Heart of the Matter

          The homo sapien  species  around  me swear  by a deep knowledge that Rabin , my husband , has given ‘ all of his  heart’ to me  . Of that statement , I am as dubious as I am  intimidated . For , having been initiated into a world of logical reasoning from a child I  cannot believe that  Rabin would thrive ( as well as he does ) sans a heart ! A heart is certainly a vital organ in the human body , and is indispensible for one’s healthy  existence . So , when Rabin gives me ‘ all of his heart ‘ it can imply a serious condition  , which I must protest  vehemently  against with all my being . How can I have ‘ all of his heart ‘ ?! I dare not ! I am his dear and truly devoted wife after all ! I cannot profess to accept anything  short  of  his well- being , and certainly not his ‘ heart’ . Again , another reason why I cannot accept ‘ all of his heart’ is perhaps due to  a selfish ,but nonetheless , all the more pragmatic and practical  fact . Born with a large heart , I have carefully tried to maintain that with much grit and determination . And , over the years it has grown , in right proportion and size , to  my bountiful surface area . In the process , I have been necessitated to gobble anzigem  tablets to a dozen . So , in moments of deepest introspection , when I begin to visit upon the starkest truth of life ---, I wonder ----- , ‘Can I afford yet ‘ another heart’  , besides my very  large one ? ‘ Ah ! Rabin may be a selfless dear . He may (supposedly ) wish to give  ‘all of his heart ‘ to me . But is it possible for me to reciprocate like a good spouse --be equally selfless—and accept ‘another heart ‘ --? I can imagine the somersaults of linear images on the screen of the cardiogram ! Ahem ! No such complications , please ! Not when you are batting past half a century !  So in our very happy , married life -- I try to keep the ‘ heart ‘ thing  out . Whenever it props up I look the other way ,--try amnesia , schizophrenia ,and what have you . Sometimes I merely scratch my nose , rub my eyes , rootle into my ears or do anything but look ‘ heart’ in the face . And then, such blessed peace ! ‘ We fleet , we float , we fleetly flee , we fly .’ That is the gait of our life that breezes on with marital bliss ,albeit ,without the matter of the heart .

       The ‘ heart ‘ thing conveniently out of the way ---we were both ,--at once relieved and yes , happy . But curious things can come your way at curious times . It happened on my flight JET CONNECT S2 4363 , flying from Bangalore to Guwahati , at the height of above 30,000 ft above the sea level , amidst billowy white clouds , and  against the backdrop of varied azure hues . I was getting romantic . Suddenly, at Kolkotta , a Maharashtrian family barged into the aircraft .  Their seats were all scattered . Two chirpy teen-aged girls and the mother secured their seats one after another, in a line adjacent to mine .  The father bobbed his head up and down until his wife exclaimed ‘Teekre ! ‘ ( almost in Eureka style ) ! I smiled to myself at the jolly robustness of the family. Then, as the man groggily moved towards my side --, I realized that ‘ Teekre ‘ meant the vacant seat next to mine . The gracious soul in me in the aisle seat went into a flurry of activities to accommodate the man . I started with opening my seat belt , adjusting bag , book , specs ,sandwich , coffee spread out cosily on my ample lap and the folding board . I also made a sizeable number of u-turns , s-turns and l-turns before the man could wriggle in and settle down in his seat . By the  end of it ,it was some achievement ! For, the contenders for space were  both by no means midget sized ! Work accomplished  , I almost felt radiant at the team –work , and deigned to give my co- passenger  smile , as in , ‘ Well done buddy ! We did it ! ‘ That much of civility done with , I began digging into the second life of William Dalrymple’s ‘ Nine Lives ‘  with gusto . But my concentration kept wavering  . I had become the focal point of someone else’s concentration . Every other second, the Maharastrian lady looked back at our row. ‘ At one point she succeeded in  catching her husband’s eye and signalled him about something . Next , she leaned across the aisle , elbowed me out  into a non-entity and began whispering something into her husband’s ears . Soon she needed a gum ,  some  water , her hanky and I know not what ...  from her husband, who appeared only too ready to comply  . These demands were proving a little too disastrous for me as I had to flatten out to oblige her every time . I caught the  eye of a young woman by the window of my row . She was giggling . ‘ Matter  of the heart ! ‘ she mouthed the  words silently at me as  I turned a quizzical look towards her . ‘ Eh!?  Heart ?’ I jumped up in horror ! ‘  At this age ? ‘ I mouthed back . ‘Why not ?’ My new  airborne  friend rolled her big eyes at the  duo  and whispered , ‘chweet na ? ‘ ‘na ?’ I was quite horrified by now . I truly can’t be confronted with the ‘heart ‘ thing all alone at the dizzy heights 0f 36 ,000 ft. above  ground ! I have to look beyond---, above , below , to the ieft , the right , anywhere--- . I decided to opt for ‘Nine Lives ‘ The detachment of the Jain Tirthankaras or the Tantric meditation of the Theyyam dancers of Kannur were the perfect means to salvage myself in the situation . But my errant thoughts deceived me .  Are these matters of the heart contagious ? Er, like flu , or viral fever -- ? I really do not know . The duo was  coming together again . . . the girl by the window was thoroughly amused .She drew  hearts in the air and grinned at me . I shook my head utterly dazed . Can I be affected in any way ?  Oh ! God ! I will not know how to handle it ....not at fifty plus ! I let out a fervent prayer . Let Rabin stand at the airport to receive me with a bunch of red roses or even a casket of chocolates ! ( I can suffer them too well ) ! But , Lord ! let him not offer me his heart ! Plainspeak.....  I simply would not know what to do with it ! That’s the heart of the matter of ...er , the heart .                                                                        

                                   

Three Men In My Life

Three Men In My life
By Ranjita Chaudhury.
Oh! Yes ! I’ve decided to come open. Finally . I really think it’s time I made a clean breast of it all . For, maybe I’ll never have another time. The moment may just pass, and all things may be passé. Perhaps this is not a thing one makes much ado of. Maybe I should keep it all closeted within me, cherishing it all quietly in my heart, savouring the little joys that I’ve experienced. Maybe nothing needs to be revealed after all. But the writer in me is a demanding master . It coerces me. It drums into me the dictum that the ultimate of all felt emotions is the”written word”. And I mutely comply. My nascent thoughts distil into words, my feelings crystal into phrases , my joys into sentences; a narrative takes shape _ this time the narrative of the three men   in my life .
I can almost imagine my readers warm up to my story . I can see teen-agers giggling over my indiscretion . And rightly so ! I know that the women in my neighbourhood can be tickled pink with anticipation . I visualize my all –time-over-conscientious relatives frown over my indelicacy . But my story , regardless of it all , takes shape , and drips and flows through the point of my pen .
Confident , sporty , bursting with life and vigour . An avid reader of Ernest Hemingway , Karl Marx and Gray’s Anatomy . A weird combination . That’s how he was , unpredictable , beyond definition . He was my first hero . As I pared with his thoughts and beliefs , I often entered into a love - hate relationship , something I could not explain , even to myself . At my wedding , I saw him watching me from a distance , broken with pain ,wracked with sickness , wishing to be by my side –something which was not to be . As I put my hand in my groom’s , and Nilda performed the kanyadaan I glanced at him . And my heart missed a beat ! I loved him so !
My next man -- my anchor . Exacting and critical in times of weal , but soft and warm in woe . I am livid at his non-chalance . I hate his unrelenting moods . I am indignant that I cut no ice with him . But strangely , very unwittingly , I have lost my heart to him . For , he is the one who ( albeit , in his casual , unhurried way ) showed me the light in life . That perhaps wins him the right to be the light in mine .
The third –ah ,he is surely my man ! A TDH ,to be sure .Tall , dark and handsome . Many a damsel has lost her heart over him , something he stoutly denies .He vows it is me that bowls him over ! I laugh , for that’s what I want to believe . But then , why shouldn’t I ? In his eyes is the deepest concern for me , in his voice the strongest love , and in his touch a healing balm . A universal bond binds us forever . And my love flows out to him unchecked , knowing no caution , no rationale over the  long years . Not even D.H. Lawrence can comprehensively map its flux . He is truly my man !
In a curious way , this gang of three  have lit up my life and added more hues to it than the vibgyor of the brightest rainbow .Today , I sit back , my hair streaked in strands of silver . Unabashed and happy , I revel in the act of ruminating over the three men , in my life . I couldn’t ask to be more blessed ! Some of my readers must be squirming with agony by this time , trying hard to guess the identity of these men .But I have already revealed it all ! The astute have known it all the time . As for the rest ...ah ...they too will know , surely , all in good time .

Can we party tonight?!

Parties featured galore in our lives for the past three months. Albeit, parties which were curiously rare and unique in their make –up. For, to start with, Rabin and I would not be dressed in our best evening apparels, but, excuse me ,in our best ‘night - clothes ‘ . And the venue , always our bedroom ! Before anyone jumps into dubious conclusions , let me quickly clarify that unimaginable though it may seem ,we really had no option --- ,for we were both shackled to our beds after a monstrous road accident ,our limbs asunder and every inch of our bodies in excruciating pain . But our spirits ,---thank the Lord ,in soaring heights!
After being salvaged from the devastating accident on the National Highway ,as we lay on beds against the two walls of the Emergency Room in ’ Downtown Hospital’ , a strange undaunted resolve
had crept up within me , melting the almost 100 kg of softie in me into sheer steel. Maybe it was just the survival instinct . I just shouted out to Rabin across the room : ‘Hey! Pal ,We have survived ! We are alive ! We’ll keep our spirits up , right ? We’ll be very positive about it all ? An anguished ‘Yeah !’ assuaged me , and we did not break that sacred vow through out
So we lay in our twin beds of our room ,wrested of all power to move , completely dependent on others for our smallest needs .But we managed with resolve ---and also ,---with a smile .And God ,did we party !Giddily ,outrageously ,celebrating ’ life ‘ in its every contour available to us in our non-A .C . bedroom . We wrote out gourmet menus for meals to the exasperation of my mother and our cook , for we never had the appetite to do justice to them .We played pranks and jokes on our friends and well-wishers , while we were still bound to our beds . We laughed in glee ( or , rather squirmed in pain , as every movement promised yet another spate of agony ) to see our guests bemused , not quite knowing when to look solemn or break into a smile ,as they listened to Rabin’s Countless narratives doled with his own very special humour and ready wit .
I was suddenly reminded of Agha Shahid Ali in Amitav Ghosh’s story , ‘Ghat Of the Only World ‘ .
I seemed to understand Ghosh’s narrative with an intense poignancy .....’Almost to the very end , even as his life was being consumed by his disease [cancer ] ,he [Shahid ] was the centre of a perpetual carnival ,an endless mela of talk , laughter ,food and of course ,poetry .’ How well I understood it all .In the same way our parties too continued .
Every good news ,every progress ,every development was reason enough to celebrate .We had a ‘biriyani party ‘ when the love of our lives , our children , came home rushing to see us .Our son , Shalin ,carted in Rasna of every flavour ,leaving standing orders that every visitor should have something to eat and drink when they dropped in to see us .Then ,we also had a party when our children had to go ,each savouring our repast with gusto , even as each was silently torn apart . We threw a party when Rabin’s iron casts ,( for his traction ) were removed .We were thrilled when he could turn on his sides .I called up his cronies and we had a whopping time with demos thrown in ! And ,finally ,one day ,I could actually drag myself and sit by his bedside and hold his hand .Together ,we said a little prayer . Did we need a stronger reason to party?
Soon good tidings inched our way .Rabjn could be actually be out of bed ,wheeled out , on a chair , something I could do from the start .He could now go to the bathroom and have a proper shower ,sitting on a plastic chair .We were ecstatic ! He dressed himself in the finest lungi ,(sartorial choice being still out of question ) ,and touched up his hair with a distinct curve before the mirror ,and actually sat at the dining table for breakfast, strictly on the wheel –chair all the time ,of course ) .This news was fantastic .It spread like wild fire .All our friends crowded in boosting our spirits ,cheering us ,sharing our joy as they took in our pain . What would we have done without these people ? I feel totally humbled by their love .So , we partied hard and had a rollicking pot –luck brunch . The ‘luci ‘ , ‘aloo bhaji ‘ ‘amor –achaar ‘ never tasted better !
One fine day ,Rabin discovered that he could be quite independent , with the walker though .We laughed to see him take the first steps alone .We revelled as he confidently hobbled his way to the front veranda h to be with his favourite parakeets in vibrant colours .As they whistled and crooned to each other , I saw ourselves crossing yet another hurdle with a quiet determination and inner peace .We served our parakeets fresh and crisp lettuces ,as we munched on crunchy semolina balls .Our little party had its own special edge .
Its four months now .The doctor has declared me fit to resume normal duties . But what about Rabin ? I wait outside the O. P. D . Rabin is with Dr. Bharali in his cabin .HE is to give his final verdict .We do not know if Rabin will finally be able to walk on his own after all .We are all very expectant .I cannot imagine his life without the power to move independently . No one is in any kind of doubt . We had already talked of a short walk on our terrace to-night . Cook has already planned roast chicken for dinner . T .B . ,S.T. ,B .S ., H . N .are to drop in to celebrate Rabin’s first walk in four months .A sudden fear grips me ---it threatens to weaken me .Today ,I am devoid of all strength to go on .Strange feelings of trepidation rush up in me for the first time . Will Rabin be able to make it finally ?Will his healing be complete ? Can the seemingly innocuous art of stepping on his own be mastered after all ? A hundred questions flood my tired mind. I wonder , listlessly...can we , can we afford to party tonight ?

SHEILA KI JAWANI

          It   happened  all of a sudden. It was a slight twinge. Can she call it a pull? It was the slightest of sensations, almost imperceptible __ , but it was there__ , sharp and real. Sheila felt it in her knee and stopped short. Did she imagine it ? No. She didn't. There was no mistake about it __  but it was gone  now. Yet, it had her in its total grip, had incapacitated her for an iota of a second. For a person like Sheila, who strode rather than walked, who ran up the stairs rather than climbed them___ it was a curious feeling. That Sheila's  body  had failed her seemed so queer, so novel a realization, that she was flummoxed for some time. It, perhaps, was not a betrayal. Sheila was not really worried about it yet. She only knew it to be different, rather strange, and  she stood stupefied for a moment. Immediately, however, she grasped the significance of that  pin-prick. Sheila was but a part of the natural phenomenon around her. Birth, growth and decay were the phases of a  normal human existence. Sheila was fifty plus. Every metabolic activity in  her  body was certainly at its doldrums . If  anything, it was only justified that the process of decay in her should have  manifested  itself  much before. John Keats in 'Human Seasons' had already cautioned her:

                           '  Four Seasons fill the Measure of the year

                              Four Seasons are there in the mind of Man                                                     

                              .......

                            Or else he would forget  his mortal nature . '

Yet , Sheila  could not help admit  with a half -smile that she was caught on the wrong foot !

         Fifty was an age when one didn't get excited over such mundane facts of life. But that surely was  a myth . For, Sheila was all flustered. And  just for that little twinge! Oh! for her it was too new an experience, too poignant a moment to ignore. The fact that Sheila too, had started aging was a stunning realization for her. It stupefied her. She was curiously not aghast. Nor did thoughts of consternation nor morbidity baulk her. It was just that she had put her finger on her very life process. Of Sheila's birth, she was quite unaware. Of her adolescence, only vaguely apprehensive, so lost she was in the spate of her animal spirits. But, regarding her 'old-age',---her autumnal phase,----- well, there it was. Curiously , Sheila felt no different from what she used to feel some years ago .Emotionally and spiritually she was as alive and sprightly as a young girl . 'Natasha's' passionate character in War And Peace  still moved her, Elizabeth in  Pride And Prejudice still inspired her and she often wept with Desireé in her hands  .She would become heady with the revolutionary ideas of Shelley and vacillate  with the   equally adolescent and thought-provoking dissipation of Hamlet   as he ponders: 'To Be Or Not To Be.  Again, the recent uprising in Iran  had had her strung up for the past months  and she had cried herself hoarse talking of Anna H, the second Mahatma. Sheila's rendezvous with columnist Patricia  Morley ,  Tavleen Singh, Shobha  De' were more  delectable than ever. She marveled at what Modi had done for his land, and wondered, pensively, if  the Assamese could ever be woken from their  stupor. In  short, Sheila  at fifty,  was as agile and as  alert as any young woman of twenty. Sheila  could not imagine how Keats can say: 

                                                'He hath  his autumn ports..... 

                                                 .........he content to look 

                                                 On Mists in idleness: to let fair things

                                                 Pass  by unheeded as a threshold brook . '    

For, every novel venture still enticed Sheila, warmed her to it and inspired her. But, she was no  more  a young woman anymore. Then what was the matter with her? Were the stirrings of the twenties in her so strong that she felt no different today? Ulysses was right to opine: 'Old age hath yet his honour  and his toil ...'Tis  not too late to seek a newer  world'. For Sheila  too, it was no  different.

               Sheila moved towards the mirror. She giggled to see see the silvery grey lines on her thinning black hair. Her skin was rough and withered, her body loose and cumbrous. But her soul___she could see the 'girl'  in her peering out through  her eyes, battling all odds and coming out victorious and happy. She basked in her love of life  her and her robust optimism. All her ills, her complaints, her peevishness and selfish streaks waned in the wake of her incredible  radiance and youthful brilliance. She marveled  at  her soul mate --her alter -ego ,the ever youthful Sheila. And she watched herself  in the mirror enchanted, she  chimed with Coleridge: 'Springtime   blossoms on thy lips;  And tears take sunshine from thine eyes. 'Our Sheila's 'jawani' cannot have a more salubrious version.

To The Rat

A new relation.A coveted,prized and fragile relationship.It was as formal as law would have it,yet as informal and casual as the heart would allow.We were at the end of our tether.Rabin and I were to spend a week's time with this'new relation'and his spouse.There were oodles of exhilaration,and then spasms of reserve.There were waves of soaring expectation ,   immediately followed up with bouts of despondency and hesitation.Finally,one fine day,we landed at the I.G.Airport in Delhi.My heart was in my mouth. Rabin,too,seemed a little unnerved. Not that he confided anything to me.But the manner he strode with an extra bravado told me all. As we trooped out of the airport onto the path at the exit end,the blazing sun beat down our backs.Suddenly a waiting car speeded up to us, and we were joyously bundled in by our young hosts amidst much warmth and laughter.The couple was jubilant at our visit.I glanced at Rabin. He suddenly seemed relaxed and comfortable .I ought to have felt the same.But the'streak of caution' in a women tugged at me and held me back for the first time.'Easy,easy!Not so fast!'was the constant refrain .Rabin was absolutely bowled over by the minute.Cigarette dangling in a rakish manner, he was actually jabbering with this'new relative'! I felt a pang of envy. Even I deserved to be  frightfully happy.But I simply could not thaw.The October morning in Delhi was bright and glorious.As we wheezed past Subroto park,Vasant Vihar,I.I.T.,G.K.II upto Kalkaji,the scenic charm of S.Delhi,despite its busy pace and traffic snarls,left me cold this once.I wish I could throw all caution to the winds,and be my usual self listing my favourite itinery in Delhi.But something countinued to pull me back.I just couldn't let my hair down.Soon,we reached the house.This new relation was all agog to make us comfortable.Tall glasses of cool lemonade with ice clinking at the top awaited us.As we walked about the modest,but pleasant and airy flat,I observed numerous thoughtful gestures and arrangements made for a meal.Steaming basmati rice,a lovely dal,nicely spiced palak paneer,a most delicious'masor tenga' summed up the fare.Our hostess gushed up to us saying that it was all courtesy the young man__'our new relative'.Rabin's reaction  caught me unawares.With a big guffaw he almost fell over the poor man as he gave him the biggest hug possible! I did muster a decent smile.Certainly, the gesture was welcome. But should we allow ourselves to go headlong into this relationship,so early,so, enthusiastically__taking everything in our stride?What if it back-lashed? What if he sniggered at our zeal?What if he frowned at all the things we go crazy about?What if this life is all about codes and conduct,which we Chaudhurys loved to break every minute of our lives?Asilent fear made my stomach turn.At fifty plus,I could still behave with the whim of teen-ager!At sixty,Rabin still wished to do things our son has just stopped trying!Will our intuitive living be too much of a strain for this decent young man,so desirous to be a part of the fold?I just could not tell.The foursome in our family have always indulged each others oddities.The world has often passed us by.But that had never deterred us from being what each of us wished to be,each always having his/her own space.And we found that we actually lived life to the lees! We have succoured joy in countless odd ways. And now this very important new relation! Can he fit into our crazy lives? Will we be able to find a meaning in his? A strange heaviness filled my very soul.Soon,the lovely meal was over.The bubbly young girl went over to the kitchen,I went in to give her a hand.A huge ,red and luscious pomegranate on the fridge caught my eye.Considering the heat,I thought I'll remind herto stock it in the fridge ."Oh no .Not that!'she countered rolling her big, green eyes.'That's for the Rat!''The Rat?' said I ,puzzled.'Oh! yes!' she explained giggling.'There is a Rat in the house .The other day ,I left the pomegranate on the fridge top.Next morning ,I found that the rat had nibbled at it.I wanted to throw it away .But Bhashkar stooped me.He wants me to keep it there so that the rat can come and go on eating that sumptuous pomegranate.He says he doesn't have the heart to deprive him.'A Rat?' I exclaimed again.'Why don't you kill it?!' 'Oh! Bhashkar wouldn't! He couldn't.But he has caught it today on my insistence.We' ll have to do something about it . Can't kill it!Its impossible! So Mama,(yes__indeed,the girl was my daughter) if you don't mind,we'll have to go to Connought Place..Oh! Not for shopping__alright? Bhashkar is planning to leave the Rat in C.P.' A line of intense worry was on the young forehead.'I hope he can fend for himself. Bhashkar has been so upset!''Oh ho! so our first evening out in Delhi with our 'new relative'(none other than our coveted'son-in-law')was to give a free ride to a rodent to C.P from Kalkaji!There could not have been a crazier beginnin!My heart felt light.All fears began to dissolve immediately.No apprenhensions of judgemental, condescending tones promised to loom over my future, to admonish me and bombard my life. My crazy family was intact.What a relief !So flags off to the trip to C.P There was not a minute to lose ! Ms.Shiela Dixit may soon have to seriously confer with the Pied piper of Hamlin... But thats another matter . As for the present ,I went up to Bhashkar and gave him a big ,sloppy kiss on his round cheek. Bhashkarvikram, our new relative,our dear son-in-law,had just carved a wide niche in our hearts . He is truly one of the fold  ,a lovely extension of our mad ,mad ,family . 

Student Fixing

      'Fixing',' Fitting' ,' Management', 'Arrangement'... words packed with power and potential.These are the key words to whooping success in the modern world. I learnt the aura and resonance of the words a wee bit late in life,and have now decided to make the most of them at the slightest opportunity.My chance came soon enough ! Room No.20 in 'Gauhati Commerce College'. It was chock-a-block with B.Com.Pt-II students.The boys in smart blackish grey trousers and pale blue shirts, and the girls in pleasing pink-checked kameezes, white salwars and flapping, creamy white dupattas! So very cool and soothing to the eye. But it was not so pleasant very soon.The room began getting crowded by the minute. Soon, it was bursting at the seams. I sat at platform trying to man the jostling crowd as I desperately tried to attest their photostat documents needed for the form filling-in day, for the forthcoming examination. As Bearer Uttam , the faithful, energetically stamped away and I began endorsing the photostat papers with my signature,the whole enterprise appeared as defeating as the myth of Sysiphus.We were simply making no headway.The students seemed only to grow in volume, no matter how much I tried to lessen the number. Suddenly, in the middle of the melee a voice rasped in, 'Ma'm - can you attest my papers first? "My father is in the hospital!" I looked up. A flush of altruism , humanism, philanthrophism or whatever word you may have for it, gushed up in me. My look eased. I softened immediately.Two others pushed forward. One gushed, 'Ma'm--my mother is having an operation today'.The other could barely whisper,'My brother had a bike accident this morning. Ma'm could we both have our papers attested first?' I was in trouble. A real dilemma! I looked around for help. I didn't know how to tackle this .The serpentine queue wriggled, shook and convulsed before me. Bearer Uttam stood ramrod straight (as straight as his podgy self would allow him), the rubber stamp poised in air. I would get no help from that quarter. The decision had to be mine, and mine alone. I looked up at my earnest pleaders once more. Just then I caught their eye.'The eye'!-oh! the Achilles' heel of every human kind. The eye--the window to the soul ,the eye that can't ever lie ! Aha ! And it was the 'eye' that told me all. The schemes and strategies uncovered in a jiffy and the culprits were all exposed.Now, to tackle them ! 'Hmm'. I cleared my throat. Another hopeful turned desperately to me .Was I really such a credulous fool that kids less than half my age were all set to take me for a ride?! Ah! thats an angle I have to think of and come to terms with, in leisure. Now, turing to the immediate situation. Surely--,I just couldn't allow these 'bravehearts' to outwit me. But I really had no energy to argue with any of them. My mind started ticking, my grey cells in quick tandum. Soon, my eyes took on a crafty glint as they narrowed with a super brilliant brain-wave.Yes that's it. I can still beat them at their game.Oh! Yes ! I took a stiff British posture, a very British accent and an altogether British strategy (perhaps,being an English teacher helped). I adopted a game-a student 'fixing' game. I called it an 'Internal Arrangement' "All Right!" I boomed ."All those who need to go to the hospital make a seperate line.We'll have a SPECIAL MEDICAL LINE. I'll attest their papers first.The rest will have to wait for their turns in the queue". One minute .Two minutes. Wonderful! My game was gaining momentum. No seperate line yet. I tapped patiently on the desk, ticking off seconds. Soon, it was five minutes. No 'SPECIAL MEDICAL LINE' still . "Well" said I, triumphantly."There sunddenly seems to be no urgency on any medical ground." We will proceed the usual way. I took up my pen, and Bearer Uttam stood up an inch straighter,impatient to begin. An instant later we were both totally engrossed. But that was after I did a quick survey of the room and saw  the instant 'Internal Arrangement' among the students at work. I shook with silent amusement to note the handful of o pportunists wincing under the glares, silent threats and inaudidle promises of black-eyes, purple head-bumps, unforgettable thrashing and what-have-you, from their other mates. I saw them mutely hang their heads and take up positions at the end of the line, hospital appointments totally forgotten.Or, rather, the prospect of the 'REAL HOSPITAL VISITS' which awaited if they pushed their cases  too hard-was proving too daunting for their liking! All of them took up positions in the line and began waiting for their turns.The quiet tension in the classroom, the silent gnashes, the tremulous roars and the inaudible snarls ricochetted around, as the boys flexed their muscles and the girls whet their painted claws, daring the 'hospital group' to outsmart the hundred faces before me. I could not help smile to my self at the magnificent success of my little game of 'group fixing' or 'student fixing'!

My Evening Raaga

'What  do you do in the evenings?' A simple query ? ..............An opening line to a conversation ? Or....Is it just a phatic use of language? Whatever it is, its enough to send me into a flurry , completely throwing my cool to the winds , and making me quite disoriented and' hopelessly inarticulate .Whatever I do in the evenings is so very ordinary , so terribly mundane,its something I couldn't possibly talk about it , leave alone unflinchingly haul it to public view and allow it to face the onslaught of critical opinion .

Well, then, whatever do I do in the evenings? I patronize no club nor soiree. Nor do I have a kitty to  flaunt. Discotheque is a lexus learnt rather late  in life,and therefore,non- functional. Surfing stufies me, and shopping till date, is  necessarily prompted by urgent requirements . So, then, .....how do I occupy myself in the long hours of an evening? All I can muster up to say by way of an answer, could possible be in the vein....'Nothing much,nothing ..in particular ' .

'Nothing?' My own answer startles me. Then ,does my sense of contentment ,the deep peace that settles upon me in the quiet of my home, the thistle-soft feeling of bliss that wafts about me...against me, in the evenings--  all a void,a nothingness? I  am paranoid . I can't allow my life to zero on a void, a nothingness . In desperation I  decide to break the rhythm of  my life .My husband and I think that's the best thing for us to do . We must bring about a change . We take trips together ...and even singly . We visit in various patterns . We try to understand and impress upon ourselves that the tranquility of the evening hours is claustrophobic and we must get out of it . We must be alive,be able to breathe. That is what everyone prescribes . So a heady month follows . Evenings filled with glorious activities, programmes, excitements commence. Days spiral out ,nights follow ,my evenings take on a new hues .Yet in spite of it all, somehow, I find that the old warmth of my evenings is lost in some unconceivable labyrinth of swirling actions. It all seems to be of no purpose. My heart is cold. The smile on my lips does not light up my eyes any more. I seem to have lost the sparkle of my life, somewhere, I know not where.

I am at a loss to apprehend the strange sad feelings in me . Finally, I give up trying. I realize the panacea lies elsewhere . My husband and I cancel our socializings and stay home. I know there is a cure. I cannot put my finger on it yet . I move about the house, my husband sits with his drink.the newspaper spread out before him. He gets up to go to the kitchen to add his special touch to the 'Korma' in the making. Just then I rush out to take my son's call. Minutes later we stand back to look at the latest painting made by our daughter. Moments pass. We argue about the decision of the framing. I admonish my husband as he spills ash over the new rug trying to be the art critic. I take up Amitav Ghosh's book , "The Calcutta Chromosome" and settle down on the lumpy sofa for a good read before dinner. Suddenly something happens. I fell so bouyant . I look up. I am so happy! I hum a little song.  

I suddenly realize a glorious truth. In what I had termed as "Nothing" _is compressed the intangible, quite imperceptible collection , a conglomeration , _a curious collage of age old values, customs, feelings, sensibilities , cultural histories, aesthetics _of which I am only half conscious. These quiet evening hours at home_so simple, so staid, so common place, _but are ever so powerful, so essentially impressive and influential in the shaping of a personality, _...my personality. The immensity of it all stupefies me. A benign feeling soothes and caresses me. My quiet evenings are indeed the kaleidoscope of my pulsating being. I realize now why I could not breathe, dislocated from the rhythm of my essence__measured out so softly, so tenderly by my evening hours. I begin to stroll out into the quiet garden with the stirrings of "Yemen" _ to throw myself to the thrill of "Bageshwari" and then, nestle back against the quiet and soothing notes of "Bhopali". "Sa re ga pa, - - dha sa, -- pa dha pa, -- ga re sa".Each note so insignificant by itself - but so vital in holding fast the throbbing , pulsating"Bhopali Raaga". And I find that my soul slumbers in quiet peace to the soft lilting tunes of my evening raaga.