Kolkata is grieving.
কোন আনন্দ নেই ৷ কেউ নতুন জামা পড়েনি ৷ ভাসানে কোন নাচ নেই ৷ কোন ভেঁপু নেই ৷
The idol is standing alone in immaculately decorated pandals. There are no people. There are no peels of laughter. No giggles among teenagers. No addas in pandals. No short-term seasonal romance. People are performing the bare necessities. They are grieving.
From the Muslim carpenter who came to fix my door to the 8Bihari Uber driver and the Muslim Uber driver, everyone is talking of just one thing. Everyone is sad. Angry. I saw one massive idol standing alone on a truck, waiting to be taken for immersion. There were no spotlights on her face. No bands charting out the latest Bollywood hits. No dance and screams of joy around her. She looked abandoned. Not a single dance did I witness during immersion procession.
Kolkata is not celebrating Durga Pujas this year. It is mourning the Durga pujas.

No one is coming out to eat at the restaurants. The eateries, which normally have buzzing snakes of queues outside during this time, are devoid of people! People are ordering food on apps as usual. But they are just eating food. Not celebrating.
The City of Joy, that had been for centuries, entwined and accused of being too celebratory with its greatest festival of Durga Pujas, now a UNESCO World Heritage, has collectively and voluntarily abandoned its own joy.
And, you’ll be surprised to know it is not limited to just Bengalees. Or Hindus. The Muslims of Kolkata, the Biharis of Kolkata, the Marwaris, the Anglo-Indian sector, the Christians, the Jews, the Chinese of Kolkata have all unanimously abandoned the Durga puja celebrations, which they, for years, have called their own.
I have seen Muslim women in hijab sitting in solidairity with the protesting doctors at the hunger strike protest pandal. Irrespective of religion, caste, or color,they are all visiting the doctors. The true spirit of solidairity is uniting all Kolkatans secretly into becoming ONE HUGE SPINE. One huge human chain. That is controlled. Cultured. Educated. Will not burst into violence.

The greatest attraction this year in pandals is not Mudiali, not Maddox Square, not Suruchi Sangha. But the hunger strike pandal at Esplanade in Kolkata. That is where every Kolkatan is visiting at least one during the pujas. It’s like they have found a new place of worship to lay their flowers.
My Bihari Uber driver said in anger, “Agar Bihar ya UP mein ye hota to ab tak buses jalti, Hindu-Muslim riots hoti!” (If this would have happened in UP or Bihar, by now buses would have been burnt, Hindu-Muslim riots would have taken place!”)
I come to Kolkata almost every year for the Durga Pujas from Canada and get swept off my feet instantly in the festival storm. I literally had to shut my doors and windows to have some peace from those blaring loudspeakers, drumbeats, and people wearing all kinds of designer clothes squealing and walking down the streets. This year the flamboyant lights flashed alone in empty streets.
From the Muslim carpenter who came to fix my door to the Bihari Uber driver and the Muslim Uber driver and the woman in hijab, everyone is talking of just one thing. Everyone is sad. Angry. I saw one massive idol standing alone on a truck, waiting to be taken for immersion. There were no spotlights on her face. No bands charting out the latest Bollywood hits. No dance and screams of joy around her. Not a single dance did I witness during immersion procession.
This year there are only lights. Only huge decorations. But no people. The heartbeat of Kolkata, its people, has stopped. They have voluntarily abandoned their biggest festival. Kolkatans have lived down their name of being always in a celebrating mood. They are at home, in pjs and shorts.
My friends in Canada always tell me enviously, You are in the eye of the storm !
This time there’s no eye. In fact, there’s no storm. Just a whiff of a heavy air that passed over quickly.

And the goddess is just made of clay.

(Writing this on my phone, early morning, the day after immersion, so there could be mistakes galore. But my writer’s block has disappeared as a new-found sadness has refilled my pen)