Devi-III

Devi-III

Appearance and postures can be so deceptive.

If you thought Devi only symbolized Shakti, the power, to eliminate the evil and make the good prevail; if you thought Devi was all about women empowerment; If you thought Devi was only a champion of the human rights; and if you judge Devi by Chandi Path then you are miles off the mark.

Just a shade below her enviably, glistening skin of polemics, postures, postulations and proverbial sayings, she is a woman. She is feminine. She is a Desire called Devi.

Back home, still bubbling with energy after spending hours with her devotees, Devi was very much on her toes. She was all lungpower and nimble footed, as she attended to household chores and exchanged pleasantries with her guests and aides.

In a delightful mood, looking fresh and magnificent after a shower in a traditional Bengali sari with little drops of water flowing down her hair, Devi chirped, “Have I put on weight? You know, I can knock down these extra pounds of fat. I just got to do a little bit of exercise.” I said, true. But wondered when? Though she had a multi-gym in place at home, I never got to see Devi working out.

Rather, it is her mouth that takes a heavy beating everyday. Devi is a big-time foodie. Loves to ravish gourmets of all variety. Other than principal meals, she is into snacks and tit-bits all the time. And possibly when her jaws pain because of mastication, her tongue begins flicking a chewing gum.

Rolling the gum with the tip of her tongue and pointing it towards me, Devi flippantly said: “Don’t be lazy. Let’s go to the market. Buy some fish and vegetables. The fridge is empty.” It was to be Devi’s day out!

She was all grace and confidence. I watched in awe as Devi picked up money from ATM and then reaching the market, lost herself in the cacophony of the fishmongers. I was right Devi loved to devour. She couldn’t choose, she went for all kinds of fish up for sale.

But there was a surprise, someone who symbolized power, adamant attitude, obstinacy and ruthless elimination of evil, couldn’t stand to see a chicken being beheaded, sprinkling of blood and sharp edges of a butcher’s knife.

“You love hilsa and mutton, so I will cook them today. But I need to buy vegetables. I cannot do without them. You should have them too!” Devi blurted out, as we were returning home. She caressed my hand and said, “Are you hungry? Let us go back and have dinner first.”

Cook? Who is going to cook? Devi is going to cook? But Devi is an empowered woman. She is the nemesis of a devil called Mahishashur. She fights like a man. Will she enter the kitchen to cook? Life has so many surprises. And people have such wrong notions!

The woman who people saw as feminist personified, was in reality feminine to the core. I just watched in absolute fascination as Devi in a sky blue sari, delightfully washed the fish, simmered the oil, marinated the fish with spices and cooked with all perfection and focus. “Don’t stand there and watch. Help me cook. Had I married you, I would have left you for this,” Devi quipped.

I went beside her. But pondered at the same time that you are with the laziest bum in the world. And you stick around with him like a leech and make love to him like a bitch.

Devi is no less a pain. She is very pernickety. Never happy with whatever assistance I gave to her in the kitchen. She just wants it her way and the problem is that she then doubts whether it is the right way. “Why are you so confused?” I asked her. “I take my own decision,” she retorted. I loudly thought `indecision you mean’.

Never tired of mischief, she banged into me thrice as she laid the table for the dinner. A wonderful cook, Devi watched as I quietly began to eat. But there was a problem, the mutton was slightly hard, I felt it needed to be boiled more. Realising my discomfort and unwilling to accept her fault, Devi shot: “You mortals have your mutton tender. But learn to relish the mutton firm and supple.”

The message was loud and clear to me. This is how she worked on the man she loved. She was not going to take any complain and he got to eat his share of the flesh. And secondly, if he nagged too much, he would be denied, in the long night ahead, the delight of the firm and supple flesh of his immortal.

Devi-II

Devi II


The soothing whiff of Stella brought me out of my reverie.

Stella – the perfume line from Stella McCartney, the daughter of the famous English musician and former member of The Beatles Paul McCartney – had numbed by olfactory nerve and made me sit up.

Right in front of me stood a dusky beauty. She dazzled. She mesmerized. Her electric smile put the sunshine to shame. Devi was at her elemental best. Sitting down beside me, she asked: “Tea? How many spoons of sugar? What will you have for nashta?”

Ensconced in her palace, Devi Durga unpacked and changed into a skirt and top. A brisk and confident walker, Devi moved around to put in place her things and looked around for her necessities. And as she strolled around, she left behind the trail of Stella and her graceful beauty, which created a hypnotic effect.

Watching Devi in a nonchalant mood, her aides reminded her that she should get ready as people were already thronging towards pandals to have a glimpse of her. An observer to the whole episode, I watched quietly as Devi pulled out a sari in a jiffy, without wasting time on what to wear and what would suit her for the evening. She told her aides that she preferred not much face-do.

But then what were the cosmetic lines of Revlon, Avon, Nivea and the series of perfumes and deodorants doing in her parlor? I soon discovered that she stuck to a few selective facial makeup brands but loved possessing the best in the world of cosmetics to be displayed in front of her.

All the while, as attendants took care of her needs, Devi enquired about small details of their lives, the happenings and how people were making their ends meet. Somehow I felt Devi was loose on her purse, not really bothered whether her expenses were value for money. It seemed she was more careful about her penny and careless about the pound in her life.

A few minutes later, there stood Devi dressed for the evening in an orange, with an intricate zari work, Baluchuri sari. There was very little facial make-up, apart from black eyeliner, a light shade foundation and lipstick. The black bindi on her forehead made her face look more beautiful.

And then I felt the intoxication taking effect. The sensuous fragrance of Chanel 5 was in the air. It was emanating from the delicate frame of Devi. She mischievously smiled and walked up to me.

And just before leaving her palace to take her position in the pandal, Devi, oozing with beauty and oomph, did a surprise act.

Holding my arm, she took me towards her royal mirror. Keeping her head on my shoulder and looking up at me, she asked with her eyes sparkling, “How am I looking?” I said, beautiful. The teaser went further, “Now tell me, who is more beautiful?” she asked with her eyebrows raised. I said, you.

Smiling at me, she said, come let us finish the evening round. I fathomed that even in middle age Devi needed to be reassured. When I told this to Devi lightly, she rebutted: “I care for all and sundry, just as humans do. But I love only one.”

My Devi I

Devi I


It was a shock, disappointment and also coming to terms with reality.

Having not hopped pandals and seen Devi from close quarters for nearly two decades, my portrait of Durga was very different from what I saw when I finally decided to take a close look.

There was lot of excitement and expectations. My first date with Devi, as she came down from the abode of Kailash for her yearly visit. I was there when the Unknown Flying Object (UFO) landed carrying the damsel-in-demand on her four days sojourn in this planet.

Standing on the tarmac, I waited eagerly for the UFO doors to open. It was a chartered flight carrying Durga and her entourage to the earth to kick-off the days of fervour, gaiety, celebrations and joy. And then stepped out Devi. Oh, not my Goddess!

To me Devi was still traditional. I expected Devi to turn up in a gorgeous Banarasi sari or maybe in something more suppressed in colour, but an elegant drape. But here was Devi in black Armani working suit, Gucci shoes, Versace scarf, Dunhill belt, Ray Ban sunglass, Louis Vuitton handbag and Apple iphone.

What an eyesore! I thought, all present there must be thinking having abandoned her traditional attire, is it left to imagination that even Devi’s lingerie could be part of Victoria’s Secret? Devi has been corporatised. Devi has become a victim of multi-national brands and cultural imperialism.

Perhaps, Devi thought that fashion having advanced on earth she could make any kind of sartorial statement. Not really. Devi cannot take everything for granted. Her beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Devi failed to understand no matter how much one leaped forward in haute couture; one always carried the tradition with oneself.

But was Devi looking attractive? Well, I was so confused and jilted that I couldn’t make out what made me look at her, was it her looks or was it her “so different” appearance? I really don’t know. Truth is that Devi epitomizes the rich, cultural Bengali tradition and out of it, Devi looks out of place.

But then this is just the beginning. Will check out how Devi turns out as days pass by.