Tag: urban indian romance

The Normal Life (Part 4)

Posted Mish4 CommentsPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

“Have you been told what you are expected to do here?”

“I have some idea, yes…”

“Hmm…” He looked at me curiously. I didn’t understand his intent. “Are you good with kids?” he asked after a pause.

“We often took care of younger girls in the orphanage.”

“Here you have to focus on her education and development. Be a stimulating companion. The rest of it, Kaveri and Chanda will manage.”

“Yes Sir. Is there anything specific you want me to focus on?”

“Her teachers in Bangalore always complained about her handwriting. It is quite bad. Other than that… I don’t know. She is too young.”

I nodded.

“What the fu…” he stopped short, probably remembering the child’s presence there. “I don’t think one should worry so much about the education of a five-year old…”

My heart sank at that. He didn’t really want me there, then? “How would people like me can get a job, then?” Would making a joke out of it help?

I wasn’t prepared for the way he guffawed. Loud, unselfconscious, almost crude! Surely, I hadn’t been that funny.

“Besides I would be a lousy father,” he said, “If I ignored just how competitive the world out there is. And she isn’t getting exposed to that here.”

If it mattered so much to him, why did he need to shift to this plantation? Shouldn’t he have continued living in Bangalore? “I will do my best, Sir.” It wasn’t my place to ask all those questions.

“I am going to be away during the day. Will be back only late in the evening. Annie must be fed in time.” We had finished eating and were about to get up. I nodded. But she had an aayah. He had just reminded me of that. Why should I worry about feeding her? Then I realized that he wasn’t finished. “But you wait for me for dinner.”

I was taken aback by the request, and in the matter-of-fact manner it was put up. Was it an honor? Or was it an insult to presume that I must wait for him if ordered? Before I could decide, he added, in his by now familiar reluctant tone, “I mean, please. If you don’t mind.”

Pleasantries did not come naturally to him.

—

I was disappointed in Mr. Roychowdhury. I had expected him to be a tall, dark, handsome gentleman. He was short and stocky. Although fair-skinned, he was not handsome by any means. Now don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t hoping to seduce him or anything like that. I knew better than that. He had a daughter, for God’s sake. In fact, if I were looking to seduce him, I wouldn’t have wanted him to be tall, dark and handsome at all. I am as plain a woman as one can be. For myself, if I were ever to wish for a man, my wished would be modest. But for a rich employer, I had expected someone else.  So, yes, I was disappointed. Not only with his looks, but also his manners. That was a something rough and crude about him. Probably I was expecting more of the genteel manners of Father Jacob. Probably my expectations from the outside world were all screwed up.

But there was one positive aspect of this disappointment. I didn’t feel intimated by him the way I would have felt with a tall, dark, handsome gentleman. And that was going to be my undoing.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

—

At dinner he questioned me incessantly. But while the questions about my education and hobbies sounded mechanical, he grew really interested when I told him that I knew nothing about my family.

“Nothing at all? Who had brought you to the orphanage?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have asked someone?”

“Nobody knew. I was… I was left at the church steps…”

“How old were you?” He was frowning!

“They guessed I was a newborn. Probably a day-old.”

“Don’t’ you wonder…”

“I have always shared my room with at least ten other girls at the orphanage. I wonder what having a room to myself would be like. But you don’t wonder about it, do you?”

“No,” he replied with a barely perceptible smile.

“We don’t question or wonder about what has always been the way of our lives.”

“Are you mad at me? For asking these personal questions?” he sounded uncharacteristically gentle and genuine.

“You are trusting me with your daughter. You have the right to know whatever you want to know about me.”

“I tend to be insensitive at times. I have no right to pry in your personal life…”

“I have no personal life that you cannot find out about by writing to Father Jacob. Or anyone at the orphanage.”

“Nobody has such transparent life.” The moment of gentility was past. He was his sour self again.

“There is nothing in my life that Father Jacob doesn’t know about.”

“Yeah? He has a list of all your boyfriends and…”

“I haven’t had any boyfriends or relationships. And I won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“I won’t, unless I am sure I am getting married and stay in it for life.”

“Stay for life? You are one of those who believe in in ‘till death do us apart’?”

“I do.”

“Do you know about the divorce rates around the world?”

“That doesn’t make it a lesser sin. People live in sin all the time. It’s still a sin.”

“Unbelievable!” he groaned.

I had gone too far! “My religious beliefs are my own though. If you are worried about Ananya, you don’t need to be. My task is limited to her education – the secular education I mean.”

“Hmmm…” he didn’t seem to have heard me. All of a sudden he had withdrawn to a world of his own. He did not speak for the rest of the dinner. Even when I wished him good night, he only nodded absent-mindedly without as much a throwing a glance at me. To think that he had ordered me to wait for him at dinner.

—

Protim

She was scrawny the first time I had seen her. But the comfortable lifestyle, good food and mountain air was suiting her well. Her figure had filled up. And in just the right way. Her cheeks had grown full and rosy. The walks on the mountain roads had increased her stamina and strength.  Her face could not be called beautiful, but she looked refreshed and youthful. A pleasant, sweet aura was present around her

Her improving physique wasn’t the only thing that impressed me. I knew very well that Ananya was an average student. Still Sarah worked with her diligently. She didn’t seem to mind if a spelling needed to be repeated several times for her student. Or if a sum needed to be explained over and over. She had infinite patience. Probably the life in orphanage had done that to her. From waiting in line for food, to putting up with whimsical wardens and teachers, she had learned to take life as it came. I had found out quite a bit about her through our dinner conversations. Her patience showed there too. If she was annoyed by my inquisitiveness, she bore it well. I felt boorish imposing myself of her like that. But I had grown so tired of staying silent that I just couldn’t resist the urge to talk to someone who would understand. But would she understand? Would she care too?

Why would she? I was an obnoxious, employer whom she has to tolerate, just like she tolerated those patrons of orphanage with their noses in the air, or the old, wizened sisters with their ancient notions of how to raise orphan children.

And yet – I couldn’t seem to stop myself from asking her to share my table at dinner and from blabbering on while she sat donning a polite silence, or mumbling the requisite acknowledgements.

—

To be continued

The Normal Life (Part 3)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

When I came down for tea, there was another young woman in the hall. She spoke Kannada and introduced herself to me. Her name was Kaveri. She was a local woman and worked as Ananya’s aayah. Chanda had too much to look after, as she did all the cooking and cleaning. So, Mr. Roychowdhury had hired Kaveri to look after his daughter.

“Annie baby is sleeping,” she informed me, “And I hope Sir comes before she wakes up. She has been quite cranky today. She would demand to see her Daddy.”

“She is very attached to Mr. Roychowdhury, then.”

“What is a motherless child to do?”

I thought of inquiring about her employer’s routine and when he was expected home that evening. But I checked my curiosity.  It would appear too forward and intrusive for a newcomer. I, instead, focused the conversation on my ward and her mother.

“Her mother is dead?”

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t know?”

“Some people say she’s dead. Some say she ran away. Some say they are divorced. Chanda Auntie doesn’t say anything. So, I don’t know. And I am not really the kind to put my nose in other people’s affairs. All I care about is that Sir is a really good employer. A gentleman.”

‘Unlike his driver,’ I thought as I recalled the man who was supposed to pick me up today. I had been civil with him to the end. But that was only because of the strange circumstances. In any other situation…

I was tired, and at Chanda’s advice went to bed early. Neither Mr. Roychowdhury had returned by then, nor Ananya had woken up. So, I could meet neither of them on my first evening.

—

I slept soundly despite unfamiliar surroundings and the room whose size threatened to gobble me up. I woke up at five by habit. The hilly air was chillier than what I was used to in Bangalore, but not uncomfortable enough to keep me in bed. I got up and washed, then felt puzzled. What was I to do now? No assigned duties?

I looked out of the window. The house was in the middle of a coffee plantation and the vast expanse tempted me to take a walk. I didn’t notice the short figure doubled over amidst the plants and was so startled when he suddenly stood up that I let out a small cry.

“Ah! The ghost again!” my acquaintance from the previous evening exclaimed.

The recognition and the oddity of his remark struck me at the same time. “Excuse me?”

“Good morning, Ms. Jacob.”

“What ghost?”

“I don’t suppose you have cat paws. So, your ability to appear from nowhere without making a sound can only be explained by you being a ghost.”

“I see. You have a penchant for plausible explanations, instead of the exotic.”

“I had wished you ‘good morning’. To think that Annie is supposed to learn from you.”

“Let my employer be the judge of my suitability.”

“Ahan!” an all-knowing smile formed on his lips. “Sure,” he added, “From what I know, he would like to meet you at breakfast.”

“Thank you. Have a good morning.”

—

I struggled between the four dresses I had. Two black ones, one of which I wore at night and was still wearing while on my walk that was cut short.  The other black one I had worn the previous day. One was a cream dress, with a bit of lace. Too festive, I thought with my orphanage standard and settled on the brown one. I redid my hair and applied a little face cream. There was a full-length mirror in the room. I looked at myself critically. Was I ready for Mr. Roychowdhury? Well. This was the best I could do. And anyway. My job was to teach his daughter, not to groom her for some beauty contest. My fashion quotient didn’t matter. I repeated this like a mantra to myself. Deep down, I wanted to impress him, but I knew my limitations. I wasn’t capable of being the fasion-queen. Better be the intellectual, then.

Chanda was setting up the table when I entered the dining room. Kaveri also stepped soon after her. There was no sign of the father or the daughter.

I tried to silently rehearse my introduction, but I only grew nervous.  And the sight of the man who was followed by a child in his tow did nothing to calm my nerves.

His eyes brightened up almost menacingly at my sight. “There Annie. That’s your new friend,” he addressed the child, “Ghost Teacher.”

“Ghost?”

“See. You scare her,” he looked back at me with a crooked smile, as he helped the child into a chair.

“You are the one scaring her with this nonsense,” I replied with a sharpness I hadn’t imagined using with my employer. But he hadn’t given me time to collect myself and give a studied reaction. “Hello Ananya. I am Sarah.”

“Are you a ghost?”

“Do I look like one?”

“I don’t know. I have never seen a ghost.”

“And one never sees a ghost. If you can see me, I am not a ghost.”

“Daddy?” the child won’t be satisfied unless she heard it from her father.

“I was joking, Annie,” he replied not angrily, but impatiently.

“And she can speak English?”

“Yes. She can,” he replied to her daughter, then explained to me, “Most people here, including our staff, speak Kannada. She doesn’t know Kannada. Never needed to learn it in Bangalore. I myself know only a little. I hope you know…”

“Yes. Of course, I know Kannada.” And that’s when it struck me. Why had I expected the driver of the house of speak impeccable English? That should have been the giveaway that he was… my employer. I could feel the blush creeping on my cheek. Just then my eyes met his and it seemed that he had read my thoughts and was thoroughly amusing himself at my expense. I wouldn’t give him that pleasure. I willed myself to appear normal.

He had already taken his seat by now. “Sit down,” he ordered me unceremoniously. Then frowned and added a reluctant-sounding, “Please.”

“Thank you.”

I knew even as I was eating that I was being gluttonous. But I just could not help ravishing the hot breakfast of idli, bread and egg with fruits. It wasn’t very often that we got to eat such delicious food to our heart’s and stomach’s content at Home of Hope. Everything was rationed there. Chanda might not be a Kannadiga or South Indian, but her idli’s were soft, and sambhar delectable. And she had made enough to feed the entire orphanage. For at least ten minutes I had as good as forgotten other people on the table – my employer and my ward. And Kaveri who was helping Ananya eat. And Chanda who was bringing more eggs, toasted bread and sambhar to the table.

Mr. Roychowdhury must have noticed how greedily I was eating. He waited until I had finished eating and had picked up coffee to speak to me about the job.

—

To be continued

The Normal Life (Part 2)

Posted Mish5 CommentsPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

I got down from the bus at a stop before the town of Madikeri. I was expecting someone to meet me there. The village, I had been told, was about six kilometers from that stop. It was better to stop there than going all the way to Madikeri, as that would have taken me four kilometers further from my destination. But I didn’t see anybody who was looking for me. It wasn’t a particularly busy stop. Other passengers who had disembarked with me dispersed soon and I found myself alone. There was only a small coffee shop at some distance from the bus stop shelter. At first I waited patiently, but grew anxious when half an hour passed.  The sunset hour was looming. It couldn’t be safe for me to be there for much longer.

Trying to appear unabashed and nonchalant, I walked to the coffee shop and got myself a cup of meter coffee. I asked the shopkeeper about my destination – Hojukeri. It was six kilometers from there, as I already knew. No bus would be available until next morning. Could I walk? Yes. I could take the way through fields so that I would have two kilometers less to walk. But if I was a stranger to the area, taking the mud road was a better option. It was the fourth village along the road. I sipped my coffee slowly, hoping that the shopkeeper would offer some more assistance, in some way. But he was an absent-minded man, who didn’t mind answering the questions that were put to him, but paid no further attention to me. A young woman asking about a village so difficult to reach at this hour, with nobody to accompany her, did not pique his interest as it would normally have done for anybody else in his position.

Realizing that no further help, or information, was forthcoming, I gulped down the rest of my coffee, tendered exact change for him, and set off to the village. I should have been afraid that that I might reach the wrong place, or never reach there, or given that nobody came to fetch me, I might no longer be wanted there. But I wasn’t thinking of such possibilities. I was solely concentrated on reaching where I had to. I put my arms through my bag’s strap and made a makeshift backpack out of the duffle bag. It wasn’t as comfortable as a regular backpack would be. But it would be less tiring in my six kilometers walk than having to carry it in my hands or one of the shoulders.

—

Apart from an occasional worker returning after the day’s labour, and a few stray animals, I didn’t have any company for first two kilometers of my on-foot journey. So, a jeep occupying a good portion of the narrow road was bound to draw my attention. I stopped in my tracks.

“What bloody roads…” A man appearing from the driver’s side of the jeep startled me.  He also noticed me, but didn’t show any signs of being embarrassed about his swearing. “Yes?” he asked her gruffly.

“Has your jeep broken down?” I asked.

“No. I like camping out. In the middle of a road hardly wide enough for my jeep.”

“Oh…. What?”

“Do you lack basic common sense, Miss? Of course, it is broken down. But you are walking, right? You can just go around it. You need not complain.”

“I… I was just asking if you need some help.”

“Are you a mechanic?”

“No.”

“I thought so. Leave now.”

I frowned and made to leave.

“Excuse me,” he stopped me.

“Yes?”

“Are you carrying a phone?”

“No.”

“Not carrying a phone? In this time and age? Heights of uselessness.”

“Excuse me?” his inexplicable rudeness got on even my orphanage-trained patient nerves, “Why aren’t you yourself carrying one, then?”

“Because…”

“I am sure you have a reason. And a lame one on top of that. So, please do allow for the possibility that others have their reasons too.”

“I see. What kind of reasons they may be?” Later I would know that he was amused at this point, but then I was too angry to notice.

“Like people can’t afford it…” I stopped short. Why was I talking like this to a stranger? My only concern was to offer help. And if he didn’t want any… But I could try once more. “Anyway. If you want to call someone, I could go to a phone booth…”

“The nearest one is three kilometers away.”

“I have to walk for at least four kilometers this way. So, if you can give me the number and message…”

“Where are you going?”

“Hojukeri?”

“Where in Hojukeri? Where are you coming from?”

“I am not comfortable telling a stranger all about myself.”

“If I wanted to abduct you, I would have done that already. But you have yourself declared that you have no money. So, what will I take the risk for? Anything else you can give, there are less dangerous ways of getting that.”

I flushed. And if only to hide my embarrassment, replied to his question, “I am coming from Bangalore. I have to go to Mr. Roychowdhury’s farmhouse.”

“Sarah Jacob?”

“How… how do you know?”

“It’s you I was supposed to pick up. But the jeep broke down…”

“Oh!”

“Would you mind babysitting this monster,” he pointed to the jeep, “While I go and make some arrangements to send you to your destination? And also to fix this?”

I hadn’t realized that I was subconsciously so anxious about my situation. Knowing that my future employer hadn’t just abandoned me gave me such relief that I did not refuse his rude driver’s offer even for formality’s sake. I no longer fancied walking, not even for another hundred meters. So, I nodded at him. He left once I was safely inside the jeep.

—

He came back in an old, rickety ambassador accompanied by a driver and a mechanic. He asked me to go home with the driver. Presumably he’d follow after getting the jeep fixed.

At home I was met by the housekeeper – Chanda. She was a kind-looking, elderly woman.  But she spoke mostly Bengali and some broken Hindi. I spoke Kannada and English, and extremely broken Hindi. Communication was going to be a funny, when not problematic!

But there was something inviting about her. She was, obviously, glad to have me there and showed me around enthusiastically. The tour ended when we reached the room on the first floor that was to be mine. With gestures and both our broken Hindi, we managed to understand each other. She was inviting me for tea after I had freshened up.

The idea of a room to myself, with an attached bathroom to top that, felt unreal. There was too much space… Just for me… What was I to do with this? How was I to stay alone? Over time I came to love the privacy I had for the first time in my life. But it was a bewildering idea just then.

To be continued

The Normal Life (Part 1)

Posted Mish5 CommentsPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

Sarah

“Thank you, Father,” my voice cracked.

“You are welcome anytime, my child,” Father Jacob smiled fondly.

“Father. You must know… That I am not running away from God or His work…”

“Sarah! You cannot take what Sister Nivedita says to heart. You know how she is. But she doesn’t mean any harm.”

“I know that, Father. But what you think and say matters…”

“You are a restless soul, Sarah…”

“Because I don’t have enough faith?”

“Don’t berate yourself, my child. All work is God’s work. You don’t have to be in church to be of service to Him. Nor do you have to be a wife to do your duty towards mankind. The avenues are endless. And if you want to choose one to your liking, there is nothing wrong in it.”

“You are reassuring, as always.”

“I am not faking it, if that’s what you imply. You are going to help a motherless child. I can’t think of a nobler thing to do. And I am sure you will not give Mr. Roychowdhury a reason to complain.”

“I will not, Father.”

“God bless you, my child. Have a good night’s sleep. You have to leave tomorrow morning.”

—

But sleep eluded me. I had always wanted it. To get out of the confines of the church-run orphanage. To live a ‘normal’ life. I wasn’t exactly unhappy at the orphanage. But the idea of a ‘normal’ life had tempted me. I had never known that normal life. Home of Hope – the orphanage – had been my home since I was a day-old baby. Rumor had it that I must be from a well-to-do family. Father Jacob, then a much younger Brother Jacob, had found me on the steps of the church on a cold Saturday morning. I must have been fed well before being abandoned. Because I was sleeping soundly in a well-padded basket, beneath an old, but expensive, warm baby blanket.

Not everyone at the Home of Hope was like me though. Some had been with their families before they were orphaned, their guardians succumbing to diseases, poverty, crime, drugs or other unspeakable circumstances. Most of them did not have pleasant stories to tell about their earlier lives. Orphanage authorities had a tough time trying to rid them of the influences of that period – habits of swearing, stealing, physical aggression and what not.

But it was none of their lives that represented normal life to me. Whatever vague idea I had of it was from Vineeta. I was five years old, when she had come to Home of Hope. She must be a year older to me, and her parents had died unexpectedly, in a car accident.

She had been so frail, so vulnerable. She cried all the time, asked for her parents and barely ate. When she did come to terms with the death of her parents after a about a week, it was with me that she talked the most. She told me about her parents, her house, how her mother cooked for everyone and fed her lovingly, how her father always brought gifts for her and loved her. She didn’t have chores to do, she did not have to make her own bed, and she could always eat whatever, or how much ever she wanted. The only time her parents admonished her about food was if she ate too little.

Few days later, Vineeta was gone. Her maternal Uncle came and took her away. She still had a family. She needn’t stay in an orphanage.

She had barely been a part of my life for two weeks. But she had given me an itch for a lifetime. The itch to have a normal life outside the orphanage.

Once the girls of the orphanage grew up, there were usually two respectful ways for them to settle their lives. They either got married, usually into lower-middle class Christian families, with the help of the patrons of church. Or they took up church duties, often choosing to become nuns. Them taking up jobs was a recent development and still very rare. Most old-timers, Sister Nivedita being one of them, frowned upon it. Surprisingly though, it was the oldest and the senior-most Father Jacob who supported the choice of these girls. I was a beneficiary of his generosity. He wouldn’t say it in so many words, but he worried about me more than the other girls. Because of what he called the ‘restlessness of my soul.’ He had himself looked out for a job for me. This job had been recommended by a long-time trusted friend of his. Mr. Protim Roychowdhury was a friend of this friend. He had recently bought a plantation at a small village near Coorg and had shifted there with his five-year-old daughter. He wanted a home-tutor for her. He did not trust the local school education much. He needed someone who could stay with them. Not many city educated women fancied staying in a village, howsoever scenic the hills and plantation might be. As for me, I had to start a normal life. If it was to start in a hilly village in Coorg, so be it. Father Jacob was satisfied with my position, as it would not throw me out in the big, bad world at once. I would be at someone’s house and could transition gradually.

But, would it all work out?

—

“We could have sent someone with you, Sarah,” Father Jacob offered once again.

“I will be fine, Father. I really will be,” I assured him yet again.

It was time to take leave from my friends, teachers and caretakers. I felt guilty. I wasn’t as emotional as I had seen the other girls become when the time to leave came. It had been my home for twenty years. But all I could feel was anxiety, trepidation and expectation of what was to come. The thought of leaving all these people behind did not bother me. The only exception was that little tug at my heart about Father Jacob. Let me not be modest and declare the truth. I had been his favorite. He had found me and had saved my life when I was abandoned at the church steps. He had been my friend, philosopher and guide. He had given me his name. I was Sarah Jacob. And this Sarah Jacob was now going out – to live a normal life.

Those who have not been in my position would not understand my excitement about moving from a city like Bangalore to a village in hills. Going from a happening place to a stagnant one. But I was excited. What mattered to me was that I was going out of the orphanage and would live my life on my own. A real life!

To be continued

Reunion (Part 16)

Posted Mish7 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

“What a disgusting lie I had concocted. I have read the news of some rape or the other every day since then. I hear about their pain, helplessness, and I feel such loathing for myself. How could I have trivialized it like that? The shame of it all, Mukundo Babu! I had fallen in love with you. But you deserved better than me. I hated myself so much that I could not have imagined anybody loving me any longer. Much less you…”

“I blamed myself for trapping you. I thought how desperate you must have been to get rid of me that you resorted to lying. Even when Boudi told me that you weren’t married, I didn’t think it was for me. But I could not even for a moment hate you. I pined for you…”

She folded her legs up and buried her head in her knees. As she convulsed with sobs, he gently wrapped his hand around her. Gradually he pulled her in his arms, and she lay down hiding her tear-stained face in his chest.

“Do you… really love me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she spoke into his chest.

“Say it, Piyali, please.”

She looked up, “I love you, Mukundo Babu. I have loved you for as long as you have thought that I didn’t.”

He bent his head and pressed his lips against hers. She responded immediately and nibbled on his lower lips. He thrust his tongue inside his mouth practically taking her breath away for a few moments. When he finally withdrew, both their eyes were moist. “I will never let you go again,” he said, “Irrespective of what mischiefs you come up with. No chewing-gums around, I hope!”

She smiled and he planted another kiss on her forehead. They remained in each other arms for a while, when Sumedha stirred in sofa. Piyali sat up quickly and shot a glance at her. She had only turned in her sleep. She relaxed and smiled at Mukundo.

“There is just one more thing I want to know…” he said.

“Ask away!”

“Rohan – you called him a swine? Why? Did he… did he hurt you?”

“After meeting you and telling you the truth, I told him to not call me up again and blocked him. I knew that I had never loved him, never could love him. I had only been flattered by his perusal and had once again mistaken it for love. For a few days, I lived with the guilt of breaking the heart of two good men. But part of that guilt washed away, when I got a call from Sonali soon after. She had called to warn me to not speak to Rohan if he called or tried to meet me. He was on a run. He had been found with a minor girl in Haldia, not in an innocent situation obviously, and had to flee to avoid getting lynched or handed over to police. And all this when… he was already married. His wife lived with his parents in his native village.”

“Oh God!”

“So, I had not only misunderstood my feelings. I had also mistook lust for love, scheming for concern, and aggression for passion. He intended to hurt me. So – yes. A swine. But he could not. I always thought that it was your love that protected me.”

He hugged her once again and mumbled, “Thank God!”

Sumedha stirred again, and this time she woke up.

—

That evening Mukundo shifted to Piyali’s house.

“It will be much more convenient than me and Sumedha commuting between guest house and my place all the time. There are two rooms. I and Sumedha can sleep in one.  There will be no inconvenience at all,” Piyalis argued forcefully, even though Mukundo hadn’t resisted even once.

In another couple of days, he was well enough to take short walks around the campus.

“I like Darjeeling. The air is cleaner and it suits me better,” Mukundo remarked.

“I like it too. It has none of the bitter memories of Kolkata.”

“And Sumi, I think, doesn’t hate her school. Only staying in hostel.”

They smiled at each other. Mukundo added after a pause, “I think we could settle here instead of going back to Kolkata. I could get a job in one of the colleges here.”

“You will be over-qualified for any college here.”

“Piyali. I would be happy teaching in a school too. That’s not what I care about. I only care about yours and Sumi’s happiness now.”

“Your Baba and my Dadu would both be disappointed, if you didn’t join a prestigious university.”

“I have waited for much more than a year that my Baba wanted me to wait. He can’t dictate anything else to me now. And Your Dadu, I am sure, has better sense than that.”

“Baba!” Sumedha had caught up with them by then.

“Sumi. Won’t it be great if we settled down in Darjeeling? You won’t have to change your school.”

“But we must get a house outside the campus. Else I will feel like I am still in the hostel.”

Mukundo and Piyali laughed. Sumedha also grinned after them.

– The End –

Reunion (Part 15)

Posted Mish7 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

“Come here,” she pulled her in her lap, “And let me tell you something else that is very important. Do you know why parents love their kids so much? Because they love each other. And in their children, they see their own love reflecting. So, even if I loved you only because of my love for your Baba, it would in no way be inferior.”

She started crying harder and hid her face in Piyali’s chest. Piyali embraced her and let her cry for a while. “I am annoyed at everyone,” she confessed when she came to herself.

“We’ll fix it, sweetie. We will. I am also responsible for it. And I will fix it, Promise.”

“Why? Why are you responsible? What had happened?”

“You are very mature, Sumedha. But you are still young. Someday I will tell you everything. But for now, just know that grown-ups are not immune to making mistakes. And they have their weaknesses too. I made a mistake. Your Baba was not strong enough to bring you up alone. Between our mistakes and weaknesses, we caused you a lot of pain. Still, try to believe me that both of us love you. And we are not bad people at heart.”

“Will you and Baba marry?”

“That is something you will have to ask your Baba. But I promise you that I will always be there by your side.”

“I want a home,” Sumedha snuggled up closer to her.

“Let’s pray that your Baba gets well soon.”

—

“We should move you to Kolkata,” Mrinmoyee declared when Piyali and Sumedha went to the guest house in the morning.

“Doctor has advised against traveling for at least a week,” Piyali objected demurely.

“What would the doctors here know?”

“She is right,” Mukundo intervened, “Besides Kolkata doesn’t have the freshest air in the world, does it? I know you can’t leave your daughter behind for long. You don’t worry about me, Mini. I am fine here.”

“Of course. Enjoying your honeymoon,” she muttered under her breath.

Piyali looked around anxiously to see if Sumedha had heard. But she was busy with a story-book that Piyali had got for her. Then she looked at Mukundo and they silently decided to ignore the taunt.

—

Sumedha had fallen asleep on the sofa after lunch.

Mukundo sat sprawled on the bed. Piyali went to him and sat at the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Alive. You brought me back from dead, Piyali.”

“You have a habit of exaggerating where I am concerned.”

“I am not exaggerating even one bit. But let’s not fight over that. I don’t want to fight with you. Ever.”

“Does it mean that you have forgiven me, Mukundo Babu?”

“Why do you keep saying that? There is nothing to–”

“Oh Mukundo Babu! I will never be at peace, if you don’t–”

“I do. Whatever you mean by it, I do forgive you, Piyali.”

“Will you…” she paused and gulped hard before proceeding, “Will you still have me?”

“I’ve been an arrogant idiot till now, Piyali. I should have sought you out long back. I should have asked you again. And again, if you refused. If what you were back then had made me fall head over heels in love with you, what you are now makes me bow down to you with respect. But Piyali, the man before you is even older than he was. He is ill and you have seen for yourself how close to death he was. He is the one who had left you behind to deal with the world on your own, to deal with a loneliness you were too young to handle. He is the one you had fallen out of love with. Will you still have him?”

“I have my regrets, Mukundo Babu. I have my regrets for you. If things hadn’t gone that way, you wouldn’t have tortured yourself all these years. You wouldn’t have been ill. I have regrets for Sumedha. If things hadn’t gone that way, she would have had what she craves the most. A home!”

“Piyali. You can’t–”

“No. Don’t stop me. I haven’t spoken a word about it to anyone. You know this is a missionary school. There is a church. Time and again I thought of going to the confessional. But what good confessing to a priest who knew nothing about the people I had hurt, and getting forgiveness from an abstract God, would have done? The only confession that will work is before you. And the only forgiveness that matters is yours.”

“You have the forgiveness. But confess all you want, Piyali. Because I also need to know what has happened to you in this time.”

“I hate myself for the misery I brought upon you and Sumedha, and the shame I brought upon my family. But I don’t regret what happened to me. I had fancied myself to be in love with you. Then I had equally easily fancied myself to be in love with that swine…”

“Who was he?”

“Rohan – Sonali’s cousin.”

“Sonali? Who you were visiting in Haldia?”

She nodded.

“You met him in Haldia?”

She nodded again.

“Go on.”

“I was flattered by your attention. I thought of you as an old-fashioned gentleman and I thought I knew you, and was in love with you. But it wasn’t until you had cried over what you had thought was my misfortune, and had hugged and kissed me to comfort me when you believed I had been raped, that I really got to know you as a person. I was expecting the old-fashioned gentleman to cast me aside, but there you were… And that was when I madly, irrevocably fell in love. One I could never fall out of. But it was too late!”

“Piyali!” he wiped the tears that had betrayed her.

“If it had not happened, I would never have known what gem of a person I had fortune of knowing and being loved by… And the misfortune of realizing his worth only at the time of losing him…”

“If that was the case, why didn’t you talk to me, Piyali? You let me believe that you were in love with someone else.”

—

To be continued

Reunion (Part 14)

Posted Mish3 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

“I thought I was dreaming,” he said when she came back to him after putting Sumedha to sleep.

She stood silent with downcast eyes.

“You teach here?”

She nodded.

“Since when?”

She looked away and he understood.

“All these years?”

“Yes,” she finally spoke.

“I came here every year.”

“I know.”

“I could never forget you, Piyali. Not even for a minute.”

“That’s why you started drinking?”

“You came here for my daughter?”

She fell silent again.

“Piyali! If only it could again be like what we had dreamed of…”

“Can’t you forgive me?” her voice quivered.

“Forgive you? Piyali. There is nothing to forgive. I have a lot to answer for. And I am dying…”

“No!” she jumped forward and pressed his hand. “Nothing is happening to you. You just have to stop drinking.”

“My life is a mess, Piyali. I am a failure. Still, right now, I am very happy. And so, even willing to believe you – a tiny bit.”

“Believe me, then. Believe me wholeheartedly. Give me one more chance.”

—

They hadn’t talked much for last two days except of the practical matters – his recovery and medicines, Sumedha’s stay arrangements at her house because the hostels were closed and the like. She cooked for him, because outside food wouldn’t have done in his condition.

They were both worried about Sumedha though. She had been acting strange. She wouldn’t talk unless asked a question, would eat only when asked to, and keep herself locked in her room at Piyali’s house most of the time. She came to see Mukundo only when Piyali dragged her. “What’s the matter, sweetie? Why don’t you talk to me?” she asked repeatedly. “Nothing Miss. I am fine,” she would dismiss her each time.

Piyali was dusting Mukundo’s room in the guesthouse that afternoon, when Mrinmoyee called him. “She is reaching here tomorrow evening. Can you check if the guesthouse can give us another room?” he told her. Piyali’s breath caught in her throat. He had been generous with her. He hadn’t shamed her, because he was… well he was Mukundo Babu! But how would she face his sister? Or anybody else in his family and hers for that matter?

He appeared unaware of her dilemma though. “Something wrong?”

“No. Nothing,” she decided not to bother him, “I will go ask at the reception. I don’t think there should be a problem. Nobody is there in the campus any longer.”

—

Piyali managed to get away from the guest house before Mrinmoyee reached. But avoiding her forever was not possible. Piyali had to take Mukundo’s dinner to his room. When she reached there, she saw a lock on Mrinmoyee’s room. It meant she was still in her brother’s room. Sumedha was also with them. Piyali lingered around for about half-an-hour hoping that Sumedha would come out, or Mrinmoyee would go to her room. But neither happened and it was getting late for his food and medicine. Reluctantly she drew in a deep breath and knocked on the door. To her relief Sumedha opened it.

“Food for Mukundo Babu. You can take your Pishima to guesthouse restaurant, right?”

“Okay.”

“Thanks. I will leave now.”

“Won’t you see Baba?”

“I will come later, Sumedha.”

“Who is it, Sumi?” Mukundo called out just then.

“Miss Banerjee, Baba,” Sumedha replied before Piyali could think of a way of stopping her.

Curious about the visitor, even Mrinmoyee came to the door and now there was no hiding for Piyali.

“Come in, Miss,” Sumedha said politely unaware of the tension that had just filled the doorway.

To avoid creating a scene right away, Piyali walked in silently. She looked at Mukundo and it was clear that he had also woken up to the crisis.

“And what exactly are you doing here, Miss Banerjee? Was once not enough? Do you want to kill off my brother…”

“Pishima!” To everyone’s surprise, Sumedha interceded before either Mukundo or Piyali could say anything, “You can’t talk to her like that.”

“And why not, little Missy? Do you know who she is and what she has done?”

“I know. When both you and Baba had abandoned me to this boarding school, she was the one who took me in and who looked after me. You can’t insult her.”

“Sumi. You go with Piyali. I have to talk to Pishima,” Mukundo ordered.

Piyali immediate made to leave dragging a seething Sumedha behind her. But she remembered something at the door.

“Your medicines,” she turned and addressed Mukundo, “They are in the drawer.”

“Thank you, Piyali.”

—

“You know Sumedha, you are not like a typical ten-year old. You are far too mature for your age. It shows when you talk. Unfortunately, it also shows when you talk disrespectfully. To the grownups. One day your Baba, the other day your Pishima. What has come upon you?” Piyali asked Sumedha once they were back at her house.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? It’s not nothing, I can see that. You are cross with me. I don’t quite know why, but you are. And still you fight with your Pishima for my sake. What is going on?”

“I fought with Pishima because what I said was true. You took care of me. But nobody loves me!” Sumedha burst out, “Nobody loves me for my sake. Pishima got married and left me behind. Baba dumped me here and went to US. All these years, I thought I was special to you and that’s why you cared for me so much. But you too…”

“What about me?”

“You cared for me only because of Baba. You love him, not me.”

Piyali was stunned. Should she pity the child’s isolation and misery, or should she marvel at the complexity of her emotions at such a young age? She slumped on a chair and beckoned Sumedha to her side.

“Sumedha. It is true that I came here because I felt guilty towards him. But ever since I met you, it has been all about you and me. I haven’t met your Baba in these five years. Not even once. I had no hope of ever seeing him again. If I didn’t love you for yourself, you could not have felt it for so long. No, sweetie. It doesn’t work like that. Nobody can fake it. Much less before someone as intelligent as you.”

Sumedha started crying silently.

—

To be continued

Reunion (Part 13)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

Another year later…

“Miss!”

“Sumedha, what happened?”

“My Baba is here.”

“Why are you crying?” he came every year to pick her up for summer vacation.

“He is ill, Miss. Very ill.”

“Where is he?”

“In the guest house. Unconscious.”

“What? Oh God! Doctor… did you…”

“They called the doctor. I am so worried… What will happen to him?”

“Come with me. Stop crying, nothing will happen.”

In these five years, she had prayed every single day for his well-being. From the fragments of Sumedha’s report of summer vacations, she had suspected that he was not in the best of his health. But she hadn’t imagined it to be this bad.

“Drinking! He cannot afford another drop of alcohol,” the doctor told Piyali as she took charge of the situation at the guesthouse, “His liver will give way!”

She gasped in horror. Mukundo Babu! Uncontrolled drinking? She looked around to ensure that Sumedha had not heard it; then escorted the doctor outside.

—

“Take the key, Sumedha, go to my house and stay there. I had cooked lunch; help yourself to it. And don’t worry about your Baba. Just let him rest for a while, and then he would fine. Okay? Can you do this for me, Sumedha?”

After reassuring Sumedha and sending her away, she shut the door to the room without locking it and sat on a chair beside his bed. She took his hand in hers, closed her eyes and started chanting all mantras from Durga Shaptashati that her mother had made her memorize as a child. In between, when she could not contain herself, she prayed to the Goddess in her own simple words. “Spare him, Ma, spare him. He is not guilty. I am. How will I ever face Sumedha should something happen to him? Take my life, Ma, and spare him!”

She did not realize that he had gained consciousness, until he spoke. “You came?” Her heart stopped. That voice, after so many years! Weak, but unmistakably his. She opened her eyes slowly, as if afraid that it was a dream that will break if she hurried through anything.

“I’m very happy to see you,” he spoke again, smiling, with an effort.

“What have you done to yourself? Oh God! I am sorry. I am sorry, Mukudo Babu.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“For everything. For everything I did. I am so ashamed of even apologizing…”

“But I love you. More than ever.”

She broke down completely and started sobbing, burying her face in her hands.

“What is going on?” The door was pushed opened suddenly and Sumedha barged in, panting. “Why are you crying, Miss?” She looked at her father and burst out. “What did you tell her to make her cry? What did you do to her?”

“Sumi…” Mukundo was baffled. He was only half-awake and had imagined it all to be dream. Only now did he become aware that Piyali was indeed there. In the guesthouse of his daughter’s school. He tried to sit up, but was stopped by Piyali. Her face was tear-stained, but startled by Sumedha’s entry, she had stopped crying.

“I was too young. I came here silently, when you gave up on me – yet again. I had believed that since I was motherless, there was no other option. But that innocent delusion could not last long, could it? I still had my father. He could still have given me a home. But no! He chose not to. Four weeks in a year – that was all he had for me. Four bloody weeks. All through this, who was one person who made me feel wanted? Who was one person who loved me, welcomed me at any hour, nursed me through sickness, helped me with studies, treated me when I won prizes, and gave me shoulder to cry on? It was her, Baba. For my sake, she came here to look after you. And this is what you have for her too? Tears? What did you do to make her cry?”

Piyali had collected herself by then. “Enough Sumedha. You are out of your mind. Is this the way to talk to your Baba?”

“Oh! You are on his side now, are you?”

Piyali was tongue-tied yet again. She had never seen Sumedha like this. If she had always had so much bitterness against her father, she never showed it. Disappointment? Yes. But such vitriolic anger?

“Sumedha. It is nothing like what you have made it out to be. Give us some time. We will explain everything. He did not make me cry. Take my words for it.”

“Why were you crying then?” The child grew embarrassed on realizing that her outburst might have been uncalled for. And that the bitterness she had kept hidden till then was out in the open.

“I will explain. At a suitable time. Now apologize to your Baba. I can’t believe you could say such horrid…”

“No Piyali,” Mukundo still did not understand Piyali’s presence there, but he was more collected than earlier, “She does not need to apologize. She might be wrong about you. But she wasn’t wrong about herself or me. I have failed her. She has every right to be bitter.”

A child’s grudge against her parents, howsoever strongly held, is not like an adult grudge that overshadows all other emotions. Despite her dissatisfaction, despite his failings and absence, her father was the ultimate safe-haven for her. Thinking that she might have alienated him for life, she broke down.

“And now you hate me. You won’t come for me ever again.”

“What has gotten to you, Sumi,” he made to get out of bed, but Sumedha stopped him even before Piyali could. “No! You are not well. Stay in bed.”

“Come here, then.”

He pulled his daughter in his embrace and murmured, “I am sorry. I know how inadequate I have been. You have every right to hate me. But even in my dreams I cannot hate my daughter.”

“Have you eaten?” Piyali asked her gently.

She nodded.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“I will,” she went to the sofa lying in the other corner of the room. Piyali went with her and caressed her head until she fell asleep. Mukundo watched on. It felt like a dream.

—

To be continued

Reunion (Part 12)

Posted Mish7 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

Piyali was teaching senior classes. It was a good thing, because if she reached out to Sumedha and took interest in her, it won’t amount to her favoring a student. But that also made it difficult for her to make contact with the child. Finally she found an opportunity. Sumedha had gotten the gift of soulful voice from her father and her talent was apparent even at that young an age. She had been picked up for an upcoming music program in the school. Piyali pretended interest in the program, which wasn’t completely false, and went for the practice sessions.

Sumedha was painfully shy in the beginning, and also very fearful and dejected of the boarding life, but Piyali knew her way around the kids. She got her to open up slowly. But their relationship was sealed when Sumedha fell ill soon after the programme.

“I prefer to send children to their parents when they are so ill,” the warden confided in Piyali when she visited her in the sick room, “They are better cared for, and the risk of infecting other kids is not there. But her father lives in the US.”

“Is it okay, if I took her to my house?”

“Do you know her? You seem to take quite an interest in her.”

Piyali sighed and then replied cryptically, “She reminds me of someone I have lost.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s silly really, but…”

“I don’t think so. I will ask the principal. If he is okay with it…”

—

The principal didn’t mind and Piyali brought the half-unconscious child to her two-room house in teachers’ quarter. She applied for all the casual leaves she had accumulated. For the first two days, fever would not relent. Piyali barely even blinked and spent all the time by the sick bed, taking her temperature, giving her cold strips, feeding her liquid and semi-solid food according to the doctor’s advice, cleaning up if she soiled the bed and praying for her health.

Finally on the third day, Sumedha opened her eyes. “Pishima,” she mumbled, still unaware of her surroundings. Piyali felt a lump in her throat and controlled her tears with some effort.

“It’s me, Sumedha. Miss Banerjee. Are you feeling better?”

“I am thirsty.”

“Not a problem… Let me help you sit up… There… Good girl… Here you go… Water….”

Hardly had she had her fill of water, when she threw up.

“Oh God! Relax, relax, sweetie,” she rubbed the child’s back to help her. Partly from the exhaustion of vomiting and partly from the guilt of soiling the bed, Sumedha started crying.

“It’s over, it’s over Sumedha. You will feel much better now. Stop crying,” Piyali comforted her as she cleaned her up. Then she took her to the other room, lay her down on the clean bed and cuddled her.

“You are not angry?”

“What for?”

“I spoiled the bed.”

“You are ill, Sumedha. What could you have done? Don’t be silly. Just give me ten minutes. I will bring you something to eat.”

“I don’t want to eat.”

“But you must. Otherwise you will not recover.”

“I will throw up again.”

“Then I will clean it up again. It’s not your problem, sweetie.”

—

Two years later…

“You used to stay in Kolkata, Miss?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Did you know my mother?”

“No, Sumedha. Why do you ask?”

“Just like that. Would she have been like you if she had lived?”

“A thousand times better than me,” she turned away on some pretext to wipe her tears.

—

Another two years later…

“Mukundo, she is still not married. I know that for sure,”

“Who Boudi?”

“Piyali. Who else?”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Come on, Mukundo. You know very well…”

“Who told you about it? It was not supposed to be known…”

Maitrayee sighed.

“Baba?”

She nodded.

“Hmm! He wouldn’t want to let an opportunity to insult a woman pass, would he? Did he taunt you for how your niece behaved?”

“Let it go, Mukundo. He is the elder of the family. I don’t take to heart anything he says.”

“Then why are you telling me about her?”

“Nobody knows what it was. But she was young, Mukundo. If she did make a mistake…”

“What do you want, Boudi?”

“Talk to her once?”

“Is she in Kolkata?”

“No.”

“Where then?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t want anyone to know. And Kaku worries about her, but respects her wish.”

“So let her be, Boudi. She won’t lack suitors. She has everything going for her.”

“And you? What do you have going for you except drinking?”

“Precisely why I shouldn’t talk to her.”

—

“How was your vacation, Sumedha?”

“One month is still left, isn’t it? But as usual, Baba could not stay away from his job for more than four weeks.”

“You go to your Kaku’s place, right?” She remembered Maitrayee’s and Shroban’s cozy, little home. One she would never go back to!

“Yes. Also visited my Pishima for a week. But Kaki insists on Baba staying with them. She wanted me to stay on, even after Baba had left. But Baba wouldn’t agree.”

“Well. Good you came back. Else I would have been bored.”

“Why do you always come back early, Miss?”

“I never go, Sumedha. Kolkata is bad in summers, isn’t it? My family comes here to meet me.”

“Are they still here? Should I go back to the hostel?”

“No. Your room is ready. They have already left.”

—

To be continued

Reunion (Part 11)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

Back in his hotel room, Mukundo cried bitterly. He sobbed like a child. He was angry. He threw stuff around, broke some. In a matter of few weeks, everything had been given to him; and everything had been taken away. Why? It was unfair! It was not right. Why should it happen to him? In one way or the other? Again and again?

But as the evening settled down, so did he. Well – it was his fault. What was he thinking proposing to a girl half his age? Then hardly spending any time with her and leaving her behind with nothing to look forward to? Of course, she was dissatisfied. What did she lack? Beauty, intelligence, charm? Nothing. Why should she not go for the best suitor? Only if she hadn’t done it like this… But that only shows how trapped she must have felt. He had been unfair to her. Very unfair. He deserved his pain. And yet – it was excruciating, intolerable. He needed to do something about it.

He reached out for the mini-bar.

—

After the evening spent in crying and lamenting, she collected herself together. An idea had crossed her mind and she decided to look up the possibilities on the Internet.

She did not know how the news would be broken to the family. Would Mukundo call her grand-father or would she be expected to tell him on her own? But she was prepared to face it. There was no looking away from what she had done.

It happened right after she had her final conversation with Rohan and told him to never call her again.

“Pihu!” Mr. Banerjee was incredulous, “What is this? What is it that Mukundo has written?”

Piyali saw the stamp on the envelop. It was posted from US. He must have taken the very next flight back and would have written as soon as he reached there.

“What has he written, Dadu?”

He quietly handed her the letter. It was neat, handwritten letter, in crisp, accurate Bengali.

Respected Banerjee Babu,

 

I hope this letter finds you in best of health. I am afraid that what I am going to tell you would come as a surprise, probably an unpleasant one, to you. But I sincerely request you to not be angry or disheartened by it.

 

Piyali and I have mutually decided to end our relationship. It wasn’t to be, and I am happy that we hadn’t gone through the engagement. I beg you to not be cross with her about it and bless her in her choice of life-partner. She is a wonderful and intelligent girl.

Her hand shook as she read that, but she willed it to be steady and continued reading.

I am sure, she would do very well.

 

I am making good progress with my research work here and hope to start writing my thesis in next few months.

 

Convey my regards to everyone in the family.

 

Yours

Mukundo

She handed the letter back to her grand-father and nodded. “So it is, Dadu.”

“Why? What went so wrong? And what does he mean by… Is there someone else in your life, Pihu?”

“No Dadu. Don’t ask me what I can’t tell you. Just know that it was all my doing.”

“You couldn’t have done something that can’t be forgotten and forgiven, Pihu. Tell me what it was. I will speak to Mukundo. I am sure –”

“Dadu! Ever since Baba died, you have devoted yourself to my upbringing. You have always made my life easier, my way smoother by fighting my battles, by compensating for my shortcomings. But Dadu, I am no longer a child. I have to accept consequences of my actions. The fact is, Dadu, that he is too good for me. He deserves better than me. I beg you, Dadu, not to say a word to him. And if possible – to forgive me.”

Mr. Banerjee sighed and rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Dadu–”

“No. You are right. You are a grown woman now. I shouldn’t… I can’t…”

“Dadu please,” her eyes filled up despite her best attempts to stay calm, “I’m sorry. I am really sorry. You are in this awkward situation with Mukundo Babu because of me… I make you feel ashamed, don’t I? Dadu–”

“Pihu. I can never be ashamed of you, my child. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone gets their chance to make mistakes. But if you can correct it, or ask for forgiveness…”

“I can’t correct it, Dadu. May be someday I would have done something to deserve forgiveness. But that time is not now.”

“I trust you. And Pihu – don’t worry about me and Mukundo. I am really fond of him, but if I have to choose between you and him, it’d always be you. I hope you have never been uncertain about it.”

“I am a very lucky girl, Dadu. And I have been very stupid.”

“You are young, my child. You have the right to be stupid once in a while.”

“Dadu. There is something else…”

“What?”

“I don’t want to work in Kolkata, Dadu. I… I need to…”

“Get away?”

She nodded.

“Have you already planned something?”

“There is a school in Darjeeling…”

“So far?”

“It’s a boarding school, Dadu. And they have teachers’ accommodation in the campus. It is safe and convenient.”

“Okay. If that’s what makes you happy…”

“Ma won’t like the idea…”

“Leave that to me… By the way, do you realize something, Pihu?”

“What?”

“This is the first time we have had such an honest, long, grown-up conversation.”

“I hadn’t grown up until now.”

—

To be continued