Memories of a Puja

I don't ever remember celebrating festivals when we were growing up. My parents were not the ritual/tradition believers. There was no Durga puja during Dasera, nor was Lakshmi appeased during Diwali; I would never have heard of Karwa Chauth and Janmasthami if not for Bollywood films. Every festival day was the same, except for Ganesh Chaturthi. For some reason, this was one festival that was duly observed every year. The day before my father would assign tasks to each one of us: there was stuff required for the puja - the flowers, leaves, agarbattis and not to forget, the idol itself; each one was responsible for something. Most children, probably, are enthused about festivals because of new clothes and the sweetmeats; we never got new clothes, but somehow to all four of us this festival meant something. Sometimes I wonder if we felt more responsible because of the assigned tasks, or did we just enjoy working together towards that common goal?

On the day of the puja itself, there was whole preparation - setting up the temporary mandir - made of leaves and fruits, decorating the platform to place the idol. Dad always asked us to put our books - especially that subject we found really hard to master - next to the idol; it was always Maths for me. Despite all those years of unfailingly placing my books next to Him on this day, the endearing, pot-bellied Lord didn't shower His blessings and make matters easy for me! My father would read out the mantras and shlokas and we religiously did what he asked us to. And when he read the story out, we heard the same with utmost concentration as though our life depended on it. I do believe it was fun in its own way.

Things changed - I "grew" up (or so I thought) and became a more "conscious" person. I started to question the whole thing; I didn't believe in God and hence it didn't make sense for me to continue with the ritual any more. These were those days when one couldn't say 'no' to fathers still, so one sought refuge in moms. Mother dear told dad she needed my help in the kitchen; I am sure he knew the truth, but never said anything to me. And I got away from having to sit for the puja with everybody else. During my stint in the kitchen I watched mom make the traditional stuff - the coconut sweet, the kheer, pulihora and of course the modak (which we call undraalu). I, of course, never learnt to make any of these myself.

The tradition continued until the year before Dad passed away. Ironically, the year dad died - exactly 11 days after the festival - we hadn't done the puja at home. And never did again.

Until I got married. And I never realized I would relive my growing up years all over. Hubby dear isn't the religious kind either, though he is a believer. I realized soon after that this was the only festival he celebrated as well, coincidentally. He never asked me to perform the puja along with him, and I had no issues if he wanted to. And so the ritual started all over again. Post marriage mom was with us, and she would cook all those almost_forgotten_sweetmeats and I would help her, while hubby performed the puja, the shlokas and mantras streaming out of a tape recorder.

For the first time since my marriage, mom was not around for Ganesh puja this year (she has gone to the US). And for some reason, for the first time since marriage I wanted to make all those traditional dishes. So, an email went out to mom, recipes were sought and duly received. And we dirtied our hands too. To be honest I am actually rather proud of the results. Here are the pics to prove that I didn't do badly :).


Post puja, when I sat at the dining table with hubby, my sister and her kids, I was actually reminded of the old days - a father, a mother and four kids now scattered in different parts of the world. For a moment I felt nostalgic.

And realized I missed those moments.