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Festoons, food and crisp new clothes, The wisp of incense sticks in the air, The spirit of Pujo is so much and more, Than what mere words can express.
It is waking up early in the morning, Without alarms, or staying up all night, It’s excitement galore, ‘anando’ brimming, It is about feeling the adrenaline rush.
As the marked dates on the calendar come closer, The cup of joy brimmeth over, for young and old, With festive music blaring, in every street corner, And ‘Dhunuchi naach’ happening in all its glory.
Food stalls emitting lip-smacking aroma, Pujo is also about young ones running about the pandal, Looking at the murti, with equal awe and amazement, Preparations begin early, months before.
With shopping, watching the pandal being set up, And the murti being sculpted from scratch, It’s not just a ten day fiesta; it is magical stuff, It’s a much cherished love, with a year long wait.
It leaves in its trail, myriad memories to hold dear, The excitement gives way to reverence, On first glimpse of ‘Ma’ in her deific splendour, And then the longing, as the ‘Visarjan’ takes place.
Even with the immersion of the idol divine, And long, indeed very long after it, ‘Ma’ lives on in our hearts at all times, Aasche bauchhor abaar haubey!!
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