24 December 2021

“Yaara teri yaari ko… maine to khuda maana”

While in Kolkata, went to Free School Street and got a few more vinyl records. This time, I focused on some of the Hindi movie songs that we used to hum during our school days.

Yaarana – a favorite of Sharmila’s and mine – was the first one I brought out tonight and listened to with her.

I remember how much I used to love the tune of those words…

“Yaara teri yaari ko
Maine toh khuda maana
Yaad karegi duniya
Tera mera afsaana
Tere jaisa yaar kahan
Kahan aisa yaarana”

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24 December 2021

An eulogy for my mom – from an ex-student

Keya was my mom’s student in elementary school and also lived in the same neighborhood as us. In fact, her two brothers and I played soccer and cricket together pretty much every evening from 1980 thru mid 1983.

Loved her sense of poetry…
By: Keya Mukherjee
Date: Dec 22, 2021

বড় চোখের দিদিমণি
কড়া হাতের শাসন,
বেঞ্চের ওপর দাঁড় করিয়ে
পড়ায় যখন তখন ।

স্কুল মানে যে বিভীষিকা
এমন সময় দেখা —-
গল্প বলা দিদিমণির
পড়া পড়া খেলা ।

ভয় নেই আর স্কুলে যেতে
নেই যে বিভীষিকা ।
মনের মতো দিদিমণি
এবার পেলো দেখা ।

আমাদের শান্ত হাসিমুখের প্রিয় রায় কাকিমার প্রতি জানাই অন্তরের শ্রদ্ধা, ভক্তি ও ভালোবাসা ।আমার প্রণাম জানিয়ে বলি কাকিমা তুমি যেখানেই থাকো শান্তিতে থেকো

21 December 2021

You will not see this often!

I am not the one who cares much about clothes – certainly not traditional Bengali clothes. I still attend Durga Pujas in shorts or motorbike attire. Somehow clothes just do not appeal to me.

Recently, I had pulled out the one kurta I had (My sister in law Chaitali had given it to me in 2011 or 2012) and surprised Nikita. I had noticed that the color of the Indian clothes she was wearing that evening was a perfect match to that of my only kurta. You can see us here.

This trip in India, my inventory of kurtas doubled, thanks to the generosity of Manojit and Paramita. I had forgotten how comfortable kurtas are. Also it helps that it is fairly forgiving to my girth that is threatening to go in a growth mode 🙂

This summer I will try using these two kurtas and see how it pans out. I already have a shirt in mind that I will give up to stay with the minimalist theme.

21 December 2021

“What is a cappuccino?”

The siblings, their families and myself – we all settled down in one far corner of the JW Marriott lounge. Of course, this being a Bengali group, the first order of business had to be a cup of tea. Satyabrata – one of the most helpful folks around (I had made friends with him during my last trip here) – materialized from nowhere.

Ki neben, sir?” (What do you want?)

We then went thru a now familiar routine. My brother, sister, sister-in-law and brother-in-law all looked at each other waiting for somebody to make a decision, then discussed quite a few options and finally got to the exact same order that they ALWAYS order.

First my brother went “Masala Chai”.

My sister follow ed”Amaro” (me too)

Ditto for my sister-in-law.

My brother-in-law did not even bother opening his mouth. He just nodded his head to signal “Amaro“.

Why we go thru this rigmarole every single time, I do not know.

In any case, I said “Ekta cappuccino”.

With that, Satyabrata was on his way to the coffee/tea station at the bar.

My sister suddenly demanded to know “Cappuccino-t ki?” (What is a cappuccino?). I think that was preceded by a flash in her head “Dada jeta khachche ota miss hoye gelo na to?” (she was perhaps wondering if she was missing out on something).

Now I do not know about you, but I am not entirely equipped to explain the nuances of cappuccino. If I made short shrift of it “coffee and milk with foam”, I was afraid she would come up with “like in South India?” (if you have not seen this, you should watch some Youtube videos of how filter coffee is mixed with milk and sugar in two metal tumblers in places like Tamil Nadu – it is quite a sight).

“Satyabrata?”, I called my friend back.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take my sister to the bar and show her how a cappuccino is made.”

Say what you may, but intellectual curiosity runs deep in the Roy siblings. My sister followed him and observed every step as the three members of staff – all enthusiastically explained… “Cappuccino – ki ebong keno” 🙂

20 December 2021

Following in my mother’s footsteps – chapter 4

Somewhere around very early 70s, dad brought mom to Durgapur. With me in tow. We lived in three different houses. These were quarters allotted by the steel plant to my dad. Today, they are completely transformed. During the doldrum days of the steel industry, the company sold many of the quarters away. The new owners modified them to the hilt.

The quarters used to be very dull and drab. Each looked like the other. The only difference used to be that one row would have yellow color walls outside and the next row would have red. The inside walls were always the same bluish white.

Now they are the brightest of colors adjoining each other – reminding me of the houses in the island of Burano in Italy. The top house in the picture – 6/2 North Avenue – used to be 350 sq ft when we lived there. Now, with all the buildups, the owner has made it five times that size!!! By the way, I had a great time chatting with the owner today and telling him the history of our times there!!

Mom lived there till 1979 Dec. Then we moved to the house in the middle. It was distinctly rectangular-ish then. Now it has an imposing circular structure. Incidentally, the owner’s daughter lives about 10 miles from me in Atlanta!! She was my mom’s student! Mom lived in this house – 9/4 Ranapratap – till 1995.

The last house – 26 St. Paul’s – is where she spent 17 years in till 2012. Again, the house is completely different from what Nikita and Natasha will remember from their visits to grandparents.

Durgapur is where mom spent most of her life and would probably call her “home”. I know for my siblings, that is how we think.

18 December 2021

This day… that year.

Precisely at this moment a year back, at this very spot, my mom had collapsed and died.

I picked up a few more details today about that moment. She had entered the room and was approaching dad when she came to a sudden end. My dad saw it with his own eyes. What I was not aware was that there was no domestic help that day.

Actually, I knew and I had heard about the details that I am going to tell you now but the fact the realization that my mom passed away had fogged up my memory. Hearing the description from my siblings and people around reminded me of the facts.

So, my dad kept yelling my mom’s name without any success. He then managed to get down from the bed (remember he was almost an invalid barely getting out of bed other than being carried out for his dialysis three times a week). He actually slipped and let himself fall from the bed. And then dragged himself on the floor past his dead wife to the main door. While on the floor, he reached up to the handle, opened the door and started yelling out my sister and brother-in-law’s names. It was my niece who ran up and saw my mom first. By now, already dead for a few minutes…

Sitting still at that exact spot at that exact time today, I closed my eyes and tried to play in my mind blow by blow every scene.

Those moments came and went thru my mind remarkably quietly and imperceptibly … like every life does… But intensely, very personal… like all relationships are.