Those days we used to wait for it. Those days when I was 12
or 13 and coincidently my friends were about the same age, we used to wait for
it. Holi and Diwali never figured in our favorite festival’s list, but it did
and we used to wait for it. The Feel, The Energy and the festivity that
happened in late January and early February every year and like any other Patna
guy(or perhaps any not-so-small town guy) I used to wait for it.
Patna, arguably the only recognized city in the state of
Bihar is the epicenter of all educational activities. Convent schools, Intermediate
colleges, Graduation colleges and speckled in between the colleges are coaching
centers each of which is run by an Ex-IITan and each of which guarantees a seat
in the prestigious Indian Institutes of Technology. And the students from all
across Bihar and Jharkhand and Eastern UP come running to the city in pursuit
of education. And the city lives to their promises. Hence students form a perpetual
part of Patna - rich, poor, timid and violent, students of all types and
varieties. Education is the prime topic of discussion. While Gujaratis love
their money, Punjabis love their food, Tamilians love their culture, Biharis
love their education till the verge of obsession.
And Goddess Saraswati oversees all educational activities.
She is the goddess of wisdom, knowledge and enlightenment. Because of her benevolence,
people crack competitions, pass their semester and yearly examinations and get
through tricky job interviews. It’s because of Goddess Saraswati that we have
so many Engineers and Doctors and Lawyers and Managers in our country.
Saraswati prepares people to worship Lakshmi (the goddess of wealth and
prosperity) for the rest of their lives. And Patna leaves no stone unturned in making
the goddess joyous. Saraswati Pooja is the annual fest of all colleges, schools
and coaching centers of Patna. Some of them even call it the unofficial
Valentine’s Day of Patna.
The glorious 90s - the decade I was brought up in, celebrated
the festival in Grand Style. Boys in groups of 5-10 knocked every door in the
locality urging (or begging or threatening) for Chanda (donation). People
sometimes willingly contributed and sometimes unwillingly gave away cash
ranging from Rs. 5 to Rs. 501. Every Collection Committee managed enough cash
for the entire worshiping ceremony, lighting, sounds, VCRs and a rented color television for playing
pirated video cassettes for late night movie watching. The elderly students
fondly addressed as” Bhaiyyas” by everyone even saved enough cash for their beer
and porn movies. Brightly lit Pandals, statues of the goddess adorned with marigold
and rose garlands, a continuously chanting Pundit and noise all around, the
craziness seemed absolute sanity at that time.
The Geniuses who were experts at handling locally assembled
music systems or “decks” as we called them ensured that entire colony listened
while the Pundit chanted by strategically placing the metallic loudspeakers on electric
poles, roofs of neighbors, or even ad lib bamboo poles. No one in the locality
complained, the curse of Saraswati could have rendered their children uneducated
and unpolished for life. The same loudspeakers proudly broadcasted the latest chart-busters for three continuous days. Alien words like “Bass” and “Treble”
were still to make ways into our lives. “Loudness” was very much in. So when
the songs were played, people switched to sign languages in their respective
homes. That was the time when music from movies “Aashiqi”, “Sadak”, “Mohra”, “Dil”
etc. made their way into our lives. When
there were multiple pandals around, there used to be an impromptu music contest
that continued till wee hours of the night. Everyone wanted his Pundit to be
heard and everyone wanted his music to rule. And we innocently remixed songs
without any hi-fi mixing instruments.
And that was the time when we started noticing love around
us, for the first time. Girls flocked at the Pandals dressed in bright
Salwar-Kurtis usually ranging from pale saffron to bright orange which is the
official dress code for Saraswati Pooja. And their lovers went out of their way
to give them a personalized treatment. Once the love of their life appeared at
the Pandal, the music usually switched to a soft romantic Ballad, a “chori
chori jab nazrein mili” or a “Nazar ke saamne, Jigar ke Paas”. The expression on the girl’s face would change
from happy to shy to a state where fathoming expressions became impossible. And her friends elbowing her frenziedly so
much so that she’d stop looking at anyone. And then the hero would appear with Prasad
Packets neatly arranged onto a metallic tray. The usually ordinary Prasad would
be garnished with generous helping of seasonal fruits and sweets. Some lucky
lovers even managed to spend some private Prasad munching moments with their
girls as her friends would leave as soon as the guy appeared. Everything was planned without even planning. The
demonstration of love continued till every single guy of the committee got to
treat her girl flamboyantly. Saraswati, the white adorned goddess of wisdom
with a constant smile on her face silently played the love goddess. The show
continued till three days and after the Pooja new couples surfaced.
Now when I switch on my workstation on a Saraswati Pooja day
or any festival that made me go wild in old days, a smile robotically comes on
my lips. The songs start playing somewhere inside my mind and flashes of guys
dancing and girls shyly accepting their Prasad packets and wailing kids and
chanting pundits and blaring loudspeakers appear on my mental canvas. While I mechanically
pretend to be lost in work, my mind dances in the streets where a white idol of
the goddess of wisdom smiles at my moves.