A subjective take on the Durga Puja celebrations in Paris
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 !
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.
Serendipity 