The time of the year is approaching when every Bengali, no matter whatever corner of the globe he’s in, suddenly becomes conscious of a stirring within himself. Puja is around the corner. We, the prabasis, may not wake up to the beating of the dhaak or get to see the undulating kaash, but our world is changing too.

The tulips and daffodils are out, the camellias are painting the sky red, and there’s a hint of spring in the air. This is the time when, whether they arrange for a Puja or not in their home from home, Bengalis all over the world gear up for their Puja ‘do’.

It has been rightly said that wherever a few Bengalis congregate, a cultural association is born. We pride ourselves on our rich heritage and strive to keep the cultural flag flying high.

If by any chance we happen to live abroad, however, each of us is suddenly catapulted into the enviable position of an unofficial cultural envoy. The result is very interesting. I have exchanged notes with a few friends living abroad and found that practically anywhere in the world, the prabasi Bengali community behaves along similar lines.

We have a few annual dos. We meet at a hired hall, eat butter chicken and rice, and most importantly, make good use of the stage. A few familiar types who can be seen during such an evening:

The Butterfly

Female; age no bar. Main activity: flitting from one group to another, displaying the newest sari ordered specially from home. Harmless and decorative.

The Poet/ Intellectual

He is what the insurance companies might refer to as an ‘Act of God’. He lies in wait for the entire year to spring his self-composed poems or philosophical lectures on you on the evening of the do.

In some extreme cases, he also distributes photocopies of his poems (with English translations) or pink pamphlets describing his achievements.

The Silent Worker

Perpetually a part of the audience, the Silent Worker arrives early and chooses a seat nearest to the table where the snacks and drinks are set out.

During the programme, when the lights are off, he/she makes frequent and quiet trips to the table. The conscientious Silent Workers remember to clap after each item, provided their hands are free at the moment.

The Gossip

Can overlap with any of the other categories. The Gossip uses this opportunity to disseminate information and collect it for future use. Provides a major distraction from the programmes on stage and is more entertaining.

The Critic

His discerning eye always finds something in each programme that was not done properly. He never offers to do it himself/herself the next time.

The Cultural Emissary

These self-appointed and conscientious keepers of Bengali culture insist on singing/dancing/reciting/acting/all of the above, with complete disregard to mundane things like time. They cannot be cured, so they must be endured.

The Ambitious Mom

By far the deadliest, especially if overlapping with previous type. If there’s any antidote to them it’s their own children.

I have seen a three-year-old kicking her heels in and refusing to dance a single step, while the mother growled, pleaded, offered bribes and finally retired defeated.

At the end, I must mention one who doesn’t belong to the community but is a familiar presence at the functions. He is what I have always labelled in my mind as the ‘Bechara Saheb’.

This poor white man is invited by some enthusiastic Bengali friend to sample Bengali culture and food. He sits through the programme bravely, not understanding a word, claps politely, and throws furtive and yearning glances at the buffet table. He is heroic in his fortitude, a lesson in endurance and brotherly love. My heart bleeds for him.

And, finally, there is the ‘real thing.’ Just when you’re starting to become glassy-eyed and sink into a stupor, a perfectly nondescript man or woman whom you’ve known so far as a familiar dada or didi, goes up on stage and starts to sing.

In a minute the world is transformed and everything else is forgotten. It is such a performance that makes you come to the next programme — yes, even at the risk of encountering all of the above types.

And it is those dadas and didis who make you feel — even if fleetingly — that there is something special in being a Bengali, after all.

Adrita Mukherjee, who taught at a Calcutta university, lives and works in Wellington, New Zealand