A week was all it took for Bondita to get used to work and the new routine. She would wake up early and hurry through her chores, helping Kalindi prepare a tiffin of either Chirer Polao or bread jam and then proceeding to the Roy Chowdhury house. She would arrange the day’s paperwork before Aniruddha arrived at the study room. Occasionally, she would hear him call out to Koeli for breakfast and pack her things, knowing he was almost ready to leave. He would walk into the chamber, check his list, and they would go to work. She would follow him from courtroom to courtroom. She would be sitting in the audience and learning. She would follow him to conferences and client meetings and take notes. They would discuss complicated cases. She would share the tiffin she brought from home. He would at first take a reluctant bite, then eat more than her. She often gave him her share of food discreetly. They usually stayed back after everyone was gone and ordered food for dinner. Some days, he would mention he was supposed to eat at home, and Bondita left early, much to Kalindi’s relief. Kalindi did not quite like how busy and routineless her work life was. On some days, she would return at 5 PM and on others, past midnight. Although Bondita insisted she did not wait up, Kalindi would lie awake till she either heard the car approach the gates or heard Bondita open the lock and come in. She knew if she told Bondita to maintain a routine, she would get a lecture on how things were supposed to work, but Kalindi barely saw her more than she used to while she was away, especially on weekdays. On most weekends, Aniruddha would be away, either to some village to aid an NGO or to some free legal camp, helping the poor and needy, and that was when Kalindi got some time with Bondita, who also helped Koeli around the house as much as she could.
One morning, Koeli did not come to work because she was sick. Bihari knocked on Kalindi’s door around 6 AM, asking her what he should be doing since it was a workday, but he had to go to the market for the monthly supply of groceries. Koeli had never left without prior notice, and she had always arranged for a replacement, but since she was suddenly sick, he could not find anyone on such short notice. She promised to come to work the next day after a checkup, but Bihari helplessly wondered whether he should seek help from the gardener’s wife or the guard’s daughter. Bondita noticed Kalindi thinking a little. Then, she offered to help instead. “Koeli will be back tomorrow, I can manage one day. Bondita will help me.” She insisted. Bondita frowned slightly at her words.
“I have work…” She reminded Kalindi gently.
“Not till a few more hours…” Kalindi glared at her. “Besides, if you want to continue working, you should know how to balance chores and work.”
Bondita was about to protest, but Kalindi walked away towards the house. Bondita suddenly remembered her discussion with Aniruddha. It's been almost two weeks since, and she had almost forgotten about her commitment to finding the truth behind Thamma and Jyatha Moshai’s friendship.
After his morning prayers, Trilochon walked from the courtyard towards the dining area to find Batuk at the table. This was his last week at home. Trilochon smiled at him and sat down for breakfast. Unlike other days, Bihari came out with breakfast. He was about to enquire about Koeli when he eyed the Luchi Torkari. He could tell it was Kalindi’s cooking from a distance by the look and aroma of the curry. He remembered when she experimented with recipes, and he used to taste all her first dishes. Some of them were inedible, but he pretended otherwise and encouraged her. Trilochon looked surprised at the kitchen when Bondita emerged with freshly made Luchi.
“Where is Koeli Didi?” Batuk asked instead.
“She is sick. Thamma will cook today.” Bondita eyed Trilochon as he got up to go to the kitchen, as Bondita served Batuk.
“I hope it's not a problem…” Trilochon stood at the threshold as Kalindi dipped a freshly made dough in the oil. Her saree was firmly placed over her head and tucked behind her ears to avoid it falling from her head while she cooked. “I can hire a cook for some days if…”
“Do you have a problem if I cook? Is it so bad?” She frowned, glancing over her shoulder. Trilochon was taken aback.
“Na. Na. I mean… It's extra chores for you…” He looked away. Kalindi inhaled.
“Was raising Bondita a pain for you?” She asked as he narrowed his brows.
“Of course not.” He shook his head. “How can you even think that?”
“Then how is feeding Batuk, Somnath or Aniruddha extra chores for me? Are they not like Bondita for me?” She resumed making the Luchi as he smiled faintly. She helped Koeli around the kitchen occasionally on days of Pujas or celebrations. She knew her way around the Roy Chowdhury kitchen, but there was something more intimate about her taking over the kitchen on a regular day. Trilochon stood at the threshold and soaked in the picture of Kalindi in her white saree, with the anchol over her head to avoid the rising oil and heat, making Luchi. Was it not a picture he had painted in his imagination a hundred times when he was younger? Today, they were older and wiser, with wrinkles of experience on their faces, and she stood there in front of him, fulfilling a lifelong dream he could never share with her. He never knew the value of such small moments until he knew they were not his to share anymore. Trilochon wondered if it was God’s cruel reminder to him that, after all these years they had been through, she was never going to be his. But was the claim on her so important? Labels of the relationship more important than what he felt or their commitment to coexisting peacefully in the little world they shared?
“Why are you standing there like a statue?” Kalindi jolted him with a rebuke. “Your food will get cold.”
“Kalindi…” His voice was overwhelmed as she stared at him, and her jaw tightened.
“Thank me later.” She interrupted. “After lunch.” She gestured at him to leave, and Trilochon knew she was not ready to hear what he wanted to say. Not even after fifteen years at Chandannagar.
Aniruddha walked downstairs, calling Koeli for breakfast like he usually did, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. He stopped at the threshold of the dining room, watching Bondita and Batuk argue.
“I want more Luchi; get me some.” Batuk sulked.
“Umm…let Jyatha Moshai come back to the table…” Bondita shook her head.
“But…” Batuk frowned.
“Uff, have the Misti instead.” Bondita insisted, putting a Jol Bhora Sandesh on his plate as Batuk protested. “But I want Luchi first…” They both stopped as they spotted Aniruddha.
“Look, Dadabhai, she is not giving me Luchi.”
“Uff, I will, Batuk, let Jyatha Moshai come to the table.” Bondita scolded.
“What has that got to do with my Luchi, you mad woman?” Bondita gasped as Aniruddha took his seat, ignoring their banter.
“Did you just call me Pagli?” Bondita shook her head. “You are an idiot.”
“Ah,” Aniruddha interrupted. “Language. Both of you.” He glared, making them stop. “Why are you not ready, and where is Koeli?” Bondita inhaled. “I will go get ready once you all eat.” She glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen area, where she could see Trilochon talking to Kalindi as Batuk filled in about Koeli.
“Where is Jyatha Moshai?” Aniruddha stared at his served plate and asked.
“He’s in the kitchen…” Batuk shrugged, making him stop at his morsel and stare at Bondita, who pressed her lips together and nodded. Aniruddha had never seen Trilochon in the kitchen. He raised his brows, surprised as Batuk eyed him. “To thank Thamma.” He added.
“Of course.” Aniruddha nodded. Trilochon was back at the table, and Bondita left to bring Luchi.
“They must want tea; can you make it before you go to change?” Kalindi asked Bondita.
Aniruddha was about to leave the table and wash his hands when she placed the coffee cup in front of him. He eyed her serving tea to the others, especially Som, who had joined them and refused breakfast and smiled to himself.
“Pakka Ginnir moto shamlate paro toh sob.” Trilochon smiled at Bondita, implying she was well-groomed to be a daughter-in-law, making her blush slightly as Batuk interrupted, “Yeah, let's get her married off.” Bondita narrowed her eyes and glanced at his amused chuckle as Somnath nodded. “Well, what do you think, Bondita?”
“I think Batuk is jealous because I am Jyatha Moshai’s favourite. I am not going anywhere.” Bondita grimaced. Somnath chuckled as Batuk shook his head. Trilochon stopped them with “Oh, there is time; she is still a child.”
“Yes, I am.” Bondita nodded. Aniruddha looked up at her, smiling. “Doesn’t feel so when you scold.” He chimed in. Bondita narrowed her disapproving eyes at him as he concentrated on the coffee with an amused smile.
“She is a child?” Batuk protested. “You told me I was no longer a child when I started my internship.”
“It’s different with daughters,” Trilochon emphasised. Batuk looked helplessly at Aniruddha, hoping he would bargain on his behalf.
“Don’t look at me.” He shrugged. “You can’t argue with Jethu’s logic.” He looked amused at a sulking Batuk while sipping his coffee.
Aniruddha was on his phone with a client when Bondita hurried in, her hair braided quickly, wearing a white shirt and black pants and a waistcoat in hand, as she picked up the files from his desk.
“I have the Usha NGO files here. Do we need Mr Singh’s files too?” Bondita asked as he watched her pack the things with his hands in his pockets.
“Mrs Singh said she would like to meet us, did she not?” She glanced over her shoulder at his lack of response as he nodded.
“Alright.” She pushed her braid back from over her shoulder and collected the paperwork. “Let's go.”
“Bondita?” He made her stop. “Have you had breakfast?” She nodded as he cleared his throat.
“ The coffee was good. Koeli can’t make it as strong, and I have a headache by noon every day.” Bondita eyed him as they got into the car.
“So you want me to make your morning coffee?” Aniruddha’s hands stopped at his seat belt as he looked up at her, arranging her things inside her purse as she spoke. “When did I… say that?” He fumbled. Bondita smiled without looking up at him. “You did not. But I heard it.” Aniruddha forced himself to look away from her amused glance as a sudden feeling of vulnerability hit him.
“If it's not any trouble…” He murmured.
Bondita raised her brows, a little amused. “ But is that an order, Sir?” She asked, shaking her head. “I said I wouldn't make coffee when we signed the contract.”
“No, it's a request from a friend.” He nodded at her as she tucked in the seatbelt and the car left the driveway.
Kalindi had told Batuk to message Bondita that they should not eat outside because she had cooked Aniruddha’s favourite Begun Basanti for dinner. The client meeting went on later than usual, and Bondita had to stay back to take notes. It was around eleven thirty when they reached the Roy Chowdhury house. It was dark and quiet as Bondita walked to the study room, and Aniruddha went to check if dinner was served. He came into the study as she was about to leave and said, “There is food for two. You can go and freshen up at home and come back…”
“I can also take my share home.” She suggested. Aniruddha frowned.
“I eat alone most days, so…” Bondita nodded, “then you go freshen up, I will…” he shook his head. “Today, I will serve you a hot meal.” Bondita smiled faintly as she walked away to change into a Kurti, and when she came back, Aniruddha was in his white Panjabi, setting the table with warmed-up food. Bondita stopped at the threshold as he hummed a tune, placing the plates, and her heart skipped a beat. Bondita looked away as she felt her cheek turn warm with a sudden realisation that she was admiring him and sat down to eat, clearing her throat. He sat across from her and served her. She tore the Ruti and took the morsel. “Umm… Thamma cooks so well…” She made him agree.
“Listen…About what happened in the morning…in the kitchen…” Aniruddha lowered his voice. Bondita stared at him, amused. “I thought you never wanted to know.”
“You said we should know.” Aniruddha frowned.
“Admit it, you are as eager for answers as I am…” Bondita narrowed her eyes at him as he smiled sheepishly.
“Fine, let me in on your plan. I don’t want trouble, Bondita Debi.” She smiled at his sarcasm and said she planned to spend the weekend helping Batuk clean their storeroom. Aniruddha was clueless. “I asked about Jethu and…”
“Thamma brought nothing but our clothes and jewellery with her, so there is nothing from Alamethi at my house.” She interrupted him, “ But…”
“But there can be things in our storeroom.” He finished, praising her intelligence in his mind.
“You are smart.” He said, “For someone your age.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She frowned.
“You know how people of your generation behave…” He stopped at her stare. “I don’t mean to judge, but…”
“What’s with you and your obsession with your generation?” She frowned. “You sound like Thamma.” Aniruddha smiled.
“Well, when you get older…”
“I will know when I do.” She interrupted. Aniruddha stopped, a little wide-eyed as she looked amused. They shared a laugh and resumed eating while discussing some political protests happening in Kolkata that were on the news.
Bondita woke up earlier than usual on the weekend to help Batuk clean the storeroom.
“These trunks belong to my grandfather.” Batuk pointed. “It's the one they came here first with. Baba said that.” Bondita eyed the lock. “Where is the key?” Batuk shrugged. He had no idea. He thought Jethu had it, but he was not sure. Perhaps it lay in the drawer of keys nobody bothered with.
“I will get the key.” Bondita stood up and brushed some dirt off her salwar. She ran up the stairs and toward Trilochon’s room. She knew of the drawers of keys in the chest in his room. He was not around, and Bondita contemplated going inside. Aniruddha walked out of his room with headphones in his ears, humming a tune as he spotted her. He gently nudged her shoulder and raised his brows questioningly. Bondita was surprised that he was home on the weekend.
“I need keys to an old trunk in the…” She stopped as he removed the headphones “Huh?”
“Keys.” Bondita exhaled. “To the trunk he brought from Alamethi.” Aniruddha looked around, stepped into Trilochon’s room and walked straight up to one of the drawers, digging in. Bondita looked alarmed and gulped. What if Trilochon came back from the temple soon? He waved a set of keys at her that were marked as a storeroom. He threw it, and she caught it with a smile and left. Aniruddha was back on the Walkman but stopped as curiosity took over him.
Bondita sneezed the moment she opened the trunk, and dusty air filled the room; once, twice, thrice. Batuk had stepped outside the room to separate the things they would sell for scrap with Bihari’s help and eyed her.
“You alright?” He asked from outside as she nodded. “Yes… Dust… Hacchoo!” Bondita felt a handkerchief come over her nose as she glanced over her shoulder to find Aniruddha behind her.
“Use this, genius.” He tied the handkerchief on her face, and she could smell his perfume. Bondita inhaled as she carefully removed the lid of the trunk. It looked a little rusty. Aniruddha pressed his nose with the edge of his sleeves and peeped in. There were things in the trunk: Dhutis, a mirror and shaving kit, some books of accounts, a few identity cards and tickets. Bondita ran her hands through the papers and found an envelope with pictures. She handed them to Aniruddha as he took them out of the envelope. They leaned in as Bondita stopped before her forehead hit his, a little alarmed at the proximity. He did not notice her eyes on him as he cleaned a picture with his thumb. It was a picture of the village. In the middle was his great-grandfather, with his grandfather on one side and Trilochon on the other. Binoy sat on the lap of his grandfather. In the row behind them were employees of the estate, the manager, Khajanchi, and housekeepers. In front of the three chairs were children sitting in a row on the ground. Bondita gasped.
“That’s her. That’s Thamma.” She pointed at a girl, about ten, with braids.
“You look just like her.” Aniruddha suddenly remembered a little girl he had met and eyed Bondita, scrutinising the picture. A lock of hair, untamed from her braid, wet in sweat and humidity, stuck to the edge of her cheek over the mask. Her eyes travelled to him as he smiled. Bondita raised her brows as he shook his head and looked back at the picture. She proceeded to find letters tucked away, wrapped in a discarded piece of cloth. Her brows narrowed into a perfect bow. Aniruddha eyed the letters in her hand.
“Look at these.” She handed him some postcards. “These were written by Jyatha Moshai, stamped, but never posted…” He took the letters and investigated.
“That’s odd. If he had no intention of sending these…” He stared at the address of Alamethi “Who is Kalindi?”
“Thamma.” She eyed him, surprised, “How do you not know that?” He stopped at her scolding and frowned. “It slipped my mind. We barely use her name. Jethu often says Bondita’s Thamma… If he did stamp the posts…”
“It means someone did not post them for him.” Bondita nodded. “But then why did they keep it?”
“Out of guilt, perhaps?” Aniruddha suggested. “Do you think my father could be…” Bondita did not feed his doubts, aware of his bitterness towards Binoy.
“Jyatha Moshai thought he was sending her letters, but she never got them…” She looked a little pale as she read through them.
“And she thought he never…” Aniruddha shared her look of doubt. For a moment, both of them were silent. The dusty dampness of the dark room, the dim light, the proximity, nothing seemed to register as she placed the letters back in the trunk.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a frown. “Will you not show them to Thamma?”
“You were right.” She said with a cold tone. “Some things should remain buried.” She shut the trunk as he shook his head, a little surprised. Batuk interrupted from the threshold, “Are we done?”
“No…” Aniruddha was about to ask him to take the trunk out when Bondita nodded. “Yes, we are done. No good comes from digging into broken things of the past. Sell these…”
“No.” Aniruddha interrupted as she stopped at the threshold. “Keep this one; sell the rest.” He instructed Batuk to keep the trunk as he followed Bondita out into the hallway. She removed the handkerchief from her nose and inhaled.
“What was that?” He frowned. “You were the one who wanted to know…”
“Yes, and I know now. I don’t want to dig up anything that might hurt her. Or make Jyatha Moshai question whoever may be responsible for the misunderstanding. You know it has to be someone close to him.” Aniruddha wondered if Bondita agreed that his father had a hand in it. Bondita sounded almost overprotective of Kalindi. “She raised me, she spent all her life…”
“But you said they deserve to …” Aniruddha shook his head.
“I was wrong. Maybe this was them as teenagers. Maybe we are wrong about their equation now. Maybe all this will destroy what they have now.” Bondita looked up at Aniruddha’s confused face, and he could see her eyes sparkle. She sniffed and looked away. “I don’t think anyone wants to lose their peaceful present over a turbulent past.”
“And who are you to decide for others?” Aniruddha looked displeased.
“Nobody.” Bondita shook her head. “But I know this… I would never want to be judged today for who I was ten years ago.”
“I agree that people change, Bondita.” He tried to sound rational, “But some of our core things don’t. Like who we are, our humanity, our feelings…”
Bondita shook her head. “We all make mistakes in the past, which can make us pay heavy prices in the present. What if they regret their past actions? Do you not regret anything you did a decade ago?”
Aniruddha stared at her in disbelief. A part of him could not comprehend how deeply Bondita thought through things; another was contemplating her question.
He did regret scolding her on the day he left for Delhi and found out she had left when he was back, he regretted his ego that stopped him from reaching out to her every time Batuk, Som or Trilochon received her letters. He regretted not knowing if he had acted in a certain way that gave Mini the wrong idea about their relationship. The cost was what little was left of his relationship with Binoy.
“Everyone has small regrets in life.” Aniruddha agreed. “But on a broader spectrum, I would not change a thing.” Bondita smiled faintly at his words.
“Not everyone is as lucky as you, then.”
Aniruddha wanted to stop her, interrogate her on what she meant. What did she regret in life so strongly that she would stop him from clearing the misunderstanding between the two people she cared about most? Aniruddha frowned at her retreating figure. For the first time, he realised that perhaps Bondita had her secrets. Even when he assumed he knew everything about her, the fact was that he knew everything about fifteen-year-old Bondita, but he was yet to discover a lot about who twenty-five-year-old Bondita was. But unlike when she was younger, there were things Aniruddha could not ask grown-up Bondita easily. The thought suddenly troubled him.
“Did you have friends?” Bondita asked as Kalindi put hot coconut oil in her hair. It was Sunday, and Bondita found the time to idle around the house with Kalindi. “Back in Alamethi?”
“Of course I did. Lots of them. We used to play together.” Kalindi smiled. “You remember Ratan Kaka? His mother used to be my friend. And there was Gopa, Parul, Tumpa…”
“Didn’t Jyatha Moshai live in the village when you were kids?” Bondita could sense Kalindi’s hand stop briefly before she resumed massaging her hair. Her move was bold, but she needed to know which cord she was pushing in case Aniruddha did not listen to her advice and let things be. The last thing she wanted was to open old wounds. It took Bondita a bunch of seven letters to figure out that whatever had transpired, Trilochon was guilty of it and apologised. Whatever happened was not Kalindi’s fault. He wanted to make things right. But Kalindi never knew nor accepted his apology.
“I… don’t remember.” Kalindi found herself lying to Bondita, “They were the landlords; whatever happened in their homes was another world.”
“I thought he knew you before…” Bondita murmured. Kalindi frowned.
“Has he told you that?” Her question made Bondita shrug. “You told me that your father used to work there.”
“Village life is different, Bondita.” Kalindi sounded firm. “You are aware of that. Just because Baba worked there doesn’t mean…” Kalindi’s jaws tightened.
He had tried enough times to apologise, but she had stopped him. Kalindi feared things becoming uncomfortable once spoken of, and Bondita having to pay the cost of their ego. She did not wish to hear his apologies, nor did she want to relieve him of whatever guilt he felt for ruining her life. The truth was simple. Kalindi would not have been married off so early to the first person her father found without even double-checking his health had it not been for the rumours about Trilochon. Rumours that had no truth to them. Kalindi inhaled. She could not be lying to herself. She did like him. Even when she knew it was a far-fetched dream. She was a villager of a lower caste, the daughter of one of their workers. She knew her position and her boundaries despite feelings beyond her control. She never aspired to be anything but his friend. But he proved he was not her friend the day he chose to escape instead of saving her life. Now, was he trying to use Bondita to get to talk to her? She needed to speak to him.
“Thamma doesn’t acknowledge knowing him.” Bondita came into Aniruddha’s room, making him look up from the book he was reading, leaning on the pillow, half sitting on the bed. He narrowed his brows and straightened himself as she sat on the edge of the bed by his legs. He eyed her messed-up hair, oiled and put into a bun, her shabby pyjamas and loose T-shirt, as she shook her head and wondered.
“That means whatever happened, she doesn’t want us to know.” She sounded firm.
“Or… she is misunderstanding him.” Aniruddha sat up straight and shrugged. “Maybe if Jethu can explain…” He removed his glasses and placed them on the bedside table.
“You are trying to get him closure at the expense of Thamma being hurt?” She frowned, disappointed.
“What?” He shook his head, “No. I just feel they should talk it out. Things get worse if unaddressed.” She eyed him, lost in thought. She did not agree with him. She walked to the desk. “Also, I am here to return your copy.” She changed the subject as she tapped on it. “Give me another one?” He looked sceptical. “How did you like this one?” Bondita thought for a little while as he waited patiently to be praised. “Umm…” She eyed him, “I did not know you were so spiritual or romantic.” Aniruddha raised his brows as she explained. “I mean, you are always so serious, almost aloof…”
“Those are just poems, Bondita. I feel it's wrong to analyse a person based on what they write.” He wished she believed it and stopped seeing through him. Bondita nodded in agreement and was about to leave.
“I regret not spending more time with my parents as a kid.” Bondita had just reached the threshold, but his words stopped her,
“What?” She asked a little cluelessly as she turned.
“You asked if I regret anything in the past. I do. I wish I could tell people what they meant to me before they left.” He looked up at her, and her heart skipped a beat. Bondita looked away as she walked up to him and stood by the four-poster bed. He talked of his mother and her last days.
“You… you can still call your father.” He smiled faintly at her words.
“And say what? We don’t talk anymore. Just because…” He stopped, unsurely. Maybe she did not know what happened.
“You can at least speak to him.” Bondita sat down again, this time by his side, insisting. “I can’t even when I want to.” He eyed her as she sighed. “I wonder if my parents would be disappointed that I left or happy that I was educated.”
“They would be proud to have a brave daughter like you,” Aniruddha emphasised. Bondita was a little unsure as she asked, “Can I ask you why he stopped talking, if you don’t mind?” Aniruddha shook his head. “You know everything about me.” He shrugged. “Mini… her father…” he was unsure how to frame it to make it sound less awkward.
“I know about that.” She spared him the awkwardness. “I mean, why did your father stop talking to you? Because of Mini Didi?” Aniruddha inhaled.
“He felt I must have led her on.” Bondita raised her brows at his answer. That was something she did not expect. “I swear I had no idea she took my friendship, help or kindness as anything else. I never mentioned any plans for the future to her.” Bondita gulped. Of course, she knew what he was talking about. Once upon a time, his kindness, care and protectiveness also led her to believe she could be deserving of his love.
“Bondita?” He asked due to her lack of response. “You used to talk to her all the time. Did she tell you anything?” Bondita shook her head as she looked away.
“No, but I understand that there was a misunderstanding. But…” She wet her dry lips and eyed him. “Mini Didi has a family and is happy, right?” He shrugged. “I have not really… talked to her… Since.” He looked troubled.
“It was not your fault.” Bondita reassured him, “If someone took your gestures otherwise when you said nothing.” She made him inhale. “And your father must have been angry. You must talk to him now; people change with age.”
“If he did, he would have come for pujo, did he?” Aniruddha shook his head. “I did call him many times. Every time, his servant would say he was not home, and he would never call me back.”
“Then write to him.” Bondita insisted, “If you want to get through to someone, nobody can stop you.”
“Really?” He said in an amused, sarcastic tone. “You know that?” Bondita ignored his taunt.
“I know that people of the Roy Chowdhury house have massive egos.” Bondita sighed.
“And you don’t? I did not even know why I angered you.” Bondita’s heart skipped a beat as he smiled. “Just because I insisted on boarding school did not mean I wanted you out of here.”
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Bondita shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t even remember much.” She lied, looking away as he nodded.
“But I do.” He narrowed his eyes at her, “And you know me better than to think I would forget.”
“Then stay with your ego because, God help the Roy Chowdhury men, you people never learn!” She made him laugh. Bondita narrowed her brows at him, pressing her lips together. “Why are you laughing?”
“ You said it like…” He said in between laughing, “ Exactly like my mother. She always called all of us stubborn; she always said she was the only woman who could scold all of us into doing things we don’t do for our ego.” Bondita smiled, amused.
“She was right!” She nodded.
“No, she was not; she did not know of a certain Bondita Das.” Aniruddha shrugged. “She would have loved you for taking her side.” Aniruddha did not notice her smile fade slightly as he reminisced. “She always said, if I had a daughter, she would take my side against all of you.”
“She must have been a nice lady.” Bondita smiled faintly. “My mother would barely talk to anyone. She was in the kitchen, putting cow dung cakes on the walls of our house or helping Thamma cook. She was not literate, and Thamma helped her learn to spell her name and sign it. I doubt if she ever talked to Baba. She would scold me, though. Especially when I was naughty with other kids, she pulled my ear.”
“Do you remember them often?” Bondita nodded at his question. “ Sometimes I remember how she used to braid my hair and insisted I apply Kajol. Baba used to tell me folklore at night before I fell asleep. On Sunday, he took me to the Haat. Ma used to pull my ear if I hit anyone. She used to talk to Thamma about how Baba was spoiling my mind, how I would be when I grew older. I miss her hugs. Especially when I am lonely…” She stopped, alarmed at her oversharing. Aniruddha eyed her. “And when do you feel lonely?”
“I don’t know.” She was quick to sound cheerful as she eyed the clock. “Oh, look at the time! I have to go. Shampoo my hair. Why do you have to chatter like that?” She rushed out.
“What? Me? You came to me.” He shook his head.
Trilochon had arrived for morning tea with Kalindi after breakfast on the lawn, and Bondita was hurrying through with her things because she was late for work. She greeted Trilochon in a hurry and rushed out as Kalindi picked the teapot from the table.
“Did you tell Bondita that you knew me before?” Her accusatory tone made Trilochon frown.
“What?” He shook his head as she continued.
“She was asking if you stayed in the village when I was young. If we knew each other.” She poured the tea as she spoke.
“She is a smart child, Kalindi; she doesn’t need me to tell her something to figure this out.” He shrugged.
“Well, I said I did not know you.” Kalindi placed the teapot down as she spoke, and Trilochon eyed her. “Why would you do that?”
“Then what should I tell her?” Kalindi snapped. “Do you not know how much she questions everything?”
“What are you afraid of?” Trilochon sounded displeased. “If anything, I should be…”
“I don’t want her to go digging into the past that has no impact on the present.” Trilochon’s hand stopped at the teacup as he eyed Kalindi’s agitated face.
“Really?” he scruffed. “No impact on the present?” Kalindi did not respond.
“She is a curious one. But you did not need to lie to her. There is no sin in admitting you knew me. Why did you lie?” Kalindi, at that moment, realised she had no reason to lie to Bondita about the simple question. It was natural for villagers to know the family of landlords, even if not personally.
“Unless something made you feel uneasy about sharing…” He sipped the tea noisily as Kalindi looked uncomfortable.
“Since we are talking about her, I should inform you. I have decided to look for a groom for her.” Trilochon stared at her words.
“What? I thought we would let her work a little before… besides, she did not seem to like the idea…” He furrowed his brows.
“Every woman says so, but she has grown up. She must have dreams of a family like all women do.” Kalindi shook her head. “So will you be looking, or should I tell neighbours?” Trilochon contemplated. “Let me.” He said. “I will let you know if we find someone worthwhile.” Kalindi agreed.
“Besides, with Somnath’s wedding soon, we can always tell people then.” Kalindi stared at his words, a little taken aback.
“They are your relatives, friends and colleagues.” She reminded him.
“So?”
“We are not… of the same background, caste and…” Trilochon shook his head.
“Of course, you would want someone from your caste, perhaps someone who would be a government employee?” Kalindi stiffened at his words.
“It's not me, it's how society works… It has always worked that way.” She was firm. Trilochon kept the empty cup down, “Then let them know I have raised Bondita like a daughter; if they ask her caste, creed and class, they should judge it from me.” Kalindi was about to open her mouth, but she knew it was to be in vain. She wondered if Bondita’s expectations of a groom were as highly aimed as the society to which the Roy Chowdhurys belonged. When Binoy was there, they would throw parties at home for birthdays and occasions and also just because some friends were there. Bondita would often steal a glance at the party, dancing, music or people and run back to the house to tell her what she saw. Did Bondita desire a life like that? Because if she did, it would be tough for Kalindi to find a groom to meet her demands. After all, Bondita had no dowry, nor did her father leave her any property or money in her name; these were what attracted good families. Neither was their background as polished or as educated as that of Roy Chowdhurys. No matter what Trilochon believed, it was a fact that a groom’s side would judge her from the small rented apartment, Kalindi’s upbringing and their roots in Alamethi. Kalindi whispered a silent prayer. All she wanted was for Bondita to be happy.
