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 .