The
Address
by Nirupama Bargohain
On the suitcase
bought by Ramen there was hanging a blank card for writing the
name and address. On it Jatin Mazumdar carefully wrote in nice,
intact letters `Jatin Mazumdar, Gandhibasti, Guwahati-3, Assam.'
Of course he wrote in English: while outside Assam, who would
understand the sweet Assamese alphabets? Of course the Bengali
would, but they'd spell his name wrongly -- yes, the `r' of
Mazumdar would be spelt as `b'. Still he remembered, many days
ago, while he had been standing beside a long-distance bus
waiting to catch another, a young boy of around 10-12 years, from
a Bengali family, had painstakingly pronounced the words written
on the body of the bus, 'Assam Chabkabab Motob Charvichh' instead
of `Assam Sarkarar Motor Service' -- and then almost fell to the
ground with laughter. It seemed they had been new to Assam, but
even then Mazumdar's face had turned red with rage -- as if he
would slap the boy's face! You would come to our state, feed
yourself, stay, get permanently settled here, snatch the jobs
from our boys -- but would never learn our language; would live
here for generations after generations: but let alone the
Assamese `Dainik Assam', wouldn't even touch the English `Assam
Tribune', but read only your `own' newspapers published from
Calcutta, say `Anandabazar' or `Jugantar' --- unbearable!
Still, though
the Bengali people won't recognise 'r' or 'v', they'd naturally
recognise the other alphabets. But once you cross the border of
West Bengal, your Assamese language would be like Latin or Greek
to the other Indians. So there's no way but to write the address
in English. However, while in Assam he always used Assamese. In
his notebooks his address was in Assamese, on his books and
periodicals it was in Assamese, the addresses written on his
letters to his friends and relatives were in Assamese -- in
short, except for unavoidable reasons Jatin Mazumdar never used
any written language other than Assamese.
But recently he
was having to spend most of his days outside Assam. His son Ramen
worked for a national organisation. Ramen was his only son, so
the situation forced him to move around with his son. Both of his
daughters got married, and his wife died after the first
daughter's marriage. So for a period Jatin Mazumdar became alone
at his house at Gandhibasti. `Nowadays the difference between
sons and daughters has ceased to exist: daughters go away from
the home, so also the sons, so the two old people have to become
the support of each other; but I am unfortunate to be left alone
by my old woman too' -- thus he would lament in front of his
friends.
Yet he had
managed to live alone at the Gandhibasti house for two to three
years, using the services of domestic helps. But gradually it
became impossible to live in that way. He kept suffering from
asthma; on the other hand it was getting hard to find faithful
and sincere helpers, even on payment of a lot of money. Seeing
such a plight of the father, one of the daughters had asked him
to stay with them - the other one being unable to because of
being in a very large joint family -- but he couldn't imagine
living with his daughter and son-in-law: after all he had a son
too, although he may be residing abroad (whenever Jatin Mazumdar
remembered about Ramen residing outside Assam, the word `abroad'
invariably came to his mind); still that meant that there was a
home of his son where he could live in his own right.
For a long time
Ramen had been asking his father to stay with him, but Jatin
Mazumdar had always refused. Own home, own relatives, own
environment of living -- in other words all these `own things'
were too strong attachments to be forsaken in lieu of a unknown
place and an unknown environment. He felt he would be exactly
like a fish out of water.
But at last the
situation forced him to leave his home. His illness was
increasing as were his troubles with the domestic helps. The last
one finally vanished with some money and a bag given for
marketing. Fortunately, he committed no other theft or robbery!
Yet Jatin
Mazumdar would have searched for a new helper, and would have
continued with a patch-worked life similar to his patch-worked
body. But just then an incident at East Sarania, where the wife
of one of his acquaintances was robbed of money and jewelry, and
was even murdered by her domestic help at her house, cracked his
determination -- no, really he could not live alone any longer.
Nobody knew on what day which domestic help would slit his throat.
'Days are becoming very bad. Nowadays people are killing people
just as one kill insects. Open the morning newspaper and you'll
see -- there terrorists are killing people, there parents-in-law
are killing their daughters-in-law, there members of one
political party are killing members of another one, there the
police is resorting to firing at the slightest provocation, there
servants are killing their masters -- really, the people have
become bloodthirsty. Previously one used to be scared to move in
forests because of wild animals, but now even in the modern
cities full of diverse amenities offered by scientific
discoveries one finds it difficult to live safely because of the
two-legged animals.' -- such a trail of thought engulfed his mind.
Jatin Mazumdar
was finally compelled to leave his Gandhibasti house to live with
his son 'abroad'. House! So old and related with so many memories
was that house! In that paternal house he was born, he was
brought up. Into that house he had brought his newly married wife.
Here had been born Maadhaan, Edhaan (Ramen) and Bhanti. Then one
by one the children had left this house, the wife also had left.
And then he, the last creature guarding the house like a mythical
yaksha, was also going to leave.
He had become
old enough, and like his withered frame his heart and soul had
also withered a lot; yet while leaving the house, two drops of
tears appeared on his sunken eyes.
But still Jatin
Mazumdar belonged to Assam, his permanent address being --
Gandhibasti, Guwahati-3, Assam. Wherever he stayed, and for
whatever period of time, that address was eternal.
Till recently
Jatin Mazumdar used to travel with an old leather suitcase, but
this time Ramen bought him a polymer-made V.I.P. brand suitcase.
It was so convenient to write the name and address there! Holding
the card in his hand, Jatin Mazumdar felt delighted like a child
getting a new toy. Then on it he carefully wrote in nice, intact
letters -- `Jatin Mazumdar, Gandhibasti, Guwahati-3, Assam'.
While writing he kept murmuring to himself -- `After my death let
me be born here again' -- he used to remember this poem by
Nalinibala Devi frequently -- particularly whenever Ramen wrote
letters asking him to live with them `abroad'.
After opening
the new chapter of his life at his son's home in Jaipur, where
Ramen was posted, old Jatin Mazumdar started to critically
observe first Ramen's house, and then the place and its people.
`The house is not that bad, but it seems the other family sharing
the house hobnobs with you a lot. I don't like that much of
hobnobbing with neighbours.'
On hearing about
such reservations, the daughter-in- law Ruby smiled and said --
"But father-in-law, the Mehtas are a very nice family.
Mehta's wife is the daughter of a minister, but she is so
unassuming, well-behaved and simple that she doesn't seem like a
minister's daughter. Before I came here, when your son was
residing in this house alone, both the husband and the wife took
very good care of him -- just after he got up Mr. Mehta used to
come with a cup of bed-tea -- my husband used to say that with
such a cup of tea made in milk he used to feel fresh throughout
the day. And, at the beginning, what a lot of pigeons' droppings
did they clean! You'll see afterwards, there are a lot of pigeons
in Jaipur, in the old castles flocks of pigeons are there -- our
vacant house was also a den of a lot of pigeons -- the Mehtas
themselves carried buckets of water and scrubbed with brooms,
finally getting the house cleaned! They didn't listen to his many
protests -- instead arguing that he was new to their place,
didn't know the lifestyle there, he must have been already facing
a lot of difficulties, without cleaning how would he stay here,
he didn't also have the tools for cleaning, they always had to
clean pigeons' droppings and so they are accustomed to that, and
so on. And father-in-law, their three- year old daughter Parley
is so lovely, you'll see -- she will make you feel like her own
grandpa."
"My daughter-in-law
is like that -- once she opens her mouth she won't shut it! What
sort of a house did Edhaan take! As far as I understand the
family occupying the other part would spoil the thing called
privacy ......" thought Jatin Mazumdar.
After hearing the
father's objections Ramen said, "Father, the pleasures,
comforts and advantages of one's own house -- how can you find
that in a rented house? A house like the one we own in Guwahati
would here require a very high rent -- but however, you needn't
worry, the Mehtas are very nice, they don't give any disturbance.
Sometimes the little girl comes, but she doesn't give any
trouble, and on being asked leaves immediately."
After staying for two
or three days with the son and the daughter-in-law, Jatin
Mazumdar got rather bored. There were no friends and
acquaintances -- could one live like that? Naturally he started
to roam around the city in the mornings and in the evenings. The
son and the daughter-in-law also encouraged him to walk around --
the city of Jaipur is very beautiful, the roads are wide, almost
at every home a carefully maintained garden is there -- it is a
land of deserts, so to keep the dry summer under control the
people here take care to plant trees -- so he would find it very
nice. There were also many important sites to visit -- on a
holiday they could board a tourist bus together. Did he know that
this city was renovated two and a half centuries back ,with
drains and wide footpaths etc., by Maharaja Jay Singh, enabling
it to easily compete with any European city of that period?
But whenever he
felt that Assam was being belittled in comparison with some other
place, Jatin Mazumdar would say something supporting Assam,
irrespective of whether that was necessary or not. Here also he
said, "Oh these are dry places; not like Assam where rains
come at every season, ruining the streets and the monuments. Yet
within those limitations our Ahom kings constructed such
matchless palaces, castles and temples some six hundred years
back that the storms and the heavy rains of Assam has not
succeeded in destroying them, not even the negligence of our
archeology Department has .......".
On another day
Jatin Mazumdar, after completing his morning walk, remarked --
"I have noticed from the beginning that even though the
streets are beautiful, the common people here sit down to ease
themselves by the side of the streets, even the womenfolk not
excluded. Our Assamese poor are however not like that, among all
the classes of our people there is culture and good taste."
Against this
opinion however the son and the daughter-in-law could not protest.
But on another day, seeing the Amer Palace, the Jaigarh Fort, the
City Palace etc., Jatin Mazumdar gaped with wonder, saying to
himself -- "I cannot but admit that in comparison to the
hugeness, lustre and expertise of construction of these palaces
and castles, our ancient monuments look rather like flies in
front of elephants". Then seeing the flocks of pigeons
flying away from the castles against the background of the
setting sun's rays, a childlike smile appeared on his face. The
description of this `Pink City' by Aldous Huxley, who had come
here as a visitor, came to his mind -- it seemed as if those
flying pigeons were coming alive from Huxley's description. It
was written so long ago, describing this architectural wonder
which was crafted like some immortal verse even hundreds of years
before the essay -- though the architecture remained immortal,
its inhabitants had long been to their graves -- Jatin Mazumdar
felt like an obsessed man, a sort of sad compassion filled his
mind. Some stanzas from the famous Bengali poem `Shah Jahan',
which he had almost got by heart in his college days by simply
hearing his Bengali co-boarder Animesh Ray practicing for
recitation in a college-week, came to his mind from the grave of
the past and stroked in his heart -- "The jingle of bells
from the anklets of your city-beauties / Has died, only the
crickets now make the night-sky weep ...... ".
After coming
home from that visit, Jatin Mazumdar asked Parley to come near.
After his arrival the child did come several times and peeped at
him, but finding no response, she had to return content with the
display of affection only from his son and his daughter-in-law.
Now on being called by the old man smiling at her, she at first
hesitated, but didn't move away from the doorstep either. After
that, when he called her again, this time holding out a packet of
`gems' candy, she came haltingly, and sat down on his lap without
any objection. Opening the packet she took a `gems' to her mouth,
and started the introduction -- "Should I call you grandpa?".
From that day Jatin Mazumdar almost became a real grandfather of
Parley. Coming at any hour to him, having various childlike chats
with him, considering gifts of gems, toffee, cadbury's etc. from
him as her birthright, detecting mistakes in his Hindi
pronunciations despite being such a young child (don't say
`antha', say `anda', don't say `sof', say `sonf' etc.), having
walks with him holding his hands, offering biscuits to the
neighbours' dog from his lap -- as she was afraid to deal with it
alone -- and giggling with merriment at its taking the biscuits
away -- all these had got so entangled with his life that when
Ramen was transferred to Calcutta it became hard to severe that
bond. Parley's mother prepared soft Indian breads and vegetable
curry for him for his journey to Calcutta,-- so that Parley's
grandfather might avoid taking food from outside as far as
possible. At the time of farewell they presented a brass-made
candle-stand engraved with Jaipuri handiwork, "We have heard
that in Calcutta power cuts are quite frequent; whenever the
lights go off at night, light the candles here and remember us"
-- Parley's mother said.
"But I
needn't remember them by lighting candles; the eternal lamp that
has been lit in my heart by that family will always be glittering
in my soul!" he thought.
A few days after
getting established in Calcutta Anando got the news of their
arrival and came to visit them. His name was Anando Mukherjee,
who had gone to Guwahati to work in a bank, and on being strongly
requested by a friend Jatin Mazumdar had once rented out to him a
room of his house.
Anando didn't
come alone but had brought his newly married wife Bandana along.
Both the husband and wife showed their respect to him in the
Bengali way by touching his feet, and then presented the
sweetmeats they brought.
After that,
there was unfolded another chapter of life filled with heart's
warmth. When Anando had been in Guwahati he had conquered Jatin
Mazumdar's heart with his various good qualities, notwithstanding
Mazumdar's racial dislike against the Bengali. The young man had
learnt Assamese only within a few months, and even had got
somewhat acquainted with Assamese literature and culture. Then
Jatin Mazumdar had once told Anando with grief -- "If your
brethren living here for many decades had shown such interest
like you for things Assamese, then possibly the relation between
the people of these two communities wouldn't have been so hostile."
After being
transferred to Calcutta Anando got married, and Jatin Mazumdar
gradually discovered with delight that the Bengali `daughter-in-law'
was a step ahead of even Anando regarding the various qualities
of heart. The Mazumdars went to Calcutta during a summer. When
the days were becoming colder, Bandana one day came with a woolen
scarf which she had knit herself, and said -- "As you have
asthma I have made this two- layered scarf for you. One of its
ends can even be used like a cap. You'd possibly need it during
the morning-walk."
Feeling the
comforting warmth of the scarf, Jatin Mazumdar said in his mind,
"Even if I wouldn't have got the warmth of this scarf, the
warmth of your various kind gestures would always have kept my
heart warm."
Next time, Ramen
got transferred from Calcutta to Delhi. For the first several
days Jatin Mazumdar compared the people of Delhi to that of
Calcutta and grumbled; calling them impolite, heartless and so on.
But one day a friend of Ramen from Delhi, Sushil Bhagat, who was
working in Jaipur, came and started rebuking Ramen -- "I
wrote so strongly to you that our home is not far from this
residence of yours, so I asked you to visit our home and express
whatever difficulties you might face to my parents -- but no, you
have never come to visit them". The next day Sushil brought
his parents for a visit, and invited all of the Mazumdar family
for a lunch at their home. On that day, when Sushil's mother came
to know from Ramen's wife that they hadn't yet got a gas
connection, that it was likely to come only after a month or so,
and that they were cooking on kerosene stoves with kerosene
bought from the open market, she became very sorry for them and
exclaimed -- "Oh, in the controlled market we get so much
ration of kerosene oil, you know it is hardly ever brought as we
cook with cooking-gas, so this quota of oil can be bought by you:
a lot of money will be saved. And do you want the rice sold in
the controlled market? We mainly have breads, so the rice is
almost never brought, but it is rather O.K. ...... "
On that day
Sushil Bhagat went back to Jaipur, and the next morning Sushil's
old father came with a can of ten litres of kerosene and a bag of
ten kilograms of rice on his two- wheeler. As the Mazumdars made
a hullabaloo on seeing that, he said with a meek smile -- "No,
no I am not having any trouble while doing this, only you must be
having trouble, you have come to a new place -- so many types of
difficulties you might be facing, you are our guests -- it is our
duty to take care of your troubles"!
In the period of
the Mazumdar family's stay in Delhi, the Bhagat family performed
their `duties' to these Assamese `mehman's (guests) in many other
ways. Jatin Mazumdar once said in his mind -- "Mr. Bhagat,
even if we wouldn't have got the warmth of your kerosene, the
many other displays of the warmth by all of you would have kept
us warm for ever."
From Delhi Ramen
was transferred to Guwahati. This time Ramen had tried for this
transfer. The father had already become quite old, how many times
should he be carrying his old frame from here to there? The last
period of his life was coming near -- during this time his mind
must be longing for his own home, own friends (whoever still
remained), own relatives. However, Jatin Mazumdar had never
mentioned to his son any such desire, but Ramen knew the
attachment that his father had to his home state. For the last
ten years, wherever they might be staying, Jatin Mazumdar had
kept the emotional connection with Assam intact. Ramen sometimes
told his wife that his father read so many newspapers and
magazines from Assam that even the people staying in Assam
probably did not do so. "The other day father even sent a
letter congratulating a journalist who regularly writes reports
in a weekly -- `You deserve to be congratulated for the report on
the Bengali school of Nagaon that you have rightly written,
despite being a Bengali yourself.For a journalist this
impartiality is very important', he wrote". Ramen smiled,
"Even sitting in Jaipur father kept himself aware about the
illegal occupation of land belonging to the tribal belts by some
non-tribals".
A few months
after Ramen got transferred to Guwahati, Jatin Mazumdar died of
old age. The relatives talked -- "The soul of the old man
was enclosed in his cage till now just to be freed at his own
place. Why, when in the last year his father became extremely ill
in Delhi, Ramen did say that he was afraid of losing his father
then.".
After the
funeral was over, one day, while trying to rearrange the earthly
belongings of his father, Ramen was going to open the V.I.P.
brand suitcase that he had bought for his father several years
ago. Just then he happened to look at the card hanging from it;
he remembered that there his father had carefully written his
address in Guwahati. Taking the card in his hand Ramen slowly
read the blurred letters inside the plastic cover -- `Jatin
Mazumdar, India'. Jatin Mazumdar, India? Being somewhat
astonished Ramen turned the card back -- no, there also the
address `Jatin Mazumdar, Gandhibasti, Guwahati-3, Assam' was not
written with the nice, intact English handwriting of his father;
there also was written `Jatin Mazumdar, India'.
Taking the card
in his hand Ramen sat motionless. His eyes got filled with tears.
Translated by Rituraj Kalita