Courtesy Dadi !

Traditional household with lots of liberalism thrown in, that’s how I remember my upbringing. Traditions, rituals, pujas galore yet nothing was to pull me back, nothing was to impede my way to conquer the world as I may put it, to the extent of being detached from all those traditional, religious stuff, immerse myself in books, yet enjoy the gathering and bonhomie at home and more importantly the delectable food associated with all the traditions.

My Dadi was the torchbearer of all the traditions at home, be it any puja, any ritual, she used to sometimes supervise the rituals of our neighbours as well. She commanded respect from all, people sought advice from her, she had enough knowledge and judiciousness to preside over all matters of concern. Out of many traditions followed in our house, I remember vividly Dadi and her pujas, and the fables she used to narrate us at the end of some specific pujas. Though growing up I was not into traditions and beliefs anymore, I retracted myself from these, I am a non-believer and was drawn more towards logic, reason than towards some metaphysical force as a panacea for all my woes, yet no way I had anything against those traditions, no way I remembered unnecessary superstitions being adhered to at home, no way women were belittled and men being given the golden spoon. These things were way common in other houses even I had witnessed in neighbour’s and relatives’ places but somehow my household carried the light of knowledge while upholding some gems of tradition.

So it was lots of pujas for dadi, each puja accompanied by fast, and lots of sweets and stuff offered to God/goddess, hardly any store-bought savouries, lots of seasonal fruits, halwa Puri sort, the quadruplet of khichuri-labra-chatni-payesh, all to be consumed by us of course at the end of the puja. I guess Dadi used to do everything all alone, my mom would be busy in other chores may be, so fruits, milk, soaked sabudana all offered to the deity/God as the case may be. Dadi would narrate the story connected to each puja, mostly about a poor Brahman, how he survives the wrath of some king or how the gods have mercy on him. The same story I heard year after year, yet Dadi created the climax, I waited with bated breath for the end. And after some years when I knew the end was approaching, I would stare at the offerings, almost salivate, once the Brahmin story was done and Daadi would mix the fruits and milk and sabudana and sweets… wasn’t it just heaven!

I guess more than anything else it was the food which had the taste of her hands, bursting with the flavours of her fables, the stories she narrated beautifully, it was never overly morale, yet made for such sweet hearing. The music of her fables associated with pujas echoes still stirs the mind of a non-believer who had driven herself away from customs and rituals! Dadi lives still with the traditions she upheld, the liberalism she encouraged. She is the one who stays with me long after she is gone…she is almost all the traditions I have with me when I embrace my atheism.

Soma Bhattacharjee