My bed time story

I am Tehani, which, in Hindi, means ‘branch’. My ma, poetic ma named me Tehani while my papa was all set to name me Marushika, which means ‘born out of blessings of Lord Shiva’. Ma argued that Marushika seems to be a twin sibling of Hiroshima and so Papa dropped his idea.

I am eighteen now; an ardent reader and net surfer. Those are my favourite extracurricular activities.

This hunger for books, I inherited from Papa. He is a voracious reader while ma…! Oh what a story teller she is!

I remember, as a child, I would never sleep until ma and papa read to me from my story books. I had a huge collection of books. Animals, fairy tales, mythology, alphabets, rhymes, I had the full range.

And I had built my own world of imagination around them.

But my favourite bed time story is not from any of my books but from the lips of my ma.

She has been always narrating me the tale of my homecoming; since when, I do not even recall. But I remember every night the last and most awaited story would be this. I knew every detail of the story but I just loved listening to this, again and again. Ma would rest on the bed with the support of her left hand, her right hand affectionately fondling with my hair, in an effort to put me to sleep. I played with her mangalsutra, entangling it between my little fingers while papa stroked me on my back. Her managalsutra, papa’s stroke, her fingers and sound of her metallic bangles and the story would all conspire and put me into a deep sleep.

Ma told me that I was not born out of her tummy. Like a fairytale, she narrated how there lived a couple who wished to be parents by adopting a baby from orphanage. And how this couple brought home a two month baby girl and named her Tehani.

Since very early age, I knew that my ma had not given birth to me but then, I did not understand the whole process of birth, at all. My ma tells me today that I had developed an understanding that all babies come from orphanage!

With my age, this bed time story did not change. Only the intricacies changed and I demanded more details. Whose tummy did I come from? Ma and Papa said they did not know. But they explained that whoever my biological mother was or parents were, they must have been good. They said that my biological parents must have found it very difficult to raise me and so handed me to the orphanage, requesting them to find a family for me, someone to nurture me with love, shelter, protection, education as well as provide material sufficiency.

As years passed by, my questions grew from ‘intricacies’ to ‘confrontation’. Was I an unwanted baby? Was my birth unwelcome? Ma and Papa said my homecoming has been the most welcoming event in their life.

There have been nights when, during the story-time, I cried and lamented that I was not born out of the body of the woman I so much loved. Ma did not try to render any philosophical reply. She simply cried along with me, we shed tears together and went to sleep, all three of us cuddled together.

It has never been, nor will be easy to wish away the one month of my life before I came home. I will forever wonder what my biological parents look like. I wonder if I have brothers and sisters related by birth! I will never get over the strange feeling at my fingers to touch the tummy of my biological mother. Sometimes a crazy wish maddens me that I want to see the inside of the womb of my ma. I sometimes wish to be inside it once and change my birth story forever!

I will live with it, only because I love my ma and papa. Only because I know they are there with me.

One day I wish I meet my birth mother and father, I wish to I see them once for just knowing who they are. For quenching the thirst of mine for knowing the reason why they relinquished me. And after meeting them, I wish to come back to my home, to my adoptive parents and listen to my favourite bed time story again!!!

From an old man’s diary!

The lamp in the night dims out....only to usher the sunlight of the dawn. And if God wills, we behold the sunlight, if we do not see the light anymore, it is God’s will, anyway.....

I am Poritosh Banerjee, a retired high official from the Indian railways. All my life I have earned wealth more than I could have imagined and I have earned it the honest way. I have earned fame more than my wealth. I have earned the affection of my friends more than the fame.

And I retired as a proud man.

I have spent most of my wealth and energy in raising my only child; a son. After he was born, we were very clear that we did not want a second child. We wanted to provide the best of schooling and materialistic comforts and undivided attention to him. Dhruv, my wife named our son.

During my job, I was transferred throughout the length and breadth of India. So, my parents never stayed with us. They were confined to the small sleepy village in Bardhaman in West Bengal.

Throughout my job-life, my rewards brought pride to my family. Added to this family pride were the trophies my child earned for academics, sports, extra-curricular activities. He was a brilliant student and a winner all through.

Before we knew it, Dhruv grew up and we sent him to London for his further career pursuits. All that I had earned belonged to him. He was my only child, after all.

Dhruv never came back to stay in India. He and Meghan, his wife settled forever in London and now they have a daughter, whom I have not yet seen!

He would visit us once a year. Dhruv was busy, very busy. He would often have to go for some official commitments in India even during his visit to us.

My wife, Mitali, the quintessential ‘Ma’, never had any complain against her son. She instead would try day and night to make Meghan’s stay comfortable at our house while Dhruv was away.

Mitali passed away four years back. Though I had secretly wished to migrate to London, Dhruv was not very keen. Meghan was not keen either. Their child did not know who I was!

For me, the last four years passed as if I lived through four long lives. Life never seemed so long and unwelcome! My credentials and Dhruv’s trophies gathered dust day after day now that I had no more energy to clean them. The big bungalow I had built screamed in silence. Many a times I had thought of returning to Bardhaman but my parents are no more, so there is no one to receive me or even want me!

I lost the eyesight in my right eye after a stroke last year. Dhruv did not know this. Mitali had ordered me that we should never bother our child and never come in way of his career pursuits.

I have more than enough money. I have a bungalow built for housing ten people! I have the kitchen set up for feeding a dozen people at a time. Such magnanimous was Mital’s heart and intentions but now I stay here alone. I don’t need more than a cot and an arm chair. My diet is reduced to some insipid monotonous food which my hired cook makes.

If I could see God, I would enquire, how long do I have to live?

But last month, I met Tapan, a young lad from Katihar with dreams in his eyes and hole in the pocket! I rented out a room to him, not for money but in search of some companion.

He is here to earn some living, he says. He works for a small Government health project.

I had no idea that my life would change after meeting young Tapan. Over the last month Tapan and I have schemed out a wonderful proposition.

I was almost ready to spend most of my wealth to buy a place for me in the ‘Nirvana-House for the aged’. They demanded some 10 lacs for a two room space for me and other facilities which the aged need.

I talked it over with Tapan and some of my aged and frail friends whom I meet every evening in the park.

But now I have this brilliant idea in my mind, courtesy Tapan. I am not spending my wealth in paying to an old age home but I am actually turning my villa to a home for the aged!!!

Tapan will spend some time for managing the home, he says. He will infact live with all of us, for the time being. We have also got Dr. Vashisht, our neighbour to offer his voluntary service to us. In one month, five people have already contacted me. There is no dearth of money for any one of them, they have all earned wealth and fame but that is a forgotten era. They all have their children but they are busy, as I was or as Dhruv is. All they look for is a companion. All they want is not to sleep in an empty house. All they want is that if suddenly one morning, any one of them does not wake up anymore, somebody else is there to take charge of the final rites and to send a casual message to the children.

So, I know, I will be not alone anymore. I will turn my haunted house into a home. I will have friends living with me.

It is a new beginning. Even if the end is near, the path does not have to be dark.... I deserve moonlight till the last hours of the night!