Fiction in Series : Rebel is a middle name

(Commencing a Series on a Fiction.... Let's see how it goes......Criticism and comments definitely would be most precious ! 

From this end - one is able to ventilate the view points, grievances, love and expectations....) 

Chapter 1 :                       Caged in Thine Heart

Time is the best drug and it is the ‘time’ alone that would decide the fate of a malady. 

Hiren Bhadra has returned home, precisely returned to his in-law’s house. All his male chauvinism and ego have been given a go by. Leaving his successful career behind in places like Mumbai, Singapore and Wellington in New Zealand, he had returned. His decision was driven by a compulsion. This happened after his wife Parul had fallen and suffered paralysis. 

Night fell. There was silence. The ladders can go either way – it can go up as well as down. Human life has these features too. Parul has lived a passive housewife life notwithstanding her bright academic career. 

Hiren Bhadra was the dominant of the two and Parul consented readily as she thought bringing up her only son Prasun was the sole purpose of her life now.

Hiren Bhadra moved around from city to city, minting money and fame while Parul as a docile mother cared for the child and forgot that once she was also a careerist and wanted to achieve something of her own. But now at the twilight of their lives, Parul was on a wheelchair and look at the irony of life, Hiren is pushing the same. 

Lost in himself, Hiren thought he could take a glass of wine. So he moved into the room adjacent to Parul’s bedroom. Life moves on and one has to move on. But his focus has changed. Somewhere he knew he was guilty of neglecting Parul all along. More than the neglect, Hiren had developed a kind of contempt for Parul. 

story teller

He always presumed Parul had extramarital affairs and that drove her crazy every six months or so to return to parent’s house – 'Baaper baari' in Durgapur; so that – she could meet her ‘friends’. 

One of them he knew was particularly close to Parul.

Hiren’s marriage was not the culmination of any romantic love story though he had many friends. Where was the time to fall in love, when there was little time to make his career?

So, life passed on for him – without discovering the flavour of love. 

This was the truth, he presumed rather strongly but belatedly. 

This is what he also made others believe, that in order to achieve something big, one should not fall into the trappings of these 'sentimentalities' of love and romance. 

Lost in himself, he yet again wondered – did he really fall in ‘love’ with one or two particular women who came in his life. Does love matter at all?

His thoughts stuck on Manisha Dasgupta briefly. Hiren Bhadra had met Manisha during their days in Milestones company, a Germany-based MNC. As one of the top executives in the Mumbai office, Hiren assembled a motivated team. 

Manisha Dasgupta – who hailed from Shillong in northeast India, was one of them. Hiren Bhadra had developed a unique style in his managerial skills. He gave the co-workers the freedom to prove their worth and credentials. 

Thinking about Manisha and taking a few sips of wine, Hiren grinned stupidly. He began to be filled with a kind of nostalgic friendship. And love, was it so ? 

But Manisha would no longer be a young damsel now. She was a mother of two. The eldest son – 20 plus. This is what Manisha wrote to him only recently.

Thinking about her, Hiren Bhadra had a flicker of guilt too. 

Could this story be different? Hiren’s love for career had again come in the way. 

This was long before his marriage to Parul. 

Hiren Bhadra again sat silently in a corner and slowly slept on the sofa itself.

Parul’s two brothers also stay in the same house. Of course all three families ran separate kitchens.

 
Her elder brother Mrityunjay Chowdhury had retired and returned home long back. So did Chhorda (younger one) Moloy Chowdhury. Their wives Geetanjali and Shampa were also nice middle class ladies and thus knew the art of staying put together. There used to be usual womanly quarrels but there was nothing serious. 

All children were out in big cities spread across with their jobs. 

Essentially, life in the blissful homely atmosphere revolved around six of them.

Parul’s younger sister Ananya was married to an army officer and so they were away in the camps mostly posted in Arunachal Pradesh, Mizoram and Nagaland.

Moloy Chowdhury was a chain smoker but he did not mind sharing his fags with the elder brother Mrityunjay whom he called Dadabhai. Hiren was common jiju-bhai. Though Mrityunjay called him by first name Hiren. 

Hiren, Mrityujay and Moloy would also drink together, but generally only on weekends or some family occasions. It is Hiren who requires his dosage at least once in two days. “It is my appetizer....Tomra bojho na (You all do not understand),” Hiren would often say.

Parul too took beer sometime. But she would insist that she would not drink in front of her brothers. 

So overall, things were quite happy-go-around atmosphere in their house named – Anando Bhavan. 

Next morning, life was again as usual. Hiren Bhadra helped his wife Parul to take bath and dress in a violet sari. Back on her wheelchair they came to the lush green lawn with a lot of flower pots around. 

The ‘Aparajita’ flower was her special attraction.

There was a soft knock at the main entrance gate. Moloy was moving around with his usual morning walk. So he opened the gate. He stood stunned as he found a pleasant young lady saying – “Could I meet Mr Hiren Bhadra please, I am coming from Kolkata?’
Moloy gestured allowing her in as he was trying to regain his breath after the brisk walk. 

By then Mrityunjay and two other ladies -  Geetanjali and Shampa were also at the round table. Everyone was surprised to find a guest – that too an unfamiliar face and so early in the morning.

This is the time they would have their ‘Jol Khabar’ – breakfast. Two maids slowly walked in with the eatables. They are generally cooked in three separate kitchens. But eating breakfast is generally together. 

As the guest introduced herself to Hiren Bhadra with a traditional Namaskar, Mrityunjay told her – “Why don’t you join us for Jol Khabar. Today’s special is Kochuri and Nimki”.

The guest looked sheepishly and shy while everyone else laughed. Bhadra said, “What did you say your name is – Snigdha Chatterjee?”

Snigdha smiled while taking a seat and said, “Actually Sir, I am a journalist for a woman website and doing a feature on retired company executives. We have zeroed down on you Mr Bhadra as you gave up a bright career overseas all of a sudden and decided to return home, to be with your wife. I should say your ailing wife...don’t mind saying so”.

Hiren smiled. So did Parul. Geetanjali said, “Parul had a paralysis attack but it is not something big. Hiren babu our Jiju-bhai cares for her and so he decided to come and settle down here”.

Hiren Bhadra said – “There will be a small correction also. I am actually back not at home, eita amar baari noe. This is my wife’s house. But everyone is homely, I should say”.

There was a mild laughter by all in a jovial mood. Moly Chowdhury intervened, “In fact, my Dadabhai is also a retired top executive from Tatas. Maybe he can also feature in your article”. 

Mrityunjay was surprised. “What’s going on ? I am not interested. Ms Chatterjee, you please go ahead and do your job with Hiren. What he has to say and discuss with you is his wish”. 

Parul said – “Let us have breakfast first. Dadabhai loves Nimki, It should not get cold and stale”.

Snigdha – “Basically, I want to spend a few hours with you Mr Bhadra and of course a bit with your wife....that would make my article more realistic. I do not believe in mere question-answer sessions”.

Parul – “Na baba ! Ask Hiren what he has to say about his job and life. Why drag me, as it is, I am handicapped. But you can always say, I have a very supportive family and a caring husband. My brothers would not have been so caring for my two sisters-in-law”. 

Everyone broke into laughter.

Mrityunjay only said rather in a jokingly manner – “Tor moton ekta bon jaader ...(The kind of sister we two have)”.  Even Snigdha laughed out at this.

Slowly, Hiren Bhadra and Snigdha moved into the study room. It was a small room and airy; and maintained tastefully.

Just before the interaction commenced, Hiren Bhadra was lost in his thoughts. People say love can be at first sight – he told himself. But for me (him) perhaps, it was a case of love at first ‘hearing’. The college days in Pune --- when a northeastern Bengali girl left him mesmerised by her solo performance of Tagore’s well known song – “Purano shey diner katha  bhulbe ki aar”.

He had soon realised the magnetic pull was in the voice of the singer and not on Tagore’s powerful number.  

Subsequently there was eye contact between him and Sravoni Sen. But for the first few months there was hardly any interaction. But Sravoni was like a dream girl in his life. 

Hiren would think about Sravoni throughout the day. He would even follow Sravoni’s car in his two-wheeler. Slowly, Sravoni could understand this and so one day she decided to have a chat with him.

Hiren was more than happy, but was not clear in his mind. What was that driving him crazy about her! 

Sravoni perhaps was more mature and she understood the attraction was gradually turning into a mutual affair. 

Hiren’s thoughts about Sravoni were suddenly broken as Snigdha said, “I am sorry sir, it was an urgent call’. She kept away her mobile.

The first round of discussions for the article lasted for about two hours. 

Geetanjali, Parul’s elder sister-in-law, took the guest to the designated guest room and asked her to take bath and feel at ease. 

Hiren too went to his room – adjacent to Parul’s. Before walking into his room, Hiren asked Parul how she was doing health-wise. “Hope things are okay....”.

Parul nodded in affirmative and shot back a question, ‘How was the interview? After a long time, handling these media ladies.”

Hiren said – “Nothing much. There is a lot of change in today’s journalism too. These youngsters have a probing mind. They want to know a lot but would not do studies by themselves. She hardly knows my company Milestones. I don’t how do they get into writing without reading”.

Parul looked on. She knew this was the ‘vintage’ Hiren. Her husband always had issues with youngsters not studying or not doing their homework before any work or any assignment. Be it me journalists or staff in his organisation. But she kept mum holding on to her smile.

Hiren Bhadra said – “Should I play you some music.....Let us listen to some folk music or Baul songs”. He then played the music system and played up one of their common favourites.

The number was really mesmerising one. “...Kaun din ashiben Bandhu koia jaao rey ....(When will you return my dear friend...)

Batabrikher chhaya je mon rey (My friend’s magic spell is like the banyan tree)”.

Parul also loves this song and so she too was playing on her fingers. Hiren Bhadra sat on the sofa alongside Parul’s wheelchair and was almost lost in the song. Both of them were certainly on independent thinking roads.

 Hiren told his wife, “Looking back, Parul,....things were so different once. I was mad after my career. You got yourself busy bringing up our only son. But don’t you think, the western state of Maharashtra – either Mumbai or Pune was such a land of hard-working people that everybody almost had two jobs”. 

Parul – “And yes, people did not complain about these. Even I had my classes for gardening, storytelling and cooking. We all were so busy”.

Hiren gestured his hands; maybe, he wanted to say something and then applied restraint.   

There was a momentary silence. As if Parul was trying to read her husband’s mind and broke the silence stating – “Only when something starts to fall apart or has vanished in the past, we can understand how it really worked so well and smooth once”.

Hiren again gestured his hands, giving a mild punch in the air and got up. He stood in the room for a while and the song was still on.

“I told you this in the past too. Parul. This applies to Bengalis mainly. I hate the inertia amongst the public. Worse part is the intellectual inertia – the stagnation. Do you remember 2021 when hundreds of Bengalis in north Bengal faced violence and had to move out to Assam. This was not politics”.

Parul – “Yes, I know your pet phrase too. The status-quoist syndrome.” And she laughed out.

Hiren too was in a peel of laughter, and then he made an equally socially relevant but powerful statement – “You know, there is always a prism. People divide themselves – Us and Them. The prisms have brought in glaucoma -- a condition of increased pressure within the eyeball. 

And in the process we are unable to see what we ought to see and there is a gradual loss of sight”.

The conversation did not go further. Parul took the newspaper she was trying to glance at. Hiren Bhadra slowly moved to his room for a pre-lunch bath.

Lunch time presented a pleasant afternoon. Snigdha Chatterjee was impressed by the hospitality of the hosts and their apparent simplicity and frankness. Everyone seemed to speak out their heart. They did not know of her arrival but they all adjusted with her programme so smooth.

Snigdha’s eyes roved slowly across the spacious dining room. It was the common dining room and hence so spacious. Her eyes studied the architect. It was a well made and planned redbrick construction. The wall had a mild sky colour going well with the design of the house.

The sun outside was welcomingly bobbing in and out. There was also a light breeze that had a chilly bite. 

“You must try Jhinga posto...” – said Hiren Bhadra to Snigdha adding quickly, “A typical Mumbaia girl could take jhinga as crabs. But this is a common vegetable in Bengal you know.

Snigdha smiled and taking a spoon of rice remarked softly, “Ami jaani toh – I know. In fact, I like it so much”.

“But as you refer to the word ‘Mumbaia’, I presume you are not only a thinking person, but you also think a lot about the past,” she told Hiren.

   

Parul’s elder brother Mrityunjay quickly said – “of course the past is the reality. I also have a lot of fond memories of people I met, and the places I visited. Sometime, you might have had one meeting, but the interaction keeps haunting even after 20 years”.

“True”, said Snigdha.

“But Ms Chatterjee, how was the first interview session ? Any anecdote for the lunch table?,” Mrityujay said in a jovial mood.

“It was dry perhaps. We mainly discussed company matters. Statistics, how Milestones started in India....But one thing has suddenly struck me Ms Chatterjee – ‘Past’ you see is also something which we cannot repeat. It is lost somewhere; but the paradox is we are also unable to leave it behind too”.

“Obviously”, snapped Geetanjali, gesturing to urge Snigdha Chatterjee to take more rice pilao.  

Mololy Chowdhury remarked in his style, “Who decided today’s menu?  We should have had mutton for Ms Chatterjee”.

His wife Shampa responded, “That’s for evening. Yes Snigdha you cannot go without dinner. I am told you have checked into a hotel. So do not worry, we will arrange for your return to the hotel in the evening”.

After lunch, Hiren Bhadra told Snigdha, “You take rest for a while Ms Chatterjee. We can have a second session after 5 pm. It should be okay with everyone else”. Last words were targeted to his own family members. None objected indicating things were okay.

The next session turned into more serious and complex. Moreover,  as Snigdha had planned, it was in front of others but most of the talking was between Snigdha and Hiren.

The issue was often about relationships and love.

Hiren surprised his family members and Snigdha more than once. At one point he said – “No man is really free. Individual freedom is only a myth. It is only philosophical and rather bookish to argue that a relationship should have trust; a relationship should have a base. The fact of the matter is that often relationships just develop on their own. Like a peculiar virus. I have the best of relationship and friendship with female friends even without touching or even a shake-hand. What would you call it?”

Then again after a while he smiled and occasionally looked towards his wife Parul and said – “No man or woman is really free...I should repeat it. Somewhere he is ‘caged’ in memories of another person; and you will not believe, he or she knows where and which heart the person is caged in”. 

to be continued/ .......