Spectator by Seema Goswami: The scent of something new

There was something in the air in Calcutta when Pujo came around. Nothing has been able to replicate that magic since

This is the time of year when the first thing I do every morning – even before I brush my teeth – is run to the balcony to check if my shiuli plants are flowering yet. After a week of disappointment, today was the morning when I saw the first buds pushing through on the branches. It is hard to explain just how joyful I felt in that minute. And that’s because the blooming of the shiuli heralds the arrival of my favourite time of year: Durga Puja.

I suppose it all dates back to my childhood in Calcutta – as it was then called – when the Pujo period was the most exciting time of the year. The city would be bedecked with lights, the streets dotted with pandals, each more elaborate than the other, and the shops full of people doing their pujo shopping with unmatched enthusiasm. The joy and excitement of the festivities permeated the air so comprehensively that it was hard to remain immune to the atmosphere of complete and utter exhilaration.

The blooming of the shiuli flowers heralds the arrival of Pujo. (ADOBE STOCK)

As children, we were allowed to buy five new outfits – for the five principal days of the Pujo period – along with a new pair of shoes. The trawling of the shops began a full month before the festive period, as my mother – the most indecisive shopper I have ever known – dragged us from New Market to Gariahat to Chowringhee to shortlist all the best options. After many agonising days – as she debated the merits and demerits of each choice – we would finally make that fateful trip to finalise our purchases just in time to pull them out for the pandal-hopping that we had been looking forward to all year.

Ah yes, the pandals. I don’t know whether I am looking back at those memories with rose-tinted glasses, but somehow the pandals of my childhood had a certain magic about them. Even now, so many decades later, I have picture-perfect recall of some of the Durga murtis that absolutely took my breath away as a child. A white Durga statue, made entirely of shola, gleaming down at me through a thick screen of incense, as the drums beat hypnotically and the priest conducted the arti, is one of the seminal memories of my early years.

The city was lit up and the streets would be dotted with pandals. (HT ARCHIVE)

Even after I grew up, the magic of the Pujas never quite faded for me. As a teenager and a young adult, I still carved out a couple of days every year to visit the best pandals in the city. The urge to dress up in new clothes every day of the Pujas faded with time, but my enthusiasm for the festival never did. I offered Anjali early in the morning; I presented myself at meal times to gorge on the bhog; I even turned up to enjoy the cultural festivals in the evenings.

Now that I live in Delhi, Durga Pujo does not have the same resonance it did in Kolkata. But I am fortunate enough to live in an area which has a local pujo pandal that comes up every year. It is relatively small, not too fancy, and not too crowded either. So rather than visit the bigger pandals that dot the city, I head there every evening, just to sit and soak in the atmosphere – and rejoice in the memories of Pujos past.

From HT Brunch, October 10, 2026

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