Remembering Manna Dey – my way

It was the early 1970s – 1971 or72 to be precise.  I was still in the regional flights going out from Calcutta (my base), and waiting to graduate into the trunk routes like Cal-Del or Cal-Bom or Cal-Madras flights as an airhostess with Indian Airlines.  As a junior my flight rosters were usually to Rangoon-Port Blair, Kathmandu, Bhubaneswar-Vizag, Guahati-Silchar and Guahati-Jorhat-Tezpur-Mohanbari sectors. 

My initial sectors were serviced by Dakotas, Fokker-friendships or occasionally Avro aircrafts.  Caravels and Boeings were reserved for the trunk routes in those days.  The Dakota and the Fokker-friendship aircrafts were pretty safe, flew at reasonable heights and trustworthy; however, there were times when the uncalled-for happened. 

The uncalled-for happened in one of the Guahati-Jorhat-Tezpur-Mohanbari sector flights.  The Fokker developed a snag at Mohanbari and the crew had to stay the night in one of the colonial tea estates.  These bungalows used to be really huge and haunting with that special warmth of the bygone eras.  There was a certain charm and romance in the whole environment.  The sense of being in a dreamland, away from the real world was heightened with the knowledge that Manna Dey was in town and singing the whole night away at a local function. 

It was but natural that all of us – the pilots and we two airhostesses did not think twice about heading forth for the destination without fail.  I do not remember the exact songs Manna Dey sang that night but I do remember the mood and that mesmerising haunting sense that crept into me.  No wonder it has been there in my subconscious mind all these years and came to the forefront as soon as I heard about his death in this mornings news. 

To me Manna Dey’s voice had a peculiar haunting quality, much like Hemanta Kumar’s voice – a voice that kept calling you back.  I do not know why or how I developed this notion but have a fair idea it might have to do with a couple of things.  Cinemas released in Calcutta in those days usually had songs sung by these singers; the films had haunting romance that simply reached its optimum crescendo with a Manna Dey voice.

Even now when I listen to songs from “Waqt”, or “Awara” or “Anand”  Manna Dey can still carry me away to a different level of existence with his lilting, haunting, melodious voice.  I am sure many of you go through the same feeling when you hear his recorded songs.  As they say – one never dies because one lives on among people who remember and cherish their memories.  Hope Manna Dey is singing more songs up there where we shall all meet one day.   

South Calcutta insights

Road defines the locality or vice versa?

I am now in Kankulia Road, south Calcutta.  This is a rented house, quite dingy but priced high for the location.  I have still not been able to vacate my own property in Sarat Banerjee Road and am forced to live in these quarters.   

Coming back to this area – it is something I have never experienced before.  Early in the morning, even before the sky is lit up there are Tapas and his father (phool-wallah) selling flowers right at my doorstep. They live in Bongaon and bring flowers from there by the local train to sell here to the residents living around here.  The business is brisk since most of these Bengalis and some non-Bengalis believe and worship different deities with flowers, fruits etc everyday.  I too have started buying different flowers on different days to decorate my small altar – jaba phool or hibiscus on Tuesdays and Saturdays for Ma Kali, akonda flowers on Mondays for Lord Shiva, and white flowers on Wednesdays (occasionally) for Lord Ganesh, yellow marigold on Thursdays for Goddess Lakshmi and so on.  Have I gone religious?  I don’t know.  I just felt I am being given the opportunity to offer flowers to God without stepping out of the house, so why not? 

Soon after there is the fish man (machh-wallah) across the road, who sits till about 9 a.m. until his mother (who is an ayah in some hospital) takes his place till noon.  Thereafter, comes the Kwality ice-cream man (ice-cream wallah) with his cart and stands right outside the window (I am in the ground floor) and challenges my greed everyday!  Did I tell you about the ‘dab-wallah’ or coconut man?  He props up his cycle around 8.30 a.m. adjacent to my door and does good business for a couple of hours.  As soon as the ice-cream man departs around 3 p.m. arrives the ‘fry man’ (bhaji-wallah).  He deep fries vegetable, fish and chicken patties till around 7.30 p.m. till the ‘puchhka-wallah’ takes over from across the street!  All this within hand-held distance of my door – it is excruciatingly painful for someone who loves food (but good food). 

And finally, it is the older generation of males in the locality (actually my age – more or less) who sit on a stone platform opposite my door till about 10.30 p.m.-11p.m.  Voila!  I feel this road should be baptised as “Wallah Road” instead of Kankulia Road.  What say you!?  

Brahmins, Brahmo Samaj

My paternal heritage

My father, late Gyanendra Chandra Deb was the fourth son of late Rai Saheb Ishan Chandra Deb.  The eldest son died in infancy.  I saw the other elder brothers namely – my Boro Jethu Ahsok Chandra Deb, Mejo Jethu Aloke Chandra Deb and Shejo Jethu Shantu Chandra Deb. My dad was the next in line and then came my Kaku Shibendra Chandra Deb.  My dad was closest to his younger brother, as I have witnessed in my lifetime. 

My father belonged to a Brahmin zamindar family who practically owned a whole village.  Anyone familiar with the history of Brahmins and zamindars of yester yore India will know how autocratic and egotistic these people could be.  Their ruthless adherence to religious and hereditary supercilious attitude is less mentioned the better.  However, I am recounting an event that forever changed the Deb Sharma heritage and also the Mukherjee clan of east Bengal in Sylhet.  My paternal grandmother belonged to the Mukherjee family. 

As my great grandfather was a high and mighty Brahmin of opulent wealth and fame he had almost everyone at his beck and call.  The zamadaar or sweeper too belonged to him.  Now it so happened that one fine day my great grandfather was about to sit for his Brahmin lunch when the sweeper’s son (they lived inside the compound) committed the biggest sin of his life.  The innocent fellow was playing with a ball and trespassed into the forbidden area – his shadow fell on my great grandfather’s plate.  Sacrilege!!!!! 

As expected, my great grandfather abandoned his soiled food and pitilessly beat up the lower caste kid for committing such a crime and sin.  After this he just went into his room and bolted the door; he remained inside for four days.  He did not answer any calls of pity, sympathy or anguish – not even his own wife’s, my great grand mother’s.  Finally when he did open the door he just walked straight to |Raja Ram Mohan Roy and joined the Brahmo samaj.   

My paternal grandmother too came from such a converted Brahmin family.  Her father had also embraced the Brahmo Samaj – my grandmother was one of the first girls to go to school wearing leather shoes I have been told!  Therefore, the alliance between my grandfather and grandmother does not seem strange, since both families had the same religious, philosophical, ideological and spiritual beliefs.  However, I must mention my grandmother had 102 mothers.  Yes, Brahmins of those days were allowed to have multiple wives – my grandmother’s many mothers lived under the same roof!  

I shall talk about how my grandfather got the Rai Saheb title and was endowed with 100 bighas of mango & litchi orchard in Dehradaun in my next post.