MONO ISSUE 1 PDF FLIPBOOK - Flipbook - Page 50
with her gone, and the money earned by the men of her generation having diminished, consumed by
my mother’s generation, they fell on hard times. Minu Mashi was the only earning member, and I have
no doubt that she sacrificed her career not so much for her love of Jawarpara, but her concern for her
brothers.
As I record these events, my thoughts in a stranglehold, clutching and directing my memories,
the old images- the sights, smells, and sounds of my mother’s home in Jawarpara- begin to impinge.
Laughter and footfalls along the corridor… servants rushing up and down, and across from room to
room… the sound of steam rising from the kitchen as the cooks prepared meals for about twenty
people three times a day, the sound of rolling dice on the boards of Ludo and Bagatelle from one
room, and the clatter of the carom board from another. The rushing of feet towards the balcony in the
early evening as the ice cream vendor made his appearance at the gate, pushing the cart on wheels,
chanting in a nasal sing-song voice “ice kereem, ice kereem”…..The burnt-sweet smells of dhhopkathi
in the late evening, accompanied always by the "whamping’ sounds of the Harmonium… and always,
like a galleon under full sail, the movement of Minu Mashi, from room to room, supervising, arranging
and organizing by the clock. I can hear to this day the sweet tones of the female voices singing folk
songs and Tagore songs from the heartland of rural Bengal: Pagla Hawa, and Heemero raatey, and
shaath Bhai Chompa Jago Rey. I now understand my mother’s reluctance to visit Jawarpara. I
suppose she preferred to remember the house as it was, rather than confront the eternal darkness
upstairs with its locked doors and empty corridors. The servants were gone, the kitchen with the huge
cooking vessels locked, (I am told that the vessels were sold) and the Harmonium placed in the corner
of a room downstairs, the upstairs potion of the house committed to dust and cobwebs.
In the letter I received from my uncle about Minu Mashi’s death, he informs me that they have put
the house on sale, and several inquiries have already come in. One such inquiry is from a local
businessperson who intends to build a shopping mall. I suppose my two uncles will purchase a small
two-bedroom flat, probably on the outskirts, and live out their lives from the proceeds of the salewhatever is left of it. Considering their age, I have no doubt the money will outlast their lives. Minu
Mashi never married, and consequently did not have children. Her zeal to edify, constantly, particularly
the younger members, we considered bossy; bossy she was, and domineering. I am certain however,
that she would feel a tinge of regret if she knew that her effort in bringing about a passionate alliance
between a revered Bengali delicacy and me proved futile. Towards this end she did not succeed.
This, I suppose, was a bridge too far.
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