“…And the memories
bring back, memories bring back you…Here's to the ones that we got
Cheers to the wish you were
here, but you're not…”. It’s 6:33pm. The alarm has been ringing for three
minutes now. Nans came out of the kitchen, her yellow apron stained red from
the raspberries and hands covered in flour. “Coming!!! I’m busy!”, she screamed
at the phone with a snarl. Dismissing the alarm, she quickly switched to the
YouTube app and hurried to the kitchen to attend to her pies after turning on Birendra Krishna Bhadra ‘s 'Mahisasurmardini'. The dimly lit two-bedroom flat in the Charles street of Boston kept
echoing the charm of “আশ্বিনের শারদপ্রাতে বেজে উঠেছে আলোক মঞ্জীর….” for the next thirty one minutes,
while the air kept spreading the smell of raspberry pie
to the entire neighbourhood.
The picture is quite the contrary in 2A/3, Ballygunge Park, Ballygunge, Kolkata 700019. No one has a moment to sit back. After the early morning Chandipath, a lot had to be taken care of. And finally now everyone in the Banerjee family is all set to welcome the Goddess to her father’s abode. Harish kaka would begin the special Mahalaya ritual of Chokkhu Daan any moment now. The puja is a month away from Mahalaya this year, but you cannot tell that from the rhythm that’s prevailing here.
Mrs Banerjee looks worried. She has been incessantly trying her daughter over the phone, since the last half hour. "Kamma, your 11:00 am is her 2 am and now literally it isn't her fault', Kinjal teases. Nirupuma Banerjee does flash an awkward smile but the look on her face clearly reveals that she isn’t convinced. It might have helped had she been her daughter’s Instagram follower, because up there already stealing the show, was a beautiful photo of her daughter’s artistry. A sprawling cream-white cotton dupatta vibrant with the lively red strokes beautifully revealing the face of the Goddess. Nirupama is not the sort to go with the trend of the hour but even if she had an Instagram account there's hardly any chance that she would have had access to even the slightest slice of her daughter's life. Mrs Nirupama Banerjee opened her phone’s gallery and stared with fixed gaze at a girl in her mid-twenties, seated on the stairs in the backdrop of their Durga idol in such a fashion that all the ten hands of the Goddess seemed to belong to her. Even as her lips gave way to a little smile, the eyes could not hold back the tear drop that has long been struggling to come out, "Why do you hate me, Nandu?"
9:00 am at Boston.
It’s a pretty sunny morning. Nandu woke up to her Instagram flooded with appreciations. Wait, not Nandu. Not even Nandini. She doesn't like it that way. Not anymore. At least not in public! Here she is only Nans! That's what all her friends and acquaintances call her here and she likes it. She likes it all the more because some computer geek ex-boyfriend had once pointed it out to her that NAN stands for Not A Number and since then it gives her a painfully comforting feel of non-existence. And this enigmatic vibe of non-existence despite existing all along, appeals her just the way she prefers. But hello, never ever try to confirm this from her! Coming back, to the flooded Instagram, what has created this wonder was her last post, of the painting of Maa Durga . Hand painted dupattas might be a common talent here at Bengal but in Boston it's nothing short of a masterpiece!
Amidst all other compliments one message stood out. It said: Shubho Mahalaya. After attending to all other compliments with a courteous thanks, she soon returned to this chat and started typing.
--Bengali?
--Proud to be one.
--yeah, it shows.
--What?
--The age old melodramatic Bengali sentiments. It shows
--And you are that progressive self-dependent NRI woman that the poor Bengalis look up to? :D
--Sorry i don't think, breaking stereotypes is something to joke about.
--Oh no! Only this 'breaking stereotypes' attitude is gradually becoming the biggest stereotype ever!
Nans could think of nothing worth a comeback to a statement like
this. She hated to have lost it, and that too to an ordinary Bengali weirdo.
She logged off and got back to her work. Nans, aka, Nandini Banerjee is a
student in Cinema Studies Program at the University of Massachusetts Boston.
The editing assignment she is currently working on, has a deadline only two
days away and here she is with minimum six days’ work still remaining. She isn’t
a careless student, it’s just that living all by oneself isn’t easy and the
part-time content writing job that brings her money takes up a lot of her
precious time. But today she is determined to complete at least eighty percent
of the remaining work without fail. She is deeply engrossed in her work, all
along humming “…Like a dog in the sun
I found my peace in your
storm…”, when her phone rings.
--Hello
--Nandu, why don't you pick up the calls? I have been trying since morning.
--As usual you only think about yourself, so much so that you don't even accept that your morning and my mornings are not the same. Anyway, nothing new. Tell me. What is it?
--Why are you always so rude with me?
-- Maa, for God's sake, stop this drama. I hate it.
--It's Mahalaya Nandu. Agomoni. Will you talk this way today also?
--I don't want to talk at all. You called me. And for the record, if you don't remember let me remind you, we have already celebrated my bisharjan.
--Nandu, you can always start afre....
Nans hung up even before Nirupama could complete. She shuts down her laptop screen and burst into tears. It was more than crying, it was the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope and at war with oneself. Her gasping wails echoed around the living room and the world around becomes a blur of colour that melts to grey. She hates these moments of inner condensation because of course, no warrior ever wants to come off weak.
"Running out of ‘out-of-the-box’ remarks XD ?". Nilanjan Mitra. That's the last thing she needed, especially right now. "That dumbard weirdo!", Nandu screamed. Frustration, irritation, anger, altogether she was overwhelmed.
--Listen, I have nothing to prove to you, okay? I know what I am.
--Of course you've nothing to prove. Not even, #breaking_stereotypes or #cool !!
-- Not again! Why do you always have this uncontrollable urge to make a point! Typical JU vibes! Red kurta- blue jeans, Bullet, guitar, slogans and speeches!
--What?!
-- Rings a bell. Right?
--Oh My God!!!! I can't believe you stalked me!
-- Wait. No. No No! no one can be this dumb!
-- Of course not. I understood. You have stalked the hell out of my Facebook profile, man! Even the photos?! Most of them were from about 10 years back! That red kurta-blue jeans was my farewell day. And hello! That guitar wasn't just a fake candid. I had a performance. Juniors' request, you know. I remember I sang one of my favourite songs " Amar bhindeshi taara..". You know it, right?
Nans doesn’t reply.
--Hey, chill! It's okay. I don't mind! I'll check out your profile too tonight! By the way, what's your name? I mean I'm sure it's not Nan_ban 😂
--Nandini Banerjee.
That's all Nans could manage.
Amar bhindeshi tara
Eka raateri akashe
Tumi bajale ektaara
Amar chilekothar pashe
Thik sondhey namar mukhey
Tomar naam dhore keu daake
Mukh lukiye kaar buke
Tomar golpo bolo kake……
Her mind has already started playing the tracks from a night eight years before. In a crimson red kurta, with the guitar hung around the shoulder Riddhi went down on his knees. “Nandini, may I have your hand?”
The sudden jolt of emotion that has welled up in a corner of her eyes would have split over had it not been for the phone ringing. It’s Brits calling. Nans knows, it’s about the trip. Since the last three years, Brits, Kayle and she have been going for a special kind of 4 to 5 days’ trip during this time of the year. Special as in, it were only the dates and the place that were pre-planned. Every other thing – route, food, lodging was left to be decided on the go! Brits is calling to decide on the dates so that they could apply for the leave. It was always Nans who decided the dates, because, of course Brits and Kyle had no urgent need to keep themselves engaged during the Durga Puja! Nans doesn’t pick up the call, neither does she decline it. The phone keeps ringing and the room keeps echoing “….Lord, I'm five hundred miles away from home”. And then the rest of the day went in haste with Nans indulging herself in baking, cleaning, her editing works and almost anything that gave her the even the slightest feel of being occupied. Not just this day, that’s how most of her days are.
The next morning as Nans was solving the newspaper crossword, a message arrived. “Nandini Banerjee, I must say, I’m really impressed”. Nans read the message and immediately sat down to type.
--Oh! Stalking went well, huh?
--Beyond expectation, trust me! Graduation from St. Xavier’s’ in Mass Communication! Great! Post Graduate Programme in Direction and Screenplay Writing at Satyajit Ray Film and Television Institute. Wow! And after that, the Cinema Studies Program in University of Massachusetts, Boston! Double wow!
--And none of it was to impress you.
-- So, didn’t you ever want to be an actress?
-- Oh God!! This is too much! But what else can I expect from your background! Listen, if you have even a minute to spare after your hectic slogan-serenade-social media schedule, please go and clear your doubts about film studies.
-- Hey lady, hold on a minute please. You know what, judging others is one of the biggest stereotypes you haven’t been able to break yet. Despite my background, I dare say, you should really work on that. And yes, I’m totally aware that film studies and acting as a profession have nothing much to do with each other, and that’s exactly why I asked. Anyway, nice talking to you.
Having said that Nilanjan left, leaving Nans startled and shocked.
Nilanjan hasn’t disturbed since then and it has been almost a week.
It isn’t at all that she missed him, but again who doesn’t ponder over the lost
attention! On a pleasant lonely evening, with a cup of masala tea in hand, Nans
was enjoying her balcony view, when she suddenly felt an urge to check his
profile.. Little did she know what awaited her there. Nilanjan Mitra, a former
South Pointer, has completed his degree in Bachelor of Architecture from
Jadavpur University, M.Arch from MIT and currently pursuing research in Architecture and
Urbanism there itself. Nans was not as much jolted as she was ashamed. Of
course she has no issues with JU other than the fact that it only reminds her
of Riddhi and she hates anything that reminds her of him. But she now realizes
that she had gone a little too far and the embarrassment she has brought upon
herself is not something she can ignore. She feels so little and stupid. She
doesn’t mind to be the bad girl in the story but to be wrong is what she cannot
take.
“I have to
apologize”, she murmured.
“Hi Nilanjan. I’m really sorry, I was rude. “, she types and sends. After almost an hour’s wait, he replied.
--A woman saying sorry? A beautiful NRI woman? Indeed #breaking_stereotypes! 😉
-- Oh you! What is your problem with my hashtags? 😅
--The same you have with my alma mater!
--And how are they same?
-- Your hashtags make you the social media influencer. Our slogans and speeches make us social influencers 😌
--That was nice!
--I know! (He sends a F.R.I.E.N.D.S. gif)
--Oh no! I hate that show! 🤦♀️
--OH MY GOD! (He sends another one)
Nans ended the conversation with a laugh. After such a long time she kind of felt herself today, and honestly it feels so good to drop the guard sometimes. That evening after tea, she cooked herself her favourite butter garlic mushroom, watered the plants in the living room, ironed her clothes and even finished the remaining 2 chapters of the book that was left pending since the last six months. That night, before she was going to bed, Nirupama called again. But no matter the relief Nans felt today, it still wasn’t enough to make her talk to her mother. The phone kept blaring, unattended. Nans couldn’t sleep that night. It was the Portuguese couple living in the apartment next to her. It was as if their daily routine. The man would shout throughout the evening abusing his wife with the filthiest slangs he knew and later when he would fall asleep, his wife would cry in the silence of the night. And surprisingly those loud episodes of abuse never seemed to disturb Nans but the sound of the wife’s weeping didn’t let her sleep.
The next day Nilanjan again messaged her and gradually they started talking, almost on a regular basis. From Instagram DMs to messenger, to WhatsApp, to voice calls, it didn’t take more than a week. They would talk in fits and starts about what their lives have been like and what it hasn’t. They would not wake up to good morning texts but would often share how their day went. Nans has almost let the guard vanish now. She has told him that she has come here after her marriage ended in a divorce and that she hasn’t returned home ever since. Nilanjan belongs to a broken family. His parents got divorced when he was in 8th standard. He lived with his mother since then. His father remarried but never disowned them. In fact Nilanjan has told Nans that his parents still have a decent relationship with each other and it’s not like in the movies. At times like this, Nans did wonder whether Riddhi has remarried too, whether he has a sweet little girl, whether he has really named her Khushi as he always said he would. But she has never shared this with Nilanjan. She never tells anyone, anything much about Riddhi. She doesn’t want to. She has moved on and what she has for him now, is only hatred.
--Why don’t you ever talk about your family, Nandini?
--That’s my past. I don’t want to think about it.
--Riddhi is your past, Nandini. Your family is your root. And if you run away from your root, you lose yourself.
--You don’t know anything. Nirupama Banerjee will choose her music, her name and fame over anything, even me.
--No matter what, I’m sure she loves you. And yes, so do you. Take your time. I’m going to listen to every detail of your Durga puja celebration, tomorrow. No cheating! Good night. 😊
Nandini sat by the window in her bedroom and stared outside. All on a sudden there were loud screams coming from her neighbour’s apartment. It was again the Portuguese couple.. Nans wonders, “Why does she only cry? Is it too selfish to take a stand for yourself? Is it so wrong to choose self-respect over love?”
It was this same question that had drawn Nandu crazy on that Ekadashi morning, four years ago. After hours of waging war with her own self, she had finally gathered enough courage to storm down the stairs and rush into the hall full of guests and invitees. There was the media, the press, the many renowned faces of the city and also her family. And inspite of it all she had shouted out that day ”Cheater... He is a cheater .He tricked me into marrying him, he tricked me for three long years…he lied…he is liar…He used me to blackmail my mother into this…He doesn’t deserve anything…he is a loser.”
Nans rushed to the washbasin and kept splashing water on her face. She skipped the dinner and tucked herself to sleep.
The next day when Kayle called, Nans had to pick it up. She
cancelled the plan with Kayle and Brits this year. She isn’t in the mood.. She
needs sometime to herself. She gets back to her assignments. But her mind
barely lets her focus.
It was Dashami evening and everyone was wallowing in the excitement of the last few hours, faces smeared with the vermillion and eyes glistening with tears of joy. The dhaks beating in the rhythm of the surrounding exuberance and the aureate lights showering happiness. Draped in a dazzling white saree with a fuchsia pink border, and face painted a beautiful red, Nandu had gone to the terrace looking for Riddhi. And what she heard there, she would never forget.
---But ma’am you promised you’ll recommend me to Shashanka Shanyal for the upcoming movie.
--Yes, but playback isn’t everything Riddhi. Music is beyond that. Don’t worry. Just keep up the
hard work and success will find its way to you.
---That’s not why I’m here, ma’am. And everything is not for you to decide, Mrs Nirupama Banerjee.
---Riddhi!
---Ma’am I’m sorry. But this is enough. We have had this discussion before. I have married Nandini and now you will recommend me for the playback. That’s what the deal was.
--Riddhi, you’re my son in law. I’d love to do anything for you. But right now my hands are tied, please understand. Mr. Shanyal has already given the offer to Ambarish Roy. I cannot go beg now asking him to consider you. I promise you, I’ll try my best next time.
--I’ve been your most obedient student ma’am. Today you have to listen to me. If you cannot keep your word, either you pay me a compensation or I leave your daughter.
--Compensation? Riddhi, you want money?
--So that I can go recommend myself to anyone out there.
--Don’t leave my Nandu, Riddhi. Okay. How much do you want?
Nandini was standing just a few feet away. Not a single word has missed her ears. “I’ll leave you”, she had said and she doesn’t remember anything after that. When she had recovered to her senses, Mrs Banerjee was seated right beside her on the bed and Riddhi stood in a distance leaning against the wall. She doesn’t remember what Riddhi said but her mother had kissed her forehead comforting her, “Nandu, are you okay? Everything will be fine dear. Riddhi is like my son. I love him too. I’ll obviously look after his success and well-being. That’s my affection. Calm down Nandu.. He is a very talented boy. There’s no harm if I recommend one of my most deserving students. For God’s sake, please forget all these and keep shut, please. Just get well soon. The media people might come tomorrow for the interview. Please don’t create a scene”.
Even today, though four years have passed in between, that warning still sends a shiver down her spine. With a lump in her throat, Nans quickly got back to her assignments. Nilanjan had said he would be busy today, she’ll have to wait till evening to call him. So, she just left a text instead, “There’s too much to say about our puja, twenty six years’ of memories, you know 🙂. Let’s keep it for some time later.”
In the evening when Nilanjan called, they talked their heart out but he never mentioned the puja again, neither about her last text. Only at the end, he said, “You are a brave woman, Nandini”.
--Thank you so much, Neil. I never thought anyone would ever understand me.
--She loves you. Forgive her.
--What?
--Your mother. We all have our faults. But still, she loves you. Don’t be so harsh on her.
Nandini hung up the call, in anger, in frustration. Every year on her birthday she writes to her mother. Yes, she doesn’t ever send them, but she does write. On days when she misses her a lot, she opens up one of her photos from her phone’s gallery and presses the screen to her bosom while going off to sleep. Every year on her mother’s birthday, though she pretends that she doesn’t remember, she does bake a cake which she later feeds the little children in the orphanage. The green kanjivaram saree that Nirupama Banerjee thinks the dry cleaners’ have misplaced, is with her, in her closet, which she takes out on her most vulnerable days to smell her mother’s touch. She isn’t after all the cruel daughter that they think she is. She just can never forget that slap. No sooner had the guests and the media left their house that day, Riddhi was roaring in anger, abusing Nandini in every way he could and Nandini kept repeating frantically, “You deserve this, only this”, when suddenly Nirupama Banerjee brought down a tight slap on her daughter’s right cheek, “Shut up. If you had any idea what you did today, you would have not dared to speak before me. You ruined my entire career in the fraction of a second. Can’t you have talked to me later, Nandu? You have just set the people to gossip about me…” Six more months. Six more months Nandini had stayed in that house, to finalize her divorce and to apply for admission in the University of Massachusetts Boston. And since she had left that house on a fine April morning four years ago, she never returned there. It wasn’t easy to hate the one’s you love the most.
The Puja is due in a week. She could not help visualizing the scene back in Kolkata. The city dressed like a new bride, and its people drunk in mirth. She kept counting days until it was finally Shashthi.
Early in the morning ,Nilanjan texted.
--Nandini. I have a request. Can I have it?
--Anytime, sir 😊
--You have 1 hour. Take a bath. Drape a saree(I know you have one!). And get ready. Oh yes, do not forget the bindi ❤️
--What? 😄
--Virtual date 😬It’s puja! 😉
Nandini couldn’t help a smile. Nilanjan somehow always manages to lift her mood, even without knowing.
She dressed herself in a beautiful monochrome of red. The pallu let loose. The hair tied in a neat loose bun. Golden danglers hanging from the ears and dark kohl lining her eyes. Of course she didn’t miss the bindi. She was looking fixedly at her reflection in the mirror, when the phone beeped with Nilanjan’s text. “Ready? Call then.” Nandini sat at her desk, opened her laptop and dialled him. Her hands supporting her chin and the lips sporting a shy smile. Almost instantly Neil picked up the call. Dressed in a bright green kurta and a pale yellow waistcoat, Nilanjan looked way beyond handsome. Nandini knew her words would fall short if she tried complimenting and so she kept away from that.
--Bangali babu?
--Proudly (laughs)Wait, there’s more…
Nilanjan moved his head a little to the right and Nandini was shocked to catch a glimpse of a gorgeous and magnificent Durga idol, dazzling in white daker shaaj. Her amazement clear from her face. Even before she could ask anything, Nilanjan added, “Surprise! Hello from Kolkata. I had come here a few months before to visit my mother and the pandemic has held me back. I didn’t tell you before because I couldn’t afford to miss this priceless look on your face. You know, I love it”
Nandini had nothing to say. Her face radiated all the happiness she was feeling at the moment. It’s been four years she hasn’t seen this. She pressed her palms firmly together and closed her eyes to offer her prayers to the Goddess, with a smile ‘as wide as the Panjsher valley on her lips’.
“Nandini, I have something more waiting for you. “, Nilanjan smiled softly.
The camera angle shifted by a sharp 90° and Nandini could not believe her eyes.
In the backdrop of the sprawling portico of their house, brightly lit and beautifully decked with flowers, stood her entire family. Her father, uncle, aunty, Kinjal, Tinni, everyone. Nandini felt a jerk. She didn’t know how to feel but she found her eyes searching for that one face which was missing. “Where is she? Is she fine? ”, her mind perplexing her with questions, but she could not speak. She simply gazed at everyone. Baba has got spectacles, even Kaka’s hair has started showing signs of aging. Kinjal has grown into a handsome man. The last four years hits her like ages now.
“Maa? Maa won’t come?”, she finally managed.
Everyone turned to the right as Nirupama Banerjee slowly came forward. “Nandu…”, she broke down into tears. Nandini kept staring at her, with lips trembling, chin quivering and tears flowing down her face like a river escaping a dam, “Maa…”. Her throat tightened. This bliss and this fulfilment that she felt at the moment, were indescribable.
Standing at the corner behind everyone, was Nilanjan. As his eyes met Nandini’s he quickly wiped his eyes and flashed a big smile. His heart beaming with joy at the beautiful reunion.
“Neil, how did you?”, Nandini mumbled
“Well, it’s not that difficult to find Nirupama Banerjee’s address, isn’t it aunty?”, Nilanjan laughed as he slowly came closer to Mrs. Banerjee and hugged her from the side. “ Durga Puja is incomplete without homecoming. It’s all about returning to your roots. Welcome home, Nandini.”, he added.
Nandini watched the kids running up and down the stairs, laughing and giggling among themselves and playing the kashor in their own rhythm. The smoke from the incense sticks rose high up in the air while Nandini could feel its fragrance spreading all around.
“Nandu didi, when will you come here?”, little Tinni complained.
--“Very soon Tinni, Nandu-promise!”
I am a literature
enthusiast by heart and an engineer by profession. Doodling is another of my
favourite hobbies. I'm a fun loving person, though not very funny! Among all
the things I care about, relationships will always top the list, be it with my friends
or family or any loved one. People say that I live in my own world, believe me,
I love it! And yes, remember, the glass is always half full and never half
empty!
Such a well written story. I absolutely loved it.
ReplyDeleteThis is absolutely wonderful and somehow relatable ! ❤️ I loved the setting and the warm storyline!
ReplyDelete