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Early in the morning, the sound of Biren Bhadra’s powerful voice recounting the story of Goddess Durga’s victory over the demon king Mahishasura played on our two-in-one. Was it even Mahalaya, if it didn’t? My mother spread a fresh chador over the bed and warned me that Durga Pujo was here and I must behave myself as there couldn’t be scolding, crying and fighting in the house during this auspicious time.
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Growing up in Mumbai, the pujo time also meant that my term exams were around the corner or had already begun and would run right through till Bijoya, or Dussehra as it’s called in the rest of India. These exams also played a key role in the fact that though I had my Thamma (dad’s mom) and a whole bunch of family members in Kolkata, we never really ended up making it there for Durga Pujo.
When I was younger my extended family, from my mom’s side, who were also in Mumbai (Bombay back then) would rent out a bus and travel across the pandals in the city. We would set out in the morning and get back home late at night, exhausted and happy. When we grew up and everyone got busy, we still made plans and hung out at the local pujo pandal together.
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After the Arti (prayer), Dhaak (the playing of a traditional drum-like instrument) and Dhunuchi (a traditional dance), my family pulled chairs together at the Chembur Pujo Badi and sat in a large circle, laughing and chatting and occasionally going off to meet friends and acquaintances who were also at the pandal. The kids under the supervision of one or two adults were in charge of buying and bringing the food from the stalls.
There was always a long queue at Mukherjee caterers for their coveted double chicken egg rolls and their deep-fried crisp Mughlai Porothas. The much-needed ice creams in Mumbai’s sultry weather, were bought from the Alapini stall. This was run by a group of local women from Chembur.
A Piece Of Kolkata, Please
Back in the 90s, there weren’t too many restaurants serving Bengali food in the city. I remember waiting for Pujo where these stalls would annually spring up. Friends and family would always say that the food at these stalls could never match up to Kolkata. Even though certain pujo badis took pride in inviting restaurants and caterers from Kolkata to come and put up stalls at their pujo.
There was always something deeply comforting about the crumb fried Bhetki fillets and the handis (earthen pots) of mishti doi being handed out. Also just watching Bengalis buy food could be quite entertaining. At times they almost told the caterer how to cook.
The food at the Pujo pandals was also priced at a premium. If you listened closely, you would hear the disappointment and sometimes the utter shock in the buyer’s voice when the guy at the counter answered his queries about the pricing.
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For someone who had eaten the delicious food, particularly the street food in Kolkata, I did partially agree that it wasn’t the same. However, I hadn’t been to Kolkata during pujo so I wasn't really nostalgic about the Kolkata pujo experience but just to have access to goodies such as the Mochar Chop (fried cutlets made from banana flower) Dim’er Devil, a dish that consists of boiled eggs that are halved and coated in a spiced potato and kheema mixture, then dipped in breadcrumbs and fried to perfection, brought great joy. Tucking into the crispy outer layer with the soft egg inside and dipping this delightful piece of art in Kashondi (mustard sauce) was an experience I’d wait for annually.
I also felt more Bengali than ever at that time of the year. I often had non-Bengali friends visit the pandals too. They would all come to eat and I would proudly introduce them to “our culinary heritage.” While some of them wondered aloud how non-vegetarian food could be served at the same place where Durga was worshipped, others were too busy feasting.
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Bengali sweets such as sandesh, that are rarely available in other parts of the country take centre stage during pujo. We usually visited the Ram Krishna Mission on Ashtami. There was one particular stall where my dad found his favourites – the Shorbhaja, a sweet made up of layers of thickened milk cream which is fried and then dipped in sugar syrup and the Jibe Goja another Bengali fried dessert, which aren’t easy to find in Mumbai otherwise.
The Bhog Ritual
While the food stalls were visited mainly in the evenings, with the Mumbai rains often playing spoilt sport in the season, the afternoons were dedicated to Bhog. The Bengali love for Khichudi, Labda and Beguni is infamous. This became more of a ritual after I competed my schooling and there were no exams to appear for. Off late the bhog experience has also changed in Mumbai. There are pandals that serve the bhog in an air-conditioned area with systematic batch wise seatings.
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Skipping the queue, especially at peak lunch hour is tough. While pandal hopping either on Saptami or Navami, we always made a stop at our favourite Bengali restaurant to get our fill of Shona Muger Dal, Jhuri Aloo Bhaja, Luchi- Kosha Mangsho and Chingri Malai Curry - a ritual we continue year after year.
For me pujo will always be associated with Mumbai. It’s where all my memories are. The food though transports my heart to Kolkata. For those who are Bengali by heritage, the food during Durga Pujo in Mumbai isn’t just about filling your stomach—it’s about connecting with your roots.
