Impressions of a lifetime

                                                           My favourite man

He was my dadu, my mother’s father.  He was the only grandfather I knew as my father’s father had passed away when my dad was quite young.  Today is dadu’s birthday – 9^th September and he would probably have turned 130 odd years if still around. God bless his soul.

I remember my grandfather always dressed in white khadi shorts (reaching below his knee) and white khadi bush shirt.  His only companion during walks or marketing was his strong walking stick – I guess it is still somewhere around the house.  And of course, who can forget the white ked shoes; shoes that even our generation wore to school for P.T. classes.  Dadu loved to dye his absolutely white hair and as a child I soon learned that it was time for dyeing when his hair colour changed into a combination of red-orange-beetroot.  I particularly loved those days because dadu would be in self-indulging happy phase, singing or humming hymns standing in front of the mirror in the huge bathroom.  No he was not a Christian; he was a Hindu and personally conducted the grand Lakshmi pujo every year in the pujo room on the roof.  I still love Lakshmi pujo for the typically Bengali coconut laddoos or ‘narkeler naroo.’

We did not live far from my ‘dadur bari’ (house), just a ten-minute walk from Sarat Banerjee Road to Lake Avenue.  Dadu would stop outside our door on his way back from his morning walk to collect his share of the sandwich toast (sandwich toaster was a new addition in our house and made breakfast more exciting in those days).  He would announce his presence with two sharp taps of his hardy walking stick, take the packed sandwich and be off to sit at his breakfast table by 8 a.m.  I have often been invited to his breakfast and knew his menu by heart – a glass of eggnog, an egg poach with lightly buttered toasts or the sandwich toast, jam and a cup of Darjeeling tea poured from the teapot.  Sometimes the menu changed to Indian ‘luchi’ and ‘tarkari’ – most often on special occasions like a grandchild’s birthday, festival or ‘jamai-shoshti’ etc. 

Dadu often invited my dada and me to special Sunday lunches at sharp 12.30 p.m.  We soon knew these lunches would have exotic fowl meat on the table, cooked to perfection under his scrutiny.  On such days he would go to New Market very early in the morning, buy his favourite partridge or bard, and come back home, send a handwritten note inviting us and then get down to the business of supervising the lunch preparations. 

I often had my birthday lunch with dadu on the 5^th of September and I remember eagerly watching out for the handwritten invitation every year.  On one such birthday dadu sent me a note with a message – “Be learned like your mother and educated like your father.”  I shall never forget that sentence. 

Dadu’s dinner time was 8 p.m. after which he would sit down to write his diary and I wrote many pages in his diary as per his dictations.  Yes, I enjoyed taking his dictation even though there were sentences and words I did not understand at that young age.  My parents would drop me off at dadu’s place before their evening walks and then fetch me before nine.  Dadu had a tin box divided into different sized sections and each night he would keep his accounts and then put every coin into the right section – I enjoyed doing that too!

Who was dadu?   He was Preo Nath Hore.  He had lost his own mother when a small child but grew to love and respect his step-mother.  She lived in their village home with her biological sons, but always looked forward to the yearly visits my parents and I made loaded with love and gifts from her beloved stepson – my dadu.  My grandfather studied in St.Xavier’s Calcutta and graduated from the same college to become a popular Inspector of schools in the Darjeeling district under the British rule.  

Little lessons of life and knowing about my caste

My first marriage was a great lesson about the big, bad world outside.  I had been brought up steeped in morals, ethics, principles and discipline.  I automatically endowed my new family with the same qualities.  Day after day, year after year I came to understand that my parents’ teachings and moral values were of a distant land and era.  Each day tore apart the cushion of love and uprightness I had known to be a part of me.  When Mamoni (Ashok’s mother) knew about my second pregnancy she could not believe how a smart girl like me allowed it to happen.  Her idea was since I had been an airhostess I should be aware of contraceptives and things like that to avoid conception.  It was taken for granted that as an airhostess I must have been sleeping around all those years in the airlines and knew how to be smart in such matters.  Mamoni, as far as I could make out, was not being acrimonious or derogatory about it; she was just stating a fact as popularly believed.  This incident again made me wonder about my parents’ planet of origin. 

Both my parents did not know falsehood, cheating or any devious qualities that are so much part of life and the world.  Baba (Gyanendra Chandra Deb) would leave for work in his chauffer-driven Zephyr car promptly on the hour and be back at the scheduled time in the evening.  Dada and I knew it as a rule to come back from playing sharp at six p.m.  And after a little chat or admonitions from Baba we would gather to sing Brahmo Sangeet for an hour with Ma at the organ.  Then it would be time for studies and then a blissful hour of being completely on our own when both parents would go for a walk before dinner.  We could proverbially 'let down our hair' after dinner when all of us would be involved in serious discussions about anything and everything under the sun; but mysteriously never touched the nether part of life I realise now.   

Knowing about our caste

Our home did not have any altar or any particular worship area; we just knew that every corner of the house was holy and respect for everything and everyone was the unspoken command.  By the time I was in high school, my school – St. Mary’s Carmel School was applying for government affiliation.  This required some government forms to be filled up by the students or their parents.  Quite naturally I gave it to my mother (Bela Deb) to do the needful.  She paused at a particular point and asked my father which box to tick.  The question was about religion and caste – something we were totally ignorant about.  Baba got very upset as he had not expected a catholic missionary school to come up with such questions.  But one cannot ignore a government form and I had to go back to school the next day, so finally the form was duly filled and I came to know that we were Brahmins by birth.  Much later in life I came across people, especially women who would question me on my caste and religion.  Yes I have often floored them with the Brahmin fact – I noticed how attitudes go through a sea change when they know the truth.  Somewhere in our minds we Indians still harbour strange reverence for Brahmins.  

Promises are made to be honoured

I shall never forget that day (it was 3 days after my marriage to Ashok Bose).  Before signing on the marriage certificate or license or whatever, he had solemnly promised not to drink after that day.  For the first 3 days he was as good as his word and I was quite happy that things would be taking a good turn and this marriage was not a failure after all.  I could not find Ashok from morning that fateful day; I asked everyone in the house, the servants, the yoga teachers who came in the morning.  But no one knew where Ashok was, till the youngest servant said he had spotted him downstairs drinking in the cowshed where Meghu and his men kept their cows.  I went; I saw and came upstairs, hid myself behind some furniture and howled as if it was the end of the world.   Rooma (Ashok’s sister) came to console me and said many comforting words, none of which registered in my brain.  I was crying not so much that he had betrayed my trust but because he had uprooted my entire upbringing.  How can anyone promise and then break it?  How can one be so flippant with one’s sacred vows?  Is this another world?  Was this an endless pit I had got myself into?  Where was I?

Dada and I had probably been brought up in a straitjacket compared to the parenting principles of today.  Our parents had a no-nonsense attitude; you simply did not lie; you must keep your word without lame excuses.  The word ‘promise’ was hardly ever used at home because keeping your word was of prime importance without having to say ‘promise’.  There was no question of swearing in God’s name – you just did not need to! 

As I have aged I have understood that there are people who make promises to break them or rather promise for the sake of promise with no intention of keeping it.  However, there are others who promise with all good intentions but get delayed due to occupations or the increased hazards of living.  George, my second husband, often failed to keep his promises due to his professional life – he lived and loved working in hotels.  However, he never missed our birthdays or Christmas – always there cooking, arranging a party, games and making sure everyone was having a good time. 

I have tried to instil the same values in my children and know they might flip-flop at times, because they cannot ignore the outside influence.  I know for sure that the inherited values I have passed on to them will be triumphant at all crucial instances.   

Toning and shaping - every woman's dream

This is an article I had written some time back and thought of sharing it with you.  While training with Indian Airlines for the air hostess job in 1971 we were given plenty of isometric and isotherm exercise routines to follow regularly.  The article is based on one of them.  You might find it useful.

Arm exercise singularly for women

While you are young your figure is probably perfect, or near about; fat accumulates with age and inactivity most of the time.  One day you look into the mirror and you are horrified – your arms look like those of a wrestler!  It happened gradually and you did not notice earlier just as your tummy and sides have become flabby and unbecoming.  Before you reach for the weight-reducing pills, pause because there are other methods of bringing back the tone and shape.  Great isometric exercises for women are here.  

Isometric has a Greek origin, meaning ‘having equal measurement’. I am sure that makes a lot of sense about these exercises – the intention is to put a balance in your body.  The tips below will not take more than thirty minutes of your everyday life; but will give back your thirty years of life, honest.  Let us start on the road to health, happiness and confidence.

Beginning with:

1. Rear arm contraction: Stand in your hall or bedroom doorway, put your feet slightly apart and relax your body.  Raise your hands, clench your fists and put them away from your body against the door jamb above you.  Now take a deep breath and press hard against that wooden frame. Press and press outwards, this is the contraction period of your exercise.  This exertion tenses your upper arm muscles and also prevents and controls the extra flab.  Relax and do it again; practice whenever you have the time.  You can even do this exercise at office!
2. Stand erect, feet together and raise your hands to shoulder level.  Fold your raised hands, interlace your fingers and palms with your thumbs pointed upwards joined together.  Now take a deep breath and pull outwards as hard as possible without breaking open your interlaced fingers.  Go back to your original position.  Now join your hands in the raised position, join your palms together.  Now press hard against each other palm, put all your force into it.  Relax and repeat the whole process.  It is not just your arms which benefit from this exercise; your entire upper body enjoys the benefits, too.
3. Leg and arm contraction: Sit on the floor, yes on the floor, fold your legs together up.  Now put a towel round your feet and hold it from both ends with your hands, bent at the elbow.  Relax, take a deep breath and pull the towel with both hands and at the same time push your feet outwards.  It should be such that you are doing your best to pull the towel towards you and your feet are pushing it away from you.  This conflicting exercise tones up the muscles of your arms, legs and back marvelously.  
4. Finally an isotonic exercise for women: Isotonic means the tension remains the same and the muscles change in length.  Stand erect, hands stiff and fingers clenched at shoulder height.  Breathe in deep and then extend your hands over head and open your fists, fingers pointed upwards with full strength, as if your fingers are being pulled away from you.  Now pull you hands down to shoulder height abruptly with clenched fists, breathe count two and stretch your arms sideways and open the fist, as if being pulled from both sides.   Bring you hands back to original position with clenched fists.  Now count three and push your hands forward in your front, open your fists and feel as if they are being pulled forward and you are standing your ground.  Now bring back your fists in clenched position to your shoulder height side.  Relax and put your hands down on your sides.  Exhausting?  Well that is the point.  This exercise strengthens and increases the endurance of your shoulders, arms and hands.  It helps to tone up the arm muscles and enhances their appearance.   

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Mamoni - Ava Rani Bose

2nd July - 37 years back

Today is Mamoni's 37th death anniversary.  Mrs. Ava Rani Bose died on the 2nd of July 1976 at around 2p.m. at Calcutta Hospital on Diamond Harbour Road, Kidderpore, Calcutta.  She was forty-nine plus and had already seen her four grandsons and she seemed to still have the zest to see her daughter, Rooma married off grandly.

I met Mamoni in 1971 when I was employed with Indian Airlines and Ashok took me to his home in North Calcutta to meet his family.     That is the first time I met both husband and wife - Buddha Bose (in his flaming orange-red silk lungi and a white kurta) and an extremely large extraordinarily fat Ava Rani Bose. My first impression was that of a very warm and loving personality. I came to know she had suffered from meningitis in the past, and though she escaped death she was left with a constant running nose and an enormous increase in weight.

I believe Mamoni was among the very few ladies in Calcutta who used to drive her own car in the fifties and sixties - well when I met her she was practically house-bound and only wore an orange skirt below same colour front-buttoned top.  She spent her whole married life at her father's residence in Rammohan Roy Road - but she was always alert and active.  Mamoni ruled the roost there and took care of every family member's likes and dislikes; the cook took instructions from her every morning and honestly no one ever complained of neglect, not even the brood of servants.

I learned cooking from her and became expert in a few dishes like - 'baatichachari', fried chicken, kalo-jeerer jhol, keema curry, bhaja muger dal, etc.  Mamoni was a fantastic cook - awesome.  She simply loved good food and relished feeding others. She would sit through an entire meal just watching anyone enjoying the delicious spread - somehow she used to be gratified by seeing the other person well-fed.

I must admit today I never sensed a single mean streak in her.  When I look back today I can understand her pain and discomfort as she had to be sitting up all night propped against huge bolster pillow, so that her running nose did not suffocate her.   Yet she would be the first one to wake me up, just in case, to give my first born his early morning feed.   I gained profound knowledge from her about childbirth, taking care of babies, feeding, clothing, home remedies, oil massage and so much more.  Mamoni would quietly snooze in the sitting position after the morning domestic activities had been taken care of - duties duly delegated to each and everyone.

Education is not about going to fancy institutions and having a list of degrees behind a name, I believe.  My maternal grandfather, who used to be an Inspector of schools under the British rule said it is good to be learned but it is more important to be educated.  Mamoni personified that saying to the proverbial 't'.   she had studied up to the eighth  standard before getting married; yet she was wise beyond her years all the way through.  One prominent example of this is her visionary quality.  1974 even before my first child was born she settled part of her property in New Alipore for my future sons.  This was done to safe-guard the property from my husband Ashok's alcoholic tendency of selling it for money to buy drinks.  The same type of settlement was done with another part of the property in the name of Arun's (prone to drinking too) sons.  

Mamoni was terrifically enterprising, even in her confined condition.  She found ways of extra income by stitching cloth purses with drawstrings and beautifully embroidered.  Members of the institute were often her customers, who by word of mouth brought her more customers.  Another project was selling a tall glass of saboo-dana in milk to each and every yoga teacher who were employed by Yoga Cure Institute.

All said and done, I am still mystified by two things in her life and both are related to yoga.
1. Her husband, Buddha Bose was a renowned Yoga guru and therapist - so why could not he find some way of helping his wife recuperate from this illness?
2. Towards the end of her life, Mamoni shifted to her New Alipore residence, rather to the small outhouse which she had gifted to her daughter, Rooma.   The shifting happened in April 1976 and she died in July 1976 and the circumstances that led to her death is what mystifies me even today.  Here she lived with her daughter, husband and the Nepali maid; while I lived in the rooftop of the main building with my two infant sons.  May and June proved to be too hot in the rooftop room with glass windows, so I had gone to live with my parents in June.  It was in the morning of 25th or 26th June, 1976 that Rooma came to see me and said that I should help her contact Dr. Chaddha immediately as her mother was lying unconscious from last night! The moment I heard the details I uttered it must be cerebral hemorrhage ( I am a layperson) and my parents and I were shocked to know that the patient had been left like that all night without any medical help!?  Anyway, I immediately sped off with Rooma to the doctor's clinic and then trailed him to his various visiting hospitals but could not contact him (no mobiles in those days). There and then I decided to return home (New Alipore) and scout for any doctor in the area.  Fortunately on the way back we met Ashok's friend who had just become a practicing physician and implored him to check Mamoni.  He was on his way to a high profile interview, but he delayed his appointment.  The moment he saw Mamoni he exclaimed 'what have you people done? Why did you not call the ambulance?'  I still remember those words.  Of course the ambulance came now and Mamoni made her last journey to Calcutta Hospital, where she survived on external apparatus for five days before passing away on the 2nd of July.
I am mystified that in spite of being experienced yoga teachers with a vast knowledge about ailments, illnesses, physiology etc and their cure, why did Buddha Bose and his daughter not identify Mamoni's condition and ask for help immediately?  Why was she allowed to wallow in her sputum, cough and excreta in a coma stage the whole night?      Why?

One thing that nags me is that Mamoni made me promise something a few days before she had the attack.  I had gone to visit her with my eldest son, Icecream (named by her) for lunch she made.  When I was about to leave she grabbed my hand and asked me to promise that I would never ever take 'diksha' from my Baba or father-in-law (Buddha Bose).  I found that was pretty weird but promised by touching her (usual way of promising with most people) and never asked her why - because I was brought up never to question elders!!!  I never did and at this late age can guess why she made me promise. Amen!

childhood flasback

Today is the 26th of June - dada would have been 62 today if he had been around.  Funny to think of him as old; he died in a freak car accident at the age of 37 years on 10th December, 1988.  Ma always made 'payesh' (sweet dish made of milk, rice,sugar and jaggery sprinkled with cashew, pista, kishmish and yes tejpata) on our birthdays, so common with most Bengali families, and it always turned out to be excellent.  Well, on one such 26th June the payesh was kept for cooling and meanwhile dada and I started our usual fights.  The fight culminated in dada picking up a slipper and aiming it at me which smoothly sploshed on the huge kadai of payesh! What happened after that is anybody's guess but I remember lapping up freshly-made payesh in the evening.

My mother, dada & I

The tejpata reminded me of a funny incident. In those days if Ma was cooking she loved to add tejpata in most of the dishes. I remember it was sunday and while we all sat down for lunch Baba jokingly exclaimed why there was no tejpata in the rice!! Ma went red - present around the table were a couple of pishis, my kaku and Haren jethu besides us four.

Dada and I would quarrel over the slightest thing - relatives said this is what happens when two siblings are born pitho-pithi (close to each other). The reason for our quarrels could be anything - making of our beds at night, polishing our shoes, listening to songs (he would insist on Cliff Richard, Elvis Presley, Pat Boone records) and I would insist on Rabindra sangeet just to spite him.  Scuffing, scratching, boxing, pulling hair were part of our lives on any given day.  I am not ashamed to say the quarrels continued even after I became a mother of four kids. Our bonding was special - he completely relied on me and i did the same. When I married George in 1985 and moved off to Secunderabad with the children in tow dada was in Bombay working at Tata Shipping.  As soon as he came to know I had left |Calcutta, he quit his job and came home. He was very upset with me and sent me a letter to say he had been working in Bombay because he knew I was there in the city close to our parents; and that I should never have left without a warning. I miss my dada even today.

After dinner Baba enjoyed discussing everything under the sun (and sometimes beyond!) with kaku and jethu.  This hour and more was serious business and if we children (yes we were allowed to be present and ask questions too) spoiled these sessions with our stupid fights there was always only one option -out of the house for sometime.  Lake Avenue was a quiet neighborhood and two of dada's friends lived right next door - so one wolf whistle and out they would come.
They would greet us with - 'so you guys are out for your after-dinner walk?' and then followed by laughs, more friendly jeering and catch-catch games. Sometimes our 'night-out' punishments would be brief, which suited all of us, but there were times when it could stretch for a longer period.  Of course the friends would leave and then dada and I would get into our garage (which had an opening above the door) and settle inside the car.  In those days people did not lock cars - thank God for that especially during winter!  No matter what, now I wonder did it stop us from fighting?  No! These were great 'small' adventures and we thoroughly relished them secretly, even if we did not realise then.

However much we fought, we never squealed on each other.  Our parents knew they could never make us open our mouths against each other and they respected that attitude.  So even if I knew dada took money from the drawer and sent the cook to buy those 'latta' fish for his fish 'choubacchha' (tank) or asked the other help to get him a couple of 'chinese pigeons' I would never tell on him.  But then it did not matter, Baba always came to know and then we all know what followed.  this is not to say I was a perfect girl - no way, but i wish dada was around to give his side of the story.  Yes, my childhood seems to have been obliterated after 1988.  Happy birthday dada!  I am sure Ma has made payesh for you in that land where we all must go one day.