brooding over chai

  2004 I came home from work to find my parents waiting for me. They had just returned from Assam, having met my prospective parents-in-law. They bore a solemn expression and instructed me to sit down for an early dinner. 'Cos they had some important news to share. 'Do you remember our ancestral place in Dumka, Jharkhand?' Baba posed a question. I nodded. How can I ever forget! 'That's how the place is where your in-laws live.' Ma took over. 'Dark and damp. Tiny yellow lights in every house. Houses with a sloping roof. After dark, everything goes silent except for the crickets and the frogs. There are frequent power cuts draining the inverter. After a while it's completely dark except for the dim lights emitted by the hurricane. People wake up with the sun and call it a night early.' 'Is it a proper town, Ma?' 'Not really. It's what we say Mofosshol in Bangla. Somewhere between a village and a town. The suburbs.' ...

We were out for our routine walk with our hyper, fifteen-month-old furry girl. Usually, the entire family steps out post-dinner and it's almost like a night-time ritual. This time, the father and the daughter stayed back while mommy and son stepped out. This is the time when we talk...when we share...when we speak anything that comes to our mind. Our path crossed with a resident of our society whose daughter and mine were at one point in time, good friends. Parental interference nipped the bond. The woman did not see me and headed towards her block. I heaved a sigh of relief. At that moment, my twelve-year-old turned towards me and asked me a question. 'Did you notice or are you in denial?' 'What denial?' 'That woman is clearly avoiding you.' 'No. You are wrong.' I explained. 'She was busy getting of the car and she did not look around.' The boy raised his hands up and said. 'Believe whatever suits you. I thought I should explain it to yo...

 Let me tell you a story, my dear!' 'Oh no. Not again, Ma!' 'But why?' 'They are totally unrelatable.' 'What?!' 'Yes! A father chops off the head of his son out of anger. Replaces it with that of an elephant. An elephant is killed. Or there is a God who has five heads. Or a Goddess who steps on her husband sticks out her tongue and is called Kali. A Goddess who strings the heads of all the monsters she has killed and then wears it as a garland! Please Ma. That's tough to believe. So much violence and gore.' I keep quiet for a moment. 'There are some more stories. Like Beauty and the Beast and...' The children cut me short. 'Oh yes. Rapunzel lets down her hair for the prince to climb up. Cinderella is treated Iike a maid. A prince kisses the sleeping princess and wakes her up.' The kids roll their eyes. 'We don't need bedtime stories, mum.' I am hurt. Deeply hurt! Here, I am, having wrapped ...

This kerosene stove is an antique piece. Made of brass, if polished well, it gives a shine that can put gold to shame. But then, I am not the kind who loves flashy stuff. So I won't polish it. Ma brought it down from the attic and shared her memories with me. But my mind was elsewhere. It was on it's own trip. It took me back to the year 1948. A little boy, hair neatly oiled and parted, dressed in a modest half-shirt and a half pant is following his grandmother. The woman is unnaturally tall for her gender. Blessed with a dusky complexion, she has an imposing presence. No one dares to question her or ask her a question, twice. The woman holds a big potli in her hand and with the other she leads her four-year-old grandson. They walk through the dark bylanes of Bardhaman. There were no streetlights then. A harricane was all you had to show the path. Radharani did not need a harricane. Her sharp eyes and her instinct was enough to guide her through the dark. They reached a spot b...

 It was three in the morning when the phone rang. It read Thammi – her paternal grandmother. Thammi at this hour! She panicked. Was she sick? Clicking on the green key, she heard a faint hello.  ‘Thammi…?'  'Riti...!'  ' Are you okay? Why are you up so late?'  'First, tell me why YOU are up?’ 'Oh Thammi, I have the assignment to submit tomorrow.' 'How long will it take? You need to sleep, child. You also have to report to work tomorrow.'  'I know. I am almost done. Just a few more slides.' 'Then I shouldn’t keep you away.'  ‘No, No Thammi. I have been working since afternoon. My mind is a haze now. Can you hold on? Let me grab a cup of coffee.’ ‘Go get it, my child! And listen. Only half a cup. Else, it will rob you of your sleep.’ Riti rushed off to get herself a cup of coffee. Five minutes later, she pulled out a chair, rested her legs on the table, and held the mug in one another and the phone in the other.   ...

  “Isn’t it enough that we are all looking after her? We are doing all her chores. Can you imagine that the men of the household are doing her seva? She is blessed to have us, Didi.” Almost a week….and Sushanto Da hadn’t delivered water jars. Nor was he answering the phone. Scrolling down the contact list, I found another number of his and promptly placed a call. After a few rings, a voice answered. “Sushanto Da?” “My father is not at home.” The call gets disconnected. An hour later Sushanto Da calls back. He speaks in hushed tones. “Can’t hear you, Dada. Can you be louder?” “Didi, I can’t deliver water. You see Corona has entered my home.” “Who has it?” He refuses to tell me. After much pestering, he confides. “My wife. She has it.” “Did all of you test?” “Yes, we did. Everyone else is negative.” “How is she doing?” “Not good.  She is having fits. Her jaw gets locked. And she starts shaking badly. I have to put a spoon between her teeth.  And… and…she i...

  It was a matter of shame for a woman to eat publicly or be fanned while she ate. Women ate the leftovers, with no question of a second helping. My maternal grandmother passed away in 2013. Being one of her favorites, I was handed over some of the items that she cherished. One of them was a small thaali (plate) in which she ate. It was anomalous for she was the daughter of a rich, titled man, who later got married into a progressive family. She was also liberal and independent. Why would she eat in this plate? The question hounded me till I remembered few incidents from my childhood. My paternal grandparents lived in Burdwan, a small town in West Bengal. Baba made it a point to visit them every month and ensured that we tagged along. Ours was a joint family comprising almost forty heads. The kitchen had a main hall and an enclosed space for cooking. While the washing, chopping, and grinding happened outside, the actual cooking happened inside. The aroma would wa...