salesman

Shebar jokhon deshe gelaam (ha thiki dhorechhen – jodio aamra desh cherechhi prai 10 bochhor holo ebong Americai eshe oderi ekjon hoye gechhi citizenship niye – tobuo ekhono bharat ta kei nijer desh bole bhabte bhalobashi ) tokhonkaar ekti mojar ghotona likhchhi.

Aar shobaider moto amio deshe gele tuki-taki jinish kinte, rabindrasadan er phuchkaa khete, theatre dekhte ebong rabindrasangeet shunte bhalobashi. Moter upor, je-je kaajgulo americai “kaajer” chaape kora hoye othena – sheiguloi ar ki.

Jinish kena byaparta – jeta kina “shopping” bole universally porichito – aamder meyeder kaachhe ekta neshar bostu hoye dariechhe. Amader husband der mote eta heroine jatio drugs er thekeo hanikarok – karon ota shudhu amader – mane meyederi noi – amader potideb dero jarpornai khoti kore, mane shopping er doulate bank balance (othoba pocket balance) popat-dhoroni-tole. Ora aar ki kore bujhben ei neshar ki moja – shopper’s stop er kaanch boshano dewal er bhetore dami saari –jamakapori hok ba gariahatar footpath er hawker’s shop er pora matir murti-i hok – shobrokom jinisheri alada charm aachhe. Aro ekta jinish lokhho kore dekhben - je meyera emnite khub shanto o shishto – gola uchu kore bishesh kotha bole na – emonki chelekeo dhomkai na – tarao dokan e dor-daam korte giye ritimoto jhograti hoye othen.

To jai hok, shedin shoporibar e beriyechhi shopping e gariahater more - aager shondhetei aamai patideb er onujog shunte hoyechhe je aamar naki shopping e gele poribar er kotha mone thake na, tai poribaar er kotha bhebe ekebare shonge niye beriyechhi jaate bhuleo oder bhulte na pari. Chutir dupur, shiter jholmole rod ebong biyer morshum – ei tinte jinish miliye poth-ghat besh bhaloi lok tenechilo shedin. Charidike besh ekta hoi –hoi bhab. Er modhei ekta khub-boro-noi dokan e dhukechhi aamar chele-meyer jonno kichhu bharotio poshak kinte ebong dhuke dekhi shekhane shob rokom er jinish-i pawa jai – mai meyer mayer sari porjonto. Aar sari dekhle ki ektao na kine chole aasha jai? Tai dokandar (bhodrolok ke dekhe besh boyeshkoi mone holo – mathai kacha paka chul) ke bolechhi sari dekhate. Dokandar mukhe ekgaal hashi niye jiggesh korlo – “boudi aapnar kon rong pochhondo”? Ami to obak, bochor duek aageo jara amai “bonti ki dekhabo” bolto, aaj tara amai “boudi” bolche..hoito aagami baar deshe ele shunbo “mashima ki kinben?” Jai hok, aami halka rong-i pochhondo kori – tai dekhate bollam. Besh koyekta dekhar por ekta motamuti pochhondo holo – ta daam ta shune - ektu beshi-i mone holo. Dokan e koyekmuhurto darie kinbo ki kinbo na bhabchhi, to dokandaar bole uthlo “Boudi ki bhabchhen – niye jaan. Ei dame emon jinish aar paaben na kothao. Tachara aapnader moto sober color (ha halka rong oder kacch sober color – bright rong ta bodhoi not-so-sober) to keu pore na aajkaal, tai erokom beshi jinish o aashe na aamader kaachhe – ei ektai aachhe ekhon na nile pore hoito paaben na - aar aapnaar “chapa” ronge khub manabe sari ta – apni kokhono bright rong porben na” Ei kotha shonar por ki aar sari ta na kine paara jai? kinei phellam sheta.

Baire beriye kichhukhon bade bujhte paarlaam amar meyer diaper-bag ta phele eshechhi dokan e – oto jinish er modhhe dorkari jinishtar kotha bemalum bhule giyechhi. Jai hok gelam aabar dokan e sheta aante, giye dekhi oi dokandari ebar aamar thekeo boyeshko mohila ke (mane mukh dekhe ja bojha gelo aar ki) jar amari moto gayer rong, sari dekhachhe. Bhir thele or kaachhe jawa jachhilo na, tai ektu dure bhir ta shorar opekhai dariye theke shunte pelaam dokandaar meyetike ekti rongh-chonge laal (aamar belai jeta not-so-sobar chilo) sari dekhiye bolchhen “Bon – ami tomar dadar moto – amar kotha shono – ei sari ta keno. Emon “bright” rong to keu pore na aajkaal – shobai mat-mete rongi chai – tai erokom jinish beshi aani na aamra. Eta ekhon na kinle pore aar paabe na hoito ..ar tachhara tomar gayer ronger shonge khub manabe sari ta”

Shune aamar ki obostha bujhtei paarchen..mone bhablaam ekei bole salesman!!!

What is success...

It was pouring that evening when we brought our dad back home from the hospital - relieved that the nightmare is past at last. Our dad had undergone a surgery a few weeks back and recovered a little from the operation - but still had a long way to go. I had come to take care of him leaving my two kids with my husband and a nanny back in America. As I settled down with a cup of tea I wondered, why the weather was in a totally opposite mood. Our lives managed to the storm – and it was time to be happy after all those long hours of struggle between life and death.

Damn the weather – I thought, as I picked up the phone to call upon my little ones and hubby back in America. My spirits rose as I heard my husband’s reassuring voice that everything is going well with my kids and my son’s bubbly voice telling me a hundredth time - how he and ‘boney’ (it’s a fond way of calling one’s sister in Bengali – which we taught him even in America) misses me – and I - promising him a hundredth time - will be back as soon as ‘dada’ (his grandpa) feels a little better. We spoke for a while on the mundane things and then kept down the phone with the usual words of advice to my son – do your homework – study well - so you can be a successful man when you grow up!! My father gave out a frail laugh when he heard my words – amused how I had taken that up from my Mom.

We were laughing and chatting – totally oblivious to the unhappy nature outside, when the doorbell rang. Who could it be? I thought, as I walked down the stairs to open the door – it was Ramuda – the servant of one of our neighbors and my erstwhile teacher – Animesh Chatterjee – whom we fondly called Animeshkaku (it’s a way of showing respect to elders in Bengal by tagging a form of relation with the name – kaku is father’s brother in Bengali). From what I gathered from the crying Ramuda that Animeshkaku has suffered a massive stroke about three hours back and passed away. He came to our place to call his son in the states since it was only our home that had International phone connection in the neighborhood. Reluctantly this time, hating my self to be a harbinger, I picked up the phone and dialed his number. As the somber voice on the other end confirmed that he is Animeshkaku’s son, I broke the news to him. After a few seconds of pin-drop silence, he said – without breaking up – quite contrary to my expectation - that he is going to give a call to his home.

As I walked along with Ramuda to Animesh kaku’s place, I asked him how did it happen and did they call a doctor? (There is no 911 or its form in India still) He said yes – they did call Doctor-kaku (our only doctor neighbor) but he could not revive his master.

I found Animeshkaku in a room full of people – all of them our next-door or next-next door neighbors. Of them, some were ‘spoiled’ ones in terms of Animeshkaku – that did not go far in studies or had a good career. They spend their time in all kinds of activities – barring studies and as such enjoyed “life” during the time when most of us were busy building a career so we could enjoy our “life” later. Now they have grown up and like me – leading an ordinary life.

I focused my gaze on Animesh kaku’s face - and it was serene and yet smiling – happy to be able to cover the journey successfully. As I turned towards the other corner of the room, I found that the women were busy consoling a wailing kakima (Animesh kaku’s wife and our aunt) and the men eagerly waiting to hear back from his son – to hear what they need to do with the body till he comes home. After half or so hour, the phone rang, and yes – it was indeed his son. I was the one to pick up the phone as Kakima was not in a position to speak. With the usual somberness, he said that he is terribly busy with his latest project and cannot in any way – come to India at this point in time - but he will send some money to take care of his last rites. I was aghast!! Here I was – who came all the way to take care of my ailing father leaving my 2 small kids behind – and here he was - who couldn’t come home to see his dead father for the last time!!! Well, that must be the way with successful men – I thought.

The moment I delivered the message, there was a dead silence in the room – even kakima’s wailing stopped at the shock!!

Within that time my thoughts raced – Animeshkaku was a teacher in our local schools – a very tough teacher indeed. He loved to evaluate his students’ success by their success in the exams. To him, all those were spoiled who did not do well in the exams. Expectantly, his only son – a wonderful boy that he was – was very good in studies. He never stopped talking about how excellent student his son was and what great things he had in store in the future. The way Animeshkaku talked, mediocrity seemed to be a retardation – that promised of a bleak future – an unsuccessful life!! His words really murdered one’s self-esteem. I remembered, as an ordinary student that I was, how I avoided the mere sight of him.

Anyhow, true to the expectation, his son was admitted to a premier institution in India. True to the expectation as well, I got into a ‘mediocre’ institution and got into an ordinary “software developer” job while he got a call from another premier institution for further studies – this time from America. I still remember how happy he was – telling everyone (not sparing even the street vendors from whom he regularly bought stuff) that his son has made it to a great university in America. After a long struggle, I made it to America as well – but not as a senior nuclear scientist (as was his son) – a mere worker bee.

My thoughts were broken by one of those in the room – telling me that they are prepared to take him for his last rites.

As we prepared him for his last journey – I could not help asking myself “what” is success in human life? IS it to make a lot of money, be famous, do great things for the world or keep up with the relationships that God has bonded us with..

I did not know the answer – do you?

Irony of Life and Death

How strange, we do not understand,
while we live with those we love,
That God may call them any time
to live with him, above.
- Elroy W. Creed

As I woke up in the Monday morning and peeked through the window, the morning cloud did not bring the usual joy for the day. I nudged my son to wake up, “No Mommy” – he said without opening his eyes as he put his arms round my neck, cuddled with me and went off to sleep again. After debating whether to call in sick and spend the day with my bundle of joy or to go to work and not waste my vacation days, pragmatism overpowered, and I decided to go to work anyway.

While I was settling down at work over my morning coffee, my phone rang and it was Sunita – my sweetest and most talkative friend. She would start a conversation as if we haven’t spoken in ages (even though we talked with each other probably the day before!!) I picked up the phone, preparing my self to go through my emails while we were talking and there she goes, very uncharacteristically, straight to the point, “Have you heard about Sahil?” I said “No, what about him” She goes “ He died in a car accident yesterday”. I gasped, couldn’t even ask “How?” But she went on anyways.

From what I remember from that conversation and from the numerous other ones that I had in the next day or two, it was like this. Sahil (a nineteen year old son of a friend of mine) and few of his friends were returning to their university in Los Angeles the night of Sunday after spending the weekend at their parents’. There were eight of them, in two cars. The weather was unusually bad that weekend and it was pouring when they started. As with all the kids of their age, they were driving fast and the car that Sahil was in, skidded on the highway and stopped. Sahil, an evangelist that he was, volunteered to look for the other car to see if everyone else in that car was safe. As he walked over to the other car, another one, also at a high speed, slammed onto their car and Sahil was crushed in between.

I could not come out of that daze for the rest of the day and kept thinking of the jovial, social Sahil and his numerous pranks with his mother and aunts. I thought of how he used to love to play with my two year old, throwing him up and catching him on his way down and my son giggling at that. But the day dragged on nevertheless, and we went to bed for the night. The night seemed to be no better. I woke up several times from nightmare and as I hugged my son closer and lay there on the bed, I got very scared of “Life”- Life with all its uncertainties.

The next day was no different than the previous one – cloudy and gloomy, reflecting the true spirit of me. The only difference was that I would be wearing a black dress that day – I had to attend Sahil’s funeral. As I dragged myself through the household chores, I prepared to face Sahil’s mother. I wondered what her reaction would be and every time I thought about her, I involuntarily put myself in that situation and shuddered. Life would be inane and meaningless for her after this, I concluded.

But at the funeral, I found her unusually calm, greeting everyone that was visiting. It must have been the shock; she does not realize what has happened to her – I thought. But she broke down when she saw Sahil’s body, covered up in a white cloth. His face was looking so fresh and unaffected, almost as if he was sleeping peacefully at the end of a hard day.

Throughout the funeral, I stood in a corner, wondering – “If only Sahil’s parents refused to let him go that night”, “If only he decided not to come home for the weekend”, “If only he hadn’t got out of the car”. But, I guess, no one else can decide which “if only” would come true, except for the one who we call “Almighty” and who has control over our “Destiny”.

As I was walking out of the funeral, preparing myself to be ready to get on with life, Sunita came running up to me and whispered in my ears, “Is Rupa’s baby shower still on for the next weekend?” Rupa – another friend of mine was due to give birth to a baby girl in less than three weeks!!!

Ishika - my daughter..

Six months back, I was born -
A small bundle that was held with fond
Close to my parents’ heart
that gave my life a treasured start.
For six months I stayed with them
Sleeping more and with occasional rolls
Thrilling them with toothless grins
And drinking milk most of the time
Now the time has come to run around
And to graduate from milk to grain..
Soon I will be walking and running
And playing and learning
As I travel the life’s lanes
And then time will come
When I become
A Mom – myself!!!

Ishan - my son

You are the jewel in our crowns

The apple of our eyes,

For you showed us what parenthood is like..

You are cute, you are gracious -

You are friendly and social

A little bit messy at times

With cars and trucks and all other toys

Not too stubborn and full of love.

Gold and diamonds we have none -

But you’re worth more than a million

Ishan – our son.