Old, Gold? Nah, Sold!

Once upon a time, two years ago to be precise, I went to see the oldest Pujo in the capital. Those of you who aren't from Delhi but saw the news during those ten days will know it's Kashmere Gate I'm talking about. Back then, it was a study in austerity - a back-to-basics lesson for most of us used to the over-the-top celebrations in the southern parts of the city. We went by our car, found a place to park it just outside the venue (Bengali School opp. IP College) quite easily, and were greeted by a board (which proclaimed that it was 98th year of celebrations) from which started a string of lights on both sides, which seemed to symbolize illumination more than decorations. There was a very simple idol, a couple of stalls and just a few people milling about, mostly old-timers and volunteers.

Cut to now, and even before getting off the cycle rickshaw, I could see that the three evils of the modern world had got to it. The endless strings of decorative lights were competing with and defeating the glare of the vehicular headlights, people were fighting for parking space and those who had managed to win those battles were waiting in line to be frisked by the security (luckily for me, the queue was at its ebb when I stepped on the red carpet). Inside was a sea of humanity, a major portion of which had surrounded the dhakis and the dhunuchi dancers performing right in front of the protima during sandhya aarti - and unlike previously, it was not possible to get right up close to the idol, at least not until the end of the aarti.

Of course, it was only about ten minutes later that I realized why the area had emptied out all of a sudden - everyone had headed straight for the food stall. Yes, you read that right - stall. Singular. Unlike other places, there wasn't a temporary food-court - only one, and that too patronized by the hosts, the Bengali Club. Particularly famous, followers of mainstream media were told, were the biryani and the korma. While I'd rather not go into the specifics, by the time the korma was opened at home just a couple of hours later, the gravy had dried up completely and in its place were, other than the expected chunks of meat, larger chunks of slippery, semi-solid material - lard was the first word that came to mother's mind; the brand name synonymous with cardiac ailments, Dalda, should ring a bell in the minds of most readers.

More about the food stall, then. There were a total of 6 counters - 4 for different food items, and 2 for the coupons, each of them with queues emanating from them like rays from the rising sun - radially in all directions (if like me you were unlucky enough, some hoity-toity middle-aged Bong uncle would have screamed 'queue!' for some implausible reason). But no, you couldn't just stand at either of the coupon counters. No, because each of them dealt with fixed denominations which corresponded to different items of the menu.

So, say, you wanted to have a biryani and a shammi kebab, you needed to go to counter no. 1 to get a Rs. 25 coupon for the kebab, and then to counter no. 2 to get a Rs. 120 coupon for the biryani - and at this point, in case you tried to raise your frustrated voice, it would've been drowned by the rude voice of one of the organizers, who would've told you to stick to the line, lest it doubled while you were busy arguing. To add insult to injury, the kebabs would run out the moment your turn came. And then, you would've noticed to your utmost horror that the longest line of them all - yes, the same one which you thought you were not a part of and because of that, secretly thanked Ma Durga - was for the biryani, but since you'd already gone through so much, you would've chosen to stay put rather than try to sell off the coupon to some poor, unsuspecting soul on the lookout for some biryani/korma.

The 100th year brought along with all the cooks that together spoil the broth. We had NDTV, Zee News, etc.; the list of sponsors rivalled the IPL; Sheila Dikshit was on her way when I beat a hasty retreat. Don't even get me started on the hep crowd, especially the females who seemed to have landed up there in the midst of a pub-hopping spree... *Uncharacteristic exhibition of restraint!* Walking to Civil Lines metro station was rewarding though - the smell of shiuli phool (I don't know what its English equivalent is) had a calming effect, and reminded me that some things don't change, no matter what. Here's hoping that it will apply to my Pujo spirit come fall O-ten.