I confess we went only for the feast that accompanies every Bengali pandal worth their ilish.

I did not expect to be charmed by the stunning shola decorations surrounding and adorning the deities on the pandal.

Intricate designs and accessories crowned and robed the statues of Durga Maa herself, and her companions. The grotesque, contorted face of the demon Maa Durga has vanquished upon her faithful steed is equally powerful and violent as she continues to gaze radiantly and with grace at her worshippers.

Suddenly, we are interrupted by several ladies in silk saris, bearing puja thalis and prasad, at the altar. One expertly blows a real conch shell, and a pandit begins reciting shlokas. People clap to the tune of the dholak and the arti commences. There is fire burning at the altar. We are in the presence of Grace.

The room is hot and airless. We are stifled by the crowd pressing in on us. The overwhelming devotion of it, the smiles and music, the earnest faces: we hastily make a run for the chilly outside, heaving sighs of relief as we gulp in the cold air, sweat pouring down our faces.

The lines for food coupons are long. The menu is exotic and we are excited already. We queue up patiently with other equally hungry bhadralok, gobsmacked over the choice on offer. Shall it be a stunning giant prawn chingri malai kari or a mutton kolkata biryani ? Kathi rolls, banana flower cutlets, singahda samosas or mishti ?? I regret already that we did not systematically eat here every single day of pujo to really do justice to the delicious food on offer.

We settle into a picnic in the grass, since there are no tables or chairs. And what a feast it turns out to be.

The al fresco dining feels like we are on a picnic and the bonhomie all around us is infectious. Everyone is unabashedly here for the food and yes, to dress up for Maa. Elegant saris, brightly jewelled young girls, eye-popping colours bring the festivity alive. What is India if not a world of vibrant colours, loud noises and delicious food with raucous people chattering away in several languages all at once?

We sit in a circle, our bounty offered wide to share with one another, and we tuck in! We bite into soft, flaky kathi rolls, water chestnut patties, banana flower patties, fried prawns, mustard fish. There is kolkata chicken biryani and succulent mutton, a magnificent chingri malai kari. Kolkata Chinese fried rice. We share malai rolls and sandesh, earthen cups of mishti doi, kala jamun, rossogollas and rhimzhim. Bengali mithai is truly the most eloquent in this country of sweet-crazy people.

What makes all the difference to yet another incredible evening of food is the pleasure in eating outdoors, cross- legged in the grass, incense wafting as we tuck into a festive feast.