The Nostalgia of the Bengali New Year

Poila Boishakh, the hailing of the Bengali New Year, stands out very clearly in my mind for a number of reasons. The first one of these is my beloved grandmother who is no more. Dida was close to 80 then and very averse to social outings. This one day in the year, however, marked an exception. She would put on her best sari, those retro style cat-eye spectacles, and with the age-old red British purse dangling on her forearm, head out to join the festivities with me in tow in a crisp new frock.  This is my fondest memory of the day, one that I miss to date.

Historically, the unique Bengali calendar is a mix of the Hindu solar and Hijri lunar calendars. It was instituted by Emperor Akbar in 1584 to ease the process of paying taxes that fell out of the harvest season earlier.

For us Bengalis, Poila Boishakh means many things - art, culture, religion, food, and family. One can even consider it as an abridged version of Bengal’s signature festival, the Durga Puja, celebrated in autumn.

Preparations for Poila Boishakh start at least a month ahead. On the eve of New Year, also known as Chaitra Sankranti, Bengalis flock the Kalighat temple thanking the Goddess for the previous year and seeking blessings for the new one. And then spring cleaning happens in peak summer! New dresses are bought, jewelry showrooms are overcrowded. The harmoniums come out of their cases and rehearsals start in full swing. The menu for the day is discussed and re-discussed. On the streets, shopkeepers and business owners get busy with their new bright red ‘haal khata’ (accounting books), clearing debts and loans of the previous year and launching new ventures. Boxes of sweets and snacks along with new Bengali calendars are stacked and rolled in shop corners to be distributed free for faithful patrons and new customers who visit on the auspicious occasion.

Nowadays, when we discuss Poila Boishakh, my mother often tells me that “things have changed” in Kolkata. Thankfully, I haven’t seen those changes and can only reminisce the way we celebrated this new beginning every year. I remember starting the day very early. Probhat pheri and Rabindra Sangeet would ring in the dawn. While the elders would be gone to take a holy dip in the Ganges, we would rush to the balcony with sleepy eyes to watch the long processions of professional and amateur singers and dancers draped in traditional attires (those white garad saris with red borders or handloom cottons with broad colourful checks and men in dhuti-panjabi), some in elaborate performance costumes, wearing flower garlands and gold and pearl jewelry. Folk songs and the tune of “Esho Hey Boishakh” not only welcomed the New Year but anticipated the birth celebrations of our greatest inspiration, Tagore, whose birthday falls on 25th of Boishakh. My favourite task, however, was putting alpona (rangoli) on the thresholds of all rooms (except the thakur ghor or pooja room that was my grandmother’s domain) with a small piece of cloth dipped in a ground, grainy paste of rice. My cousin sister would accompany me often on this task and we would compete as to who staked claim on how many rooms! Don’t ask me how the designs turned out to be in the end :-)

Coming to the most interesting part – food! The kitchen would naturally be the busiest place on this day.  The bronze and silver cookware would be shined anew. My mother would lead the little battalion of domestic helps to prepare the grand feast. Breakfast would usually be luchi (poori) and the spicy aloor dom (potato gravy) or the sweetish cholar daal (chana dal curry). Later in the day, heavenly aromas of aam porar shorbot (raw mango drink), sweet pulao, shorshe ilish (Hilsa with mustard sauce), chingri macher malaikari (prawn curry), and of course, the un-missable mishti doi (sweet curd) in the clay container would make us hungrier than usual. The shukto - gravy with potato, bitter gourd, raw banana, brinjal, drumstick, and bori (dried lentil dumpling) - would make its appearance too. Sometimes, luchi would be served with kosha mangsho (semi-gravy mutton) for lunch. Not to forget the rosogolla, rajbhog, and sandesh with ‘poila boishakh’ engraved on them.

The telephone would ring constantly with friends and relatives wishing ‘subho noboborsho’ as we got ready to welcome them home, participate in cultural programmes, and pay a visit to the nearby Kali bari to worship Lakshmi and Ganesha placed in small cane baskets.

Today, as I sit hundreds of kilometers away from my hometown celebrating Ugadi (New Year in Karnataka), I realize how significant my Bengali traditions were in making my childhood a very happy one.  Those who are still lucky to be in Kolkata, tell us what has changed and what hasn’t!

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