tell-a-tale

This post is on behalf of my daughter. Of many of the tales she spins out for me, this is the most recent and I find it very very interesting. She narrated this one, yesterday while I was bathing her.

She started, “एक Heart-महल में एक रानी अकेली रहती थी । एक दिन उसे बहुत पेट में दर्द हुआ । डॉक्टर ने कहा कि पेट में बेबी है । फिर उसका पेट काटना पड़ा...”

By then I was wondering if the neighbours (if anybody overhearing us from their respective bathrooms) would be thinking. Since we stay in flats and our bathroom songs and tales are audible to other flat inmates too, from their bathrooms, it is not impossible that we were having eager listeners. ‘दीवारों के भी कान होते हैं...!’

She continued, “ ....फिर रानी के पेट से एक बच्चा आया, फिर और एक....फिर और एक....फिर 4...फिर 5,6,7,8,9 और 10 बच्चें निकले...! पर इतने बच्चों का ख्याल रखेंगे?”

And now do not miss the ending.

“..इसीलिए तो कहते हैं एक बेबी हो....जैसे हमारी है...”




I wonder from where she got these ideas but I am sure these are her ORIGINAL words. We have not talked about any ‘two-kids family' concept nor is she advocating ‘one girl child family’. Here was my daughter, sounding like a tele-ad for ‘family planning..’, and I just found it hilarious and amazing.

If only she knew, if we could afford, we would actually have loved to have ten children, ...why not !

तोह्फ़ा

देते हैं तोहफ़े आपस में
जब भी बिछड़ते हैं लोग
तुम भी मुझे, जाने से पहले
कोई तोहफ़ा दे दो

मेरी मुट्ठियों में भरकर
ज़रा तुम्हारी कुछ सासें दे दो

कभी इसको शाखों पर बसाकर
आशियाना बना डालूँगी

कभी दिल से लगाकर अपने
धड़कन बना डालूँगी

कभी किताबों के सफ़ेद-काले पन्नों के बीच
उसको रख दूँगी

कभी कलम में डालकर
उसे तहरीर बना डालूँगी

दामन में कभी बसाकर उसे
खुशबू का नाम दूँगी

कभी सासों में घुलकर उसे
नशा बना डालूँगी

तकिए के नीचे रखकर कभी
उसको सपनों में बसायूंगी

कभे धूप बनाकर उसे
बालों में छुपा लूँगी

मखमली चादर में डालकर
उसको ओढ़ लूँगी

कभी ज़ेवर बना कर उसे
मैं पहन लूँगी

रहेगी बनकर एक हिस्सा तुम्हारी,
ये साँसें
दे दो, हाँ कुछ चन्द साँसें
उनसे ज़िन्दगी बना लूँगी

Anindita Baidya
(written on 08 Nov 1994)

Photograph source: The internet

'Matri roopen Samsthitha'....?????

आज दुर्गाष्टमी है
मैं बुलबुल..
दौड़ती, फिरती हूँ चाची, मामी, भाभियों के घर

कई घरों में आज कन्या पूजा रखा है
उमंगें उमड़ती है
मुझमें और मीना, रेखा, सीमा सब में

हर एक घर में
हमारी आरती उतारकर
तिलक करके
खूब भोग करा रही हैं सभी.....

कोई दे रही है हमें
कुछ शगुन के रूपए
तो कहीं पर मिल रही है
चूड़ियाँ, कपड़े या कई और तोहफे

हर साल मुझे इंतज़ार रहता है
दुर्गाष्टमी का
मैं कितनी खुश-नसीब हूँ
मैं कन्या हूँ
हमारे देश में कन्या को पूजा जाता है

आज दुर्गाष्टमी है
मैं ममता
सुबह से भूखी मैं
न सुझे कुछ मुझको
माँ ने आम के पेड़ के नीचे
बनाई थी कुछ रोटियाँ

माँ को जाना है
ईंट की भट्टी
बाबा भी जायेंगे

मैं खिला दूंगी रोटियाँ
मेरे चारों भाई-बहनों को
मैं बड़ी हूँ सबसे
मैं भूखी रह लूंगी
फिर ईँटा-भट्टी में कुछ काम भी कर लूंगी

काश दूर उन लड़किओं की तरह
मुझे भी कोई देता दुर्गाष्टमी के भोग
पर नहीं उन आराम तक फैलते नन्हे हाथ हमारे

माँ ने कहा, आज दुर्गाष्टमी है
कहीं पूजते हैं हमारी रूप को
तो कहीं ह्मारे देश में
बच्चें भूखे सो जाते हैं

आज दुर्गाष्टमी है
मेरा नाम नहीं है कोई
घर पर दादी, ताई और बुआ
कन्या भोज में लगी हैं


माँ को समय नहीं है
उनको जाना है

एक फैसला निभाने को
मुझे अपने बदन से निकाल फेकने को

उन्हें पता जो चला है
मेरी रूह एक लड़की बन कर
उनकी कोख में पल रही है

माँ की तो तीन लड़कियाँ और है
मेरी ज़रूरत कहाँ

जनेगी नहीं मेरी माँ मुझे

आज दुर्गाष्टमी है

मेरे देश में
कन्यायों की बली भी दी जाती है!

Images: From internet

The Robin by my window sill

I noticed it only on a cold windy afternoon during January. Sitting by the window of the living room, I watched the rain fall torrentially down my ground floor window. I had left the window open just to listen to the raindrops ploughing the soil and feel the biting cold. A robin, wet from the torrent, sat in a corner, shaking its feathers to dry itself up, once a while.

The torrent outside could only vaguely match up to the tempest going within me....

I had just lost Papa!

Sitting inside the cold room in Jalandhar, I was posed with the biggest question of my life: why did Papa have to leave! I had requested him to wait, wait until I earn enough to offer the best of treatments and the best of comforts.

Far away in the small hilly village of Tiloiya, in the borders of Assam, I had left my Papa and Ma to take care of themselves and I had taken the bus to the city and to this faraway land, to earn money, fame and a credential. I was out to prove to all my extended family members that I would prove to be The Caregiver of my parents, what if they had no son, what if I was the youngest of the five sisters, what if they had wished for a son while I was born!

I noticed the Robin again. It looked at me with a tilted head. I suddenly had goose pumps all over my body, why, I had no clue! As I shut the window to return to the cosy bed room, I could not help but look at the Robin again and again.

Next morning, I woke up startled from a dream; I could see Papa looking for me through the window of the living room. I brushed away the thought, only because I was still angry and hurt. My Papa had hurt me! I could not come into terms that he gave me no chance to fulfil my desire to offer him some kind of treatment for his lungs ailment. He had to be so conceited to leave me!

I invited the chilled gush of wind to fill me, only to quench my anger. The more the wind hurt, the more I felt a brutal contentment. I wanted a punishment, harsher, much harsh than this!

The Robin returned during the afternoon. It was the only time I smiled. The day was sunny and so was my mood. The Robin whistled a soft tune as if to call me by my name.

I had not visited my village after Papa’s demise. I did not want to. I could not see the triumphant Papa with those floral decorations on him and my Ma helplessly mourning over him. No, I could not be such a loser!

Papa arrived in my dreams that night, again, smiling and teasing me that I am the most stubborn and spoilt among his girls. And then he called me by my name just as the Robin had whistled that afternoon, in a sing song tone.

The college was closed for the winter so I could spend the entire day alone: oh! How I loved it! I did not want any company. The only company during the afternoons was the Robin by the window sill while I read pages from some books and occasionally looked at the Robin.

I sometimes wandered whether the Robin was waiting for its mate. I wandered why it was alone, just like me! And I wandered why it had to sit during that entire one hour by the window, while I read a book, before going off to have a nap. I had never seen any bird seated so calmly and continuously.

I would often place some rice grains and the Robin would take but one grain from it and the rest were often left behind, scornfully.

I started believing that the Robin was pretty much like me. As arrogant, as stubborn as I was!

That particular dawn I had a strange dream that my father was showering grains of rice all over me. He then picked up but one grain and disappeared.

My sleep was broken by the loud ring of the antique telephone. It was my eldest sister on the other side. She informed me that they were performing the 12th day rites for the peace of my Papa’s departed soul. She also said that although I did not seemingly bother, she thought it was her duty to inform me. Her scornful remark cut through my heart and I found an immense pleasure in the hurt! I had now graduated to another level of punishment for myself! I deserved worse!

I did not perform any rite on my part at my quarters. That afternoon, I waited for the Robin but it did not arrive. I waited for the entire afternoon, until the dusk but in vain.

My Papa no more arrived in my dreams after that day.

All the afternoons during that cold long winter vacation, I would wait, stand, sit by the window, also look everywhere in my garden but the Robin never turned up. Never again.

I believe my Robin must have soared high above in the skies in search of light. My rose garden and my grain of rice did not allure my Robin anymore.

Till we meet again, my Robin, May God Bless You!


Photograph: from internet

CHUMKI.......

Chumki:
The name has a tinkle in it, sounds like little rays of light reflecting on some shining little beads...

Her life is not as shining though...!

Chumki, she worked as a domestic help at my cousin’s place. Chumki, all of 12, she was the sole bread-earner for a family of six.

I met her for the first time during my visit to my cousin's place at Rajabajaar, in Kolkata. I had thrown up temper and staged protests saying that my cousin has no right to employ a child. Chumki should go to school and secure her future. To all that, my cousin only replied that my altercation does not really change Chumki’s reality. So, if my conviction is not real, what is?

Chukmki was the eldest of the siblings. She had four sisters and her mother was pregnant with her eigth child. Five children had survived; two had died one-two months after their birth. Chumki’s parents had owned a small piece of land in a village in Purulia. Her father reportedly was an alcoholic who spent most of the time under some tree shed in the village while his wife toiled in her own and other villagers’ land to earn a wage. They lost their little land in debt and that is when the entire family migrated to Kolkata. Chumki’s father was not in a position to toil, he suffered from a chronic lung infection and was often irritated and bit up his wife and daughters. The other siblings were quite small and Chumki’s mother waited for them to grow up enough to get themselves employed as domestic workers as well.

Chumki’s mother, hoping to have a son, went on with her eighth pregnancy and when I met Chumki, her mother was in the seventh month of pregnancy and so had stopped working at the flats; Chumki compensated for her mother’s absence too.
She worked day-long, obediently listening to all the orders her employers had for her; at times she looked at my books with hunger and a tinge of sadness in her eyes. Whenever there was a delicacy cooked in the house, my cousin would give some to her. Chumki never had any. She took her serving to be shared among all her sisters and if possible her ma.

Chumki had made me feel so helpless. Her presence challenged and laughed at my theoretical convictions which I had no clue to transform into action. There I was sitting, looking at her eyes and my heart bleeding and watching her mopping the floor and narrating her mother’s experiences at the small village of Purulia. She had no tale to tell of her own!

That was about five years back. After my cousin left Kolkata, we had no clue as to what happened to Chumki.

Her memory has not faded wih time. I wander where is Chumki now? Is she still working in those flats, is her mother satisfied with a son or is still trying for one? Or has Chumki been married off to start her job of procreation while still working as domestic help?

I have no answer! There are questions but no answers...

Will her fate change ever? For that matter, will the fate of the any of the Chumkis change.......do we have an answer?


Photograph: From internet

The ten headed Demon......

One day the demon was at its strongest prowess and worst of intentions. All the ten heads of the demon were gleaming with flashy lust and it carried the most powerful weapons capable of destroying hundreds of universes at one go.
The storm was on and the skies were burning with the fire rising from deep within the hell. The demon with ten heads was all set to destroy it all, it had conquered all!
The Angel felt weak. The Angel had no weapon except for few verses from the wise; the Angel had a wand but no sword. And Angel had but one head. The Demon had ten.
But the Angel had the wings, the wings of desire which could take it to a different plane of strength, reason and wisdom. And after hours of battle, the demon was defeated.
But it will return......!
The ten heads of demon will never perish. The wings of Angel will not disappear either.
The Demon always has ten heads and the angel, but one, right on its shoulders!

So, who won the battle today?

The Grey....Matters..?

.....not sure, though. I have heard from somewhere that the human mind has shades of white and grey. But how much does it matter? Let me share an experience...

That evening I was having coffee with Hrishabh, my close buddy. He was my colleague but we worked at different locations. On tour to our office for a meeting, Hrishabh and I had decided to catch up after office hours and so hit our favourite joint ‘Aroma’ for coffee and chat.

Curious that I was, one of the first questions were, “When are you and Shelly getting married, Hrishabh?”. And then there was a pause, a loaded silence between us. Hrishabh cleared his throat and clarified, “We are not marrying, buddy!”. That was the most shocking statement I had heard. Not marrying? Hrishabh and Shelly not marrying?

Hrishabh and Shelly, both my colleagues, were the perfect couple, we thought. We vouched by them. How could, anything, for Heaven’s sake, go wrong between these two? For as much as I knew, Shelly was a perfect person. Shelly was a strong woman, Shelly was the University topper, Shelly was rewarded the best employee, Shelly was the one everyone dreamt of wooing. Shelly was a disciplinarian, Shelly was the greatest cook we knew, Shelly was an icon on housekeeping skills, Shelly was this, Shelly was that, Shelly was perfect.

“But…Hrishabh, Shelly is perfect…!” I still had not regained my senses after hearing the cruel truth.

“Yes, buddy, Shelly is perfect. She is too perfect” and the river had started flowing and I listened, “Buddy, she is too perfect to be true, I am not. She is pristine, white, she is angelic, I am a poor human. She is like a banyan tree, I am a small shrub growing by her roots. Buddy, I can no more behold the blue sky, the grey clouds. She covers me. I need my air and sunshine….”

Those were his words and after that I did not have any! We said those ‘Goodnight’ and ‘God Bless’ and left for the day with Hrishabh’s last emphatic words, “I cannot partner her!” I have met him a number of times after that but have not hinted on the subject again.

I met Shelly just three months after they had parted. In full smiles and glow in her eyes during the meeting, she seemed to be in full control when she was introduced to us as our new Regional Manager. I did not fail to see the upsurge of pain which she hid deep within her heart. I was her friend after all!

Hrishabh had his turn to explain but what about Shelly? The lady with very few words never revealed to me what she felt, never narrated her feelings of betrayal, hurt, bitterness. She has not sketched any philosophical contour between the ‘heavenly perfect’ or ‘humanly faltering’. She is just like that, perfect, pristine, angelic! Long ago, I had written these following words, keeping Shelly in my mind:


Inn Deewaaron par
Unn Kathgharon par

Aasmaan kee oonchaayee par
Saagar ke darpan par

Rakha apne aks ko
Tolaa apne hunar ko

Hoon har kamzori se pare
To aye aasmaan
Itni duaa de do

Main insaan banana chaahtee hoo
Mujhmein kuch khaamiyaan de do!!


Photograph source: Internet