Var De, Veena Vadini, Var De 

(first posted Feb 2022) 

 © 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆

Ah, Vasant Panchami and Sorosotee Pujo

The arrival of  Vasant Panchami was awaited eagerly during my younger days. Since I went to a Jesuit school, I wouldn't get the day off normally, alas. My next door frenemy Babul had the day off at his school.

However, Sr Carmella understood the significance of the celebration and surmised that many would take the day off anyway. And that most of us could use all the divine help we could get. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if she secretly considered herself to be a fellow field-worker to the deity of Wisdom and Knowledge and Music and Arts... a "sister" from another mother, hands-on, molding the misshapen clay into proper future ladies and gentlemen of the republic. 

Sr Carmella wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of granting a special day off if we brought in an application composed following proper rubric - her rubric. Parental intervention in this regard wasn't helpful, Sr Carmella made it clear. The application had to be composed by us. So parental help was neither sought nor given. My parents, like many of their generation, were firmly of the opinion that in-school attendance should be on a 24-7 schedule, punctuated only by the tiffin break, and something called PT during the day. As I recall, PT consisted of running around aimlessly chasing a poorly inflated soccer ball on blazing hot days around noontime. On rainy days, we were brought inside to a smelly, dark, windowless cavern - a large empty hall that doubled as gym space or for school assembly. We did endless marches and formation drills on such days, learned to salute the tiranga jhanda, off key singing saare jahan se achchha "properly, properly... with pride, NOT like lifeless dummies", etc. I swear that the prevalent thinking of the parents and educators was that if 24-7 schedule wasn't possible, the rest of the day / night should be spent doing homework, and, maybe, sleep. No wonder our generation grew up so depraved deprived!

However, in spite of all that, I managed to get one particular Saraswati puja day off from school, officially granted by Sr Carmella. I produced the approved letter with a flourish, properly signed by the only higher authority recognized by my parents when they questioned why I was not getting ready for school. There was such anticipation... so much to look forward to that day. 

Babul had realized he needed much divine intervention that year if he wanted to move on to the next grade, specifically with Math and Hindi. While the Math situation was just plain hopeless, Hindi was terrifying to his very core. Growing up in his Bengali-speaking household and only interacting with Hindi speakers like me and others occasionally at school, textbook Hindi was an unfathomable dark hole. And since most of our conversations never involved formal grammar or composition, it would not have helped anyway. Babul could never understand the logic behind the gender construct in Hindi, that of streeling or pulling assigned to inanimate objects. I confess even to this day I don't understand why baarish is feminine while paani is masculine. Forget any ubhayling or napunsakling (common and neuter gender).

After much pondering, he devised a plan that he was actually going to organize a special, private Saraswati puja on his own front porch where he could get the focused, undivided attention of the Veena Vadini for his particular situation. Seek the needed blessings without the devi getting distracted by others demanding her attention for their own selfish needs and frivolous boons. He also told me that he would allow me to participate. I never suspected that there may have been some hidden agenda on his part around funds, getting chanda to procure a small statue, flowers, puja samagree, prasad, etc. Doing so all by himself was a bit of a tall order and he needed help. So our unwritten friendship clause was invoked and I got drafted. To this day, I remain a bit conflicted on this - whether to feel privileged for the inclusion or feel used for having to do fundraising.  

His grandfather, Babul called him dadu , I knew him as dada, was a retired barrister but had studied Sanskrit during his youth. We assumed he was familiar with appropriate rituals, he gamefully guided us on the basics, making it up along the way as we went on, I suspect. 

A very tiny statue was procured with the meager funds collected after pestering many people in our locality over several days. Sacrifices were made - of our regular playtime... and some piggy banks were raided.

Ganga jal was used to purify one corner of his porch, and the statue was placed on large plantain leaf. Then came an impressive pile of textbooks, notebooks, quill pen, ink well, pencils, anything and everything remotely related to Babul's educational endeavors. The pile was several times the size of the little statue and took all the available space. Then his little sister brought her slate and container of chalks and I only brought my Hindi composition notebook. 

This resulted in a rather delicate situation - there was no room left to place anyone else's stuff near the devi besides Babul's own stuff by the the time we arrived on the scene. Those sacred school books could never be placed on bare floor not purified with Ganga jal! We would lose all our learning!! I only now realize that using Schlichting's Boundary Layer Theory book as the fourth leg of my hand-me-down, twenty year old three legged sofa in my very first apartment following grad school could have been ... a sacrilege. I seek forgiveness from the divine lady for this transgression. 

Babul's dada helped defuse the situation quickly before a full scale war could break out between him and his sister. She strangely took my side that day, perhaps a bit bothered by all the attention her brother was getting in their household due to his newfound religiosity and the puja initiative. Her piggybank may have been robbed as well adding to her overall attitude that morning. Babul had to remove most of his stuff to a nearby chair. All items except his Math and Hindi stuff, which were non-negotiable. 

The puja was performed rather muted, we chanted some mantras and shlokas, bowed our heads and took the prasad home. Later we assembled to a lively game of tennis ball cricket. I eventually collected my Hindi composition book a couple of days later, letting it absorb as much of the blessings it could in the meantime. 

Only now I understand that Soros has nothing to do with the Sorosotee er... Saraswati, and his ilk is worshipping Lakshmi or Lakmé instead... but this puja did not help me at all. While my Hindi was flawless in terms of spelling and grammar, I continued to disappoint my Hindi language teachers with unimpressive word choices and uninspired phrases. They had such hopes for me, coming from a family background well-known for being a patron of Hindi literature. They let me know their displeasure in person. Repeatedly. Babul, as well, was not granted the blessings he sought and came perilously close to flunking Hindi in the mid-year exam, having scored an impressive goose egg on the "Identify Gender by Constructing Sentences Using These Words" question worth 20 points. 

We put our heads together afterwards and went through several days of gender identification exercises (only four in those days!) that he declared absolutely futile in the end. So we devised a workaround where instead of guessing the gender of each word separately, he would pick one ling like masculine for all words, the entire word-list. Wonder of wonders, 14 of the 20 words were masculine on the final exam and his guesses of "masculine" for every word got him the 14 points he needed to pass.

Happy Vasant Panchami !

 

© 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆