Mesdi’s Saturday Post

Notes from Saraju’s Diary – XV

Jukto koro he shobar shonge

Our present house in Kanpur situated in Azad Nagar (named after Chandra Shekhar Azad, a freedom-fighter), is a long way from MacRobert Gunj. It is in the neighborhood of the old area, called Nawab Gunj. Returning there has always had the taste of homecoming. Leaving the railway station you usually hire an auto-scooter to drive through the city along the well-known Mall Road, now renamed Mahatma Gandhi Road. Revisiting the place one notices the dwindling out of the green spots and concrete structures growing wherever there was some space free. Well-known landmarks of our teenage years like the S.N. Sen Balika Vidyalay, Phool Bagh, and the Govt. High-School etc. stand almost invisible, lost amidst a crowd of buildings. During my last visit, I tried to spot out Datta Babu’s stationary shop by the bifurcation in Chunni Gunj, where his sons had always a friendly word to add to the exercise-books and lozenges we bought from there. Before I could recognize that familiar corner, my auto-scooter plunged into the flood of oncoming vehicles, ready to collide. Of course there was no collision, just the thrill of having escaped by a hair’s breadth and the frustrated dream of Datta babu’s shop!

Approaching MacRobert Gunj, my attempt to identify the big kirkitia playground proved equally poor – the place showed no resemblance to a playground. The next thing was the red letter-box on the left, and I was happy to see it standing there like a dwarf – its half a century old coat of paint in colonial color could be guessed under some layers of dust. The big gulmohur tree on the other side of the road with its crown of flaming red and orange flowers was simply absent from the sky. But, we’re not here to lament.

Reaching that point, you’d leave the main road, and turning to the railings at your left, take the last entry to the settlement. Our territory started right there at house no. 51/A, one of our two homes. The house had no gate. You entered through an alley with the garden on both sides: the tall ‘kul’ tree at your right preceded the deshi lime tree, which received Dadu’s special attention. He grafted it from time to time to make it stronger, but the ‘lebu’ fruits remained obstinately small.

Another attraction in it was a sparrow’s nest, where Dadu placed back infant sparrows fallen on the ground – a delicate operation. Its fragrant leaves could be rolled to make a little pipe, and our uncle Boro Mama had taught me how to blow in it like playing a flute. That lebu tree was also home to the small yellow butterflies, which weren’t easy to catch. I preferred the slightly bigger white ones with a green-bluish shade bordering the wing. Then you had the beautiful rust-red and brick colored emperor butterfly, regular visitors around the shiuli tree. There were also the hens from the neighboring house, in other words, Mrs. Lyall’s, which had to be chased with energy, because of their incorrigible habit of dropping in OUR garden.

On the left we had a few bela and fewer roses, a dense shrub with white kunda flowers, one amra tree delivering ingredients to Didima’s chatni recipes, one sajne for drumsticks, and the beloved peyara (guava) tree, which had lodged on its top the famous beehive plucked single-handed by our brother Ajit, charged by hundreds of bees.

Farther down at the right there were our cows – I’ve known the gentle and quiet Boro Kali – black with a white patch between the eyes, her less polite daughter Choto Kali had a smaller white patch on the forehead, and the Shada Goru. Actually their lineage had started when our Sejo Mashi was born. She’s said to have been a frail baby, and Dadu and Didima had bought a cow to have enough fresh milk to nourish her. From that one mother cow onwards, the successive generations of them provided us with plenty of milk for all kids to come.

In front of the house following the track to the left, you’d pass along a large garden with many rose bushes up to the Bewa-Hata (no. 42), where Mesdi had won the title “ machhi-khani”. The row of houses starting on your right led to Ma and Baba’s place at 45/A. How long did it take me to go there? Normally, about three minutes – for I didn’t walk but ran that distance as a rule. We were all good runners. When the ground was very hot by noon, we had to run fast, barely touching the track underneath – it was like flying. Except for going to school or to the town, we had no use for shoes.

Going to Ma, simply standing by her, I felt welcomed. She’d serve me from a halua she’d been cooking and its taste is still with me. Sometimes it was plain bread and milk, which had the indefinable savour of her affection. On some days, I was there early in the morning when Baba was getting ready for his office. The younger ones were still in bed – Baba would sing:

“jagato jure udaro sure anando gan baje…”

or

“akashe pakhi, dakiche gahi …”,

or

“amar matha nato kore dao he tomar charanodhular tale.”

He sang rather out of tune, ‘besuro’, as they said, but, it was his way of waking up the house.

One of Ma’ favorite songs – she could sing many of them from her school-days in the Brahmo Girls School, where she had been a pupil – was:

“bhubano jora asanokhani, hridaya majhe …”,

she’d sing, “amar hridaya majhe bichhao ani …”.

Those mornings are with me forever. Let the last word be from the same source:

“jukto koro he shobar shonge,

mukto koro he bondho….”

 

A note from the editor: Dear All, it is exactly seven months since the blog started and today, we have made the 32^nd post. Undoubtedly, journeying through the memories has been a unique experience for all of us. We will continue on this journey, but with a break. We part today on this internet space, with this touching post from Saraju’s diary and yet another lovely sketch by Surya Ranjan. Surya’s sketch is especially significant at this time – for it signifies the essence of life – new characters come, they are nurtured, and life goes on. Love and regards and namaste!

Vizualization and Illustration: Surya Ranjan Shandil

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