The impatient lot

I live in Bhopal,which has a sizable  population of scooters and motorbikes crowding the streets everyday.
The difference between the people who drove earlier and the new drivers is this peculiar habit of leaving the headlights on,even during daytime.The older drivers did not have much to choose from,took great care of their hard earned asset-the scooter.
The new generation,is a different cup of tea altogether-brash,arrogant and with an insatiable desire for speed.
I feel,with the advent of automatic ignitions,when these drivers,switch on their engines,they forget to check if they have switched on their headlight as well.They do not seem to comprehend the problem faced by the pedestrians or other drivers of the street.
Everyone of these drivers are in a hurry-youngsters,be it students or well dressed yuppies and rustics,who have just switched from bicycles to scooters and motorbikes.
To them moving at breakneck speed is of paramount importance,the preservation of engines,which is overloaded with constant burning of the headlight bulb,is of no concern.
Depleting the global energy resource is of no concern to them either and least of all is the harm being done to the environment.
They can or their parents can afford the EMIs,that is what matters most and to reach whatever destination they are going to at the fastest possible speed-matters.No matter what happens to their asset-the scooter,the excess energy consumed or the damage done to the environment.

the burning trees

Everyday I take a walk with my dogs morning and evening.It is a pleasant walk but could be made lovelier if I did not have to encounter so many burnt carcasses of young,and mature old trees.Every day a few municipality sweepers come to clean the streets,which is fine,but the thing that really bothers me is that these people,gather all the fallen leaves and put them as mound around the base of large full grown trees and worst of all set fire to them.
I imagine what I would have felt if I was a tree,rooted to the ground,unable to move!Just the raging fire climbing up the body,scorching,burning,turning everything black-oh the pain,my heart aches and tears come to my eyes!That is not all-while the leaves burn along with the tree,little sparks ignite the scattered leaves and set fire to many tiny,fledgling plants and those poor tiny beings just stand and burn to death.
I wonder,why are these people not sensitized to the pain felt by our caregivers,these trees..Why do they not understand that there are so few trees left,how will we breathe,what kind of air will we breathe,if we kill the few that are left?
Should everyone not be taught -that WE MUST PROTECT THE TREES AROUND US.Sloganeering goes on,speeches are given,seminars held but no concrete action taken?

My father

Well,to begin with my father or Babu as we called him,was born in 1920-2nd of October,the second son of Shri JyotindraNath Banerjee and Smt Subarna Bala Debi.He was a bright boy,passed with 4 letters i.e. distinctions,in his matriculation,and I still am in posession of a Cambridge Dictionary,presented to him on that occasion.
He was a marvellous singer,with a voice and talent,that made my grandfather put him to learn Music-(vocal)from the age of 8 from a gentleman called' Khordar Dadu'.He subsequently learnt music from ,Shri Satyen Ghoshal and Shri Girija Shankar Chakraborty.He became a vocalist,with All India Radio,at a very young age and with no backing what so ever.He was even invited by Dacca Radio,but due to job problems and indifferent health,was forced to refuse.
A tall man and as upright in mentality as in the way he carried himself,was a man whom most people admired, who came in touch with him.
He did not study much,due to parental restrictions,but was a self taught man,in many fields.
He taught himself Homeopathy,learning initially from Dr.Bagchi,himself an eminent Medical practioner of the Allopathic way of medicine,who left it due to disillusionment,and turned totally to Homeopathy.It is recorded that he even cured a madman who roamed about naked and lived in the gutters.
My Babu, picked up whatever knowledge he could from'Daktar Babu' as we all called him.He then started reading and became such a master at it,that after his death in19th April 1990,for months people came looking for him,for medication,which he distributed free,at any time of the day and night,from as far as Ganjbasoda,Dewas etc.etc.
A man who was always dressed in cotton and white,was a man of faith,he got initiated'given mantra'by a sadhu,at Dakhineshwar,at the age of 8,while playing in the mandir premises,which was adjacent to his Maternal Uncle's (Shri Pashupati Mukherjee)home.He remembered the 'mantra'when he was in his 40s,and then it became part of his life.He was a devotee of Kali,Shri Ramakrishna,but was never a bigot,and was one of the most tolerant of men,I have ever seen,making no distinction between any faith or caste,or gender.
I, his daughter,can proudly say that whatever i am today is primarily because of him and my Mother. '.

Bhopal-years before settling down

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the grown up period

So,I think I mentioned that we left Gwalior behind,no regrets,with new found energy,only sad part being that Babu,and Bhaiya,were still not keeping well,better but not well enough.

Bhaiya,started school in Gwalior,shifted effortlessly through the Central School system,to Bhopal,the capital of Madhya Pradesh.The name derives from the time of ''Raja Bhojpal''.It was later ruled by the Pathans,and interestingly by lady Kings,who were very progressive,yet ruled from behind the veil.One of them set up the Medical College,other educational Institutions,for either sex.

We started living in the Old City,nearer to the EME Centre,near to which,was our Babu's office.
Not very pleasing aesthetically,but functionally and people wise very interesting and helpful.

Our Ma was so disappointed that she just lay down and cried.Crying was always at her nosetip,which would turn reddish pink,at the advent of a tearjerking storm.I never could stand it.Tears came to me reluctantly,she was the exact opposite.

More of Gwalior stay

Apart from things mentioned before,life was interesting after the phase of schooling was over.
College was fun,freedom,fashion consciousness,and above all fanatasies.I would visit our neighbour,not for anything else,but to read 'Samaresh Basu'.His volatile books,laced with a bit of sex,were a major pull.Even before this,I had been reading teen romances,from one of my friends,who in turn borrowed them from her elder brother.They were mostly innocent stuff,all mushy and romantic,with a bit of smooching thrown in.One day,after having devoured a particular favourite,during lunch breaks,at school,I decided to further relish it at home.Little did I know,that my Father,would glance through it,come across the fleshier parts,and utterly forbid me to read them,he in turn did not know,that it was twice read already!!
I never liked the suspense stories,it was 'human relations'for me all the way,till date.I have never read most of the books by'Agatha Christie,Sherlock Holmes etc.,though I have enjoyed them after having been,made into movies.
But books were my friends,transporting me to wherever I wished to be, the moment I started turning the pages of a particular book.
I loved and still love 'biographies'mostly of men and women 'who made a difference to the world'.
So,by the time I was 15,I was in college,loved Arts,I could sing reasonably well,though I never learnt how,I suppose it was in my blood,I loved to draw,and wanted to learn painting,I loved the wilderness,loved animals and birds and nature,I loved to dream,of falling in love,actually I was in love with the idea of 'falling in love'.I even dreamt that the great Bangla actor'Uttam Kumar's' son,would marry me.I aimed high didn't I?The daughter of a clerk,in the Central Govt.whose only boast could be that we were erstwhile zamindars,of two villages on 'Jessore Road''Rangapur and Bijoynagar',had such dreams!!
Of course I was lonely,since my brother was young and sickly,i could not share my dreams with anyone,thoough by the time I reached college I did have friends,as mentioned before,but I used to end up listening,absorbing ,more than articulating,my thoughts.
Time to leave Gwalior behind,now I was 17,already wearing sarees,though at home it was still the frock or skirt blouse.

Life is worth living again....

As soon as I had passed my Higher Secondary Exam,at the age of 15..a new life beckoned me..college,though girls.....was my road to freedom.

In between,though I was oscillating between,frocks on one hand and sarees(for college purposes only)on the other,people like Shibuda kept on intruding into my horizon,with possiblility of dalliances,but immediately rejected,due to their unattractiveness.I guess,I 'll never forget a few instances..Tapos kaku-a friend of my father's junior colleague-,went to the extent of trying to present me with a saree-specially brought from Calcutta,which my mother promptly paid for,making it a purchase,not a gift.He even called me to his 'mess'which he shared with his colleagues,& friends.I went one day,on the way back from college,he was apparently not present.a friend of his,lounging on a rickety bed,drawled,hinting broadly,with a sneer,if ever there was one 'tumi bujhtey paro na ,tomai o keno dekechey?'Then the whole picture became clear to me..I was standing,remained so,near the door,quite aware of the fact,by this time,that probably I should not have come to a bachelors' den,alone!!So the placement, near the door,keeping my escape route,within reach.My only answer to him was...'Kakukey boley deben...Kaku boley dekechi...onyo kichu noi!And abruptly ran down the steps,just outside the door of the 'mess' as fast as my saree draped legs would carry me.Breathing heavily from the effort of facing,braving and negating a 'proposal' and slightly amazed at myself,for having had the dare to do so. My Mother knew about it only when I told her,the next day.

Then there were a few more...Roychowdhury Kaku,an Air Force man,who literally stalked me for months on end,Debmani, a brat,a neighbour,with whom we played 'carrom',who would climb up a tree,to try and peek into our bathroom....those ridiculous days...!

In college I found a good friend-Sukhy and her sister Ruby,my best friends for a long,long time.
Actually Sukhvinder and Rubinder,their father-Uncle was the Sq.Leader,in the Air Force,so was their brother-Vicky bhaiya-who was undergoing training then,to us a hero,who read 'Ian Fleming' and from his tiny library of James Bond books,I read all of them,before I could see any of the movies.Then there was their eldest Didi-who was smart,went swimming and wore swimsuits and'tampons'while swimming,to me still a mystery in the days, though I would nod intelligently,when I was still struggling with other things,in fact until years later.

College meant freedom,friends,and a lot of other things,like starting to shape my eyebrows,by plucking,shaving underarms,remodelling blouses,to a deeper neckline,while my Mother stiched them with small necklines.I would cut them according to my desired depth and stitch them again,in fact,it made me learn stitching,though it angered my Mother,no end.Also realising that I could really sing,was admired by others,for my looks and intelligence...which was news for me, because,my parents..never ever did praise me.That was good in a way..that I never learnt to take myself so seriously so as to be egoistic.Bad in a way....that I never learnt to project myself as a winner,and took things as they came along.

In the meantime ,my brother had started going to school,was bright,prone to accidents,and illness.He would suffer from fever,and cough,from a robust child had become thin and emaciated
and my protective instincts were becoming all pervasive in our tiny relationship.My father too had been suffering from illnesses,due to his smoking,work pressure and probable approaching middle age.

I got to know later that my Mother,had undergone a sterilisation operation,since she was becoming pregnant,twice,to be correct.And my otherwise loving Father had been,a bit insensitive,with and about this situation.A reflection on the era,possibly.

4 years went by,my father got transferred again...this time to Bhopal.

In between,there had been an interesting phase,before we moved to Gwalior,when we were faced with the prospect of shifting base to Englnad.My father's name had been forwarded and approved,we had even started thinking of going to school there,etc.etc...As usual,things fizzled out,due to office politics.What a let down.....My poor darling Babu,always had had his share of bad luck.A gentle,but tough man,morally superior to many,socially conscious,kind to all humanity,be it a 'tongawallah or rickshawallah,truly secular,a fabulous singer,avid reader,phenomenal at Homeopathy,and above all loving,always loving and trusting,in whom you could confide anything and everything,including the day I had my first 'periods'he was the first person to share it with,he of course referred the matter to my Mother,who behaved abominably,and like a silly girl kept on giggling,enraging me.
He and my Mother instilled a sense of resposibility towards society,our country,taught us to be proud citizens,and above all the value of individual and collective freedom.

I feel that we may not have been well-to-do,but we were rich in many ways than one,our family was our oyster,we never needed anyone else...I still miss you Babu.

12 to 16-part lonely existence

We were till now in Lucknow.As with Central Govt Services,my Father got transferred to Gwalior.For the first time in my life,and my brother's,now 5,we were moving house.So very exciting,though I was all of 12,my mother bore the brunt of the packing,we siblings being of no use at all.
Leaving Lucknow,where we had stayed put for as long as I could remember,actually from the time I was 4 months old,my Mother cried,as did our neighbours,all a mix of communities,Muslim,Hindu,Pahadi,andI forget who else.Actually I had a very interesting upbringing...raised in a simple,devout but not overtly religious Bengali home,where we visited Kalibadi every Saturday,Ma did Lokhipujo every Thursday,my father with his beautiful voice sang Shyamasangeet as I lay beside him,before we went to sleep,with him plying the 'hatpakha',during the hot summer nights,till I fell asleep.I slept next to Babu,my brother next to Ma.Before he was born,next to Ma.I went to a true blue Convent-The Loreto,whatever English I learnt,still serves me.Our 'mohallah' had a number of Muslim families,and I remember never ever feeling threatened,as many do now,even though they live in primarily Hindu localities.
It was our parents,who had suffered during the Partition,but never ever instilled hatred or fear in us against the Muslim community.
So,we are the real cosmopolitans,not the psuedos that copy others,but inside are the most insecure lot.
So,Gwalior it was,a 'latthmar'type of place.The year we arrived,only a month before our arrival,the local police had shot dead the dreaded dacoit gang 7,led by 'Putli Bai'.It was a strange place,with the occassional person carrying a gun,where as in Lucknow,we had never seen a gun before.We stayed in a place called Lashkar,very near the Gwalior fort,and we went sight seeing,climbing up the Fort, very nice I thought,but Lucknow's Imambadas and Palaces were,much much more beautiful,even The residency was an interesting place.
after a few months,it became very tough for Babu to cycle from his workplace to home,he got his alotted housing quarters,and we moved to the Military Area,near residency.
From classy Loreto,I joined Central school,along with Bhaiya.Disaster struck after I gave my exams,for 8th std.My results were withheld,I was found too young to go to 9th std.Babu was furious,he took me out of school,and he was now determined to have me give 11th (HSecondary)exam directly.I had no say,was a silent spectator,as babu raised my age through an affidavit,got me enrolled as a Pvt.student,and my goal was set for me,even the subjects were not mine.A tutor was appointed to coach me in the so very new subjects,but I found that I was correcting my tutor's English.My Babu changed course,now I was to give the exam through Hindi medium.
That day I cried.Someone who had hardly studied hindi,was being asked to study Civics,Economics,History in Hindi as well as having to learn Higher Hindi.In those days your English marks were not added to the other marks.
If Babu had not found my Tutor,an old man,the sweetest person on earth,very knowledgeable,who travelled by bicycle every single day,for the next 6 months,and I did pass.
But that year was so very lonely..no school...so no friends.My only relaxation being, going for walks,in the wilderness,watching the Morar river flow by.Listening to the Radio,and singing myself to sleep.I still remember,Babu saying 'aha''wah' at a particular rendition of some Hindi or Bengali song.The only time I heard him praise me,though he refused to teach me Music,saying studies come first.
Next session I was in college,at 15,probably the youngest there,with a fantastic set of friends,who I am still in touch with.What a couple of years...heavens!!

my early friends

As my brother grew,I became more and more vocal,argumentative and independent. Independent mostly in my thoughts....I was an avid reader already,till then reading children's books and magazines.In our tiny family of four,the most common thing available ....books and magazines and 2 newspapers.I read them all.For me books were an escape route,or rather a wide open window,to characters all lifelike,to ideas coming from all corners of the country and the world,for absorbing so many things,good and bad ,all.
Apart from my reading,I had three friends..Khokada-a brilliant student,who joined NASA later,the only son of my Father's friend and colleague..whom I called 'Meshomoshai' and his wife,Khokada's Mother-Mashima,who with her 'paner bata'full of heavenly smelling stuff,was The Best Storyteller ever.Before I read them in unabridged form-she narrated to me the stories of 'BenHur','Lawrence of Arabia' and many other epic tales.I still remember her tiny roly poly frame topped by an ever smiling face,and mouth full of 'sugondhi pan'.
Babluda-we stayed in the same house,he about 5 years older to me and closest of my friends.
He was fabulous at his studies,he later became a Doctor.We would make a telephone out of matchboxes,he and I listening to each other...he standing on the terrace overlooking our 'uthon'.Me in my white slip-or 'peny frock'as my mother and I subsequently called it.
He was so good in maths,even then if he got a little less than what he calculated,Meshomoshai-his Father would scold him.He had an younger brother-Kutu,who once fell from just a couple of steps and broke his arm.He was very irritable and I remember Babluda's 'Thakuma'she was from "Chittagong'and smoked the 'Hunko' and spoke a dialect,which was so difficult to understand.Only my father could speak and understand a bit,since he had stayed and worked in then E.Bengal,now Bangladesh.
Lastly there was Shibuda-the worst student,better looking than these two,a smart ass if there was one.He was the one who first made me aware that I was growing up,when on my 11th year,in the 'gali'leading to our house,he with a few other boys,stopped me,wanting to talk to me in private,while I was coming back from a friend's house,after listening to'Jaimala' or 'Radio Ceylon' since my Father forbade me to listen to them in our house.I was tough and choosy even then,I just told him in no uncertain terms..'soery jao Shibuda..bhalo hobey na'.Of course,after that he ceased to be my friend,...Khokada's family got transfered to kanpur and a year later,my Father got transfered to Gwalior.
I was 12+.

as I grew older and started coming on to my own,I realised that though I had been a wee bit jealous after ruling the roost for 7 years,of my brother's birth,how lucky I was to have had him born and liberating me from the claustrophobic love of my parents.They, having had lost their first child were so very protective of me, that I would spend the whole evening,a regular playtime for the rest of the children of the'muhallah',sitting primly on the open verandah,hiding behind a book,or trying to lose myself in the fairy tales,while not having the dare to step down the 2 steps to freedom,waiting pathetically for my Father to come and take me for a walk--a--walk,where? In the neighbourhood park.

this was my life till my brother arrived....welcome freedom..to read,to talk,to hope.

First attempt ...

My life started taking shape when my brother was born when I was seven. Till that time I was the total focus of my parents' attention which shifted giving me some space to grow when my brother came along.