VANAPRASTHA

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FOR : JUNE 2014

VANAPRASTHA

All Rights Reserved

Tushar was finally dismissed and asked to lead his own life the way he deemed right. Shipra was through with his fears and vacillation when it came to dealing with his dad, the behemoth and a Tartar, in her opinion.

Last night over a long verbal battle, Shipra announced that she was going back to her family in Jamshedpur -- not for a day or two, not even for a week but for an unspecified longer time. Tushar had no idea what this ‘long time’ meant.  Shipra’s threats so far to abandon him had always been fake and blank. But this time she looked ominous in her declaration.

Tushar was a little apprehensive, because he had already overshot the ultimatum that she had given him. He was reminded that he was to be ashamed of the fact that he had failed to communicate with his father their displeasure regarding the irksome problem of his lunatic and wanton behavior. His shameless ‘debauchery’ at a ripe old age, was something that Shipra was not eager to condone. It humiliated her immensely, she said. She couldn’t face her neighbors and friends who would all stop associating with her soon if this was to carry on. She also didn’t understand why Tushar was trying to defend his father, a father he had always been fearful of and who was more of a sovereign than a parent, the archetype strong and silent type, towering over all. She had tried reminding Tushar in so many words of their recent talk with the old man and how sheepish and ridiculously confused he appeared when he got cornered about the strange woman in his life.

Tushar had lost his mother not too long ago. Just some four years back, and the man lost no time to find a replacement! It was an unpardonable sin, Shipra insisted.

The war was to continue and tonight Tushar was preparing himself for Phase II of the same verbal battle.

By the time Shipra reached the bedroom, Tushar had already fluffed up his pillows and was getting ready to read for a while before he went off to sleep. His usual practice.

Standing in front of the dressing table, massaging night cream on her face, Shipra was trying to figure out how long this ‘long time’ should be. While she was busy calculating in her head, she mumbled along reminding Tushar  that there was still a special room for her in her father’s house and that everybody waited for the day she would pay them a visit; that too with open arms. Tushar made no comments and chose to turn deaf.

Picking up the comb Shipra faced him.

“See if you can manage to take care of the household.”  She threw a sideways glance at her husband who now seemed visibly nervous at the thought of her not being around to run the house. She went back to the mirror appraising herself. She knew she was still quite enchanting to many males, even though she was past her prime. A secret smile lingered on her well-curved lips and she raised her eye-brows. That was the pose she chose when she was in the mood to chide her husband.

She smirked while she brushed her hair and got busy plaiting it.

“Motibibi will make your favourite dishes and keep the house clean. And yes, you can check with Dayal at ‘Rashmoni Store’ for groceries and odd things that you may need every now and then. But don’t forget to pay him his dues every week. He’ll send a boy to collect the money on Sunday mornings.” She turned to inspect her attractive image in the mirror as she slid the comb through her silky tresses and frowned in dismay. She was only thirty-seven and already there were a few streaks of gray in her hair.

For a moment Tushar got a sinking feeling at the thought of being left alone in the house when he returned from work. Wrik, their only son, preparing for his Board Exams would be busy with his studies as always. He dreaded the thought of hovering over him to see if he was studying hard. He was hopeless with his own son. Neither of them understood the other. Shipra managed everything for them both. Besides, there’d be no one to pick up after him as he littered the hallway on his way to the bedroom with his belongings. Of course, there’d be no one to keep the food hot and ready for them on the table either. However, the next moment he realized that he didn’t always have to dine at home. He could go out with Wrik and dine anywhere they pleased. They could litter the place as much as they wanted. The part-timer in the morning would do the needful. Who needs a wife? The best part was, he could have a peg or two more at Shashank’s before they called it a day after a game of chess. If that was not freedom what was! He felt somewhat relieved.

His lips broke into a champ’s smile.He rubbed his hands in glee and puffed up his pillows. Tonight he was going to read in bed longer than usual with the lights on just in retaliation.
”Are you listening to me?” Shipra saw the whole scene through the mirror and was losing her cool. She turned around. Her arched eyebrows came crashing down and got tied together in a knot. “Look, I’m not sure when I’ll be back. The keys will be here in the first drawer of the dressing table and the door key is already with you. Do whatever you like. Go visit Dad as many times as you want. I won’t be there to yell at you.”

Ever since his dad mentioned having tea a couple of times with his neighbor Mrs Swati Sinha, a divorcee, Shipra had developed this peculiar attitude; an attitude of disdain towards Tushar and his father -- not to mention the entire Bagchi clan.

She was no prude herself but demonstrated a puritanical zeal to discuss her father-in-law. Tushar was dismissed as a nincompoop, an imbecile, who couldn’t tell that the woman in his father’s life had unwelcome designs on his dad who was sixty- five years old already and had lost his wife ‘only’ four years back. As though grief should only be measured by calendar pages. Moreover, she didn’t lose time to enlighten him that single women like Swati Sinha are on the prowl soon after they lose their husbands to grab a rich man to remarry. Tushar wondered if Shipra actually believed that there was no room for love and affection in a relationship. Did she truly consider a man to be just a cash cow to be milked for money to spend on some silly whims and fancies! Sometimes she was so insufferably primitive in her thinking.

At first he put it down to her having too much time in hand to kill and, of course, nothing constructive to do but shopping and gallivanting with her lady friends, in the housing complex they lived in. He abhorred them with a passion.

But he didn’t really complain, as long as she was out of his way.

He never liked the tone in which Shipra sometimes spoke about her father-in-law. It was quite evident that she had no respect for him. But Tushar knew his dad better. His dad, a self-made man, was proud and strong. Being his son was not easy. If he feared him, he revered him too. An iron-handed enforcer of traditions and morals, he had no respect for those who were frivolous and had no self-respect.

“Couldn’t you talk about my parents with some respect?”He had barked with a grimace. Folding his legs on the bed he rocked from side to side in silent fury like a mountain during a threatening earthquake.

Shipra had come charging with a comb in her hand. “I don’t think they deserve it. He didn’t even lend you any money when I needed a new car for my personal use.” Her eyes were blazing.”What are parents for if they can’t offer to help their children financially once in a while?”

Tushar looked at her with amazement as she moved away quickly with the nimbleness of a mouse in spite of her tremendous weight gain. She was no longer as lithe and curvaceous as she was when they had tied the knot against his parents’ wishes. 

He rested his head on the pillow and with eyes half-closed floated down memory lane.

He couldn’t deny the fact that she was the most beautiful young woman that had caught his fancy once. Being married to her was the greatest honour he could think of. For a few seconds his face had softened and before his lips could break into a smile he reminded himself, ‘But that was then,’ and the woman who he shared his room and bed with everyday was a different person today.

Never a sweet word or a flirtatious glance came his way, even by mistake. Shipra had evolved into a human duty- machine that moved with clockwork precision and sprayed sharp darts of abuse and complaints day and night when upset. Years later when the shroud of infatuation evaporated, Tushar understood why.

 She called him a wimp, a man without a spine for his inability to shoot like a star in the corporate world. She had been disillusioned by Tushar’s ability to rise to any occasion without his father’s assistance. In his rueful moments he often realized that he had failed her being a weakling in his father’s shadow with little ambition and no special talent. And that was true. No matter what he did, he could never measure up to Dad’s standards. How nauseating and yet he couldn’t be any different at this stage in his life while he was pushing forty.

After pretending to read a page or two of the trash that was in his hand, Tushar stifled a yawn and decided to go to sleep. He thought of his father being better off without a wife…But Mother was not like Shipra. His eyes were getting heavy. “If only she knew what it is to be a wife, a real wife, like my mother !  Attentive, caring and soft….! Poor Dad, he must really miss her!” By then he was snoring.

*********                              

Shomen Bagchi got up early every morning. His daily chores were chalked out with precision. Never a moment to lapse and falter. Habits from his army days stayed with him. He also believed in the virtues of routine. He made his own tea, made his bed and slipped on the casuals to start the day. He never missed his long morning walks around the park in the complex. Even at sixty-five he walked erect with long strides and liked to fill his lungs with the clean morning air. It was six already and there was a light haze all around. They said on TV that there was a depression in the Bay of Bengal and it might rain.

He picked up the newspaper from the floor as he stepped out of the flat. It had fallen to the ground. Normally the paper boy fixed it on the wrought iron grill door from outside. He flung it across the room and it landed on the sofa he generally sat in to read it having breakfast.

Shomen was getting used to being alone and liked the home that he and Manju had created after years of living like nomads being in the Army. Finally it was their little nest in this luxury apartment complex after retirement. He was lucky to get it when the going was good and cheap. Unfortunately, Manju didn’t live long enough to enjoy her own home. But Shomen felt her presence in everything that lay around the house -- the furnishing, the furniture, the décor, the well- stacked cabinets, the bookshelves and most importantly, the kitchen with all its gadgets. Shomen had little trouble fending for himself even if the part-timers didn’t show up. He enjoyed those empty hours in his diligent pursuit of experimenting with new dishes or grafting of plants to keep his mind busy. He was deliberately fighting not to succumb to a degenerating and debilitating disease called ‘old age’.

Outside in the open, he took a deep breath of the fragrant air. He felt energetic and young. After Manju passed away he did lose his zest for living having nothing to look forward to, no one to hang on to. His daughter was married off, living overseas. His only son had been a disappointment and his marriage to the girl he chose himself had been unsatisfactory. She was neither well-educated nor well- bred, but just a trophy to display. In the initial stages of their marriage, the family went through trying moments living together. Finally, when they decided to move out  it was a well thought out decision. 

“It's our life, Dad. We’ll manage,” is what Tushar had said. He knew his son was only parroting someone else’s words. Sometimes he did feel sorry for his boy.
Shomen and Manju didn’t stop them.

However, coming back to an empty nest could never be fun.

There was no relief from loneliness in old age. But Shomen didn’t like to consider himself  an ‘old’ man. At least, not just yet. He was in good health. He still enjoyed his exercises, his walks, good food, good music, books, sports and movies. The only thing that made him incomplete and inadequate was Manju’s absence. Sharing his thoughts became a difficult chore. There were not many people he knew, who talked about anything else but inflation, money- making, politics or someone else’s wife. His visits to the Officers’ Club alone grew irregular. He didn’t feel the need to be friends with anyone in particular. While Manju was there, it was different. She was the more outgoing one who made friends easily while Shomen hung around making small talk with the men around. Having travelled all over the country on work, he could hardly establish any long lasting bonds with anyone. With Manju around he never felt the need to have buddies to hang around with. He terminated all his consultancy commitments soon after Manju left him and chose to pick up yoga and holistic treatment for those who came to him for guidance. He read books on science and its new conquests, medical journals that talked about new heights of achievement in trying to defeat incurable diseases, and philosophy that sold new paths to freedom of the soul. But nowhere did he find an answer to surmounting loneliness, turning back the years or communicating with the dead. He was suspicious of occult practices.

The only thing that gave Shomen immeasurable delight was when Wrik, his grandson, visited him. But he was preparing for his Board exams and had little time to spend with him these days. He was also aware that his daughter-in-law preferred Wrik to be left alone. As a result Wrik’s visits were growing too few and far between.

Shomen Bagchi had caught on soon enough that old age is a time when people just move away from you -- leaving you alone to grapple in a bleak world of your own creation. You must learn to fine-tune your needs and live the best way you can, he told himself. You pick up new interests, hobbies and crafts to occupy your time with and keep your mind away from random thoughts of self-destruction. In the last four years, Shomen Bagchi was teaching himself to do the same, trying not to miss Manju, his dear wife of thirty- seven years.

********

Shomen had a few rounds of a brisk walk.

When he came close to the entrance of the park that was like an oasis in the otherwise concrete gated-complex, he decided to r from the floor as he stepped out of the flat. It had fallen to the ground. Normally the paper boy fmentgo inside and sit for a while. He felt warm and charged up. He went past other residents, some elderly and some quite young, both men and women, mostly known faces, still on their usual rounds and chattering away as they did. He studied them with interest. They looked happy and fulfilled. Some of them raised a hand to greet him from afar and some mouthed “Good Morning” and smiled when he reciprocated. He realized that he had always been a recluse and more so now living like a hermit. He preferred to take his walks alone. He never visited any one of his neighbors and his accidental conversations with them didn’t pass beyond a ‘hello’ and ‘take care’. How rude of him! He thought to himself.

The gate to the park was easy to go through. Once inside, Shomen Bagchi looked around.  He looked for a bench to sit on. His eyes were perhaps looking for someone. But they didn’t rest on any one in particular. He moved quietly to a bench in the shade and sat down. There were a few men doing their routine free-hand exercises inside. He wondered if he should do a bit of Pranayam or the breathing exercises he picked up from watching the yoga master Ramdev on TV and then decided against it. It was too public a place for such private activities.

Suddenly he felt deflated. He was trying hard to be alert and cautious but was actually quite inept at fending for himself socially. Over the years he had become more of a social misfit and could talk to no one but a few who had some connections with the Army and that was just a handful of them.

He thought of Swati Sinha. It was here where he had first run into her one morning.

*********

Swati lived in the block of flats next to his. Shomen had never noticed her before, but then he never noticed anyone while Manju was alive. He looked at the world through her eyes and what she pointed out to him. He was happy with his reading, music, sports on TV and a bit of gardening. But Manju was gone and had left him a void that was increasingly engulfing him with a vengeance to make him socially defunct and emotionally bankrupt..

That day Swati Sinha had walked in after her rounds looking for a bench to sit and relax at the park. Her walk was brisk but measured. There was an aura of resignation in the way she moved about. She was neither plain nor was she a looker.  A head taller than most women, she looked well maintained for her age, on the wrong side of fifty. She floated in with an air of indifference to all things around her. Yet there was a simple unadorned elegance about her. She let herself in carefully through the revolving iron gate and stood there for a few seconds staring vacantly at the new deodar trees that had been planted in a row along the railing of the park.

The next moment, when she took a step forward, she fell to the ground tripping over a stone.

Shomen had run to pick her up. A crowd had gathered instantly. It was difficult to lift her up as she seemed to have sprained her ankle and needed help to trot across to her flat out of the park. Leaving her with the other neighbors, Shomen had fetched his car around to help her move to her block. More than the pain, Swati seemed immensely upset about being a spectacle and putting others in trouble.

A couple of youngsters came by and reached her to the lift. More embarrassed than hurt, she had insisted she would manage to reach her flat.

“But that is out of the question,” Shomen had objected.

Like a ‘knight in shining armour’ he felt it his duty to reach the lady home safe and sound as he had rescued her. “You just relax. We’ll reach you home.” He had said with an air of authority. Swati found that even more disconcerting.

Inside her flat there was an elderly maid, Malti, who took hold of her. After first aid and preliminary treatment, the neighbors left as Swati insisted that she was going to be fine and get her family physician immediately to take a look at her ankle for x-rays etc. She thanked Shomen and the other neighbors profusely and assured them that she was going to take good care.

That day Shomen was filled with a new sense of purpose, a feeling of having done a good deed. Perhaps the world hadn’t come to an end and there was meaning in living life for others, he conjectured.

Every day after his walks, Shomen visited the park thereafter. He didn’t expect to see the unknown lady but he did come across the maid, Malti, a week later. With a wide and toothy smile she stopped to greet him with a ‘Namaste’.

On the ninth day, Shomen was surprised to see Swati sitting alone on a bench feeding some birds with pieces of stale bread. She had a light crepe bandage around her ankle and a stick next to her, just in case.

Her quiet, uncommunicative demeanour made her seem a bit intimidating. What got etched in his mind about Swati the first time he looked her way was to find someone looking so disinterested in things around her. There was such a distant look in her eyes. For some reason she looked miserable as well. If he were to go by Malti’s story, she had good reason to disengage herself from life.

According to Malti, who had seemed a bit over-zealous in sharing information, her ‘madam’ was getting back on her feet slowly and the doctor had said that it was nothing serious. Only a bit of rest was required. He also learnt that after a nasty experience over a divorce some eight years back -- Swati had almost become a recluse and had stopped mingling. Refusing to go and live with her daughter in the USA, she had chosen an independent but a cheerless existence, abandoned and hurt, lonely and reconciled, teaching in a nearby college.

That too she gave up a year ago.

There is a level of grief so deep that sometimes it stops resembling grief and becomes your second nature even when one combats life with the colour of false valour. And Swati Sinha didn’t know the secret of surviving with a happy face.

Shomen knew what it was like to be disenchanted by life when fate deals a severe blow, and felt pity for her. Manju would have called that compassion!

He sat at a safe distance absorbed in his thoughts wondering ways on how one could counter depression without medical help. She looked definitely dispirited. Unfortunately, most people do not recognize their maladies and simply suffer in silence, he thought.

He was guilty of it too. It was exactly the way he felt when he lost Manju.

Did this happen to everybody or just those who were too dependent on their spouses! He wondered. But why? Why nurture shame and sorrow and ignore life that could still be fascinating? He argued with himself.

 In Swati he saw himself; the same vacant face that was stamped with depression. It was as though she was his own reflection in the mirror. Did he also look this miserable and frightful? Could this be true? How dreadful!

A few days later he was happy to see Swati back in the park again, She was resting and silently watching the squirrels scurrying about. He watched her for a few moments from a distance and then gingerly approached her.

“Good Morning,” he said smiling.

Swati looked up. There was recognition in her eyes and she smiled back. Shomen noticed that as she smiled her face lit up. Even though she looked rather tired, she had a pleasant face.

“Oh! Good morning! How are you?” her voice was clear and resonant.

“It is you who should tell me how you are doing. Isn’t it?” Shomen smiled. He was still standing with his hands behind him keeping a decent distance.

Swati blushed. “I’m absolutely fine. All thanks to you.” He realized that she was quite articulate if she wanted to be. “In fact, I should have informed you. But somehow it didn’t get done. I’m awfully sorry.” She said quite apologetically.
“Don’t worry, I met your maid the other day and she gave me a good report of your progress.”

Swati laughed. “She’s a chatter box and the local gazette. You just have to shut her up every now and then.”

Suddenly Swati looked serious. She seemed lost in her thoughts for a while. Then quite out of the blue she said. “Have you had tea?”

Shomen was a little taken aback. In his old-fashioned mind he was not sure what that meant, or if that seemed right. She hardly knew the woman. He coughed a little and protested.

“As a matter of fact, I like my tea a little later.”

“Then you should come and have tea with me today.” Swati looked up. Shomen was surprised by her candor and cordiality.

“Oh, don’t bother. I’ll go and have my tea at home.” He was thinking of excuses to move on and avoid getting unsavory glances from passersby. “And I only have a particular kind of tea.” He laughed nervously.

“And what is that?” Swati was looking at him with piercing eyes. After all she was a woman. Women knew exactly when a man was telling a lie.

“Assam tea.” Shomen blurted out. And that was the truth. Most people liked Darjeeling but he somehow preferred Assam tea and was sure Swati didn’t have that at home.

“Good,” Swati got up. “I do have some Assam left. My daughter likes that too. She left some when she moved back to the US.” Swati said with characteristic economy of words. She was already moving towards the gate and expected him to follow her. Shomen had no choice but to fall in step. He realized that it was her way of saying ‘thank you’ to him and he needed to honor that. But he was not sure what they could chat about over tea.

Over time Shomen got to understand that Swati was not given to excessive conversation under any circumstances, but when she spoke, she spoke with passion and delight on various things and made a lot of sense.

To his surprise a very casual chat followed. In no time they talked about the erratic weather, a bit of politics and inflation, as usual. They even exchanged their past work experiences and some good movies they saw in their youth. Shomen went back home pleased and relieved that it was an exchange of good cheer. To top it all, the tea was fabulous.

 Whenever they met at the park thereafter, Swati still remained her calm and collected self. Never any rush of emotion or complaints. Her face hid a lot of pain but it was evident she never shared any of it with anyone.

‘Is she still nursing her wound?’ Shomen wondered and felt it his duty to bring her out of her shell. In the bargain he realized that he was looking up books and magazines with information that could cheer up any soul. Somehow secretly he waited for a chat with her during the morning-walks. It rejuvenated him. It gave him a purpose and joy to share his thoughts with a kindred soul. Sometimes they would walk up to the chai- man outside the Complex for a sip of tea out of earthen cups.

Soon they learnt to ignore unnecessary stares that used to bother them earlier. They had established a comfort zone in their friendship that no one could trespass.

But Swati was not always there. She came down when she felt like it.

And when she was available and in a friendly mood they exchanged books on common interests. Sometimes it was an exchange of CDs and DVDs of classical or instrumental music; occasionally some popular Tagore songs and sometimes of movie classics. The most interesting part was when they had a rather animated discussion on their shared interests sitting at the park after their walks. Shomen realized Swati was well-read and well-informed. There was always something new that he discovered after having chatted with her--  a new perspective, a new direction of thought, some new ideas on ‘how-s and why-s’ or even remembering and rediscovering some long forgotten national events that brought about changes in their lives. It was always an enlivening experience. When they returned to their respective homes they took back with them the realization that it was time spent well.

But every time Shomen left he returned home with a feeling that there were many things that were still left unshared.

***************

It was just before Wrik left for Bangalore for a holiday after his exams to visit his aunt when things got quite out of hand for Shomen.

Wrik had come to spend a weekend with his Grandpa when he first met Swati Sinha who had stopped by to return one of the CDs she had borrowed from Shomen. Malti had her day off and Swati was going to some old colleagues' reunion when she stopped by to return the CD. It was from their conversation that Wrik gathered that the lady was a good friend of Grandpa’s. The moment Shipra heard about this ‘overfriendly’ neighbor of her father-in-law’s, she grew livid. She got suspicious and venomously vicious.

Shomen was surprised to get a frantic call soon after that day from his daughter Trishna in Singapore. She asked him directly about Swati and their relationship. Shomen was flabbergasted. He had no idea how the news had travelled to her so fast and without his knowledge. He felt enormously humiliated and was consumed by rage at the thought of being under scrutiny by his own children. He was a grown man and not their ward or an imbecile at that!  Did they want him to tow the line? Are they asking for an explanation for choosing his own friends!

He realized once more how much he needed Manju at that moment to shield him from their nit-picking and uncalled for interference. Later, when Trishna started checking on him regularly, he realized that it was pointless making an issue out of something that was actually of no consequence. 

One day, he lost his cool and cut short his daughter declaring that he was capable enough to handle a casual friendship with a neighbor. Period. He hung up on her and didn’t feel guilty about it.

That night he stayed awake and did some soul searching. And to his surprise he realized that Swati had somehow become a part of his nameless, undefined existence. Most importantly, he did look forward to her company. He was mortified to realize this truth and was filled with a vague sense of guilt and shame. To his knowledge he had never been unfaithful to Manju. Well, that didn’t mean he was immune to feminine charm. Once or twice he did feel enamored and fascinated by some females but it was all in the mind and Manju never stopped teasing him for his favorites and fancies. But Swati was not a fanciful delight! She was a neighbor and good company.

At this ripe old age, he could think no more. That would be sin.

Needless to say, Shipra was not convinced.

She had started dropping in every now and then on some pretext or the other. Unfortunately for Shomen, on one occasion Tushar and Shipra had to wait for him to return from Swati’s place to receive them. He had gone there to listen to some good music over a good cup of Colombian coffee.

He could tell they were not pleased to see him happy. 

************

 “Did you see the glow on your dad’s face when he returned from that woman’s place today?” Shipra had remarked scowling on the way back home.

“Glow? What glow?” Tushar tried to sound disinterested.

“You daft, you notice nothing.” Shipra grimaced. “Can’t you see that the woman is wrapping your dad round her little finger? She’s nothing but a bitch, I tell you.” She hissed. “You’d better warn your old man to be careful of her.”

“Oh, can’t you say anything nice about anybody? She’s just a friend.” Tushar protested.

“Just a friend! Are you blind? Don’t you see that he’s having a roaring affair with her and that too quite shamelessly?”

“Ahh, Shipra. I’d like you to be a little more respectful when you talk about Dad?”

“If he deserved it. I would. I don’t think he does.” Shipra’s eyes were like blazing pits. “Not when at this age he indulges in having a mistress and brings shame to the family!”

“Why ‘shame’?  He can have a friend if he wants to. We all have friends.”

“Oh, yes. You’d probably do the same when I’m gone. I can write it down that the woman has designs on him planning to marry him now.”

“Marry him?” Tushar frowned. It took a while for the thought to sink in. He couldn’t figure out why Shomen would want to get married again at his age. He was way too old for all that at sixty-five. Then shaking his head he shrugged, “Even if she does, it’s his life.”

“His life? Making a fool of himself at this age and letting a woman put him under her thumb and grab all his money if anything should happen to him? It’s bound to be at some point. And we’re all going to watch that happen?” In her mind Shipra had already reached the end of the road. She raised her eyebrows and eyeballed Tushar.

Tushar was still squinting from this sudden drop of lava. He looked at her with his eyes wide open. He was bewildered. Shipra always had a way to bring him down to this ‘saha’ world with a thud.

 “Take all his money? What do you mean?” He blinked.

“That’s exactly it.” Shipra nodded gravely. “If they tie the knot, even though people laugh at them, and your dad pops it before the woman without a Will, she wins. She gets the property and all his money. And who knows what she does with it?”

Tushar was still struggling with the possibility of such a situation. Looking at his troubled expression, Shipra laughed. “My dear, don’t you see where all this can go? It can ruin you and your sister.”

“I don’t understand. Why would Dad think of getting married at this age? How irrational.” That’s all he could say. He definitely sounded exasperated.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. Tell me why not? If a single woman makes herself available to him he’s bound to fall in love with her sooner or later. She would definitely want some kind of security. Your dad being the way he is, especially after Mom passed away, is in a very vulnerable state. He could agree to accept her without judging her true intentions. You see?”

Tushar was truly confused. What Shipra said really made sense to him.  Finally.  At least there seemed a possibility of such an eventuality.

“But there is a way out of it though.” Shipra gave a mysterious smile and waited for Tushar to respond.
“If only you and Trishna put pressure on him to make a Will -- giving you both your dues, he can do what he wants – I mean, marry or live in sin with this woman. Who cares.”

Tushar didn’t like what he heard. He often objected to the language Shipra used to describe his side of the family. He could never envision his Dad, so righteous and correct all his life, stooping so low to take a woman to live in sin at this advanced old age.

“A Will?” That’s all he could say after he battled with his displeasure in her choice of words.

“Yes, a Will.” Shipra got ready to embark on a lecture to elaborate on the meaning of the term and its consequences. “I’m sure even Trishna wouldn’t like to be cheated and left out of her share of the property and money that should come her way once Baba was gone. Why should she? Only you two have the right to claim what belongs to your dad before any outsider gets to touch it. I’m going to email to her again about all the possibilities right away,” she said with firm determination.”Tonight was an eye-opener indeed.” She gave out a sigh.

Tushar was certain that getting Trishna in the loop was to make sure that the work got done faster. Shipra had little faith in Tushar’s ability or tenacity to take any adverse action when it came to dealing with his dad. He chose to ignore her advice and kept silent.

That very night Trishna was alerted about the new plan of action. Shipra succeeded in painting an evil picture of the female who had bewitched her god-like father-in-law just to grab all his belongings that were to be left for the brother and sister to enjoy when he was no more. She also warned him that if Tushar failed to rise to the occasion, she was going to humiliate him. She was not willing to return home empty handed.

Fortunately Tushar didn’t have to do this part of the deal. Trishna did it for him.

Trishna didn’t’ waste any time to interrogate her dad long-distance. She was not happy to learn that some strange woman should step into her mother’s domain and usurp her position if ‘daddy darling’ was not careful. She minced no words and spelt out that it irked her to think that he should be so careless and downright ignorant and naïve. She reminded Shomen that at his age he was expected to be pious and seek sublimity in religious doctrines. Instead, he was making himself the laughing stock of the community and certainly the Bagchi family. The Moitra family from her mother’s side, was going to have the last laugh. She shuddered to think of the consequences and demanded that he write up a Will at least to secure their future. The following up of the matter, getting legal documents signed and things registered was, of course, Tushar’s job, she explained.

Suddenly Shomen got a nauseating feeling of being trapped and wrapped in layers of cobwebs that he found suffocating.

****************

Shomen Bagchi stopped going out for his morning walks.

He stayed home and watched TV, read books and watered the plants that were cared for by Manju at one time. He stopped listening to music and returned the CDs he had borrowed from Swati one by one over a few days without asking for any other. But he didn’t do that himself. He gave them to the liftman and rewarded him for handing them over to her personally. 

He went shopping more often to escape to the noise of the big Shopping Malls that could make him stop thinking. He visited his Club on occasions in the evenings, but he neither liked drinking with some odd old associates nor did he attempt to get into any conversation with not so familiar members. He sat there alone most of the time staring at his glass and after a peg or so left in his Indica looking more dejected than ever. He came back home unfulfilled and exhausted.

It was on one such evening when he was about to step out of the house with the car keys in his hand, he saw Swati coming out of the lift and marching towards his flat. He froze at the door and forgot to welcome her with a smile.

Swati smiled and looked apologetic. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Umm… was just about to.” Shomen coughed nervously. “But come in.” He moved to let her in. He was his formal self again but looked sheepish. Swati read -- odd.

She went in and perched at the edge of a sofa where she normally sat if she pid him a visit which was rare. She sat like she would fly off any minute if she was intruding.

Shomen sat a distance away facing her. He found it difficult to look her in the eye. It had been more than two weeks that he had stopped going for his walks. Swati was an intelligent woman; she could probably guess that there was something wrong somewhere, he knew. She was studying his face intently from behind her glasses.

“You seem alright.” She spoke gently as though she was expecting him to be sick with fever. 
“I was worried, something was wrong. You didn’t pick up the phone either.” She was still looking at him with a strange look in her eyes, eyes that could be of a teacher trying to catch a truant. Shomen had seen that look in Manju’s eyes before too whenever he was trying to hold something back from her.

He just shook his head but said nothing. He kept staring at the floor with a scowl.

Quite strange, Swati thought.

“Malti came over a couple of times but found your door locked.” She leaned forward. 
“You have not been out on your walks either.” She paused to take a deep breath.”What is it? Is anything wrong? Anything  bothering you?” There was something in her voice that made Shomen look up at her. He quietly rose to his feet and moved away.

“Nothing wrong, but I have been thinking.” His voice faltered and he realized Swati’s gaze was following him. He ran his fingers through his thick crop of hair that was turning gray.

“And what have you been thinking?” She almost murmured. A cumbersome dread was rising from deep within and filling her entire being.

“You wouldn't like to hear that. I can’t even discuss it with you.” Shomen’s face was filled with anguish.

“Why not? It couldn’t be that bad. I thought we were friends.” Swati said anxiously. His fear was palpable. “Is it me? Did I say or do anything wrong?” she gave a nervous laugh thinking she was joking..

Shomen moved back to where he sat and tightened his fists. “It’s not you. It’s me and my family.”

Swati leaned back. “Your family!”  She raised her eyebrows. It really didn’t occur to her that Shomen could have serious problems with his children. He seemed a happy man always trying to keep cheerful and engaged in meaningful activities. She had never come across anybody so selfless, considerate and, not to mention, kind. No, not even Subroto, before everything turned sour between them. She admired the way Shomen had accepted the inevitable and stepped out of his kid’s personal lives living alone not wanting to be a burden on anybody. A totally self- reliant man keeping himself busy. She often thought of Manju to have been a very lucky woman, and she knew how much he missed her still.

“I don’t understand.” She uttered those three words very slowly enunciating them individually.

 “You see it’s not so simple as you think.” Shomen looked at her this time. He had made up his mind to share his agony with her. Over the few months they had grown to be each other’s friend, philosopher and confidante, someone they could share life’s problems with, along with views on their fears of old age, health hazards and impending senility setting in and having a good laugh over it.

He sat down quietly and reran the traumatic experience of arguing with his daughter and daughter-in-law in his mind. He was hurt that his own should think so lowly of him when he had only meant just to be kind to a fellow human being. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“You see they do not like me to have a friend.” He carefully avoided looking at Swati’s baffled expression and continued relentlessly.

“They fear their dad has gone senile and is making a grave mistake by choosing a lady friend to spend a few good laughs with.” He said staring at his own hands. Then he looked up and gazed into Swati’s misty eyes and gave out a nervous laugh. “I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.”

Looking at her bewilderment he decided to spell it out.

”You see they fear we have a romantic relationship and as such some day they could lose all my worldly possessions which they want all of.”

Swati could hear no more of it. She got up with a jerk and stood there shaking. Such filth, such slander -- that too about a man they call their father! It all sounds so unreasonable. Unfair. “Pathetic.” She fumed.

Shomen laughed. “Sit. There’s more to come, if you must hear all of it.”

“I’m sorry. Such terrible things to say to your own father! It’s because of me you had to be so humiliated and now I understand why you have been avoiding me,” Swati could only say so much. She was suddenly overcome with an unknown emotion and was shaking with rage which she tried to contain.

After a long pause Shomen rose from his chair and kept pacing the room absently. He then turned to Swati who still sat there with her face flushed with beads of perspiration adorning her forehead.

“But no, the fact is -- it’s perhaps not a lie.” Shomen’s said t length. “At least, as far as I’m concerned.” Shomen rose. He stopped abruptly and stood still, facing Swati.

“When I was accused of being a dreadful old fool, I defended myself not knowing that there was some truth in it, after all. I tried to run away from it myself. It took me a while to come to terms with the situation I’m in.” He said slowly and took a deep breath. “But today I don’t mind admitting, that they were not really wrong.”

“What do you mean? Do you really believe I am capable of being all that they think I can do?” Swati’s eyes dilated in shock still looking confounded.

“I’m sorry. It didn’t come out right. I mean,” Shomen paused for a moment collecting his thoughts and then when he looked Swati straight in the eye he said rather softly, “I think, I’m saying that you’ve become very important to me. I’m…I wouldn’t mind sharing my life with you -- if I may.” His voice trailed off.  He cleared his throat and said a bit more emphatically, “I mean….if you wouldn’t mind having an old man like me as a life partner.”

Swati stared at his tired face for a while. His eyes looked hurt and sad. There was no smile on his lips  but a sort of indignation hovering over his countenance. She detected a kind of veiled fury lurking in his eyes and yet there was tenderness rushing in to replace it.
“You’re not in your senses, you know.” Swati said slowly and looked away.

“Never more than now in a long time.” Shomen blocked her way as she turned to leave. He was unable to mask his distress. “I just want you to consider it.”

“No, you’re not serious. You’re angry. You’re hurt and you’re thinking of punishing your children by doing what they certainly wouldn’t want.” She moved away. “I cannot be a pawn in this war.” She felt her eyes burn and grow moist.

She walked towards the door and turned once to find Shomen looking devastated. She said nothing.

In a moment she disappeared out of his sight.

In the fading light of the day Shomen dropped into a sofa and sat with his head in his hands staring at the floor. He’s been such a fool. His adulation and his yearnings have been nothing but the concoction of a lonely man’s fragile and feverish imagination. He was slowly engulfed in a vacuum that was drowning him. He felt extremely alone.

**********

Swati was watering the plants in her little rectangular balcony where she grew herbs and some seasonal flowers. The morning air was comforting and played with her graying hair that was still glossy. The sun was yet to come out strong and brilliant. She looked down at the park and at the stream of morning walkers down below. She had stopped going for her rounds for some time as she felt uneasy about it and instead chose to go walking when the sun was down and the place was quiet.

She held the can of water and peered again. Immediately she withdrew and moved away. She found Shomen walking alone with his head bent, looking crestfallen. There was no spring in his walk anymore. His shoulders stooped as though with the weight of shame and defeat. He just followed his own shadow around the park. He looked more like a broken soldier coming home reflecting on his loss of dignity.

Unknowingly she felt a tug at her heart. Her mind filled with the times they shared together listening to music, discussing movies and life in general. Shomen was always so positive and confident. And such a gentleman. What happened to the poor soul? How could he look so deflated?

She wondered if his children still persecuted him and kept a vigil on his rendezvous with unknown ladies around. Strangely enough she felt the need to shield him from all humiliation and shame. He didn’t deserve to be treated with such deliberate disgrace.

All day Swati was a little upset and unfocussed in all that she did. Last night was the umpteenth time she had a chat on the subject with her daughter, Smriti whom she lovingly called Tushki. Smriti was smart enough to gauge that Mom was tight lipped about something that was bothering her and definitely inattentive during the long distance conversation they were having.

She remembered the first time Smriti caught her unawares when Swati gave out non-syllabic, vague answers to some unimportant questions about the ‘neighbor’ she had befriended.

“What is it, Mamoni, are you upset or something?” Smriti had admonished her.

“What nonsense, why should I be upset? I’m fine.” Swati was quick to respond.

There was a moment’s silence on the other side.

 “But you’re sounding so vague and absentminded.”Smriti had laughed.”Tell me, Mamoni, what has made my Mom so lost in thoughts that she’s forgetting to ask about her grandchild’s third birthday celebrations?”

“Oh, dear!” Swati recovered from her stupor and what followed next was regular jabbering between mother and daughter.

But time and time again, in the last two months, Swati was accosted by her daughter about her good neighbor and she succeeded in brushing off the topic, sometimes with forced laughter and sometimes with fake ire. Last night, Smriti didn’t mince her words even though Swati tried retreating from the conversation several times.

“Mamoni, we worry about you all the time” Smriti had said.”Why don’t you remarry? Dad did."

“Tushki, are you out of your mind? Whatever gave you the idea? I’m pushing sixty, if you remember.”

“Age is just a number, Mamoni. You were so happy for some time when you talked about this friend of yours, and what interesting talks you had with him living old memories. Suddenly you don’t say a word about him and you have gone back to your bad mood days again.”

Smriti gave out a sigh. But she was listening carefully to every syllable her mother uttered. Swati felt her eyes smarting.

”Is anything wrong between the two of you? Is he no longer the good old man anymore? Has he turned out to be a dirty old man?” Smriti was probing very cautiously.

‘Oh, no!” Swati could hold it back no more and slowly with a lot of deliberation she explained to her daughter the accusations Shomen had to face from his children because of their friendly association.

 Smriti was furious.”Are they living in the Middle Ages or what? They have no right to dictate what their father should do or not do. He has a mind to choose what he likes best. Anyway, Mamoni, I think, you have been too abrupt with him too. He seems like a caring human being; and you say he’s a gentleman, what more can one ask for in a friend?”

When she heard nothing in response, Smriti added, “Mamoni, are you listening?”

“Yes”, she heard a muffled whisper.

“Now there’s no reason for you to cut him off completely. You could still remain friends. We were so glad to know you have found one, someone who’s close by and who cares.”

Suddenly Swati felt tired and wanted to be alone…. alone to think and search inside.

“Can we talk later, darling?” She said softly.

“But promise you’re going to think about it positively. We want you to be happy, you know.” Smriti added quickly.

Swati could take no more.

She said ‘good night’ and hung up.

Her mind flitted about aimlessly and came back to her last conversation with Shomen time and time again. Two long months had elapsed in between She neither heard from Shomen nor did she pick up the phone to apologize or even say ‘hello’.

Swati tried and made heroic efforts tightening the fortress of her mind and erase Shomen out of the fabric of her life. She told herself that this was perhaps the way it should be. She almost felt mortified at the thought of indulging in fanciful romance budding in old age between two lost souls. How ridiculous it all sounded, she thought. She was going over it again and again as a futile exercise and as a result growing increasingly angry with herself. She swung between relief and a sense of burden; ‘relief’ that they had parted their ways, and ‘burdened’ because she wasn’t sure if she was foolish and fiendishly impulsive to snip the cord.

She chided herself for being frivolous and fickle and hopelessly idiotic to even act in an infantile manner. Perhaps Shomen’s children had better eyes than the two of them – to gauge what was to come!

At the end of the day, Swati could fight no more and slumped into her  bed to shed secret tears and blame Subroto for leaving her alone to face such a predicament.

*******

Shomen was still reading in bed when the bell rang. He looked at the time. It was already a bit after ten. But his day ended by nine and he preferred to read for a while after the news and if there were no matches to watch on TV. First he thought he had imagined it, but when it rang again, he got a little alarmed. It was past ten at night and all the merry-making was nearly coming to an end for the day in the housing complex on a cool, breezy, rainy evening.

He put on his kurta and moved towards the front door. He was still buttoning up when he opened the door to find Swati standing outside with a book in her hand. There was no expression on her face. Her eyes had a pensive look in them. She just looked at him once and then looked away.

“This was still lying with me,” she said at length glancing at the book. She held it out to him.

“Oh, I see!” Shomen was at a loss for words. After rather a long pause he added,”Do come in.” and made way for her to get in. He had a feeling she wouldn’t step in, but Swati surprised him by walking in.

A few awkward moments later, Swati was the first to speak. She was still standing when she said quite unnecessarily, “You seem to have lost weight.” Her eyes were dim and gentle.
“Not really,” Shomen smiled even though he didn’t feel like smiling. He knew it was just an opening line to mask her embarrassment for intruding like this. “How are you?”

“Good, good. Pulling along.” Swati murmured faintly.

“Don’t see you taking your walks anymore though.” Shomen folded his arms across his chest.

“Yeah.” She paused for a while. “Don't feel like anymore," she  said rather sheepishly. "May be, I think, I should start walking again,” she faltered as she uttered those words.

“I think you should. Walking is good for you,” said Shomen rather unconsciously.

Swati turned around to face him. Then she looked up at Shomen. “It’s never too late to start again, is it?” She said a little breathlessly, sounding quite inaudible.

There was something in her eyes that Shomen couldn’t or wouldn’t dare to look for. But her voice was warm though and filled with emoption.

She moved away before she added, “Wouldn’t mind if you’d care to walk with me.” Her face was breaking into a shy smile that was mixed with pain and hope. When she looked up at him a few moments later, she said quietly, “I think I’d like that."

********

When Tushar and Shipra were handed the big brown envelope in a formal procedure, they were more alarmed than curious. The attorney had invited them, at their father’s request, to personally sit with them and break the news. More than Tushar, Shipra was fuming at the thought of some unsavoury news to cascade on them. But the papers in the brown envelope were duly signed and stamped in favour of the rightful owner of the flat that Shomen owned. The Deed was in favour of his grandson Wrik who’d inherit the property only after his wedding, whenever that is. Till then it would be in the hands of a Trust.

There was more to come. A substantial amount of money was left for his daughter Trishna in Fixed Deposits in a bank which she could claim upon arrival.

To conclude the ceremony, they were also given a short note from Shomen with his blessings to his children asking them to forgive their wayward father and not to look for him and his new life partner hereafter. The letter informed them that he had chosen to move away from his truly ‘near and dear’ ones in the last few years of his life, in search of some peace and dignity   -- some place, somewhere in this big wide world.

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

Dola Dutta Roy

June 4, 2014