Feels Like A Dream

Radha

First Day

The day I stepped at the railway station at Chameli, I was wearing a white dress with a blue collar. When my Mom purchased the dress, it was blue with a white collar, but the dress was short for me. So we went back, but the storekeeper did not have the same colour, so we had to get the opposite. The train-ride to Chameli was four hours from Kolkata, it was those trains with coal-engines, so when we reached, my face and my white dress were covered with a lot of soot. I was holding my Dad’s hand when we stepped on the station. I noticed the platform was very clean, and the name of the station was written with beautiful plants and flowers. Baba pointed at a tall structure in a distance, and said ” That’s the textile mill where I work”. That was the only well-built structure you could see from a distance, other than that I saw all farming lands, green paddy-fields and small mud-huts.

I was born in the city, and our house was a three-storeyed building in the middle of a crowded city. There was a mosque right across our house, the biggest mosque in Kolkata . Every morning at five o’clock I woke up by the sound of prayers from the mosque, I used to feel a little scared, but still liked the sound of the humans asking for support and forgiveness from the divine. On both sides of our house, lived two Muslim families , who we knew from our birth, but never had much interaction, except during Ramadan mornings, we heard them getting very early in the morning, cooking, and having food – their mother’s voice telling children to finish the food before sunset. I remember they had some chickens in their backyard, which was not a common sight in a crowded city, which I could see from my bedroom, one among the four large bedrooms we had. I got Diptheria when I was 11, and I was quarantined in that room for a month – that is where I created a scrapbook about J.F. Kennedy and Jackie Kennedy visiting India.

Chameli was so different from our house in Kolkata. There were some rickshaws waiting at one corner of the station. We hired one after Baba decided his favourite one – all the rickshaw-pullers were shouting and offering cheaper prices – and we were on the streets of a new township with all one-storeyed houses on both sides. That was a rare sight in Kolkata, where three or four-storeyed buildings were common. The best thing about Chameli was, there were front and backyard gardens for each and every house – the government was planning new townships to have a lot of greenery, and people growing flowers and vegetables in their own yards. They were trying to have a lot of refugees from East Pakistan settle in these new townships, which was an admirable project, and we got a house, actually two houses which were given to the Textile mill, which provided jobs to more than half of the population in that small township.

Do I call that little place a village, or a small town? It has all the flavours of a village – large agricultural lands with crops, green tall trees and small bushes – tall date trees which gave us juices in winter, Siuli – white flowers which village-children picked early in the morning to make garlands which their mothers used for worshipping, yellow Marigold which were exceptionally full and plump! I don’t remember seeing any ponds which usually are the common sights in a village, but people used to get water for their daily use from the taps installed by the local municipality by the side of the roads. The roads were wide and cemented, the only transport was rickshaws – cycle-rickshaws! It was interesting to see the pullers yelling and throwing verbal abuses at each other, claiming their own customers!

Radha

Following Day

The next thing I remember about that little village is Baba taking me to the neighbour’s place to introduce to them. The family had six children – two of them were deaf and dumb. The elder one was placed in a residential school for deaf and dumbs, the second one just stayed at home, and went to regular school. The teachers knew her condition, they just had her doing regular stuff with accommodations (that’s what they call it now). The two eldest daughters of that family were quite talented in dance and music, and every performance in that quaint little place had them performing – the eldest girl was beautiful and charming. The family had only one son – a boy who was not as confident as his sisters were. I was 9 and a very shy girl – but when my Dad took me to their place, I started playing with them with their dolls. We used to make our own dolls and I loved playing families, weddings, schools, with my own hand-made little dolls. What struck me was that their little dolls had a cute little bed, and a cute little lacy mosquito-net stitched by one of the sisters. I was so impressed by those doll-accessories, when I came home, I asked my Dad – ” Can I have a little bed like that for my dolls?” My Dad was the manager of the textile-mill where most of the people in Chameli used to work for their livelihood. He was like a God to many people, and I was the apple of his eye, who he named “Mala”, which meant his “necklace”. He immediately called the carpenter at his work, and asked him if he could make a little bed for the dolls of his favourite daughter. After a few days, I got my father’s gift – it was not really a bed, it was a doll’s house! I could house all my little dolls in that little wooden structure! That Doll-house remained with me until I got married, and no Barbie doll-house in the world could match with that precious gift from my Dad!

Chameli will remain a dreamland for me for ever! We used to live in the city, in the central part of a crowded city, and very interestingly, in the area where most of the Muslims in that city lived, and had the biggest mosque. That building with six families who rented a floor or a few rooms, influenced my life and many other young lives who grew up there. Being a quiet child and someone whose passion was reading, most probably I wanted to find a refuge from the hustle and bustle of that environment. I found my refuge in Chameli!

After my Mom and sister joined us, and we got settled there, I went to the local primary school. It was a one-storeyed building with four big classrooms, and lush, green fields around. I went with a girl who was older than me, and was in grade 4 when I was supposed to be in grade 2. With her I went to her classroom, and the teacher asked me to read a book she was holding in her hands. I was very fluent in reading, so it was not difficult for me at all and I did. She allowed me to sit in the same grade 4 classroom where my friend was. So I skipped a grade and completed two grades in one year. At that time, in a village school, I was not even asked for a birth certificate or anything. My father was the King in that village, and I was the Princess! My unusual reading ability helped me settle nicely too! The teachers admired me, and the children! I felt like a Princess, I loved to be treated like a Princess, but I was not snobbish or cruel. I was a gentle, down-to-earth, girl, who fell in love with a humble community! Whenever I visited the house of any of my classmates, they used to be so fussy, and bring me a chair to sit, although I loved sitting on the clean and cold floors of those mud-houses.

I started school in the city, where we used to wear uniforms and shoes, and carry our lunch and water-bottle in a nice backpack. In Chameli, I noticed the students were not really wearing decent clothes, or shoes – they were walking to school barefoot. No one had a backpack or a water-bottle. They looked at me, and looked at me with a lot of distance. After a few days, I asked my parents – can I go to school not wearing the shoes, because no one wears shoes here? They did not mind and said “Yes”. And then I got rid of the backpack and water-bottle too! At that age I don’t know what made me make my decisions, but I wanted to be one of those children! They still respected me very much, and observed me with caution, but I was happy to be one of those children! The headmistress of that school was a woman who was a widow and lived with her mother, very close to our house. She was supposed to be very strict, so we were all extremely scared of her! There were four other female teachers – I still remember Kanikadi – a very sweet woman ,and Jharnadi – a really beautiful woman, they were very kind. I remember a little boy (Dipak), who came from an extremely poor family and used to be regularly beaten by the Headmistress, because he never did his homework, and never learned his lessons. When I went back to Chameli after a few years, I had seen him working in a tea-stall, with tattered clothes on. I am almost sure, he did not live long in that poorest condition – and I was his classmate!

Radha

First Year

Our meeting with the first neighbour was important, they were a very helpful family in all respects. The family had two disabled children, but their mother had a very cheerful temperament, and she enjoyed life – she went to watch movies whenever she could, and tagged along my mother. Because of her we watched quite a few movies although we had to take trains to the nearest city where they had movie-theatres. The most important meeting, however, was still waiting for me!

The people in this small town were so warm! All the houses were two-bedroom one-storeyed building – my Dad had two similar houses, so we had a four-bedroom, two kitchen house with a large backyard and a large front yard. First of all, the house was renovated according to our needs – we were used to live in the city, and we were used to electricity and running water at our homes. All the houses in that village had tin-roof, which made the houses unbearably hot in summer. A lot of renovations, planned and supervised by my father, were done to make the house very comfortable – wooden ceilings and ceiling-fans were installed under those roofs, and heavy Khuskhus curtains were installed on windows. Those curtains were made of some plants which used to be sprayed with water in the afternoon; so the wind which blew through them, was cool and smelled of sweet jasmine. We were the first family to get electricity, everybody used oil-lamps and hurricanes. We had a deep tube well installed in our huge backyard, so we did not have to collect water from roadside taps. We had a gardener – we had flowers in the front, and vegetables in the backyard. I can still see the flowers – Red Roses surrounded by white Rajanigandha, a line of white Chrysanthemums, Jinias, and huge potted Dahlias. Our garden was fenced by Mehndi bushes, which used to be regularly trimmed. We had a rope-swing in the backyard, which we used, to swing on and on with our friends; I still feel the pure joy of going up, and up and up, and down as we wished; there was a huge Guava tree which we used to climb and the branches were used as favourite spots for our endless chats with our friends. I was growing up in that environment, and I spent my very tender years – nine to eleven – in this cozy little town, and lovely people and families who considered me as a Princess! I don’t know how much that has influenced my life and moulded my personality, but I am not able to forget those days, and not able to forget my very special friends – relationships for ever!

My life is very different now – I live in the western world, modernest of societies, where life and climate are controlled by technology. It snows a lot here in winter, but we see snow falling from the warmth of our houses which are centrally heated in winter and air-conditioned in summer. We have gardens in the front and back yard, but we don’t have a gardener. Service is expensive! We use some services for weed-control and fertilizer, but they come once in a month, or once in two months, and we don’t see them, they do their jobs, and leave a receipt in our mail! it is a luxury! Lawn-mower helps us keep our lawn nice and tidy, but the human touch of my childhood village is missing!

After A Year

A few months after we settled in the tiny village, my parents came to know that my grandmother was diagnosed with cervical cancer, and the only possible treatment which was surgery, wouldn’t be possible in her condition. That diagnosis made everything very difficult for our family, especially for my Mom, because she was the only caregiver to the suffering woman. My Mom had to go back and forth to Kolkata very often, and I and my sister had to tag along with her. My sister loved the city, and hated school, so she embraced the opportunity of living in a city, rather than a mundane village life.

I, on the other hand, used to cry every day because I missed school. I almost missed school three-four months at a stretch, so when I came back, it was very hard to catch up. I could manage the language, and the other arts curriculum, but in Math I started lagging behind. I was almost finishing elementary school, and along with my Dad, I dreamed of a future, a future of being an author.

Till then I didn’t have my biggest surprise! One day after coming back from Kolkata after a break of three months, I met my new neighbour-family. They lived after two doors of our house, and they were new in the locality. It was the family of the doctor in the local clinic, who got transferred to a remote village. So, the mother decided to stay there in a rented house with four children, while her husband worked somewhere else, and two elder boys were studying in colleges in the city. The lady, who I started calling ” Aunt” soon, was a very hard-working woman, who devoted all her time and energy to raising the four young kids. The eldest was the most polite and kind girl, and the youngest was a cute, little sweet girl who admired me, and tagged behind me. Among the two boys in the middle – the younger one was a little rebellious, and by not paying much attention to the school-books, gave hard time to his mother. The elder teenager boy was two years older than me, and slowly I found, he had become my best friend. He was a brilliant student, but he loved reading the way I did, or he fell in love with story-books, because he liked me.

My life was so full – picking flowers at dawn, running to the school barefoot and with loose hair, stealing veggies from the fields with classmates, and running a book-club after school, the tiniest book-club in the world with two members – I and Partho. He should have gone playing with other boys of his age, but for some mysterious reason, he was attracted to the book-club with a nerd girl. We were so young, nobody even noticed the closeness of the relationship! Books were brought from the library, and two of us devoured and finished them in one or two hours every evening! And even reflected on them with an adult-like discussion!

Soon we started spending a lot of time together. In the countryside, it was common for children to get up early in the morning, and pick up flowers, the beautifully-scented Seuli flowers, which were already on the ground. That’s one of the things I loved about the village-life, and soon Partho started joining me and his sister, and almost never missed. I even learned how to make garlands with those flowers.

My Dad got us a swing in the backyard of our house. It was simply a strong rope and a wooden plank to sit on. But I grew so fond of being on the swing and my cute boyfriend started giving me company by pushing me, never getting annoyed with my demands. Of course, we used to switch, and sometimes used to swing together.

In that part of the province, a celebration was extremely popular, which I never knew before I came to Chameli – it’s called Jhulan – it’s celebrating the loving relationship of Lord Krishna and his beloved Radha. People, usually children, used to decorate a swing with the idols of Radha and Krishna, and they used to create a village-scene around that swing. The concept of love was not very popular in India, but this celebration was. In Kolkata, I didn’t have any idea about this festival, and I got so much involved in decorating a swing with lovely, colourful, scented flowers, and creating the surrounding with little dolls and houses, ponds, fields, roads, made of mud, sand, and water. That was such a huge fun for us! We spent hours building the tiny village, and then we spent hours sitting in our front patio chatting and safeguarding our proud creations.

In those days, in India, girls used to be very protected, and almost never walked anywhere without a guardian. In one occasion, my Father was given two complimentary tickets to a famous musical in a community centre close by. It was a musical, so my Father wanted me to go. Guess who was my escort? Somehow Partho was selected as my escort instead of his sister, most probably because a boy, even a thirteen-year old, was a safer escort than another girl, and two of us watched Rabindranath Tagore’s famous musical – Chandalika – sitting beside each other. It was very late when the program was over, and we walked home together in the village-street, in a very dark night, with only a few street-lights on.

Partho

I remember your doll’s wedding, picking Jasmine in the morning, I am sorry I was never able to put them in a garland!

You remember my doll’s wedding? You tried to make a garland?

Yes, I started getting up early in the morning to pick jasmine with you. I tried to make a garland, was never successful.

Do you remember you tried to put a garland on my neck? I was foolish, I ran away. –

We were more than khelar sathi. We had deep feelings for each other.It’s a nice feeling that I fell in love with a young girl, and that is still burning in my heart.

You charmed everybody in our family. And you charmed me dangerously. –

Do you remember the last time we met? It was at British Council, you looked like an angel.

Do you remember our garden? I definitely do – and Jhulan, and the swing! – You are a Master thief! You stole my heart so many years ago, my heart stopped growing since then and can not accept new persons.

End Of Life Of a Princess

One late evening, I and my sister were already in bed, my Mom was sitting on the cemented bench of our front garden. My dad used to go to the library to play cards with some buddies, he was not back until late. When he came back around 10pm, he found my mom lying on the ground among the flower-plants. She must have fainted and fell. He panicked, came running into the house, woke me up, and sent me to the neighbours. I had no idea what was happening. I went and knocked at their door, but couldn’t say what happened, but started blabbering. They knew something was wrong, and came running to find out. An ambulance came from the local hospital, my mother was still unconscious! She was taken to the city in that ambulance, and I and my dad left Chameli in that ambulance. My mother stayed in the hospital for few months, she remained unconscious for a long time; when she gained her consciousness, she couldn’t remember a lot of things, she lost her most recent memories.

That was the end of a carefree life – it was decided we would stay with our grandparents while my Dad went back and continued her job for a few more years, until the textile industry in West Bengal was in a very poor shape, and most of the textile mills were closed. My Father’s Mill was one of those textile companies which got closed.

Partho – She is gone!

You inspire me so much – you are a star!

I had deep feelings for you. It was there like a silent volcano – you made it active again.

They are exciting feelings!

You just won an award for being the most sensitive, most emotional and most sentimental girl in the world. What an achievement for a Chameli girl!

How can I punish you? Then I will be punishing myself! )

Radha

End Of A Saga

Chameli is still there – almost the same! The same fields, same Guava tree, Jasmine trees beside the Main Street, The Library, The Primary School , The Polytechnic where I witnessed my first concert – only the Textile Mill is gone, but the office-building is still there, it’s a Computer Centre now! But a Jamun tree right in front is still alive – with juicy black fruits on the ground for poor children to pick up, and fill their hungry tummy.

Partho is visiting Chameli this summer with his wife and his son. She is an English lady, who is interested in her husband’s background and the place where he grew up with his siblings. At the station the rickshaw-pullars were still shouting at them, more so, because they didn’t look Indians. He decided to walk, leaving his family at the care of those extremely kind rickshaw-men. He took a short-cut through the fields, and reached a house at the corner of the field. The house looked very unkept, the Mehndi fence being untrimmed and unexpectedly tall for a fence. A Guava tree was visible ! Partho looked and looked – a tiny figure of a little girl, holding a book in her lap, comes running from a distance and disappears in the horizon! He turned back and started walking back again.

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