The dhak, and the sound of Pujo

The dhak is a large barrel drum, slung from the shoulder and struck with two thin canes, played standing and usually while moving. Most are decorated with white feather plumes that swing with the player. It is loud in a way recordings do not convey.

Around it sit the kansor — a hand-held bell metal gong — and the conch, and in most pandals a smaller dhol or two. Together they are the sound the festival runs on.

Most dhakis are not from Kolkata. They come in from districts across West Bengal for the season, and the tradition runs in families; a good dhaki is booked a year ahead and paid well. In the days before Shashthi you will see them arriving at Sealdah and Howrah with the drums on their shoulders, waiting to be hired.

Watch one properly at least once. The playing is athletic — the drum weighs a great deal, the arms do not stop, and the good ones will play against a dhunuchi dancer until neither can stand up.

There is a different pattern for the aarati, for the procession to the ghat on Saptami, and for the immersion on Dashami. Most people cannot name them and everybody recognises them; if the rhythm changes and the courtyard turns to look, something is beginning.

The dhak also answers things. A dhunuchi dancer, a crowd, a priest reaching a particular point in the rite — the drummer is reading the room continuously, which is why a recording of a dhak sounds like a loop and a live one never does.

The conch — shankha — blown in long notes at the start of a rite, usually by the women of the household or the committee. The kansor, a bell-metal plate struck with a stick, which cuts through everything. Ululation, the ulu-dhwani, which arrives in waves and is the sound most people remember afterwards.

Then, layered over all of it, the sound systems: recorded Rabindrasangeet and agomoni songs in the afternoon, film music in the evening, and announcements about lost children at any hour. Kolkata during Pujo is loud in a way that has to be experienced rather than described.

The one genuinely quiet part of the festival is dawn. Between about five and six in the morning there is nothing but the odd dhak warming up, and it is worth setting an alarm for once.

Standing next to a dhak or a stack of speakers for hours is loud enough to matter, particularly for children. A few metres back is usually enough, and ear defenders for a small child are sensible rather than fussy.