Lady Up There!

Durga On High!

No she is not on a high. That’s for her beloved, lazing around on the mountain with his weed. But on high certainly. She has been promoted out of harm’s way so to say. And far from Kim’s easy steps(from the rock climbing Bible authored by her) to negotiate steep crags, what we have by way of access is a floor that consists solely of a curved ramp made of planks.

Even the chairs placed at the turning points – "can you balance a chair on a point?" ... separate question- are tilted. Something like a CTT spiral that went awry and missed out something.

Chairs on the ramp

My feet ached and my back ached. Trying to get her picture. I figured out that this Durga was more of a watchgod – I know I took care to scramble the letters. She seemed a little out of work, a little bemused at having been elevated out of reach. 

There is a space in front of her for performing rituals. From that position you can keep your focus on the eats/treats that are lined up as offerings. And you can keep your focus on the swirls of her lovely red saree. Mom would have remarked that she is rigged out like the Mysore Maharani. In her younger days, the older ladies would taunt young women for wearing their sarees in kiss-the-ground fashion. Like their very persons were dedicated to Swach Bharat! “Tharaila perattathai” (literally translated as “don’t make it grovel on the ground”) mom would yell at me when her turn came. “You’re not the Mysore Maharani”. Good advice indeed considering the filthy city I lived in. 

Which brought me to the question of the hybrid persona that Durga is increasingly coming with. She doesn’t seem very sure of her sense of style. On the other hand there is an ever growing interest in ancient sculptural representations of her where she is barely clad at all. While some of our pratima shilpis (image artisans) are reclaiming those depictions from long ago Bengal, clearly the fabric* lobby has to be humored by this lot. 

Returning to Devi Durga rather than her attire, she exudes a rare sense of peace/bemusement/benevolence – I could go on adding words but not find the perfect one for what she’s trying to tell us. 

The pandal and its innards are a travesty. Of them more soon. What I did notice were some odd looking cylinders covered with newspapers that were masquerading as decorations or artwork. I am nonplussed and there isn’t a soul in sight to enlighten me. Is it her message that we need to flip directions? The bathos of our existence today – the downfall from everything that represents grace and positive energy - has to be dramatically reversed. Durga appears to be on top, stranded and a little bewildered. But also calm. The pictures of her from below tell us more than I can translate into words for now.

Viewed from the rear, the pandal gives the impression of being wrapped in black garbage bags. Within, there are strange spiral designs deployed in an attempt to convey something organic. But that’s only inside. Haven’t they finished yet? The whole scene feels incomplete, in an uneasy way. Everything has a design flaw. The awkward ramps that have no rails, seem too steep for wheelchairs; they aren’t easy on feet either. The emergency exit is like a death trap. 

Sharadotsav this year IS the state of the world. We are celebrating. We are unsure of what we are celebrating. Is there even something to celebrate? Perhaps it is that quality Durga displays of being in it all and yet untouched. Above the rest but not unreachable. It is difficult but not daunting to find your way to her. The young, energetic and smart – wait no, the young are often lazy and apathetic – so the devoted, determined (and no doubt smart because a smart person doesn’t miss a chance to edge close to the source of power) and sometimes none-too-fit will climb up and down the ramp, sometimes twisting their feet betwixt the rough-hewn planks clearly cannibalized from some discarded freight-crates. 

Where does all the sponsor-money go? On buying old newspapers and wrapping them around tin cans, or on hanging confetti from wire hoops to create the illusion of birds on a tree, or on the exquisitely crafted Protima (image) that stands in splendid contrast to the environs? I really don’t know. 

As a culture, as a civilization, we have been floundering for a while. And nowhere does it show up better than in the Northern Park Puja that always moves with the times and mirrors them. Without intending to. Earlier, Durga was dominant. The shehnai ruled and then the sitar and sarod followed. Apparently conservative. But in the face of tinseltown’s brash onslaught , this was rebellion of a sort, to stay different and be proud of it. The kind I enacted in my own life. First shehnai et al just continued as they had always done, then they were repackaged to be cool. Till no one wanted to listen to them anymore, and the follies of the times took over.

Durga is still fighting these infiltrators from the safety of her perch. She is not holding her weapons tight any more. They aren’t of much use. She needs her hands now. She needs to get down and dirty and dig her ten hands into the chaos. Each hand wears the red badge of courage, purpose and victory! The demon is no longer that poor green asura who is lying down in surrender.

Green asura says "enough"

The demons are the petty little people huddling in those dimly lighted houses covered with newspaper. I have never seen a pandal closed in with black. Rip that black and deck it out in rich purple! Open the sides and let the four winds blow through!  

Our not so pretty rear view

Black or no black, let the show go on! I believe the season will continue with more cheerful posts. The mystery of the pandal’s weirdness and lack of either common sense/aesthetics will be solved. It is not without meaning. Today’s rain with its bundled benediction of the staircase torrents (no I don’t hanker after freebies and yes water rushes down the stairs from the roof in this 90 year old house) and my sore hands and aching back and legs have all made for this air of gloom. But the Lady in Red, regardless of how she chooses to rig out her habitat – oops no, she’s a guest and that isn’t her choice – is worth it. Even in those rare years when she discards her red and gold for strange muted sand-tones or shell-white - and this is not one such year.
She is who we are. She tolerates what we tolerate. We must tell her that we want her to revolt and come down on us. Firmly with a mother’s hand. Let her be mother. And let us be warriors, winning over our inner demons. Send in the weapon of the mind. Amen!

*the fabric was in fact no fabric at all but part of the protima, beautifully crafted from clay and painted*

Footnote: I might appear annoyed and hyper critical but they're all affectionate cribs.  I am mostly questioning rather than complaining. I believe art should disturb the comfortable and raise questions and so should modes of  celebration push boundaries at times. In fact I'm a loyal life member of the 22 Palli Puja and have hung in there through many storms!