A car carrying memories.

25 years is a lot of time to remember someone.  In these 25 years there was no communication between us. But we did not forget.  In the year 1987 we were living at Hardwar in the BHEL town ship. Mr. Subroto Banerjee and Mrs. Mukta Banerjee were living in front of our quarter with their three children. Banerjee dada was my husband’s senior colleague.  We were very close to them because dada’s funny jokes & talks, and boudi (elder brother’s wife) was a very kind and adorable person. The year 1989 when my younger son was born, boudi stayed with me the whole night at the hospital. She took care of me and my child. In 1990 summer they were transferred to Nagpur and left Hardwar forever. Gradually memories fade away.

Few days ago we visited one of our good friends – Probir and Maloti Ghosh at Nagpur. Ghoshes took us to Banerjee-da’s place. There we met Banerjee family again after a gap of 25 years. Now we all have grown old. Dada and boudi welcome us very warmly.  We talked about good old Hardwar days. Dada asked “How is my DHA?”

Dada had a Fiat car, a Premier Padmini. The colour of that was light brown top and dark brown bottom.  The number plate of the car showed [DHA 650]. My husband did not want a car at that time because we were happy with our two wheeler. His all friends and colleagues had their own car. Meanwhile dada was planning to purchase a new Maruti car so he wanted to dispose his Fiat.

One evening I was standing on the balcony. My children were playing in the park. Suddenly I saw dada was coming. He parked the car in front of my house.  He got down from the car and pulled a rope from behind seat, then he tied the car with the tree which was standing in front of my quarter as if it were a horse or cow. I called dada “What are you doing?”  He said “I am leaving this car with Abhijit, tell him to settle the things.”  I said “He is not at home.” Dada said “Who cares…..”   and walked towards his home.

Now DHA was ours. We explored nearby areas with it. The car was very spacious. Two families could easily be accommodated in it. Most of the Sundays we went for a long drive with our friends. But any Sunday if we stayed at home for any reason that day Abhijit invariably went to Munna (the only car mechanic in BHEL township) with his DHA. 

One winter Sunday morning Subramanium family came to our home and we planned to go to Rishikesh, but DHA 650 was not in a mood to go. So it did not start. Subramanium opened the bonnet and tried to fix it. My son Pakku said “Uncle chorr do, DHA nahi chalegi” (Uncle leave it. It will not move.) Subramanium said “Kaise nahi chalegi? Sa, Re, Ga, Ma, Pa, DHA sab chala dunga”.  (How will it not Start? I can start the whole octave Sa, Re, Ga, Ma, Pa, DHA, Ni.) But the car did not start and we celebrated picnic in our lawn and made a plan to go to Corbett National Park. The place was 250 Km from Haridwar and decision had been taken that the DHA will go.

On 13^th April 1993, we started from home at 6:30 am with two sleepy kids.  We picked up Subramanium, Ramani and their two sleepy kids.  We reached Nazimabad at 7:30. DHA had a problem. The brake fluid started leaking and suddenly the brake failed. Fortunately Abhijit realised the problem when there was no traffic in front of DHA. So we stopped there and searched a mechanic to fix it.  I and Ramani fed our kids. We started again. At Ramnagar  Abhijit refuelled the car then at 2:30 we reached Dhangarhi  the main entrance of the national park.  We had a booking inside the park.  The name of that place was Dhikaala. From the main gate distance was 50 km.approx. There were no tarmac roads. The road between Dhangarhi and Dhikala was gravelled a long time ago, but had not been repaired ever since. One could see traces of the old tarmac cover on the road with lots of pebbles and rubbles. There were long stretches where no signs of tarmac road was to be seen – only pebbles and raw soil beneath the loose pebbles.  Kids were in very good mood. All of a sudden we got a pungent smell of petrol inside the car. My husband stopped the car. Subramanium and he went out. There was a trail of petrol coming out from the Petrol tank. They tried to block it by stuffing polythene bags, but the leakage could not be stopped and we saw all the petrol flow out on the road. Chinna (Ramani’s younger daughter) said “I have been seeing the trail of petrol for a long time now.” We all asked her, “Why didn’t you tell us!?”  She simply replied, “Why should I?” The road from that point was downhill, so we got back in the car. The hand brake was released, and the car started to roll down the road till and ultimately stopped on a river bed cause way. We came out and were pleasantly surprised. All the fuel flew out, because one small piece of stone hit the plug of the petrol tank.   We had to go another 22km to reach Dhikala.  In another 2 hours the sun would have set. Chinna’s questions increased our stress level.

“If a tiger comes, then are we safe in the car or outside the car.”  She asked. Pakku said “In the car, stupid”. Then Chinna continued “If an elephant comes? Then inside or outside the car.”  Her elder sister Smurta retaliated “Stop asking the question!!” But Chinna continued “If elephant sits on the car then are we safe inside the car or outside the car.”  Finally, one jeep going towards Dhikala stopped by.  They gave us a lift up to the destination. We ladies and children reached on the spot but Abhijit and Subramaniam stayed back with the DHA even after dusk.

So there were lots of memories we had with the DHA. It became our family member. In the year 1997 Abhijit transferred to Varanasi. The DHA came with us and we explored the holy (cow) city. Two years later, Abhijit planned to buy a new car. Now we wanted to sell the old car. Those days a grocer came to our house for monthly supplies. He readily wanted to purchase the car. Initially he agreed to pay 10000Rs. But later on, he gave only Rs. 8000 – Rs. 6000 cash and the remaining Rs. 2000 as groceries. The DHA always lived in our memories since then.

So, coming back to the present from my brief trip to nostalgia, I told dada that the DHA is still in our hearts.  After 25 years, another evening was added to our memories.  My respect to both of you.

School Admissions

Last month, I was returning from Sigra to Durga-kund (locations in Varanasi city) and I got struck in a traffic jam. Why? Because Central Hindu School for boys and girls (CHS) had an entrance exam for admission into the different classes. There was a horrible rush. People from whole Purvanchal (entire eastern U.P.) had come with their kids to seek admission in CHS. This was the scene for admission in government schools. The admission scene in Private schools is scarier. I am now well above this stress. But in the past I had also faced such tension.

In my very primitive memories I recall the scene when my elder brother held my hand tightly and took me to the nearby girls’ school. He did all the formalities and paid the fees which our mother had given to him. Next day I was a part of that school named Kanpur Vidya Mandir, where I spent my next 12 years.

My second experience was my elder son’s admission in Prep level in DPS Haridwar. This was the only Public School having good reputation in 50 km radius. Paku loved motor vehicles and locomotives since the day he was born, and I told him “If you behave like a good boy, you will get admission in this school, and then you can ride the school bus daily.” This was a major incentive for him. So when we reached the school for his admission, he was extremely happy. Other children were not so happy and even a few of them were crying. One of our friends, Mr. Deb was also there for the admission of his son. He noticed our child’s good mood and commented “He simply does not know what is going to happen – his freedom is about to be snatched.” Paku successfully managed to impress the teachers and staff. He got admission easily and spent the next 12 years in that school.

My next experience was with my younger son. We were confident about him because he had learnt alphabets, counting, colours and other things at home from his dada (elder brother) which a child has to answer for admission. On the day of admission, when we were going to school, Piku was very happy because he was going to his dada’s school first time. He was talking too much and asking lots of questions. In the school other children were behaving as our previous experience. Suddenly Piku stopped taking and it looked like as if he was totally unconcerned with the surroundings. A lovely lady took him for is first round interview. I was waiting outside with confidence. Half an hour later, the lady came out and said “He said nothing.” I was shocked. My confidence was shattered. The lady said “Hope that he talks at the next round, otherwise we cannot help.” I asked Piku “Why didn’t you answer them?” He said “They are asking stupid questions.” In the next round with parents Piku did not utter a single word. He was not selected for admission. We were disappointed.

15 days later the school announced for a second round of admissions. We again filled the registration form. This time his father and his Dada tried to convince him to talk in the interview. Piku was enjoying our desperation. The day of interview lady took him for first round. When he came out his father asked him “Did you answer their questions?” He said, “Oh yes! I told them everything. The miss showed me a kite and I told her the colour and even how to fly it.” We didn’t believe him. In second round where he was with us, he again remained silent. There the Head master told us “He did not speak a single word. We have a doubt because we will not take in a challenged child.” We were shocked. He did not get the admission.

Now the new session had started. We had to wait for one year and try again in DPS, or put him in some second grade school. 20 days later, the school again called third time for few students in various classes. This time they had plans to take five more children in prep class. His father again filled the registration form. And this time little fellow showed a kind of kindness towards us and answered to the teachers. He secured admission at last. He spent 5 years there then his father was transferred to Varanasi. Again I faced the admission problem. Paku got admission easily at the new school at Varanasi, but for Piku I had to work hard.

Now both boys have grown up. Paku has his own family. Now I am waiting to see Paku-Neha’s experience for their child’s admission. There are two reasons. First is now a days situation is much more competitive and difficult, and second is that their child shares Piku’s birth date.

Who am I?

Recently my husband got transferred from Varanasi to Anpara. I didn;t know anything about that place  - where is was or how small or big that place was etc. After a good deal of research with different atlases, road maps, and search engines, I found it near Madhya Pradesh border in South U.P.

One fine morning I came to Anpara with him. We arrived at the guest house and he went off for his work place.  I spent the whole day lethargically as I nothing to do. My mobile was discharged, so I couldn't even chat with my children or call up my friends in Varanasi or Haridwar. In the evening I put my sandal on and took a stroll outside. In front of the guest house there is a huge play ground. I couldn’t see a single child there - not even men or women. After about half a kilometer of walking I came across a hedge. Some kind of unknown sound drew my attention. I stopped there and tried to find out the source of the weird sound. “khachar pachar..oink..g..rrr.” I saw two groups of living being were fighting. There were five puppies and eight piglets. The pups & piglets were chasing each other’s group and a mock fighting was going on for their territory. I stopped there and was enjoying the fight. The mothers of two groups were unconcerned. Mother of the pups was scratching it-self by its hind leg and other group’s mother was searching food by pushing its nose in the dirt. After some time I returned to guest house. Abhijit came back and he offered me his mobile phone and said that my friend wanted to talk to me. I picked up phone. From the other side Dr. Mrs. Dutta was speaking. Dr. Mrs. S.Dutta alias Mimi is one of our very good friends. We were started talking. First she congratulated me for Abhijit’s promotion and said that now I can live like a queen. When I switched off the phone I realized that 20 minutes had past. The word ‘queen’ hit my brain. I asked myself “ Who am I ?”

When I was in class 6th, someone asked me my mother’s name. You can find it hard to imagine, but I didn't know it back then. Throughout my childhood I was taught “My father’s name is Mr. A. K. Mukherjee” but  told me my mother's name. That day I asked my father and then I came to know Mrs. Prativa Mukherjee is my mother. Even in our high-school days there was no column for mother’s name.
After my marriage I came to my in law’s home, and immediately my identity was changed. Now I was "Banerjee saahab ki bahu" (Banerjee’s daughter in law). Then days passed and after a gap of time my identity changed again. Whenever my husband introduced me to any of his friend’s wife I directly asked her first name. I called them by their name instead of their husband’s surname. As time passed, my identity changed from Mrs. Banerjee to "Paku ki mummy" ( Paku’s mother). Then "Piku ki mummy" (Piku’s mother). Then "Pinky ki mummy" ( Pinky’s mother, Pinki is the name of my pet dog).

In my in law’s house, when we came back after 16 years, the people in the colony give me another identity and that was "26 number walli bhabiji" (lady of house no. 26th). So who am I ? Abhijit is a senior officer in a big organisation. He is an eligible man. He has worked hard to reach this post. I did nothing, but as his wife, I am enjoying the fruits of his success.

I am nothing without my loved ones. After all they all are part of my personality. But above all the identities, a little girl is still inside me. She never grows, she never falls sick, she never cries and she is simple and fearless... but never a queen!!! Never in my life.

Paku pass ho gaya

In the year 1992 in the month of October my elder son's quarterly examinations were going on. Next day he had his Sanskrit  exam. I was in extreme  tension  because he was very weak in languages. I forced him little hard so that he could pass in language subjects and I needed more time to help him in his study - at least 2 hours.

That evening my husband returned from office with a guest. He introduced him to me "My college friend Mr. J.P.Dwivedi.............he is here for some official work." I hid my tension about my son's exam the next day and very politely  welcomed him and after formal greetings I came to the kitchen to prepare tea and snacks.

With the tea tray when I entered  in the living room my younger son Piku was sitting on his lap. He was asking him "Where is your dada (elder brother)".  Piku told him that dada was reading 'pathantu....pathantu'.  "What's that?"  He questioned. Nobody could understand what Piku wanted to express. I explained him "Tomorrow my elder son will be taking his Sanskrit exam so he was trying to memorize the 'shabd roop and dhatu roop'  (part of Sanskrit Grammar)." "Oh! he means पठति, पठतः, पठन्ति' (pathati...pathatha...pathanti.....)" Bhaisahab said. My husband told me to prepare dinner. Meanwhile Sen family came.  Every one was busy with tea and chatting.

Now I had to prepare dinner for our guest. Time passed and I had a tension for exam. My son needed my help. My mind raced - what might happen if he is not able to secure pass marks?  In the  parents- teachers meeting his teacher and his father both will scold me. Oh! forget it, nobody will understand my problem. I came in the kitchen and concentrated in cooking. My husband came into the kitchen and said "Sanyals have come, so please make another round of tea." Then he asked me "Where is Dwivedi gone?" I was surprised "I don't know, he is your friend and you were sitting with him, not me."

More then two hours passed. I finished my cooking and called everyone for dinner. I came to my kids room and saw an amazing scene. The gentleman (Mr. Dwivedi) was sitting on the study table and Piku was hanging on his shoulder. Dwivedi and my elder son Paku were talking happily. Amazing!!! It seemed that they knew each other since long.  I called them for dinner. My tension remained inside me.

Time passed. After a couple of weeks there was the dreaded 'Parents - Teachers Meeting.' I and my kids went to the school. I was mentally  prepared to listen to a lot of complaints about our elder son from his class teacher Mrs. Shreenivasan . When I entered the classroom Mrs. Shreevasan was surrounded by parents. I said "Good morning." She raised her head and said " Oh! Mrs. Banerjee...before I show you the result, would you please meet with Mrs. Verma in room number 17? She wants to talk to you."  Me and my son looked at each other. A kind of hopelessness showed up on our faces. Mrs. Verma was his Sanskrit teacher. We went to room number 17. Mrs. Verma joyfully welcomed us and said "Look!  Mrs. Banerjee...I thought that your son could never do well in languages - specially Sanskrit, and I have to struggle to give him minimum pass mark. I am happy that I was wrong. He can do excellent if he wishes so. Now you just see he has got full marks in Sanskrit.  I have cut half a mark because of his poor hand writing ." He got nineteen and half out of twenty. This is first time that he has scored excellent in a language paper.

I remembered Mr. J.P. Dwivedi said that night that Sanskrit was his favorite subject and by mistake he had become an engineer. He had taught Paku for a little less than two hours that day - that too casually - and now he got excellent marks in Sanskrit.

I realised that day, that a good teacher can make any child excellent.