God of Small Beings

This was a strange religious trip. Where a long and fancy car pulled over in the narrow alleys of Brahminical neighbourhood of Bangalore tucked into Anonymity. Jolted out of reverie for the affluent Bengali women of three generations that emerged from this long automobile had emerged in search of the goddess of their homeland. Who is nurtured in this alien land by alien people.

This was different from the quintessential Kali Baris of Calcutta- the Lake Kali Bari, the one in Kali Ghat, various others. The Safdarjung and Gol Market Kali Bari in Delhi. This one was unnerving in its dry, non-sticky floors, quietness, absence of chaotic maddening crowds. Austere Veshti and shawl-ed priests spoke softly. The mother goddess dressed in bold red and zari and diamonds sticking a tongue out and hopping over Shiva was familiar, but not quite.

The garland of red hibiscus was missing. Some strange Bong brand of energy too. To add to that, the knowledge of no-possibility-of-slaughtered-goat made this worship ground more worship-worthy, less accessible. More godly, less friendly.

The women of my family were content though, to come somewhat close to their familiar deity, this far from home. 

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