Bablan and Bhumba - 2

Just a small continuation of the last post. I forgot to add a few things.
Bablan was born on 9th September, 1971.
Bhumba was born on 22nd July 1972.
Bhumba was always the smarter of the two and Bablan was the good one, as the first borns usually are. Bhumba was terriby naughty and mischievious; he escaped reprimand or punishment easily. You know how? Simple. He would disappear from the "crime" scene and leave Bablan with the evidence of his mischief. Bablan never understood what was happening. Never. He would be the one to get the shouting or scolding, while Bhumba was hiden some place else. Till such time that the naughty one was caught  one fine day. He broke the mirror from Bishu mama's bike and was coolly passing it on to Bablan, who would be left standing with the broken pieces. Hahaha! What fun. All kids are the same.
Bumba and Vimto were thick as thieves. Both had the silent, mischievious nature. I remember that day in 1977, before Pussycat was born. It was ladies' day at the centre and Rooma, Swapna and I were inside taking the class. In those days we had curtains at the gate, which opened to the lawn in the middle and one could see straight into Rooma's house. Yoshodhara Behen from Ahemdabad had come to spend her holidays with her guruji and us, as usual. She was a Hindi teacher with St.Xaviers, Ahmedabad. Yashodhara was there on the second floor and had gone to take her evening bath. Baba was either still to go up for his tea or had finished, can't remember. The curtains were fluttering inside the classroom when one lady close to the curtains shouted "fire". All of us turned to her and then looked up to where she was pointing. The green tarpaulin blinds on the second floor were on fire. The first thought was the boys were probably there and so run, run to save them. By the time Rooma, Swapna, I and some other teachers came running, we found Baba laughing and scolding at the same time.  Laughing because Yasodhara panicked inside the bathroom and came out "as is" condition. Scolding whom? The two culprits were standing in the extreme corner of the small balcony and I tell you, the expressions on their faces was priceless. Both Bhumba and Vimto had some fascination for fire, don't know why. They had been warned, scolded many a times. Somehow, Bhumba had got hold of the match box from the kitchen and then both of them hid under the long tarpaulin cover to do some testing, if you please. Well rest is history. The blinds was more than half burned. What is amazing is that Bhumba and Vimto had the sense to cower down to the ground to save themselves. Thank God they were unscathed.
The following are two instances of Rooma's punishment method.
Bablan, yes Bablan, must have been about 2-3 yars old and got into some mischief (naturally). Rooma had the freehand to override the elders in most matters and it was the same in this case. She had Bablan locked up in the first floor bathroom without any light for a couple of hours. This was at 4/2 Rammohan Roy Road house, now more popular as the Ghosh Yoga College. Some of you who have gone and stayed there in recent times will be aware of this particular bathroom. Of course, modifications and updations have been done over the years.  In those days, this bathroom used to always look like a dark cavernous giant waiting to swallow you. I, myself never went in and always sped by when I had to cross it. I remember it as a terrifying place. There was just a small window outlet on the opposite wall, from where you could understand the difference between night and day. You know those windows you see in stark prison cells? Well once you closed the door and without light even the strongest of hearts would miss a beat or more. Bablan went through that punishment.  Whether it left any emotional scars ---??????
This happened in New Alipore. Pussycat was born and more mishcievious, naughty and smarter than her four elder brothers. But she was also a girl and so loved to watch her pishi (Rooma) dress up. It used to be a treat for her if Rooma would let her in the room (first floor) and feast her eyes on all those things laid out on her pishi's dressing table. It so happened one day, the maid Kamini (found her working for Swapna in 1997), took Pussy with her into Rooma's room, when she was not there. Well, how can a girl of 2-3 years let the chance go by!  she played with her pishi's bindi set and may have displaced them. When Rooma came back in the late afternoon and checked with the maid, she sent her upstairs to call Pussy down immediately. By this time, of course, all five kids were fast asleep. Having their afternoon nap. I told the maid I will send Pussy down when she gets up. Rooma sent back the maid with the message that Pussy must be awakened right now and sent down. Swapna, who was there with me, said do it or else there will be hell to pay. So a drowsy Pussy was pulled down the stairs to be punished for having touched Rooma's bindi set. When I came down to see what was happening Rooma sternly told me to stay out of it and Pussy would be standing facing a wall corner for one hour as punishment.        
I remember Baba telling me once - I know I have to live for another 20 years at least because I have to bring up these monkeys (grandchildren) and put them on track."  I too had the same dream that all the four boys would be brought up well and take the yoga institute to the next level. All that was shattered and Rooma became the surveyor of all. Amen.

Bablan and Bhumba

Yes, these are the two sons of Arun Bose, younger brother of Ashok Bose. I have a photo of both the boys with Hyama San when they were in Tokyo. I simply cannot find it now.
It was 1973 or 1974 when Arun went off to Tokyo to teach yoga at Hanari San's centre. I think it was mid 1975 when he requested that his wife, Swapna and his two boys come to him. I remember Baba taking me aside one afternoon to ask me something. He asked - "What should I do? Should I let Swapna go with the kids?"  The only other grandchild then was Icecream, my eldest son, and Mamoni was very attached to all her grandchildren. She simply doted on them. Yet I told Baba what I felt from my heart - "Every girl marries with a dream of running her own home with husband and kids. I am sure Swapna does the same. Why not let her go and live independently with her husband in Tokyo?" Mind you it was my thought, but I had seen Swapna so happy ever since that phone call came from Arun. Okay eventually, Arun sent the tickets and completed the formalities and Swapna flew off to Japan with Bablan and Bhumba.  
1976, at New Alipore, Baba read out a few letters from Swapna. I shall not go into the details because they will surely upset some sentiments. Well, ultimately, Swapna returned from Tokyo with the boys. I was told that Arun was suffering from tuberculosis and the Japanese doctors had given up hope. TB? Not curable in 1976? And that too in Japan?
I forgot to mention this. Even before they arrived, Baba sat down and consulted with me as to which school to admit the boys. After much brain-racking it was decided Nava Nalanda was the best choice. Next day I was sent off to the school at the tip of Southern Avenue. By the time I came out I had already got Bablan and Bhumba admitted into the school, even without the candidates being present. Yes this a grace of God that I have always been successful in my pursuits, without any name dropping or money incentive. More on that in a some other blog.
Coming back to the story, soon after Swapna and the boys came back ( I was still living with my two sons on the third floor of the main building, the entire building was on lease to Reserve Bank for its officers), I heard Arun was coming back for good. He came and hardly lived for 15 days. No one was allowed to go near him or talk to him. Bhabani (she was the Nepali maid I had appointed with Mamoni's permission when Icecream was just born) would set his food at the door for him to pick it up. First few days Arun lived in the second floor room of Rooma's house, later he was shifted to the room behind the office in the ground floor.
I never saw Arun vomitting blood or showing any signs of TB. Yet he was totally secluded. I remember a Kasmiri shawl-walla came in-between and so did a typical bengali puja sari-walla. Baba chose a shawl for me, I still have it. When it came to sari, I chose a typical "garoder sari" with the red border. I was picking up one for Swapna, when she said in bengali - Ami oke khorchar khaitai like rekehchi. Ami ota nobo na." I was shocked. This was said in the presence of the father of the man she was referring to. Yes, isn't it funny that some instances and words get ingrained into the brain and you wonder why!
Those 15 odd days I became very friendly with Arun, because I insisted I would visit him and talk to him everyday. Of course, Rooma threw a tantrum and influenced her father to object, too. I was threatened that I would get the contagious disease and so would my two sons. I was willing to take the risk.  Oh we used to chat so many things. First he would address me as Tutubowdi and aapni. Soon I became Tutudi and tui. We had lots of laughter, discussed drawings, sketching, painting, artists. Arun was a great sketch artist and I was steeped in it from childhood. My ideal was Pablo Picasso. hahaha! In one of those days I left to visit the jain temple alone. I sat there and drew the temple from a platform oiutside the main temple. That is where I also met the wife of the Japanese Consul General, who I had taught yoga for sometime. She recognised me before I did. It was splendid. Anyway, when I came home and showed the sketch to all, Arun was very appreciative. I remember he was sitting under the jamrul tree in front of the office - it was late afternoon. I wonder if Bablan remembers the jamrul tree his grandmother had planted for her grandchildren. Very sweet fruits.
I remember packing lunch boxes for the boys - Bablan, Bhumba, Icecream and Vimto. Getting the kids ready for school, making them drink their milk - you know the usual. My sons were attending the local St,John's , right across the road.
How Arun died is another story for later.
Bablan and Bhumba used to go for tuition to Kumkumdi next door. I believe later both of them were admitted to some other school due to poor performance. Wonder how! Both were very bright kids and Bhumba was terrifically sharp. After my marriage to Ashok, Bhumba got attached to me and would tell everybody - ami Tutr chhele. Ami Jethur chhele." Hahaha!
Bhumba had thick black hair and very thick lashes, i see he still has. Once I remember I was lying down next to him in the aftrrnoon when I saw some white ant-like things roaming around his lashes. I was alarmed and immediately called Mamoni to come and see, as he was fast asleep. They were white lice! Of course, medical action was taken immediately and we got rid of them. We were all so scared that his eyes do not get affected. Thank God everything was okay.
Both Bablan and Bhumba were quite alarmed when I had my first-born. Now I understand they thought now Tutu (yes they used to call me by my petname) will not love us as before. So natural when we are small and have siblings coming in the way. My brother and I had the same fears when our sister was born. What if Mama does not love us any more? But it passes with time in due course. I have so many photos of them holding on to me or Icecream, all taken by Bishu mama.

Reaching out to strangers - good or bad?

(I hope I do not get sued for using this image. Honestly I love this character and actress.)
Last evening while waiting for my turn at the hair cuting saloon (Topper's) I met a lady. Actually I was occupying the whole seat meant for two and doing some light channeling with closed eyes. I felt the receptionist telling someone "Here, come and sit here". I opened my eyes and nudged closer to the corner to make space for this senior (older than I am) lady. Talking I got to know that her late husband was head of the Ichhapur Rifle Factory, that she lives all by herself on the 9th floor of the same building as Topper's, that her only son lives in San Fransisco with his family, that she does not wish to go and live there, that she plays bridge with a friend, who lives close to Menoka cinema hall. I invited her to our house, as we stay close by. Whew! More, there is a huge rifle in a showcase as you enter her flat. I asked her what does she do - she said she keeps roaming from one room to the other and plays bridge. I said - I believe it is an intelligent game and what else does she do? Nothing much else. She said that children nowadays tend to have a mind of their own, to which I nodded in total agreement. I also added that times are changing and so are values.
Do we older people tend to give out more information than necessary or is it  because most of us live a lonely life and open up when we find someone willing to listen?  Either which way, it becomes a security issue. We older people reach out to strangers for want of any sympathetic ear. In the process, we give out sensitive information that can and are used to our own detriment.
I sincerely hope that her son is reading this and will understand how much his mother misses having a family around her. Of course, there will be issues, problems, arguments - it is important to have it that way. Otherwise, you cannot be a family - like the Punjabis say - we fight and argue the whole day but at night it is one big happy family at the dinner table.
I am not naming any names, but I sincerely hope families will start living together again, for better or worse. But definitely together. God bless. 

Mongoose which later turned out to be a civet cat!!!!!

Yesterday morning was the usual morning and as usual I was about to sit with my laptop in the northern balcony, while Sandya (maid) scrubbed and mopped rest of the house. The balcony looks out on the road, so noise and confusion is not rare. However, the noise was a bit different, maybe more educated sounds, sober sounds! So I looked down as did my son, Pavitra. I saw some of the gentlemen on this road were looking at something scruffy and dragging itself towards the tree on the opposite pavement. I asked one of the men - "is it a mongoose?" He promptly replied "yes". I immediately logged on and searched all and any animal welfare units (Calcutta) and their numbers; and started calling each on. No response - maybe too early for them to rescue animals! I then called PETA (Bombay). The phone was answered at the second ring - surprise! The gentleman on the other side was very helpful - said there is no PETA in Calcutta and then gave me a mobile number. He said he was sure this lady would definitely help.   The mobile was busy for a long time, but I did not give up and so got to talk to the lady in question at last.
I jus got the name Chhaya, so addressed her as MsChhaya and told her about our dilemma. She was quite responsive. Though her organisation works with dogs and other domestic animals, not with wild life as the mongoose is from that category, she advised me how and what to do before she arrives to pick it up. She said she would hand over the animal to the concerned wildlife agency.  By this time, the local dogs ran towards this dark-looking creature, limping and dragging itself. My son ran out to ward off the dogs and stand guard. Ms Sharda of Chhaya Shelters (on my second call she corrected me), advised that the mongoose should be first entrapped in a cloth and then locked in a plastic marketing basket. Now where to get a plastic marketing basket! Here, we all use just bags not baskets, she said why dont I send someone to Lake market to buy one - that we ruled out.  By now the crowd was thinning, then one of the younger fellows brought a good size carton. So my son, (must say he was brave) folded my clean but old dress over the head of the animal and swung it high and brought to our doorstep. Then the injured little thing was placed inside the carton and waiting ensued for Ms Sharda to come or send her dog-car. The older gentlemen left as they had to go to office, soon the other young man left too for work, so it was my son and I waiting to hand over the 'mongoose' to professional authorities.
Yes, finally, Ms Sharda Radhakrishnan - founder of Chhaya drove up with her assistant and swiftly took the responsibility off our hands. God bless her!
Surprise when she called me later in the day to tell me that the animal saved this day was not a mongoose but a Civet Cat.!!!!!! wow!  She also told me that the cat was injured and being looked after by animal doctors at her hospital; the cat was also happily guzzling milk and swallowing bananas.
I checked with Sharda this morning. The cat is doing fine, so far, her appetitte is good and doctors are monitoring her development. Thank God. Chhaya hospital is in a village called :Sundhya", some 10 km from Sonarpur.
I have seen civet cats in Bandhavgarh Forest, when I used to work there. I should have known, but, honestly I saw the animal from the first floor balcony and when it was inside the carton I did not dare look inside.You see I had seen it snap at my son when he went to cover it with the cloth, I did not want to risk it and go through anti-rabies injections. I am scared of those needles.
The PETA  also sent me some numbers for wildlife (later on). Here are the numbers, in case anyone needs to know:-
033 23583208. Mobile - 9163669809.

Flying experience - 1

This was taken by a passenger on a flight to Khatmandu in early 1972, inside the Viscount aircraft, while I was serving. I remember his name, a young French man called Michael Guillame. I guess the name is intriguing and so memorable. He had a camera (Minolta?), which allowed 36 exposures (right?) and happily took all 36 snaps of mine onboard while I was tending to the passengers. Not much security rules in those days!!!!!!!! Even though he sent me most of the snaps, this is the only one I have been able to save.

This is a Dakota aircraft - anyone seen it? Well, this is what newbies in Indian Airlines had to fly first before 'graduating' to bigger aircrafts like - viscount, boeings, caravelles, airbuses etc.  Dakota planes were not pressurised and so flew at a height of 8000 to 10,000 feet above sea level. These planes were termed to be safe planes and the other was the Fokker Friendship aircraft (pressurised).  So here I was on a flight Calcutta-Bhubaneswar-Vizag and back in the same route in the same day. One more thing - dakota flights had only one cabin crew/airhostess or steward, no place for more.
This used to be a total 8 hours flight - 2 hours from Cal-Bhu, then 2 hours from Bhu-Viz; and then equal number of flying hours on the return flight. A little after take-off from Cal or CCU (that was the codename for Calcutta), we flew above the Bay of Bengal till we reached BHU. Then again after take-off from BHU the route was above the sea continuously till we neared Vizag. The first lap was sometimes close to the shores but the next one drew further and further away from any coastline. Anyway, it was a usual flight and I was looking forward to a movie with my friend at night back in Cal. Not many passengers (pax) on this flight, mostly businessmen doing a hop, skip and jump schedule. I finished serving breakfast in the second lap and was just checking for stray trays or glasses, when a pax on the right side called me urgently. The first thought that came to my mind was 'this man wants to change his mind' stuff. As soon as I reached his side he uttered 'fire' and pointed outside the window. Yes sure enough I saw sparks of fire coming out from the engine on the right. My training (Indian Airlines did excellent training those days) expertise immediately came alive and I coolly told the pax -'not to worry. I shall talk to the pilots and get back to you.' I also enquired if he wished to have some more tea or coffee, which he declined (naturally!).
I sashayed (to give the impression of being in control) my way to the cockpit and on entering I realised everything was not alright. The captain looked up at me, heard me and then informed that the oil pressure had gone down in that engine and would have to be switched off before things turned dangerous. We were now to cling on to one engine to take us safely to land. I looked out of the cockpit window and only saw water, not even a shadow of shore anywhere. Of course, with one engine off, the plane had to fly lower and closer to the sea.
As everyone knows whenever the plane flies above water the cabin crew has an added drill to do - the life jacket (orange in colour) drill. The jackets used to be stacked under each seat of the Dakota.  Well, now I was thrilled that it was time to check the life jackets' credibility. The captain reassured me and told me to pacify the passengers and try and draw the covers on all the cabin windows. No panic. I say I was thrilled because I did not feel any fear (even today in retrospect I smell no fear), rather looked forward to a new adventure. My mind was wondering will there be sharks in the water, will all of us be able to stay afloat and wait till help arrived - all sorts of curious thoughts. Once I was out of the cockpit I was confronted with very disturbed passengers, walking up and down the aisle and peering out of each window on both sides. I knew I had a job to do. I announced on the PA for everyone to stay put, put on their life jackets and close the windows - no not as a command yet stern enough for them to know things were under control. Seeing no panic in my face probably calmed the pax but they pointed outside to the engines and looked enquiringly at me. By this time full blooded fire was spewing out on one side and the other engine was sputtering, as if giving warning that - 'I am about to blow off, too.'   And it was water, water everywhere, no coast in sight!
Who was I fooling? These were businessmen in their 40s, 50s and God knows how much, not a spindly 18-19 year-old girl trying to act big. Yes fear was written on each one's face and they more or less asked me together what were the chances of the life jacket saving us. Would the jackets prove to be a deterrent to lurking sharks? I remember I did my best to bring the temperature down in the cabin but I also knew they were right. Yet who do you blame in such a situation? Thankfully, some of them started praying and I guess that helped a lot. I was about to sit down and stare out the window at the threatening engines, when there was a call from the cockpit. I think I was a little relieved with that call - it would help me to exit the panic-filled cabin. Selfish thought? I think so.
As soon as I entered the cockpit, the commander told me to sit inside the cockpit for sometime. He was a middle-aged pilot with years of experience and probably understood the dilemma I must be going through. It was the first year of my flying - 1971, a greenhorn as the saying goes.
The commander, Captain D'Souza, kept talking to keep things normal inside (funny I do not remember the co-pilot's name, neither that of the radio officer) the cockpit. I remember he was talking about his 5 children at home in Bombay. How he missed them as he was stationed in Calcutta for sometime now. He probably even mentioned their names, I fail to remember but I distinctly remember he was a devout Catholic. He kept saying we will do our best and leave the rest to God. Of course, the pilots kept on their own technical talks going and at the same time the captain was helping me to come to terms with the situation. What a wonderful human being!
Did I mention we were at the PNR (point of no return) stage when the first engine cracked up? That is why the captain said he could not go back but just go ahead and land on the seashore, somehow.  But where was the shore? That seemed a billion dollar question and no one was coming up with an answer. The radio officer was frantically working on the radio passing information to and fro. Lots of advice, knowledgeable information kept coming. But ultimately, it was upto the captain and the sea shore to make it a success.
When we could finally spot the shores of Vizag in the distance, there was relief and joy, but only for a passing moment. The plane was just going down, you could practically feel the water lapping up hungrily, as if just waiting for us to drop into its abundant lap.   With both engines shut, it was a hit-and-miss situation, whether we would be able to reach the sandy shores before we gently thumped into the sea. The strain was evident on the faces of the pilots and radio officer; I was only focussing on the distant land and wishing it to come closer. Closer it did come and with it came another panic-filled reality - the plane would be doing a belly-landing (no wheels) on the hot, hot sands of Vizag in mid-moring. Would we survive or would the friction only help the whole plane to blow off in one single ball of flame?  Of course, we survived and I am here telling the story.
The recent Russian plane crash and my son's (Pavitra's) questioning of what must have been going on through the minds of the Russian plane passengers during those last moments, evoked this memory that happened in 1971. I know Indian Airlines must have congratulated Captain D'Souza in many ways than one, but I can never forget how he piloted us all to safety. God bless him.

1976 - Year of events in my life

8/7/2018 - I had written the following blog on 11/10/2015 but never published it.

The dawn of 1976  saw us - the Bose family, still at 4/2 Ram Mohan Roy Road, Calcutta - 53.  The previous year Ashok, my husband had gone off to Thailand financed by his father, Buddha Bose.  Swapna with her 2 sons had left for Japan to be with her husband, Arun Bose, who was running a yoga school sponsored by a Japanese named Hanari San.  I was expecting my second child in early February and Bishu Mama's (Biswanath Ghosh) wife Krishna was due to give birth to her first child in April/May, 1976.  Nani ma, Ashalata Ghosh (Bishnu Charan Ghosh's widow), was delirious with joy - her first grandchild was about to make an appearance and another great-grandchild too. The house was agog with excitement, exclamations for the reasons above and exhaustion running after my first-born who kept everyone on their toes.

My second son unwillingly entered this world in the early hours of 2nd February, the doctor Ashru Kumar Roy or Ashru-da, commented that this fellow just did not want to come out from his mother's womb. This son of mine is still reticent, shy, reserved and an introvert.

Now a few hours before his birth when I was going through excruciating labour pains, Rooma came to see me at North Calcutta Nursing Home and made a request.  Her request was urgent and very personal that it somehow took my mind off my immediate condition.  She wanted me to write a letter to her father explaining how she was keen to get married as soon as possible to her longstanding beau - Surojit Ghosh. I wrote the letter in that stage of confused, painful and angry state. I remember I implored to my father-in-law on behalf of Rooma that she was keen to get married to Surojit Ghosh.

Soon after that, a month or so later Rooma and her mother shifted to the New Alipore house, in march-end or early April of 1976.  Buddha Bose (my father-in-law) also shifted off very soon after that. I was left behind in my grandfather-in-law's (Bishnu Charan Ghosh) house.
For a brief period I went to my parents' with my two infant sons. Then came to stay at the New Alipore house at Mamoni's insistence. Place was made in the rooftop of the main building and I lived there.  I do not wish to relive the days spent there.  My mother visited me one day and realising it was killing for my two babies in that heat she requested my father-in-law if she could to take us back for a few months. I would come back to my in-laws' place once the summer passed off and the rains came. This must have been sometime in May-June 1976.  Mamoni passed away on 2nd July 1976.

Swapna sent a letter to her father-in-law from Japan giving vivid and voyeuristic details of Arun's philandering with some Japanese ladies.  I was so embarrassed and went bloody red in the face because Baba read it aloud to me alone.  This was after Mamoni's death on 2nd July 1976.  Soon after Swapna wanted to come back to India.  She came back with her two sons and lived in Rooma's house in the same compound.  Arun followed and died within fifteen days of arrival.  Till date I have not understood how and why Mamoni and Arun died so easily within 4 months. Questions welled up inside but did not know where to get the answers.

I met Mamoni a number of times before her death.  In one such occasion we were alone in the room, when she grabbed my hand in an urgent manner.  She said in Bengali, which translated into English goes like this - "Tutu you must touch me and promise me that you will never take diksha from your Baba (Buddha Bose)."  I promised and said I had never thought being initiated by him.  It had never crossed my mind. However, I was puzzled about this strange request from Mamoni but was too polite to question her 'why'. One of the many things my parents taught me was never to question elders and I obeyed them perfectly.  Years later that I realised that some of the principles in my upbringing were too obsolete and not valued by certain people I got related to.  I grew up with the belief that a promise is a promise and one did not need to swear by anything to guarantee a promise. I believed Ashok when he promised not to drink anymore if we got married. He kept the promise for the first 3 days of our marriage. The fourth day he was missing from morning and after enquiring came to know he was sitting downstairs in the cowshed and drinking.  How I cried and howled for hours - he had broken my trust and I just could not believe it! Sometime later Rooma came to console me and helped me understand that life will come up with more such heart-breaking disappointments. She was so right in 1974 - breaking of trust and faith boulder hit me disastrously in 1982.

Oh there is so much to to say. I never thought I would publish this. Today I am. The next blog will disclose some more.
Even though life taught me not to trust anyone, I still believe in goodness of humankind. We are made in the likeness of God. Somewhere there is goodness buried in each one of us. God bless.  

Mangoes at 6B in 2015

One of the mango trees my maternal grandmother (didima) planted decades ago.

The view from the first floor balcony facing south of this house built by my maternal grandfather (dadu) nearly 90 years ago. The portion behind the house used to be a big garden with mango, fig, bel, coconut, banana and some more trees - all planted by didima. She even had ducks as pet, who would waddle around the house and then go back to the garden in the evenings. Didima loved duck eggs.

I remember this garden used to be dark at nights since there never was any electric connection here. it was a huge 2 katha backyard (still is) with trees and an underground water reservoir and the water pump (got stolen in 1990!).  Boro Mama was allowed to hold the annual kali puja on these grounds, but I could never have the mutton next day for lunch. Not after my dada and I played with the little kid goat the previous day before it was tied down. I never liked this idea of sacrifice and thankfully, the sacrifice was changed to huge pumkins gradually. Now of course there is no puja held here for years.

Dadu built this house on his inspector of schools salary. He had eleven children, unfortunately five of my aunts passed away in their youth - lovely looking ladies judging from their photos. I have heard dadu never accepted anything from anyone, not even in the form of 'bhet' during festivals. Can't say he lived frugally, because he and all in the family are great food lovers. And dadu enjoyed his egg-nog in the morning. But he was very careful with money, kept track of even a paise.

Dadu was born on the 9th of September sometime in the 1800s, went through ups and downs and eventually built a house in an elite part of the city. (it is not elite or bhadralok any more - thanks to the 'you-know-who' people). Generations have taken refuge in this house, stayed here whenever it suited them but till date I have not seen even one of my many well-to-do aunts, uncles, cousins build such a grand house. Dadu is no more but his house remains. I have seen so much jealousy, greed and plottings among the inheritors but not one bothers to remember the man who gave them such an elite address.

Dadu a very happy birthday to you. Bless us all to have good sense and a sense of gratitude. I keep saying 'this is the house that Jack built'. I love you dadu. Thanks a zillion for all that you taught me. You were my greatest teacher in this life. God bless your soul. Amen!