#Snippets 4 - The quintessential conversation of the May evenings just before the Report Card Day

The setting: Baba reading a book on his table and I fidgeting here and there composing my dialogues. Finally the impatience gets the better of me.

Me (making a goody and coyish face): Baba, Please tell me.
Baba (without looking at me): What?
Me: Baba, pleeaaaase, you know very well what I am going to ask you.
Baba (fake expression of displeasure): No.....What do you want to know now? I need to complete reading the book today. Don't you have any other work? Did you do your music riwaz today?
Me: Baba......I am tensed.
Baba (looking serious): So you wanted to ask me how you will fare in your annual result?
Me: Yes. Shall I pass and get promoted to the next class? What do you think?
Baba: Do I look like Nostradamus? How can I say?
Me: Baba, but whatever you say, that happens.....please say whether I will fail or pass?
Baba: What...how ridiculous! That's just a wishful thought..it might or might not be true....so did you write your exams well?
Me: Yes....but...
Baba: Which subject is the 'but' dear?
Me: Baba...I wrote well....but I am doubtful in Maths and Chemistry...I don't know whether I will pass in those.
Baba: Huh....those 2 problem makers...eh...aren't they?
Me (on the verge of breaking down): Yes.......I don't know whether I will manage the pass marks in these 2.
Baba (suppressing his laughter): I am also doubtful. Ask me tomorrow...I will predict then...
Me: No...no...I want to know today.......
Baba: What's the big deal....fail once..then you will know how many rice grains are there in how many paddy bundles..
Me: No, I don't want to fail.......
Baba (fake expression of anger and the voice tone pseudo-serious): You should have thought about this day before when you were whiling away your time reading storybooks during exams.
Me: Baba...I wasn't just reading storybooks..I was building up vocabularies....there's a difference...isn't it Baba? I hate these 2 subjects.....
Baba (laughing heartily over the honest confession): Ha ha ha ha...Don't worry, you might pass this time...
Me: Baba...why 'might'? Please tell me with full confidence, Baba.
Baba: Ok...mone hochhe you will pass...
Me: mone hochhe? thikthak mone hochhe to? 
Baba (suppressing another laughter): That I can tell you tomorrow...

Next morning, just in front of the school gate...
Me: Baba...you promised me that you will tell me what your mind is telling you about my result.
Baba: Just go in.....tenetune ebare utre jabe....(laughing again)

So, every year, I managed to pass somehow and Baba would award me by buying my favourite 'Nikhunti' sweets. I would carry the report card in one hand and would make tall promises again on studying well, preparing hard and so on. Baba would hear them, laugh again in his own distinct style as he could already foresee me whiling away my time with storybooks in the next session and say in his usual style, "Hey..did you complete the second volume of Rabindra Rachanabali? Look forward to finish the novels this summer." And I would nod affirmatively pacing down towards home together.

#Snippets 3

In the moments of anxiety and apprehensions, my mind tends to retrace back to the Durgapur evenings when my parents used to sit together to have tea and 'muri makha', their friendly banters, beaming faces and the Durgapur mornings when my mother used to roam around the garden watering the plants and my father would be busy mixing manures and soils.........those mornings and evenings reassure me of their omnipresence in my life..they reassure me that nothing has lost and brace me up for the new beginnings. My soul puts the faith back in me that my parents as well as guardian angels continue to shower their love and blessings on me, every single time....

The Lone Warrior

I can still remember the 10th of March three years ago. It was early in the morning, I woke up to go to my school but hesitantly sat near the kitchen table with a big mug of tea thinking about my ailing father who was still in coma. My mind was not allowing me to carry on the usual chores which I did before going to my workplace. Somehow, I gathered up myself and went to school only to prepare myself for another long, lone journey back to my hometown. My father had left us by the time I could even start my journey. As the train I boarded on ran passed the uneven plateaus dotted with blooming Palash trees, I remembered that how dear the red colour was to him, my Baba, as we called him. He remained a leftist throughout his life, in his mind as well as in his deeds. He lead a simple life untarnished by the capitalistic glitters we occasionally indulged ourselves to.

My thoughts were interrupted by a lame beggar dragging himself through the train floor and then a few moments from another black year came rushing to my mind. It was 1992, my father suffered a compound fracture in one of his legs and could not join his work for 17 long months. During his entire recovery period, he used to drag himself all the way to the toilet for his daily ablutions as he refused to wash himself in his bedroom. Such was his will power and sense of self respect. In those long 17 months, I had observed a different Baba, helping Maa in daily household chores, helping us with our studies while Maa went away to work. It was unusual for us to see Baba cooking and doing the dishes, but he remained undaunted. Infact, it was our nightmare to find raw papayas in every dish he cooked and we waited eagerly for our Maa to save us from the daily doses of raw papayas.

As I sat alone in the train compartment, I suddenly realised that I have grown old enough ever since Baba went into coma. While my brother kept a positive outlook about Baba recovering miraculously, I could sense the impending death quickening its steps towards Baba. The phone rang, my brother sounded apprehensive about my reaching time. I mechanically told him to start the last rituals as I won't be able to reach before evening. No, I didn't wanted to see him lying lifeless for he was so lively in his entire lifespan. I cannot remember a day when I haven't seen him joking around, yes during his plastered days too. It was really difficult for an active person like him to remain bed bound for about one and a half year, but he went through the ordeal by maintaining his usual jovial self.

I don't know whether he could accept my marriage and going away to another house, but he remained strong as he did the 'sampradaan' ritual. I could realise his immense love for his son-in-law, my husband, on the day he suffered the fatal stroke. As he was slipping into coma, slowly, he vigorously kept patting his son-in-law's back. Did he wanted to express how happy he felt meeting him after months? I don't know. I regret that I couldn't learn much from him. He had a sea of experiences to share but I became busy with my life and now, when I want to talk to him, spend time with him, he is no more. Though its a difficult journey ahead without a friendly guide like him, but, I have started along, with the memories of the instances of his strong will power and grit.

"চিরসখা, ছেড়ো না মোরে, ছেড়ো না।
সংসারগহনে নির্ভয়নির্ভর,
নির্জনসজনে সঙ্গে রহো ॥
অধনের হও ধন, অনাথের নাথ
হও হে, অবলের বল।
জরাভারাতুরে নবীন করো
ওহো সুধাসাগর ॥" -

https://youtu.be/yiea7YbyVuU