Its that time of the year when I can sideline all other desires and long for just being home. When the mornings are fresh with fragrances of flowers , chimes of ‘dhak’ , hymns of ‘arati‘ and lots of people on the streets with new dresses purchased specially for this occasion. The chill and mist of the nights bearing a different aroma is one of a kind too. Yes its ‘Durgotsav’, a festival every bong takes pride in and their hearts long to be in the City of Joy , no matter where in the world they reside.
It is a culture thing, a traditional gathering about worship , food , dressing up, socializing and the Goddess. It is something , every bong child learns right from birth. There is some magic about it that is unexplanable and only a bong can feel.
I haven’t been so much of a religious or cultural person but Durgotsav for me is union – union with family and friends. looking up to the Goddess once in a year and just praying for may be everything or nothing.
Although this is not the first time I am missing the festival but today, sitting thousands of miles away from home , somehow the feeling of missing the festival hurts a lot more than before. I slide open the window to feel the chill , but I wonder does it feel the same at home now. I couldn’t smell the fragrance of the festival, I couldn’t see the crowd of people in the empty streets , neither could I hear more than the sound of vehicles passing by.