TITLE : :KIDNAPPED (WRITTEN ON !*TH FEB 2016 From fragments of childhood.

I went Dumdum airport with my parent to receive my brother when I was only 6-years old.  My parent left  the view-lounge to receive my brother. Instead of following them, I stayed and slipped  in front of the railing in the thick crowd ,lost  myself watching  in wonder the  landing of the flights with red,yellow, green blinking lights  from the sky.

Suddenly I felt    somebody caught my hair tightly from the back and dragged to the ground floor while I flooded the  whole stair-way pissing in fear. Chilled with fright I thought I was being kidnapped. As I was able to turn  my head, I saw the kidnapper was none but my own father!

                                                     
         Parent who were so much worried  of loosing me ,not finding me in and around,  behaved like that in rage and anxiety,as soon as he found me!Anxiety   and anger made my dad such crazy! Any how I was relieved of fear for not being actually kidnapped!   . But felt embarrassed  looking back the   trailing stream of pee  in the stair-way.Thank  god  none slipped before I left the place!!
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Fragments from childhood: : Fear of alcohol

In my younger age, I thought wine as something profane which makes man drunkard, senseless and vulgar. I carried that notion for a long time; I brooded fear and contempt for wine.I did not know the difference between beer whisky or  rum   To me they were all under the same category  “wine”!

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    The background story of my contempt for wine was nobody in my family used to drink liquor  But some bitter experience remained in my childhood memory.

There was a row of servant-houses adjacent to our bungalow, as the British officer enjoyed that lavish life. They left the country but those team of servants possessed those company’s rooms permanently. On the day of salary, they thronged in front of my fathers’ office. They looked excited as they talked. From 12’o clock one by one their names were announced. The sweeper/cleaning staff were the finishing touch of ‘salary ceremony': monthly reward of sweating toil of the labours.

At this matured stage I appreciate the divine power of wish in their blood to enjoy life to the lease for some moments by breaking the day-to-day routine of monotonous life, the courage to greet the freedom of soul, refuting the adversities of life. 

On that very day, another drama or ‘ceremony of hell ‘in the outhouses went on of which we were an unwilling receiver, We had to tolerate, ….. prolonged scream of pigs as they were butchered mercilessly with a red hot iron spear which gave a filthy odour in the air. The cheerful chat of women-folk and their playful children rejoicing around the open kitchen of the courtyard for the expected ‘feast’ they were waiting! The children clapped their hands more excitedly when some escaping pig was chased with that fearful red hot iron rod up to the end of the cruel game.

( Cruelty was  an item  of entertainment !)

My father made a wall to restrict their way towards our side so that no pigs could enter.

I often saw them taking late lunch with an earthen pot and glass, from the roadside,   during our play-time in the afternoon. We whispered to each other “don’t look at them, they were drinking! ’We pretended not to look but every one of us threw cryptic eyes out of curiosity and fear also.  AS if,  If we are caught to see them they might beat us or bite us.

 .Actually, the scenario looked like a festive community enjoying  feast…roasted pork with country liquor known as 'handy', often made at home by themselves from rotten rice, 'Mohua-juice' collected from forest tree or juice from the stem of palm -tree. Trading of the country- liquor in the community was common business among themselves.

  From the evening different scenes of drama started to roll on the outhouse complex of our  bunglow. In the beginning the arena was full of enthusiasm and   joy.  Most of the time in  the opening scene of the 'first Act(!)' started with the  beat of drum and flute,  lots of giggling followed  by a nasal folk song in highest vocal pitch that cracked  the voice in coughing or vomiting, or bursting into  tears, followed by dance  with uncontrolled hands and legs and falling on the ground  and trying  to stand   to dance again, but in vain; finally lying  down straight  like a corpse, facing the starry sky, murmuring or fell into sleep.

Standing on the window we peeped over the wall to view the free drama from our study- room; we amused  to see their crazy activities ; we  giggled keeping our palms on mouth..……..but for a short  time ,keeping the youngest brother as a guard to  alarm us to avoid not to be caught by the elders.   In a word, we enjoy hide and seek game against  the background of the front- stage-drama outhouse complex.

 .Suddenly, in the next  phase of  drama the climax of the drama, the  giggling and singing voice turned  into a quarrel  and commotion ; the quarrelling voice began to rise  high  resulting in brawling, abusing vulgar words, ultimately leaving the place a battlefield by midnight! Next day obviously in the late morning  some of them used to come to my father for complaining against one another and for judgement, Some with a fractured hand, or bandaged forehead, while some were with a bruised   face and bloodstained nose!

 My father gave them medicine  who have a minor problem and referred the serious to railway doctors.

Sometimes funny things happen .

One day, my father was taking his lunch at a late hour. A sweeper came crying severely. 

My father  asked what happened?

The man throws his body to my father's feet and began to cry more loudly.

 Somehow slurred,   “ my wife died!’

Died? What happened?

 Instead of answering he cried more violently, striking his chest. 

The neighbours and children of his community standing around  seemed to enjoy  the  fun  of comic scene with mocking faces!

When died? And how?

“Sir, it is just  30 years back!  answered in a distorted crying voice.

            “That’s   really  sad!”  somehow hiding smile  my father murmured,

    “  Totally drunkard!” my father  asked the fellowmen to  take him  to his family.

 Lots of such stories are in my memory box which is both funny and some times, fearful.

One day ,in early morning my  mother noticed from the kitchen  window a man lying on the middle  of the road with overturned face pitched on the road. He laid there a few hours like a dead man My mother sent our servant to report it to his family.  No sooner a young man, his eldest son, came out; he  gripped his   feet in hands and began to drag him like a dead animal on the rough dusty road. A kind passerby riding on cycle stopped and held the head with blood-stained face carefully to help the boy carrying. All on a sudden the skinny dead-like man sprang straight on his feet and slapped the passerby so vigorously that he fell down on the road. He looked puzzled with a silent question in the eyes,” What’s wrong”!

 The skinny drunkard in roaring voice announced , 'my boy' ! 

The respectful boy( looking proudly to his boy), has such honor  for me that he was dragging me with my feet,(thudded his feet  striking the ground) and you  bastard, rascal ! (blowed another violent slap on his face }   how daring are you to touch my head?

{In Hindi,  the dialogue is:  " hamara beta kitna maanse mera payyer  khichke le jata hai ,aur tu sale  kaun aaya mera sheer  pakerne-wala?"}===========================================

Celebrating handiya (taken from the web)

Selling handiya(country liquor) 

(taken from the web)

Title; Represent modern American Family:: woman -Power

Title:::::: Represent of  modern American family Women Power!

         On my daughter’s mobile screen the image of goddess Durga with her children and pets are saved. One day her colleague who sits beside her, asked curiously, "Who is this lady with ten hands, holding a long spear targeted at a muscle-man with  huge moustache?" asked her colleague.

“This is the goddess of our biggest festival in West Bengal. The goddess comes yearly, once, for only five days in the Autumn, in her Mother’s house, with all her children and pets.

“Why does she have ten hands, with weapons in each hand like a terrorist?"

My daughter jokingly replied,  'Perhaps to protect and control the two beautiful   young daughters and two young boys. She comes alone from Kailas from the Himalayas, struggling and killing demons and overcoming all obstacles  with courage and bravery. Actually, she is the symbol of “woman-power’. She has to manage home and family both!“Is she single or widow?" asked her friend.             "No,No! Neither”--my daughter laughed.

"Then, who is her husband?"

"Lord Shiva"              

"What does he do?"

“Nothing! He has no responsibility for the family"

‘He takes Ganja (marijuana) with his pals, dances, and roams half-naked the whole day with a snake around his neck."

  "Oh!" her friend thoughtfully murmured "That sounds very similar to modern- day marital relationships!”

   

debut: Fragments from my childhood

debut: Fragments from my childhood: I am a member of an amazing writing group called Story Circle - this story by me was published by them in their annual anthology I gr...

Fragments from my childhood

I am a member of an amazing writing group called Story Circle - this story by me was published by them in their annual anthology

I grew up in 1940s India with parents, grandparents, siblings and cousins.   My father was a loving patriarch who we adored. My mother was kind and soft-spoken. He worked for the Indian Railways and we moved often. As India celebrated Independence from centuries of British rule, we moved to a quaint town named Madhupur.  Madhupur was built to remind former residents of English villages they left and missed - mansions, manicured lawns, churches.  And railway employees were now being housed in those mansions.

Outside the atmosphere at home was very festive.  But I was not as cheerful as I should have been growing up in that loving environment.   I carried a sense of melancholy, sometimes for reasons unknown, throughout my life.

My father was the third of six brothers.  His eldest brother was an eccentric popular scholar and a professor at a prestigious university in another city. My father took up the responsibility of his four children, to allow his brother continue his scholarly pursuits undisturbed.  And his brother seemed to enjoy this arrangement.

 His eldest daughter, Renuka, who stayed with us, was beautiful and my mother’s confidante in managing our large family. Word of her beauty spread and brought many marriage proposals.  My uncle relieved himself of the responsibility of Renuka’s marriage and was happy for my father to make the decisions.   Arranged marriages were the norm and was considered a parents’ responsibility – a daughter’s marriage was considered to be great burden given the social pressure to get them married young and the financial pressure of sending the daughter to her in-laws’ home with jewelry and gifts. Marriage negotiations involved a complex routine of exploring families, bride’s home making skills and beauty and the grooms’ job prospects.  Finally a groom was chosen for Renuka.

My father wanted to celebrate this marriage magnificently to keep up the family status.  He distributed the marriage expenditure among his five brothers according to their financial capacity while he took up the largest share.  Renuka’s father was tasked to buy gold jewelry for the bride and groom.

The week of the marriage a massive gazebo was set up and Indian flute played in the background while all the children played under the gazebo.  My uncles gave my father their part of the expense.  Except for Renuka’s father.  And then on the morning of wedding I witnessed a drama unnoticed by most.

My mother insisted Renuka’s father to show the jewelry he was responsible for.  He sat calmly with eyes closed.  My father stood at the door of his room.  On being pressed more he said, “Renuka is beautiful, many princes will come for her hand even without jewelry, let us break this alliance”.  First there was silence, then disbelief and then my father was furious at his brothers’ suggestion and the thought of what this meant.  At one point my frustrated father said, “Bring me a gun, I will kill him and me”.  My mother somehow managed to pacify the warring brothers.  All the thrill of a wedding vanished like camphor for me.  I followed my mother like a shadow who slipped into the dimly lit room where Renuka was sitting with her mother.

Mother told Renuka that her father wanted the marriage to be called off.  Renuka embraced my mother and began to cry inconsolably, “Please do not listen to that crazy man.  I will marry here otherwise I will kill myself”

My mother said “But Renu, we do not have money to purchase the jewelry needed to marry you.  Since we cannot marry you without jewelry, maybe I will loan you my wedding jewelry.  Let’s keep it a secret ok?”

“But promise me that you will return it all to me because this is all I have to give for my daughters’ wedding”

Renuka and her mother leaped at the proposal, “Let us get the marriage ceremony done peacefully and we will return it.  We are ever grateful to you”

My mother left the room and in the dark of that room I saw Renuka and her mother’s face awash with a satisfied glow.  In the evening, all the women sat around the bride and praised the jewelry and how she looked like a princess.  My mother sat next to her proudly, partly at averting a family disaster and partly at the appreciation of her jewelry.  I sat there blankly and listened to the nostalgic tunes of the Indian flute which stirred a strong ennui in me about days gone by and what lay ahead, the happiness all around but the sad undertones of this festivity, which I witnessed.  I wore a brocade dress but all the drama of the morning had drained me, before I knew I was asleep.  I woke up late into the night and ran across the courtyard to the gazebo and saw Renuka and the groom standing by the fire, as the priest chanted wedding vows.  The courtyard was lit with lanterns and I thought my sister and her husband looked angelic.  I was hungry but could not find any food – tired I fell asleep again in the dimly lit room where much drama unfolded earlier in the day.

Soon after, my own sister Mira got married in another wonderful ceremony leaving my father submerged in debt from frequent marriage and medical expenses.  Every year Renuka and her husband visited us – she never mentioned the wedding jewelry or returned it.  Neither did my mother mention the loan or ask her for it.  I never heard my parents regret or boast about this act of sacrifice ever even in the worst of their financial struggles – much to my surprise, my mother seemed happy about Renuka’s happy married life and spoke of her with great affection. 

So often in life, underneath the joy and festivity lies the reality of a less joyous story and my heart fills with pride thinking about the nobility of my father and gentle mother in how they went about it all so gracefully.

 This picture is of me around the time this story took place

My parents and extended family.  Middle row extreme left - my father and mother