and evening. He would come on his bicycle carrying cans of milk slung all around the cycle. Some on the rear carrier, some on the handle bar and others elsewhere. He would choose the appropriate can for a household and walk up to deliver the milk. Each of his cans carried milk with differing dilutions catering to various differing rates he had contracted with the household. He would pull out his quarter liter measure (“pauwwaa”) and measure out the amount of milk required. And at the end he would pour in an extra fraction of the volume of the measure. This is called ghalua, or something served gratis.

There was an ongoing battle between the milkman and my mother regarding the dilution of milk. The joke for us kids was whether the chap added water to milk or milk to water. The cheerful soul he was, he would take all this ribbing with equanimity.

If one was hopeful of getting a better variety of milk then one would need to go closer to the source. This meant walking all the way to the neighbouring doodhwala, right next to his buffalo when the milking process began. Since this would happen early in the morning, only the elders would venture there. I remember going there a few times with my father. Customers would surround the animal and its “milker” as the milking started. They were always watchful of the fact that the ever wily doodhwala could still add water to the milk. The rumour went that as he squatted down to milk the cow, he would wear a tube filled with water across his waist and release this water surreptitiously into the bucket where the milked output was collected. And of course he had the possibility of serving the froth of the fresh milk into a customer’s vessel thereby severely reducing the amount of real milk he would serve!

The cat-and-mouse game between the customer and the doodhwala would go on and on!

Family grocer:

In those days when there were no supermarkets and credit cards, Bhagawati, our friendly neighbourhood grocer was a saviour for us. He ran this little grocery shop “Rajesh General Stores” which was probably named after his son, Rajesh.

Grocery purchase for our family was a monthly affair, synchronized with Pitaji’s salary date. Eborate list would be drawn up by parents;10 kg wheat, 15 kg rice, 5 kg sugar, 6 cakes of bathing soap, etc. And off I would march behind my father to order the month’s supply of grocery Father would first pay up the dues of the prior month and then order fresh supplies. He would read off from the list meticulously written in his diary as Bhagawati would note down the stuff into long and narrow sheets clipped to a grubby cardboard base. He would always repeat what my father stated. And he even asked clarifactory questions. Like the following transaction:

Pitaji: “5 kg sugar”

Bhagwati” 5 kg sugar” as he scribbled onto his writing pad in a handwriting which only he, or his staff could decipher. Just like a doctor’s scribble in the prescription pad which only the chemist can make out!

“10 kg wheat”

“10 kg wheat”.

“Half a liter of coconut oil”

“Half a liter of coconut oil”, Bhagawati would interject, “Professor sahib, loose oil or the branded one?” My father being a college teacher was always called Professor sahib.

“Tata Oil”, my father would say.

“Surf, one packet.”

“Half kg pack or a one kg pack?”

And so on it went.

Once the list was done with, the piece of paper with the item names was transferred to Bhagwati’s staff and my father and the grocer would settle down to a chat on the goings-on in the world. Half-an-hour later, all our ordered stuff was ready to carry home. These would get loaded onto a cycle-rikshaw and then is when my role started. I accompanied the rikshaw on the short ride home while my father carried-on with various other activities in the market place.

I would also be dispatched to Bhagawati’s store mid-month if some essentials ran short in the household. This of course was bought on credit.

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Maybe you have some other service providers to suggest. Do let me know.

The New Year Calendar

It is the time of the year when New Year calendars and diaries begin trickling in. Wall calendars, desk top calendars, planners, pocket diaries, notebook-like diaries, take your pick.

In my childhood, calendars were wall adornments for the middle class; a status symbol even if you managed to get the right ones. Each self-respecting household had multiple calendars hanging from the walls all across the house.

Not that calendars were easy to obtain. Shopkeepers would roll up the coveted object, slip a rubber band on it, and surreptitiously hand it to their customers. If you were a not-so-important customer, you had to specifically ask for a “new year gift” and depending on the merchant’s assessment of your potential business value you might receive one of these coveted item. Or he could even hand out a small pocket calendar and be done with his customer service obligations.

My father, a college teacher, was a well known person in town. He had taught either the businessmen or their offspring who would gladly offer him calendars. He would also receive the classier stuff from the various factories in the city, Tisco, Telco (rather rarely), Indian Cable and some others.

One of the earliest calendars we would get each year was from a hosiery shop called Chaudhary Bros. located in the lane near Manohar Maharaj in Bishtupur. And this signal to us the calendar season.

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The primary purpose of calendars was not as you may think keeping track of dates/days but they served other more important uses.

For example, an adornment in the Puja room in addition to the images and statues of Gods already installed there. The popular deities were Goddess Laxmi (calendars from jewelers), Goddess Sarasvati (from the book sellers), makhanchor Krishna.  A composite picture of Lord Ram, Sita and Laxman with Hanuman genuflecting on the feet of Ram was a common image on calendars and these would come  mostly from the kirana shop owners. Image of Hanuman was also popular; Hanuman tearing apart his chest with Lord Ram inside it, Hanuman flying back to Lanka carrying Meru Parvat on the palm of his out-stretched right hand.

There was this popular calendar visual of a collage of images of freedom fighters, Mahatma Gandhi in the middle, with a galaxy of personalities around him: Pandit Nehru (complete with the red rose affixed to the lapel of his sherwani), Netaji Bose in his INA regalia, Shastri ji wearing his Gandhi cap, Ramprasad Bismil twirling his moustache, a clean-shaven hat-bedecked Shahid Bhagat Singh. The final selection from among these icons was a mix of naram dal and garam dal, perhaps to appeal to the followers of either stream. These calendars would come from any business enterprise wanting to show their patriotic leanings. Such calendars were mostly reserved for the space above the kids’ study table, probably to inculcate into the child patriotic fervour and general discipline.

I am old enough to remember the iconic Murphy radio calendar; the Caucasian Murphy baby smiling from the walls with his (her?) right forefinger nestled oh-so-cutely on his lower lip. THE Murphy baby who was the dream of many an expectant mother! This calendar was of course the preserve of the local electrical goods dealer. Our favourite dealer those days was Beri Radios located in Bishtupur.

All these calendar designs were in their best attempted version of Raja Ravi Verma’s style. The only departure was that these were printed on near map litho quality paper and with pretty garish colour schemes. The layout of the calendars were pretty identical: 60% of the area devoted to the visual, 20% to the name and address of the shop, and the remaining portion of the calendar supported stapled horizontal paper strips, each displaying three months at a glance. So on 31^st March you would tear off the first sheet to welcome April, next strip went on 30^th June to reveal the July-August-September dates and so on.

While I may have referred to different classes of traders having preferences to different deities, many would hedge their bets and distribute calendars with multiple designs. Like this famous Jamshedpur jeweler Chhaganlal Dayalji who would also distribute large calendars bereft of pictures. One month per sheet, and only dates. Dates for Sundays and holidays used to be printed in red (others in black) and the blank spaces would explain what the red-letter days meant (holi, diwali, id, independence day etc). The blank spaces around the dates were used at home to note quantity of milk delivered by the doodhwalla, number of garments given to the dhobhi for laundry, days when the paperwallah did not deliver the newspaper, etc. etc. Most practical, you will agree.

There were other types of calendars too.

The ones on glossy paper with one month to a sheet. But unlike Chhaganlal Dayaljee’s calendar, these had a large picture and under this the dates/ days printed in one or two rows. Very classy!

If I remember correctly, the ones from paint or hardware merchants were made of thickish cardboard – incorporating a religious motif, of course- with a stapled block of little square pieces. One piece for each date. Every morning you needed to tear off the preceding day’s piece. Each piece detailed the entire astrology around the date/day.

There was this rather classy calendar from a Jamshedpur based company called INCAB- Indian Cable Company. Kebul company as it was called colloquially in Jamshedpur. They would release each year a stiff-board calendar layered with sheets displaying two months at a time. The layout was clean and uncluttered. There was a plastic strip running horizontally around the calendar  which could be slid down every week to position the red plastic window affixed to it which would highlight the date.

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I have not indicated this earlier and I must do it now. A key role of the calendars was to conceal defects on the walls. There were no blotches or scratches on the wall which could not get covered with the aid of a strategically hung calendar.

Now wait. Some of the wall defects were caused by calendars themselves. You see, the calendars sheets were affixed to a thin strip of metal and hung on a silky loop affixed to the center of the strip. During breezy days the calendar would oscillate and over a period of time would leave arcs scratched on the wall at either end on the strip. So in came new calendars to cover these scratches. And these would leave their own marks over the following twelve months.

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In case the calendar was a multi-sheeter, the month’s sheet was folded back onto the “spine” at the end of the month. Tearing off the elapsed month’s sheet was a no-no. The sheet had to be rolled back. The reason was simple; a calendar became thinner- and hence lighter- once sheets were torn off and this increased the chances of the calendar swinging around leaving more and more marks.

The temptation to tear off the calendar sheets is easy to understand, we were keen to cover our books with these sheets. But this process had to wait. Once the year was over, each of us siblings would grab whatever calendar we could get hold of, dust off the layers of dirt- and cobwebs- accumulated on the sheets over the year and use the blank side of the sheet to cover our books. The glossier the calendar the more coveted it was.

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It has been years since I hung calendars on the walls of my house. In fact, I give away all the stuff I receive. There are too many time reminders around for me to ever need the services of a calendar. The laptop and the cell phone display calendars not only for the year but also for years past and future.

No, I do not need a printed calendar around me.

But yes, in recent years I did once seek a calendar. Very classy, very coveted, very elegantly done. But the problem was it was not available either for money or for love. Till a colleague of mine, through his contacts, managed to get one for me. But it never got hung on the wall of either my study or my living room. Or even my bedroom. It got tucked into the box-bed, away from the eyes of the world- and my kids- minutes after I had gone through it many times over.

That was the much talked about, but rarely seen among the common public, the famous Kingfisher calendar! In case you have never heard of it, then I shall not try to explain it to you. In case you have heard of it, and not seen it, then please drop by at our place for a cup of tea. That would be quite inappropriate for the occasion, a mug of beer would be more apt!

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Jamshedpur Puja 2008 Diary: Navami

The final day today for visiting pandals, and what a glorious three days it has been! Here are some vignettes from today.

People:

That we saw an immense number of people on the streets this evening would be a gross understatement.

Let me try to give you an idea. Add all the people on the street at a given point in time on each of the three days of Shashthi, Saptami and Ashtami. Multiple this figure by two. This perhaps would give you an idea of the the crowds this evening.

All dressed in their festive fineries and moving on foot, two-wheelers, cars, tempos, SUV’s, buses. (In earlier times, groups of people would even hire trucks for this purpose).

Moving, moving, moving.

Moving from one pandal to the other. Sometimes pausing for a snack, or to buy a toy or two for their children. But moving all the time. Racing against time to catch up with all the pandals on their wish-lists. The festivities of Durga Puja are coming to a close. How can they not pay their respects to Maa Durga at the maximum locations possible! (some 250-260 in Jamshedpur this year)

Pandals:

More about the crowds, later. Now a quick recap of the great pandals of Jamshedpur, those architectural marvels. Each pandal better than the other. Each created with creativity and a sense of aesthetics. Have a quick look for yourself.

 

Pandal at TRF Colony, Telco

 

26 Number Road, Telco pandal

Pardon the bad picture quality. This pandal is made of leaves (tal patra?). Look at the fine detailing on the ceiling of the pandal.

 

Ceiling Details of 26 number road, Telco Pandal

 

 

 

 

The “White House” pandal near Gujarati Sanatan Samaj

 

Farm Area Pandal

 

 

And take a look at this one at Telco, Hill Top School area:

 

Hill Top School Area Pandal: The kind I remember from the past

A traditional structure, the ones I grew up seeing in my childhood. This sort must be a rarity these days.

And of course the one at the hugely popular Sabuj Kalyan Sangh at Telco where the Protima is placed in an auditorium.

 

 

Auditorium as venue: Sabuj Kalyan Sangh, Telco

 

 

 

Protimas:

The Protimas, of course, are as well made as ever. Here are some of the Protimas we saw today:

 

Protima at TRF Colony, Telco

 

Protima at 26 number road, Telco

 

 

Sabuj Kalyan Sangh

 

Protima at Farm Area

 

Crowds, again:

I have been told a lot about the pandal in Adityapur which attracts millions of visitors. So much so that the Kharkai bridge is closed to traffic for several hours starting early evening to pre-dawn to make way for the waiting devotees keen to have darshan at the pandal. I did visit the pandal, but that was on Panchami day, just after the inauguration, to beat the crowds.

But even the crowds we saw today in the Telco area near Sabuj Kalyan, between Golmuri and Sakchi, the stretch between Uliyan and Kadma and at Sonari was overwhelming.

Take for example Sabuj Kalyan Sangh, Telco, which attracts a large number of visitors. The crowds were well controlled by the volunteers and security personnel but I still kept worrying about losing track of my children in that crowd of thousands. And I kept hearing constant announcements through our stay at the venue. Like, “Gwaala Basti key Mohan Kumar aap jahaan kahin bhi hon yahan aa jaaiye. Aapki bachchi bahut der sey aapka intizaar kar rahi hai.” Or, “Ghadi park ka Raju….” etc etc.

 

Crowds at Sabuj Kalyan Sangh mela against backdrop of jhoolas

It was quite a task to negotiate our way in and our way out of the Sabuj Kalyan pandal. We were tempted to check out the massive mela at the venue, but found the task quite daunting and gave up!

Puja Samitis:

Hats of to them in keeping alive the multi-lingual and multi-cultural ethos of the city. And presenting to the visitors remarkably well-made pandals, most, of course, being near replicas of well-known temples and architectural landmarks. All made by creative artists from all over.

In Jamshedpur, Durga Puja festival is not limited to Bengalis alone but it belongs to all!

Personal:

 

But where is the Spring-Monkey?

The hunt for my spring-monkey has drawn a blank. Those following my posts on Puja over the last few days would have read about this search. I have lost all hopes now after four days. I do not think my spring-monkey will be available again. Life needs to move on, and I should stop fretting about this. Some may wonder why I hold the spring-monkey so dear and why its absence saddens me so much. Maybe one day I will do another post, a post devoted to my spring-monkey.

Post Script: Thank you dear readers for your responses to this series of posts which began as a small personal thing initially but I can tell you it has got rather unexpected response from readers all over. I will try to do a post tomorrow for Bijoya, but I thought it appropriate to convey my thanks today itself to all you readers for being with me on this journey through the Pujas! Do let me know how you found the overall series. You may either comment directly on this blog or write to me at santoshojha@gmail.com

 

Jamshedpur Puja 2008 Diary: Ashtami

It is one am (night of ashtami/ navami) as I write this piece sitting on the terrace of our house. I can see streams of people making their way to the neighboring Puja pandal walking up-and-down wearing new clothes. Old people, kids, boys and girls…all! And this in an otherwise quiet street whose residents go off to sleep at 10 in the night.

 

Lighting, lighting everywhere!

That is the excitement of Pujas in Jamshedpur. My mother, who wakes up very, very early says that the only quiet time is after four in the morning!

Maha Ashtami was a relatively quiet day for us. Quiet in the sense that we did not venture too far from the house today.

I woke up rather late (Pitaji had organized the bhog coupons again!) and lazed around listening to the sonorous chants of the Durga Path emanating over the loud-speaker at the nearby pandal.

The ladies of the house, my mother, my wife and my sister who stayed over at our place went to participate in the puja in the morning carrying their puja offerings. My contribution to the proceedings was accompanying my sister later in the day to the pandal to collect their puja offerings and, yes, the bhog!

While I got the offerings, my sister queued up for the bhog (the ladies’ line for the bhog collection was shorter, hence this arrangement!). As I was waiting for sister to surface with the bhog, I could see a queue of maybe a hundred men standing patiently in the sun with their empty jholas over their heads as a sun-shield awaiting their turn for the bhog.

And it was the heavenly khichudi moha-prosad again for lunch!

Then in the evening a stroll (if you can call weaving your way through massive crowds a stroll) to two neighbouring pandals with my father for darshan of Maa Durga. Father needs assistance in negotiating the roads in the evenings and I was the guide. A far cry from the days 30-35 years ago when my father would hold my hands and gently move me through the crowds at multiple pandals.

And what a crowd it was at one of the pandals. See the long queue here:

Queue at the entrance to Sonari central Puja Pandal

 

The high point of this trip was that we could see the arati at leisure. I have taken a few videos of the arati, and especially of the dhakis but the file, alas, is too large for me to post it here in the absence of a broad-band connection. There was this troupe of 5 dhakis who put up a mesmerizing show complete with a hyper-active kid dhaki and a couple of dhaks with the traditional plumes.

The Mesmerizing Dhakis

 

Later in the evening a trip with my wife to the “Bot Tala” pandal which is a little further away from my house.

 

Bot Tala, Sonari, Pandal. Replica of a Church?

 

Protima at Bot Tala, Sonari East

 

And back again to the para’s puja pandal to hear some fine Asha Bhosle adhunik songs. “Mohua jomechhey”, “Phooler gondho nei”, ete etc; all songs from my teenager days!

As I was watching the proceedings from the terrace later at night, the pandal had a Kishore Kumar clone who sang passably well first in Bengali (again my favorite adhunik songs of Kishore Kumar) and then some Hindi ones from movies like Amanush.

I understand there are no jatras nowadays, at least not in our para puja. Wonder why, and since when it has been discontinued. Must check tomorrow.

Tomorrow is Navami and it is reserved for some big sight-seeing, Telco area, Kadma, etc. We will yet again have the able brother-in-law to steer us through the day.

And yes, I did keep a keen look-out for the spring monkey. No luck. But then today I was only revisiting the pandals, maybe tomorrow’s location would prove lucky!

I keep my fingers crossed!