A 52-foot tall Durga idol looks down at you in the F D Block football ground. Its deep mahogany face is blurred by a thin curtain of rain,a blue plastic sheet flung across its chest like a pallu. As the sheet of rain gets thicker theres a scurry of people over the coarse grassy ground,pulling tarpaulin and plastic sheets to cover two-foot tall terracotta figures left to dry on the grounds. The rains are such a spoilsport. Who will say this is shorot (autumn), grumbles Lakhsmi Sahu,hastily covering up a freshly painted plywood frame made for the pandal. The rains and the Pujas have always made strange,nevertheless,consistent bedfellows. However,the moment the neighbour steps out of his home,looks at a deliciously asphalt sky and grimaces,you know theres something more important in his mind than the travails of a lingering summer. At the Suruchi Sangha pandal in New Alipore,a faint roar of the clouds sends the workers in a tizzy. Some rush to truss small wood and clay figurines into the tiny club office,others rush to shield thread work on cloth,let out in the day,ready to be mounted on the dome shaped scaffolding of the pandal. It has been raining persistently over the last few days. We are finding it extremely difficult to start painting on the wood and ply structures, mutters Raju Das,a labourer who comes to Kolkata every Puja to work in pandals. However,Raju has learnt to leave it up to the rain gods. Every year we panic. The panic is a part of our jobs now, laughs Das briefly. But its the same rain and the panic it sparks - dad shaking his head looking out of the window,the best friend stealing worried glances at the new pair of stilettos and mom grumbling about the threat to her new dhakai saree that thickens the Puja spirit,much like an extra sachet of sugar in the routine cup of cappuccino.
