Puri is my home. Workplace is Bhubaneswar. Puri doesn’t have fancy restaurants chinese fast food joints like Bhubaneswar; it doesn’t have malls and multiplexes those available abundantly at the capital; it doesn’t have much trees on the streets like Bhubaneswar; it is dirtier than Bhubaneswar, the slangs here have more natural vibe than the Bhubaneswarians. But as everyone is fond of their home town/village, to me, Puri is Puri. An evening stroll by foot or bicycle in the streets soothes my soul. The man selling tea, the dosa maker wrapping your foods no matter how unhygienically, all looks familiar and lovely. No matter how much sewerage water gathers on its infamous hospital square, how bad the goons or reputation of now-gone MLA, Puri is very dear to me. Unlike my siblings and cousins, I was delivered in Puri hospital.  The nurse, who had me cleaned, I love her too.

Being born and raised in Puri, it is my bad habit to mention how much we love our sea beach and Deula than the Bengalis. I confess I love the sea beach more than the temple but the great, the majestic, the famous Jagannath temple is a thing of nostalgia for me. I can’t remember how many trips I have made there with my family members. Visiting the temple with grandmother is one experience and visiting the same temple with father or mother is another experience – both are powerful enough by which my life has been woven. I am not that religious nor the temple is a place of worship for me. It is a sweet childhood story book which you cannot get rid of from your logic, rationality and first world country thinking.

My father, uncle and aunts have always described how the temple used to be in their childhood or youth. They narrate their experience of visiting the temple with their grandmother or grandfather. They tell us how the temple was devoid of any electricity back then. When they go there in evening, the baisi pahacha (22 stairs) and the bedhha (campus) all were devoid of any kind of light but people could still spot familiar faces and greet each other in that darkness. My father have said twice or thrice that how the three deities were looking more mysterious back then, being semi-lit by diyas (earthen lamp).

The Jagannath Temple has gone through changes over time. Even the temple I have seen in my childhood is not there today. It has been more organized, cleaner over time. I remember a time around year 2000, we – me, sister and cousins along with my father- go to temple early in the morning on every new years day. It is always around 4 AM; the doors of Singhadwara (Lion’s gate) being still closed; some local people, elderly women, saints and monks of local mutt and very few outside devotees gather in front of the doors, waiting for it to be opened.  This crowd is calm, sensible, not intimidating but still my father tries to protect my sister and keep space around us for air. These are small moments of life when you realize that you were wrong to think that the parents are not caring anymore. The key keeper then come and open the gates. All the people gathered there raise both hands to top and shouts ‘Jaya Jagannath’- at the exact moment when door are opened to give glimpse of big eyed Patita Pabana. It has become a moment to cherish now.

Few years later the queue system was introduced at Puri temple. There had been a substantial growth in numbers of people coming for the new year day darshan. Now one cannot just gather in front of the entrance. People have to be in queues – one behind another – that too quite a lot meters away from the door.

During Navakalebar 2015, we were making a documentary film for which we have spent many hours around the temple. We had captured shots of temple from various angles, from different perspectives- from tops of the shops, terrace of old mutts, verandah of residents- all surrounding the temple. During breaks, we eat from the tiffin shops, have tea and sarbats. While taking a sip, I look at the temple and wonder about its origin- how many years of time it has endured; being in a relatively small city how popular it is than all the temples of capital city combined. I feel a tender moment of closure – reason might be physical proximity in the moment or feeling of belongingness.

The Bhasani Jatra of Durga during Dushera is called Gosani Jatra in Puri. The Durga idols or Gosanis of Puri look different than those are made in Cuttack/Bhubaneswar. They even bear local names such as Kakudikhai, Janhikhai, Janhimundia, Hadabai. These idols are worshipped in different sahis (lanes) during the festival. And at the end of the festival, on the day of Gosani Jatra, all the goshanis from all sahis come one by one in grand processions and gather in front of the Jagannath temple to have a last glimpse of Jagannath before the immersion. This evening is a bonus for Puri residents after Car Festival. All the idols flash lights and decoration like anything. There is fireworks on the sky and celebration in the air.

The look of blazing Gosani figures interlocking eyes with the fierce Mahisasura amidst that dusky dark atmosphere create goose bumps in the beholders. I love this evening more than Ratha Yatra. There is relatively less people- all having a casual stroll, chitchatting- non aggressive movements. I just buy a tea and watch all the idols from a distance. When a new idol from a sahi reaches there, the people of those sahi especially the young ones have a look in their eyes similar to the barajatri (people from groom’s side) reaching the bride’s house during marriage procession.

Last year when the government decided to demolish the encroachments around the Jagannath Temple I was more than happy. Because through the years, I have seen its surroundings were getting dirtier and dirtier. It had become chaotic. The people had been irresponsible. They wanted a lesson. Now everything has become neat and tidy. Old buildings are not there, there is free air, no garbage no spit no cow dung. The floors have been decorated with red yellow colors. Tall plant vessels are adding to the beauty of location. Everything seems organized. Everything is good. When I first visited the place after these decoration- to see what the fuss was all about, I was elated. It was breathtaking. It was like a dream come true.

Only the later visits made me sad.

It is not the place I used to visit. Just like the hankering for the first love, now when everything is gone, I want to have the previous state of the place. Gone is the earthy feel of the place, gone is the look of an ancient city. It is now more like a well-maintained park of the capital city – beautiful but not like the backyard of your home. All the artificial colors, the plants seem like a distraction to otherwise beautiful place. There is a rule we follow in visual design- place elements in such a manner where viewer eyes will be guided – not distracted – towards the subject. If the temple is subject here then all the red green yellows are taking the focus from it. Sadly, the temple is now a just trivial object amidst all the pompous absurd show off.  I once visited Mumbai. The filthiness, the slums, the capitalists, the rich rats, the metro train mayhem even felt normal after day or two. Sometimes the chaos the disorderliness feel dearer and livable. Now Puri temple has become strict business. Either you go inside the temple or remain 75 meters away. You can’t just stand near it and wait for your turn of Gupchup while staring at the yellow lit long red flag on the Neelachakra flying on the backdrop of the gorgeous black sky. Yes, supporters can argue that I still can. But they can’t know what is missing. They say change is good, change is healthy, it is growth, it is development. But during last Gosani Jatra, staring at something blank I felt- change might only be inevitable. It was a moment when, all of a sudden, all the grave faults of your first love seem very trivial.