Memories of Festivals in Shillong

Looking out of my apartment window into the busy street below, I see Guwahati preparing itself for Durga Puja. Although the thought itself doesn't evoke anything like the euphoria it once used to, it certainly brings back haunting memories of a time and place which entranced us in its festive moods like no time, no place could, or ever can. Every festival in Shillong came and went like the notes of a crescendo, increasing the palpitations of the heart as they approached, reached a climax during the events and slowly faded from the mind after they ended.

MAGH BIHU/SANKRANTI

The first festival of the year which we would wake up to from our cozy slumber in the dead of the Shillong winter. The freezing chill couldn't dampen the flavor of merriment and excitement that filled the air from the day before the festivities, when we would go to the markets to buy "khori" (wood) and sweet potatoes. I and my brother would go scouting excitedly on the pine-covered slopes of the Circuit House to get straws and twigs in as much quantity as possible to boost our "Maizee". As a prelude to the big fire on the morning of the Bihu bonfire, we would light a smaller fire the previous evening, and sit around it till late night to get a taste of things to come. Next morning, with the dawn of the festive day yet to break; the sparrows still in slumber in their nests; the dark cloak of the wintry night still snug upon the neighborhood; and the sleet still sitting heavy on the grass and the leaves; we would wake up to our father, in his huge overcoat, calling out in a cheerful voice, "come, come, you're missing it.. there is a superb fire going!" We would be very reluctant to get out from under our warm quilts, but the crackling fire and father's buoyant mood would soon warm our hands, faces and spirits. Around that fire we would sit happily, roasting sweet potatoes and eating that hot white pulp with great relish; and keeping the fire alive by constantly stoking it and fuelling it with whatever we could lay our hands on. We took pride in keeping the fire burning longer than any of the "Maizees" or "Mera-Meris" in our neighborhood, especially that of our immediate neighbors - the Choudhurys - whose Mera Meri would start late but yet burn out faster as it was mostly made of straw. Meanwhile, the kitchen would be abuzz with mother absorbed in preparations for a grand breakfast, which we would devour with no small relish - pithas, flattened rice with curd and molasses, gom ladoos, coconut ladoos, "bora saul" with cream or curd; or the sumptuous lunch of fried rotis (instead of the regular fare of rice), curries, cream and sweets; at the end of which our sated selves would wonder how we would ever eat again. In the evening, we often visited our Bengali neighbors, the Dam family, the Kar family and the Choudhury family, where we were treated to delicious "pattissaptas", the taste of which still deliciously lingers in my mouth.

BOHAG BIHU (RONGALI BIHU)

Come April the Fourteenth, even as the air of Shillong would be redolent of that pure fragrance of Spring, and its trees and bushes dazzled in the colorful festoonery of freshly bloomed flowers, a big canvas pavilion would spring up on the open field near Lady Hydary Park, where the mood was one of Bohag Bihu. Of mornings outside that pandal, under the open sky, girls in their best Mekhela Chador, with their beautiful golden embroidered motifs; cheeks blushing with rouge; danced to the music of the flute, "pepa" and "dhol". Garrison ground would reverberate with the ecstatic cries of children taking part in the Bihu Sports, as they raced, jumped and did everything that was asked of them to get those coveted trophies at the end of the day. Evening functions on the stage in the pandal entertained us till past midnight, with artistes from Shillong and Assam performed dances and popular songs, some of which were just drab fillers in between the popular performances which we watched with great forbearance with the prospect of the entertainment to follow. I remember how we jostled for seats in that pavilion, which would be packed to capacity, especially when Bhupen Hazarika was to perform, and we children had the unenviable task of going early and keeping the seats for the seniors. As the four days and nights of breathless revelry and entertainment came to a close, we were left thirsting for more.

DURGA PUJA

The magical feeling of Durga Puja would start engulfing us days before the event actually started. Sitting in class, and doing homework in the evenings, the mind would be partially occupied with the delightful awareness that time was shrinking between us and that exciting event. Soon we would go shopping in the glittering streets and alleys of Police Bazar, buying new clothes and shining new shoes (how I liked corduroys and equally hated bell-bottoms; and how I liked the smell of my new shoes!), and of course, eating scrumptious Puri Sabzi or Masala Dosas in Delhi Mistan Bhandar. On my return from school on the first day of Durga Puja, Sasthi, I would shun my usual shortcuts, just to have a first view of the idol of the Godess in Laban Shiv Mandir. From the next day, my days and evenings would be devoted to the delights of Laban Namghar, where all our Bisnupur friends would meet, sitting and chatting on the benches of the Namghar, while mother would sit with the ladies inside the main temple confines, where the magnificent idol of Durga, along with the other Gods and Goddesses, stood in their glittering apparel and piously clad girls performed "Arati". Looking at Goddess Durga from close up, when mother took me with her on Mahastami mornings, bare footed, to light the earthen lamps and agarbattis and offer prayers on that auspicious occasion, I could never hide my awe as I stared at the giant figure of the mighty Goddess with her big eyes, smiling face and all the shining weapons in all her hands; and as I looked at the muscular, gnarling Asur, whose chest she was impaling with her massive spear. Yet, the true joy of Durga Puja was in mingling with our friends, whom we would normally not see during school days; in roaming the streets and the various other Durga Puja pandals with them (we would go to Hari Sabha, which was the next big Puja in Laban); playing games and buying toy watches and other trinkets from the little makeshift shops inside the Namghar premises (how delightful those watches seemed in those days of fanciful childhood!); helping out the seniors in the preparations for the "Khichdi" feast on the evening of Mahanavami, when we would be carrying the pails of Khichdi and Sabzi and distributing to the seated guests, who came from locations far and near for the feast that was famous in Shillong. The excitement reached fever pitch on Vijaya Dasami day, when we started early after lunch for Namghar to be one among the proud party to carry the idol out to the field for pre-immersion preparations, and also to carry the idol on our tender shoulders from Laban to Polo Ground for immersion, singing and chanting all the way. The bamboo frame on which the idol was mounted often hurt my shoulders, as I was taller than most of the other carriers, and had to squirm and shift continuously to ease the pain, but on no account would I have given my place up to another.

DEEPAWALI/DIWALI/DEEPANNITA

My favorite festival, of which I have such fond memories as brightens my mind on even the darkest circumstances today. In fact the approaching footfalls of Diwali accentuated the excitement of Durga Puja, insofar that the passing of the latter signalled the imminence of the former.

The very smell of Diwali was enchanting. The very vision of the sparkling scintillae that burst out of a lighted sparkler or a "tubori" or a "chakra" or behind a rocket made me delirious in delight. I and my brother could have played with those fiery toys day and night, all alone, without food or water, if we were allowed to, and if we had enough of those little packets of joy in our possession. But alas, good things never came in copious quantities, and we were constrained to stretch whatever resources we had to the limits of their usefulness. When we were very small, I remember waiting for father to return from office with bated breath, imagining all manner of things that he would bring, counting every minute with growing impatience and anxiety, looking at the twilight starting to descend, and the candles and earthen lamps being lit in rows upon the railings, steps, window sills and backyards; looking at the trees, hedges and gardens glittering in their raiment of colorful little lights. Our hearts and ourselves both jumped in ecstasy when father finally arrived - our eyes only on his hands, where I remember espying that bulging bag, with some of the colorful packets of joy protruding out of it. I remember we had the best tea of Diwali evenings, consisting of, as a minimum, samosas from Appayani or DMB, with "rasgullas" from DMB and Patties from R B Store. After tea, the breathless run of enjoyment would ensue, and would continue at least until 8 pm, by which time we would have exhausted all the goodies, and even scoured the street for left-overs and fired them as well - we left the best for the last, like the big rockets and atom bombs, and stretched the revelry to the best of our ability, within the limited resources, to outlast our neighbors in the celebrations. After all the sparks have flown, and all the rockets released into the sky, we would set out for the grand finale - a delightful tour of Police Bazar, where the shops and hotels and cinema halls would be bedecked in the glittering gaiety and cheer of Diwali; the bigger shops such as Uncle's Shop and Mohini's Store distributing free sweets to all its customers on that day. Even after Diwali was over, we would want it to stay just a little longer, as we got together with our friends in the neighborhood to collect all the unburnt crackers, tuboris, rockets etc and take the explosives out of these varied materials and make several big packets out of it. These packets would then be subject to all kinds of innovative techniques (putting them in drums or half burying them in the ground etc) to generate not just awesome fireworks, but unlimited merriment as well. But Diwali had to end, sad as it was, and we would go back sulkily to our studies to prepare for our annual exams.

CHRISTMAS

The dying relics of the glitter and dazzle of Diwali yet floating in our minds, it would be time for the Shillong night to sparkle again, as the 24th of December dawned auspiciously in its peaceful precincts. Christmas Eve brought so much joy to the households, specially the hamlets on the hill opposite our home, where the ecstatic cries of the children capering in the houses and the yards daintily decorated with bright stars, big and small; and around the Christmas Trees glittering in their beautiful hangings and sparkling trinkets; the melodious notes of "Jingle Bells" and Christmas Carol's sung in the houses and in the Laban Church; and the merry tolling of the church bells; echo in a pleasant medley through the cool night air. We would wait for father to arrive in the evening to partake of that festive mood, as he would unfailingly come with his hands loaded with a huge decorated cake, the sight of which made our mouths water.

Yet these are but memories that the mind finds solace in; enjoyments of a past time which on this day can provide little more than a vicarious pleasure, yet sweeter than the flavors of the present. Today, I the mind barely stirs at the approach, stay or passing away of the various festivals. Even Diwali refuses to indulge me as it once did, only giving rise to a faint glow of pleasure when it is upon us, like the dying embers of a once crackling fire, brightening a little with the passing of wind, only to crumble into fluffy, cadaverous ash as the air drops dead

But all that was in a time like no other, and in a place like no other - Shillong. So, although the reflections of Shillong make me lament the pleasures lost, and the moments gone for ever, I am grateful for the opportunity to have lived that time, and to have breathed that air; and pity those around me who would never have one