life's a kick

With my original Durga This story dates back to 1997. I had turned 13, the year my periods began. Flashback: It had been four years since we had moved to Delhi. Coming from Bokaro, we’d still not warmed up to the national capital. The summers were too hot, the winters too cold, and no rains in between. There was no Bokaro Steel City Club to chill at. The parents of colony children were too strict with playing hours. Open spaces were too few and far between. English was too common, and the city’s fashion standard too pompous for our tastes. And then, as a 9 year old, I finally discovered something I liked about Delhi – the Kanjak Puja . Back in (the then) Bihar, there was no Kanjak Puja . There was only Dushehra, but it was celebrated with inimitable fanfare. We knew of only one Navratri that was celebrated in autumn, and all nine days were days of Durga. Of Kali, the eternal Shakti. The all-powerful goddess with 108 names. In my childhood memories, Dushehra, or