Category: Society – The Raw Version

The worship of Devi Durga in Bengal is celebrated in a very unique way. It is believed that Durga Maa comes to her home along with her four children, Ganesh, Karthik, Lakshmi, and Saraswati. She stays with us for five days and then returns to Kailash.

But do you know, there is another story behind this Durga Puja, known as Akal Bodhan?

Akal Bodhan means the untimely awakening of Devi Durga.
This name comes from the Bengali Ramayan, Krittibasi Ramayan.

According to the Bengali Ramayana, when the battle between Ram and Ravan was at its peak, Ram came to know that Ravan was a great devotee of Lord Shiva.

At that moment, Vibhishan, Ravan’s brother, advised Ram to worship Devi Durga. He suggested that Ram offer her 108 lotuses to awaken her blessings. However, Ram had only 107.

To prove his devotion, he decided to offer one of his own eyes, which were often compared to blue lotuses. Maa Durga, deeply moved, appeared and blessed him with victory.

Our celebrations begin on Panchami, the fifth day, and continue till Dashami (Dussehra), the tenth day, filled with devotion, rituals, and cultural richness. One special ritual is offering 108 lotus flowers to Devi Durga.

We also offer bhog to Maa Durga, which includes khichuri, luchi, and a variety of Bengali sweets. These simple offerings carry the taste of love, togetherness, and tradition.

We celebrate this festival not only with rituals but also with cultural programs like dance, music, folk tales, poetry, and much more.

Sindoor Khela is a lively ritual where married women smear each other with sindoor, celebrating Maa Durga’s blessings, happiness, and strength.
For Probashi Bengalis, Durga Puja keeps us connected to our roots. We come together like one big family, celebrating with tradition, joy, and the blessings of Maa.

Today, Durga Puja is celebrated not only in Bengal but across the world. Every year, Bengali communities create beautifully themed pandals and idols with devotion and creativity, for example, in Silvassa, Dadra and Nagar Haveli and Daman and Diu, where the festival brings together people from different backgrounds.

Here, we have various Bengali associations, and one of them is DPCS (Durga Puja Committee, Silvassa).

For Bengalis, Durga Puja is a feeling of homecoming, when Maa arrives for five days, fills our hearts with joy, and leaves again as our beloved mother.

We wait all year for her return. When Puja ends, we hold on to the promise: “Ashche bochor abar hobe”, it will happen again next year, Maa will be back.

Dugga Dugga!

There’s something I’ve been feeling for a while now. And today, I want to write—not to inform, not to teach—but to express.

The real problem today isn’t just the noise—it’s the silence. The silence of understanding, of truly listening. Everyone’s quick to speak, to offer advice, to tell you how to fix your life. But how many are actually willing to pause and really listen?

True listeners are rare. People are quick to give opinions, but few will just sit beside you, look you in the eye, and say, “I hear you.” These days, it’s too easy to make someone feel like their emotions don’t matter—that they’re being dramatic or overreacting. And sadly, many carry that hurt in silence.

What we truly need today is not more advice. We need more kindness. We need more people who are willing to pause and understand rather than respond. We need the kind of people who don’t rush to give solutions, but rather hold space for our vulnerability.

Let’s talk about these new-age “advisors”—the online ones. Motivational speakers, dieticians, podcasters with perfect setups and polished words. Most of them don’t even know who they’re talking to, yet their words are treated like gospel. They tell us what to eat, how to live, what to feel—and millions of confused, anxious, lonely people hold on to every word.

But here’s the irony: those same people who comment “Yes, we need more empathy,” are the ones trolling others online the very next minute. It’s all become performance. We talk so much about mental health, about support, about awareness—but where is it in real life?

What’s more worrying is how blindly we follow viral podcasts and social media influencers. Everyone has their own diet tips, health theories, and new “truths” to share. But do we ever stop to check the facts? I recently heard one podcast saying poha is the best breakfast, and another claiming it’s the worst. So, whom should I trust? What’s actually true?

This isn’t just about food—it’s the same with education, health, relationships, and everything in today’s lifestyle. We’re constantly flooded with mixed advice, and without checking the facts or context, we start following it blindly. I’m not saying every podcast or speaker is wrong—but let’s be honest, some are. And they’re influencing millions. That’s the real danger.

Let me share something from my own experience—as a teacher. I see students walk into class after binge-watching YouTube and Instagram reels, and suddenly they’ve become experts. They challenge the teacher, not out of curiosity, but out of arrogance. Questioning is healthy. But today, many students are confusing attention-seeking with awareness.

And it hurts. Because we teachers pour so much into shaping young minds. We go beyond textbooks, beyond hours. And all we ask in return is respect. But now, thanks to misleading content online, some students believe more in a flashy reel than the person standing in front of them.

There’s something else that really worries me. We’ve become a generation that doesn’t want to read or reflect—we just want to react. We look for knowledge in 30-second reels and quick soundbites. We don’t want to check facts or understand things deeply—we just want to argue.

We love being heard, but we resist hearing others. And in doing so, we’re shrinking our thinking, weakening our understanding, and feeding our egos more than our minds.

And it doesn’t end there. One of the most harmful trends I’ve observed is the flood of relationship advice floating all over social media. We’re being fed a new kind of love language—one made of ultimatums and unrealistic expectations.
“If she doesn’t call first, she doesn’t care.”
“If he’s not planning candlelight dates every weekend, he’s not serious about you.”
Love, suddenly, has been reduced to checklists, conditions, and clickbait.

These aren’t signs of love. They’re signs of a deeper problem—where people stop listening to each other and start comparing their relationship to someone else’s highlight reel.

After watching hours of content, people begin to carry those expectations into real life, and it becomes a disaster. They forget that every relationship is different. The person speaking on a podcast or giving advice on a stage does not know your story—your emotions, your situation, your struggles. Still, many follow that advice like a universal truth, and that’s dangerous.

Advice isn’t one-size-fits-all. Some may relate to a reel, others to this blog—but that doesn’t mean everything you see should shape your reality. Think before you take it in. Reflect before you react. Your story deserves your voice—not someone else’s version of it. This isn’t just a blog—it’s a quiet voice that didn’t want to shout, but still wanted to be heard.

It’s a memory of all those paused conversations, unfinished thoughts, and feelings left hanging in the air… waiting.

Somewhere between the loud advice and perfect answers, there’s a quieter space—where questions are allowed to just exist, and emotions don’t need permission to breathe. Maybe it’s not about finding solutions. Maybe it’s simply about sharing what it feels like to be human in a world that rarely pauses to ask.

And if this reached you, not as noise, but as a quiet echo of your own thoughts— then perhaps… we’ve already listened to each other, without saying a word.

A heartfelt reflection on identity, tradition, and the courage to be ourselves in a world constantly trying to shape us.

Who are we, really?
It’s not a loud question. It doesn’t scream or demand an answer in public.
It arrives quietly—when you’re alone. When you’re removing your bindi in front of a mirror after a work meeting. When you’re speaking English confidently in a room full of strangers but feel an ache for your mother tongue.
When you’re doing everything “right,” and still feel something inside you slipping away.
Are we still the ones who grew up with the smell of incense in the corners of our homes, who learned prayers before we knew poems, who were taught to eat with our hands and bow our heads to elders?
Or are we becoming a blurred sketch of something else—half Western, half Indian, yet fully unsure of who we are?
We say we’re evolving. But is this evolution… or erasure?
There’s a name for this in-between space we’re all floating in.
Confusion. Quiet, constant, and deeply personal.

Living Between Two Worlds
We grew up rooted in tradition.
Our childhoods were wrapped in stories told by grandparents, prayers whispered at dawn, the scent of incense in quiet corners, and the discipline of folded hands and respectful silences.
We were taught values—not through lectures, but through the way life moved around us.
But as we began to grow, the world around us started changing.
Our parents, watching the pace of the world quicken, wanted us to stay ahead.
They encouraged us to learn fluent English, to dress smartly, to be confident and modern, to be “presentable” in a world that didn’t always speak the language of tradition.
And we tried—earnestly, awkwardly, endlessly.
We celebrated Diwali at home and participated in Secret Santa at school.
We spoke Hindi or Bengali in the kitchen and flawless English in classrooms.
We followed rituals we didn’t fully understand and copied trends we didn’t fully feel connected to.
We became experts at switching identities—slipping into whatever version of ourselves the moment demanded.
But in trying to live in both worlds, we never fully felt at home in either.
That’s where the confusion began—not because we lacked values, but because we were forced to wear too many faces.
And in trying to belong everywhere, we slowly stopped feeling like we belonged anywhere.

The Myth of Choice
We are often told—“It’s your life. It’s your choice.”
But the moment we make that choice, the world begins to whisper.
Wear traditional clothes?
You’re backward.
Choose modern outfits?
You’re shameless.
Stick to customs?
You’re too rigid.
Break them?
You’re disrespectful.
So what is the real choice?
Is it truly ours? Or does it always come wrapped in judgment?
No matter what direction we move in, someone always points fingers—telling us we’re either too much or not enough. And slowly, we begin to doubt our own decisions. Not because they are wrong—but because they are never fully accepted.

When Tradition Turns into Contradiction
Nowhere is this more visible than in the institution of marriage.
Families that travel abroad, watch global cinema, talk about gender equality—suddenly become silent when their child mentions love marriage or an inter-community relationship.
“I want you to be happy,” they say…
…until your happiness doesn’t fit into their definition.
And then come the subtle punishments. Cold silences. Social shame. Cultural guilt. Even within Indian culture, the divide is loud. North vs. South. East vs. West. Urban vs. Rural. We don’t just struggle between Indian and Western cultures—we struggle within our own. We hesitate to speak to someone because their surname is unfamiliar. We distance ourselves because someone’s rituals don’t look like ours. We think we’re preserving tradition—but in truth, we’re shrinking it.
When did diversity become division?

The Silent Classroom
As a teacher, this conflict isn’t just something I feel—it’s something I witness.
Children today can name cities in Europe but not states in India.
They can pronounce “pasta” perfectly, but stumble over Indian folk tales.
They celebrate Halloween with excitement but cannot explain the true meaning behind Dussehra or Holi.
And no, this is not their failure.
It is ours.
We created an education system that teaches them everything—except who they are. I remember my own childhood, when my grandfather didn’t just teach me culture —he breathed it into me. Through stories, through silence, through tiny acts of meaning.
From him, I learned that being Indian was not about performance—it was about presence.
Today, that presence is fading.
Our values are being replaced by validation.
Our roots are being swapped for relatability.
And in this process, we are raising global minds with forgotten hearts.

But what if…
But what if it didn’t have to be this way?
What if we stopped asking “What will people think?” and started asking “What do I truly believe?”
What if we taught our children that they don’t have to pick sides—that they can carry their roots and still spread their wings?
What if we allowed people to pray differently, speak differently, dress differently, and still belong?
What if we accepted that being modern doesn’t mean forgetting your past—and that following tradition doesn’t mean denying the present?
And what if we reminded ourselves that it’s okay to be many things at once?
You can be rooted and free.
Soft and strong.
Simple and extraordinary.
Because identity is not a box. It’s a canvas.
And the colours we choose are ours.

Start from Within
It’s not just about India vs. the West.
It’s about the India within India.
It’s about the walls we’ve built between states, between languages, between customs.
It’s about the quiet judgments we pass when someone doesn’t follow “our way.”
It’s about ignoring someone because they don’t fit into the version of culture we grew up with.
But real culture is not about sameness. It’s about acceptance.
We don’t have to agree with everyone. But we can respect them.
We can choose understanding over ignorance.
We can choose inclusion over ego.
And this change… this shift… it doesn’t start with governments or institutions.
It starts within.

A Gentle Ending: Where Do We Go from Here?
We say we want change.
But change doesn’t begin with systems, governments, or education policies.
It begins with something far more personal: how we see ourselves—and how we choose to see each other.
It begins when we stop mocking someone’s accent, stop calling someone “too traditional” or “too modern.”
When we stop measuring worth by clothes, language, or lifestyle.
When we stop treating simplicity as weakness—and start seeing it as strength.
When we realize that being “presentable” shouldn’t come at the cost of being authentic.
And it begins when we understand that India was never meant to be one voice.
It has always been a symphony—loud and soft, ancient and new, diverse and evolving.
A real culture doesn’t demand sameness or uniformity.
It invites difference, celebrates individual journeys, and holds space for every kind of truth.
You don’t have to prove yourself to this world.
You only need to be at peace with yourself.
Carry your roots like strength—not like shame.
Walk your path—not to fit in, but to be whole.
Because in the end, living peacefully, truthfully, and joyfully matters so much more than living perfectly.
And being yourself—genuinely, kindly, unapologetically—will always be more meaningful than trying to be someone the world expects.
So maybe it’s time we ask:
Do we really want to belong to a world that doesn’t allow us to be who we truly are?
Or… Can we start building a world that accepts every version of being Indian, without judgment
or shame?
And most importantly—
Can we start by accepting that the first step toward any real change… must begin within
ourselves?