Thursday, July 1, 2010
SONAJHURI
Hi everybody, I am in the process of expanding SONAJHURI to double it's original length, as such, for some time now, I won't posting any part of it.
Friday, June 11, 2010
SONAJHURI [8]
Rebamasi was a nurse by profession. She came from a well educated and well to do Brahmin family in Faridpur in East Pakistan now Bangladesh. Her father was a scholar in Sanskrit and was a teacher in Brojomohon College, Faridpur. Her mother was a graduate but she never worked. Rebamasi and her brother both were graduates. They had a small temple on their compound and her father himself performed the duties as the priest and they organized Durgapuja and Kalipuja every year. Both their Muslim and Hindu neighbours alike held him in high esteem and would come to him seeking advice on many occasions. He was known as Mastermoshai locally. Before and after the partition in 1947 most of his Hindu neighbours fled but mastermoshai refused to believe that there would be any danger to him and his family from the Muslims. The Hindus and Muslims lived like a family before partition and no one ever dreamt that one day they might be for each other’s blood. One night after they went to their beds after dinner, they heard a lot of people shouting and making breaking noise out side their house, chanting Allaho Akbar in a very threatening manner and stones were thrown at their closed doors and windows. The family clung together shaking with fear but dare not come out. In the morning their neighbour Karin Khan knocked softly on their door and when the door was opened came in swiftly and closed the door again. From Rebamasi’s Karim Chacha they came to know that the night before their temple had been wrecked, idols broken. He advised them to come with as little valuables as they could and hide in his place. The whole day they sat trembling in the shed where Karim Cha Cha kept his goats. The locals did not dare invading his place as he was the second officer of the local Police Station. Karim Khan’s wife Reshma Bibi brought them food and milk, but none of them could eat or drink anything except water out of extreme fear and anxiety. They could hear from the shed people shouting and breaking into their house, and realizing they have fled they looted anything that they could lay there hands to. About one O Clock in the night Karim Khaan brought out his old black Sedan and they traveled on it toward the border. Many times the car was intercepted by patrolling Muslims on the look out for escaping Hindus and they would crouch over the seat and Karim Khan being known to them and being a police man, they let him pass without searching. That it was a long and tedious journey as the border was a long way off and they had to change a lot of track to reach it; Karim Khan never leaving them until they were completely safe and out of danger. They still did not believe that all Muslims hate the Hindus because then how could they explain the love and compassion shown by Karim Khan and his wife. That night was the worst night in their lives.
Once in India they had to go through a long and tedious process to enlisted themselves in the register of refugees and under the Government of India Refugee Rehabilitation Scheme her brother got a job as a clerk in a Bank in Kolkata. Although Rebamasi was also a graduate she had to be satisfied with a Nurse’s job after going through a rigorous training in a Govt hospital. They could not bring much of their belonging with them and had to live in abominable conditions. They were very poor people . Rebamasi took me to her parents once. They lived near a slum in a one room flat, all four of them. In one corner stood a giant wooden cot on which slept Rebamasi her brother and their father and her mother slept on the floor. There was one narrow passage between the bathroom the bedroom where they cooked and also took their food. They came to Calcutta from East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) after the partition and could not bring much of their belongings with them. The room, that the well to do family from East Pakistan lived in, resembled rooms that you may find in any of the present day slum. I felt very bad for her. I now guess it might be the poverty and the injustice of that life meted out to them, induced her to act so mean and selfish with a small motherless boy like Bumba. Circumstances some times influence peoples behave in strange manners.
Before Rebamasi came to our life, Bumba and I were inseparable. We played and fought with each other without anybody interfering. He would tease me and pull me by my hair and I would and run after him and pinch or box him as I wished. Some times when the fight lasted longer than desired and became serious, daima would intervene, scolding both of us or cajoling us as she wished. Enter Rebamasi and we stopped playing or fighting spontaneously. If we fought Rebamasi would separate us and scold only Bumba , saying “You are a big boy and should be ashamed for fighting with your little sister”. She was extremely partial and to be frank I did not dislike it. While Rebamasi would scold Bumba I would show him my tongue from behind her and he would get angrier and would try to catch me ignoring her and that would anger her further.
Ma was gone in early October, just before the Durgapuja and on January next I was put to a high school. My school started early in the morning and by the time daima prepared me for school and put me to the school bus that came to pick me up, Bumba would be still in bed in his room. The bus dropped me at our door in mid day and after taking bath and having lunch I was put to bed for a short nap and Bumba came back from his school about four , four thirty and went out to play after changing and having some snacks. Daima would take me to the park in the afternoon, there I would play with some neighbourhood kids and come back and after about an hour. This was the time when Bumba and I played and talked among ourselves. But on some pretext or the other Rebamasi would intervene and separate us. We slept in the same room and the nights were our private affair. We had so many secret things to share, to tell each other, which the elders never would understand. And we relished this privacy but it was not to be like this. Bumba used to tell me stories of his school and his friends and he was very good at caricature. He entertained me with funny stories which were mostly true but exaggerated to make an effect. He was also very good at reciting and recited my favourite poems , written by Sukumar Ray and Rabindranath Tagore. I don’t exactly remember when, but it seems after a year or two Rebamasi moved to our house permanently and made separate arrangements for us. So far she was sleeping in her own house but she shifted to our house and my room and Bumba was relegated to the anti-room that we used to refer as the “choto-ghar” or the tiny room . In the beginning I missed him terribly, his stories, his recitations, his funny caricature; but gradually with time I became accustomed to the new arrangement. Rebamasi knew stories of kings and queens, prince and princes and demons and witches and I started liking those stories better. From then on Bumba and I met only at meal times and in the evening when we both returned from our respective play fields and daima would make us drink some hot milk and also on the long school holidays when we went together to visit our grandpa.
**************************
Once in India they had to go through a long and tedious process to enlisted themselves in the register of refugees and under the Government of India Refugee Rehabilitation Scheme her brother got a job as a clerk in a Bank in Kolkata. Although Rebamasi was also a graduate she had to be satisfied with a Nurse’s job after going through a rigorous training in a Govt hospital. They could not bring much of their belonging with them and had to live in abominable conditions. They were very poor people . Rebamasi took me to her parents once. They lived near a slum in a one room flat, all four of them. In one corner stood a giant wooden cot on which slept Rebamasi her brother and their father and her mother slept on the floor. There was one narrow passage between the bathroom the bedroom where they cooked and also took their food. They came to Calcutta from East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) after the partition and could not bring much of their belongings with them. The room, that the well to do family from East Pakistan lived in, resembled rooms that you may find in any of the present day slum. I felt very bad for her. I now guess it might be the poverty and the injustice of that life meted out to them, induced her to act so mean and selfish with a small motherless boy like Bumba. Circumstances some times influence peoples behave in strange manners.
Before Rebamasi came to our life, Bumba and I were inseparable. We played and fought with each other without anybody interfering. He would tease me and pull me by my hair and I would and run after him and pinch or box him as I wished. Some times when the fight lasted longer than desired and became serious, daima would intervene, scolding both of us or cajoling us as she wished. Enter Rebamasi and we stopped playing or fighting spontaneously. If we fought Rebamasi would separate us and scold only Bumba , saying “You are a big boy and should be ashamed for fighting with your little sister”. She was extremely partial and to be frank I did not dislike it. While Rebamasi would scold Bumba I would show him my tongue from behind her and he would get angrier and would try to catch me ignoring her and that would anger her further.
Ma was gone in early October, just before the Durgapuja and on January next I was put to a high school. My school started early in the morning and by the time daima prepared me for school and put me to the school bus that came to pick me up, Bumba would be still in bed in his room. The bus dropped me at our door in mid day and after taking bath and having lunch I was put to bed for a short nap and Bumba came back from his school about four , four thirty and went out to play after changing and having some snacks. Daima would take me to the park in the afternoon, there I would play with some neighbourhood kids and come back and after about an hour. This was the time when Bumba and I played and talked among ourselves. But on some pretext or the other Rebamasi would intervene and separate us. We slept in the same room and the nights were our private affair. We had so many secret things to share, to tell each other, which the elders never would understand. And we relished this privacy but it was not to be like this. Bumba used to tell me stories of his school and his friends and he was very good at caricature. He entertained me with funny stories which were mostly true but exaggerated to make an effect. He was also very good at reciting and recited my favourite poems , written by Sukumar Ray and Rabindranath Tagore. I don’t exactly remember when, but it seems after a year or two Rebamasi moved to our house permanently and made separate arrangements for us. So far she was sleeping in her own house but she shifted to our house and my room and Bumba was relegated to the anti-room that we used to refer as the “choto-ghar” or the tiny room . In the beginning I missed him terribly, his stories, his recitations, his funny caricature; but gradually with time I became accustomed to the new arrangement. Rebamasi knew stories of kings and queens, prince and princes and demons and witches and I started liking those stories better. From then on Bumba and I met only at meal times and in the evening when we both returned from our respective play fields and daima would make us drink some hot milk and also on the long school holidays when we went together to visit our grandpa.
**************************
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Girl Child
The city malls throb with glow and glamour, cash and curry,
Outside the wet city is knee deep in water,
You stretch out your dirty hand sitting on the muddy street;.
And I drop a few coins may be to atone for my sins.
But Coins rusty or shining, tiny or big
The stepping stones to the throne can they be?
God has given me so much, both health and wealth ,:
Gratefully and proudly I flaunt my georgettes, gold ,
And blood red ruby drops adorning my lovely form;
People look at my glowing beauty in silent awe.
Yet I stop even for a second to look at you,
Stretching out your dirty palm for mercy and for alms:
In you I witness a savior’s might!
I stoop before you, clutching a skinny girl child
Desperately searching and crying for milk.
In your dry and emancipated chest
My full breasts give me so much pain,
Only, Oh if only I could feed her once,
My own flesh and blood that I left at your feet,
Stealthily at the dead of night.
Outside the wet city is knee deep in water,
You stretch out your dirty hand sitting on the muddy street;.
And I drop a few coins may be to atone for my sins.
But Coins rusty or shining, tiny or big
The stepping stones to the throne can they be?
God has given me so much, both health and wealth ,:
Gratefully and proudly I flaunt my georgettes, gold ,
And blood red ruby drops adorning my lovely form;
People look at my glowing beauty in silent awe.
Yet I stop even for a second to look at you,
Stretching out your dirty palm for mercy and for alms:
In you I witness a savior’s might!
I stoop before you, clutching a skinny girl child
Desperately searching and crying for milk.
In your dry and emancipated chest
My full breasts give me so much pain,
Only, Oh if only I could feed her once,
My own flesh and blood that I left at your feet,
Stealthily at the dead of night.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Rejection
REJECTION
Ma has to come. Kona declared. No, no, nothing doing, she hastily added as she saw Suresh opening his mouth. Lolita has given notice, she is leaving this Friday.
How can she leave so sudden! Suresh was exasperated. What does she want! Increase her salary, yaar!
She won’t stay. She is providing a replacement, her niece. But she is raw and has just come from the village. Knows nothing of city life and moreover, she is to be trained as a cook .
But why can’t you do that! Why call your mother on the drop of a hat. You know how I feel, Suresh sounded irritated.
Yes, so you say every time I call her .Pray tell me how I manage everything single handed! Tell me, na!
Teach the new maid everything including cooking. Prepare nasta for Birju. Prepare him for school. And who will be here to receive him when the school bus drops him at the gate, hungry and tired. A little boy, all alone in the flat, with a new maid, who knows what type she would be. Or are you suggesting I leave office and stay home to look after your home and son!.
So Mrs Malati Roy arrived with her baggage to the utter discomfiture of Suresh.
Didu , why are you leaving so soon! Please stay a few more days. Birju tugged at her pallu. Malati looked affectionately at the face she loved so much. The cute little nose, innocent eyes , and the full mouth, curled in a pout.
I have to go beta
But why!
Well, my house is empty. Your dadu is lonely. There are so many more things to do; but you don’t worry I will talk to you over phone from time to time! She tried to console the little soul.
Why did dadu not come? He whimpered.
Darling dadu had some work to attend to. Next time we would come together, ok!
. She had a lot to do in the beginning. Both Kona and her husband usually returned late from office. The maid was new and Tamil. She did not speak Bengali, nor did she knew how to cook, specially the Bengali dishes. Malati had a trying time teaching her the basic dishes like dal, sabji and fish curry,the Bengaly way.. To her relief, Christine, the maid, had picked up very fast and she turned out to be a good cook.
“Malati, have you noticed whether I have taken my medicines, I can’t remember” . Biman stood at the kitchen door looking lost and vulnerable. Malati missed a heartbeat, he is so helpless. They have traveled together such a long path. They got married very young, Malati was only sixteen and Biman twenty, when their elders fixed the match. From then on they have lived on and had become so used to each other that the thought of being separated, the thought crosses her mind very often these days, makes her extremely sad. Who says life loses its colour for the aged, that old people find life boring, that they just live life for the sake of living. Nothing is more wrong. Malati clings to life these days, these days of the twilight , she feels that she has not seen life enough, that she has not lived life in the full, that she cannot bear to be taken away from Biman. It was nearly a month and a half that she had come here. The Durga Puja, the most revered festival of West Bengal was due in October and Malati had a lot of preparations to make. The house had to be dusted, washed and cleaned thoroughly. Gifts for all are to be purchased. She felt happy to go back where she belonged.
She was lost in her thought when Birju came running –“Didu Didu, come see, there is another didu sitting on the steps. Birju was only about twelve years of age and he referred to all aged women as didu. So they came out in the small varanda of their first floor flat. There on the steps sat a lonely old woman. She had fresh but cheap cloths on her and had a small cloth bundle beside her. Malati noticed the woman was wearing glasses and a pair of chappals as well. Malati asked her what brought her here and whether she was waiting for some one. But the woman looked at her dazed and expressionless , obviously not understanding anything. Then it dawned on her that the woman did not know Hindi or English. Briju came to her rescue. In fluent Tamil the boy conversed with the woman The woman was a dalit widow with two sons and lived with her elder son and his family in Avadi in Thiruvallur district . The son was poor and without a regular job and had five mouths to feed including the mother. For some time the son had been coaxing her to go and visit his younger brother who lived in the city and so he helped her board a train with some money and advised her to get down at Chennai and wait for her son, who was supposed to come to receive her in the station itself. She waited for her son to come for the whole morning and then came out of the station and started walking. Her second son was also married with two children and he worked in an eatery near JJ Road It appeared that her sons had taken her for a ride and had abandoned her as an unwanted baggage. Malati, offered the woman some tea and biscuits. The woman seemed very scared and withdrawn and might be because of the trauma of being left alone in an alien place appeared a little disjointed too. Malati called her daughter and apprised her of the woman’s plight. Kona and Suresh arrived, irritated and distraught, why should your mother take the trouble for a complete stranger and she is not even a Bengali. There were others in the neighborhood, who were Tamils, but oh no , your mother…….
Suresh called in the Police and they took her to the Police Station. Next evening they were informed that thankfully the Police could locate her sons, both residing in the city as well as in the suburb and called them at the police station. The sons arrived hanging their heads low in shame and after apologizing for their beastly behavior took back their happy mother with them.
Birju gave his parents tight hugs and declared “You are the best parents in the world”.
Suresh laughed and asked “why so generous Birju “.and pat came the reply” Because you are not cruel like those sons of the new didu, abandoning their own mother on the streets. You will never do that to my didu, will you ever?” He asked seriously.
“Of course not beta..” Their eyes met over their son’s head.
One night before Malati was to leave for Kolkata she felt Birju tossing and turning on the bed. Birju suddenly sat up and asked her in an urgent voice..
“Didu will you take me with you to Kolkata.”
Surprised, Malati said
‘of course, if you want to. But have you asked your parents”.
Briju shook his head vigourously:
‘I don’t want to tell them anything. I just want to leave them’ and putting his head into her lap started crying uncontrollably”.
Panicked and flustered Malati said
“What is it baby, what happened, shall I call your parents?”
Again Briju shook his head vehemently and said in atrembling voice ..”
“No please don’t tell them anything. Promise me you won’t”
“OK, but tell me what it is. “
Briju took out a crumpled paper from under his pillow and handed it over to her . Malati found to her surprise it was a letter. She switched on the bedside lamp and went through the contents. It was a letter from the Sarkarpool Mental Hospital, Kolkata to Suresh Dasgupta, dated 3rd October, 2008 , about a year back and it read as under:
“This is our third reminder of our letter dated 23/02/2005 no. SK/M/2034 regarding release of patient named Mr Abhoy Kanti Dasgupta. As you have been informed earlier, your father Mr Abhoy Kanti Dasgupta, aged 81 , who was admitted by you in our hospital on 05/01/1996 and was diagnosed as suffering from acute depressive disorder is now cured and can be taken home . The patient is 80% cured and once put under the loving and friendly family care, is sure to regain his normal self as far as possible in such cases. It is also seen from our records that the patient had no one visiting him for nearly three years. You should know that rejection by family members is dampening and quite a deterrent to the treatment of such patients. We therefore request you once again to please come forward and take back your father with you.”
Ma has to come. Kona declared. No, no, nothing doing, she hastily added as she saw Suresh opening his mouth. Lolita has given notice, she is leaving this Friday.
How can she leave so sudden! Suresh was exasperated. What does she want! Increase her salary, yaar!
She won’t stay. She is providing a replacement, her niece. But she is raw and has just come from the village. Knows nothing of city life and moreover, she is to be trained as a cook .
But why can’t you do that! Why call your mother on the drop of a hat. You know how I feel, Suresh sounded irritated.
Yes, so you say every time I call her .Pray tell me how I manage everything single handed! Tell me, na!
Teach the new maid everything including cooking. Prepare nasta for Birju. Prepare him for school. And who will be here to receive him when the school bus drops him at the gate, hungry and tired. A little boy, all alone in the flat, with a new maid, who knows what type she would be. Or are you suggesting I leave office and stay home to look after your home and son!.
So Mrs Malati Roy arrived with her baggage to the utter discomfiture of Suresh.
Didu , why are you leaving so soon! Please stay a few more days. Birju tugged at her pallu. Malati looked affectionately at the face she loved so much. The cute little nose, innocent eyes , and the full mouth, curled in a pout.
I have to go beta
But why!
Well, my house is empty. Your dadu is lonely. There are so many more things to do; but you don’t worry I will talk to you over phone from time to time! She tried to console the little soul.
Why did dadu not come? He whimpered.
Darling dadu had some work to attend to. Next time we would come together, ok!
. She had a lot to do in the beginning. Both Kona and her husband usually returned late from office. The maid was new and Tamil. She did not speak Bengali, nor did she knew how to cook, specially the Bengali dishes. Malati had a trying time teaching her the basic dishes like dal, sabji and fish curry,the Bengaly way.. To her relief, Christine, the maid, had picked up very fast and she turned out to be a good cook.
“Malati, have you noticed whether I have taken my medicines, I can’t remember” . Biman stood at the kitchen door looking lost and vulnerable. Malati missed a heartbeat, he is so helpless. They have traveled together such a long path. They got married very young, Malati was only sixteen and Biman twenty, when their elders fixed the match. From then on they have lived on and had become so used to each other that the thought of being separated, the thought crosses her mind very often these days, makes her extremely sad. Who says life loses its colour for the aged, that old people find life boring, that they just live life for the sake of living. Nothing is more wrong. Malati clings to life these days, these days of the twilight , she feels that she has not seen life enough, that she has not lived life in the full, that she cannot bear to be taken away from Biman. It was nearly a month and a half that she had come here. The Durga Puja, the most revered festival of West Bengal was due in October and Malati had a lot of preparations to make. The house had to be dusted, washed and cleaned thoroughly. Gifts for all are to be purchased. She felt happy to go back where she belonged.
She was lost in her thought when Birju came running –“Didu Didu, come see, there is another didu sitting on the steps. Birju was only about twelve years of age and he referred to all aged women as didu. So they came out in the small varanda of their first floor flat. There on the steps sat a lonely old woman. She had fresh but cheap cloths on her and had a small cloth bundle beside her. Malati noticed the woman was wearing glasses and a pair of chappals as well. Malati asked her what brought her here and whether she was waiting for some one. But the woman looked at her dazed and expressionless , obviously not understanding anything. Then it dawned on her that the woman did not know Hindi or English. Briju came to her rescue. In fluent Tamil the boy conversed with the woman The woman was a dalit widow with two sons and lived with her elder son and his family in Avadi in Thiruvallur district . The son was poor and without a regular job and had five mouths to feed including the mother. For some time the son had been coaxing her to go and visit his younger brother who lived in the city and so he helped her board a train with some money and advised her to get down at Chennai and wait for her son, who was supposed to come to receive her in the station itself. She waited for her son to come for the whole morning and then came out of the station and started walking. Her second son was also married with two children and he worked in an eatery near JJ Road It appeared that her sons had taken her for a ride and had abandoned her as an unwanted baggage. Malati, offered the woman some tea and biscuits. The woman seemed very scared and withdrawn and might be because of the trauma of being left alone in an alien place appeared a little disjointed too. Malati called her daughter and apprised her of the woman’s plight. Kona and Suresh arrived, irritated and distraught, why should your mother take the trouble for a complete stranger and she is not even a Bengali. There were others in the neighborhood, who were Tamils, but oh no , your mother…….
Suresh called in the Police and they took her to the Police Station. Next evening they were informed that thankfully the Police could locate her sons, both residing in the city as well as in the suburb and called them at the police station. The sons arrived hanging their heads low in shame and after apologizing for their beastly behavior took back their happy mother with them.
Birju gave his parents tight hugs and declared “You are the best parents in the world”.
Suresh laughed and asked “why so generous Birju “.and pat came the reply” Because you are not cruel like those sons of the new didu, abandoning their own mother on the streets. You will never do that to my didu, will you ever?” He asked seriously.
“Of course not beta..” Their eyes met over their son’s head.
One night before Malati was to leave for Kolkata she felt Birju tossing and turning on the bed. Birju suddenly sat up and asked her in an urgent voice..
“Didu will you take me with you to Kolkata.”
Surprised, Malati said
‘of course, if you want to. But have you asked your parents”.
Briju shook his head vigourously:
‘I don’t want to tell them anything. I just want to leave them’ and putting his head into her lap started crying uncontrollably”.
Panicked and flustered Malati said
“What is it baby, what happened, shall I call your parents?”
Again Briju shook his head vehemently and said in atrembling voice ..”
“No please don’t tell them anything. Promise me you won’t”
“OK, but tell me what it is. “
Briju took out a crumpled paper from under his pillow and handed it over to her . Malati found to her surprise it was a letter. She switched on the bedside lamp and went through the contents. It was a letter from the Sarkarpool Mental Hospital, Kolkata to Suresh Dasgupta, dated 3rd October, 2008 , about a year back and it read as under:
“This is our third reminder of our letter dated 23/02/2005 no. SK/M/2034 regarding release of patient named Mr Abhoy Kanti Dasgupta. As you have been informed earlier, your father Mr Abhoy Kanti Dasgupta, aged 81 , who was admitted by you in our hospital on 05/01/1996 and was diagnosed as suffering from acute depressive disorder is now cured and can be taken home . The patient is 80% cured and once put under the loving and friendly family care, is sure to regain his normal self as far as possible in such cases. It is also seen from our records that the patient had no one visiting him for nearly three years. You should know that rejection by family members is dampening and quite a deterrent to the treatment of such patients. We therefore request you once again to please come forward and take back your father with you.”
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