THE REFUGEE

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FOR: MAY 2014

THE REFUGEE

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1.

Ellie was no friend of mine to begin with. Nor was she a neighbor.

I knew little of her and she was not exactly a very outgoing soul who could open up her heart out to all. In fact, she was just the opposite.

When I first met her some months ago, I saw her as a lady in her seventies, old and feeble. She struck me as an unstable, apologetic character trying to move around like a shadow, carefully, out of everybody’s way. I found that strange and a bit pathetic. She certainly didn’t seem to be an enigmatic personality, nor did she exude any charismatic charm that made others revolve around her. Yet she was very special to all. 

I didn’t give her much thought till months later, when I caught myself thinking of her with a kind of pain that is dull and gnaws at your heart making you feel guilty.

I still remember the day I met Ellie for the first time.

I was running a little late and was sure to get a mouthful from Manisha, my friend. It was an important day for me. I was going to be ceremoniously inducted to the local chapter of an Indian organization, ‘Parampara’, in the Valley, courtesy Manisha. And I was late for that!!

.

As I struggled to nestle between cars parked in front of her condo, I saw Manisha cruising out looking cool in her jeans and a Moroccan top. She looked gorgeous as usual. Gliding down the paved pathway, she waved out to me. I noticed she hugged a gift-wrapped package and wondered if it was the custom to carry one to the meeting for the host. I had taken nothing!

“Terribly sorry!” I mumbled before Manisha or Mini, as she preferred to be called, could give me a mouthful. “Just got a call from Mom as I was stepping out of the house. You know how she is. It must be early morning there. She has this uncanny knack for choosing the wrong time to call.” I apologized.

“Come on, Geetu. Be glad that you have a mother who cares. She is perhaps worrying about you being alone in a faraway place on the other side of the globe. You should ask her to come and live here with you.” She chided. “And…. my dear, since when have you ever been on time?”

Mini  and I lived a few blocks apart but had no idea we existed till we met one day at the gas station on Towne Avenue. That was a little more than a year ago when I had just begun to get around in my little red Honda enjoying my new-found mobility. Living in a small university town, I had understood that it was an absolute must to have wheels in order to survive.

We had developed an instant rapport from the moment we started chatting. We found ourselves as part of the new generation of single Indian ‘working’ women in the US of A when most of them came to the country piggyback riding on their spouses. I liked Mini for her free spirit and boundless optimism. She filled my ‘down’ days, during and in-between semesters, with an upbeat enthusiasm that made life less lonesome and exciting in an otherwise sleepy little town.

I learnt that Mini was an orphan raised by a maternal uncle in Paanchkula, India, later palmed off to her husband to live in the land of plenty. It was certainly not a joy-ride for her to cope with responsibilities at her in-laws’ and her husband’s philandering. After a scathing battle over separation and divorce, she never considered going back home to India. Instead, she had vowed to battle it out on new grounds with sheer perseverance and grit. The day she earned her maiden name back, she bought herself a second-hand car and soon opened a small boutique at the city center with the money she got as ‘settlement’ from her estranged husband.

That was a couple of years before I met her. The boutique flourished and she managed to make a name for herself spreading good cheer. But born with a social conscience and to fill in a deep chasm somewhere inside, she plunged into doing some extraordinary work at an Old Age Home feeding old people and teaching them yoga. I had a hunch that it was her way of serving and caring for the Mom and Dad she never had.

My engagement with laborious teaching assignments at the local colleges gave me little time to enjoy life. Mini taught me to look around with new eyes. I admired her grit and determination to stay afloat in spite of all the difficult times she faced running a business alone.

In fact, we both felt fortunate to be young and in a land where women were free to live life as they deemed right without any undesirable pressure from society.

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

 2.

Taking Highway 10 we drove towards the little town of Diamond Bar.

“I’m glad you’re not afraid of driving on the Freeway,” Mini remarked as I changed lanes to get away from a slow moving vehicle in front. " One really learns to be self -reliant out here. There's no room for parasites in American society. Even the elderly are not pampered like back home and they learn soon enough to be useful rather than be excess baggage in someone else’s life.”
"Except for some Mom-in-Laws like yours." I shot back back and winked..
"Ahh! Indian in-laws are a different breed and if they find a willing donkey like me they will ride rough shod over you. Am I glad to be out of that situation!"

I knew why she chose to make a comment like that. Thinking of the elderly in most households back home I remarked with caution,“But don't you think dutiful Indians look after the elderly in their old age, no matter where they are? Indians don’t really treat their old parents like excess baggage, do they?”

Mini frowned. Suddenly she fell into a reverie. With an audible sigh of resignation she just added rather solemnly, "You’d be surprised."

I didn’t argue any further and decided to draw the curtain on this argument over an unsavoury subject and changed the topic.

“So how do I look?” I gave a nervous laugh. “Am I appropriately dressed for the occasion?”

I was truly intrigued by the Culture club that Mini attended every month.

Finally I was going to be formally inducted to this prosperous circle of Indian expats in the area that engaged in celebrating Indian culture and heritage. They liked to call the society ‘Parampara’.

“Um-m! I guess so.” Mini eyed the crisp ‘salwar kameez’ suit that I was wearing and was amused.“You didn’t have to label yourself, you know.”

“No harm looking ‘desi’ going to a 'desi' gathereing.” I heaved a sigh of relief convinced that I looked okay.

“But who is that beautifully gift-wrapped package for?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the highway.

“Oh this?” Mini grinned. "I thought I’d take something small for Ellie.”

“Ellie? Who is Ellie?” I asked looking at the heavy Alta Dena truck in front of me  blocking my view of the freeway stretching out in front with cars speeding by.”I thought we were going to the Sharma’s.”

“Ellie is an elderly Indian lady.” Mini turned to look at me. “You’ll meet her today. I know you’ll like her.”  She said casually. "She had asked me last time where she could get some slippers to wear around the house from. I know she’d never be able to find one for herself in that goddamn town of hers. And she's not fortunate enough to be as mobile as some of us are.”

And so Mini found one and was taking a pair for this Ellie, her friend. I was impressed and smiled.

But that was Mini. Any excuse trying to make someone happy.

Before we knew it, we were in Diamond Bar and I had entered the cul-de-sac which ensconced Ravi and Beena Sharma’s town-house flanked by a few other opulent American homes.

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

3

It was one of those seasonal gatherings at Ravi Sharma’s house in Diamond Bar following ‘Holi’ that had just been celebrated in India. A visiting Indian Professor, Dr Ramdayal Upadhyaya was to give a short lecture on ‘Rasa Leela’ and the significance of Holi that had shaped the Indian psyche over eons.

It was an informal gathering and we looked forward to a stimulating lecture and, of course, to the feast that was to follow.

At least, I did.

Ravi Sharma, a Cost Accountant by profession, was the Chapter Chief of ‘Parampara’ in the small town of Diamond Bar looking after its members in the area. Beena, his wife, was gracious and generous. In short, they were a cool couple with kids grown up enough to be independent and be out of the way, giving their ‘crazy parents’ enough time and space to engage in ‘heritage’ sipping social activities of their choice.

There were about fifteen people at the Sharma’s that evening. I looked around and planted myself in a sofa looking a tad apprehensive. Next to me sat an elderly lady. There was a quiet dignity about her. But I could tell she also looked a little nervous as she kept rubbing her hands together from time to time quite unnecessarily. I figured it was certainly a nervous disorder with her. She wore a plain white blouse and a white saree with a thin gold border. I thought she could be close to seventy in age and her hair was braided the old-fashioned way with flowers coiling the length of her hair. I wondered if she had strung the flowers together herself as I was yet to find any such thing around here. She had to be a new resident in the neighborhood and a new addition to the Society like me.

I mouthed a faint ‘namaste’ to the lady folding my hands. She returned the ‘namaste’ with a startled look that I found odd. She hesitated for a second and then moved to make more place for me next to her quite apologetically as if she had no right to share the couch with others.

“Hello, I’m Geeta.” I said smiling. “Geeta Bannerjee. My first time here. You must be new around here too, I guess.” I smiled to make her feel comfortable.

“Nice to meet you.” The lady said politely but almost inaudibly. “I am Elizabeth. Elizabeth Varghese.”

She definitely had a very heavy South Indian accent.

The lady hesitated for a while and then added hastily, “Actually, I come here quite often.” Her voice quivered a little. Then abruptly she fell silent with a nervous laugh.

It occurred to me that perhaps she was eager to talk but felt shy to continue.

 “That’s great.” I nodded. Trying to make her feel at ease I quickly added,

” So you beat me to it.” I noticed that her face broke into a smile that made her look almost divine.

In a moment she volunteered more information on her friendship with Beena trying to justify her presence at the gathering. “Beena invited me to come over to these meetings to meet more Indians, you know.” She said hesitantly.” Actually I have no friends. That’s why I like coming here.” She laughed -- almost looking embarrassed to be surrounded by such energetic young people in a crowd like that.

 “Well, I don’t know many people here either.”I said and shook hands with her.

“Ah! I see you two have met,”said Mini as she came out of the kitchen. I glared at her for leaving me alone and mouthed a question which she ignored with the wave of a hand.

“Ellie, this is my best friend, Geeta,” Mini said with a flourish.

She gave Ellie a hug and handed her the gift wrapped package.

“Here’s a pair of slippers for you. Now you can throw away the ones with the holes. Hope these fit.” She scowled. Ellie sat enchanted by her good fortune.

She looked embarrassed but like a child in glee. “You must tell me how much they cost.” Her voice was tremulous as she was overcome with emotion.

“Yeah,  sure. Later.” Mini quickly moved away to say hello to another friend entering the room. I knew she didn’t want to discuss money with Ellie at all.

Ellie and I chit-chatted for a few more minutes before the lecture started and soon we got really mesmerized by Dr Upadhyaya’s discourse on Rasa Leela and Holi.

Later, on the way back, Mini filled me in about Ellie. I learnt that her full name was Elizabeth Miriam Varghese and she came from a prosperous family in Ernakulam in sunny Kerala. ‘God’s own country’, as they liked to say. Here she was ‘Ellie’ to all, young and old. Gentle and caring, she was a storehouse of tales from yonder and very often women gathered around her to hear of folklores and mythical beings from the shores of India that they missed so much and they also looked forward to some good authentic South Indian recipes from her.

That night when I lay in bed thinking of the evening, I suddenly missed home especially my Mom. They seemed too far for comfort and I missed my Mom's fish curries.

*****************..

4.

At subsequent meetings, I realized that Ellie was the mother figure whom everybody gravitated towards for she touched all with acts of love and kindness. At meetings she would bring a boxful of sweet dishes made with grated coconut, nuts, raisins and milk—things that we had no time to make for ourselves. Sometimes she brought Kerala parathas that were soft and silky to have with hot and spicy chutney. We gorged on them. She carried the box like a treasure chest and loved to see us devour the contents in no time. The only time she would be generous with her smile was when we complimented her on her culinary skills. It gave her immense delight. I could see her eyes twinkle when we raved about the goodies. At other times Ellie sat there looking pensive with a look of mute resignation and listened to our discussions and nodding appropriately but seldom commented on anything. Sometimes this ‘resignation’ of hers haunted me!

 As for her family life I learnt little. I only knew that she lived with her son a couple of blocks away and had no plans of returning to India unlike most visiting Mom & Dads these days. Oddly enough, her son, married to an American, preferred to stay away from these 'desi' gatherings and was definitely not interested in anything to do with our culture. It was the kind of paranoia or complex that many of us develop having estranged ourselves from the umbilical cord -- our true cultural identity.     

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

5.

Diwali was round the corner and Mini and I got busy collecting articles and literature from local Indian members for the Annual magazine from the Society.

Ravi called for a special meeting just a month before Diwali to discuss our progress and final printing of the magazine. Not too many people attended the meeting that day. But Ellie was there, as usual hugging her box of goodies. 
That evening I made it a point to spend some time with Ellie and make her smile. I took my plate of sweets and moved to where she was sitting, reclining on a couch speaking to Mrs Parvati Ranganathan.

I took a spoonful and said, “How do you manage to get it so right every time, Ellie? M-m-m. It is so very delicious… My God, your family must be so lucky to have you make all this for them! They can have home food any time they want!” 
Ellie looked at me and started fidgeting around. She played with the end of her sari twirling and un-twirling it. There was neither surprise nor pride in her eyes but sadness that I could not comprehend.

“I am glad some people still enjoy my food.” She whispered at length. She looked wistful and a bit nostalgic.

“What do you mean?” I asked her innocently. Parvati and I exchanged glances.

“I will tell you one thing,” Ellie said looking at me, forcing a smile. “When I was in Kerala, people in the neighborhood used to request me to make special dishes for them on occasions. I enjoyed doing that.”

“I can see why!” I said smiling.

 “My son, Thomas, refused to eat food made by others. He would only eat food prepared by me.” Her voice quivered a little. "But now I cook just for myself. No one likes what I eat or cares whether I eat at all.” I thought she choked on the last few words and looked the other way. Parvati nodded with a knowing look.

 “I don’t understand.” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to say.

Ellie fell silent for sometime, as though she was debating whether she should speak at all. Then, quite abruptly, she excused herself and got up to wash her hands.

When I caught up with Ellie soon after that, she gave me a faint smile. We moved to the porch.

“I know you won’t understand.” Ellie said with an air of despair. She turned around and saw me studying her face. I guess I had my brows badly knitted and was sure she was perhaps a little disturbed to find me trying to probe too much. She patted my hands. “You’re really curious, aren’t you? How long have you been here?” Ellie said at length.

“Why?  Seven years so far.” I said carefully.

“Look, only Beena knows the truth.” She paused for a while to collect her thoughts. “I think I’ll tell you today too.” She looked at me with burning eyes and then rolled on.

 “Everybody in Kerala thinks I am so happy to be living in America with my only son…. living in such comfort in the land of plenty!” She laughed and looked away. I detected a ring of pathos in what she said. “Actually, I have no place to go back to. I am nothing but a refugee here.” She sighed. “I have burnt all my bridges and the truth is -- I feel trapped out here. You all are young and, perhaps, won’t understand what it is to be in a place where you have no money of your own and no one to turn to.” Tears were welling up in her sunken eyes. She kept pulling at her fingers with an uncanny nervous energy.

I was listening with shocked concern. I did not want to interrupt. Ellie looked up at the sky and then at the tall trees that lay in the distance at the back of the house down the slope moving into a thick forest below. It was dark out there.

“Back home everybody encouraged me to come here. They were not to be blamed.” Ellie continued in her characteristic faltering manner. “I thought so too when my son came down to Ernakulam after his father passed away. That was twenty-two years after he had left India.”She rubbed her eyes with the back of her knuckles. 

“My husband had worked very hard to give him a good education and sent him off to the US to study Medicine. He did very well. We were very proud of him. I still am. But when he didn’t want to return to India to look after the family pharmaceutical business, my husband lost all interest to carry on with it. His health broke down.” Ellie stopped to gather her thoughts. Her breathing was getting too rapid. “Perhaps he knew more than I wanted to believe.”

I patted her hands resting on the handle of her chair. She had a dazed look in her eyes.

 “I told him not to worry.” Ellie continued. “We had our land and property to live comfortably for the rest of our lives. We had relatives and friends around and, as long as our son was happy doing what he was doing wherever he was, all was okay.” She took a deep breath and stared blankly at the space in front of her. I did not want to break her reverie.

Moments later she said, “Then Thomas married an American girl. Lovely girl but we knew chances of his returning home grew even dimmer.” She looked at me with colorless eyes. “We were happy for him. At least, somebody was there to look after him. He wouldn’t be alone. He’d eat well. When his children were born we were thrilled, even though we got to see them only in photos.” Ellie tugged at her ‘pallu’ and got up. She paced around a little and then rambled on.

“All was fine till I lost my husband. I was shattered and didn’t know what to do! By the time Thomas came down, all was over. There was a lot of paper work to be done which I knew nothing about. My husband died suddenly and I had never bothered to find out anything. I always thought I would go first. Oh, I wish I did! But God had other plans.” She covered her eyes with her hands and wept silently for awhile. The light in the porch was dim and the noise inside the living room was filtering out through the half shut glass doors. The forest down the slope was getting darker and ominous. There was a chill in the air. I thought we needed to go back inside, but didn’t press Ellie to break her flow.

I waited for her to take a break. Finally, when she spoke, she sounded agitated.

“When Thomas came down he was very annoyed with the mess we were in. I couldn’t understand his rage. He said he didn’t like to leave me alone and helpless. He said I should leave with him for the US immediately. But that was silly. I had so much to do still after the funeral services.” She laughed. “Then my friends told me that he was being really kind.” She was shaking her head without her knowledge going back in time. Then she looked up at me and added with a miserable look in her eyes.

” But I was confused and knew it was a very tough decision to make. He said that all I needed to do was to sell our property and bring the money with me to the US.”She took a deep breath and sighed.

” Later when I debated on the idea, it somehow made sense to me too. He promised to do his bit for me to get me American citizenship if only I joined him soon enough. Old people in the US get a lot of facilities, he said. For that I needed to be in the US …. to apply for a Green Card as a dependent and finally, Citizenship. I thought it was the best thing to do to be with my son in old age close to me. I wouldn’t have to stay alone in India and fret.” Ellie sounded despondent.

I could see she was upset to relive her agony and, perhaps, her disappointment too. I was listening and made no comments to interrupt her flow of thoughts.

“I told Thomas that I would think it over and I really thought it over.” Ellie continued. “I consulted my relatives. My friends and neighbors and everybody said I was so fortunate to have such a caring son, that I should not think twice about moving to America.

“Thomas had very little time to cover all the necessary legalities.The rest was covered by my lawyer. There was a good buyer he said and it took me a year to land here with everything I had. So here I am. That was six years ago." Ellie paused for a while to take a breath. "Do you think I made a mistake?”  She looked at me with vacant eyes.

In the dark I couldn’t really see her expression but I was sure her eyes had mock laughter in them. 
Then she put a hand on her chest and with a blank stare she whispered, “But I miss those coconut trees around my house….going to the small chapel close to where we lived…our friends, the smell of sea breeze all around, the waves and the sand and the smell of sea fish….” She shut her eyes reliving those blissful moments.

“What are you two doing here? I‘ve been looking for you?” Mini had a glass of Pepsi in her hand. Looking at her watch she took a gulp of it and said, “Should we make a move now, Geetu?”

I looked at Ellie. She was smiling but her eyes had grown moist. She looked away for a minute and then she lifted her hand to say ‘bye’ to us.
”Can we give you a ride back home?” I hesitated and asked Ellie.

“That won’t be necessary. I can walk back. It’s just two blocks away. Someone will walk me back, I’m sure.” Ellie sounded confident.

“No, you’re coming with us. It’s late and not a problem at all.” I said quite firmly. 
Ellie said nothing more when we drove her back home. She lived in a big house that looked prosperous. Her son must be doing pretty well, we thought.

“Boy, doesn’t she live in a fancy house!?” Mini said after we dropped Ellie off at the gate. “This makes me really proud to be an Indian. Indians in the US are indeed a flourishing breed. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, prosperous indeed,” I murmured. Mini looked at me raising her eyebrows.

“What’s that for? Suddenly we’re sarcastic.”

“What?” I asked hesitantly.

“That sarcasm in the way you said it!” Mini was a little surprised at my displeasure.

“Well, being prosperous doesn’t always make you humane and honest, does it?”

“Oh, so she told you about her son,” Mini looked straight ahead.

“Not much but the fact that Ellie is not quite happy with him.” I said.

“Neither am I,” Mini sounded somber.

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

 5.

Diwali came and went as usual. The subscription to our magazine swelled. Thanks to Mini’s marketing skills!

By the end of the year, at a  Christmas party, we heard that Ellie was very unwell. She was taken to a hospital nearby going through a battery of tests.  Mini and I decided to go and pay her a visit. Beena was to be our escort.

At the Mount Sinai Hospital we found Ellie sharing a room with four other patients. She tried to sit up when she saw us. She looked alarmingly frail but surprisingly happy. Her eyes shone like tiny bulbs when she saw us and she could not stop smiling. She held our hands tight and wouldn’t let go.

“What is the matter with you, Ellie?” I said laughing. I handed her the book she had wanted to read once.

“Better get well fast. Who is going to make all those goodies for us at the meetings?” Mini pouted.

“Look, you have to join us for the picnic Ravi is organizing for us next weekend,” I said holding Ellie’s hand tight.

“I wish I could.” Ellie laughed. “The doctor has other plans. My surgery takes place on Thursday morning before that. I don’t think I can make it to the picnic this time.” She was actually laughing with a twinkle in her eyes.” But I certainly would have loved to.”

We saw Ellie’s son and daughter-in-law that evening too. Interestingly enough, the young lady didn’t look our way to greet us and her husband looked more arrogant and standoffish let alone be friendly. He seemed to be in a serious problem of an identity crisis -- caught between conflicting emotions of guilt and shame -- that made him look awfully defiant. He certainly looked disturbed and kept pacing around.

When we left the hospital with Beena none of us was thanked for paying Ellie a visit.

*********

6.

“I only hope she can pull through.” Beena said at length, while we drove back from the hospital.

“Why do you say that?” Mini was annoyed at such a pessimistic assumption.

“Ellie is dying girls. Her lungs are damaged. She’s unable to take the cold. Besides, she doesn’t have the will to live. I have never seen any woman being so hopeless and pathetic. She has just been withering away. That son of hers is a selfish monster. Do you know why he brought his mother to the US?”

“What do you mean?” I was perturbed. even though I had my suspicions.

“He needed her money, to be frank. I know it sounds bad but that’s just what it is. Not just that, if you ask me, most working couples need a nanny and a full time maid for their kids as well. Who could be better than your Mom to fit the bill? With high profile jobs her son and wife are both busy. In the meantime, who is going to look after the house, keep the food warm and the house clean?” Beena sounded furious and her voice rose a few decibels higher than usual.

“Did you know that her son took all her money and paid towards the house they live in? That’s her house too that they live in more than it’s his alone. Yet Ellie has not a penny to her name! She’s on social welfare finally. It’s her social security money that she has as her monthly allowance which she hands over to her own son for her lodging.” Beena was hissing with rage. “She is virtually staying as a PG with him. Can you think of this in India!” Beena was choking by now.

 
”Would you believe that the day her papers were done, it was vacation time for the family -- leaving the old lady to hold the fort all alone at home?” I had never seen Beena so irate.

“You’re kidding!” Mini was aghast.

 “Well, she was given a bag of groceries and left to fend for herself. An old lady who doesn’t know her way around town, not even where to go shopping for essentials out here, was to manage the house and keep the fires burning, isn’t that asking too much? No matter what you say, for most Indians language is a problem and more so with an American twang. Besides, the shopping malls are too far away and she has no transport to move around in.  She was totally at her wits end!” Beena threw her hands up in the air.

“I should know that.” I said feeling guilty. “No wonder when my mom came visiting me, she soon got tired of hanging around the house all by herself while I went to work. She didn’t’ say it in so many words, but I could feel she missed home and the family even though she loved her Big Macs, Burritos and steaks. She waited all day for me and had no one to even talk to.” I could feel my eyes smarting with guilt.

” No wonder she left for India sooner than she intended and I sulked making her feel guilty. I behaved so badly with her! Poor Maa.” I was filled with remorse.

“I still feel it’s possible to turn around when you are young and capable.” Beena added. "But for someone like Ellie, it’s nothing but misery and humiliation. Two long years Ellie was practically left alone during the day in that big house with nowhere to go, no one to talk to or with no company of any kind. Nobody had the time for her, neither in the family nor in the neighborhood. She was scared to step out of the house. She lived like a shadow afraid to make her presence known. She felt that her son and also the kids were embarrassed to be seen with her.” Beena wiped her eyes.

“It was by accident that I found her roaming the streets one day when she had locked herself out by mistake. There was nobody home to let her in. She didn’t know who to go for help. She was literally frightened to death.” Beena shook her head in exasperation.

“You mean to say she had no key to the house?” I asked.

“No. That’s the point. She lived like a prisoner in her own house and that son of hers made no arrangements for his own mother.” Beena fumed.

“Outrageous! I wonder how many parents enjoy that!” Mini said philosophically. But I could detect a note of sarcasm in her tone.

“Actually, the whole thing is strange,” she said.  “For Ellie it was a mistake to give up her familiar life back home to embrace a new lifestyle out here. Being uprooted from home especially at her age, with no emotional support, could make anyone miserable. I would feel robbed off my dignity as a human being, if you ask me.” Mini took a sip of the glass of Pepsi she still held in her hand.

“You should have seen her the day I took her to a shopping mall.” Beena smiled. “She was like a child! Thrilled just to be there but she had no money to buy even a hair-band that she needed. And she is too proud to ask her son for one. Mind you, her own money.That’s when she told me where her money went.” Beena took a deep breath.

We drove along quietly. No one said anything for some time until Beena broke the silence that was numbing our senses.

“Do you know that Ellie was sharing a room with her little grandson till he decided to throw a tantrum to have his old room back. He felt that his privacy was being invaded by some ‘old lady he could hardly relate to’.”

“He said that? “ I was horrified.

“His exact words,” said Beena.”Ellie didn't mind. She said she shouldn't complain when the child had never known his Grandma from the day he was born. She was practically a stranger to him when she came along. His father never made any attempt to bring them together either. So she decided to move downstairs to sleep on the pull- out couch in the den, that too when everybody had left the room late at night after their favourite TV shows…. after she had cleared the table, and helped her daughter-in-law do the dishes.” Beena cleaned her face with a tissue. There were tears streaming down her face. Perhaps she was also thinking of home and her parents left alone to fend for themselves back home. But the only consolation was that most Indians still enjoyed the support of an extended family.

“What did her son say to that ? Did he just watch his Mom break her back?” My voice rose.

"That was exactly my question to Ellie." Beena raised her eyebrows."Ellie said that she had no complaints against her daughter-in-law, who was after all from a different culture raised differently. But she was disappointed  in her own son." 

"If you ask me, it was nothing unusual. It was his idea of an ideal Indian mother, I guess! Mothers are to be self-effacing and self-sacrificing!” Mini quipped. “You just try to be useful around the house. Nothing wrong in that.” Her voice was loaded with sarcasm.

“Incidentally, the day she locked herself out, she got a shouting from her son for being incorrigibly careless.” Beena added. “Anyway, finally she demanded a key to the main door. Now she comes to our place when she pleases. At least, she doesn’t feel like a prisoner anymore. Of course, she as no illusions about her son  and doesn't feel the need to cover for him either.”

“Thank God for that! I would really call up the police and report the matter. Such torture is unthinkable. It’s illegal.” I said with conviction as I was getting increasingly quite knowledgeable about American ways and the social system, I thought . 

“But Ellie with her traditional values couldn’t and wouldn’t lodge a complaint against her own son.” Mini was quite vehement about it.”No mother would.”

“You know something? She saved her share of the milk and other things to bring those sweet dishes for us!” Beena’s said. “Poor old Ellie!”

“But why is she so sick?” Mini wanted to know desperately.

“Malnourished with old age complications.  She was not eating enough to live. Basically, there's no desire to live. She's quite frail, you see. She has a patch in her left lung. Her pancreas and liver are also packing up,” Beena said quietly.

Suddenly we didn’t feel like talking anymore. A thick aura of gloom descended upon us.

That night when we drove back to Pomona after dropping Beena home, Mini said she was going to take some anti-depressant and I thought it would be a good idea to take up yoga seriously to keep my body and mind in order. Ancient techniques work wonders. We both felt the need to move on undeterred.  But somehow we both feared being alone in old age and in a land that is not really our own. The thought was gnawing at me like a recurring nightmare. In the middle of that night, I suddenly sat up sweating. Finally, I sat down to write to my mom telling her that at the end of the semester, I was coming home.... that I was seriously homesick.

**********

7.

Ellie passed away smiling a week after that.

She died as a result of Pulmonary Embolism, the doctors said. 

Strangely enough, every time we visited Ellie in the hospital, she looked alive and radiant. As she was disintegrating on the inside, she seemed more and more cheerful and bright on the outside, as if she couldn't wait to end her life. She’d take deep breaths and talk of the tall coconut trees and the smell of the sea breeze back home. She talked of Christmas and Easter in Kochi, the colorful  'Star'  paper lanterns hanging at porches throwing spotted lights that danced on the walls. She talked of the taste of rose cookies, sea fish and Kerala coconuts filled with nectar.

She showed no signs of being afraid of her condition. She left knowing that at last she was going home to her husband, free from the cage she had walked into quite accidentally as a poor old ‘refugee’.

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

Dola Dutta Roy

Calcutta        

posted : May 10, 2014                                       

THE APPRENTICE

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

FOR: APRIL 2014

THE APPRENTICE
All Rights Reserved


Meghna was too tired to talk on the phone. In fact, she was exhausted. She was just back from her session with the jail inmates, listening to them and making careful comments on their attitude that needed to be corrected. She promised Shumit that she would see him the next day. He realized that she had gone into her shell once again and would like to be there for some time.

Meghna had a headache. It was a hard task convincing the inmates as most of them believed they were misguided and misjudged. There were complaints against the decadence in the social system, the judiciary and life in general. It was extremely difficult for her to make them see what they did wrong. What irked her most was that there was hardly any remorse or guilt in the minds of most of them. Some even looked hostile enough to want to commit the same crime given a chance. As a counselor this weighed on her mind.

But it was not always like this. It was a relief that once in a while she found some guys who listened to her and were willing to do some self -reflection and even said that they were sorry. They thanked her for introducing them to the Law of Karma -- giving them a different perspective to the eternity of life and death. On those days she came home jubilant and was eager to finish her report. 
Today was not one of those days.

Today Dayaram didn’t speak at all. He held his head low and communicated in monosyllables only. He was one of those who staggered into a jail sentence for a crime that he, perhaps, didn’t commit and stood hovering over a precarious situation. Yet circumstantial evidence went against him contradicting testimonies from neighbors and associates saying that he was innocent. He stood just a few inches away from a death penalty. Meghna’s task was either to make him admit his heinous act or restore his waning self-esteem and return him to his nest to hold his head high. The court so far hadn't come to any satisfactory conclusion.

Some days Dayaram got too uncooperative and it was hard for Meghna to press him further. So after a while she would pack up and leave giving him a few words of comfort asking him to get in touch with his own soul. It was one of those days.

Dayaram was inattentive and restless. He refused to elaborate on his story that he had repeated a number of times on his alibi on what he did on the day Bharti was found murdered. His story had moved Meghna and she was struggling with the thought that he may have been framed for some odd reason and was, therefore, needed to be snubbed out by the prosecuting party. But what was most mystifying was that Dayaram chose to remain reticent about the true facts behind the conspiracy, if there were any, and she wanted to pry it out of him.

However, Dayaram was not a degenerate. He looked clean and sober. In his free time he liked to do some reading and lately he had been asking for spiritual books that he devoured with relish. He also made some notes but kept his little notebook hidden somewhere where others wouldn’t get to see. This came out in one of his unguarded emotional moments during a conversation with Meghna. But he wouldn’t tell her what he wrote in it. No amount of pressure or cajoling brought it out of him. Meghna gave up pursuing the matter and moved on to other topics like things that he was interested in as a child. 

She was surprised that Dayaram’s major passion as a child was to fly kites in the open skies, that too racing with the birds in flight. He tried to catch them in the loop that he tried creating with the glass-coated string to pull them down. Sometimes they would escape and sometimes bits and pieces of their feathers or claws got disengaged from their unsuspecting bodies in the air. Not that Dayaram minded that. And if he happened to catch a full bird, he spread out its wings wide and studied its body parts with great concentration. Later, he would walk to the stone pit where his elder brother worked and steal a nice piece of stone or marble. Back home using Shivram’s tools, secretly he would carve out a replica of the bird that looked inert but real. His unofficial sessions as an apprentice to his big brother, Shivram, were beginning to help him grasp the art of skillful carving with the help of some interesting tools. He kept a jute bag under his bed and put all the stone birds he created in it. Nobody knew about them except Bharti, Shivram’s wife. 
Strange way to pursue a hobby, Meghna thought. 

Bharti liked the stone birds and gave each one of them a name for its shape and size. She said that someday Daya was going to be great stone-cutter, an artist, and make a name for himself. But Daya warned her not to mention this little secret to Shivram. He was petrified of his brother, ten years his senior and a bully. So was Bharti and she didn’t want to upset him either. Soon he graduated to animal forms replicating his catch with stronger strings and greater skill.

*******

After dinner Meghna sat down with Dayaram’s file and absently turned the pages. Dayaram’s reticence disturbed her. This was the first time she found something that made her feel incompetent to understand the psyche of a criminal mind. It also gave him no chance to defend himself. Was he really such a fool? Did he not care for his aging parents who needed support, she wondered!

Dayaram came from a suburban home. His family was small with just his parents, his elder brother and his wife, Bharti, and himself. As a young boy it was hard to contain Dayaram in a small place. He skipped classes at school and escaped to neighboring towns to look for distraction. When the rains stopped and the days grew cooler, he would also go to the riverside and fly kites in the open fields. That’s when something happened, he said, that changed his life.

It was a lovely windy afternoon. The air was damp and the sky was bluish grey. There were some common kites and egrets flying about and the grass was long and green. The dirt road that went through the open fields ran along the river between thickets and clusters of overgrowth all around. Dayaram took the road as far as the high walls of the stone pit and finally found a spot to rest his back on a wall that had ad lines of 'Mohan Biri' and ''Bapi underclothes' painted all over the uneven surface in gargantuan letters.

He sat there for some time and didn’t know when he had dozed off. He woke up to the sound of voices that sounded like people arguing over plans for a robbery that night. Darkness had deepened by then and fireflies were out and glowing. Dayaram realized he had to run back home. He got up stealthily and crept along the wall to take the dirt road to where it ended near the little cluster of housing of the small insignificant town. When he reached the end of the wall and took a turn he fell into a ditch and unknowingly gave out a cry. In a few seconds he saw shadows of hefty men moving out of the factory and looking around. Dayaram slumped to the ground in the long grass to hide but at that moment a stray dog came to make friends with him. It started licking his face. The delirious movement of its tail was noticed by one of the men and he moved towards where Dayaram lay hiding. The others followed him. 

When Dayaram was brought inside the small enclosure of the walled stone factory, someone shone a torch on his face and to his worry he heard a cry escape from the man behind the torch. It was his elder brother. That night Dayaram was escorted home by Shivram but in the days that followed he paid tenfold for playing truant. He was threatened and tortured every day to keep his eyes and mouth shut about Shivram’s nocturnal deeds failing which he would never be seen alive. He was made to witness mugging, rape and even robbery. Not just that he was made to use his lassoing skill to entrap victims and fell them to the ground. He didn’t know when he had become an active member of his brother’s gang. Occasionally, he even got rewarded for his special talent after some unthinkable nefarious acts of violence that got committed in which he was also involved against his wishes. He had no motivation to go to school or even make friends with boys his age anymore. He started losing weight as he lost his appetite. He had turned into his brother’s slave. That was seventeen years ago. Now he was a man of thirty-two and still feared to talk about his own feats.

Unfortunately, when Bharati was found near a ditch with her head twisted and broken, snapping the spinal cord from the skull, his big brother was the first one to incriminate him. 

Bharati was not a docile, silly woman. She was clever enough to guess what her husband, Shivram, was up to. First, she thought it was another woman that he went to most nights -sneaking out the back door while she pretended to be asleep. She even followed him up to a point a few times but Shivram would evaporate into thin air suddenly in the dark -- a few yards away before she could even rub her eyes to look for him. What disturbed her most was the fact that Shivram would often wake Daya up and drag him along on his nocturnal trips. She knew Daya was a simple boy who was devoted to Shivram and grew suspicious of her husband’s motives behind the practice. 

The following days would be strenuous for the whole family as Bharti would not go in to the kitchen and not lift a single finger to do housework. She would lie in bed whimpering and cursing the whole family. This enraged Shivram no end when he returned home to find his partially blind mother doing all the work and he would beat her black and blue till she got up and entered the kitchen to cook for him. Shivram had never been a kind husband. In fact, he never missed an opportunity to cause her grief. He did have a morbid appetite to give her pain. Dayaram could hear her groans of agony whenever Shivram was around, but said nothing. He chose to walk out of the house and sit in the park nearby where boys played football or cricket. He was still in awe of his big brother.

Soon Bharti got wind of Shivram’s activities when she realized that every time he was out at night, some crime took place in the neighborhood and nearby towns. 
One day she caught Dayaram by the collar to tell her the truth. Daya was disturbed to see his sister- in –law at the end of her patience. A little pressure brought out the truth from him. 

Bharti sat still for a while, her eyes flashing, her fiery red anger rising to destroy everything in sight. She gave him a venomous look out of her small eyes and tightened her mouth. “I will see how you two can get away with such evil acts.” She looked fierce as she spoke." I’ll destroy you both.” She gave Dayaram a look of contempt and disappeared from his sight. Daya knew that this could bid ill for the days lying ahead. 

He noticed a subdued recklessness about Bharti in the days that followed. She talked to neighbors more often and went to the women’s centre to offer her services even for a low wage. Some thought she was asking for trouble and some liked to see her defy that notorious husband of hers. But no one knew that Bharti was making plans for something that would set the town on fire and Shivram and Dayaram thrown in jail for life. During one of her periodic visits to the local temple she went straight to the ‘thana’ on a bullock cart, covering her face with the ‘pallu’ of her saree so no one would know it was her, Shivram’s wife. At the police ‘chowki’ she gave details of her husband’s activities and disappearance during the nights before some crime took place in the area. It took a lot of convincing as the police first took her to be soft in the head. But later when the dates of his disappearance and the dates of the crimes on their records matched they gave her a second look. She took names of all his gang members but left Daya’s name out. For some strange reason, she tried to shield him to save the family from further ignominy.

The police swooped down the little house turning everything upside down and picked up Shivram from the stone factory and his men from places they were to be found. Daya and his parents stood mute in fear. Later in custody when Shivram was visited by Daya and Bharti with their father, he just glared at Daya and fumed. Bharti said nothing and stood there with downcast eyes under her ‘pallu’. The following week, Bharti’s body was found in the ditch with her neck twisted not very far from where they lived. Everybody said it was an evil spirit who did the job while Shivram was in jail and Daya away at the stone factory filling in for his brother as a 'temp'.

Shivram wailed and shed copious tears. He took his younger brother’s name to say that he was the actual culprit in all the misdeeds that had been recorded in his name. Most victims of their attack died the way Bharti died, with their neck broken with the pull of a lasso. He was not only a blood thirsty young man but was an immoral young man having an illicit relationship with his loving wife whom he adored. This horrified Daya who looked up to Bharti as his second mother and thankfully the theory was rejected on grounds that it was not a strong enough motive to get rid of Bharti, if it were true. However there were no eye witnesses or enough evidence to incriminate Daya. He needed to serve time for being an accomplice to his brother in his unsavory crimes. The police still needed to do a lot of investigation before they could come to any conclusion regarding the murder of Bharti.
Both Shivram and Dayaram had been in police custody for the last six years in different jails waiting for the final verdict.

*******
Meghna was feeling a little under the weather. She had another migraine attack. If it was from hitting a dead-end or just a physical symptom of an attack of Dengue, she wasn’t sure. But she headed for the jail to sit with Dayaram again. Last week she was not successful in getting any new facts out of him on the murder of Bharti. The police were still baffled in finding a motive behind the killing, especially when Shivram was in jail when it took place. They never paid much heed to Shivram’s ramblings as their neighbors and family shot his whole accusation down by saying that Daya was a loner by nature and an artist who spent time making stone figures in the courtyard most of the day. He also sold them to his neighbors and friends to make an honest living. 

In the meantime, Meghna had been to his little town to meet his family and found his old parents shuffling along to stay alive. They had courted silence and spoke feebly if they ever did. There was not much coherence in what they said anyway. They passed no judgment on the ghastly deeds theirs sons were engaged in either. Dayaram’s mother had gone blind and needed help to move around. His father was short of hearing. Or perhaps, he had shut the world out of his hearing. 

The neighbors had much to say about Shivram but no one said anything untoward about Daya. The general opinion was that he was a quiet guy, always bullied and dominated by his elder brother who was not only hot-tempered but obnoxious too with criminal inclinations. Surprisingly, Daya worshipped his brother and was a slave to him. Deeply attached to his family, he could never raise his voice against his seniors. They never heard any arguments between the brothers but yellings from Shivram who called his younger brother names and mostly a wimp and a coward. It came as a shock to them that Daya should also join his brother to engage in sordid misdeeds that went against his very nature. 
The police didn’t know what to believe. 

*******

Dayaram looked up when Meghna sat facing him in the dingy room that smelt of human body odour of the worst kind. The wooden table and chairs creaked when touched to be pulled. There were cobwebs hanging as a screen between the ceiling and the fan overhead. The policeman who opened the door for him was happy to wait outside and seemed least interested in their conversation. Daya looked tired and older than he was.

“I’m not going to ask you the same questions again, Dayaram,” Meghna said kindly with a faint smile. “But I must know one thing. Will you tell me the truth?”

Dayaram gave a blank stare. She knew he had made up his mind to say no more. He looked drained and a bit displeased. There was a long pause. At the end of it Meghna leaned forward and said almost in a whisper, “Did anyone else know how to pull a lasso like you do?” She was looking at him intently. 

First there was shock in Dayaram’s eyes; then he lowered them to look at his hands on the table. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“Did you teach anybody how to use the ‘lasso’ technique from a distance?”

Dayaram just shook his head three times and remained silent. Meghna sat studying him for a while. Then she got up and paced the small room a bit thinking. Then she returned to her seat again and stood there holding the back of her chair.
She inhaled deeply and sighed. “Then why Dayaram?”

Dayaram looked up sharply, his eyes flashing for an instant. Then with a flicker he shut them and his body went limp. It took him a while to fathom what Meghna was asking him. When he opened his eyes again, they were moist. He was breathing fast and his body grew stiff. 
Suddenly with the jerk of his head he looked up. His eyes looked insane.
“Because she threatened to kill him.” he hissed. This time his body was shaking and his voice sounded raspy. “She had no business to go behind his back to report to the police.” He looked angry now. "She betrayed him. She was a traitor. ‘Bhaiya’ always said that there was no place for a traitor in our family.” 

“So you decided to punish her?” Meghna was curt. “You took the law in your own hands.Or you just wanted to play God, didn’t you?” Her voice was loaded with sarcasm this time.

Suddenly Dayaram was weeping like a child. Meghna watched him for a while. Her face expressed anger mixed with pity and soon it was replaced by disappointment. She picked up her bag and files and left the room with a heavy heart.

When Dayaram’s room was being cleared, they found a small notebook tucked in the handmade secret pocket of his shirt. It had only one line written in it thousands of times. 
“God, I have sinned. Please forgive me.”

***********
Copyright: Dola Dutta Roy
Calcutta , Sept 28,2013

DEJA VU

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

FOR : MARCH 2014

DEJA VU

All Rights Reserved

            Another train puffed its way in to the station. The coolies in faded red uniforms broke out of inertia to take position in front of assigned areas for the coaches to stop. It seemed like they had an unwritten law about the territories they were to operate in.

Amal rubbed his eyes and looked around. His big eyes were filled with fear and hope to find a familiar face appear to bring an end to his gnawing worries. For the last four days he has been waiting and watching the same scene repeat a number of times and had come to the conclusion that in a busy railway station like the Sealdah, it is easy to lose one’s way. He held his younger brother Binod’s  hand tightly to give the child some comfort. They were both tired and famished. For the past few days they have been living on food that was discarded by passengers before they could board the train. It was a tough fight to get the morsels before the pie dogs could get to them.

Suddenly there was a sea of humanity bursting out of all corners of the platform. As the crowd grew wild, Amal tightened his grip on his brother's hand further. He looked into his tired eyes frightened by the noise and crowd around them.  The brothers also knew that it was time for the ticket checkers and the railway guards to begin their periodic vigil. They would ask the same questions and try to shoo them off from their spot. It has been the case for the last four days. Somehow Amal had learnt the trick by now to give them evasive answers quite unfalteringly.

            The Howrah - New Jalpaiguri train was about to leave when the TC in his frayed black uniform saw the two young boys huddling together with the same look of concern in their eyes he saw the day before. And of course, at the same spot. He thought for a moment and decided to give them a spray of ‘gaalis’. It always gave him a  sense of achievement to vent out his frustrations on the helpless. He suppressed a yawn and looked at the time and realised he was tired from his overnight trip overboard. Nevertheless, he was determined and moved towards the boys. He still had some time in hand for some entertainment before he could catch the last bus to go back home.

            "Hey, you. What do you think you two are doing here again today?" He looked monstrous to the boys. They clutched each other's hands hard.

            "We are waiting," Amal tried to sound calm, but he knew his knees were shaking. What if the TC threw them out of the station? They would have nowhere to go.

            "Waiting?" The TC's eyes narrowed. "Waiting for whom? For the Governor to come and take you home, I suppose." He spat out some paan and wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve.

            "No, I mean, we told you before that we are waiting for our Mamu to take us back to the village," Amal sounded brave enough to utter those words without shaking with fear. He was not quite sure how long that wait would be but he also knew by now that if they did not weep or look unnecessarily frightened, nobody could really bother them.

            A bunch of station urchins had tried to befriend them several times. For Amal and Binod they were difficult to communicate with. The kids spoke a different language. It was a mixture of rudimentary Hindi and Bengali slang which they could not follow. No one spoke like that in their little village. They realized that it was perhaps the language of the city. Not realizing what response was expected from them, they just stared at them with vacant eyes. The kids found it amusing and made fun of them. Some threw stones at them and some tugged at their torn shirts. When they got no satisfactory response from the two ‘village idiots’, they grew tired of harassing them and left them alone.

            "What are you staring at me for?" The TC snarled." Tell me why you are waiting here doing nothing?" He definitely sounded menacing. “I see you two standing here everyday. Tell me, do you belong to a gang? You think you can fool me? I’ll drag you to the police and hand you two over if you don’t tell me the truth.”  The man spat out some ‘supaari’ from his mouth on to the railway tracks.

            Little Binod was almost in tears when Amal blurted out, " Oh, please don’t. Mamu told us that he would come and take us back to the village. I swear," Amal was pleading.
            "You swear !  ‘Saala’, who are you kidding? Your Mamu is coming back to take you home? You idiots, he has left you two here to die. Do you know that? He doesn’t want you. He left you here to get rid of you and your stupid brother. He doesn't care if you go without food or have no shelter in this strange huge city or even if somebody kills you. He wants you to die, do you understand?"  The TC's voice was rising. He wasn't sure who he was angry with, the kids or the much revered ‘Mamu’ who had left the two boys to fend for themselves in a jungle like Calcutta. 

            A small crowd of curious people in no hurry was gathering around them. The TC looked around and beamed with pride for having discovered the secret plans of the maternal uncle of the two hapless boys. There were comments in mixed languages from the crowd around. Most of them laughed and poured out gaalis to the absent ‘Mamu’ for being so cruel. But none showed signs of offering a helping hand. Some waited a few moments and then moved on and some lingered to watch the fun or more drama to take place.

            “What’s going on here? Why are you blocking the way? Let people pass.?” Deeksha was screaming. She was taking a group of ladies to the centre for destitute women to a village nearby. The crowd in front of them was not letting them pass. She saw the TC and yelled. “Look here, Sir. Why can’t we pass? Tell these people to make way, for god’s sake. We are looking for our coach.”

            The TC saw a fairly young woman in good clothes accompanied by some well-to-do ladies wiping the sweat from their faces with fancy hankies. They were all glaring at him. His expression changed immediately. He waved out to the children and the crowd to move on and approached them straightening his jacket.

            “Sorry Madam. These kids are a nuisance. For the last four days they have been waiting for someone to take them back home. Some lies! Who knows if they are part of a gang of robbers! These days they are using kids to do the preliminary work. So I was just checking if all was ok!” He wiped his face. “Yes, Madam, what is your problem?”

            “We are looking for the AC Chair Car. I believe they have changed its position these days.” Deeksha said looking at the two boys clutching each other. They looked like they had not eaten or slept for days.

            “Please follow me,” the TC moved on with the ladies in tow.

            “What did you say the story was of the two boys?” Deeksha asked the TC as they walked along.

            “Oh. It’s nothing unusual. They say their Mamu had brought them from the village to take them to their a unt’s house in Calcutta. He couldn’t feed them anymore, I guess. He had told them to wait at a spot while he went to call up the aunt. The boys were to wait for him to come back. If the aunt was not home, he would take them back to the village. But you and I both know that he would never come back.” He laughed. “Madam, this is happening to so many kids everyday and they are becoming a liability to the station people, you know.”

“So what will you do with them?”

“What can I do? I am a poor man myself, Madam. Perhaps some gangsters will find them useful and take them under their wings. Begging is an industry these days.” He laughed showing his teeth that were red from chewing beetle leaves.

            They stopped at a place where the AC Chair Car had stopped. Deeksha thanked the TC and got busy boarding the train with her friends discussing the new projects they have developed for destitute and battered women in the villages. The NGO or the welfare organization they represent has adopted to educate and empower these women.

The train stopped lazily at the station. It was already dark and  there was a steady flow of commuters rushing to get on board to go home to nearby towns. Deeksha always wondered why people ran to board a train. It would wait for a while anyway.

            The ladies were still chattering with pride at the thought of their

project’s success at the village centre of their organization. It had

been a successful trip and they were already planning their next move to adopt some more villages with a great mission.

            “My god! Look at those two boys. They are still waiting.” Deeksha gasped.

            “Which boys?” Manjula Biswas was curious.

            “Over there, by the pillar. Can you see them, Manjuladi?” Deeksha said.

            “Oh, yeah, the ones waiting for their uncle to take them back to the village?” said Aroti Mazumdar. “My goodness, they are still hopeful!”

            “This is ridiculous.” Majula Biswas sounded angry. “Why doesn’t the man come and get them? How can one be so irresponsible?”

            “Didn’t you hear what the TC said this morning? They come from the villages to leave unwanted people like relatives who are a burden on them to fend for themselves or die in the city. I guess, most of them are kids and old people.” Deeksha sounded exasperated.

            “How cruel!” Indrani Ghosh was almost in tears. How can they do this?”
            ”Well, there is no law against this?” Deeksha said. “It’s a question of  moral values. You can’t be humane when you can’t get food for yourself. How do you expect them to feed others?”

            “This is why the crime rate has gone up. You see, if poverty is not dealt with, depravity is bound to set in,” said Majula Biswas quite wisely.

            “Well, can’t we do something about this?” said Indrani almost to herself.

            “In fact, I am going to go and talk to those boys now.” Deeksha marched up ahead. The ladies looked at each other and decided to follow her. They handed their bags to the driver waiting for them to take them back home and walked towards the boys sitting close to each other on the dirty platform floor. Deeksha was standing before them and talking to them already.

            “Hello, what are you two doing here?” Deeksha said sweetly.

The boys looked at her with distrust. But something in her manner and tone of voice told them she was, after all, not going to hurt them.

They stared at her while she repeated the same question again and again. Then Amol decided to get up and face her. “Why? Nothing. We are just sitting here.” He stammered.

            “Well, we saw you in the morning while we were taking the train and now after so many hours you are still sitting here? Why, beta?” Deeksha asked. “What’s your problem?”

            Tears were rolling down Amol’s cheeks. He did not even know that. Seeing his elder brother weeping, Binod opened his mouth to cry as well.  They liked Deeksha and the ladies who joined her and the weeping went on for some time. The crowd around them was growing large.

            “It’s a clear case of desertion, Madam.” One wise guy commented. Between gasps and whimpering Amol told Deeksha their story. There was hardly any yield from the small plot of land that their father had. When he died their mother asked her younger brother to look after it which he did for some time. But unfortunately they lost their mother to malaria last month. Their uncle or “Mamu’ and his wife told them how difficult it was getting for them to feed them. They hardly got anything to eat. Mamu promised to bring them to the big city where his other sister lived. He said she was well-off and could look after them well. So they came to Calcutta in search of a new life with their maternal aunt. But Mamu left them here to wait for him till he came back but he never returned.  Now they do not know how to go back home or who to turn to.

            Deeksha looked at the ladies. They seemed to have the same thoughts she gathered. “Should we give it a try?” She asked Manjula- di.

            “But where do we keep them? Who is going to have them?” Manjula Biswas was a little apprehensive.

            Deeksha turned to the boys. “Tell me is there anybody you know around here, any address you can give? We can take you there.” Deeksha said but what she got was only blank stares.

“Do you know where your ‘Mashi’ stays. The boys shook their heads. The ladies looked worried. “What do we do now?” Indrani asked.     “Take them to the police?”

            “And have them tortured and abused?” Deeksha was looking at little Binod who could hardly keep his eyes open from weakness and crying all day. “I think I’m going to take them home. I’ll speak to Brinda at Care and see if she can think of something.”

She looked at Amol and took his hand. “Hey, are you scared to come with us?”

Amol said nothing. He just looked down at this brother and tightened his grip on him. “We haven’t done anything wrong, didi. We are just waiting for Mamu.” He said to Deeksha in his unpolished rural dialect.

“I didn’t say that. Ok, if we put you in the train, will you be able to go back home on your own?”

The brothers looked at each other and Binod started weeping again.

“What if we can’t find our way!” Amol said. His eyes were filled with big tears.

“Why, don’t you remember the way you came in?” Deeksha asked the boy.

“We had to take a van and then change two trains.”
”What’s the name of your village?”

“Goraipur.”
”Gouripur?”

“No, Goraipur where the bamboo bridge collapsed the other day and there was a fire in the rice fields.”

Deeksha looked at the ladies. This is not a new story. It’s happening everyday in all rural areas in the state. No way can they trace them back to Goriapur. Maybe the police can, but will they?

            “Well, it seems like you haven’t eaten all day. Want to eat something?” asked Manjula-di. The boys nodded. Binod’s eyes sparkled at the thought of getting something to eat.

            “Then come with us.” Indrani took Binod’s hand while he clutched his elder brother’s hand with the other one. Leaving their contact address at the Station Master’s room, just in case the absconding uncle came looking for the kids, the ladies got into the Inova that was waiting for them outside. The boys huddled in the back clutching each other’s hands.

 ********************

 “Mom, I don’t want to go to India. It’s a rotten place. So hot and dirty. I never want to go there.” Aaron was putting on his baseball gear. There was venom in his voice.

Marianne wondered if her son was getting to be a racist American suffering from zenophobia. “I’d much rather go and see the Grand Canyon with Phil and Hugh.”

“Well, you could, but this should be a great experience for you,” said Marianne to Aaron, the elder of her two boys. “You can go to see the Grand Canyon next Christmas when you come down again, my dear.”

            Aaron was adamant and kept practising throwing an imaginary ball in an imaginary baseball Diamond in the living room. He played for the baseball team in his college and at twenty had made quite a name for himself. He was sure to get a scholarship next semester for his extraordinary performance bringing the college back its trophy from a rival team.

            “Honey, it’s a great place where there are so many interesting places to see. I’ve written to Shalini and she’s organizing a trip to Rajasthan for us. Your Dad wants you two to see Indian forts and palaces. India is not just about poverty and heat only. It has so much history and glory.”

            “Mom, do they have shopping malls and Pizza there?” Benji was getting curious. He was sixteen and was forever hungry.

            “I guess they do. We were there twelve years ago and, I believe, India is very modern today. They have KFC and your favourite McDonald’s there as well. So, I promise, you won’t go hungry, honey.” Marianne ran her fingers through Benjamin’s rough dark hair. He gave her a big smile that said he was ready to go wherever they took him.

            That night Marianne reported to Jonathan that finally she had been able to persuade the boys to go with them to India. Jon did not say anything but just smiled and gave her a wink meaning “I told you, they would finally agree”.

            Marianne’s face clouded. “No, Jon, I’m scared. I’m scared Aaron is growing up to be a nasty and a selfish bigot. I can see he cares for no one but himself and, “she paused for a while, “perhaps for Benji and us. But he’s got to do better than that.” Marianne had tears in her eyes. “I have failed Jon. I have failed to bring him up the way we wanted.” Jonathan knew his wife meant every word she said. He got up and hugged her.

“Let’s take this last chance, shall we?” He said looking into her eyes.

            Shalini Mehta greeted the Eustermann family at the airport with open arms. She was a bundle of energy and could talk non-stop. The flight was a little delayed but by the time they reached the hotel, Shalini had filled them in with all the details of the itinerary that was to begin the next day. As she talked her dark hair that fell to her shoulders glistened in the light and her shimmering silk sari mesmerized Marianne. The boys looked tired and were ready to crash. The heat, even in the middle of December, was bothering them.

“Shalini, I have a request to make. Do you remember I had mentioned something about showing the boys real life in Calcutta, real people and a trip to the countryside? Can we do that please? We’d love to see that? We’d also like to visit the orphanage, if possible.”

“Yeah, why not? I have already kept a day free for you to move around freely wherever you want. We can do that. No problem.”

Jonathan gave her a smile and thanked her for being so thoughtful.

            When Shalini was gone, Aaron and Benji burst out laughing. They made fun of her funny accent and excess of enthusiasm. Everything she did or said sounded too exaggerated to them. Marianne scowled. She reminded them that Indians were by nature very hospitable and helpful. She warned them not to sound arrogant or rude to anybody they met. She made it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate that. The boys chuckled but nodded.

            The trip to Rajasthan was colourful. The boys were happy to go on camelback riding and getting on elephants. The weather too was a welcome change from what it was in Calcutta. It was cooler. While Jonathan and Marianne marveled at the ancient palaces and relics, the boys showed little interest in India’s ancient glory. They found the food tasty though and gorged on ice-cream and jalebis.

            Back in Calcutta, a day trip around the city was too much for the boys especially in and around the temples and places of worship which they found filled with filth and stench that was revolting at times.

“God, why would anyone want to live like this! I wonder!” Aaron said with disgust. He pretended to throw up. Benji rolled on the carpet and laughed while Jonathan struggled to get some decent channel in English on TV trying to ignore their comments. But all he got was news and some ancient cartoon reruns. He laughed and settled for a sports channel that showed a tennis match.

“Well, that’s exactly the point,” Marianne said while she folded clothes into the cupboard. “This is for you to see how people live around the world and count your blessings. Living in the US doesn’t really give you a true picture of the world we live in, boys.”

“Who wants to live anywhere else?” said Aaron frowning.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else either.” Benji said.

“Tomorrow we’ll see how little children live in some places and how. They have no choice like you do.” Marianne said suddenly sounding serious. “They’re lucky if they get a full meal a day!”

“Oh,no. We’re not visiting an orphanage!” Aaron was deflated.

“Yes, we are,” said Jonathan, “and you’d better be ready by nine. Now go to your room.” The boys lazed around for a little longer and when they realised they could not change the plans for the next day, got up and left the room.

3         

Shalini introduced the Eustermanns to Lalita Mitra, the orphanage in-charge. Greetings and pleasantries were exchanged. Shalini explained to Ms Mitra that the Eustermanns had come to donate some money to the orphanage which Ms Mitra accepted most graciously.

“I remember a lady here some years ago. Her name was Mrs Dipali Chanda. Is she still around?” Marianne asked.

“Of course, she is here today even though she is no longer in service. She comes here occasionally as a volunteer and advisor. She is getting on in age, you know.” Lalita smiled.

“I can imagine that.” Marianne smiled back. “Will it be possible for us to meet her today?” Marianne hesitated for a while. “She’ll probably remember us.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Let me see where she is and arrange for a meeting with you. Would you like to wait here?” Lalita waved to a girl and told her to do the needful and disappeared through another door.

            The boys were getting restless. They had seen enough of the poor kids in ill-fitting clothes hugging broken toys, eating out of bowls with their fingers. Aaron found that repulsive! Sooner they could get out of the place, the better it would be for them, he figured.

            Lalita came back in a few minutes and asked them to follow her to the next floor where they were to meet with Mrs. Dipali Chanda. Marianne and Jon climbed up the narrow stairs with the boys following them.

            “Hello, hello,” Mrs Chanda got up to greet the Eustermanns. Her hair was all silver and she looked like a starched shrunken doll in her crisp white sari with a thin red and gold border. Her powerful glasses were thick to make her eyes look larger than usual. Her face obviously had more lines this time than before, Marianne thought. She could realize that Dipali Chanda had not recognised her.

 “It’s so very kind of you to donate such a huge sum for the organization. It’s people like you with big hearts who have kept the organization going. We can do only so much.” She wiped her face with a hanky.           

In a few minutes tea came with sweets and sandwiches which were mostly devoured by the boys in quick succession. The Eustermanns learnt that the cost of running the orphanage had shot through the roof and donations were not pouring in as they did at one time. The fact that newer homes for the poor and orphanages were mushrooming everyday and the NGOs were getting the lion’s share of the money that was coming in for publicity. There was always little money left to run the show. Unfortunately the ones that were suffering were the kids and the needy. Adoption rules have also become so complicated that many people have given up on that unable to wait and watch.

“We do not know what future we can give the little children we have now.” Mrs Chanda looked worried.

            Marianne got up and sat next to her. She took her hand in hers and said, “Do you not remember me, Mrs Chanda?”

Mrs Chanda was a bit startled at this move and leaned back to look at Marianne’s face up close. She blinked a couple times and said, “I have yet to have my cataract operation. But, yes, you do look familiar. Have we met before?”

“We certainly did,” Marianne laughed. About fourteen years ago I was here begging you to give me the gift of motherhood. Not just with one child but two. And you were kind enough to give me both.” Marianne could feel tears rolling down her powdered face. “Look there,” she pointed at the two boys sitting close to their father with knitted eyebrows. Marianne looked at Aaron. She saw horror in his eyes.

“These are the two gems you had gifted me that day.” Marianne was weeping now.

Mrs Chanda got up from her chair and walked towards the boys who cringed with shame. She looked at them and smiled. “Yes, yes. I remember. The two boys that were deserted by their uncle at the station, I remember. They were barely three and five then, I guess.” Mrs Chanda rubbed her eyeglasses.

“When Brinda brought them over to me with a friend of hers, I think, Deeksha or Deesha was the name, I couldn’t believe my ears. We waited for some time for the uncle or any relative to claim them after an ad was brought out in the papers. But no one showed up. Such is life in a country like ours. Poverty and greed can make you do anything. It kills your feelings. It destroys you as a human being.”

Mrs Chanda came back to her chair and sat down. She looked both tired and sad. She was breathless.

“How do you find them now?” Jonathan asked Mrs Chanda.

“Oh, fine, fine. They are delightful. I’m so glad you have taken such good care of them.” She wiped her eyes that were getting moist. Then she turned to Marianne and clasped her hands. “We are ever so grateful to you. Wish all parents could come and pay us a visit now and then.”

Marianne smiled and turned to Shalini and Lalita who were silent witnesses to the drama that just unfolded in front of them. Marianne gave a hug to Lalita. “Thank you for making our life more meaningful.” She looked at Mrs Chanda. “Take care of yourself and get your eyes checked so you can recognize me next time,” she hugged her.

No one said a word on the way to the hotel. Aaron looked ominous and made no eye contact either with his brother or his parents. At the hotel he went straight to his room and shut the door. He did not order food nor did he open the door to his brother. Benji spent the night in his parents’ room. Jonathan and Marianne stayed calm while Benji watched a tennis match on tv.

            Early in the morning there was a knock on Aaron’s room. It was by force of habit that he got up and opened the door. He found Marianne standing there looking at him. She looked tired and perhaps a little sad. Something inside hurt him. Marianne went past him to get in the room and sat on the bed that was made for Benji. She said nothing but just looked at Aaron while he planted himself in front of her on his unmade bed.

When it felt like eons Marianne said, “Where did we go wrong, Aaron? You knew that you were not our own, didn’t you?”
Aaron slid to the floor at her feet and buried his head in her lap. He was howling silently. Marianne put a hand over his shaking body to comfort him. When he looked up, his face was all wet.

“Why did you bring me back here again, Mom? Why?”
”Because we thought you must know where you came from…. because you were the one who was always resisting anything we about India.”

She wiped his face gently with a tissue.

“I knew you had not forgotten everything. Benji was perhaps too small. Perhaps he might have buried it all. We wanted you to know that we truly love you both even though you were not one of us. We wanted you as our own, honey. You know that, don’t you?” Marianne wiped her face. “Darling, we didn’t want to separate you two either so you could have someone of your own always close to you. But, honey, you also had to see what is truly your own. We couldn’t deny you that. Could we?”

“I had forgotten it all. I hated it. I don’t want to remember any of it.” Aaron was sobbing away.

“I know, darling, I know everything. You had not forgotten it all. You were only rejecting it. Believe me, today you have a choice. I know you can face it no matter how hard it’s for you. If you ever want to go back to India to do something for the needy, you can. And I know someday you will.” Marianne wiped the tears that kept rolling down her face. “The world is yours today but, honey, you must look at it with sympathy and not with fear or hate. Promise me that.”

Aaron clutched at Marianne’s housecoat and then let it go. He got up to face her and wiped his face. There was a long silence while he stared blankly at the carpet below.

 “Thank you,” he whispered at length. “Thank you for showing me the world I came from,” he paused and cleared his throat, “the way we were. Thank you for the kindness you have shown to us. All I know is that you are the only mom I have.” He got up and hugged Marianne. He didn’t realize that Benji had also walked in quietly and was witness to his big brother’s rebirth.

Dola Dutta Roy
March 2014