This Saturday is special. I am taking Maa pujo-shopping today.
Is it true that daughters grow up too soon, faster than even sons do? For I keep hearing this from my parents.
It feels just like yesterday that Maa took me out shopping at the New Market. The Dakshinapan at Dhakuria was another great option in our days. Air-conditioned malls were still a few years away. The fact is, it did not really matter to me if it was an AC or a non-AC haunt. What mattered was the excitement of a boisterous and a loud Pujo coming, of holding onto Maa’s hands while she helped me out of the taxi, of seeing sparkingly lit shops displaying dazzling wares behind glass doors, of trying out new clothes and shoes, of eating out at fancy restaurants or maybe just grabbing a quick treat at the Friends cafe. Weekend outings were not in vogue in my days and that is why, this annual shopping trip was a rare blessing. It was sheer delight and the anticipation during the run-up to the day.
And mind you, no amount of walking from shop to shop could tire me of the experience. On any other day, I would either nag to be picked up or ask for a rickshaw, but no, not on the shopping day.
I was inducted pretty early into the industry. Of shopping.
Maa would always dress me in pretty short frocks so that the frilly knickers underneath would show. She made sure, when she stitched the dresses herself that the designs from her European tailoring books were followed accurately. Not that she was a seamstress by profession but she just had this brilliant knack for fashion designing.
Well, of course I resented being dolled up in patterns of roses, tulips, lollies, and teddies - skimpy affairs with huge collars, pockets, and belts. Not to mention the matching clips and hairbands, which would mostly be buried inside the curly thickness atop my head. But back in our days we had not learned to express our opinions strongly. It is, however, another thing that wherever I went in those dresses made by her, I would always stand apart simply because of the uniqueness of my outfits. And I was a pretty kid too (there, I said it…but please note the past tense :P).
I particularly remember one skirt which had a matching top made of the same fabric. The interesting fact about that one was the tiny stretch of emptiness that was measured to show in between. The top would end baring cute baby fat around the middle while the skirt would start below the belly button. It was meant to be like that. I was a child of course, and did not find the skin-show embarrassing. But I found the dress incomplete, half-done, if you like. I remember tugging and pulling at the top hoping for it to grow a magical length.
"Maa eta choto hoye geche" (Maa, I think I am too big for this)
I would whine.
"Naa babu eta eirokom i" (Nope darling, it is meant to be like this)
Maa would shake her designer head, obviously lamenting her daughter’s utter lack of aesthetic sense.
Now it is the other way round.
When I buy her saris today I often hear her complain "Eta abar kirokom design, ordhek net, ordhek silk, abaar anchol jute?" (What kind of a design is it, half net, the other half silk and the rest of it jute?”)
It is now my turn to tell her "eta erokom i" (it is meant to be like this).
So I am going to be her shopping guide and chaperone for today. I want to make this day special for her. I want her to enjoy every moment of it. Not that I am paying back or anything. For I know, she is someone I can never repay my debts to. I want to do it for selfish reasons.
I want to bask in the sight of her choosing her colors, textiles and prints. I want to gift myself this special sight of her laughing with her head thrown back in simple joys of her daughter’s company. The daughter, who is so caught up with life that she never finds time to visit her ageing parents. The daughter, who feels guilty every moment for not having done anything for the duo, who not only raised her, but raised her well enough to be called a ‘super mommy in training’ by her friends and colleagues.
Pujo ashche. Maa ashchen.
For me my Maa Durga is my biological mother, notwithstanding her weaknesses that would never make her pick up arms against a Mahishasura. I like to think she is a softer, calmer version of the goddess, minus the weapons and the lethal pets.
With a daughter like me, who needs the lion?
What say, friends?
Is it true that daughters grow up too soon, faster than even sons do? For I keep hearing this from my parents.
It feels just like yesterday that Maa took me out shopping at the New Market. The Dakshinapan at Dhakuria was another great option in our days. Air-conditioned malls were still a few years away. The fact is, it did not really matter to me if it was an AC or a non-AC haunt. What mattered was the excitement of a boisterous and a loud Pujo coming, of holding onto Maa’s hands while she helped me out of the taxi, of seeing sparkingly lit shops displaying dazzling wares behind glass doors, of trying out new clothes and shoes, of eating out at fancy restaurants or maybe just grabbing a quick treat at the Friends cafe. Weekend outings were not in vogue in my days and that is why, this annual shopping trip was a rare blessing. It was sheer delight and the anticipation during the run-up to the day.
 |
| The outside of the New Market of Kolkata |
And mind you, no amount of walking from shop to shop could tire me of the experience. On any other day, I would either nag to be picked up or ask for a rickshaw, but no, not on the shopping day.
I was inducted pretty early into the industry. Of shopping.
Maa would always dress me in pretty short frocks so that the frilly knickers underneath would show. She made sure, when she stitched the dresses herself that the designs from her European tailoring books were followed accurately. Not that she was a seamstress by profession but she just had this brilliant knack for fashion designing.
Well, of course I resented being dolled up in patterns of roses, tulips, lollies, and teddies - skimpy affairs with huge collars, pockets, and belts. Not to mention the matching clips and hairbands, which would mostly be buried inside the curly thickness atop my head. But back in our days we had not learned to express our opinions strongly. It is, however, another thing that wherever I went in those dresses made by her, I would always stand apart simply because of the uniqueness of my outfits. And I was a pretty kid too (there, I said it…but please note the past tense :P).
I particularly remember one skirt which had a matching top made of the same fabric. The interesting fact about that one was the tiny stretch of emptiness that was measured to show in between. The top would end baring cute baby fat around the middle while the skirt would start below the belly button. It was meant to be like that. I was a child of course, and did not find the skin-show embarrassing. But I found the dress incomplete, half-done, if you like. I remember tugging and pulling at the top hoping for it to grow a magical length.
"Maa eta choto hoye geche" (Maa, I think I am too big for this)
I would whine.
"Naa babu eta eirokom i" (Nope darling, it is meant to be like this)
Maa would shake her designer head, obviously lamenting her daughter’s utter lack of aesthetic sense.
Now it is the other way round.
When I buy her saris today I often hear her complain "Eta abar kirokom design, ordhek net, ordhek silk, abaar anchol jute?" (What kind of a design is it, half net, the other half silk and the rest of it jute?”)
It is now my turn to tell her "eta erokom i" (it is meant to be like this).
So I am going to be her shopping guide and chaperone for today. I want to make this day special for her. I want her to enjoy every moment of it. Not that I am paying back or anything. For I know, she is someone I can never repay my debts to. I want to do it for selfish reasons.
I want to bask in the sight of her choosing her colors, textiles and prints. I want to gift myself this special sight of her laughing with her head thrown back in simple joys of her daughter’s company. The daughter, who is so caught up with life that she never finds time to visit her ageing parents. The daughter, who feels guilty every moment for not having done anything for the duo, who not only raised her, but raised her well enough to be called a ‘super mommy in training’ by her friends and colleagues.
Pujo ashche. Maa ashchen.
 |
| Durga Puja at Victoria Greens |
For me my Maa Durga is my biological mother, notwithstanding her weaknesses that would never make her pick up arms against a Mahishasura. I like to think she is a softer, calmer version of the goddess, minus the weapons and the lethal pets.
With a daughter like me, who needs the lion?
What say, friends?
I was reminded of my own outings with ma for the prepuja shoppings, starting with those early days in Gauhati. My dad being a bit reclusive by nature,my childhood outings used to be mostly with ma. She had a beautiful aesthetic sense,in much the same way as your mom..The first memories of my shopping with ma go back to those days in Gauhati,when Fancy Bazaar used to be the only haunt for sartorial pursuits. When we shifted to kolkata our usual destination was New Market,as with most bengali families..mostly we both were accompanied by mashi and it invariably used to be a wholeday affair,with lunch at a New Market eatery. Those days were so heady and emotion-filled! Good to be reminisced of my own days spent with my ma!
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