Biggest attraction of our joint family in my native place is Rasaleela event by Lord Krishna which falls in the auspicious full moon of autumn season. It is the festival of joy which is in contrast to the rituals and fasting we observe during Durga Puja. First day morning of the 3 day festival starts with decorating the Puja ghar and outdoor pandals with paper chains of different designs and hidden in between different birds of white spongy pith "Shola" put in between. Noon time was reserved for cleaning the idol seat which is symbolical as if we are washing away impurities of our soul before the main function begins.

Then we moved outdoor to find out the fair that has taken shape on our adjacent ground. I used to be present at the fair to observe first Jalebi, an Indian sweet made of a coil of batter fried and steeped in syrup, coming out from the make-shift shops that sprang up overnight. Unraveling the mystery of puppet dance has taken a few springs down the line.

Before the dusk descended, the program area was all decked up with multi colored lights of micro bulb and we are ready for the main event! After completion of puja ceremony of Krishna and Radha idols, the same was taken by the priests to the streets dancing to the tunes of " Shyam nabo bishoro bame" and sometimes "Radhe Radhe Radhe Radhe Shri Radhe joy Radhe Radhe". Irrespective of Gauriya or our own freestyle mode of dancing, it was sheer joy to express our freedom at that age. Now when I introspect, I remember getting transformed from the world of steps to the world of trance. The chants, the patterns, the rhythms keeps transporting me deeper and deeper into my inner self.

The real attraction was reserved invariably for the late night Jatra or open air drama. Reserving a place for the family members after completing dinner was an important task assigned to me. For some added attraction, I will always be looking for that front row seat even though watching a sword fighting moment from the 'Jatra' from that close quarter did always send a shiver down my spine. While I will be waiting patiently for my father's role, he will appear but soon will be wounded by another soldier's sword and leave the stage to my utter disbelieve. Despite hailing from respectable family, I wondered how he could die at the hands of a common man in disguise of a soldier. How I wished him to get up and start fighting again! Forgetting that it is merely a drama and not a real one, I might have toyed with the idea of entering the battlefield to defend my father.

This was how we grew up carrying that tradition. And there were no different scripts; the same dance steps, same decoration, same stage. But for a change, yearning for a front row seat had increased over the years as the young eye, tired of watching historical fights, found peace with something else on the other side of the stage. Was it the sign of the growing up or was it the effect of those beautiful black henna applied eyes, manifested as bird's nest, in the opposite direction responsible for the instant peace? My poor little soul did not have an answer.