Lokhi pujo was the closest to a Thanksgiving Dinner that we had in our family when I was a kid in Kolkata.
The maternal side of my family would meet at my grandparents’ place on the day.
Didu, my maternal grandma, would make khichuri and bhaaja and torkari and serve it to us after she would offer pujo to the Goddess.
My late grandfather would sit in the verandah outside the puja room.
‘He says he is nastik (atheist) and will come only for the prasad,’ said my Didu in that typical ‘coy meets sarcasm’ style in which Bengali couples of yore expressed affection, if not love. All the other kids and I would laugh on cue. Like Baby Loaf, I was the eldest in my generation.
Then I moved out of Kolkata. As did my brother later and most of my cousins too.
Slowly didu’s house became empty on Lokhi Pujo. She would continue to offer prayers for us all.
I would have my Lokhi Pujo proshad at the Bandra pujo here and remember those days.
This year the bhog stopped too thanks to the pandemic. The pujo became virtual.
Then, just as I was about to eat, our friend Ananya @thesareechef, sent me a voice message. The gist of which was, ‘I have done Lokhi Pujo at home and have sent some proshad to you and to my other friends. Hope you have not eaten.’
I was about to sit for dinner when her food arrived. I put the narkel diye bhaaja moong dal, methi shaak, rajma and bhaat that I was sitting down to aside, promising to the Goddess that I will have it tomorrow, and had the food Ananya had sent. Luchi, bhaaja, khichuri, torkari, chutney, payesh. Offering some to K (the wife is considered to be Lokhi after all) and to my mother in law.
From the first mouthful to the last it felt as if I was at didu’s and I knew that she’d be happy when I call her and tell her about this tomorrow.
Thank you so much for this Ananya. May the blessings of the Goddess of prosperity be with us all. 🌺🙏🏽