Etant à la charnière des deux cultures, j’ai toujours essayé de contribuer au processus de rapprochement entre la France et l’Inde. Etablir un dialogue réciproque à travers la francophonie m’a beaucoup passionné et ce dès le premier jour de mon apprentissage au sein de l’Alliance Française du Bengale en Inde. Cette passion pour l’interculturalité est devenue, seize ans plus tard, ma raison d’être et je suis persuadé que la convergence des idées et de la diversité de l'expression culturelle est la condition primordiale pour garantir une amitié durable.
I am travelling again. And, all I wanted was to go to Prague in Czech Republic as I desperately wanted to be there because of a bridge. That bridge of « Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam« ! Do you remember the famous bridge? That scene when Ajay Devgan leaves Aishwarya to Salman… I am talking about that bridge.
I first saw the bridge in a blockbuster Bollywood movie around the extreme end of the twentieth century, in 1999. I was seventeen. I was so impressed by the grandeurof the bridge that it instantly became part of all my fantasies.
I was awaiting the moment. The moment of visiting the bridge. The moment finally came, exactly 23 years later in an odd set of circumstances.
A friend has recently moved to Prague and wanted me to be there for a long week_end. After a couple of weeks of prevarications, I finally decided to go there. All I wanted, among other things, was to see the bridge and it was just a matter of few weeks. And voilà, I would be proudly standing in front of the bridge.
My friend and his family started making plans and I applied for my day off. First, the trip was due in the first week of December but due to Covid, the airlines postponed it to the last week of January.
All was well. I was in Sweden and again applied for my time off. My request was approved by my office (in anyway, I am not paid when I am on holiday, so why bother? ) and to my utter dismay, no sooner did I a get the approval than within seconds a second mail, now from the airlines, informed me that they had cancel my flights due to Covid restrictions.
I was shocked (I am easily shocked by a lot of things)! All I wanted was to see the bridge, that particular bridge. I wanted to be there. But the only problem, cherry on top, the bridge was nowhere to be found in Prague. The film was shot in Budapest, the capital of Hungary. That’s another story, I will tell you later.
Of course you understand what I was going through the moment I realised that all my plans were about to go in vain. You are right. I was simply annoyed.
So what I did? I booked a long week-end in the Rome of France, Nîmes. And I am going there, alone, and would like you to be with me.
But if you want to know more about it and can’t wait for me to take you through, feel free to quench your thirst: https://www.nimes-tourisme.com/fr/
A subjective take on the Durga Puja celebrations in Paris
Photo: Chaitali Chakraborty Source: Internet Special thanks: Kaushik, Kolkata
Invoking faith at a time when every step you take is restricted, every plan you make has to be reviewed and attested means nothing but a luxury. This is what I thought when I decided to go ahead with this story.
Having lived in Paris for more than fourteen years, I am not given a lot of opportunities to practise my faith nor I have the time to even think of it.
Most of the years, the festive days don’t fall on the weekend thereby making it quite difficult to celebrate in France. This year surprisingly most of the Puja, Navratri and Dussera days were on the weekend meaning no need to request for a day or two off at work.
To be honest, I have, in fact, never felt comfortable with the idea of justifying my request for time off exclusively for faith reasons. It is, however, good to know that France doesn’t have inclusive national holidays for the religious minorities, the most important two being the muslims and the jews. Therefore I have never felt the desire to put that part of me on the table at work. As a non practising hindu, I don’t fit anywhere. So, why bother !
Photo: Rohit, Delhi
This year, notwithstanding, I did feel an ucontrollable urge to go to the Maison de l’Inde where a local Bengali club Shammilani, which reads togetherness in English, has been celebrating the Puja every year for almost three decades. It should not surprise any of us, the Pravasis, that wherever we go, we always take a part of us and create a bubble, our very special comfort zone given the first opportunity.
Indians in Paris in particular and Indians abroad in general are of no exception. From Maharashtra Mandals, Telugu conclaves to Tamil sangams, Punjabi biradris to Gujrati Garba, from Bengali communities to the Malayali guy next door who needs to wish me Onam Sadhya every year, the vibrance of India can be felt even thousands and thousands of kilometres away. This year, it has been quite different.
That’s why, between the feeling of going to attend the Pujas and the realities of restrictions due to the pandemic, I was not at all spoilt for a choice. I knew that as non-member I would be denied entry to the mandap- a make-shift stage at the convention hall inside the Indian students’ residence known as Maison de l’Inde or the India House. I wasn’t wrong and this denial was an evidence.
I have lots of good and bad memories of Puja in Europe. The good ones are the ones which made me travel across the continent. From Geneva to Amsterdam, from the island of Gotland on the Baltic to the crowded beaches of Barcelona, it has been an amazing experience of meetings and greetings.
But, then if I recall, in one of the Navratri nights, while surrounded by friends and acquaintances at the Maison de l’Inde, I got a call from Kolkata and was told that my mother left us for good and had been cradled to the other world. The news came at a time when I was busy cracking unscrupulous jokes with buddies and took a bit of time to react, I needed to stop laughing. My father was expecting an approriate reaction from me.
Photo: Anmol, Mumbai
Since then, I have restricted my happiness to myself. The restrictions have so far been more subjective or self-imposed than a diktat. This year, this restriction is more about a diktat than a self restricted expression of eternal emotions. I hate when my going-ins and coming-outs are governed by the authority.
WEAR a mask ! KEEP a social distance ! NO Bises-French way of greeting each other through kissing both the cheeks, otherwise end up paying a fine of 135 euros ! From taking the public transportation to socialising across all walks of life, Paris has been lifeless since March so has been the Puja. I heard that only top diplomats from the Indian Embassy and Sammilani members were allowed to enter the puja mandap and the number of attendees was limited to ten per slot.
Apart from this local club created mostly by the Bengalees of India, there are a few more pujas organised in the suburbs of Paris every year by the Bangladeshi hindu communities. Most of them are former asylum seekers, now naturalised mostly working in the hotel industry as back ups, business owners or daily wage earners. Life is difficult when you don’t fit the box in France and for these individuals, the invisible Others, unable to deliver a correct sentence in French even after living in the country for years, Puja days mean a lot.
Photo: Rohit, Delhi
Puja means, home away from home, wearing new clothes, the hugs and loves, the banters, finding soul mates at the mandap, gazing admiringly at the one they intend to be with, they dream. This is an escape, a pretext to be back, reinvigorated only to be able to come to terms with their unaltered reality post Puja. This year, they were all denied that escape.
What’s good to know, unlike the US and some other countries in the European Union, Pujas are celebrated in Paris over five days respecting the tradition at home and not all the rituals squeezed into a customised-personalised weekend. This is something I have missed this year. The constant conflict between the sanitary protocol and spontaneous outburst of joy has been a spoil sport.
Celebrations remain an important aspect of our lives abroad but not without precaution. This pandemic which has already changed the paradigm, should be brought to its knees. We all agree, n’est-ce pas ?
Faith restricted, lives saved. Shubho Bijoya.
Special thanks to Anmol, Kaushik and Rohit for the photos from Mumbai, Kolkata and Delhi.
I was so enchanted (this is too much, I agree!) by the beauty of the Baltic that I almost forgot that Ulla, my lady friend had been waiting for me. Gunnel and I (now who is Gunnel, that will be revealed in the later part…) walked down the streets of Visby and went to Ulla’s for a superb late lunch-early dinner (well, that’s a Viking tradition..). Here’s a minion who welcomed us chez Ulla! I have added a photo of her dining room too. Scroll down.
Trop tard! Il faut y aller maintenant! Mes deux téléphones se sont mis à sonner en même temps! Ulla, en détresse (car le ragout de Saumon qu »elle avait préparé pour nous fut réchauffé deux fois) et Gunnel, pour me rappeler qu’elle ne pouvait plus m’attendre! Donc, moi j’ai commencé à descendre Adelsgatan. Doucement. Voici la photo de la minion qui nous a accueillis chez Ulla. Ci-dessous, une photo de la salle à manger chez Ulla.
বিউটি অফ বাল্টিক দেখতে দেখতে ভ্যাবাচ্যাকা খেয়ে গেছিলাম। দুটো ফোন (আমার যে দুটো স্মার্টফোন, সেটা টুক করে জানিয়ে দিলাম) একসাথে বেজে উঠলো। একদিকে উল্লা আর অন্যদিকে গুনেল (এরা কারা কী বৃত্তান্তঃ ঠিকুজী কুষ্টি পরে হবে) । উল্লার বাড়ীতে ফরাসী কায়দার ফিশ রাগু খাবার নেমন্তন্ন ছিলো। গুনেল চিৎকার করে বলেই ফেললো যে এর বেশী দেরী হলে বিচ্ছিরি হবে। ঊল্লা বললো যে রাগু টা দুবার অলরেডি গরম করা হয়ে গেছে। উল্লার বসার ঘরে মিনিওনটার আর খাবার ঘরে জানালার ছবি দিলাম।
To all the pretty people out there! Here’s a quick view from Adelsgatan, Visby, Gotland, in Sweden. I have no intention to write the history or stories of Gotland and how it became the hub of the Hanseatic trade route or how the people of this island love their land, nope! I am not a writer! All I can say, see this, feel it, close your eyes and hop! FLY!
Nul envie de raconter les histoires de Visby! Googlez-vous! Je ne suis pas un écrivain chevronné ni j’ai l’intention de me houllebécquiser! En revanche, voici une superbe photo prise depuis le toit de Visby précisément depuis Adelsgatan, la rue de Rivoli de Paris..on peut dire comme ça!
জাস্ট টু লেট্ ইউ নো কি এই মুহূর্তে আমার ভিসবীর ইতিহাস ভূগোল নিয়ে নাড়াঘাঁটা করতে ইচ্ছে করছেনা। খুব ইচ্ছে হলে, গুগলে দেখে নেওয়া বেটার। ছবিটা বরং দেখো, অডেল্সগটান গলি থেকে তোলা। ফ্যাশন স্ট্রিট বলা যেতে পারে। গলিটা নিচু থেকে ওপর দিকে উঠে গিয়ে আবার ঢেউ খেলে নেমে গিয়েছে। যেখান থেকে ছবিটা তুললাম সেটাকে ভিসবীর ছাদ বলা যেতে পারে। বাল্টিকের রংবদলের খেলা টা খুব ভালো বোঝা যায়।
How to come to Adesgatan: Take your smartphone, activate your GPS, type Adelsgatan from wherever your Visby location is and come. As long as its walking distance its fine otherwise you will be tired and won’t be able to see the beauty of the Baltic.
Comment venir à Adelsgatan: Facile. Activez votre GPS et suivez la voix de la dame. Tant mieux si vous êtes à pieds, sinon je ne sais pas! C’est à vous de voir. Sachez que si vous êtes trop crevé, vous risquez de ne pas apprécier la beauté du buste de la Baltique.
কী ভাবে আসবে? আগে থেকে ধরে নিচ্ছি ভিসবীতে এসে গেছো ফলে যদি হাঁটা পথে থাকো তাহলে স্মার্টফোনের জিপিএস একটিভেট করে অডেল্সগটান গলিতে এসে যাওয়া যেতে পারে। বেশী টায়ার্ড হলে বিউটি অফ বাল্টিক হাতছাড়া হয়ে যাবে।
Serendipity 