Whenever in doubt, “go back to the roots”- They say. You know what, the journey called life might have drifted you far away from the said roots, but then sometimes with the slightest waft of a scent, or lilt of music it makes a resurgence, and makes you retrace and revisit those salad days. Roots, intertwined, like gnarled fingers twisting, knotting, looping, soothing , evoking memories that you thought you’ve long forgotten. Sometimes I’m amazed, how is it that just a thought can bring long buried emotions and stir what was settled.
.. Few days back someone in office mentioned Pohela Boishak and it brought back a deluge of reminiscences. Being a bong Pohela Boishak has a special resonance for me. It brings back the memories of my grandfather’s baganbari and my mother’s astonishing collection of sarees. I have some very fond memories of slipping into her heels, wrapping myself up in her lovely drapes and razing her lipsticks, while she stole a nap.. sometimes I think I grew up just to wear her amazing collection.
when it comes to Bengalis and their folklore, there’s an underlying fidelity for sure… over the years, no matter where I have gone, I’ve invariably come across a bong. Irrespective of them being born and bred in Bengal or outside (Probashi Bangali) ,their respect and enthusiasm in this respect is remarkable. People often tend to draw a close synergy between the Bongs and their earnestness towards festivities; let’s be honest with this, it is indeed our treasured bequest…every aspect of a Bong fiesta has it’s idiosyncratic charm.
So with the Alpona drawn, the waft of the savoury Ilish Paturi invading the kitchen, and my red pleats in place.. I’m all set to usher in the New Year!
Saree : Suta : Here
Gilet : W : Here