I remember how my mother used to lure me into waking up on Mahalaya morning by promising me a cup of chai. I would like to admit that I am mildly addicted to chai, so the prospect was enough to get me out of bed before sunrise. My didun (maternal grandmother) lived 15 minutes away, and we would listen to the radio broadcast before walking to her house, where my maasis (mother’s sisters) would gather for tea and conversations. Those mornings were as much about family as they were about welcoming Goddess Durga. I am a 90s kid who has witnessed the world on both sides of the internet, from radio broadcasts and television sets to smartphones and tablets. Yet, some memories remain stubbornly analogue. Mahalaya is one of them.




