Mish' Fiction

Just when she was to fall into an abyss of disappointment and depression, her phone rang. It was him!

She picked the phone with trembling hands, and croaked into the microphone. “Hello, Mukundo Babu…”

“Wait…” There was some hushed conversation in the background, “Please Sumi. Boarding will be fine… Okay – give me five minutes. I have to talk on phone…” Finally, he managed to send Sumedha away and she heard his deep voice.

“Piyali… Hi! Sorry…”

“Is she still going to boarding?”

“Umm… right now… yes… We’ll see. I don’t want to raise her hopes… I mean, there is so much to figure out still…”

What was there to figure out? They were to get married and raise Sumedha together. She need not go to boarding. Did he not trust her to take care of his daughter?

“Is something wrong, Mukundo Babu?”

“No! No, nothing at all. I will come tomorrow morning. After breakfast…”

“Okay.”

“Piyali!”

“Yes.”

“I got your number from Boudi. But I haven’t told her anything yet.”

“Umm… Okay. I will stay silent too?”

“For now – yeah.”

“Okay, then…”

“I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Good night, Mukundo Babu.”

“Good night.”

Did he have no curiosity about her? Did he not want to know how she recognized his number? She was about to disconnect the call, disappointed, when she heard him again.

“Piyali!”

“Yes.”

“Take care!”

The sincerity with which he spoke those two words swept away all her annoyance and disappointment. ‘I am an idiot,’ she told herself later in the evening, ‘He is just being a gentleman!’ Of course. Wasn’t it a gentleman she had fallen in love with? How could she expect him to behave like a teenager? That won’t do. She would do it like him. Slowly, gradually.

—

It took her a long time to sleep. Her imagination was running wild. She imagined him lying next to her. She thought about sleeping in his strong, reassuring arms, about sharing her childhood doll stories with him, mimicking her college professors for him; she also thought about discussing Sumedha and her school problems with him, of planning her future. She would also ask him about his childhood, his school, college…. They would travel together in summer holidays… It was only because she did fall asleep that she did not think all the way to their old years.

The result of sleeping till late was that she woke up late too. On noticing that it was already nine in the morning, she jumped out of bed. He had promised to come after breakfast. He might already be…

“But Baba, we are talking about a year. Would it look good if she went about the town with him alone…” Piyali heard her mother talking to her grand-father. So, her mother was not enthusiastic about this relationship!

“Come on, Debangi. We are talking about Mukundo. She could have gone alone with him anytime in all these years.”

“But…”

“Debangi! This is twenty-first century. Piyali is not a child and…”

“Baba! I know you want the best for her. But I am her mother too. And there are far too many things that I don’t like about Mukundo. He is not only so much older to her, but also a widower, with a child. Doesn’t my daughter deserve better?”

“Debangi. It’s her choice…”

“Choice! And would it also be her choice that wedding can’t happen for one year, and there won’t even be an engagement and nobody can be told about this…”

“What is going on?” Piyali approached them and interjected.

“Nothing,” Mr. Banerjee spoke before Debangi could, “You are late, Piyali. Get ready quickly. Mukundo is waiting for you. Debangi! Please send some tea and biscuits, please.”

Debangi stomped off displaying as much displeasure with her manners as she could without disobeying her father-in-law.

“Your mother is not too happy,” he told Piyali, “But don’t worry about it. Mukundo wants to go out with you. Get ready, quickly.”

Piyali ran to the bathroom. It was quite a task – balancing two equally strong wishes. One of spending enough time of her grooming and makeup to look good for him. And the other of being with him as soon as possible.

—

Her throat went dry, and she felt a buzz in her ears as he held the car door for her. To be treated like a woman, by a man… by her man… by Mukundo Babu. She would have swooned, if she had not gotten into her seat immediately.

“Did you have your breakfast?” he asked as the car backed out of her front yard.

“No… I mean, yes.” They were supposed to meet after breakfast!

He chuckled, “Me neither. Let’s get something to eat first.”

The tension dissolved. She also laughed.

“This is better. You know it is very odd to see you tense and nervous. You should remain relaxed. The world is not coming to an end.”

“It is equally odd to hear you stuttering or finding you confused like you were last night. You should remain self-assured.”

His smile turned into a grimace.

“I… I am sorry, Mukundo Babu. I didn’t realize I said something offensive.”

“Oh Piyali! No – I am sorry. I am making you anxious,” he pulled up to the curb. “I thought I would bring it up after breakfast. But… Piyali. I spoke to my Baba yesterday. Obviously, I had to.”

“He is not happy?” She remembered the unfinished concern Mr. Banerjee had expressed last evening about his father.

“No. No. That’s not the case… He just doesn’t want the wedding until I finish my Ph. D. That is, another year at least.”

“Oh!”

“Piyali. It’s not some kind of military order. It’s just his wish. And if it doesn’t suit you, we don’t have to agree to it–”

“No. What are you saying? How can I ask you to disobey your Baba? You are lucky to have him…”

“Piyali!”

“Sorry!” she wiped a drop of tear that had managed to get out of her eyes despite her blinking. “I just…”

“You miss your Baba, I know.”

She nodded and forced a smile.

“Your are brave girl, Piyali. You manage to smile through everything.”

“Now you are embarrassing me,” she said, but her face glowed with pride at his praise.

“I don’t think so. But I will not say any more on that.”

—

To be continued

“So, just another week here, Mukundo?” Mukundo was having tea with Mr. Banerjee.

He nodded.

“Sumedha?”

“I am dropping her to the boarding the day after.”

“Nothing better?”

“Not at least until I finish Ph. D. A year, at least.”

“And then?”

“Then?”

“What after Ph. D.? What will you do?”

“I’ll see.”

“Mukundo!”

“What?”

“Mukundo. There is a reason Sumedha’s life is so scattered. The reason is that your own life is like that. You need to settle down. You need to get married.”

Mukundo leaned back and let out a sigh. “Get married!” he mumbled.

“Mukundo. It wasn’t your fault that Aporna died.”

He straightened, startled, “When did I say it was?”

“I am glad to hear you say that. Because you have behaved like it was.”

“Who shall I ask to marry me, Banerjee Babu? It’s too late and I am too broken and burdened.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You have your entire life before you. If you think there aren’t any eligible women, you would be in for a surprise. So many parents have asked me…”

“Would you allow Piyali to marry me?”

Mr. Banerjee’s eyes narrowed after a moment of expressionlessness. In the silence that followed, Mukundo cursed himself for letting that question slip out.

Mr. Banerjee broke the silence and spoke slowly, “Is that a hypothetical question, or a real one?”

Mukundo closed his eyes and replied as slowly, “If it offends you, it was hypothetical.” As he opened his eyes, he saw something flutter near the curtain separating the hall from dining room.  But Mr. Banerjee’s voice claimed his attention back.

“I am just surprised, Mukundo. Not offended. If that was a real question, she has to answer it. I do have a concern. But…”

“What is your concern?”

“Your father?”

“In the worst case, I’d have to make do with my salary.”

The old man chuckled, “Yes. Yes. But that is not my worry, Mukundo. She has not grown up with much money. My concern is… Family. To become a part of the family without father’s consent… It won’t be the most pleasant situation. But all that only if… Oh! Have you already spoken to her?”

“No! No! Upon my honor, no! I haven’t spoken a word to anyone, not her, not anyone else. I had to ask you, Banerjee Babu! The rest is up to you.”

“You are so old fashioned, son,” Mr. Banerjee smiled patronizingly at him, “That won’t do. It is not up to me. It is up to the two of you. Pihu–” he called his grand-daughter.

Even without as much as throwing a glance towards the curtains, he could imagine the feet slowly retreating from there, until they reached all the way back to kitchen, from where she replied in her best casual voice, “Yes Dadu?”

“Come here, Shona.”

She came, her footsteps a bit too deliberate, slow.

“Yes Dadu?” Did her voice quiver? Or was it a product of his imagination? Like that flutter, or the retreating feet… He wasn’t looking at her.

“Not me. Pihu. Mukundo here has something to say to you.” And without any glance of encouragement, without any glance at him at all, Mr. Banerjee stepped out. Mukundo turned towards Piyali only after the sound of her grand-father’s footsteps died out. One look at her, and he knew he hadn’t imagined anything.

“You heard.” He said abruptly. And he took in the sight she presented. Young, beautiful, intelligent, mischievous, lively. How could he ever hope? What would she do with him? “You heard, Piyali. Say no. Say no — and we’d all forget this ever happened.” He stopped as abruptly as he had started. She was staring at him wide-eyed.

“Say something,” he pleaded.

She gulped hard and had to clear her throat before speaking. But when she spoke, her voice did not shake, “You want me to answer the question you never asked? And you are telling me what I should answer too?”

It brought a smile to his face. His doubts vanished and he came closer to her. “I want you to say yes. But you should say what you want to.”

“I haven’t been asked.”

“You heard.”

“I haven’t been asked.”

“Marry me, Piyali. Will you?”

To his surprise, tears started flowing down her cheeks. She couldn’t speak at all and he had to contend himself with her nod.

—

Piyali turned yet again. It would anyway be difficult for her to sleep that night. Besides it was too early to sleep. But she had pretended to have finished dinner and had locked herself in her room. It was surreal. It was impossible to believe. As restless as his slightest attention made her, she hadn’t expected him to… God! Was it really possible? Was he in love with her? So much that he had literally blurted out his wish against his judgment?

She hadn’t waited even for her mother, who had been at the neighborhood temple in the evening. She just wasn’t in the mood for her prosaic enquiries after that poetic evening of his proposal. Besides there was a sore spot, which she didn’t want to talk over with anyone else.

On seeing her break down and nod helplessly his eyes had grown moist.

“Thank you,” he had said in a gruff, heavy voice, “I did not know I had it in me to be as happy as I am right now. If I can give you even half of this happiness, I’d be proud of myself.” He had held her hands as he had said this. But after that instead of kissing her senseless as she had been expecting, or even giving her a bone-crushing hug, he had let go of her hands.

“We… we need to tell… Banerjee Babu,” he had stuttered, completely unlike himself, “Would you call him, please?” Still formal!

She had sent her grand-father out and had stayed back. He hadn’t asked to see her before leaving.

She had expected more passion, more urgency from him. Why had he been so cold after her acceptance? ‘Okay’, she corrected herself, ‘Not so cold, but still not as mad in love as she had always dreamt her lover to be.”

—

To be continued

He extended his stay for three weeks. He would stay with his daughter and try to figure out what the best course of action would be. He had a lot of time in hand. He visited Banerjee Babu several times and also ended up meeting Piyali very often. Sometimes he ran into her outside the house and chatted with her for a while before going in. At other times, she sat with him and her grand-father and listened to their conversations. Once he found her alone on the verandah where his grand-father often sat.

“Dadu has gone to a friend’s place. He should be back any moment,” for unknown reasons she blushed, “Please do sit down, Mukundo Babu.”

“Yeah. How are you?”

“I am fine,” she replied. But Mukundo was not satisfied. He had also grown comfortable talking to her over time.

“You know it’s difficult to believe that you are fine, when you are not being mischievous. Got any chewing-gums around?”

“So, I am a constant mischief-maker, is it?” She only grew sadder, instead of laughing at his joke.

“Hey. Come on, now. What is it?”

“Sorry… It’s nothing, really. I am just missing my Baba. It’s his birthday.”

“Oh! I am sorry. You must have been really young, weren’t you?”

“Yes. But I remember him very well.”

“Of course. But hey! He wouldn’t like his mischief-maker to be sad, would he?” he leaned towards her and smiled encouragingly.

“Who knows what he would want? He is not around any longer.”

“I am a father too. I might know…”

“Yes. Pishima has told me a lot about your daughter. You won’t send her to boarding, would you?”

He straightened up and his face lost all its color.

“I’m sorry. I…”

“I think Banerjee Babu is going to be late. I should get going.”

Piyali sat transfixed to her chair as he strode out with a stiff gait.

—

“Mukundo Babu!” he was surprised to hear the voice as he made to leave the park after his morning jog.

“Piyali. What are you doing here?”

“Chunni. Come here…” she called a little girl to her side before answering him.

“Are you carrying your wallet?”

“Why?”

“Chunni wanted to eat jhal-mudhi. But I have spent all my pocket-money.”

“I might have some cash in my pocket, but jhal-mudhi? This early in the morning?”

“The vendor there has the best jhal-mudhi in the world. But he is in this area only in the mornings. Dada – aekhane aasho,” she called the vendor before waiting for Mukundo to confirm that he indeed had cash. “Three jhal-mudhis.”

“Without chilies,” the child demanded.

“Silly. What is jhal-mudhi without chilies. But okay. One without chilies, Dada.”

“I don’t want jhal-mudhi now,” Mukundo declared.

“But you can’t have it at any other time. You take it home and eat later. Here. Please pay him, Mukundo Babu. I will see you later.”

Mukundo managed to gather enough change from his pockets to pay the vendor. He looked at Piyali’s receding figure and could not help smiling. That was her way of making up?

—

“I brought your sister up. I can bring your daughter up, Mukundo. Until you gain your senses back…” his Maashima was against sending Sumedha to the boarding school.

“And you did a great job with Mrinmoyi, Maashima. But for how long will you keep taking responsibilities for us? It’s not your fault that this family is broken.”

He no longer got that queasy feeling around his daughter that he did when she was a baby. This child seemed to have no association with the sickly, pre-term baby he had held after his wife’s death. He had shirked his responsibilities in past, but that was no reason he should do a better job now. But he could not do it alone. He knew what he really, really needed to pull his family together. He needed a partner. By himself, he felt too lost. He was unable to pick up the thread after missing out on all these years. He needed to marry, marry someone who would give him love and support, which he could then pass on to his daughter. Nothing, as such, came in his way. Maashima had suggested it very often. “You are still young, and you have a long life ahead of you. You can live like a nomad,” she would say. Every well-wisher gave the same advice in almost the same words. But he was scared of doing it again.  After all he had never figured out what went wrong in his relationship with Aporna? How would he avoid it happening again? Boarding school, he was convinced, would be better for the child than a family plagued by cold-war.

—

Banerjee Babu was not in Kolkata. He had no alibi for visiting his home. But Maitrayee had just visited them. She told him that Piyali was unwell, down with fever. He was worried. For a while he distracted himself by playing with his daughter. But then her maid took her away to feed her and his restlessness returned.

—

Piyali was surprised to see him at her bedroom door. “Mukundo Babu! Dadu has gone to Haldia for some…”

“I know… I came to see you… I mean Boudi had come. She told me you were ill and might need help.” Maitrayee hadn’t said anything like that.

Piyali blushed. He noticed, but pretended not to.

“Please do sit down, Mukundo Babu… No. Not so close… You might also get infected.”

“I’d be fine. Do you need anything?”

“No. Thanks for asking. Did you not see Ma when you came? She might still be taking her afternoon nap. I would ask her to get tea for you…”

“Piyali! I haven’t come here for tea. I came for…”

A tense silence hung in the air for a few moments. Then Mukundo broke it. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yes. Our neighbor is a doctor. He had dropped down. Said there is nothing to worry. Just to take paracetamol if needed, and rest.”

“Good it is not serious. I should get going now. You call me, if you need anything at all.”

She nodded.

He hesitated for a moment, but finally felt her forehead for temperature before leaving.

—

To be continued

Piyali stopped at the door on hearing the voice which was familiar, but still new. He had been helping with a kids’ dance performance till then. So nobody had heard him sing. But on that morning, he must have gotten carried away. The girl whom he was trying to teach gaped at him open-mouthed. He wouldn’t stop to let her repeat after him. His eyes were closed and his fingers moved graciously on the harmonium. That deep, soulful voice! Piyali could feel his sadness creeping up on her. She hadn’t felt it quite as well when Maitrayee had answered her questions about him. She walked up to him noiselessly, standing right in front of him. When he opened his eyes, her large eyes were the first thing he noticed. She thought she saw him smile, but only for a split second. Then he abruptly stopped singing and turned hastily to his pupil. “I am sorry – you were not following, I think. Let’s start with the aaroha…”

Piyali turned on her heels and went to the other room to help others practice.

—

“Mukundo Babu!” she caught up with him as he was leaving.

“Piyali!” He tried to act normal, but he was clearly uncomfortable.

“The event is in three days…”

“Are you nervous?”

“Kind of… Charu Di has almost pulled out. So…”

“And you are doing a great job. There is no reason to be nervous.”

“You are just trying to make me feel good, but…”

“No! Piyali. I mean it.”

She looked up at him. He was sincere. She could see it in his eyes. Strangely, she felt her stomach churn, as if she were appearing for an exam.

“Won’t you perform?” she blurted.

“What? Me?”

“Please!”

“But Piyali.”

“I know. I know… I had asked Pishima not to pester you. But… Dadu also talked about your singing. And I heard you this morning. It’d be criminal for you not to perform… This event is for an orphanage, you know…” her voice drowned as she found him looking at her with a strange mixture of desolation and admiration.

“You really want me to perform?”

She nodded, unable to find her voice.

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “Fine. I will,” he said and turned away quickly.

Thankfully there was a tree nearby on which Piyali could lean. The warmth that had enveloped her threatened to melt her down. She couldn’t have articulated why exactly she was feeling this way. She had attracted attention of men for several years now. But she had been too childlike and mischievous to have fallen for anyone. Universally friendly, she hadn’t attached much importance to any attention she got.

But this was different. Mukundo Babu gave into her wishes! She had been hearing about him from her grand-father. And given the respect the old man showed for him, Piyali had already placed him on a pedestal. That such a man should care about what she wanted from him was enough to make a melting poodle out of her.

—

Old Mr. Thakur was a misogynist and didn’t seem to believe in the institution of marriage. Even when his wife had lived, they hardly ever spoke to each other and slept separately. Till some years ago, Mukundo had wondered how they ever managed to produce two children. That was explained to him by his maashima during a conversation in which she held the old man responsible for the Mukundo and his sister never having a real family of their own.

“She didn’t die of any disease or accident, Mukundo. It was the torment her husband inflicted on her that took away her life,” she rued.

“Torment?”

“Torment is not always physical, my son. Years of insult and neglect…”

“I am not even sure how we came into being then…” the question was bugging him, and even though it was awkward, he voiced it.

She smiled, “He was a misogynist all through. But he wasn’t always averse to enjoying the fruits of married life. Not until that cursed letter sprang out, anyway.”

His mother had, in all innocence and bravado of teenage years, had fallen in love with a neighbourhood boy. Those were the days of early marriages and crushed childhood romances. The inevitable happened to her too, and at the age of eighteen she was married to his father. But she carried out one act of defiance. She kept a letter from her lover with her and brought it to her marital home. Still, it didn’t take her long to forget all about that childish affair and immerse herself in the responsibilities of a new bride and soon a mother. Sometime after the birth of Mrinmoyi, however, his father discovered that letter by accident.

“She tried everything. She tried to explain, she tried to beg, she tried to laugh is off. But he wouldn’t listen. He was never an ideal husband. But after that… I am sorry, Mukundo. I know you respect your father. But he is what he is.”

He respected his father, all right. At least he didn’t talk back to him, nor did he argue with him ever. Because his mother had tirelessly taught him to be respectful to his father. Despite how he had treated her. Indian women!

After her death, Mukundo had been sent off to boarding, while Mrinmoyee was brought up by their childless maashima. Mukundo also spent most of his holidays with her. The siblings had come back to Kolkata to live with their father only when they started attending college.

His marriage, like his sister’s, had happened despite his father, thanks to the efforts of his maashima.  Aporna had come to the same house as a bride. Mukundo sometimes wondered if the house wasn’t cursed. Why would their relationship be so cold otherwise? He wasn’t misogynist like his father. He hadn’t found any letters with Aporna. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have held it against her all their lives. She didn’t seem to have any complaints against him either. Still they weren’t comfortable with each other. They could hardly hold even a short conversation. They irritated each other. The only saving grace was that they knew when they were reaching the breaking point. And instead of indulging in a fight or a shouting match, they removed themselves from the scene. What was wrong? Was it the destiny? That the house should not see a happy family?

In that backdrop it was even more dreadful that Aporna should have died during childbirth. The complications had developed unexpectedly in the last moment. “Mother or child?” was the dreaded question he had faced. He had taken the right decision. “Save Aporna,” he had said. But fate had something else in mind for him. On her deathbed, her eyes were full of accusation. As if he were responsible for condition. As if he had wished this for her. Had he? No! No! Lord, no!

After Aporna’s death, he had found his newborn daughter’s presence agonizing. He didn’t want to feel that way. But try as much as he could, he just couldn’t shake the feeling away. His sister took charge of the baby. He let it be that way. And even left the country before Sumedha had even turned one.

She was an orphan despite her father being alive. And Piyali! She was raising funds for an orphanage.

—

To be continued

“Mukundo Babu. Is it okay, if I dropped them home first and then we walked to the bookstore. I would also like to check some books out.”

“Yeah… Okay…”

Mukundo oserved Piyali with the girls. They were only slightly older than Sumedha. She was handling them so naturally as if she had a lifetime of experience with kids. His own guilt towards his daughter threatened to engulf him. To distract himself, he struck a conversation with her.

“Why were they crying? Who scolded them?”

“Oh that… We are organizing a charity event. Charu Didi – she lives nearby – is directing a dance of young children. She loses her patience easily…”

“Hmm… But you don’t?”

“Not with kids. Scaring and scolding is not going to help them learn.”

“True!”

“There! Will you wait for a minute? Their homes are at the end of this lane.”

“Yeah.”

—

Her book shopping could have waited. The real reason she had wanted to walk with him after dropping the girls was that she wanted to clear the air between them. She hadn’t realized earlier that her grand-father and Mukundo were so close. This closeness spelt danger for her… She couldn’t risk getting exposed before her grand-father.

But she couldn’t even open her mouth all the way to the bookstore. Now that the girls were not around, even his interest in conversation seemed to have disappeared. He was keeping his eyes to the road ahead of him and walking wordlessly.

They went in, did their book shopping and came out, without her acting on her intention of speaking to him. He even took her leave and they went their own ways. It was then that she finally found the courage and ran after him.

“Mukundo Babu!”

He stopped, puzzled as she stopped in front of him.

“What happened? Everything all right?”

“Yes. No. I am sorry.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am sorry. About the chewing gum…”

“Chewing gum?”

“You always knew it was me, didn’t you? Thank you for not telling, Dadu. You won’t tell him now, would you?”

He guffawed despite himself. She was apologizing for the five-year old mischief.

“It’s okay, Piyali. It wasn’t a big deal. I had no intention of telling Banerjee Babu. Not then. Not now. Just… don’t do it again, okay?”

She nodded like a chastised child.

“Go home, silly girl.”

She found herself gawking after him as he strode off. He had looked and sounded so different just now. In his melancholy, he looked old, tired and grumpy. But just now, he had sounded young, happy and carefree. A simple laugh could make so much of difference! Why didn’t he laugh more often? She would have to ask Maitrayee about this enigmatic relative of hers.

—

When Mukundo went to meet Mr. Banerjee the next day, he found Maitrayee also there, chatting away with Piyali.

“Boudi?”

“Why! You are so surprised, Mukundo? Did you forget that this is my Kaku’s place?”

“Of course not, Boudi. How are you?”

“I am fine, Mukundo, but my little niece here is in trouble.”

“Pishima!” Piyali flushed. Mukundo also looked awkward.

“She is organizing a charity event. And they don’t have even volunteer performers. The budget for paid performance is limited. Why don’t you help her out?”

“How can I help?” If it was the money, Maitrayee herself could have helped much better than Mukundo. Mukundo was still dependent on his father for the family money, while Maitrayee and her husband were independent.

“How? By performing, of course.”

“Me? Boudi, are you crazy?”

“Oh! Don’t try to fool me, Mukundo. I have known you in the days when you didn’t go around looking like a zombie. You must perform. And you must also help her train the kids who are performing. That Charu is useless with kids.”

“I don’t know about performing, Boudi. But I can try helping others prepare.”

“But Mukundo.”

“Pishima,” Piyali intervened, “You must not pester him. If he can help even with others, I’d be happy.” She turned to him, “If it won’t be too much of trouble, Mukundo Babu.”

“No. It won’t… be any trouble. When do you practice?”

“Mornings.”

“I can come after my jog…”

“Oh, not that early. More like at ten.”

“That’s convenient then.”

—

Helping her with the preparations invariably led to more conversations. He learned that she had finished her post-graduation and was joining a school as a teacher after summer vacations.

“Following your Dadu’s footsteps.”

“Sort of.”

“What will you teach?”

“English and Social Studies.”

“Good.”

“Those are not your subjects, but still you could probably give some tips for being a teacher.”

“Me?”

“You also used to teach before you went to US, right?”

“Yeah. Well…”

“Dadu says you were a very good teacher.”

“That is something only students can know.”

“Well, your students did well, didn’t they?”

“I would like to think so.”

“You are so diffident.”

“I am just aware that schools can teach you only so much.”

“Hmm… You should have been a philosopher, not a Physicist.”

He chuckled and she stared at him.

“What?” he grew conscious of her gaze.

“Nothing,” she shook her head and turned away from him on some pretext.

—

To be continued

Although he was the elder brother and the only sibling, Mukundo did not have much to do at the wedding. His maashima was in-charge of the arrangements. His sister Mrinmoyee too was an expert not only at maintaining a large circle of friends, but also at having comfortable relationships with relatives. So, Mukundo found himself at leisure, because all these people along with the wedding planners his father had generously decided to pay for were taking care of all the arrangements. He dawdled about the house aimlessly running into someone or other from time to time and exchanging necessary pleasantries until Maitrayee, Shroban’s wife, accosted him.

“Mukundo. Are you busy with something?”

“Me? I haven’t been so jobless in years.”

“Why don’t you visit, Kaku? He has been asking about you.”

“Kaku?”

“My Kaku.”

She was talking about Piyali’s father.

“Visit him where?”

“At his home. Where else?”

“Banerjee Babu is in Kolkata?”

“Of course. You have no idea about what is going on in the world, do you?”

That explained Piyali’s presence during wedding festivities. She was too distant a relative to be invited from Haldia for the wedding of his sister. But staying in the same city was different.

“Go Mukundo. You need to be around people. You have cooped yourself up for too long.”

—

Mr. Banerjee welcomed Mukundo warmly. They had met through their common relative Maitrayee, but had developed a relationship of intimacy and respect of their own, based on their common profession and passion of teaching. After the death of his son, Mr. Banerjee had gotten a transfer to Haldia to be with his daughter-in-law and young grand-daughter. That was when Mukundo had visited Haldia as an external examiner and had first met Piyali as a seventeen-year old mischievous girl. After Mr. Banerjee retired and Piyali finished her under graduation, he had come back to Kolkata with both women and was staying in his ancestral house.

“I hope your plans of returning to teaching after Ph. D. is still on, Mukundo?” he asked with his kind smile.

“As long as I manage to finish Ph. D.”

“Oh – you will! I’m sure of that.”

“Ph. D. isn’t just another degree…”

“I’m sure of that.” He paused for a moment; then spoke hesitatingly, “Mukundo. I don’t know if I should be mentioning this. But…”

“Why should you be hesitant is saying anything to me, Banerjee Babu. Please!”

“Between the two of us, we have taught many children. But… what about your own daughter? You have left her to her own devices till now, no disrespect for your sister, but still… What now?”

Mukundo sighed and leaned back.

“I didn’t mean to put you on spot,” the old man added hastily, “I just hear about her from Maitrayee very often. She deserves your attention.”

Before Mukundo could respond to that, they were distracted by a commotion at the door. Piyali walked in with two young girls in her tow. They both were sniffling, while Piyali was lecturing them. “How can you be so silly? You know how she is… You just have to practice a bit more…”

“What happened, Pihu?”

Piyali straightened up in hearing her grand-father’s voice. “Nothing Dadu. Charu Di scolded them about lack of practice for the programme and they started crying. I had to bring them away.” Her deference to her grand-father was quite a contrast to her usual mischievous ways.

Then she noticed him and flushed like last time. But to his relief, she did not run away. Else he would have been left behind to explain to her grand-father the reason behind her flight.

“You know Mukundo…”

“Of course. Nomoshkaar!” she greeted him.

He returned the greeting with a smile.

“Will you ask your mother to send some tea and snacks, Pihu?”

“Yes Dadu.”

Mr. Banerjee did not resume their earlier conversation after Piyali left. Instead he started telling Mukundo about a second-hand book shop that had opened in the neighbourhood and how sometimes you could find rather rare gems there.

Mukundo asked him for the directions to the book shop when he took his leave.

“You plan to go now?”

“Yeah. You said its nearby, right?”

“Yes. But the shortcut is through some mazelike streets. Let me ask Pihu. She would walk you down.”

“Oh no, no, Banerjee Babu. No need to trouble her. I will find out.”

“Don’t worry, Mukundo. She has to take those girls home anyway.”

—

To be continued

She was twirling around with her dupatta flying high. When she let it go, it flew straight to him and draped itself over him. He slipped it off his face. A sudden chill invaded his nose.

He had slipped the blanket off his face while dreaming and the morning was unusually chill for Kolkata weather. What on earth was he dreaming about? Rather who?

A memory from last night crept in.

He had excused himself from celebrations last night. He had just landed after a 24 hour journey from US and deserved to take rest. But jetlag had kept him from falling asleep. Bored, he had peered through his window and watched people in the yard below. Everyone looked busy. Or unaccountably jolly. Like her!

She had run in laughing, her dupatta barely holding around her long, slender neck. Somebody was following her and bidding her to return his wallet. He was stern, but she wasn’t daunted. Recklessly ducking her pursuer, she couldn’t care less for the elders glaring at her disapprovingly. There was something familiar in her laughter. But the familiarity was distant. As if he had heard it in some other life time.

Jetlag was getting to him, he had thought and had come back to bed. Then he had dreamed about her and her dupatta. And in such a cheesy fashion too! He shouldn’t have come to India. He was losing his mind.

But he had to come back! It was his sister’s wedding. She was going to go away, leaving him with so much to worry about… He hadn’t slept well and was groggy. But at that thought he dragged himself out of bed.

—

“That’s enough, Piyali. You have been wreaking havoc,” he heard his cousin, Shroban, reprimanding someone. Piyali! The name rang a bell.

“What do you know of wreaking havoc, Dada Babu? You have never left a pen at the wrong place in your entire life?” she grinned as Mukundo tried to recall why the voice and name sounded familiar.

“I know all about it, when you are around. Anyway. Mukundo. You remember Piyali, of course?”

Mukudo looked at Shroban quizzically.

“Maitrayee’s cousin, Mukundo! Don’t you remember staying with him in Haldia once? I can’t believe you would not have come across this brat.”

Ah! The memories came flooding back. She had been singing that night. Her room was just above his. Sitting at her window she seemed to be addressing the darkness of night with her song, seeing something cheerful even in that. It was some recently released song with nonsensical lyrics. Her voice was not trained. But it was sweet. And lively. And full of mischief, especially when she had broken into “Pari hoon main…”

Aporna’s death was barely four months old affair by then. He had been consumed by guilt and confusion. The biggest source of his guilt was that he did not mind her death as much as he should have. It grew worse whenever he recalled the accusation in her eyes when she had died. As if he was responsible for it.

Presently he saw Piyali flush unaccountably.

“What is it?” Shroban did not miss the change in her countenance either.

“I was hoping to avoid him,” she replied.

“Whom? Mukundo? Why?”

She giggled and ran away.

“I have no idea,” Mukundo shrugged when Shroban turned to him, although he did have an idea. A faint one… That chewing gum on his coat must not have been an accident. He had thought so even then. But she was the grand-daughter of his host, who happened to be a distant relative, a professional mentor and also the principle of the school where he was going as an examiner. He couldn’t have created an issue over it. He had to do with his regular sweater, instead of the formal coat he preferred for such occasions.

“Baba,” he started at the sound. It was his five-year old daughter, Sumedha, “Dadu is calling you.”

“Tell him, I am coming in a bit,” Speaking to his father was an exercise in enduring unpleasantness. He respected his father too much to avoid him when asked for. But he would need to gather all his will power before he went to him.

“Baba?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t I go with, Pishima?”

“No.” He shouldn’t have been so curt. He should say something tender, comforting. It was his daughter. A five-year old innocent child. But why did she make him so miserable? “Don’t worry, Sumedha,” he managed to pat her head in a gesture of reassurance. It didn’t have any effect on the child.

—

“You aren’t thinking of leaving your Ph. D. for that chit of a girl, are you?”

“I could take her with me…”

“Bah! And you think you can concentrate on your work while feeding a five-year old.”

“What is the alternative?”

“I am not dead yet.”

“Baba. You can’t…”

“Run after her. Yes. But I can afford to send her to a boarding school.”

“I don’t know… I will have to think about it.”

“I have already thought about it.”

To put it mildly, his father didn’t encourage arguments. Not that Mukundo knew what he wanted to argue for. His sister, who had taken care of Sumedha till now, even if less than perfectly, wanted a life and family of her own. So, he had to decide now what he wanted to do with his daughter? He should take care of her. But could he? He had left for his Ph. D. in US when she was less than a year old. In last four years, his only contact with her had been over video chat. She was comfortable in talking to him. But living with him? She had only known her pishima as her guardian all this while. What was he to do if her pishima was abandoning her now? But when her father had abandoned her so long back, who was to blame her pishima?

—

To be continued