the bar is not my child, but I'll raise it.

Percy frowned. "Don't even think about it." He growled.

Y/N laughed. "Of course, seaweed brain."

Mahalaya is something so much more than a religious programme, something that extends beyond the boundaries of one's devotion to god, it's about the excitement and anticipation of thousands of bengalis alike.

Durga pujo is never just about the time from mahalaya till dashami, it's the excitement and anticipation of a whole entire city for a whole year. A very rare time when you can catch a glimpse of an entire city forget about its pain and sufferings and celebrate something together. Durga pujo isn't the same as Diwali in North India or Onam in Tamil Nadu, it's something that surpasses all boundaries of religion and devotion, a time of the year every single in the individual in the city forgets about their worries and celebrates life together.

For a bengali commoner, Durga pujo isn't only the 4-5 days of actual pujo which takes place, it isn't only the pandal hopping, the crispy "tetul jol'e dobano phuchka", or the millions of 'tuni-bulbs' hanging above our heads in the different streets. It isn't only the "Moha-oshtomir anjali", neither the Doshomir sindur khela, nor the bhashan'er naach.

It all begins from the buildup to the pujo - the countdown obviously. Bengalis start talking about Pujo from almost 150 days prior to the event - that's roughly 40% of a year. Be it the dawn of "pantaloons'e birat sale legeche", or the bargaining across the roads of Gariahat-Esplanade for that perfect piece of kurti which will please everyone, or the "amar 9ta jama, 7ta pant, tor kota?". The "eita Saptami'r din porbo", buying gifts for "chele-meye-baba-ma-bhaipo-bhaiji-kaki-pasher barir puchki", the anxiety for the long awaited holiday season for any service employee, the pandal preparations, the various sales in the different malls and showrooms. The planning session involved for covering as much of Kolkata as possible - "Md. Ali park, College Square, Maddox Square, Sribhumi - shob kintu ghurbo", buying the Sharodiya edition of Anandamela(yes it was a tradition 5 years back, defined my childhood :D ), the pujo'r bonus for everyone - pocket money for us :P , browsing through Zomato for potential 'bhuribhoj' sites, or "South'e kintu ekta pandel'ei ekshota debi dekhte pabi, bhai ;) ", booking the tickets to Delhi/Shimla/Nainital", or "Dada, pujo'r jonno Auto bhara bereche". "Ar ekta week porabe Sir, tarpor chuti pore jabe" to "Baba, notun phone'er order kobe debo?" and then gradually to "kal Mahalaya, bhor 4te nagad uthte hobe!" - how can you forget these inevitable situations? Ain't these mandatory in any Bengali household? The joy is inexplicable and yes, the feeling is obviously mutual .

Sky, s!her, turning 16 soon! Love reading. Emotionally attached to my spotify ♡

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 ⫶ 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗. 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐘. 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓.

The city has been cleansed with the after showers of monsoon. Blue sky peeking through fluffy clouds resembling the cotton candy carried by the street vendors. The smell of durga puja coming in through the open windows. Standing outside Kumortuli is a small smiling face in shabby clothes and dirty hair. The departure of idols might be significant for the whole city, but not for the little boy whose father will be coming home after months of crafting the inanimate joy that would fill the city for the next 10 days.

The single mother spent her bonus on the little piece of jwellery she had seen her daughter longingly looking at in Gariahat. The transferred father took a few extra days off. A son remembered his father on the banks of the Ganges, while the recently widowed woman longingly glanced at the idol's red saree. They felt what the poets may describe as peace and happiness but for them it was just plain old durga puja.

She arrived with her children, shaking the whole city from its slumber, a ray of hope within the gloomy times. Every year she arrives with the same smiling face and listens to all our problems. To the lost boy trying to find his place in society, to the queer person trying to figure out why they were wrong, to the girl who never saw her father after that day in court, to the lady who never knew what happened to her daughter the night she went out with her friends. Lives filled with tragedy after tragedy lie at Maa's feet asking for a way ahead. Maa listens. She gives them hope and sometimes tragedies do go away. The boy lands a job while the queer person is invited back to their family. The girl recieves a gift from her father while the lady cries at the station,report in hand. Maybe not happy endings, but closure. That's what Maa gives. Hope is just the surface of the abyss of our mind which actually seeks closure.

The bright lights and bamboos wrapped in colourful clothes stand as a symbol of the hardwork of all those people who worked relentlessly to make this festival a pathway to overcome tragedy. The people live another day to fight, blessed by Maa.