Logic and reasoning they say are the way to be in today’s world. A bit of unconcern is highly recommended by the ones who have risen high up the ladder. Removed from life, that is what I would give them as testimony. I chose the age-old path for me. The path that leads me to the earth and its stoicism. I still love the smell of tealeaves boiling and the sound of the footsteps of my near ones, climbing the stairs and walking briskly up to the drawing room. The eagerness in their eyes, their smiling souls and never-ending anecdotes has a life force beyond definition. Everyone has so much to say! Everyone has a story, of which I too am a part. In simple words, that is my family, my world….Magical and warm!
Being in a Bengali joint family in Calcutta, and the eldest daughter too, a bouquet of endearing nicknames comes with the package. I have mine too. Do I love them, of course yes! Even though I have acted otherwise many a times. Why? Tantrums….where else can you so comfortably place them and be loved in return, but your family!
Of all these names, my favorite one was that my grandpa, my Dadu used to call me. Short and sweet it is “Didi Bhai”. A very common name for grandchildrens’ in Calcutta, given by their grandparents. I particularly loved this name because it made me feel like a grown up being as a kid. Besides my Dadu being the eldest member of the family, calling me “Didi Bhai” gave encouragement to my childlike vanity. I felt like little Narcissus. People might call me pampered or crazy as a child, if they get to know the things I used to do, only to hear my grandpa call me by that name. I would all of a sudden not speak to him, coil up in his lap like a plump snail, or give more attention to my grandmother, my Dida. They both left this world, and I have these beautiful stories to re-run. I lost my granny two years back. My Dadu left me even before that, when I was in standard III.
This occurrence took place on a summer afternoon, a decade back. I completed my school and took admission in Rani Birla Girls College in Theater Road, Calcutta. For my English tuitions, I used to go to Salt Lake. Prof. Partho Mukherjee a well-known lecturer and professor was my teacher. An endearing guide in my life. I came from college and was all set to go to my tuitions. My mother asked me to take my class fees and an envelop too. When my car reached home in a hurry I forgot to take an envelop with me and made a move.
That day I was thinking about my Dadu, missing him as they say “badly”. I use this word for want of a better expression. All I possibly wanted was to hear someone call me “Didi bhai”. Never mind who called me by that name. No special reasons for this. As they say that the heart has its own reasons that reasons itself are not aware of.
On my way I realized that I do not have an envelop with me. It was difficult to get a stationery shop open at 3:00 pm. Most of the shopkeepers would take their afternoon siesta then. However, I could locate a small stationery shop beside what is now called Shukanto Setu leading to E.M Baypass. That was my savior. I got down and went up to the shop.
There was an old man sitting at the store, smiling at me. Frail as his body appeared to me and yet the eyes had an unspoken language. I don’t know how to define that expression. I asked for a plain white envelop. He got up slowly. I could make out, that his knees were aching. There was a small inlet to the shop. The way most stationery shops have. A wooden flap that is moveable like a sliding door. I told him “Dadu can I take it myself” and got inside. He smiled at me and raised up his hand to showed me the shelf where envelops were kept. I asked him the price. 25 paisa he answered. I had 20 paisa and but couldn’t trace 5 paisa. He did have change, but was unaware where the coin box was kept. I got to know it was his son’s shop. He was sitting just to guard the shop whilst his son was sleeping. Parents, I realized then, are actual guardians. They keep their duties even when their bodily strength fails them. I managed 5 paisa from my chauffer and gave it to him. The old man looked at me, smiled again and said in his frail tone “Thank you Didi Bhai”. I looked up and smiled back at him. Finally, I did get to hear my call. I waved him good-bye and got inside the car.
On my way I kept on thinking the miracle that life is. Somewhere someone wishes something, and suddenly a voice fulfills the heart’s wish. We are all connected I think now. They say when you get what you most want, the heart becomes a little selfish. The same happened to me. I decided to buy a pack of envelops from that shop again on my way back to home. My only purpose was to hear that call “Didi Bhai”. I reached the place and saw that the shop was closed, but there was a huge mob beside that. Confused and curious I got down from my car to understand what was the matter. I only heard murmurs of which I could make no sense. I asked one of them why the shop is closed. He replied in a dry tone, that the shop owners father passed away at around 4:30 pm.
I walked back to my car. I din’t knew the old man, but there was a sense of loss.
Now when I look back, I feel perhaps he waited for me arrive, call me “Didi Bhai” and then take off from life. Perhaps god had planned it so. I agree that when you wish from your heart someone hears it. Never mind what you get perhaps is just for a while. We all are connected!
~ Shweta~
