Love is in the air and it is just as toxic! But that is not going to stop anyone from splurging on PDA this February 14. After all, Saraswati Puja and Valentine’s Day have conspired to coincide this year, which is almost as rare as your crush texting you first. While singles can complete two days’ equivalent of sighing in one, what does the clash of modern love against Bengali prem mean for couples? Which of Valentine’s Day and Saraswati Puja better captures the idea of romance?
Two My Kolkata writers (hopelessly in love with their words) argue their case in the inaugural edition of MK Debates, which celebrates Kolkatans’ fundamental right to have an opinion.
Capitalism cuts right to the chase. And so does Valentine’s Day
What connects Valentine’s Day and romantic love? Capitalism. Yes, some version of Valentine’s Day was observed well before Adam Smith took the invisible hand to places it did not belong. And romantic love has definitely been around for longer than McDonald’s. But it is because of capitalism that romantic love and its annual festival, Valentine’s Day, are glorified everywhere. To help sell more films, music, diamonds, family meals and, of course, Valentine’s cards. This is because, like market economics, love is largely about supply and demand. If you disagree, just open any dating app.
A date is a date on Valentine’s Day, not ‘darshan’ with add-ons TT Archives
While I am no defender of capitalism myself (at least not unless I can somehow found a unicorn), I can appreciate the fact that capitalism cuts right to the chase, and so does Valentine’s Day. There is no coyness and intermingling of romance and religiosity like during Saraswati Puja, where surreptitious stares and twinning ethnic wear feel too 19th century. Plus, we already have Ashtami for that! A date is a date on Valentine’s Day, not darshan — with all its immature innuendos — and add-ons. It helps that Valentine’s Day does not have dietary restrictions either. Khichuri does not become any more bearable (for me) if my partner and I are serving it to each other.
Back in school, I remember getting annoyed at my male friends who would meet their crushes on Saraswati Puja and tell their parents that they were out pandal-hopping with me (my crush, of course, liked me even less than pandal-hopping). So, perhaps, the historical frustration plays some part in my distaste towards all things on Saraswati Puja. At the same time, at 26, I am tired of the so-called innocent, ambiguous prem that Saraswati Puja thrives on. At this point, I would rather steal leaves than glances.
'At this point, I would rather steal leaves than glances' Amit Pramanik
Moreover, if one can somehow peel the layers of commodification adorning Valentine’s Day, there remains some original essence of what the day stands for. The history (and the myths) connected to February 14 tell us that, at its core, Valentine’s Day is about sacrifices (not related to bank balance). In the case of St. Valentine, he had to sacrifice his life. But in the case of everyday love, small sacrifices go a long way.
From waiting for an hour because your partner’s five-minute Zoom call expanded like elastic to letting go of your favourite dessert because your partner’s migraine needs it more than your gluttony to giving up on plans, gestures and words just so you can breathe in each other’s presence — love is all about sacrifice. Imperfect as it may be, this is what Valentine’s Day means to me and why I find it far more romantic than the empty enlightenment of Saraswati Puja.
— Priyam Marik
An innocence in Saraswati Puja prem, which is not perfect but messy and hilarious
Weren’t we better off a decade ago, when romance was synonymous with nervous glances exchanged during anjali? Amit Datta
Love isn’t love. No, this isn’t a lazy attempt at homophobia. It’s an exhausted 25-year-old’s cynicism about how romance isn’t real if it isn’t for the ’gram.
Maybe, at some point, Valentine’s Day was about love. In 2024, it is about merchandise. The only people in love on February 14 are brands, because they get to charge a premium for bleaching their products a random shade of pink. In the past decade, society has undertaken the task of reminding everyone that they are incomplete, until they have someone to buy gifts for. If Cupid was to go to any of the quaint, romantic cafes in Hindustan Park today, he would, in all likelihood, be turned away with the excuse: “Stag entry not allowed”. Jesus’s love isn’t enough to buy you out of capitalism. But there’s always Bumble, to check if there are some desperate last-minute fairies looking for validation.
Weren’t we better off a decade ago, when romance was synonymous with nervous glances exchanged during anjali? When you rehearsed the lame joke you hoped to crack up your crush with while serving her bhog? When you kept your books above theirs, on the off chance that Saraswati would help you bunk classes together?
Maybe this slow-burn courtship doesn’t work in a world where stories are told within 15 seconds. But somewhere, I’m still a stickler for the squirmy teenager with sweaty palms, who spent hours picking the perfect kurta or sari. Or the couples who chose a leisurely walk through an unknown para, praying that no relative would spot them. There was something special about the secretly stolen peck, where consent was enthusiastically exchanged through kohl-smeared eyes. There was an innocence to Saraswati Puja prem. We didn’t need to show what was in our heart through a diamond locket, because we already wore it on our sleeve. We didn’t need to splurge on hot chocolate. We could always share a daab with two straws. ‘Love’ wasn’t as abundant, but we valued it more. We’ve traded the plastic in our straws for plastic in our relationships, and it threatens to go aflame like a packet of chips.
'I’m still a stickler for the squirmy teenager with sweaty palms, who spent hours picking the perfect kurta or sari' TT Archives
V-Day comes with a template of perfection, which is impossible to live up to. Because love isn’t perfect, like the roses strewn across the hotel you booked. It is messy and hilarious, like the boiling khichuri your partner dropped on your crotch while trying to feed you. My thoughts are clearly in the minority, given certain hotel chains’ skyrocketing profits every Valentine’s Day. But I hope that somewhere, someone is discovering butterflies in their stomach as they engage in a phuchka-eating competition.
— Vedant Karia
