That is one “driven” driver…
“O tumi?” (You again?), I remarked as I got into the car my brother in law had arranged for me to go visit Jagannath-da and Santo-da (see previous post). The driver too immediately recognized me. I forget where – but this young driver – Kishore is his name – had chauffeured me around once before. I remember him as a very driven person. And very inquisitive. He had a lot of questions for me about America and how to establish oneself in life.
This time was no different! As he drove me to my village, we had some very interesting conversations.
“Ami America jaabo” (I want to go to America)
“Besh to” (Sounds good)
“Passport banatey diyechhi” (I am getting my passport made)
“Very good”
“Aar ki kortey hobey?” So, he wanted to know what else he needed to do to go to America.
“Visa laagbey” (You will need a visa)
“Visa? Seta kothay paabo?” (Where can I get a visa?)
So, I patiently explained how immigration works. I explained how he has to go the American Consulate in Kolkata and make a case why America needs him. I explained how if people have skills that we lack in America, they have a good chance of getting to America.
“Ami to gaari chaalatey paari”. (I can drive cars).
I gently broke it to him that there are many people driving cars in America and that may not be enough skill to impress the person at the consulate.
He became very thoughtful after that. In fact, I don’t think he asked me too many questions after that. I was feeling a little bad that I might have unnecessarily stymied a young person’s ambitions.
Soon, we pulled into our village and I got lost in my conversations with Jagannath-da and Santo-da.
On my way back, I was on an emotional high after my intersection points. Kishore suddenly asked me “Apnader okhaney aloor chop paoa jaay?”. He wanted to know if we get “aloor chop” in America.
Now, to the uninitiated, let me explain that “aloor chop” is a dietitian’s worst nightmare come true. And as such nightmares always tend to be – heavenly delicious to taste. Essentially, it is potato fritters – that is a specialty of my state in India – West Bengal. You get them in road side stalls. Roughly speaking, it is mashed potatoes (mashed with a lot more ingredients – but hot chilli peppers is one of them) that is then rolled by hand into small circular shapes, dipped in batter and then fried in a large container of oil that has clearly seen better days π ). And then sprinkled with “beet noon” (rock salt).
To die for. And then die from.
But I have never found this anywhere else in India or in the world, for that matter. And I have complained to Sharmila in the past about it.
“Aloor chop kintu paoa jaay na okhaney”. I admitted to Kishore that we do not get “aloor chop” in America.
I was thinking that he will remark that even in America, you do not get everything then… “Dekhun taaholey America-teo so kichhu paoa jaay na”.
He completely took my surprise when he asked “Ami jodi aloor chop banano sikhey niy, amaakey visa debey? Okhaney to eta keu banaatey paarey na”.
I had to laugh out very loud when I realized his angle. My God! He wanted to know if he learnt how to make “aloor chop”, would that skill be unique enough for him to go to America (since he figured nobody can make “aloor chop” in America).
I let him know that I do not about that but with his level of drive and focus in life, one of these days he is going to land up in America, for sure.
It made me think how focused this young gentleman is to improve his lot.
Which made me also wonder – am I still as focused to improve myself and my lot? And others’ lots? Am I still hungry enough?
Two very special people from nearly five decades back
Last year, one Saturday evening, sitting by myself around midnight, I was reflecting on my life and the various people who helped me thru that journey. Somehow, my mind went back to Jagannath-da who I had almost forgotten.
I was born a farmer’s son. My dad used to till land till he got a break and got a job in a steel plant that was getting constructed about 100 kilometers away from our village. During those very very early days of my life – a life comprising of a hut made of dirt, roof made of straw, ablutions in ponds, a lot of playing in dirt roads and such rural facets – Jagannath-da and his brother Santo-da were our heroes.
They both worked with my dad and his brother (my uncle) in the land that we had growing rice and potatoes. And they worked on a lot of household work for us. They – specially Jagannath-da – served a very important role in my life. I was too short then to pick the mangoes and tamarinds from the low hanging branches of the trees. And too weak and of terrible aim to fell them with stones. So, Jagannath-da used to pick me up on his shoulders and then I used to grab a mango or a tamarind. Or two.
That evening by the poolside started a near impossible search for Jagannath-da and Santo-da. I knew the name of the village they lived in but I did not have contacts of anybody in their or my village who would know them. Eventually, my dad had given away some part his land to Jagannath-da and Santo-da and sold the rest. Then we lost contact.
As luck would have it, when I was in Frankfurt during transit this time, one of my very distant cousin sent a message that somebody in that family of Jagannath-da (they were seven brothers and one sister and I am sure had at least twenty to twenty five sons and daughters) actually has a mobile phone and that my cousin will get me the number in a day.
She came thru for me. By the time I landed in Delhi, I had a number. After I landed in Bangalore, I called up that number and I asked whoever picked it up to pass it on to Jagannath-da. “Chintey paarchho? Ami Damu-r chhele Bachchu bolchhi”, I asked, half afraid that I might be a very distant memory for me.
I really had nothing to worry about. He rattled off a lot of things about me and our time together nearly fifty years back that I have mostly forgotten. Touched that he actually remembers me so vividly, I promised to see him and Santo-da this trip.
Yesterday, I made the trek to my old village. Dad had gone off to sleep in the afternoon. I grabbed a local guy and got him to drive me to the village. (My brother had to rush back to Kolkata since my elder nephew is down with fever now).
Just as the car turned at Shibtala, I could see two gentlemen sitting under a tree, umbrellas in their hand (it is rainy season here). I distinctly recognized Jagannath-da. I had to wait till Santo-da smiled to remember his face. I do not remember how long the hugs lasted but they were not long enough!
So many memories. So many things to thank for. Such great, simple and honest people from the yesteryears.
We went walking around the village and remembering some of the old spots. Found out that their family still till the land my dad had given them. Believe it or not, Jagannath-da – the one on my left – is 85 years old! He came walking from his village to meet me. Santo-da brought his bicycle!
That was one of my best intersection points of my life. These are people on whose shoulders I have – literally and figuratively – climbed upon to be who I am today!!! I hope to see them a few more times in my life and spend a little more time with them…
Torrential monsoon rains are here…
This picture moved me…
After a really heavy breakfast (so what else is new with a Bengali mom π ), I was lazily reading the local newspaper when this picture caught my eye in a section where regular readers send random pictures from their neighborhood to be printed in the newspaper.
What spoke most to me is that poverty cannot stop the human mind’s innate capability to innovate. Or the sense of brotherly love and protection.
Birds I grew up with – Crow
Birds I grew up with – Common Myna
I am not sure if all my friends in India will agree with this – these days, there seems to be far less number of the common birds that we grew up with. I remember seeing a lot of sparrows (chorui pakhi), crows (kaak) and common mynas (salikh) everyday in those days. I barely see any these days.
This trip, so far I have spotted a common myna and a crow from the balcony of my dad’s house…
This is the common myna.
5 miles in killer humidity..
Of Duke, Diana and Nice biscuits…
If words like Duke and Diana make you feel that the roots of the story lies somewhere in England, you would not be totally wrong.
Let’s go back a couple of days:
I was in Frankfurt airport lounge when I got a message from Anna – who lives in London – that she had seen my FB post of going to India. And that she would be headed to Kolkata to check on her mom too. She was curious if it would be possible for us to meet. If we did that, we would be seeing each other after about 32 years. I told her that I will give my best shot at it since that would give me an opportunity to see her mom too.
Let’s go back a little further. In fact about couple of years:
I had written a FB message to an Anna Mitra saying that I saw her post a comment on Anannya’s post. Looking at her profile picture, I had to ask her – “Are you Diana? If so, would you remember me? I am Rajib – your cousin Mem-didi’s friend from Durgapur. I used to play badminton with you and Simi (Anannya) when you were barely seven or eight during your visits to your uncle (Dubey-kaku) in Durgapur”. Fortunately Diana (aforementioned Anna) made no pretense of not knowing me even after recognizing me π
That day, I got an update on her brother – Atanu – who was called Duke and her dad and mom. The sad news was to find out that her dad was no more. But the good news was that I still had a chance to meet her mom (we called “Pisi” since that is what my friend Aditi – the above mentioned Mem-didi – called her.)
Now let’s take another step back in time. About 34 years from today:
I was in a residential school near Kolkata. My friend Aditi studied in a school in Kolkata and she stayed with her aunt (“Pisi”). Both of us were studying hard those days to get into engineering schools. She was more talented than me – she cracked the engineering exam as well as the medical exam – I stayed with only the engineering exam.
Not sure how it works now, but those days, there were two very renowned tutorials by mail to help you get prepared for the engineering exam – Agarwal’s and Brilliant Tutorials. To split the costs, Aditi and I had worked out with our parents that I would buy Agarwal’s and she would buy Brilliant’s. And then about once a month or so, I used to catch 218/B bus to land up at Pisi’s place to exchange our materials.
Duke and Diana – who were very young then – always used to come and chat with me and after some time Pisi would shoo them away and ask them not to disturb us. (Aditi and I often had to ask each other for help if one managed to solve a problem and the other did not. That was probably not a very accurate way of portraying the true picture since I was the one who always needed help).
But the best memories from those days? The cup of tea and Nice biscuits that Pisi always served me. I am not sure if you get Nice biscuits any more – but they were coconut flavored rectangular biscuits with serrated margin. The best part was the twenty or so pieces of sugar that used to be somehow attached to the top. I am salivating even now remembering how the first bite used to taste. The only essential problem to be solved was whether to dive into a bite straightaway or dip it first in the tea!!
Now let’s try to time-warp all those timelines together:
When you do that, what you get is a room full of people together – some from my past and some I saw for the first time. Almost like those get togethers before – except fast forwarded by a generation. Got to see Duke and Diana after such a long long time. More importantly, got introduced to their kids who were absolutely charming. Discussing studies with Dipanjan on one hand and then talking to Ahona (little Olivia) about the cute street dogs and goats on the streets of India – that was just a nostalgic throwback to over three decades back.
Incredible part though was getting to see Pisi and thanking her for all the care she used to take of me when I visited her.
The time went by too quickly. Maybe Atanu, Anna, Dipanjan, Dipannita or Rina, you can help me fill in the details… all I remember is I was talking loudly and somehow we were all laughing constantly!!!
Let’s not wait for three more decades to laugh together again. I know for a fact nobody would want to hear a octogenarian Rajib talk loudly π
I survived!!
On a self dare, after over 20 years, managed to sleep thru an Indian monsoon night – without switching the air conditioner on!! The weather channel said it was 97% humidity with 84 degrees temperature making it feel like 92 degrees. To be sure, I had the AC remote switch close to me to give up any time π
To be totally candid, I did set the ceiling fan to a speed very close to it reaching escape velocity π
#littleThingsPleaseLittleMinds