In an era of Twitter, Facebook and Whatsapp, when attention span is restricted to a few seconds and wisdom is sought in bogus posts, it's unlikely today's young Bengalis plod their way through prose or poetry

Puja Barshikis, annual literary magazines, showcasing the best Bengali writers and minds, released on the occasion of Durga Puja, were all the rage once upon a time. They were eagerly awaited and read during the languid, pleasant afternoons that follow the monsoon rains and stretch well into next year’s spring in east India.

Every major publishing house had its own Puja Barshiki. A big house like ABP had, and still has, a clutch of them. There were, and I think there still are,Puja Barshikis for children. Parents bought them because inculcating the habit of reading was believed to be good for their children.

From popular writers of fine prose to poets to cartoonists, everybody found space in the pages of the many Puja Barshikis. Among them were Satyajit Ray (who would contribute a Feluda mystery every year), Sunil Gangopadhyay, Shakti Chattopadhyay, Samaresh Basu, Samaresh Majumdar and a host of others. Many are dead and gone. New writers have taken their place.

To get back to where we began, I have no clue whether Puja Barshikis are still as popular as they were when I was growing up in east India. In the era of Twitter, Facebook and Whatsapp, when attention span is severely restricted to a few seconds and wisdom is sought in bogus posts, it’s unlikely today’s young Bengalis plod their way through prose or poetry. In any case, most Bengalis have long abandoned traditions that gave them their cultural identity. They are now neither fish nor fowl.

But not all Bengalis have walked out on being Bengali. At least not among probashi Bengalis. Which explains why the magazine stall at Chittaranjan Park, which now has a rapidly dwindling Bengali population, had the first of this year’s crop of Puja Barshikis stacked and displayed last weekend. Durga Puja is early this year, in the last week of September.

Durga Puja is easily the biggest, or perhaps the only, truly community event of Bengalis both at home and abroad. When I say home, I obviously refer to present day Bengal, but abroad does not necessarily mean foreign shores, although Durga now makes her annual trip to the world of the mortals by visiting cities around the globe.

In this age of global citizens, gods and goddesses have adapted to what, till a few decades ago, were alien lands across seven seas that the god-fearing were forbidden to cross. Almanacs transcend time zones and a five-day puja is suitably tailored to fit into a weekend, without cutting corners, for Bengalis living in America and Europe.

My reference, however, was to ‘probashi’ Bengalis, or Bengalis living away from home in India. Bengalis were never eager migrants; rather than seize opportunities to seek fame and fortune elsewhere, they would stay at home, even shunning a move from one district to another within Bengal.

This possibly explains why dialect, diet and, at times, even dress varies from region to region in Bengal. Preference for a particular variety of daal, vegetable or fish, cooked in a certain manner, or the pronunciation of words and alphabets (for instance, ‘sh’ as ‘s’), or the way in which women drape their saree or men wear their dhuti (or dhoti) can tell those who know which district is a Bengali from.

The turbulent Sixties and the unsettling Seventies forced a change in the Bengali’s attitude towards migration. First there was a trickle, with the best and the brightest young men and women moving out of Bengal for higher studies; they never returned. That trickle soon turned into a tide as jobs disappeared and employment opportunities shrunk. Both white-collared professionals and blue-collared workers migrated and continue to migrate.

The community Durga Puja, or ‘barowari pujo’, as it was known before it became the ‘paara’r pujo’, is of recent vintage. Earlier old families withzamindari or business roots would organise Durga Puja at their ancestral village or city mansion; local residents were invited.

Then, as the legend goes, 12 friends got together to organise the first ‘barowari’ Durga Puja with community contributions. The evolution of the community Durga Puja, however, need not detain us. Suffice to say, it is now a sort of cultural identity marker, more so for probashi Bengalis.

There was a time when many Bengalis would travel for a month’s vacation during the Durga Puja season, which would begin with Mahalaya (everybody would get up at the crack of dawn to listen to Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s Chandipath, broadcast live by All India Radio, huddled over chaa-biskut) and end with Bhai Phonta (or Bhai Dooj) two days after Kali Puja.

Bengalis of that generation had this craving for a “change of air and water”. Entire families — and those were days of huge joint families with widowed aunts and unemployed (mostly unemployable) cousins — would travel to Darbhanga and its adjacent places, others to Ranchi and Hazaribagh, where they either had a second home, relatives or rented a house.

Over the decades families have splintered, Bihar and Jharkhand (to a lesser extent) have become intolerant to ‘baharis’, and now young Bengalis travelling during this season go to exotic holiday destinations. They travel on aeroplanes and not by train. The mandatory felt-covered water bottle and large aluminium tiffin carrier are relics of the past.

Yet another tradition of the past that has bitten the dust is the community’s participation in cultural events during Durga Puja. The theatre club (every paara had one) would stage a play for which rehearsals would be held over several months. Those gifted with music would show-off their talent. There would be something for children too. Jatra, a popular theatre form, was a big thing. Utpal Dutt and Natya Company were much in demand.

I am sure some places have stuck to tradition, but most have not. Times change, so do people, their lifestyles and preferences. My childhood memories of our community Durga Puja in Jamshedpur are still resplendent with the twin fragrances of Jabakusum hair oil and Kanta scent mingling with the heady smell of frankincense. My children have never heard of either, leave alone seeing or smelling them.

Yet, for all the departures that have taken place, Durga Puja still retains its charms and in a certain way binds a community to its fast disappearing cultural identity. To test this thesis, I will spend Durga Puja in Kolkata this year. It’s been decades since I last saw Calcutta celebrating its annual festival.

(The writer is Commissioning Editor and commentator at ABP News)