The outsider

Malati came out of the Doctor's chamber, her heart pounding with joy. Five years of their marriage were barren in the true sense of the word. It was an arranged marriage and Malati could never accept Biman. They were seas apart in character. There was no bondage of love between them at least not from Malati's side. After the third year Malati went to see the Doctor but the doctor found nothing wrong with her. Her proposal that Biman should go for a check up was phew phewed by him.
"What if the doctor says that I am infertile? Would you divorce me? If your answer is yes, I am ready to go for a check up. Otherwise there is no point Malati.Every month she would wait for a certain date hoping for the sign and every time she cried broken hearted.
Biman was busy with his laptop as usual when Malati came and sat by his side. Malati sat quietly studying his profile; a blunt nose, thick and deep brown lips darkened by heavy smoking, thick and bushy eyebrows and a head full of coarse and curly jet black hair. Malati despised the beard that he has grown to cover his receding chin ."I have been to the doctor today Biman. I missed my periods this month.Bimal turned towards her , gaping . His unusually bright and deep set eyes gleaming behind the spectacles.
"You did what.!! Tell me again is it true. Oh Malati,my darling I am so happy. Biman jumped like a child and collected Malati in his arms.
Malati removed herself from his clutches and looked at him with hidden scorn for a long while. Biman was unable to fathom what was going on in her mind as her eyes reflected no emotion. What a woman ' so beautiful, so desirable yet so cold. Biman felt for the umpteenth time.
Biman changed his routine. He became so attentive to all the little things that might affect Malati that it amused her. And the day she was born- the joy that Biman experienced was so obvious. He looked so radiant, almost handsome. What a fool. He thinks he is the father. Never suspecting that she could be unfaithful. But Malati would never forget the night at the beach .
It was a whirlwind affair between RD and Malati, both students of the Art College. That too after her marriage to Biman. It was their last year in college and there was an art convention at Puri that the students attended. It was a night that the two of them stole from the rest of the group.
She is a dreamer. She floats in her dream like a fish in the deep sea. It was a starry night, clear and dark hanging over a dark sea. The waves came bouncing on the shore, a very rough sea. A mystic night, far far away from the mundane world; far away from Biman. He had shattered all romantic dreams that Malati nurtured so lovingly for so many years. Malati stroke lightly the scar on RD's right arm. RD was playing with Malati's hair, long , straight and silky.
"Malati, my Malati- he whispered.
Malati looked up into RDs eyes full of passion desire and love, RD missed a heart beat."Don't look at me thus- I loose all my self control. "
RD spoke in a contrite voice. He missed his canvas, colours and brush. He wanted to catch her in this mood for ever in his drawing.
"But RD I am real and your canvas will only be a shadow.
Malati whispered. RD was startled. Can she read his thought? Again Malati smiled and drew him near.
"Yes I can read your mind. Let's forget everything. Lets enjoy the night; lets go into oblivion- you, me and the sea.
"But Malati, he took her hand in his hands and said, "we cannot keep this going. Think of your husband. I have still not settled in life. I have to go a long way and I am committed to my profession .We will go down the drain Malati- do you really want that. " RD sounded panicked.
"You don't have to think about me and my family. We will not go down the drain RD. Never utter such words. We love each other, like the ocean and the beach, like moonlight and the sky, like the golden sun and the morning that it brings with it. Our love is clear and pure RD. Keep it in your mind and I promise I will never call you again. The art convention will end tomorrow .Let us not waste this night. Let us be one tonight. "¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦A bell was ringing somewhere. Malati came back to the present with a jerk. Jhumpa has come back from school. It is almost 5 in the afternoon. Jhumpa ran past her into Biman's room like a storm, her blue and white school dress fluttering. Papa, papa¦¦¦¦.. She has gone after her mother, the same eyes, same nose and the same heart shaped face. A fair and pretty girl of 12. The joy of the house. But even at this young age she is much more attached to the computer as to her father. Papa's girl, Malati sniggered mentally. What a fool
What an utter fool . Many a time Malati felt like wiping the smug look from his face, but for the sake of her daughter she kept the secret to herself.
"Jhumpa ! go and change your clothes. Take off your shoes and wash your hands and face. You are spoiling the bed.
Malati stood at the door glaring at the duo.
"Why should it bother you ? It is not your bed and papa is happy if I spoil it. Are you not papa?The girl tugged at his shirtsleeves. Malati felt like she has been slapped. Although it is nothing new still it hurts. Malati watched helplessly.
At the dinner table Malati was unusually quiet while father and daughter went on chatting."Stop it, will you, I have a bad headache.
Father and daughter exchanged glances and it did not escape Malati's attention.
What an intolerable situation. Why should her own child go against her? Malati has seen hatred in her daughter' eyes. Malati could not remember when the situation started going out of hand. Malati has always been stern with her but never failed in any of her duties. She has always been particular about all her needs. She considered herself to be a perfect mother. Jhumpa was always close to her father papa. But that she dislikes her was not so apparent earlier and she would not go out of her way to show that she prefers Biman to Malati. The day Malati proposed that Jhumpa be admitted to a drawing class , Jhumpa flared up. "Why do you try to impose your decisions on me! You may like fine arts but I don't. I would rather be a computer wizards like dad. Jhumpa had jumped into his bed.
"You want to be like what ! Your papa! Malati laughed hysterically.
"And what is so funny about it?
That day Malati almost came out with the truth. It was with inhuman control that she put up with the deliberate disobedience shown by her own daughter. But she decided that one day she is definitely going to shatter their world of fantasy. How insolent her child has become. As if she does not know, who is indulging her? Have patience Malati, have patience. She tried to console her very own injured soul.
A small news item in the paper caught her eyes. Bijan Dutta, the famous painter and his wife Sefali adopted a girl child from Mother Teresa. True to their promise they never met after that night although Malati somehow managed to keep herself abreast with his news. She knew that RD married Sefali, one of his students from the arts college. She had a tremendous urge to go and see her but had to restrain herself. That was five years ago. After his marriage Malati stopped collecting news about him but this is interesting. Why should he go for adoption? On an impulse she looked in the directory for his number. More than 12 years has passed.
'Hallo who is there¦the voice sounded impatient.
'Hallo, may I speak to Mr Bijon Dutta, please?'
'Speaking.'' RD, It's me, Malati'. For almost 20 seconds there was no sound and then "Yes Malati , what is it
"RD I would like to meet you. It is very urgent. Please don't say no.
"Okay Malati. 7 in the evening . Same place. Wait for me if I am late.¦¦."Are you happy RD ?
"More so Malati.
"Why did you go for adoption?
"But, that is very personal Malati?
"Sorry I did not want to hurt you. What would you give me if I tell you that you have a daughter of your own?
"I ¦ What¦. Are you mad?
"Why? Have you forgotten the night on the beach?
"No. But I wish I had.
"Don't be rude RD
"Okay, okay. What has that got to do with my having a daughter.
"The next month I got pregnant.
"You have also been sleeping with Biman, Malati
"Stop being an idiot. I was sleeping with Biman for 5 years before that without any result.
"That does not prove anything.
"But I know RD. She is the fruit of our love. For these 12 long years I have seen your daughter blossoming before my eyes like a flower and drifting away from me . She has grown more attached to Biman than to me. Can you imagine RD, my daughter, my own flesh and blood! Who is Biman. He is not even her father. Do you realize the pain I am going through.
"I understand. But it is quite natural; daughters tend to be more attached to their father.
"He is not her father RD.
"Please stop living in a fool's paradise. And stop spoiling your own life. There is still time Malati. Life is not a dream. Go back to Biman. Go back to your home.
"But I can't help hating him. He is so crude, so unromantic, so ordinary.
"In that case you should have gone for a divorce.
"How could I, I was with child, your child RD. You were not prepared for marriage. So I had to stay married to Biman. My child needed a father.
"And Biman is the father of your child. Wait, wait, and listen carefully. You asked me why we went for adoption? It is because I am infertile. Yes Malati, we have visited doctors all over the country. Nothing is wrong with Sefali. The fault lies with me. Sefali is so understanding, poor soul, so loving, so gracious. I love my wife, and I do not want anything to come between us and that includes you. Please do not try to contact me in future.
I am infertile.. infertile. .infertile , love my wife, love my wife, my wife, my wife, do not try to contact me ¦contact me, contact me¦¦.the words echoed all round her, far an near, inside and outside.

What an incredible situation to be in. Who could she turn to now? She felt like a fallen leaf after a storm that cannot go back to the tree.Malati felt as if a heavy stone was lying in her bosom for 12 long years which has been lifted all on a sudden. She felt light and free like the breeze. So she is Biman's child! Let them be. Malati does not belong to that house..Malati heard the sound of waves- the deep sea was calling her again.

Home Theatre

The Court jester

It was not a play, it was life.
The actors did not know.
I was laughing, I was crying,
I was making all the show.
Hope lingering in my heart
Perhaps it was not the end of the day, it could not be
The end of the show.Silently and softly
The moon appeared from behind the clouds
And I was shown the door.
Only the joker in me smiled
Calling me ‘Lets go’.

Home Theatre

Mr Basu watched his daughter scanning through the channels in rapid succession, a defiant expression hovering on her pretty face making it apparent that she was doing it on purpose. It was a Sunday and Mr Basu was deeply engrossed in the newspaper. He was particularly interested about what the editorial has to say about the outcome of the General Elections when he heard her sister Sheela say –“stop it Rubina- you are getting on my nerves. What is the matter with you, why can’t you stick to one decent channel” Mr Basu was a serene man both in looks and by nature. On the other side of forty, a moderately successful man, placed as a middle rank official in a Government undertaking, he looked what he was- happy and contended with life. He had his pyajamas and a T-shirt on, both of which were so dazzlingly white that it speaks of the efficiency of the mistress of the house.

Mrs Meera Basu was seated at the divan placed at the far corner of the room busy correcting papers of students of Class X. Mrs Meera Basu taught Mathematics in a reputed girls school. She would have fitted ideally in the role of an interior decorator –cum-house manager though. Everything in the room was just proper, not a single furniture or decoration piece would seemed out of place excepting the huge Homethetre too gorgeous and too gigantic for a middleclass drawing room and the flushed and obviously petulant girl, with disheveled hair, in a pair of old faded out jeans and a T-shirt, she appeared to be a wild flower in a terrace garden.

The girl now sprang up on her feet- all of you are after me, always finding fault – papa is angry with me because I have fared badly in maths – but what about language papers, I have scored so high marks and he never mentions that. Isn’t it unfair?

But Rubina why can’t you be good in maths also?

Because I do not like maths – papa – that is why.

Rubina – why don’t you ever listen to what your elders have to say to you? Your father wants you to be good in maths, so you should try. Sheela, who resembled her brother in looks only and not by nature sounded extremely annoyed.

Don’t start it again pisimoni(aunty) - Rubina wailed.

Mrs. Meera Basu spoke at last - you should be happy that our child has an independent mind- or would you have liked if she met the fate of shantimasi.

Please don’t start confusing me Meera. What has it got to do with the fate of Shantamasi, and who is she .

Mrs. Basu put down her pen, closed the exercise book, she was checking and came over to the sofa to join the other three

Shantimasi was the first born of a well to do family and she was a source of joy to every body who came to know her. She was a beauty to look at and a docile , demure and obedient girl child, that is so dear to all parents.

Meera , you speak as if you do not want your daughter to do as you wish.

No didi , really I do not want Rubina to obey blindly. Children should be given the right to express their own opinion. If she does not like maths, she should be excused and again if she is weak in maths that is quite natural and nothing to be ashamed of.

Was your shantimasi weak in maths ma, asked rubina.

No dear, she was good in all subjects including mathematics. She was so quiet and soft even her peers loved and adored her. She was not even sixteen when her parents were flooded with marriage proposals from families of prospective grooms and one of the applicants were one of the riches families in the city at that time. Though shantimasi had only completed school and although she was not quite inclined to marry yet her marriage was fixed and the dates were finalized as her parents never thought of asking her the specific question and Shantimasi was too docile and obedient to contradict her parents and like a good maid she felt ashamed to discuss such matters with them.

How absurd, Rubina exclaimed!

Yes she was true to our Indian culture, to be docile and obedient. Not like you people, having no shame at all. Sheela grumbled.

On the day of marriage shantamasi looked like a princess out of the fairy tales but her friends were disappointed to see the groom. He was not at all handsome. Though not exactly ugly, he was quite short almost the same height at shantamasi, hefty , a square chin, flat nose and close set small eyes. Her friends termed the pair as the beauty and the beast.

How mean- rubina cried. I hope the groom didn’t know.

Well I am afraid he did.

That is how people ruin others happiness- sheela put in. And for that matter it is not beauty but the pocket that matters where males are concerned.

Well shantamasi was lucky to get a very loving mother-in-law. Shantamasi was her favourite and she showered her with love and affection and even parted with her most precious jewellery and adorned the bride, for which the other daughter-in-laws never forgave her.

Where is the cliché in this tale Meera. It proves my point that those who listens to their elders lead a happy and prosperous life- Sheela added with satisfaction and Rubina looked at her mother - hurt for being let down.

But I am not finished yet. Everybody told shantimasi that she need not carry on her studies and instead start looking after her family like the good old maid-

And what is so wrong in that say- Sheela asked indignantly. In those days women did look after the family and need not think about earning as their men folk took care of that abundantly. So what is the point of needlessly wasting time and money on studies?

Yes! that was exactly what her mother in law said and though shantamasi would have liked to study further she concentrated on domestic matter instead.

What a waste of human talent that was what her friends and teachers said

By the time shantamasi was 30 she was the mother of four, one being lost at birth. Her husband on the other hand never pursued any particular job. Instead after finishing his studies he spent his money speculating in share market . He speculated and he lost, as he did not have the knowledge of the markets, but he was spoilt and being the youngest of the siblings nobody ever really criticized or questioned his him. Shantamasi also did not do so and thus started their downfall. With the passage of time her husband got addicted to bad habits like drinking and others that follow drinking.

What are they. ma- rubina asked curiously.

You wouldn’t understand because you are too young. One day when you grow up you will know what these are.

Shantamasi should have put her foot down but she was molded in such a fashion that she could only cry and fret making her husband angry and ultimately he started hitting her in fits of drunkenness and in frustration. Her husband lost money in markets, his friends cheated him and he was going down in all fronts – he was a broken man , an alcoholic, and he blamed it all on her.

How unfair! Why didn’t shantamasi protest?

One day when shantamasi made up enough courage to confront him and ask why do you behave this way, he answered

Because of you

Because of me? She was so hurt and bewildered.

Yes because you are no help to me. I cannot turn to you for guidance or in distress. You can only look pretty . Beauty and the beast indeed. Should have known beauty without brains is of no value. His words were worse than physical blows to her.

Shantamasi was shell shocked. She loved her husband and did everything to please him but she did not know that people tend to take her kind for granted. Her husband found an easy prey in her , an escape route to blame all his misfortunes on her for he knew she will never speak out, she will brood and cry but will not fling the truth at his face.

Slowly and steadily shantamasi was being consumed by depression with no one to turn to for consolation. Her children were too young and she belonged to that creed who would not discuss about her husband’ short coming with family relations. She will stay cooped up in her room, with the lights off- she won’t look after her children the youngest being only five year old. The children slowly came to terms with the state of affairs and were reared by the maids and servants, for in those days, even not so well to do households too kept servants and shantamasi was still rich. In the absence of the watchful eye of an mistress the servants also started taking their shares from the household when a day came that there was literally no money to pay the debtors like the grocers, the dhobi, the salaries of the servants and even the tuition fees of the children who where going to schools. One day shantamasi’s father came and took her and the children away leaving his son-in-law to fend for himself. Her father was quite influential and rich and he took the reins in his hands.

So I told you the good are blessed by God- sheela said with relief.

But God did not bless her. For her own father sent shantamasi to a mental asylum as there was not really any advanced treatment for mental illness at that time and he did not want the children to grow up under the shadow of a mental mother. Shantamasi perished in the asylum. The children grew up on their own . their father passed away . only the youngest of them used to cry secretly for her mother- she missed her gentle touch, for she used to sleep with her mother and even when her siblings were going to school, she still remained at home and stuck close to her mother.

But how do you know that she missed her mother- mama?

She was more or less my age and a friend of mine. She used to confide in me.

The grandfather was growing old but he looked after everything. Before his death he was a happy man to see both her grand daughters married to able men and both her grandsons earning handsome salaries .

What happened to her ornaments ma? Rubina , at this tender age was extremely fond of jewellery, not only for wearing them but she nurtured in her hurt a secret wish that one day she would be a jewellery designer, making intricate designs out of precious jewels and metals.

Well she owned a huge collection of beautiful ornaments pure gold, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls to say the least and her father distributed them equally between the two daughters keeping a pair of kankans and a necklace for brides of the two sons.

“Have you seen the ornament ma? Are they more beautiful than yours?” “Well of course I have seen them and her ornaments were much more than mine”.

Meanwhile, twice the asylum authorities wrote that shantamasi has been cured and should be taken home to make room for the ill. But her father ignored the letters. But why ma? Because while getting her granddaughters marriage he declared her daughter dead for in our society at that time and even now mental illness is a taboo in the marriage market. To see to it that his two granddaughters get secured homes the old man had to swallow the bitter pill.

Her youngest daughter got married to a very broad hearted man and both of them decided to bring back the old lady.

So nice of them. I told you a good soul is always rewarded at the end. God never rejects them totally. Sheela’s deep faith in the divine grace for the good found a foothold.

When the daughter saw her mother after nearly 25 years, to say she was shocked is to underestimate. Her mother has changed beyond recognition, the daughter could find nothing in the old lady that she could relate to her image of her mother. She saw a human wreck, an emaciated old woman, almost skinny and stooping with a kind of frightened but cunning look in her eyes. The woman could not trust any body and cringed away from any show of affection. Only time she showed any interest or responded was when she was served food and she ate them as if she was starving all these 25 years.

Poor woman, God should not have made her suffer so much, being such a good soul, what will happen to people’s faith and trust on Him- sheela lamented.

What happened next ma- did her daughter loved her mother still mama?

Yes dear, her daughter loved her even more but they could not keep her with them for long. After all it is hard for normal men and women to stay with a person afflicted with mental disease- although she was cured vastly but the doctor’s declared that she could not be cured completely. She was not in touch with society for such a long time, she spent her time among mentally ill persons and most probably than not ill treated. She would not take bath unless told, wont dress properly, would make things dirty, especially the toilet- in a nutshell she would behave like a child minus the child’s innocence and lovability. People started asking questions and the daughter and her husband started avoiding visitors until the daughter could take it no longer. When the daughter showed signs of nervous breakdown her husband thought enough is enough. He could not sacrifice his wife’s well-being especially while she was in the family way and the old woman was once again sent back to her old resort- the mental home.

Oh no ma, so selfish of them. How could they do such a cruel thing. Rubina almost broke into tears.

God has strange ways of meting out justice- we ordinary people should not try to judge his act.- it was sheela again.

How is shantimasi now ma?

She is no more. Four years back one day her children were notified by the asylum that their mother has passed away. They all heaved shies in relief- only the youngest one thought that may be her mother was living so long in the hope of a deliverance- but after she was taken back and then rejected by her own daughter, may be she lost all hope and with that the desire to live.

Her daughter is a hypocrite, if she realized why did she let it happen. Rubina was strong in condemnation.

Shantimasi had a handsome amount put in the bank by her father in her name, from which all her expenses were being meted out so long. But now the amount was divided between her four children. They accepted it with gratitude and humility and most of them put it in a fixed deposit. But only her youngest daughter went out and bought a Sony Home theatre, which was so rare and costly those days, that only people like the business tycoons could afford to buy. She bought it so that she could be constantly reminded of her mother

Rubina sat beside her mother in stunned silence, remote in hand, looking at their Sony Home theatre . After a while she said, with a slightly shaky voice– mama I think your shantimasi cannot be blamed for her weakness of character- what can she do if God made her that way. And her daughter, here her voice shook even dangerously, should not be blamed. Think of her, only five and without a mother to look after, here I am almost twelve and my mama does everything for me. Her voice chocked and she started crying… mama I love you so much.. I am so sorry… I will be a good girl and listen to what you and papa say. I promise mama I will be a good girl

Sheela wiped her tears with the corner of her saree . .

Mr Basu looked up from the paper he was studying so carefully and said. We may start from this moment. Come on Rubina bring your exercise book of maths, we will start practicing from this moment.

Instantly the girl jumped up- oh papa, you are always after me… I don’t want to do maths now, and for that matter , never at all.

All three elders smiled indulgently.

Rebati and her resignation

Her tired fingers tapped the keyboard mechanically on the old Remington typewriter. It was almost 3 in the afternoon and she waited impatiently for the tea boy. She looked at the heap of papers on her table waiting to be typed, mostly miscellaneous letters drafted by the clerks and office assistants in awfully incorrect English and horrible spelling. So much so that at times she almost doubted her own knowledge of the language. . Mr Bakshi, her departmental boss had very cleverly shifted the task of correcting the grammar and spelling to this obedient worker, without tacitly acknowledging her contribution. Mr Bakshi prided himself to be a very efficient office master utilizing to the optimum the qualities of staffers without giving any recognition or extra benefit to the deserving. But all staffers were not as docile as she was and Mr Bakshi had to be very careful while picking the names of the trouble makers , both the efficient and the worthless alike, for recommending to the higher authorities. He was basically peace loving and timid and though sometimes conscience pricked , he had to ignore . He was to run the office and that was no matter of joke, he told himself, cleanly wiping out the stains of guilt. Mr Bakshi himself did not have much of an intellect and his belief that she was not in the know of how very helpful she was in clearing those garbage day in day out was not correct. Like Bakshi, she also realized that without her help he would never be able to check, clear and sign all those letters and with her somewhat unique sense of duty and responsibility she thought it natural that her boss should be spared so that he may attend to more important matters.

She counted the papers on her table. Only eleven left, so she could relax. She sipped the piping hot tea with relish. For a while her thought wondered off to the day she came to this place for interview. It was late August. The sky was overcast for the last four days with a constant drizzle damping her spirits considerably. She remembered an old man clad in dhoti and white shirt slouching in this chair. The interview board comprised of three; the Chairman, the Managing Director and the Secretary. She did feel uncomfortable under their steady gaze. It was her first interview and she never wanted to work in an office for that matter. After finishing her master’s degree she wanted to go into the teaching line, but Bablu stood in the way. He was only one and half , an adorable child, who according to her had the sole right on his mothers care , love, attention and time. So she remained home, remained unemployed . By the time Bablu started going school, Soumen was a man broke both in spirit and cash. He left his steady job with the Insurance Company to start a business of ready-made garments. He invested a lot, plundered more, with little or no knowledge of the trade and a partner who had no capital and no scruples, leaving Soumen in the ditch . It was Soumen who saw the advertisement in the local newspaper.

The Interview Board studied her carefully and what they saw pleased them.
“Madam ahm…, “ the Chairman cleared his throat,
“We can see you are a very fine lady, much too delicate to be exact, do you think you can take control of the staff, very rough and unruly they are.”
She started doubting herself… will she be able to really… but she has never been tried.. So she said “I will try my best Sir.”
“We know you will. We can see you are the sincere type, but` we are afraid that as you do not have experience ..” he did not finish his sentence. She got panicked, she must get this job, she can’t go job seeking . She detested the prospect. “But….”.
The Manager added,
“By the end of October we will have a vacancy for the post of an Office Assistant cum typist, if you do not mind, and if you are interested…..”

Soumen felt very guilty but also relieved that she was so obliging as to accept the offer.

“She applied for the post of Jr. Admn,. Officer…” someone whispered…And accepted the position of a typist…” It was another and a little louder.
“How could she really? Doesn’t she have any self respect?”
“She must have been pretty desperate.”
“I heard she had been abandoned by her husband. Poor woman”

Thus began her career as a typist and her journey alone in the infinity. Every body knows that man is born alone and leaves this world alone, but not all realizes that we take this journey all by ourselves, people from the side line may cheer up or heckle, some overtakes and yet some stays behind. Yet the journey for everybody is unique and is to be undertaken by himself only.

Her intercom started ringing. She was a little startled. Her hand shook and the amber liquid fell on her. What a mess, she sprang to her feet and rushed for the washbasin.

This was the second time today her dress got spoiled. Just as she was about to leave for office Soumen called her from drawing room over the morning newspaper

“What have you prepared for lunch Rebati?”

“Some vegetable, dal and fish curry and ofcourse rice. I have prepared Bablu’s Tiffin and put in his box. Please tell him when he comes out after taking shower. Will you Soumen. I have kept everything on the kitchen table”
She replied in a haste.

“But Rebati I told you I would like to have egg fry for lunch”. Soumen sounded exasperated.
“I will make it for dinner. I am getting late for office”. She pleaded.

“Now don’t tell me that you can’t afford to be a little late. You are only a typist Rebati. The office won’t stop without you.”

Soument had long stopped feeling guilty or sorry for his wife. With the support that he got from his wife, both monetary and moral, he had been able to revive his business single handed and was doing moderately well. Her face went ashen with pain. It hurt her most to find Soumen to be so insensitive. But as always, she suppressed her pain, went back to the kitchen to prepare the fry and thus, in her hurry, her sari got a little spoiled with cooking oil.

Mrs Bose, Mr Bakshi was asking for you, Atanu, the accountant conveyed the message. Mr Bakshi was talking over phone when she went to his chamber and he indicated a chair to her. She waited impatiently while Mr Bakshi carried on his conversation for more than ten minutes during which twice she started to get up and was held back by a raised hand of her boss which indicated her to remain seated. After finishing his talk Mr Bakshi lit a cigarette , leaned back in his chair and said

“Sorry I had to keep you waiting. But it was a call from head office. The Secretary is coming next week to see how the computerization is working in zonal offices.” .

She waited for more to come, for she had not given a computer to work with so it does not involve her. “ Mrs Bose, as you must be knowing, Srimanta has been frequently on leave as his wife has not been keeping well for some time. As such, you see, a lot of data are yet to be fed to the computer. Srimanta called me this morning. He would be joining office only next Friday. You see, I am in a fix.”
“Yes, but I don’t see how can I help you sir,” Rebati was a little puzzled.
“I am coming to that point. You see, I consider you to be a very good and sincere worker. You are very good at typing, have an excellent speed. Now if you could only feed some data. You see, I do not have an extra hand. Every one is so busy with their own work.”

“But Sir, what will happen to my work? Who will type the letters? You know sir, I will have to do the data entry in office time only, for I might need help from the section.”

“Yes, yes, don’t you worry Mrs Bose. The letters can wait for a few days. You start doing the data entry from tomorrow. You can work at Srimants’ terminal and thank you Mrs Bose. You have relieved me from a great headache. Really! I will put in a good word or two about you to the Secretary when he comes.”

Everything went according to plan. The accounts job was up-to-date. No pending. Secretary was very happy. In the afternoon he came to the table of all employees and shook hands expressing his happiness for the good work put in by them and assured that their effort will be rewarded by the Management. But when he came to her table and his eye brows knitted into a perfect third bracket.

“Why are these files kept here in a heap” the Secretary asked.

Mr Bakshi put in quickly “Sir these files contain correspondences of our clients.”

“But why are they here on her table and not in the rack Mr Bakshi? Or do you keep files in such unplanned way?”

“ Actually sir, there are draft letters in these files to be typed.”

“And why are they not being typed ? There must be atleast hundred files in this pile.”

“Sir, you see, we have only one typist . She is very much overworked Sir, you see”


“I can see, Mr Bakshi. I can very well see. I appreciate your efforts to protect your staff Mr Bakshi. But over protectiveness will not help you run the office and it will not do any good to you either. I hope you would remember that in future.” Then he turned to Rebati and asked “Madam, how many files can you clear in a day?”

“About forty sir?

“Good. I am here till 7.30 in the evening. I want to see as many letters to be typed as you can. Please say back for some time after close of office Mrs. Bose. See for yourself how much good effort your colleagues have put in to keep all records uptodate. You should also try.”

Soumen looked at his tearful wife with concern. “Why did you not try to explain the whole situation to the Secretary”
“ I thought Mr Bakshi would and then the Secretary would not have listened to me. I am going to resign from the job Soumen. I will throw the resignation letter on his face. The liar” Rebati was livid with rage and humiliation.

“Rebati. Don’t do anything rash. You can ofcourse resign but would that help situation? Yes I am not doing bad but think of the comforts we have become accustomed to. Think of Bablu and his needs , his education. We spend a lot on him and his upkeep and his education. If you stop earning, do you think I can manage with my sole income . We will definitely not be comfortable. Don’t you think so Rebati?”

“But Soumen I can take another job” no sooner than she uttered those words she herself knew how futile they were. She is almost forty. She had no technical qualification nor any respectable experience. She had been working as a typist so long. This is an age of specialization. A mere masters degree wont do. Soumen could guess what was going on in her mind. He said softly

“Dear you have supported me like a solid rock in my hard days. It is for you that I have been able to revive my business. It is for your effort that Bablu has become such a brilliant student. Please wait for a few more years. You will have no worry when he finishes his engineering degree. He will get a good job and you can then throw that resignation on your boss’s face. “

It was well past midnight. Rebati came to Babul’s room. The table lamp was burning, the young man was sleeping peacefully with a book open on his chest. Rebati took the book quietly and put in on the table. She put off the table lamp and came back to their room. She stood before the open window looking at the night sky . She was ashamed of herself. How could she compare Soumen with Mr Bakshi. But that was exactly what she did

The Visit

The Visit

I stopped a few seconds, as if to muster courage, before entering the dilapidated, two-storied building. It was a late afternoon in June, and my first monthly visit. Her room, as I knew, was in the extreme north corner on the first floor. I had come here the month before to settle her in her home to be – for the rest of her life. The room had a slovenly look about it, was dimly lit, very humid, and the fan moved ever so slowly. The window was shut tightly. I wondered why. The walls had a nondescript colour. Quite obviously the room had not been whitewashed for a pretty long time. The floor too was unclean. In short, it was a dreary, dingy place – and I had selected it for her. But what else could I do? I didn’t have much of my salary left after doling out the heavy installment every month for the loan I’d taken for our new flat, the money I had to give Sheetal for running the house, and after meeting all the other expenses. This was the best I could arrange for her.

She was sitting on the bed, her hands resting on her lap. The bedspread and her saree matched the colour of the wall. I felt a pang in my heart to see her drooping shoulders, the haggard look on her face, the dark circles under her eyes. Her dull and depressed eyes lit up when I entered, a ghost of a smile appeared on her face. I remembered her old jovial disposition, always so eager and inquisitive about everything.

I looked at the fan. “The regulator does not work. You can open the window if you wish. But be sure to shut it before you leave. Mosquitoes swarm in after dark”, she said in a tired voice. I wanted to take her hands into mine, but refrained. Instead I asked like a fool.

“ Well how are you?”
“Why are you asking? Can’t you see for yourself?” she retorted.

“Do you eat and sleep properly? You look thinner and weak” I carried on.

This time she did not answer but heaved a long sigh.

“How is your wife? (She always referred to Shettal as’your wife’ and it irritated Shettal). You’ve not brought her along? And how is Pumpu darling?”

“They are OK. Pumpu’s exams are on . That’s why..” I did not finish my sentence. I was feeling guilty and found myself groping for words. But she seemed not to notice and drawled on about the other inmates of the old age home, her new fund companions. She was narrating stories about old and abandoned people – how Senbabu had fallen from the staircase and broken his leg how Meetai, the youngest among them, visited everybody in the morning … things that interested me the least. She had become garrulous with age, and at home, Pumpu was her best companion. The two of them were inseparable. I often wondered at the sight of them, one so old and one so young – chatting happily, like two friends of the same age. But Sheetal never liked it. “A bad influence on Pumpu”, she would grumble. Pumpu was much more attached to dadima than her own mother.

Suddenly I remembered that Pumpu had given me a card for her. I took it out from my briefcase and handed it to her. It was a simple card made out of Pumpu’s drawing book page folded in two. One the front, she had drawn yellow and red flowers. Inside, she had written in her childish handwriting. “To Dadima with Love” . at the bottom, she had added – “Dadima please come back soon. I miss you very much.” Pumpu was too young to realize that her dadima was not going to come back to live with us. She looked at the card and stopped talking. She was almost clutching it to her bosom. Tears started flowing freely from her eyes. I felt so miserable. I stood up and touched her feet. “I think I should be leaving now. It is getting late”. She nodded her head, touched my head and said “Take care” in a chocked voice

I was walking back, head bowed, dejected and defeated man. I hated myself and felt like a beast. Here was my mother – a lonely widow, infirm with age, who had cared for me for so long, had given her best years for me. And here was I – abandoning her in this godforsaken hellhole. I almost turned back from the door and said “Maa don’t worry. I am here. I will take care of you. I will take you back home. You will live in peace,. You and Sheetal”. But someone inside me urged me to go out of the room, down the stairs and into the street. I looked up and saw many old men and women looking down eagerly at me – for I could have been their son who had come to pay them the monthly visit. I thought of my new flat – lovely and neat. But could it be called “home” ? I wondered.

A Rose for Mother

A rose, a jasmine, a tulip for you!

Whatever I say, however I do,

my tributes are ever so small for you

Like the ocean, like the sky

Deep and endless was your love for me!

God touched me through your hands Mama,

Nectar you fed me.

Standing by the river where time flows

I beg for a chance a –new

To tell you this was really how I felt,

Mother! that is my Love for You