While trying to locate the exact location of my dad’s birthplace, we talked to and made friends with a lot of the villagers today. At some point, I had the presence of mind to ask one of them to lead me is the eldest person in the village with the assumption that he or she would know somebody that my dad had heard of.

The news must have traveled thru the village soon. While we were busy checking out my granddad’s temple, we saw an old man hobbling towards us. Before we saw him, we heard him. He was yelling “Ami Kali Roy-er chhele. Ami Kali Roy-er chhele”.. (I am the son of Kali Roy). My dad paid no attention since he is pretty hard of hearing anyways 🙂 That confused the elderly gentleman no end. Somewhat clueless, he looked at all of us and asked “Damu konta?” (Which one among you is Damu?). That is when my dad asked him who was he.

Turned out that he is a blood relative of ours. Kali Roy was my granddad’s first cousin. And this gentleman knew my granddad. Again, my dad and this gentleman had never met each other – just heard of each other. But there was a high level of excitement as they met for the first time in their lives at pretty much the far end of their lives.

He also asked us to visit another gentleman – which we did. (He himself did not join us though – and from another villager I gathered that the two families are not on talking terms!!!) We went to another house and told them about who our dad was and if we could meet the person we were looking for. The folks there brought us chairs to sit down. And we waited and waited.

Eventually a very old man came out – taking one painful step after another helped by his walking stick and a young child. He trudged his way to my dad and asked “Tumi Nitai-er bhai?” (Are you the brother of Nitai?”). Once my dad confirmed that, he could not help control his emotions. He started talking about how he had seen my uncle last in 1940 and that they used to play together and never got a chance to talk to him after my dad’s family left the village. And then he asked the inevitable “Kemon aachey?” (How is he?). His face completely fell when he realized that my uncle is no more. “Ekey ekey bondhu gulo sobai choley gelo” he murmured (“One by one all my friends went away”). Anyways, he stood there for some more time and talked about our ancestral family.

It is these two gentlemen who helped me narrow down the exact spot where my granddad’s hut was. Thru them, I reconstructed a few more family facts. Evidently, my granddad was a deeply religious person. He used to shave his head off (that DNA has flown thru to me :-). Unlike me though, he had a “tiki” – which is that tuft of hair in an otherwise shaven head that you might have seen on some old Hindu pious men or even ISKCON disciples.

Evidently my father was the youngest of four siblings. Only the eldest (Nitai) and my youngest (my dad) survived. My granddad died of throat cancer. Unfortunately, nobody has a picture of him!!

But watching people who got separated about three quarters of a century away reconnect thru technologies like Google maps and Wikipedia … that was a lovely treat!!!

His dad had built this temple. He was aware of that. That was the only known artifact left from his dad. (His mom and his brother has long left him too).

He slowly went up the temple with mom and then looking at the idol, simply collapsed. Remember he has an almost non working knee. He cannot sit down on the floor. He always is in bed or at best in a chair.

He was transfixed looking at the idol. And then, right in front of our eyes, he slowly sat down (we have not seen him sitting on the floor for years!!!!). Mom sat next to him.

A few minutes later, I walked up too. After quite some time, he explained something to me. And I learnt another new family history item. He explained that the name of the God is “Damodar” ( I believe that is an incarnation of Narayan). That is why the temple is called Damodar Temple.

Then it all started to make sense to me. My dad’s name at home is “Damu”. My grandmom had once told me that my grandad had christened him so after Damodar. I always thought that was in reference to the river by the same name that flowed by where we lived (Durgapur). I had probably wondered what was the connection between my granddad and Durgapur but figured Damodar was a very well known river in West Bengal anyways – specially because of the untold miseries it created for people on either bank during monsoons.

Turns out Damodar is the name of a God. My granddad was an ardent worshipper of this God. He even built a temple for the God Damodar. And that is what drove him to name his son “Damu”. Not the river!!!

After a rather long journey – only in time, not in road distance – thanks to the terrible conditions of the roads inside remote villages near Gushkara, West Bengal, and all those people stopping us and asking for donations for the upcoming Saraswati Pujo, we finally stood at the spot where my dad was born! Google maps was very accurate in getting us to the village. Then getting to the spot of his birth took a little more time. But the villagers were very curious and very helpful. The key was one hint – that my grandfather was a very God fearing person and that he had built a temple right next to his hut.

The temple – like every village temple I guess, has been well taken care of. On the other hand, the hut did not have any such luck. It collapsed in one of those furious monsoons (nobody occupied it for some time) and all that remains is a round mound of dirt and a lot of undergrowth.

You can see the temple on the left and the space in between (before the hut you can see on the right). That space is where my dad was born. This was confirmed by somebody else (see a later post).

He has no recollection (other than the fact he had heard about the temple his dad had built) of the place but seemed to reach an inner peace once he saw his birthplace.

One by one four trains have gone by. We are still waiting for the level crossing to open. Dad and brother are the first ones out of the car impatiently waiting for trains to pass…

After some more hemming and hawing this morning, he got up from bed and got ready. Now it all depends on Google maps and accuracy of Wikipedia!!

Off we go to locate my dad’s birthplace!!

My trips to India usually are very short but very hectic. Partially because I have not yet learnt how to stay put in one place and partially because I can’t stop setting goals for everything. Reaching them is a completely different story altogether.

This time, reaching my top goal is precariously hanging in a balance. You see, for the last two years, I have been trying to convince my dad that we should go visit the village he was born in. He has steadfastly rejected the idea citing his poor health. What he would not admit is the emotional baggage that he might be carrying.

In 1940, when he had barely crossed his second birthday, he suddenly lost his dad. My grandfather was survived by my dad, grand mom, his elder sister and his eldest brother who was 11 years elder to him. Things are a little murky after that. My grand mom and my uncle (his elder brother was the respected patriarch in our family) were very reluctant to discuss this topic with me. My dad was too young anyways.

What I had pieced thru some of the information that was let out was that somehow my grandmother got thrown out of her house. My conjecture is that my grandpa’s brothers eased her out of the inheritance. (In India, at that time, society did not offer too many rights or much support to widows).
That led my grand mom to traverse about a hundred kilometers to a village where her brother resided. Her brother and his wife – who were struggling themselves, nonetheless, took the family in. Again, the details of the journey is murky but I know at that point my dad lost his elder sister too.

In any case, that new village is where my grand mom and family settled down and even reached a semblance of prospering (which means they had their own land to till and had their own hut). You might have seen the picture of that thatched hut made of dirt where I was born in a blog in 2012. That hut still does not have electricity or running water.

As I grew up, I realized that my uncle and grand mom never wanted to discuss their life prior to coming to my birth village. The memories of that phase of life is something they simply did not want to revisit. My uncle never took his wife or kids to his own village where he was born. Likewise with my dad.

But for the last two years, I have been pressing my dad. He was too young. He remembers nobody (although he had heard some names from his mom). I suspect he simply followed what his elder brother and mom did. I have been trying to explain that before dying, he owes it to himself to visit the place he was born in. Certainly, I want to see the place my dad was born in. I know he has no grudges (again, he was too young), but he is emotionally connected to his brother and mother’s example.

After two long years, this time when Sharmila visited him a couple of weeks back, it appeared that he has relented. He is willing to consider. Ever since I heard that, my brother and I have been talking to him everyday and making plans. Every alternate day he has been switching between “Let’s give it a try” to “No way, Jose”. The last couple of days, he has held steady at “Let’s give it a try”.

I have about 48 hours in hand. I land in India in 36 hours. After sleeping that night, my brother and I want to pack our parents in his car and hit the road. Before he gets a chance to change his mind. Assuming he has not already.
That was the larger problem. The smaller problem then was answering “Where is this place that he was born in?”. Google maps is showing nothing by the name he has always told us. I have a vague recollection that grand mom had once talked about a large village she had gone to for a fair from her inlaws’ house. That place can be easily located on Google maps. For three days, with an ever increasing radius I had been scanning from Google Satellite maps, the names of the villages. (sometimes, I had to spot what looked like a few huts and then kept zooming till Google would give a name; btw, Apple maps is worthless in this regard). Eventually, I hit a village whose name comes close enough.

My grand mom and uncle always called it “Deripur”. There is no such place in the whole district. There is a “Dwariapur” that is close to the larger village. Startlingly enough, there is a Wikipedia entry for Dwariapur. There are only 5 lines about the village. One of the line says that it is also referred to as “Deriapur” by locals. I am quite sure “Deripur” is the same name colloquially. Otherwise, I am totally out of alternatives.

So there it is. After a long trip to Kolkata, a few quick hours of sleep later, I am hoping against hopes that the my dad will still be agreeable to making the trip. And of course, that my joining the dots has indeed led me to the right village!!

Wish me luck!!