'Shewli'..The fragrance of Durga Puja

The year was 1988, we had shifted to a rather huge house in a small district of Assam called Tinsukia. The Britishers of course made sure that wherever you stayed if you are working with oil..it has to be massive.. As a little girl, settling into that house was rather cumbersome. Everything seemed to be so huge for the tiny me. Walking down lawn tennis courts and garden full of Hollyhocks I found myself keeping a distance from them. In those days, your house was yours only as long as your dad's next transfer..and under the circumstances, I always founded a nook in the garden that I could make mine. Strangely even three months after the shifting I had not found my nook.

But one fine day, something happened that changed everything. I woke up in the morning, it was early October, a lovely chill in the air surrounded by early morning mist. I shivered a bit in the chill, and went up to the window. Suddenly I saw a vision in white. In the driveway of our home, a rather ordinary green leafed small tree had been standing for long. It had neither the beauty nor the flowers to attract one. But suddenly that day I saw it anew. On the ground near the tree was a carpet of white! Every bough in the tree was covered with tiny little white flowers with a trimming of orange as if defying their colorless existence and laughing in mirth at the foolishness of man for not having noticed it for so long. As I stared at this wonder in stupefied silence..I suddenly ran down to see the tree, to touch it in loving reassurance that this was reality.

As I stood beneath the white tree, I was in for more surprise. from the tree came the sweetest of smells that wafted into me a dance. I closed my eyes and in reverence of the white bed took of my shoes and sat on the bed of flowers soft.

Ma told me later that day that these little flowers called 'Shewli' in Bangla were the first heralder s of the Durga puja..perhaps the quintessential welcome of nature to the Godess with ten hands. Over time plenty of things have changed for me..the house, the childhood, the dreams..what didn't was the memory of the Shewli tree that had welcomed me to the Pujos and the essence of their beauty..till today every Durga puja has me searching for Shewlis..the little white flowers that welcome the Goddess.

© 2011 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

( Image courtesy Google)

The story of ‘Indigo’

A character in one of Satyajit Ray's short stories titled 'Indigo' says " I have treated the natives here so badly that there is none to shed a tear at my passing away"..He was perhaps terribly correct, as they say realization reaches a man late..sometimes even after his death.. the story goes on to show how the dead Englishman enters... the body of an Indian traveler staying in a Dak bungalow at night, only to kill his pet hound so that the Indigo farmers don't stone him to death..Fear of such parameters is perhaps apt for the amount of atrocities that have been committed by the English on the Indigo farmers of Bengal. They were beaten mercilessly, starved and killed at the whims of the rulers and yet when these very farmers rose in revolt in the years 1859-60, it was a non violent movement.

Of course the Nawab of Awadh played as much spoil sport here as the Britishers, but his commanding high prices led to further atrocities on Bengal's farmers and their compulsion to grow Indigo, in spite of the miserly profits, health hazards and the fear of making the farm land go to waste....Amid st all the ghost stories that still do the rounds of those killed during the Indigo farming and their spirits doing the rounds haunting the Britishers, a small and rather hilarious story caught my attention.

It is said that the Indigo Planters had their estates and lived the comfortable life of planters on these estates. Of course their stay here assumes rather colourful proportions when it is allied with facts of them taking native women as mistresses. One can safely assume that this was done to not only satisfy the Britt libido but also polish off their sense of 'Social service' to the nation in giving birth to a breed of those whom we know today as Anglo Indians.

One such Indigo factory/estate in the district of Nuddea, was being overseen by Richard Aimes. No surprise in that except perhaps for the pretty fact that the gent in question was nicknamed as “Dick Saheb” by the locals. It goes without saying that the gent in question maintained not one but quite a number of native mistresses. To add detail to history his mistresses had been categorized under the variations of their colour. They were of course given exotic names such as - Gora or Fair Anund, and Kala or Dark Anund, depending on the color the sahib preferred for whatever time of the year they rendered their services. It shall perhaps suffice to say that the localities found no traces of Dickie bird in the rather colorful Richard Aimes..

There is perhaps nothing exceptional to this piece of historical cross pollination except for the pertinent question that how did the natives get the 'Dick sahab' adage so damm correct!

( Image courtesy Google)

© 2011 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

The lessons of Life

The human mind is a strange species and there are so amazingly different varieties to it that one never ceases to wonder. I would like to describe myself as someone who has not only travelled much but observed much in terms of the human mind and its thought processes. While there are some who are blissfully unconcerned about others matters and the world at large besides themselves, there are some who are too concerned about others thoughts, but again there is another amusing lot whom I call the ' I know it all lot'. Being in Bengal for numerous years has brought me face to face with the intellectual Bengali and his pride at all things learned. He talks, walks, reads & pouts the learned. .yet the creativity here is rampant & so gloriously so. One such incident at the airport left me much amused, a delayed flight and a lounge shared with odd co- passengers was not exactly a delightful option for the next 2 hrs. I opened a small edition of 'Chicken soup for the Soul' and began reading it. Beside me was the quintessential Bengali dressed in Kurta & spectacles. He smiled benignly at me, perhaps I thought at our mutual state of anticipated arrivals. .but lo behold the man had eyes only for the chicken I held so close to my soul! I asked him with tempting eyes, do you want to read? He guffawed at me..;) His moment of drama I had provided him. He peered at me through his intellectual specs & said a young girl like you should be reading Kafka, Marx..as I rolled my eyes & told him I wasn't exactly into that kind of reading. He let out a tongue curling eeesh! But why..he asked as if the earth would fall on my head if I didn't read Marx.. I smiled politely & said cause I found other things more interesting..he had found his point of tirade & I was subjected to 15 minutes of lecture on the principles of Marx… all the while as I nodded and politely purred at his speech, I wondered at the man who refused to see in spite of his intellectual leanings that I was just not interested but too polite or sensitive towards his feelings to tell him off. Where’s the sensitivity I say? Had I turned my face & asked the same man to shut up, he would probably be mumbling to himself wt an indecent woman, what about indecency that harbours on the lines of not understanding that one's opinions might not always be that of another’s... lecture over I restrained from clapping & told the man in a sweet voice how much he had enlightened me! While he was lecturing me his daughter of 5 kept pulling her daddy's fingers asking him to play with her & he kept brushing her off. .intellect I wondered , is it greater than being human or even humility?

Same atmosphere, same ambiance, a year or two later I was at Pune airport, as I took my seat of delayed flights & hours more to go. I took out my cell phone (the latest gadget that tells people I’m they busy types..I know its all there technology). Least bothered in mobile games I ventured cautiously into some nevertheless. After all I should be doing something productive or be tech savvy & not read about soups that harboured on Chickenish lifestyles..phew! A restrained and musical 'hello' to my side, woke me into the consciousness of a woman. Somewhere in her 60's, this lady in a mustard silk saree, just left me gazing at her unabashedly. She would have been some one extremely good looking in her prime I mused but what struck me about her was her grace & her dignity. She smiled at me, & I realized waking from my reverie she was speaking to me. I fumbled and said mam…aunty & stuck to aunty. She smiled again & said, beta I am unable to operate my cell phone well & send messages, can you help me out? Dressed to kill & expensive to boot… I mumbled a sure at the expensive phone & well manicured hands. The simple act of helping her out, left her thanking me profusely and telling me how much it meant to her that she could tell her family she was alright, all thanks to me! I was bewildered.. why was she thanking me so much, I wondered, but that’s grace I mused. Cell phone use established we got talking. The lady of 60 was a role call in humility, laughter & all the love that life is about. Much to my amusement she sauntered down to a store and bought me a handfull of chocolates! Small gestures but one that touches the right places. Her twinkling eyes, and laugh wrinkles were such a magnificent sight in love of humanity. Lisping into Hindi and English from time to time, she told me she had been a professor in a college, but now liked the job of taking care of her children & their children better. When I spoke she listened & said things that made you feel she was listening with attention. I wondered where this breed of people had gone...the ones who listen, the ones who make even a chance acquaintance feel special. Education she did not have less, but she didn't find the reason to broadcast it or push it down another’s head.

I was taken back to another place & another time where my friend of Marx had all but shouted. This woman with her innate silence & humility had taught me more about life than all his rants could. She cared about people not about what we know & how much we show we know, after all that’s what learning is all about. While disembarking from the plane & going our ways, I told her Aunty I hope I can age as gracefully as U have. And she said with a gorgeous smile, you just made me want to live another 20 years!

Life is indeed strange & education & its lessons stranger still. While it teaches, it forgets to tell us to care, to listen to the lessons of life that are important still and that learning and grasping, and implementing are lessons learnt by few.

© 2010 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury