RAABTA

Lata had taken up a job as a Bengali teacher in the Bolpur Girls’ High School as we moved into the small bungalow house I had bought from an old man who was moving in with his son in Calcutta. The house had two bedrooms, a study room, a dining hall, a kitchen, washrooms, two open verandas to act as the living room and a roof. It also had a small space in front between the house and the gates, where Lata could use her gardening skills. For the first time, the marble tablet on the nameplate pillar beside the gates had my name on it. It felt strange that we had to now call this unknown place home. Over time I made some of my best memories in that house, and it was Lata whose ideas, skill and instinct made it my home.  The day we left Punya was indeed a memorable one. As the remaining servants loaded our trunks and suitcases into the car, Kakima and Kaka said their goodbyes to Lata. She promised to come home once we were settled, but the thought of seeing my house as someone else’s right i

Thamma’s health was not improving much ever since Bibha had left. She had ailments, one after another first it started with the usual fevers, and quickly accelerated to something as grave as dysfunctioning organs and with each passing day she looked thinner and weaker. Though there were momentary relieves in between the major illnesses, the doctors said that it was old age taking a toll on her, which wasn’t curable. Ever since Baba’s accident and Ma’s demise all four of us had been somehow dependent on Thamma as the parent figure. She advised us on most of our major life decisions and we sought her approval for the same. None of us perhaps wanted to realise that she was getting older and that she had lived her life taking care of us.  With Lata in the house, and Bibha happy with Narayan, Thamma kept saying that her only remaining wish was to see Ananta settled.  As her illness advanced through the years, Lata would often walk into the bedroom at night, wiping her tears away discreetly

Ananta giving his school final exams was no less than the war of Kurukshetra at home. If I said that out loud, his Didi would give me her most disapproving glance. When Ananta started preparing for his examinations, he took up more of my time than Lata or Bibha did with his doubts. I was almost scared he was not going to make it through. He was the weakest of us all. But then there was Lata. If you came to our house during his examinations, especially during lunch or dinner, you would have found an annoyed version of me, waiting at the dinner table being ultimately served my food by Kanai, while Lata was in Ananta’s room, with the plate of food on her left hand, feeding him morsels with her right one, while Ananta studied. He was badly pampered by her and dared anyone tell his Didi that. Since Thamma was unwell, and Lata had to attend to her, all the time Ananta took was from my share of her time. Was I jealous? Maybe a bit. Perhaps more annoyed. Because Dada, Bibha or I did everything

The Chatujee house was first occupied when I was around six years old. I remember vaguely that both Dada and I were intrigued when they came to meet Thamma for the first time, the men of the house. Kedar Kaka, Lata’s father and Kusum Kaku didn’t look much like siblings. Where Kedar Kaka was dusky, tall and had sharp eyes, Kaku was a timid man, fair like he had anaemia, and spoke very less, often avoiding eye contact. What intrigued me most about them was that between themselves they often used a dialect we didn’t understand. I remember Kedar Kaka brought Thamma a white saree, the first Durga Puja they spend here. That surprised the old lady as he said almost pleadingly to her to accept the gift, for they who had lost their mother before moving here, had no other elders to bless them. Thamma took a liking to the man. Kedar Kaka was a knowledgeable man. He would often borrow books from our library and more than once I had heard Lata tell random information to Bibha or Ananta even later o

Lata being in the house didn’t seem out of place for anyone. There were no adjustments that needed to be done, no need to let her know of our likes or dislikes or learn hers. Mere two months after my wedding to Lata, Thamma insisted we go to visit Narayan and Lila at Cuttack. Her examinations were over and Bibha had decided to visit Dada, Boudi and Khoka for a week. Ananta was also taking a trip to his friend’s newly made garden house in Krishnanagar and Kakima offered to look after Thamma for the next five days. So we agreed to take our first trip together, our first time, in each other’s company, uninterrupted by relatives and family. Perhaps I learnt a bit more about her than she did about me. She complained about how I am casual about important things like tickets, which I admittingly forgot to put in the bag, and she did, staring disapprovingly at me. I observed how when Lata saw a scenic beauty or had an experience for the first time like she did with travelling such a long dista

Lata always taught me to see the positive side of everything. She believed with all her heart that out of every bad dispute, quarrel, pain, loss or betrayal, there came a lesson, something positive to take away, learn and move on. She always said challenges made us who we were. I remember once when she was sixteen we sat down in the library one evening and discussed books. She was reading Tagore and we made an analysis of his female protagonists. She seemed to have a clear idea of the characters like she understood what they felt. All the wise words came from her literature references. I praised her thoughts. She had smiled embarrassedly. And I somehow never forgot any of that every time I faced hurdles in life. And even if I did, she was always there to remind me, using quotes and lines from her favourite poets and authors. The day I had an altercation with Dada the house was extremely tense and quiet. Lata didn’t show up like she usually did for Ananta or Thamma. Instead, she sent ov

Trauma was something least spoken of, yet the impacts of it stayed longer than perhaps even loss. I realised it when I watched Bibha before my eyes. It's been months since she was back home, yet nothing seemed to be back to how it was. Perhaps she would never be the same again. Her health had improved but she was still bruised in places we could never see or know. It is not that she never tried. She involved herself in daily chores, something she was never interested in before, giving Lata a hand with everyday things, knitting in her free time and even reading to Thamma at her bedside. Occasionally she would laugh at Ananta’s jokes, read books with Lata and discuss them and even hum along when Ananta took the piano and Lata led her there. But then, even while laughing at something, or remembering a childhood memory she would go into a trance, stop smiling and staring into emptiness. Ananta tried in vain to snap her out of it. She wasn’t her old confident outspoken self anymore. She