Hey You !

I started Saraswati poojo the year Chibu flunked Math. I cried thinking my son has inherited my defective Math genes.  My friend Mamtu's solution was to appease the lady in white, the one stop remedy for an upgraded report card. And my father was an active participant. So it became a ritual with the three of us. There are many stories to go with it. Once we selected a saraswati murti, got her face covered with paper, and then suddenly her palm moved like saying bye bye... The shopkeeper was aghast as we rolled with laughter.  And then we had our lucky Saraswati. Who stayed with us for 3 years, ensured Chibu passed math and engineering and got a job!  It all ended with Baba leaving in 2015.Our last 3 generation poojo.  At Mainak, I started the poojo since last year, as Chibu is back, and Bhaskar 's Dadi's saraswati needs a homage. And it's an occasion to dress traditionally on a working day.  And the lady remains an eternal favorite.  From fixing the math gene to playing

 I walk into this room and give it my touch. Keep the crystal ashtrays  that belonged to baba and brought in ma's dressing table seat, match a favorite family heirloom, an armchair.  How these pieces remain while people are gone.  What stories they would tell you...  Of generations,  time and perspective.  I remember my mother sitting on that seat, getting dressed at our Lansdowne Rd house and my grandmother reading, reclining on that chair.  Houses, places, people I have lost count of changes. I remain a gypsy, I feel I have no home. Probably that's why I love moving, experimenting, traveling, and making a nook anywhere.  And then I walk  into this room, give a twist to memory and feel maybe, I should make this home.  And feel old and ready to let go.