Every December, I would show up in India with 5 calendars filled with my pictures of Sharmila, Natasha and Nikita. Oh! also Jay Jay!! Every January, dad would put it up on the wall. Every month, the pages would be flipped and the next few days of phone calls with my mom would be around the new pictures.

Where was it taken? Who is the other person? As much as I would explain to her that I could not see the calendar she was seeing (invariably I would be calling from my car), she would press for more answers for a few more days.

And then suddenly on Dec 2020, the page flipping came to an end. That was the last month of my mom’s life and the last time she saw new pictures of the Roy family in the USA.

My dad, in very poor health condition, had no need for a calendar. He too moved on in a few weeks.

And the calendar stands there even today – many months later – as a symbol of when time stopped in the Kalyani house of my parents.

Even that will be thrown away to oblivion today.

Absolutely the most memorable place for me in my parents’ place. So many early mornings spent with dad before anybody woke up – just listening to the birds… not a word uttered between us, yet volumes spoken.

This is also where we used to have those hilarious moments.

Without a shade of doubt, the funniest moment was my socks moment. I had just finished my run and was sitting in the balcony cooling down. I had taken my shoes off but had my socks on and my legs were outstretched on the top of the railing while I was sitting in one of those plastic chairs.

The socks, as is customary in the USA, were ankle socks – the concept of which was completely lost on my dad. He kept staring at my socks that day.

“Ki holo?” (What’s the matter?) I asked.

“Socks gulo eto chhoto diyechhe keno?” (Why did they give you such short socks?)

I was not sure how to answer that. I merely offered a defensive “Erokom-i hoy”. (This is how they are)

Not convinced a bit, he came back a few seconds later with “Koto daam niyechhe?’ (How much did it cost you?) My father’s general knowledge of any object in this world used to be incomplete without knowing the price.

Now, I had no idea about the price. I have seen Sharmila bring home half a dozen of them at a time and I never had asked her for the price. (Not everything apparently runs in the genes)

Just to fend him off, I told him “One and a half dollars”.

You could see something was churning in his head. As it turns out, he was trying to multiply 1.5 with 62.5 (which was the exchange rate those days for dollars to Indian rupees). As the numbers piled up in his head, his eyes started widening. (“Bisfarito netro” for my Bengali friends).

Finally he blurted out something that had me rolling in the balcony. The summary of it was this: “Son, the American shopkeeper cheated you. For that much money you can get socks here that will come up to your knees!!”

🙂 🙂

Such great memories.

All those are setting now just like the evening sunsets we used to watch together – again from this balcony!!

That secret spot – top of the water tank in the terrace – for all of us to scale in the evenings so that we could drink wine away from the prying eyes of my mom!

The picture below is such a session from July 2013 – I think my third trip after our parents had moved to Kalyani about ten months prior…

The bottle of “mineral” water, toilet paper roll and wine glass? (couple of posts back)

You saw the wine glass before. You can spot the paper roll here amongst all the stuff emptied out from her storage. It was meant for my next trip except she left before me.

Everything has been dismantled from the area that was my dad’s. The bed has been disposed of. A couple of his shoes are lying against the wall. The furniture is all gone. A couple of plastic chairs are still there and some discarded newspapers.

Fairly painful to realize that things came to a stop so quickly. That too during Covid – the one time I could not come back and see him quarterly.

The room represents the emptiness that he left in my heart…

The place that saw my mom make uncountable cups of tea for us. And often where we had to drag her out of because she would be making yet another snack for us.

Many of you may remember the hilarious story of how my mom went from being upset about our wine drinking to agreeing to it and even tacitly supporting it. Don’t miss the one wine glass sitting out like a misfit among the traditional Indian household kitchenware from the 70s in this picture. She used to make sure that three things were ready before I would arrive – toilet paper rolls, bottles of “mineral” water and that wine glass duly washed!

Precious memories!!

So many memories of surprising my parents by showing up unannounced… And the entrance gate that saw many a cricket game with all the siblings, niece and nephews together…

I had heard about this small little town outside Kolkata called Kalyani when I was growing up. Even there, the context was that the gentleman who was credited with envisioning Durgapur (where I grew up) had also envisioned Kalyani. (He was the first chief minister of West Bengal) Beyond that, I knew nothing.

In any case, the first time I came to this town was about 15 years back when my sister moved here. Most of our meetings were not in Kalyani though since my visit would be a good excuse for all of us to land up in our parents’ place in Durgapur.

Then my parents moved here 10 years back. That is when I started coming to Kalyani every three months or so. In the span of 7-8 years that I visited my parents here (about 20-25 times), I got to know every part of this town and a lot of the locals. Especially the tea vendors – thanks to my brother and I stopping at various tea stalls during our runs. And then there was that one tea stall in front of Kalyani stadium where a local had asked us if we were in town for the soccer tournament. Looking at our running attire (which was fairly good by local standards), he assumed we were here as formal players. In fact, his question was “Dada, khela-ta kotaaay shuru hobey?” (“When will the game start today?”).

With the impending sale of my parents’ house, this town will also start becoming a distant memory. Now that my niece is in college in Bangalore, most of our sibling meetings will be in new places that we will visit together to explore India.

This small sleepy town had slowly, imperceptibly but undeniably grown on me.

Perhaps knowing this would be one of my last few trips to Kalyani, the authorities had put up this new sign I saw today!

I have to somewhat sheepishly admit that this item was one of the reasons that I chose to stay in Royal Bengal this time instead of my usual JW Marriott. You might remember from an earlier post how I had discovered this in March this year in this hotel.

I had to start breakfast today with it. If you know me at all, you know that I am not a foodie by any remote definition of the word. I eat so as to not get hungry. I try to stay on time with my meals and with age, have started to get a little disciplined with what I eat.

And “panta bhaat” is not exactly for the weak of the heart. Or generous of the waist. This is white rice, white potatoes, mustard oil, raw onions and raw chillies. If those “white” calories were not enough, it might serve well to remind you that the rice is actually fermented overnight – which gives it some alcohol content. So, there is that! And all these when you are trying mightily to get up!

But what I am in favor of – is nostalgia. Re-living old moments. Life visited is wonderful. Life re-visited makes it memorable. “History Of My Future”, as it were.

Mid 70s – when our family was still struggling to get a financial foothold, this is what mom would make for breakfasts on weekend days. What was sorely missing today is the “knacha posto“!

I duly filled in the suggestion card 🙂

Going around the incredible spread of food for lunch at the Royal Bengal, I was dilly dallying on what cuisine to settle for. After some time, thought will go with the local Bengali food. (Coming all the way to Kolkata and eating sandwiches seemed somewhat out of place).

The spread was pretty much in line with mom would make for lunch every time I visited her – “gobindo bhog chaal”, “begun bhaaja”, “uchhe bhaaja”, “lau posto”, “daal” and “aloo jhuri bhaaja”.

The only way these folks could have made it any closer to my mom is by dumping multiple big ladle full of all these stuff on my plate before I could even protest!!