TO NEW BEGINNINGS....

The light strains of music floated in through the open window into the room.The evening was damp,heavy with the moisture and heat of the day,but she knew that it would not rain tonight.All those years in the hot humid weather of Calcutta had given her the ability to predict exactly when to expect a shower.At this moment she was sitting close to the window looking down into the street below.Her room was on the first floor and right at the end of the street.This afforded her a view of the entire area.At present the CPI-M party office was just starting its evening session with a few of the young men from the area trickling in.The veterans would arrive later in the evening ,after returning from work.This small room at the end of the street had always been an enigma to her.The mystery of not knowing what went on inside the room always fascinated her.She even had a friend whose father was a party member,but she never dared to ask him about the place.The reason was probably that had she actually known what went on in there she would not be fascinated enough.She made her own stories about that room.Many an evening she would just sit there and look at the party workers preparing for a rally in the area,shouting out slogans.Some nights when she could not sleep she looked out of the window at the locked door of the office and for reasons that still eluded her she felt a sense of calm washing over her.

This evening however the party office was closed,it being the Bengali new year,Pouila Baisakh.Everybody was out on the streets in their best panjabis-those high necked kurtas with buttons on the side.the ladies were wearing new banarasis or kanthasilks and heavy gold jewelry.They were out on the streets greeting each other with the customary shubho poila baisakh while gobbling down egg rolls and sandesh and washing all that down with large quantities of coca cola.

She was not a part of this,reason being she was not a Bengali.She was from a bihari family that had migrated to Calcutta in the early 1940’s in search of a living.her grandparents did well in Calcutta nd now they were all living rather comfortably in their houses.The room from where she would often gaze down at the street below was actually her nanaji's room.She spent a large part of her childhood in that house,when her mother used to be at work in a school.Her father used to drop her off at 5b,fern road every morning and it was from this place that she attended school for a good 12 years.when she was young her nanima usually came to pick her up from school but as she grew older she was allowed to walk back by herself from school.That house held a lot of memories for her.There was a small room beside the kitchen that nanima said was hers,probably because she longed for one and her nanima knew this.Her own house at that point of time was a small 2 bedroom apartment where she lived with her parents,grandparents and a younger brother and a horde of other relatives who visited turn by turn.So that small room that she was offered as a young child seemed like a palace to her.That room housed every unwanted furniture in her nani’s place…2 sturdy wooden diwans placed one atop the other,two aluminium almirahs filled beyond capacity with old paperwork,a small puja stand lots of clothes,a Bengali style clothestand and a chest of drawers with an old typewriter above it.if this was not enough there were also stacks of old utensils and bundles of clothes her nanima lovingly referred to as motris under the diwan.there was hardly room left for walking but surprisingly this was the room that everybody gravitated towards.She enjoyed company at times in that room but then there were periods when she wished that she were all alone there.That room was her security blanket.Even now when she is tensed about any exam she remembers that room and how during exams at school she would spend entire days there studying.That room was the noisiest in the house but the concentration achieved in that room is still unparalleled  and now she has a room of her own in a really quiet house.yes that room was noisy what with their being a school next door.Children would rush out during prayer and breaks.Then there was the lady who spent her entire day in the kitchen and sometimes scream out greetings to nanima whilst her pressurecooker squealed in the background.And then there was nanima herself who would come in from the kitchen with a suddenly remembered anecdote or nanima who would spend hours talking to her help,Bela.There was also the small washbasin right next to her room where nanaji used to shave and then come in to see what she was upto.He would look carefully into her notebook and then comment on the manner in which she formed her t’s and b’s.on days she would hear him humming  and it was always the same song..mushkil hai bahut mushkil chahat ko bhula dena.”

Once nanaji took to calling her to watch the sanskar channel on tv ,She hated the pravachans but loved this time that she shared only with him.Nanima she always knew but nanaji was unapproachable to her.It was only later that she realised that it was probably nanaji who loved her more.sure he was strict,he would tell her to improve her handwriting and learn the tables,sure she ran from him when he came out with the encyclopaedia  but then he was also the one who stood with her at the end of the street at night waiting with her, when papa was late in picking her up.He was the one who would take her to the local doctor when she came down with her colds and then making sure that she took her medicines.She misses those days, and she knows that wishing for things to get back to how they were is probably childish.....so she raises a toast to new beginnings!!!!Cheers...