Mum &
Dad and their Never Ending Romance
My Parents in law recently had their 71st
Wedding Anniversary. Yes, you read that right ~ 71st wedding
anniversary.
Being the only one at home with them, that
day, I sat with them in the evening, gave them bowls of celebratory “Ras-Malai’
and reminded them that it was that Special day.
Old and frail they may be, but oh the stories they remember! I asked
them about their wedding day and then, like children, both of them began
talking at the same time, telling me what they remembered.
Dad, ever the charmer, started with a faraway
look in his eyes ~ It was 28th Baishakh when we got
married. But not the first time I saw her. There had been a light drizzle that
morning. I woke early and took my cup of tea and newspaper and settled into the
easy chair in the verandah. Thanks to the rain, the grass looked freshly washed
and winked at me in the sun. Suddenly a car drove up to the gate and stopped
there. A Driver got off and held the door open for a lovely young girl in a sky
blue saree. She began to head towards the house and her face lit up when she
saw the raindrops on the grass. I was looking at her, and as if I had willed
her to do so, she looked up at me. Our eyes met. That very day, I
saw my undoing, written in her eyes!
All this while, Ma had been telling me her
story as well. She smiled and said, “my friends came running to me on my wedding day and said ~ when
we heard your husband’s name is Gobindo, we pictured some doddering old chap
holding a hukkah; oh my god, were we wrong! My goodness, just looking at him
could make us drop everything in our hands!”
There was a small period of silence, while
they both relived that day, 71 years ago. Ma could hear the Shaankh and the
Ulu, and the clamour of voices all around.
Dad was smiling as he thought of
pleasant things ~ when suddenly his smile turned into a grimace as he had
remembered something ~
He began, “On the morning of 28th Baishakh, (13th May),
we got on the train to Asansol from Bankura. My cousins and brother were with
me and I was feeling very important, especially pleased with my brand new shiny
Black Pump Shoes from Bata. There was an equally shiny black car waiting for us
at the Station and we reached the house shortly. After an elaborate lunch while everyone
fussed over us, we rested a while. Who wanted to rest ~ not I! I wanted to go
for a little walk with my friends and so I did, quietly, after everyone
finished lunch and settled in for some rest. We had all good intentions of
getting back in half an hour without anyone even knowing we had stepped out.
However,
this was not to be. My bloody shoes, those new shiny black pump shoes, gave me
the most awful blisters on my feet and by the time we decided to turn around,
we were quite completely lost; to make things worse, I had to take those
blasted shoes off and walk bare feet. It got dark and we were still wandering
around trying to find our way back, finally reaching the station, when, who
should we see, but Phanibabu, my father in law’s friend and colleague! We waved
at him bravely but he hurried away with just a brief nod in our direction.
Tired, bedraggled and blistered, somehow we wended our way back to the bride’s
house fearing a dreadful scolding.
Meanwhile Archana, she of the sky blue saree
fame, was being dressed up in her benarasi saree with gold patterns all over
it, having her hair braided into a chignon; a gold clover shaped pin attached
to it; bangles teased up her arm and necklaces clasped around her neck, when
like a ripple of wind, a whisper went around the room. One of her aunts bustled
in and bustled out with equal alacrity, shushing the girls hovering around the
bride. Archana had an earring in her hand and strained to hear what the
whispers were saying. “ the Bridegroom is missing” “where could he be” “someone saw him at the station, boarding a train”
and other similar bits of sentences floated into her ears.
She looked around at
all the flustered faces, taking in the round eyes and O shaped mouths.
Pragmatic as she was, being all of 13 years old, she had an overwhelming desire
to giggle. “Why, this is just like in the movies” she thought to herself,
“bridegroom escapes through window” or bridegroom runs away to avoid marriage
by force!” She shocked her cousins and friends by giggling aloud, quite unable
to stop herself! Her friends, just short of declaring her mad, were silenced by
the door bursting open and her aunts, all powdered and red bindi-ed came in
ululating gleefully, “He’s been found he’s been
found!” and so, like all good children,
they were married at Midnight, he a tall strapping 18 year old and she a pretty, diminutive 13 year old.
Off they went to Bankura, the next day, tears
streaking her face because she had to leave her beloved father behind; and he,
feeling oddly guilty and somewhat embarrassed to have this beautiful weeping
person accompany him.
Their Bridal bed was an old 4 Poster bed
strewn with laburnum blossoms and cheeky little cousins hiding under it. She
remembered sitting perched on the bed, giggling again, as he chased them away
heroically!
The first few years went by in a blur; they
had a little baby girl who became the apple of everyone’s eye. Life was
peaceful, and routine, till that day when he sailed away to England to further
his Aeronautic Engineering Degree. 7 years he was away ~ she took his letters
up to the terrace in the afternoon to read them over and over again; played
with her baby; learnt how to be a dutiful daughter in law; took her little girl
to school; learnt how to knit and embroider; read her letters secretly; sang
songs with her daughter. But underneath it all she was terribly lonely. She
missed her handsome husband and his teasing ways. She worried about all those
white women who might try and steal him.
7 long years passed and it was only when an
irate and loving father in law saw this young woman pining visibly, that he
‘ordered’ his son to come back , citing
an age old reason ~ ‘father serious, come soon’.
Goodbye England Goodbye Bankura.
On to uncharted territory ~ the Tea Gardens
of Assam! Archana was lovingly re-christened Rani by her husband and Rani she
was. Queen of all she surveyed, in her spacious bungalow with its lawn and
vegetable garden; servants to do her bidding, fresh fruits from her own trees, coffee
mornings with the Burra Memsaab and learning how to play Golf and Bridge! But best
of all, were their three little babies to play with. She was nicknamed “Mother
Hen” and had never been so happy.
A more devoted couple was hard to find and
that took on new meaning when she lost her eyesight due to a botched up surgery
for Glaucoma in 1989. Daddy took care of her so diligently, never complaining,
never getting impatient with her as she re learnt her way about the house.
Today they are so old and frail, both of
them; she has given up on everything after dad’s last major hospital visit in
2013, when we nearly lost him; she wasn’t sure he would come home at all and
when, miraculously, he did, she wept like a little girl. Dad on his part, has
decided that he cannot go before she does, because no one can look after her
like he can. So he hangs in there, almost by a thread, but still with that
mischievous twinkle in his eyes that endears him to all his grandchildren and
daughters in law.
