DUGGA DUGGA: When you are away from home, you realise what pujo truly means

The sounds of the dhaak, the fragrance of dhuno, midnight pandal-hopping and the unmistakable festive chaos of Bengal. It is only when you celebrate Durga Puja away from home that you begin to understand how deeply the festival is woven into your sense of belonging.

For the first time, I found myself away from home, away from my city and my state during Durga Puja. A time when Bengal comes alive with the rhythmic beats of the dhaak, the sound of conch shells and kashor ghonta, the fragrance of dhuno, familiar songs from ’80s and ’90s Tollywood, and an unmistakable festive chaos that takes over every street and neighbourhood.

Pujo in Bengal is an experience that is difficult to put into words. There are food stalls at almost every turn, endless queues outside pandals, tired feet and sleep-deprived faces that somehow never seem too exhausted for one more round of pandal-hopping. It is that time of the year when even the strictest of parents become unusually accommodating, allowing their children to stay out until three in the morning. Food stalls remain crowded well past midnight, streets transform into familiar corridors illuminated with elaborate lights, and Bengal displays its remarkable creativity through some of the most imaginative pandal designs.

It is a celebration that takes over the senses, the streets and, quite literally, one’s daily routine.

It is only when you are miles away from home that you realise how much you miss even the things you once took for granted. Your ears begin to crave the familiar strains of Aar Koto Raat Eka Thakbo, a song you might otherwise have laughed at, insisting that neighbourhood Pujo celebrations are incomplete without old Bengali songs playing at full volume. You miss the giggles, the laughter, the fashion parade and the unspoken competition of wearing more outfits than there are days of Pujo.

Even the silliest details begin to acquire an unexpected charm. The sponsorship banners designed like grand gates along city roads, the road diversion signs, the seemingly endless crowds and the traffic that once tested your patience suddenly become things you long to see. You find yourself missing precisely what you would otherwise complain about.

And then there are the rituals. The warmth of Pancha Pradip-er Taap, the devotion surrounding Sandhi Pujo, the Joggo Tika, a little serving of Baikalik Bhog and Dodhikorma. These are moments and traditions that may sometimes pass by unnoticed amid the festivities, but their absence makes their significance unmistakably clear.

You begin to miss things you never imagined you would.

Pujo in Bengal follows its own rhythm, one that refuses to accommodate ordinary schedules. People dress up at midnight, step out to explore pandals and continue wandering through the city until dawn. Sleep becomes optional, meals happen at unusual hours, and the body is expected to keep pace with the festivities. Before you have recovered from one day, it is time to dress up and head out for another.

A disrupted sleep cycle, irregular meals, aching feet, pending assignments and unfinished work all become secondary concerns. There is only one response to every reminder of responsibility: “Pujor pore dekha jabe!” (We will deal with it after Pujo.)

And somehow, despite all the exhaustion and chaos, the enthusiasm never seems to diminish. Even after the grand celebrations of Durga Puja, preparations begin for Lokkhi Pujo, or Kojagori Purnima, which follows within days of Dashami. Fasting, preparing an elaborate spread of bhog for Lokkhi Thakur, and decorating the house with intricate alpona become the next set of responsibilities. The size of the house and the number of steps involved in decorating every corner rarely seem to matter.

Experiencing Pujo in another city, trying to find little pieces of Bengal in unfamiliar surroundings, made me realise that while celebrations may take place everywhere, the feeling is not quite the same. One can find a pandal, participate in the rituals, listen to the dhaak and enjoy the food, but recreating the collective emotion of Bengal’s Durga Puja is an entirely different matter.

Perhaps that is what distance teaches you. It makes you recognise the emotional value of traditions that once seemed ordinary. It makes you understand that festivals are not merely about rituals, decorations or celebrations; they are also about familiar streets, shared memories, family traditions and the comfort of belonging.

For the first time, being away from home made me understand, in its truest sense, the anticipation of waiting for her arrival, the joy of welcoming her home, the ache of her departure and the promise of waiting another year for her return.

I hope that in every lifetime, I am born into this culture. And I hope that every year, when she comes home, I am home too, waiting to welcome her.

Dugga Dugga!