Archive for the ‘Hubby’ Category
Picture Panga (Photo Fiasco)
Posted on: November 9, 2021
- In: Comedy | Deepawali | Family | Hubby | Husband and wife comedies | Husband and wife stories | Incidents | Indian festivals | Life | Long Hair | love | Stories
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There are husbands who know all the photogenic angles of their wife better than the lady herself. This rare species of husbands louuuv photographing their jaana, shona, or babe, and make such photoshoots delightful. They look for opportunities to click their jaana, shona, or babe. A shona need ask only once and they jump up with the camera, aiming to please. Sometimes, a jaana need not even ask! They make the wife-next-door look like a Femina cover page model.
And then, there’s my husband dearest. My Darling Poochikoo Koochipoo (MDPK). Fifteen years of marriage and maan-obhimaan (drama/roothna-manana) later, MDPK volunteers to click my pictures on Durga Pujo and Kaali Pujo. What do you know, he even insists! Oh joy, MDPK even gets the camera angle right! Just as I wonder how to contain such an outpouring of joy, there, it happens.
Thirty years from now, I’m sure MDPK won’t feel the need to click my pictures from a mandatory distance of two kilometres! Every damn thing in the surrounding should get a better focus than her seems like his revenge mantra, I tell you. Just that thirty years later, I’ll be 70 if I’m fortunate enough to live. I suspect by then, I’d insist he maintain that two-kilometre distance to avoid close-ups of my wrinkles! Coming back to the recent past, that is, pandal-hopping and a quick photo session on Kaali Pujo night.
MDPK: Better look at your pictures right now, don’t crib later.
We both look in silence… that stretches into… let’s just say, longer silence. He takes whole of two minutes to pick on the ‘somethin’s wrong, Bubba’ vibe.
Finally, wiser but with a blank face, MDPK: What?
Zooming in in slow-motion, me: The angle is good, but doesn’t this look blurry to you?
Zooming in further, MDPK: That’s ok, no one’s gonna zoom in to your picture to look at you.
Silence all around.
With a dubious look at my face, MDPK: Will they?
Maintaining record-breaking calm, me: Will who what?
With an expression best described as a hybrid of ‘thoroughly irritated’ and ‘utterly uninterested’ but ‘fearing the repercussions,’ MDPK: Will whoever… anyone… zoom in? O forget it, just pose again.
Unsure if I should be offended at the dazzling expression and the award-winning tone, my forehead crinkles momentarily. I could take this opportunity to cancel the shoot and delightfully sulk for what’s left of the night and the whole of next day. Has to be a split-second decision though. I smoothen my crinkles, swipe a part of my hair from back to front, go back to pose, and smile. I am shameless! 😂
– Bijita Dhar
- In: Hubby | Incidents | Jagannath | Life | Spirituality
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Praying to deities was a childhood habit I picked up from family and society. My understanding of prayers was sketchy and misguided. Prayers meant requesting the divine for something or the other, usually wish-fulfillment. Be it a simple wish, like the well-being of a dear one, or a complex one, like finding an ‘ideal’ spouse. Occasionally, prayers conveyed gratitude or took the form of negotiation with the divine. If you fulfill this or that, I shall offer you this or that. In this world of requests and negotiations, my connection with the divine was almost non-existent. Naturally, I forgot Maa’s story of Jagannath and my hair[2] over the years that followed.
In her younger years, my daughter wanted to worship Ganesha at home during Ganesh Chaturthi. The problem was, Ganesha worship during Chaturthi, done once, must be continued for 3 or 5 successive years; breaks are considered inauspicious. I was unsure about that kind of commitment, so we never enshrined Ganesha. I prayed as needed but never felt the need for deity worship at home. Until Sadhguru found me.
Sadhguru’s life energies consecrated as Devi Linga Bhairavi created havoc in me months before she arrived. My beloved Devi came to me, somewhat forcefully, a few years ago. How she came to me is a beautiful story, maybe for another time. Until Devi arrived, my understanding of deities was limited to mythology, folklore, and television shows, which were other people’s interpretations of scriptures I never read. Sadhguru taught me how to connect with Devi minus the typical drama called praying. Slowly, Devi demolished my preconceived notions about divinity and the divine. Life went on as usual until this June.
Suddenly, I was bombarded with images of Lord Jagannath on and off social media. Posts featuring the Lord and his siblings (the trio), woven or handpainted on sarees from Odisha, found me on Facebook. An Instagram channel posted about a mysterious, potent energy form, believed to be the remains of Lord Krishna, existing inside the wooden idols in Shri Jagannathpuri. We’ve been at my husband’s family home in Bengal for months now. Just before the Ratha Jatra festival, I saw a large framed photograph of the trio hanging above the entrance of a room. I was stunned because that photo escaped my notice all the while we’ve been here. The trio was everywhere, forcing my attention. And then, I received the beautiful artwork of Jagannath as a gift from my friend Vinayak[1]. I didn’t quite know what to do with it other than look at it and then look at it some more. The mischief on the Lord’s face kept reminding me of my daughter and nephew. I kept the artwork in its envelope and the envelope inside the almirah.
I grew up in Nashik, and my daughter grew up in Noida. Ratha Jatra isn’t celebrated in either city, at least not at the community level. So we never got a chance to pull Jagannath’s Ratha (chariot). In the past, I saw photos of little ones, the children of friends and cousins in Bengal, pulling miniature chariots[2]. How I wished my daughter could celebrate similarly! Because this was our first Ratha Jatra in Bengal, I wanted to fulfill this wish by purchasing a chariot for her. Deb was unsure if those would be found as markets here were closed due to the lockdown. Disappointed, I dropped the thought.
I woke up on the morning of the Ratha Jatra, not knowing what lay in store for me. As I tackled morning chores, my mind wandered back to the envelope in the almirah. I was in a dilemma. Should I leave the artwork in its envelope? Should I worship it? What’s it with this artwork? Towards the end of every summer vacation in Bengal, without fail, my maternal grandma handed nested rolls of the Bengali solar calendar to Maa. Each calendar had glossy pictures of deities, dates marking regional and national festivals, and more. Returning to Nashik, Baba hung the calendars in our home as references for the rest of the year. We follow the same practice in our Noida home but not once have I felt the need to worship any deity on the calendar. And now, a printout made me restless!
Besides, from the time Devi came home, she has been our one-and-only. Used to her ways, which are different from regular deity worship, I was apprehensive about the unknown. Does Jagannath worship require specific rituals or chants? What if I made a mistake and did something I shouldn’t have? I also realized that we didn’t have an appropriate space here to place the artwork. Absentmindedly, I started clearing stuff from my mother-in-law’s dressing table, thinking of cleaning it and keeping the artwork on it.
Minutes later, Deb entered with a dust-coated wooden chariot, bought from an obscure shop after visiting several closed markets. Our girl abandoned her online classes to admire the Ratha. I wanted to place small wooden idols of the trio inside but learned that those are only available in local fairs, which have been suspended since the pandemic began. I was delighted anyway. I told my family that I’d clean the Ratha, place the artwork inside, and worship it. I didn’t realize when Deb stepped out again and bought a small framed photo of the trio and marigold garlands. In response to my questioning look, he said that if I have decided to worship Jagannath, I may as well do it properly. It was a pleasant surprise because Deb doesn’t spend hours on deity worship or buy pictures of deities. That was all I needed; my dilemmas and restlessness vanished.
Starting the arrangements for the puja, I cleaned the Ratha and decorated it with marigold garlands. Inside the chariot, I placed Devi’s photo on a new red cloth, which I received earlier from the ashram. Unsure whether to worship the Jagannath artwork or the framed picture of the trio, I enshrined each alternately. Next, I offered flowers and leaves from the neighbor’s garden. I was relieved to find a ripe mango, sweets, green grams, and organic peanuts at home. Stoneware from Bankura bought months ago was put to good use for serving the offerings. After lighting the lamp, I took a few moments to simply admire the scene. How beautifully everything came together despite the confusion and lack of planning!
Finishing my daily sadhana (yogic/spiritual practices), I moved to Jagannath. Like I sometimes speak with Devi, I told Jagannath to forgive any mistakes I may make. With that, I connected with the Lord as I connect with Devi. It was intense and beautiful! As I wrapped up, my girl surprised me by doing an aarti for Jagannath and Devi, offering food, and prostrating before the deities.
Then came the fun part. After lunch, Yatika took the deities out into the verandah for a ride. We realized that the Ratha is wobbly as one wheel is smaller than the rest. Nevertheless, thrilled to be dragging a chariot for the first time, she overlooked a bump on the floor. Wham! The Ratha crashed on the floor. My girl was horrified! Worried that the deities were hurt, she ran to me. Straightening the chariot and its contents, I assured her that the divine ones are not wounded. On the contrary, they are so delighted that they are up already, waiting for her to continue the ride.
The festival fell on a Monday this year, the day of Yatika’s weekly tests. Unexpectedly in the evening, her friends dropped by when she was in the middle of the test. One of the girls had a super tiny chariot, and she wanted to share the fun of dragging it on the road with her friends. So the mother-daughter duo collected her friends one by one. While the Mom waited outside with the chariot, the girls came in to call Yatika. Hearing the commotion, my girl came out, leaving her exam incomplete. While they processed that Yatika may not join them, their disappointed expressions melted me. I told all of them to watch out for traffic and return in 10 minutes. The girls whooped in joy and ran out! Their delight was so contagious that even I followed them and joined the mother. The kids walked up and down the alley, dragging the Ratha individually and collectively, chattering all the while. My friend and I walked close behind, occasionally herding the lot away from traffic. Thankfully, the passersby didn’t stop to join the procession. The sight was indeed a dream come true! We returned home soon to let Yatika continue her exam. Watching the pictures I clicked, I gasped at the realization that we forgot to wear masks while on the road. Having followed Covid-appropriate protocols since the pandemic began, I was worried about the first big slip. By the grace of the Lord, we are safe.
The divine surprises continue well past the festival. My friend who accompanied the kids that day was initiated into the spiritual journey at the tender age of nine. Well-versed in scriptures, she narrated the captivating story about how the first idols of the trio came into existence. I realized that the Instagram post about Jagannath’s connection with Krishna matches her tale, though some details differ. We visited an ailing, elderly relative days after the Ratha Jatra. I was pleasantly shocked to see a colorful, intricately carved, inch-sized metal statue of the trio kept on top of their old television. Behind the television, a carved wooden replica of the trio hung on the wall. Before the second wave of the Covid pandemic, I spent a few happy days at their home. These artifacts were at their usual place but had escaped my notice. While returning from their home, I looked outside our auto-rickshaw, not really seeing anything, when a splash of bright colors caught my eye. You guessed it! Caught a glimpse of a huge wall painting of the trio outside a shop before our auto whisked past. You guessed it again! Had missed it on my previous trips. Yesterday morning, the first thing I saw on Facebook was an artwork of the trio made by a relative. 
The Lord has made me long for the next Ratha Jatra already! I’d love to visit Puri in the future, hopefully before heading back to Noida. I forgot to place a lock of my daughter’s hair before the chariot this time. Have reserved that bit of history for next year. Joy Jogonnath!
Post #1 in the Triology: https://colorsofatulip.wordpress.com/2021/07/10/the-divine-gift/
Post #2: https://colorsofatulip.wordpress.com/2021/07/12/jagannath-and-i-a-shared-history/
During our childhood, every February, Baba diligently took a city bus to the Nashik railway station. The commute took an hour either way, but that didn’t discourage him. He stood in long queues to book train tickets to Bengal for our annual vacation, which began in April. Baba generally spent a couple of weeks with us in Bengal before heading back to Nashik. Maa and us kids stayed longer and visited family near and far. A generous portion of our holidays was spent at my maternal grandparents’ home.
My maternal grandparents headed a joint family spanning four generations in Ichchapur. Their two-storeyed white house, almost a mansion, was built in a C-shape with sharp turns instead of curves. From the railway station, a two-minute walk down a brick-cobbled street led to their home. Ancient houses with quaint blue doors and shuttered (louvre) windows lined one side of the narrow road. The other side led to a beautiful pond. Along the pond, Krishnachura, Radhachura, Banyan, and Bokul trees formed colorful canopies.
During a vacation in my teenage years, as Maa oiled my long hair, she told me a story. When I was a toddler, we were visiting Ichchapur one summer. One day, the family heard loud cries of “Jai Jagannath!” accompanied by conch blows and ululations coming from the road. It was the auspicious day of the Ratha Jatra. Maa scooped me up and rushed outside the main entrance of the house. Her siblings and cousins joined her on the verandah, which had the hallmark red-oxide floor with thick black lines running along its borders.
Children from the neighborhood entered our lane in a small procession, dragging a beautifully decorated miniature Ratha (chariot) carrying the deities Balabhadra, Subhadra, and Jagannath. The trio was taken out for the traditional annual ride that mimicked the Ratha Jatra in Puri in a humble, sweet way. The children carried Bhog (food offered to the deities) for sharing with devotees met along the way. Passersby paused, and residents from the neighborhood came out of homes to honor the procession. Devotees prayed with folded hands, collected the Bhog, and handed out small amounts of money, typically coins, as donations.
Remembering something suddenly, Maa rushed inside the house with me. Quickly grabbing a pair of scissors, she cut a lock of my hair. Carrying my lock and me, Maa made it outside just in time as the procession reached our house. Descending on the street, Maa bent to place my hair in front of the first wheel of the Ratha, then stood aside, making way. The wheel soon rolled over my hair, followed by the second wheel. The divine trio blessed us as the Ratha moved away, surrounded by the merrymaking of the devotees.
“And that’s why you have long hair,” Maa finished her story. The younger me couldn’t comprehend the connection between the length of my hair and Jagannath’s Ratha. Mulling over the story for a while, I asked Maa for an explanation. In her younger days, she had heard a saying—if the wheels of Jagannath’s Ratha rollover a lock of your hair, you receive His blessings. Your hair will grow, its length matching the distance covered by the Ratha! I have held on to this story ever since; it never fails to bring a smile of gratitude. After all, the saying proved to be true for me!
I got my ankle-length tresses chopped to waist length at Habibs in 2008. Sitting on a revolving chair, when I let loose my bun, my hair cascaded down and lay folded on the floor. The staff and other customers dropped their work to gape. Someone rushed to the second floor of the salon, another ran outside. I heard cries, and in a couple of minutes, strangers from the second floor and neighboring shops poured in to witness the wonder. Thoroughly embarrassed by then, I wished I’d dissolve into thin air. Inquiries about my brand of hair oil and shampoo followed the appreciations. In several different ways and by more than one stylist, I was asked if I’m sure I want a haircut. What an unforgettable experience!
Back then, we weren’t click-happy. Moreover, I’m not used to flaunting my hair. On my insistence, the husband did click a picture of the ankle-length hair before heading off to Habibs. That picture is buried somewhere in a hard drive that lies somewhere! For now, sharing two beautiful shots to represent the sweet history I share with Jagannath.
I am grateful to my sister for several reasons—clicking and preserving these shots, digging in the archives to locate these, and sending these across. Gratitude to my friend Vinayak for letting me use the picture of Lord Jagannath.
Post #1 in the Triology: https://colorsofatulip.wordpress.com/2021/07/10/the-divine-gift/
Musings of an Undercover Yogi 
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