POSTO – a review

BY     Dola Dutta Roy

Nandita Roy and Shiboproshad Mukherjee are no new names in the Bengali movie industry today.

The journey for them making movies of substance has been long and arduous at times. But with the startling success of Ichche and Muktodhara in 2012 --followed, in quick succession, by hits with Olik Shukh, Ramdhonu, Bela Sheshe and Prakton, the duo have created ripples in the genre of new wave movies by treading cautiously on the line between offbeat cinema and mainstream fares. Today they are proud partners of a production company – Windows Productions.

The title 'Posto' evokes the taste of relishing the delicious poppy seeds so loved by most Bengalis in their food and the audience is, perhaps, half-expecting a movie drawn in a comic vein. At least, I was. But it is far from a comedy of any sort. This is not the story of any culinary feat. It is simply the story of a seven-year old child who is loved enormously by his grandparents who wouldn’t give up their parenting rights to hang on to him at any cost.

Dinen Lahiri (Soumitra Chatterjee) and his aged wife, Gouri (Lily Chakraborty), are the grandparents of little Posto (Argha ) who live in their country home in Shantiniketan. Posto’s biological parents are a struggling but ambitious couple making a life for themselves with hard work in Kolkata -- like so many young couples in the city. They thought it right to leave Posto with his grandparents till they felt financially secure enough to take him back with them. Their regular visits to their country home to see their son does add some colour to the boy’s otherwise routine existence, especially when they drown him with attractive gifts from the big city much to the dislike of Dinen and Gouri.

When Posto’s dad, Arnab or Anu (Jisshu Sengupta) and his mother, Sushmita (Mimi Chakraborty), decide to take Posto off to England with them where Anu would join his friend Bonnie ( Babul Supriyo) to start a business, Dinen and Gouri object to this ridiculously rash and unreasonable decision. Matters go so out of hand that a legal battle follows between father and son to gain the custody of the child.

Based on a real High Court case on the custody of a child between a set of parents and grandparents in 2007, the story unfolds the agony of the two warring parties and especially that of the boy who gets traumatized by the long drawn court case.

Beautifully captured on celluloid with extraordinary photography at times, the story keeps you glued to the screen till the dénouement -- when the verdict is given in court.

The screenplay is remarkable and the tempo of the movie, natural.

Exemplary performance by Jisshu Sengupta as ‘Anu’, the tormented son and father, was really moving. Sohini Sengupta as Anu’s advocate -- engaged in a battle of words with seasoned actor Poran Bandopadhyay as Dinen Lahiri’s advocate—was simply intriguing. Shohini made the courtroom drama truly curious and alive. Mimi Chakraborty looked pretty and succeeded in adding a bit of glamour to the role of a tough working woman but a mother who breaks down evidently having no say in the matter of this custody conflict. And, of course, Dinen Lahiri, Anu’s autocratic, offensive and often viciously critical father could only be played by a thespian like Soumitra Chatterjee.

Little Posto (Argho) melted our hearts with his smile,  expressive eyes and heartbreaking looks.

The music seemed a bit hollow, in my opinion, and perhaps could be done without. The songs, except for a couple of Tagore songs, were irrelevant and failed to leave an impression. The quiet moments Anu and Posto shared together riding down the thickets in Shantiniketan, could be more appealing with an intimate dialogue than a superfluous number like “Jonaki”. Immediately the magic of the moment was gone. The same with the song sung by the parents with Posto at home in Kolkata where they share some fun together. It seemed forced and outlandish -- on the verge of being ridiculous.

Shiboproshad Mukherjee and Nandia Roy’s movies have always moved their audiences. 

Each of their stories succeeded in touching a chord in the heart of many relating to contemporary issues that are irking society in general. Evidently, man is faced with countless challenges today struggling to survive in this warped and changing world. He is often at a loss wondering how to be able to endure the pressures of life and move on.

But our directors here believe that with a little love and humility one can tide over all hardships that we call living.

By :  Dola Dutta Roy

Copyright (c) DDR

THE PARTING GIFT

THE PARTING GIFT
FOR  JAN 2015

By:    Dola Dutta Roy, Calcutta, India, (Oct. 29, 2014)

All rights reserved.

To check earlier stories, please click on the months on the right

She saw the man every evening from her window that overlooked the children’s park through the lacework of the branches of the old oak tree. She looked on while she cooked for the family as a daily chore. She hummed a tune as she made the soup and watched him staring at the kids romping about kicking grass and sometimes dust with their boots.

In the dying light of the fading sun, the man sat in a strange kind of stupor under the shade of a giant sycamore tree, hugging the corner of a bench, meant for lovers. The profusion of color on his fraying, patchwork robe blazed in the sun every now and then.  The tattered hat and his unkempt, straggly grey hair blew feverishly in the air. Like the Sphinx he trained his gaze at the playful kids shrieking out war-cries. There was a faint smile on his face.

Winter was setting in. The air was getting sharper by the day and the grass was withering around the rocky slopes inside the park. Like the tenacious kids the man appeared every afternoon and planted himself on his chosen spot feeding the pigeons absently before they all flew away to the comfort of warmer zones. The oak tree had been shedding for some time and the sycamore had turned from corn-yellow to flaming-orange in shade. Kids were wrapped in light winter-gear looking colorful like tropical birds in forests in the southern plains. Winter couldn't take the joy out of their lives, nor could it hold them captive indoors. Not just yet.

Suddenly that afternoon, the wind blew with fierce fury and the sky looked ominous. The thought of snow descending on them stealthily in no time, filled her heart with a kind of sadness -- especially for the derelict man. She knew soon the wind would grow still, the park would go white and the benches would grow colder. The birds would disappear and the trees would go completely bald. Their unadorned branches would look utterly impoverished and beg for mercy to the heavenly Gods to embellish them and help them flourish. Children would stop coming out to play and the old man would be seen no more. 

She looked out the window several times and smiled to witness a handful of dogged kids that fought the wind. But the man was nowhere to be seen. She began to worry. She always wondered why he visited the park every afternoon and yet why he did not make any attempt to make friends with the kids. But there was no way she could find that out. The children probably never noticed him; he just sat there like a piece of sculpture that blended well with the dry bushes and rocks skirting the park.

Moments later that seemed like eons, she saw the hobbling figure with the unmistakable gait moving in towards the bench of his choice. Slow but certain.

There was dinner on the stove to feed her young and the man of the house.  Days had grown shorter, and food must be ready and warm on the table when they return. She thought for a while with creases on her forehead. But soon she was seen with a basket of loaves and a bowl of soup weaving in through the iron gate of the park. She ignored the cruel wind and the bitter cold and strode ahead to sit next to the man on the cold, wet bench. 

The rustle of the red leaves on the ground with her approach broke the man's reverie like a Buddha waking from his meditative trance. His bushy eyebrows above those piercing eyes came down with a crash. From their hollow pits, those eyes darted from her face to the basket in her hand a few times. For a while he did not move; he just gave her a vacant look and his eyes blinked like glinting embers. When she flashed her kindly smile, she noticed that his mouth broke into a sluggish twist from behind his shaggy beard, still quite in a daze. She held out the basket and the bowl of soup to him.

There was a long pause of deliberation and then the old man shook his head. In a gruff, plaintive tone he spoke woefully at length. Hardly audible.

“I have sinned and squandered much.” He paused for a while. There was a distant look in his eyes. She watched him take deep breaths before he added, “I come here to retrieve my childhood….. actually the innocence of childhood.” Then he smiled; this time shyly. Through his bushy mustache she could see his two front gold teeth shine and he said slowly enunciating every word carefully, “Food is meant for the body, but my soul seeks penance….” He blinked. “I shall remember your kindness.” His eyes twinkled as he nodded and smiled with gratitude  and  his gold teeth glistened in the dim daylight.

With these words he got up and rummaged through the holes of his flashy mantle and took out a Cohiba, a Cohiba  that only the rich flaunted once. A Cohiba that is illegal and banned in the country now.  He held up the stick of tobacco and laughed, “The one thing that I still can’t give up…. I have lost my pride, my vanity and even lost the love of my life. Yet I’m shamelessly attached to this goddamn piece of snobbery. I don’t deserve it.” 

He left the cigar in its shiny pack on the bench and shuffled along trampling the dead grass wet in the muck and dirty brown leaves with his footprints. His crooked figure, bent with remorse, moved on --steadily diminishing in the distance. 

She never saw him again.

WORD COUNT: 950

CROSSROADS --  PART 4
 PREVIOUS PARTS APPEARED IN SEPT - OCT - NOV. 2014 
BY:  DOLA  DUTTA ROY
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

As days went by, Naomi started looking grey again in her drab and dowdy clothes. Her hair was no longer tied up in fancy ribbons or twirls. She moved about in a daze, talked less and played the violin more often. Mostly sad tunes. She struggled with her interlude with insanity every now and then. However, she grew cautious with threats from Helen and desperately tried to come to terms with what was doled out to her by fate.

Christmas had come and gone. Helen returned from another visit to her daughter in Irvine and immediately announced that she was going to get her bunions fixed. She called both Naomi and me and showed how ugly her feet looked with the bunions protruding menacingly from her shoes.

This hurt her vanity. However, there was a minor problem. A new boarder was coming in to fill Tim’s place.

Peter McCullough was to join Claremont McKenna and had responded to Helen’s ad in the Claremont Courier. He needed to be shown around. Both Naomi and I agreed to do the needful while she would be away and asked her to relax.

When Helen returned from Mt. Sinai after the surgery we put her in bed. But what worried her was that schools were getting ready for Registration and Peter hadn’t shown up yet.

Just the day before Registration at the Claremont Colleges, a Toyota truck rolled in through the gate, in the afternoon. I looked out. The truck had a load of cardboard boxes and a large suitcase. The guy who jumped out of the front seat was massive. Not less than six feet, two inches in height, he had a sun burnt face and floppy flaxen hair. I opened the door for him and noticed that he had pale grey eyes that made him look unmistakably Nordic.

In a flat, matter-of-fact voice he asked for Helen and forwarded a note that he had received from her.

It was Peter McCullough. Finally!

I showed Peter to his room and parroted what Helen had briefed me to say. He looked at the size of the room and grimaced. Then with a shrug he quietly handed me an envelope which obviously had cash in it. His first month’s rent and the deposit amount meant for Helen.

That was Peter McCullough – big, strong and silent.

Peter was quiet and mostly in his room when he was home. For a big man he moved around with quick and feline grace. It took Naomi a bit of time to catch his attention.

Helen was on her feet again; rather on her crutches and back to her shrewd self.

It was not even seven in the morning when we were startled to hear the lawn mower rolling in the backyard one Sunday. Zachary, the guy who raked and mowed the lawn, was still on leave. I got curious and put on my housecoat to check out what was going on.

I found Naomi staring out into the backyard with her cup of coffee in hand watching Peter doing the mowing, evidently at Helen’s behest. In his t-shirt and by the look in Naomi’s eyes – Peter looked definitely attractive. She turned to me and smiled a mysterious smile.

“Didn’t realize he was this handsome,” she whispered and winked. I gave her a look of mock concern and we both laughed. “Oh, no!” I mouthed. ”Don’t you start dreaming again!” But I was sure that another chapter in her life was going to unfold itself rapidly.

“Isn’t he a sweetheart?” Helen croaked over her cup of tea at the table. “Zach is still unavailable, so I asked Peter to do the lawns for me. Of course, I’ll pay him for that,” she said holding up her chin and the cup in her hand with a firm grip.

“Good for you,” I said.” You take it easy.”

Very soon, Naomi was back to her jubilant self. She was flying again, buoyant with confidence. Like an unanchored ship reaching out for the deep blue sea, she was bouncing and bobbing with joy.

Peter was a good listener who personally preferred monosyllables. It suited Naomi who usually became garrulous whenever she felt comfortable with a guy. However, no one was complaining.

When the spring clouds floated in, the flowers began to bloom in the backyard and the sun seemed a bit generous, Naomi would spread herself on the grass in feminine outfits and pore over a book looking pretty as a picture. And this she did when Peter would be around and Helen would be away either to the Community Centre or to do library work. Then the two of them would sip wine and fight for a piece of the same apple.

I was quite sure things would look up for Naomi eventually, but was certainly not prepared for the next big episode in her life.

* * *

9.

There was first a tap on my door and then a banging that woke me up. My first impression was – must be the rattling of the innumerable quakes California experienced intermittently. But it was fist pounding away on wood.

I had taken a sleeping pill to get some undisturbed rest but I shot up from bed when the banging got louder and more intense. At the other end of the door, Helen stood in her nightgown with soft curlers in her hair. She looked old and tired.

The moment I widened the door, she grabbed my hand and said,” A terrible, terrible thing has happened.” She covered her mouth and choked.”Come ‘n look for yourself,” she started panting.

I realized she was agitated beyond words. Before I knew it, she was  pulling me along and stopped  in front of Peter’s room. The door was ajar and there was a gaping wound on its body. Somebody had kicked it really hard to break it open. Standing at the door what I saw chilled my veins. Helen prodded me to look inside but I stood there mute and shaken.

Naomi was lying in a pool of blood oozing out of her left wrist and Peter was hovering over her holding his abdomen with his left hand. There was blood seeping through his fingers! Naomi had passed out. I looked at Helen and then at Peter. For once I saw some emotion playing on his otherwise imperceptible expression. What he said was not hard to believe.

Peter was confounded by Naomi’s irregular behavior, her theatrics and melodrama and had asked her to leave him alone and that’s when somewhere some cord had snapped. He looked up to point at a sharp knife next to Naomi’s inert body.

“Don’t you touch it,” screamed Helen and Peter recoiled.

By then we heard clicking of boots down the hallway and sirens cutting through the night air.

While Peter and Naomi were getting medical attention at the Police Hospital, we got grilled by  the officers.  When the truth came out, I was not surprised.

Evidently, Naomi had been busy casting her love spell on Peter with much sincerity. She expected an emotional commitment in return. However, Peter, with his inborn male genetic disorder, had a commitment phobia. He demanded that their relationship have no strings attached as he had a girlfriend back home in Phoenix whom he cared for enormously. She was going to join him soon in the Fall session at Pitzer College. Till then he was available. This was indeed a cultural phenomenon I couldn’t understand.

Naomi was shell shocked! She didn’t appreciate the deadline for her emotional involvement. It was not easy for her to accept duplicity of any kind anymore. She felt used and about to be dismissed one more time. With her pride hurt, she grew vengeful. This time she was going to take on the offender -- one who gave her pain.  With all the rage steaming inside over the years, she chose to engage in an unimaginable violation of human dignity, by emasculating him that would maim him for life.

Ben Goldberg came down and fought the court battles and so did Peter’s family. The media channels loved the ratings that were spiraling upwards in their favor.

To our relief, the story soon stopped making headlines and got replaced by newer and fresh crimes in the newspapers and TV. There were perhaps some unknown dealings behind the scene as well, but the community was aghast. 

Naomi was indifferent to all this commotion as she had slipped into a world of her own where she raged and talked to invisible friends and figures. Ben took her away to New York. Soon it became common knowledge that she was in the confines of an asylum. She was diagnosed with Manic Bipolar Disorder.

This certainly filled me with sadness. I was distressed for quite sometime thinking of her and often wondered if she was a victim of circumstances or the architect of her own fate! I found no answer to all those questions in my mind.

For years I thought of Naomi, complete with her tragic flaws, a whimsical and mixed up person, fighting invisible enemies. I wondered if she could ever be her normal self again and lead a happy life; within and without. I feared if she would fail to rise above her agonizing plight -- or succumb to it most ungraciously. But I had no access to that knowledge.

Some years later Naomi Goldberg made headlines again.  Her picture appeared with many others in tabloids and newspapers as one of those who took recourse to self-immolation to save a cult-camp from unreasonable investigation, humiliation and gross injustice meted out by the State of Wyoming.

I was certain that Naomi Goldberg left the planet, perhaps, mourned by no one.

************ THE END***********

Dola Dutta Roy

Calcutta, India

CROSSROADS -- PART  2

All rights reserved  * * *

November 13, 2014

3.

So finally Helen was gone and I was still dithering about my plans for the next few days when Naomi grew chatty at the breakfast table.

It was more of a soliloquy than a dialogue. I was the only one in the auditorium counting her sighs and hand movements getting the impression of a creature hovering over a cusp and in a dilemma that she was unable to shake off.

“All this is so meaningless,” she said quite out of the blue with a sour expression. The next moment in a trance-like state she stared at a blank spot on the wall for a while looking glum. Whether the affliction of depression or paranoia was self-inflicted or not -- was something that I couldn't gauge at that moment.

“What do you mean? Why meaningless?” I asked gingerly.

“You know, all this paraphernalia about celebrating togetherness of the family – doesn’t make sense to me at all,” Naomi said somberly. “When families are breaking up and there is truly no love shared by all, what’s the need for ceremonies and functions pretending to be happy?” She turned to me with a half mournful, half cynical look.

 “Just because it’s a special day in the calendar, doesn't mean a thing to me.” Suddenly she sounded quite furious. I saw flickers of insanity creeping into her grey-blue eyes and I shrank.

“But to some, perhaps, it has some meaning, “I mumbled, “to those who care for one another and to those who share a bonding.” I meant to give her hope but I was afraid to look at her face in case I saw something ominous again. I started to turn the coffee mug and admire the impression on it and take gulps from it to finish it as quickly as possible.

There was a momentary pause.

Somehow, accidentally I looked up and that’s when I noticed that there was a tinge of melancholy lurking in her eyes this time. She exhaled audibly and said rather softly, “Perhaps you’re right. It’s just that some of us like me don’t get to see that at all.” Her face contorted with anguish. I thought I suddenly got a glimpse of a wrung-out, tormented soul that I didn't know anything about. Naomi grew more and more enigmatic to me.

For a while she pondered and looked pensive. I realized that in her mind memories were surfacing from the depth of an abyss hitherto untapped. She talked of a myriad random moments when she was a child that sometimes left her numb with pain. She grew to dislike everybody around her and especially herself. I sat motionless and listened.

* * *
4.

Benjamin Goldberg was apparently a legal hot shot in New York. But when Naomi was almost eleven, he inflicted some unexpected and irreparable damages on the family’s legal firm with unjust monetary deals with a rival group. Needless to say, he was banished from the legal field altogether.

 “Nobody would touch him. He managed to escape being behind bars -- thanks to the strong connections with the right people Grandpa had,” Naomi lamented. “But all the same, Grandpa distanced himself from his son and vowed never to see him again. No one could pollute the name of the Goldberg family.” Ben was discarded as a piece of rag. They moved to a middle order neighborhood giving up on a fancy lifestyle.

 “Our family plunged into hard days.”

Arguments at home between her parents graduated to violence when Ben started coming home inebriated on a regular basis. Naomi felt that her mom was enraged not only with the loss of face, but also the pampering, the luxuries and the bright social life that her dad had given her earlier, but took away so grossly.

“I didn't blame Mom. Her favorite pastime was nothing but shopping at upscale exclusive stores and socializing with her wealthy friends.” Naomi curled up her lips in disgust.” I was never an option. She didn't have much time for me anyway.”

But she was ‘Dad’s little princess’ and was completely terrified as situations changed rapidly between her parents. Ben had no time for anything now. Not even for her. He was too busy remaking his life on shreds of goodwill. She felt uncared for, dismissed and abandoned. It was Loretta, the woman who came to cook and do the work around the house, who fed her and looked after her.

” I often locked myself up in my room when Dad returned at night and arguments catapulted to violence. I’d go to bed without dinner and stay awake staring at the ceiling, waiting for daybreak so I could escape to school.”

Her mother eventually declared that she wanted to put an end to ‘mental and physical torture’ and asked for a divorce. By then it was out in the open that she was going to ‘shack up’ with her gay partner, Amy, and offered no custody claims. Naomi grimaced. 

“Of course, this was to punish Dad to be saddled with my responsibility at a time like that. Soon Mom left for Florida with her partner and never looked back. The divorce came through without a battle.” Naomi sneered.” I only heard from her on my birthday and during Hanukkah! Soon I stopped taking her calls.”

But strangely enough God looked up.

* * *

5.

Finally with his marriage breaking down, Ben Goldberg accepted defeat and grew calmer and tender with his ‘little princess’ once again. She was the only thing he had in the whole world and soon Naomi could twirl him around her little finger with tantrums if she willed. In return she looked after him and kept the house in order. She thought she had somewhat got her old life back!

Ben was a suave and charming man with a gift of the gab. He had mastered the art of wheeling and dealing to perfection and money started pouring in again. From where, Naomi didn't know or care.

She admitted through chuckles, ”Sometimes I even managed to steal money from his coat pockets. He didn't even miss it.  It was better than asking him for some.” She laughed. I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. I knew better. It is dangerous to contradict a person who was mixed up inside.

On the flip side, there was a steady flow of women who Ben could still manage to cast a spell on. Some were attractive, some plain and some downright aggressive and pathetic. However, none of the women lasted for more than a week or so, but finally when Ben brought home Becky Schwartz as his wife, a legal assistant, half his age, Naomi didn't know whether she was relieved or more distraught.

“I felt cheated and cast aside one more time. Nobody actually cared for me!” she scowled. I saw anger flickering in her large blue-grey eyes. “I wanted to destroy everything.  Everything.” She banged hard on the table.

She dropped out of her school circle. Kevin, her regular boyfriend, was duly dismissed and she began missing her classes with a vengeance.

“I was important or special to nobody.  It was as though, I never existed!” She hissed and got up.

 “I spent time alone sitting in parks talking to pigeons all day. I took nothing to eat, not even an apple.” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I gave a damn for school or my assignments.”  Needless to say her grades nosedived.

For a moment I thought she had lost all sense of time and space.

Naomi was now pacing the little dining area, her eyes moving in an erratic manner, seeing nothing. I grew apprehensive as she mumbled on.

Her inability to deal with her lot adequately and occasional outbursts of convoluted passion and ire, led to a series of counseling, both at school and outside, apparently causing Ben immeasurable humiliation and pain, or so he said. Naomi was dragged to a psychiatrist periodically to level with her own soul and, of course, money was flowing out making Ben irate and Becky miserable.

” What’s wrong with you? You are humiliating us.” Ben shouted at her one night.

“Don’t you like going to school? Making friends? Why don’t you get a new boyfriend?” Ben screamed. ”Aren't you normal?” Ben had thrown his hands up in the air. “I can’t even send you to your Mom and now I know why she abandoned you! Ah, the bitch knew what she was doing!” Filth came pouring out of his mouth like water from a bottle.

He called her mother names and addressed Naomi thereafter as an ‘airhead’ and a ‘bimbette’, while Becky looked away.

“She abandoned you too for what you did, remember?” Naomi had shot back. “Any guesses what that was for?” She screamed. “And ‘humiliation’? You talk about humiliation? Do you have any idea how you have turned my whole world upside down with what you did?” Tears trickled down her face. ”I am ashamed of you, Dad, ashamed of you.”

Ben stood stunned and mute. By then Naomi was banging on dad’s study desk, smashing the glass top.

* * *

6.

With increasing skirmishes at home, Naomi was drained of all self-confidence. She swung between emotions like a pendulum and grew mentally unstable. Ben took her for counseling with little improvement. She liked nothing -- and no one enjoyed her company either. She shunned people as she felt that the world had turned against her. But one thing she knew, if she hated school and had no passion for books and assignments, she loved music and - every note of it.

She plunged into the world of melody that ranged from hard rock, country, and jazz to even classical symphony. At last, she said, she tried to keep afloat in the beat and ring of the notes that lifted her spirits from the hostile grounds she was given to tread.

Finally, with fear in her belly and hope in her heart when she graduated from High School, Naomi took a break for a year.

“Basically, I wanted to find myself. I needed to breathe easy.” she said. “Then I realized I needed to make some money to be on my own.”

She worked, first, as a library assistant hauling up books from tables and carting them back to the shelves. She found it immensely boring and ‘un-lifting’. Later, when she got a job to be a floor assistant in a music shop, she was thrilled. She understood music well enough to guide people to what they were looking for but couldn't spell out. She educated them on various kinds of music from around the world, both vocal and instrumental. Soon she got two promotions and became one of the assistant managers at the store.

When she thought that she had arrived and had saved up enough money, Naomi applied to various Colleges across the country to educate herself with a view to majoring in Music. Her chief aim was to get as far away from home as possible. With regular visits to her ‘shrink’, she started applying to colleges in the West Coast and down south as well, to be far from New York City. When she heard from Pomona College in S. California which not only agreed to take her in but even offered her a part time job on campus, she was ecstatic. The Music Department there offered concerts throughout the academic year by student ensembles, faculty performers and guest artists. She needed to get a break and dreamt of being a solo performer some day or even write scores for TV or movies.

* * *

7.

To move from the East Coast to the West was a big decision not considering the miles that stretched in between.

Naomi begged her dad to help her out with admission. California was a rich state and it was not cheap living in S. California. She couldn't afford it with the money she had saved up.

To her surprise Ben relented with one condition that she took her medication seriously and sent him reports from her shrink every month. He also agreed to pay her college fees and medical bills only if she could meet him halfway by paying for her living expenses. Naomi was more than willing to do so.

“He waned to get rid of me just as much as I wanted to get away -- as far as I could from him and Becky. I could tell they really didn’t want me around.” Naomi whispered. She was happy to say ‘Goodbye’ to her family and didn’t even bother to write a note to her mother giving her the good news. She was already lost to her. “So here I am,” she chirped with a big smile on her sad face.

So to make the story short, Naomi visited her shrink, Dr Marianne Atwood regularly on Foothill Boulevard and was on prescribed drugs to keep her from getting any unsavory outbursts of emotions. Helen refused to take her back in, if she failed to pay Dr Atwood her regular visits.

She was told to keep her spirits high doing what she did best, which was music. She visited all the concerts in town and made friends with music lovers. She fell in and out of love with a few music buffs periodically and when they moved on she bellowed, agonizing over solitary confinement for the rest of her life. Going through such transitions, her intake of special medicines increased -- of course, with the help of Dr Atwood.

* *  *

8.

Tim was, however, unaware of all this drama as he was barely in.

In his early twenties, he was a handsome young man but a bit frail for an Anglo Saxon male. By her own admission, he was Naomi’s first ‘true love’, when she got to know him better. Her eyes lit up even when she found him doing a mundane job like cleaning the washroom which we three took turns to keep clean.

So when we were having breakfast at Helen’s table one Sunday and Tim walked into the kitchen for a drink of water, he gave her a big smile and I knew that another Act in Naomi’s life had just begun.

Tim could be charming, if he wanted to be, and was quite flattered by Naomi’s singular attention so it didn't take them long to be friends. We saw more of him now and Naomi was an angel with him around. She loved fixing him a snack when he felt a bit ‘grubby’. Often the two would attend the Friday concerts at the Memorial Park in Claremont, go orange picking at the Agriculture and Citrus Park in La Verne or drive off to Upland and Cucamonga in search of coyotes. They teased and laughed with Helen and even she started to look less intimidating. For a short spell there was laughter in the air in that house.

One of Helen’s several conditions was that no visitors be allowed to spend the night with the boarders. So when Tim and Naomi tiptoed in to their nests at midnight, instead of violin recitals, I could hear giggles seeping through the hollow walls that separated our rooms. I would stop reading in bed and cover my ears with pillows.

I realized that in this chapter of her life, Naomi felt wanted and seemed happy!  

We breathed a sigh of relief. 

However, at the end of the semester, when Tim graduated and broke the news that he was going back to Boulder, Colorado, where he came from, Naomi was livid. She scratched and clawed him, called him names and then banged the door on his face. But Tim didn't stay back to reconsider their budding relationship and take it up to the next level. He opted for the exit immediately but not without some ugly scars on his face and limbs.

Naomi’s abnormal behavior catapulted to new heights soon after Tim finally left for Boulder.

For days Naomi didn't talk to any one of us and made no eye contact. There was a cloud of gloom hovering over her at all times. If she spoke, she spat venom. Not just that, Helen grew worried as she was found in the kitchen uttering soliloquies of her own, cursing and banging things in sight. She urged her to visit Dr Atwood at once and threatened to call up her dad to take her away.

Over time Naomi appeared more aloof and grew  unimaginably irritable. It was getting difficult keeping pace with her plan of action even though she never grew that violent to attack anybody. She rather chose to stay withdrawn and live in isolation. Nevertheless, she grew steadily restless and unstable. From a childlike glee on her face one moment she would rapidly descend to a state of haunting despair at the next. 

 When she couldn’t contain her rage for some odd reason, she would charge out in her beat-up car leaving a trail of black smoke behind. It was her signature exit to take on and destroy the world. Later at night, she would come back home with a collection of citations - for violating traffic norms.

But all this didn't bother her, nor did she care when people around gasped in horror finding her behavior strange. Kids called her ‘loony’ and mimicked her walk behind her back.

 “I don’t give a damn for your big money, sweetheart,” Helen said one day. “I can’t handle all this. Be your dad’s pet -- and leave me in peace.”  She said quite emphatically. Her face bore an expression of strained anxiety.

With a jolt Naomi fell suddenly silent. Her enormous eyes seemed dilated with fear. It dawned on her that there was no place to go back to. She lifted her vacant eyes with a look where every emotion was wiped out and all sense of time and space had been removed. The only person she could turn to now was actually Dr. Atwood.

It took Naomi a few days to get back to her normal subdued self.

Her medication was finally right, we agreed.

She smiled more often and played the violin a lot. However, Helen started getting suspicious of this new image she was projecting. But Naomi glowed and was her angelic self again. The men in her life like Gustavo, a grad student from Venezuela, Rusty, a local musician, Houshang from Iran and Martin from England hung around and were mostly campus recruits from concert ensembles. They talked, wrote and made music. But unfortunately the euphoria didn't last. Soon Naomi grew tired of them and the guys flaked out. One day she ceremoniously announced that she had vowed celibacy for the rest of her life!

 “You know no one is important to me anymore,” she confessed.” These guys have no soul.” To me she looked utterly bewildered indeed.

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to continue......
by: Dola Dutta Roy, Calcutta, India
November 13, 2014

CROSSROADS 

by Dola Dutta Roy

All rights reserved

Please check earlier stories by clicking on the month on the right 

For over a month, everyday, I had been fretting over this. Helen had given 

us enough notice and secretly, I did try looking for an excuse to get away 

somewhere when she was gone, but didn't quite succeed. My best friend, Mauricette, was also 

leaving for Jacksonville to be with her boyfriend’s family overThanksgiving; 

then the time came when Helen left too -- visiting her daughter in Irvine 

over the long weekend leaving me to share the cottage with Naomi.

This made me enormously nervous.

Naomi and I had been boarding with Helen Baker for some time. Neither 

Naomi nor I had any family out here in the valley. Me, coming all the 

way from India and Naomi from New York, a place she hated to be. 

Unfortunately, we didn't have any close friends to visit either for a 

hearty turkey meal over Thanksgiving.

For some reason, Naomi Goldstein was one of God’s many     

quirky creations. She was five feet nothing and slender, in my opinion -

just skin ‘n bones - Twiggy style. Her dish-water hair that

came down straight to her shoulder blades, was mostly unkempt and

straggly. It framed her perfectly contoured face where every feature was

fine except for the large blue eyes that had a moist, 

reminiscing look at all times. But when, and, if she smiled, they lit up her

face and made her look angelic. Well, almost. That is how I found Naomi,

the first time I set my eyes on her, as she walked in through the front

door with bag and baggage -- and her violin.

2.

We had woken up late that morning and chose to linger at the breakfast table before 

we embarked on the motions of our holiday routines -- of 

shopping and cleaning for the week. As for me, I was killing time trying to fuel myself 

for the day and making discreet plans to engage in activities that would 

give me time to spend alone, away from Naomi. But Thanksgiving being a 

family affair, I was at a loose end and thought it best to visit the Art 

Exhibition at the Griswold’s Inn mainly to soak in freedom away 

from monotony and, not to mention, some unsavory disquiet at home.

I looked furtively at Naomi, who at the best of times, hovered 

between sleeplessness and the twilight zone. She seemed to be still 

in a ‘nowhere’ state that she herself was unaware of.

But that was nothing new; not because she was unwilling to face 

the world -- but due to an overdose of prescribed sedatives the night

before. These were meant to keep her nerves calm and steady. 

There was no telling with her.But to my surprise Naomi seemed 

unusually relaxed.  If this was a sign for her being bored with life, I welcomed it.

Naomi emptied her box of Kellogg’s into a bowl with a faraway look in her eyes, and folded her legs on the chair. Helen would have vehemently objected to it, if she were to see that. Her eyes had a touch of vapid pensiveness, perhaps out of sheer loneliness and lack of anything exciting to embark upon. For some time she stared into space sipping coffee and spooning her cereal. Finally, jerking out of her somnambulistic trance, she felt the inclination to talk.

There is indeed some comfort in unburdening yourself to a stranger or alien who would move out of your orbit sooner or later. But I grew apprehensive.

Naomi grunted and whined at the same time about how meaningless these celebrations were for her and why she left her life behind in New York, never to return. She sounded a little wistful and nostalgic, no doubt, and even in my half-awake state, I realized that she had plunged into another of her abysmal “dark” days that swept over her at regular intervals. It was a bit disturbing for me especially with Helen and Tim, the third ex-boarder, nowhere in the scene. Somehow it made me nervous to be her focal point of at the breakfast table.

I avoided looking at her hoping she might decide to stop midway and spare me the unpardonable right to peek into her private life even by accident. I certainly did not wish get too involved in her personal state of affairs.

I watched her moves carefully and nodded appropriately while I bit into my toasts. I wasn’t sure when she would crack up without warning or what she would tell me could be the truth or half-truth or -- no truth at all.

We had known each other for some time now. We meant Naomi, Tim Sullivan and myself– all at different areas of academics -- pursuing our personal goals trying to equip ourselves to combat the tough world that lay ahead.

Timothy Sullivan from Boulder, Colorado, a Grad student at Claremont Graduate School nearby, had come in a few weeks before I became a boarder with Helen, and then it was Naomi, the following semester.

Timothy or Tim was rather elusive. He never had his meals at home and was out of the house most of the time. I wondered if that was a guy thing, to be out and grazing around at the slightest opportunity! We hardly ran into each other except in the hallway that led to the common washroom for boarders, which we took turns to keep clean every weekend. As it appeared, our conversations never progressed beyond exchanging greetings.

3.

Helen’s comfortable little cottage was on East Bonita in La Verne, a slumbering little town, nestled in the foothills of the San Gabriel - Pomona Valleys situated a few miles east of Los Angeles. For us it was very conveniently located in an area that was decent, quiet and peaceful, and more importantly, reasonably priced. 

Naomi was faltering through her undergraduate studies at Pomona College not too far away. She had found student housing on campus rather expensive, so opted for home-stay. Soon she got her second-hand red Honda Civic and wandered about La Verne, Pomona, Claremont and even Upland-- discovering every nook and corner in her orbit and making friends and --sometimes foes.

Little did Helen, Tim or me have any idea what we were in for making her a part of our tribe.

A widow in her mid- sixties with well-manicured hands, close-cropped hair and a high-pitched voice to match, Helen Baker unknowingly betrayed a muffled southern accent. She told me over a stray conversation one day, quite inconsequentially, sipping coffee out of monstrous cups in the backyard that the cottage was left to her by her late husband who passed away some years back. With her only daughter married off, she got lonesome and thought it was a good idea to have boarders for company on a temporary basis. 

Later, I realized that she had financial problems. She was, however, hard- working and in a way forced to let lodgings to generate some income that took care of her monthly expenses. I also understood that she was undoubtedly quite insecure to live by herself, especially when crazy psychopaths made it their passion to go on a rampage attacking elderly women who lived in quiet neighborhoods. 

Of many of the commandments that governed our stay at the cottage, Helen was very particular about how far we could tread in her territory.

The house had four bedrooms, three to let out and the Master-bedroom that Helen occupied at the far end of a passage that ran along the other bedrooms. The large -living room was stuffed with American oak furniture in fading upholstery, Navajo artifacts and some fake crystal. The dining area was attached to the living room, adjacent to a fairly large kitchen and the den. Every little space apart from the hallway, kitchen and the den was out of bounds for the boarders. The living room opened up to the backyard that was also accessible from the master-bedroom. The backyard enclosed a patch of green and flowering plants surrounding it. Helen loved to tend the garden. The big gardenia tree outside my window was my favorite, which is why I had decided to pick that room for a bit of nostalgia. Gardenia was my favorite flower and reminded me of rainy summer evenings in Calcutta, India.

On Sundays Helen generally woke up early to visit the Church nearby and came back after having a heavy brunch with her community friends. Needless to say, on those days we could stretch our legs at her dining-table which was a ‘no-no’ under normal circumstances. Of course, she had no knowledge of it.

Or perhaps she did.

However, Helen usually left us alone. She had her dinner early and disappeared into her room to watch her favorite soaps in the evening. She hardly came out of her confinement unless she had a community dinner or any other special events to attend. Basically, she gave us space and was quite fond of us, especially Naomi, even though she was neither an angel, nor a constellation of virtues.

But Naomi was not embarrassed or apologetic about her erratic manners.

On her ‘bright’ days , like the day she landed a job at the music store at The Village in Claremont, she’d stroll in the hallway with a box of croissants or pastries and hand it to Helen with a flourish. She would give a hug to anybody in sight. On her ‘dark’ days the front door bore the brunt of her displeasure and the kitchen shook with the music she created with the banging of utensils. This drove Helen out of her reverie in her room who charged out shrieking, reminding Naomi of the rules and regulations of boarding with her.

Needless to say, Naomi was deaf to all that. Nobody knew what irked her. At times she would fume in silence and at some other times she would nag and complain rolling her eyes in fury and then take her car out in a huff and return only after she had had a chat with her shrink.

The following few days would be peaceful until the next outburst. She hovered around like a solitary creature with a look of maligned madness -- indifferent to the world and played the violin in her room to comfort her aching soul till she got tired of it.

There was indeed a communication gap that kept us apart. Fortunately, she preferred to stay by herself most of the time. We got used to her mood swings and periodic reticence and learnt to give her space. But today she wanted to talk!

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