Finally, the sobs petered out
, and the chest heaved rhythmically, with every breath. The edges of the
eyelashes were still moist , from the recent wailing, but for , now, were
blissfully shut. Hallelujah! Putting this child to sleep was nothing short of a
miracle. Mira had to cradle her for hours, crooning soothingly , as she howled
and wept and cried herself to sleep.
Mira came here , to be able to go to college. The place was a
stone’s throw off, and the Ghose’s were an old friend of baba, Mira’s father.
Today , being Sunday, Ghose
uncle and auntie, had decided to go to the city for some time to themselves.
They had three children. The elder two were college going , like Mira. One was
in the boarding at IIM, Joka, and rarely came back home, even on weekends,
despite living in the same city. The younger one , a girl, lived in IIT,
Kharagpur, and came back home twice in a year; once during Christmas, and the
other, during, Durga Puja.
It was a sultry noon of July.
Air –conditioners were on, full blast , in their sprawling bungalow, as their
third child “a mistake “ called” shubi”, slept fitfully.
Mira found it strange, this
child. I mean,” shubi” must be at least 20 years younger to the last child. Why
not just tell the world , that she is adopted? What was so unusual?They had
lots of servants, a sprawling bungalow , on the outskirts of Kolkata, quite
visible signs of ample wealth, despite the failing health of Ghose auntie and
the profusion of gray hair on Ghose uncle’s head.
$$$$
“Didi!! I am going to the
library!!”
Mira called out to the cook
–cum –maid, as she climbed the stairs to the library , on the first floor.
“Uthle deke debe.”( call me
if the baby wakes up)
“Aaaahchhaa!” the cook
replied from the bowels of the cavernous kitchen.Quickly followed by an
enormous clatter, as she rushed out –“Kintu , library jawa baron je ?”(Don’t
you know library is out of bounds?)She looked up, blinking in the blinding sun,
shading her eyes with her atta covered hands.
“Toder jonno hobe, amar jonno
noye.”(Out of bounds for you, not for me .)Mira snorted,disdainfully.
The cook , watched
helplessly, muttering curses beneath her breath.
It was true. The Ghose’s
spoilt this brat, some distant relative from Burdwan , as if she was their own
daughter.There were no restrictions for her. Humph! The cook bunched up her
“Kuchi”(folds of sari), tucked it in her ample waist, and disappeared in to the
kitchen,smarting with indignation.
$$$$
Mira’s eyes took some time to
adjust to the darkness inside. It was cool, musty. The key was lying on the peg
at the front door, labeled plainly-Library.It is amazing , why no one even
bothers to clean it up?There are cobwebs everywhere, and the dust, atchoo!!
Mira’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud sneeze.From a nest outside, a pigeon
flew away in alarm, only to settle down and resume its cooing, moments later.
Fishing a hanky, Mira clamped
it to her nose, and proceeded in.Switching on a black and white nipple switch ,
belonging to the seventies, she was bathed in a eerie glow of a yellow bulb.
She was thrown half a century back. It seemed like time travel.
Here was the old model of telephone,
with separate earpiece and mouthpiece. The rolling dial face , in blackened
brass, still glinting gold from places. There was a foldable writing desk at a
wall, with a lamp affixed to the bracket , next to it . “What a shame ?I would
love to work here.”Mira thought, as she mulled over what Didi told her about
the Library being out of bounds . It really seemed as if no one had visited it
in years.
As she freed the latch, the
desk fell forward , with a crunch and a loud creak, raising a minor dust storm.
Mira sprang back.
As the dust settled, Mira
gasped. The wall behind the desk was an intricate pigeonhole. Containing
hundreds and hundreds of letters. Yellowing envelopes, brown, green inlands,
blue , white and red airmail envelopes,millions of brown postcards, frozen into
curvy shapes , as they were tied into neat bundles with twine, now cobwebby,
and old. Each pigeon hole was labeled, for the month and year. The oldest read
Oct 1935,Gosh that is even before the Second World War!! Thought Mira.
The last pigeonhole, on the
right hand corner read May 1970.
Wait a minute!! I was born in
May 1970, wasn’t I?
Without a second thought of
voyeurism, invasion of privacy,etc. ,Mira snatched the bundle and rolled out
the twine,impatiently.
$$$$
“You are the babysitter,
right?”
An irritated male voice spoke
up,making Mira jumped out of her skin.Ghose uncle stood in the doorway,looking
daggers at her.The cook, simpered behind him, shaking her fat finger at
her,smirking with a look of malicious
glee.
Mira fumbled,and clumsily
tried to gather the letters together, tying them together, the twine snapped,
and the old man sprang forward, with a cry, as if she had trod upon his exposed
heart.
He snatched the bundle from
her, and gave her a withering look. Then he , deaf to all her mumbled
apologies, shooed her , unceremoniously out, shutting himself inside.
The cook rudely stuck out her
tongue, and sashayed with her large hips down the stairs. Ghose auntie stood in
the foyer, holding an inconsolable shubi in her arms. Fighting tears, Mira walked back to the bedroom, guiltily following
her elegant host.
$$$$
The old man continued to give
her the “silent treatment.”
At dinner, that night, the Ghoses pretended Mira wasn’t there. She felt
miserable, and picked at her meal ,for pretense sake; fleeing to her room the
moment plates were picked up.
Mira thought of leaving for
her home, but what would she say to her parents? That she was caught snooping!
No way, she decided to stay put, and chin up.
For the next couple of days,
the old man was busy in the library, dawn to dusk. He wouldn’t allow any one,
except the cleaning lady, who, tied her “pallu” around her mouth, and swept and
scrubbed, till the wooden floor shone. The old man engaged the services of a
carpenter, got the floor and furniture of the library fixed, and waxed. Every
evening, when Mira came back from college, she heard loud hammering and
tinkering emanating from the first floor, which would be awash with lights, and
humming with human presence.
Mira wondered what process
she had set in motion. There wasn’t much to discover either.All she had seen
was a load of hippies, holidaying in the Europe. Wonder why the elder Ghose was so touchy about
the whole lock-the –library-up-thing? She put it down to the eccentricity of a
genius, and forgot all about it, by the by, as the mood of her hosts improved.
In fact, she thought, some
sort of dormant insanity had been awakened in the old man, as he was seen
rubbing his hands in glee, at the sight of “shukto”( a bitter vegetable dish,
traditionally despised),chuckling to himself, at odd times, staring at Mira,
with a twinkle in his eyes, till she blushed beet root red, and most
discomforting, bursting into Beatles and other songs from the 70s, without any
provocation.
$$$$$
Mira still remembers the
sultry afternoon , when she was busy with her intricate drawings of avian fetus, at 72 hrs of
fertilization, when the cleaning lady poked her head in,”Baba dakchchen”(
father is calling )
“Kar baba?”(Whose father )Mira
had absently countered , even without thinking.
She got a frown and a shrug
in reply.
She could never get used to
this . The concept of the old man Ghose getting himself called” baba” by all
his servants . As if he had sired them all! Mira was giggling at her own
private joke, and entered the study , smiling broadly. She saw the old man
hunched over his newly resurrected study table , his bald pate shining with
several glistening spots , where the numerous, newly installed CFLs reflected
.There was smell of varnish in the air .
“Today is Mahalaya.”
He intoned , without looking
at her.She looked around, wondering if he addressed her, with this piece of
irrelevant information.
“Do you want to go home this
pujo?”
Mira knew the daughter was
due to arrive from IIT, by the evening local. So , he wants to get rid of me
?Fine .
“Okay, I will go by the
evening local to Burdwan.”
He looked up sharply. “No,
no, I was just asking your plans . Your college has not shut down?” Mira shook
her head. He should know! He used to teach there not a long while ago. Even for
pujo, the Christian College for Girls shut down only for a week. The last week
of pujo.
“Sit !” He motioned for her
to sit on an old chair, revarnished , next to him.
“That day,”He paused, wincing
at the memory of his invaded privacy, “when you opened the letters, what did
you see?”
“I saw some hippies
holidaying in France .”
“Some hippies!!” The old man
chuckled with maniacal intensity, and rubbed his hands . Mira saw the same mad
gleam in his eyes.
“Any chance of you
recognizing those “Hippies!!”The old man whispered almost conspiratorially.
Mira shook her head. She
didn’t like the drift of this conversation. It heralded a storm. A far off
voice told her to run.But it was too late.
“This is “Old man pointed to
a young mustachioed gent in dark glasses and a nauseating floral shirt ,
bell-bottoms;his gnarled finger quivering in excitement.
And then it hit her, She
would recognize that lop-sided grin any where!
“My father!” She shrieked.
“And this is “ He pointed to
a nubile girl grinning behind the big man,he paused for effect,
“Ghose auntie.” He smiled as
Mira correctly placed wrinkled faced names against youthful people staring out
in their sepia images .
This carried on for an hour
or two. Mira began to enjoy herself. Picking out famous landmarks in European
nations , and familiar faces in strange get ups, it tickled her to no end .
Outside , the sun had set,
and darkness set in.A cool evening breeze brought some dead leaves rustling to
the screen door. A pigeon cooed in its contended homecoming.
Then the old man gathered all
his snaps and tied them up, putting them neatly away. The he pushed his specs
back onto his bald pate and stared at Mira.
Thoughtfully making a steeple
of his fingers , he asked Mira-“You know why I called you here.”
“To show me old snaps .”She
giggled.
“Yes, and ..”he hesitated for
what seemed a long time . “to see if you haven’t stumbled on some dirty family
secret, that day when you came snooping.But I shouldn’t have worried . It is
clear you know nothing. Neither have you discovered my skeletons . They are
safe in their closets.”
The old man laughed his
insane laughter again.The paternal soft gaze was again replaced by the mad
gleam.
Mira was really scared now. She
gripped the arm rests tightly, bracing herself.
“In those snaps by the French
Riviera , did you notice some one strange .”
“Yes, the French lady with a
bicycle .The one you said was your land lady’s daughter.”
“Yess! Simone , That was her
name .”
“What about her?”
Mira almost knew the answer
before he could say it.
“She is your biological
mother, your progenitor.”
The old man certainly chose
his words with great care. Then he waited for her response . Mira shut her
eyes. Took great gulps of air , and denounced the old man in three , clear ,
stone –like words-“You are lying.”
Then with her back ramrod
straight, she gathered her dignity around her , like a fluttering dupatta , and
slowly walked down the stairs.In a daze.She heard some snatches of old man’s
shouts-“Ask your mother on phone . She will tell you if I am a liar. Haven’t
you ever wondered why your hair is the colour of hay, and eyes light brown?
Come on now, it is obvious. That much of intelligence we all have “
And later , when she had
almost reached her room, the faint sing-song, taunting, haunting, -“Aami mithe
bolchi na(I am not lying)”
Mira shut the door and lay on
her bed , across her intricate drawings of avian fetus, the pencils digging
into her back. She couldn’t feel them. There was a numbing storm in her head, a
loud ringing, that drowned all other senses.
“Bastard, bastard!” She felt
as though she was standing atop a hill , like lion king, but instead of
felicitating, the gathering chanted, “Bastard, bastard!”
$$$$$
“You could have at least told
me once ma . I have to hear this from strangers. I don’t know why I am even
calling you ma.”
Mira’s mother, or at least
the one she called mother, was at the receiving end on the phone. Mira had
climbed the rooftop, and was unburdening her heart. Not bothering to even wipe
the flow of tears.She was hysterical, understandably so.
After a prolonged one-sided
haranguing, in which , her mother couldn’t get a word edgewise, Mira ended the
call, wiped her tears, and with bosom still heaving from long sobbing, looked
out at Ganges with mixed emotions.
“My!my! what a show of
ballooned self-pity!”
A small wiry youth,
bespectacled , had perched himself on a concrete block, and had heard every bit
of the fiery exchange.
“Eavesdropping seems to be
your familial pastime.” Mira retorted. She had expected the Joka undergrad to
be fleshier, taller. At least that’s what he looked like in his framed photos
hanging in the living room.
“So, the old man is at it
again. Spilling beans , I see.” He ignored her barb.
“Again!He’s done this
before?With whom?”
“This home , Mira di, is
crawling with secrets. Skeletons are banging the closet doors, begging to be
let out.”
He dramatically cupped his
ears,Mira smiled despite herself.
“That’s better. You sound
horrible when you let loose in Bengali. This smile is better, quieter, and can
be heard in all languages.”
Mira broadened her smile. She
liked him. But his father, humph!!
“I know , he can be a real
pain in the you-know-where!Besides, I think, senility has finally caught up
with him.”
The boy read her thoughts.
This was uncanny.
“You are Shibi, right?”
“Yeah” He sighed.”Shibi,Shubbu
and shubi.The old man got his rhyming all right. It was a riot when they called
us in for dinner.”
“Us? But shubi is just a
toddler.”
“Okay, okay, fine !! Just the
two of us.Shubi came much later.”
He shrugged resignedly,got
up,dusted his bottoms and announced-“Now we must get going , or they will think
we are smooching here.”
Mira giggled through her
tears and immediately felt guilty. So , she silently followed Shibi to the
dining hall. She dreaded seeing the “family “ there.
All sorts of persecutory
thoughts crowded her head. Was this why her parents sent her to Kolkata?To
learn about her morbid past, a secret they could never bring themselves to
utter! Cowards! Hypocrites! Her heart bled and fresh tears splotched onto her
“maach-bhaat”.
Shibi nudged her gently and
shook his head. He had decided to play the protective –elder-brother , and
taken his seat next to her .
Her appetite gone , she was
still mashing her maach, when payesh , the dessert was served. She had made up
her mind. The sight of “nolen gurer payesh”, an old favourite, revolted her
into speech.
“Aami kaal ke jachchi( I will
leave tomorrow) Thank you for taking care of me .”
She left with her bhaat
smeared hands , before the startled people could stop her , and before she
melted infront of all that affected politeness.
Ghose kakima sent paayesh to
her room , in a show of genuine affection. Mira returned it back, she had had
enough of pseudo-love .
As she packed her bags , she
thought of the startled looks on her hosts’ faces and the fact that she had
left the word “home” out. She did not know if home was the right word to use
any more.
$$$$$
Mira banged her bags on the
floor , and skipping the usual niceties, asked her mom, where was baba?
Her mother wordlessly nodded
to the study. Mira marched in, and without so much as a preface, announced with
a tight throat-“I want to go to France , to meet Simone.” Her father looking at
her tiredly, through his glasses, and said nothing.
Later that evening, Mira sat
in the kitchen, sullen and brooding. There was no cook here. Ma did all the
cooking. In vain, she tried to engage her child in conversation.
Suddenly, there was a
commotion at the gate . Some one , a male voice was talking to her father. After
a little while , the owner of the voice entered the spacious kitchen.It was Shibi,
the Joka undergrad.
“What was he doing here?After
all it was her private war , wasn’t it ?”Thought Mira. The first thought that
came to her was , ‘what is he doing in her home ? ‘Then she checked herself ,
having reminded herself that , the concept of “home “ was very shaky , right
now .
As before , he plonked
herself next to her and made small talk about weather and lousy politicians.
Mira’s parents were thankful for his light hearted banter .It broke the ice ,
and made things seem normal till dinner time .
After dinner, as the spoons
scraped the bottom of payesh bowls clean, Shibi licked his spoon with elan, and
studied his own reflection on the curvy underside, “Aren’t you going to ask
Miradi, why have I come here, on your heels?”
“This is a free country.”
Mira was determined not to let go of her bitterness.
Her parents looked at each
other in alarm, and Mira’s mother quickly got up to gather the dessert bowls
and spoons , to leave for kitchen, her sanctuary when any storm approached.
“Kakima, I think you should
sit.How will we all face the truth , if our parents keep running from it?”Shibi
put the glistening spoon down.
Very slowly, kakima lowered
herself into her chair , still clutching spoons.
“Miradi, the only truth here,”
he turned to face her,”is that none of us , you shubbu , me or Shubi have any
biological parents left.We were all orphans , brought up by the amazing people
we call parents.”
“You remember the year 1971.
Lots of families displaced, people killed in Bangladesh. Hundreds of refugees
came in streaming. Starving, displaced.Our parents, biological if you will,
were some people , in that crowd. When they died, the police put us up into
overcrowded orphanages. We all were rescued from there, by these souls “he
gestured towards her parents,” so we wouldn’t die of hunger or worse.”
“But what about the simone
story, that Ghose uncle told me ?”
Here everyone smiled at her .
“It was a piece of fiction
concocted by the old man to get his revenge . After all, you desecrated his
sanctum sanctorum, didn’t you?”
“How can I believe you ?”She turned
her gaze upon her parents”Is this true?” Her father nodded wearily , smiling
faintly, her mother had taken refuge behind a wall of tears.
As she got up to hug her
mother, Mira heard a distant voice reassuring her , “Kaku here will show you
the adoption papers, if you want , but not today, it is really late now.” She
smiled and hugged her sobbing mother, her own chest heaving with the burden of
unshed tears of relief and gratitude.
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