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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.”
”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.
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 go 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.”
“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.”
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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?”
“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
