Memories

My heart is laden with pain, my eyes refuse to stop the flowing tears, I have lost another loved one 'Anjumama'.
All the wounds in my heart have opened up again, and bleeding profusely once more.
Where are all of you? Thamma, Ma, Baba, Kaku, Kakima, Pishi, Aunty and now Anjumama. Where are you ? Are you together? Can you feel my love for you?
I still remember my Didima and still feel strong love for her. She was a very simple lady, who was not much educated, did not see the world and her world was her children from whom she was forced to be seperated due to the partition of India. She had just 2 wishes, but they were never fulfilled, she wanted to ride a plane and wanted to offer 'puja' in Kalighat Mandir. Planes I have to fly in, but I refuse to go to Kalighat, as it reminds me of my Didima's unfulfilled wish.
I last met her when I was barely 5 years old, but the memory is vivid in my mind. She was called Suhashini, a lady with beautiful smile. She was pretty tall, round faced, a bit rolypoly, and had wavy hair. After the day's work, she would light the lamp below the sacred basil tree, and then sit with all her grand children on a concrete bench under the 'bakul' tree in front of the bedrooms. Chotomashi's wedding was nearing and the house was filled with all grandchildren. She told us stories while fanning herself with a hand fan.
Anjumama was her youngest child. He was born along with expulsion of a huge tumor from the uterus. Didima was critical for days, the baby was too weak to cry even. Kabiraj Rishi Bhattacherjee, the family physician had doubts about the longevity of the child.
But Anjumama survived. He was a very weak child and Didima's pet. He was a welcome change from his elder brother Biju, who left no stones unturned to create problems for Didima and his older sisters.
With all 6 daughters married and settled in their respective homes, elder 2 sons married and woking in India, Bijumama studying in Dhaka and staying with my father, Dididma only has Anjumama for company. Dadu being in the profession of law, a man of principle and few words, lived in his own world.
Then came the terrible partition of United India in 1949. Sylhet district, the abode of the most intellectual and educated people of Bengal, had majority of Hindu population, People of Sylhet wanted Sylhet to be a part of India, and rightfully so. Geographically too it was more inside the intended India. But according to Mahatma Gandhi's proposal there was a referendum. Most of the Hindus were forced to refrain from voting by Muslims, and the Muslims won the referendum. Sylhet became a part of East Pakisthan, much to the glee of Muslims. People of Sylhet never forgave Gandhi for the referendum.
Hell broke loose after the referendum

Culinary lessons

My first culinary lessons were given by Baba. He dictated the recipes of plain rice, dal and fried potatoes. I, on my part, copied the recipes at the back of my small checked arithmatic home work copy with great enthusiasm. The exercise book is long lost, but the memory is still very fresh in my mind. Baba too always boasted that his early coaching made me a fine cook.
Whenever Baba was home, we had a gala time. The moment Thamma and Ma left home for some shopping or to visit any relative, the kitchen was at our disposal. Baba would make chocolates, while we looked on. The chocolate recipe was pretty easy. Anybody can make it.
Boil some milk in a wide pan, than add lots of sugar. When the sugar melts add lots of whole wheat flour and stir constantly till brown chocolate is made.
The chocolate Baba made tasted to us as good as the Cadburys. We ate up the delicious stuff fast.
The chocolate was washed down by some 'instant tea'. That was easy to make too. Boil a kettle of water and pour it into a large tumbler, though a tea strainer containing 2-3 tablespoons of tea. Add milk and sugar and enough tea is ready for a batallion.
We quickly poured the tea in cups, mugs, glasses or whatever we could lay our hands on and drank it relishingly with lots of 'oohs' and 'ahas'.
Kaku was too much of a gentleman to take part in the bizarre chocolate industry, but was a part of our 'instant tea' producing company.
After the feast, we washed all utensils as fast we could, and sadly threw away the remaining tea (we were not brave enough to keep some tea for Ma to taste).
The pan in which we cooked the delicious chocolate was difficult to clean, though we did put in our best effort.
Ma would be hopping mad on entering the kitchen unsuspectingly, and finding the floor flooded with water and a burnt pan (we did try our best, didn't we?) waiting for her.
Thamma said the Baba was engaged in the chocolate making since childhood, and it was nothing new. The recruits were only changed from his siblings to his children. Had he not been so engrossed in his profession of law, we surely could have made a living out of our cottage industry.

The missed royal feast

Thamma could narrate stories beautifully. Besides the kids of the household, her audience included the children of the neighborhood too. One fine evening, as she was reading a story about kings and queens, she talked about the names of the sweets the royalties enjoyed. They were 'mandas and methais'.
"Do you still get them?" we enquired. She said she was not sure if they made the stuff anymore.
We kids decided that it was high time that we too tasted the royal sweets. The decision was made by me and my elder brother, the two younger sisters were too gentle to demand such unheard things, but were not unwilling to share the treat with us.
So off we went to our cook, Lakhan er ma, gave her two rupees and asked her to purchase some 'manda' for us from the nearby sweetshop.
As she went for the errand, we waited excitedly at the window, looking at the path in the park in front of the house. It was the route through which the royal delicacy was to arrive.
Soon we saw Lakhan er ma returning, but what is this? She has nothing in her hand. Was the money insufficient? The royal sweet must be costing more.
We were at the gate, demanding an explaination from her.
''Don't you send me to get such absurd things again" she fumed. When she had asked for our 'manda', the man in the sweet shop chided 'manda? Manda na tomer mundu?'.
So that was it.

Role playing

As a child, whenever I saw a movie I could imbibe into me a part of the nature of my favorite character, even if it was for a few hours only. One of my siblings found it very irritating. I also identified myself with people I read about. I know it is funny, but as a child I identified myself with Tom Sawyer, the famous title character of the Mark Twain novel, and Josephine March created by the American author Louisa May Alcott. Both were wild.
Little did I know that I had a generous dose of empathy in me even as a child. Later, as a doctor I can feel the pain and discomfort of my patients, the anxiety of the patients' family and cry over a patient's death.
There was a man who sold tea in front of our home. He lived with his lame wife and children in a shed made of tarpaulin. How I wished I could visit their home and taste the dinner that his wife cooked, in a made shift oven constructed with two blocks of bricks, the fuel being dry leaves that was collected from the nearby park. I always thought how tasty the food must be cooked in that way.
Years later when I was teaching in China, I longingly looked from my apartment at the staff quarters and wished they would invite me for a cup of green tea in their shabby home. It goes without saying that I wasn't.