The fragrance of Pujo

 

As I press my shirt,

_{Something touches my heart;}

_{I stop thinking about balance sheets}

_{And realise}

_{It is the smell}

_{Of pressing a brand-new Allen Solly}

 

_{Ah! That crisp smell of fresh clothes}

_{Being worn for the first time}

_{The floodgates of memories}

_{Rush forth}

_{Pujo, new clothes}

_{Is just the beginning}

 

_{The family coming together}

_{Indulgent ice-cream}

_{Jhal muri, Phuchka}

_{Dad won’t mind for a change}

_{Psychedelic lights in all colours}

_{And no deadline to return}

 

_{A small-town world,}

_{A middle-class family}

_{What more could you want?}

_{It was not just Kailash}

_{It was a boy’s universe}

_{Coming alive for five days}

 

_{The shirt is pressed,}

_{I smile –}

_{It was never about 5 days}

_{It was about the humdrum}

_{Of everyday life}

_{For the remainder of the year}

 

_{The pandal’s bamboo sticks gathered}

_{In a corner}

_{Once fresh hoardings}

_{Left to fade in the weather}

_{A ruptured dhak}

_{Left behind by the Club}

 

_{The smeared giri phota}

_{Left on every wooden door}

_{A few khorer putul}

_{Waiting to return to life}

_{And then,}

_{All that the eye cannot see –}

 

_{Birendra’s baritone voice}

_{Still ringing in the ear}

_{A squirrel’s tail that reminds of kash}

_{Walking past Sitala Mandir}

_{And wondering}

_{How big was the event last year}

 

_{Perhaps Pujo waits for us}

_{Every day}

_{Even when you are somewhere else}

_{Many years away.}

_{I stop the bioscope for the day –}

_{There will be shirts to press next week…}

 

_{4th November, 2026}

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