During my growing up years in Calcutta we often visited my mama-bari in a narrow little lane in Kaiighat. My uncle (mama) and his wife (my mamima) were kind and big hearted people. Their children were our age group and many a summer holiday I spent in that old and sprawling Kalighat house with my cousins and also the children of the ground floor tenant (bhaarate in bengali parlance)
The bhaarate-babu on the ground floor was Haripada babu and his family. Hari kaka worked in the Railways and was most often away. We did not know him too well, nor liked him much. However his children Priya and Poltu were good fun and specially good friends of mine. Their mother, Benu kakima was a mild and non interfering lady who I remember even now for her great cooking skills.
Like it always happens, I grew up. Left Calcutta to study in Bangalore. Every holiday would take me to my mamar-bari and more often than not there would be Priya and Poltu back home from their Universities in Delhi and Chandigarh. We would have great fun going for movies and go pubbing on Friday nights. Cricket matches and Book Fairs were a must However Hari kaka was never around. I asked my aunt and she gave me the story of how Hari kaka actually abandoned his family. In a slimey and underhand way he went back to his parent's house on the pretext of a death of an aunt. This story of an aunt passing away and subsequent period of mourning (prolonged period, I understand) went on for months. Hari kaka did not come back. He did not send money for house-rent or the children's school fees. Perhaps I was a poor observer. Perhaps pride did not allow Poltu and Priya to show their area of weakness. The bottom line however was there was no support from the father and Benu kakima ran the show on her very modest salary. The general impression I got was that Hari kaka had done a dastardly deed. Abandoning the family is looked-down-upon act in the middle class Bengali society.
A few more years passed and I took up a job in Mumbai. Poltu worked in an office nearby and for both of us going back to Calcutta was a once-a-year affair. We met in Mumbai bars and movie halls. Calcutta boys stick together when they are in a different town. Priya worked in Bangalore and earned enough to send money home to her mother. Poltu too would make a monthly money transfer and I was glad these two friends of mine took care of their mother. After a difficult period at home, at least things were better for them.
My visits to my mamar baari grew few and far between. All the news I needed of Priya and Benu kakima could be had through Poltu. Not that I met Poltu very often, but we did keep in touch in a superficial way.
Last month I was in Daar-es-Salaam and after a hard days work a few of us got together at the hotel bar. The bar was crowded and there was a large ex-pat crowd along with some Indians. A girl looked vaguely familiar but I could not place her. I gave up the idea after a few minutes as a Daar-es-Salaam dance bar is not the the best place in the world to stage a pick up. Besides, I was not interested.The girl was not particularly pretty. In her thirties and looked somewhat careworn.
It was only when I was leaving and at the door that a chance glance at the girl caught my breath. The smile was ever so familiar. It was Priya. Something in me prevented me from rushing across the room. She was with a fun loving ex pat group. She had not recognised me. Perhaps I would not be welcome. Nevertheless I took courage in my hands and walked softly till I was quite close. She turned around and in one small second all the tenderness came back to her face. It was the same old vivacious Priya that I knew. The gentle submissive Priya of Calcutta. The second was only a second. The magic passed and it was lost. Immediately her face became hard again. She seemed to be a tough young woman with hard and shifty eyes. Yes, we spoke for a few minutes. We asked after our families. She offered no explanations as to what she was doing in Daae-es-Salaam and I did not like to pry. This hard and calculative young lady was not the Priya I knew.
I got back to India and decided to keep quiet about this meeting. There was something dodgy about Priya and it irked me. It was not something I understood.
I came to Calcutta soon after and made a trip to my my mamar baari and to Benu kakima. I heard from kakima how Priya had distanced herself from the family. Her exit from Bangalore was shoddy. She gave out she was going to Tanzania for a short 2 month stay, which became 3 months and then of course a few years.
"It was all work related and of course no one minded a relocation, but it could have been done in a more straight forward way" That is all Benu kakima
had to say. I once again drew back into my shell and could not get myself to tell kakima that I had met Priya a month back. I am a coward.
What struck me was the 'escape route' of both Harikaka and Priya being the same. After ten years the family trait resurfaces and both were rather slim-shady exists.
The bhaarate-babu on the ground floor was Haripada babu and his family. Hari kaka worked in the Railways and was most often away. We did not know him too well, nor liked him much. However his children Priya and Poltu were good fun and specially good friends of mine. Their mother, Benu kakima was a mild and non interfering lady who I remember even now for her great cooking skills.
Like it always happens, I grew up. Left Calcutta to study in Bangalore. Every holiday would take me to my mamar-bari and more often than not there would be Priya and Poltu back home from their Universities in Delhi and Chandigarh. We would have great fun going for movies and go pubbing on Friday nights. Cricket matches and Book Fairs were a must However Hari kaka was never around. I asked my aunt and she gave me the story of how Hari kaka actually abandoned his family. In a slimey and underhand way he went back to his parent's house on the pretext of a death of an aunt. This story of an aunt passing away and subsequent period of mourning (prolonged period, I understand) went on for months. Hari kaka did not come back. He did not send money for house-rent or the children's school fees. Perhaps I was a poor observer. Perhaps pride did not allow Poltu and Priya to show their area of weakness. The bottom line however was there was no support from the father and Benu kakima ran the show on her very modest salary. The general impression I got was that Hari kaka had done a dastardly deed. Abandoning the family is looked-down-upon act in the middle class Bengali society.
A few more years passed and I took up a job in Mumbai. Poltu worked in an office nearby and for both of us going back to Calcutta was a once-a-year affair. We met in Mumbai bars and movie halls. Calcutta boys stick together when they are in a different town. Priya worked in Bangalore and earned enough to send money home to her mother. Poltu too would make a monthly money transfer and I was glad these two friends of mine took care of their mother. After a difficult period at home, at least things were better for them.
My visits to my mamar baari grew few and far between. All the news I needed of Priya and Benu kakima could be had through Poltu. Not that I met Poltu very often, but we did keep in touch in a superficial way.
Last month I was in Daar-es-Salaam and after a hard days work a few of us got together at the hotel bar. The bar was crowded and there was a large ex-pat crowd along with some Indians. A girl looked vaguely familiar but I could not place her. I gave up the idea after a few minutes as a Daar-es-Salaam dance bar is not the the best place in the world to stage a pick up. Besides, I was not interested.The girl was not particularly pretty. In her thirties and looked somewhat careworn.
It was only when I was leaving and at the door that a chance glance at the girl caught my breath. The smile was ever so familiar. It was Priya. Something in me prevented me from rushing across the room. She was with a fun loving ex pat group. She had not recognised me. Perhaps I would not be welcome. Nevertheless I took courage in my hands and walked softly till I was quite close. She turned around and in one small second all the tenderness came back to her face. It was the same old vivacious Priya that I knew. The gentle submissive Priya of Calcutta. The second was only a second. The magic passed and it was lost. Immediately her face became hard again. She seemed to be a tough young woman with hard and shifty eyes. Yes, we spoke for a few minutes. We asked after our families. She offered no explanations as to what she was doing in Daae-es-Salaam and I did not like to pry. This hard and calculative young lady was not the Priya I knew.
I got back to India and decided to keep quiet about this meeting. There was something dodgy about Priya and it irked me. It was not something I understood.
I came to Calcutta soon after and made a trip to my my mamar baari and to Benu kakima. I heard from kakima how Priya had distanced herself from the family. Her exit from Bangalore was shoddy. She gave out she was going to Tanzania for a short 2 month stay, which became 3 months and then of course a few years.
"It was all work related and of course no one minded a relocation, but it could have been done in a more straight forward way" That is all Benu kakima
had to say. I once again drew back into my shell and could not get myself to tell kakima that I had met Priya a month back. I am a coward.
What struck me was the 'escape route' of both Harikaka and Priya being the same. After ten years the family trait resurfaces and both were rather slim-shady exists.
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