Mesdi’s Saturday Post

Asit Reminisces

Some Dadu-stories these, Baba’s and mine. I will tell the way stories are told. Didi, thank you for the thinly veiled and thought provoking reference. A part of it I told you earlier and the rest I seem to have saved up for today.

The cheel noni episode that Mesdi has described is probably in its formative state. By the time it came to us, it had developed into a tribute to Dadu with a bit of mischievous humour. The kite had become a crow.  

“Ek je chilo kag noni! Akashe akashe or’e….”

One evening, the kaga sat on our roof when the fish was being cut and cleaned. Seeing that the moment was opportune, he swooped down, snatched up a piece of fish, and started relishing it on the rooftop. He must have been distracted, as all thieves are, for a fish-thorn got stuck in his throat.  

“Ka’nta phute kager gala phule holo dhoul….”

He was in pain.  

“Kag takhon nijer gala khokar khokar kore,”

…. but in vain.  

The thorn was not dislodged. Unable to swallow anything, in a few days he became very weak. Seeing no other real hope he decided to seek Dadu’s help, though the idea was fearsome. 

“Dadu takhon nijer ka’nchi ka’nchor ko’nchor kore, khopat kore kager gala omni chepe dhore.”

Kaga was terrified! 

Having thus immobilized his throat, Dadu pulled out the thorn with consummate ease and much relieved, the grateful kaga flew into the air, showering benedictions.

As a child I often wondered as to why the thief was being called noni? It dawned upon me much later in my youth that the noni was for the listeners. The lucky recipients of this endearment here are Shobha, Alo, Tultul, Bulbul, and I who used to pile on to his bed every Sunday morning to enjoy the comfort and the stories.

I was injury prone – falls from the bicycle resulting in elbows, knees, and ankles rubbing against the road. I treated the bruises myself. In about a week they would get infected and look terrible. Seeing no other hope, I would go to Ma crying and willingly go along with her to Dadu. “Ba’ndor chele, age ashte paroni!!??!!” he would thunder and sometimes follow it up with a chor‘ (a deft movement of the right hand with the sound ‘thash’ that causes a burning sensation on the left cheek of the recipient). Needless to say that I was grateful for the help. As I see now, my position was no different from the kaga. No wonder that I heard a hyphenated kag-noni!

Dadu often came to our house in the evening carrying an aluminum saucepan to sterilize his syringes and needles. He would put the pan on coal fire and talk to Ma animatedly. Sometimes I would be present there in the kitchen helping Ma with rooties. Ma would only nod and say an occasional taito to encourage him. If he saw us playing with coins, he would demand “Chushi, cheleder hate poisha diyechish kano?” He considered money as a potential source of infections, Ma told me later, as it goes through many hands, clean and not so clean.

But there is divine justice and it did come in the end. It was the winter of 1960 I think. A cricket match was happening at Kanpur. The umpire was Choto dadu (S.K. Ganguly). Shono, as Dadu called him, came home one night to see his brother. It was quite a gathering at obari – Baba, Iludi, Abhilakh Maharaj, Seetaram, Gudde’s dadaji, neighbours, and many others came to see the dignitary. I had gone along with Baba and was in the crowd. They sat in the hall across the square writing table, surrounded by the rest. Much brotherly affection was seen and generous smiles were exchanged and such politeness considering this was only a few years after the tragic holocaust at Narikeldanga that Dada has described so well – cheated and dispossessed, store rooms, no water, no light, no regular job with Boro mama and Didima critically ill. He spoke to everyone like the man in command. “How could I give Umrigar out? India was in such dire straits” he quipped and the crowd nodded in assent. 

Shono offered passes to Dadu for the players pavilion. Dadu was hardly interested in cricket I think, but he must have been keen to see his brother in glory – for he surprised me by asking me to accompany him to the stadium. The privilege to be his companion was beyond my expectations. I readily agreed, glad for the honour. There was more to come….

….Bangalees often save up the sweet for the end of the meal. So Everybody! Please get ready for the fascinating finale – the best in its class and lovely as they come.

Next morning, Dadu engaged a rickshaw for five annas to take us to the Greenpark stadium. As we got down, he put his hands in his trouser pockets. There was some shuffling of hands. He had forgotten to carry money. Helplessness, embarrassment, and confusion appeared on his face in quick succession and then came a ray of hope…. with humility and expectation in his voice, he said almost apologetically –

“Ei tor kache kichu ache?”  

It was overwhelming! Imagine!! Dadu asking me that! In class six I used to get a scholarship of four rupees a month. It was indeed the moment of my triumph as I offered the money to him.  

There was relief and then, a graceful, loving smile lit up his face.   

A note from the editor: Asit mama’s recollections were sent as comments to Boro mashi (Saraju’s) Diary – XIII. Since they add yet another dimension to the tale as it is unfolding, we thought it fit to publish them as a separate post.

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