My Best Friend (2): (Dedicated to my late Bhagne-cum-friend, Honorable District Magistrate & Session Judge, Shubhra Shankar Bhatta)

Part – II

“Bappa, ayi, toke ekta jinish dekhabo,” one summer break morning Subho told me as he started pulling me by the hand to his spacious room on the first floor right on climbing up the U-turn staircase at the end of the passage from the gate of their ship-shaped, new house across the ground on the other side of Bhatta Bari.

I felt a bit hesitant. Firstly, I had never had a room on my own. Secondly, Subho was always brutally open and honest with me, at least up to a certain point in our relationship.

All kinds of thoughts cropped up in my mind as we walked past Jamai Babu’s room on the way. He unlocked the door and led me in, still holding hands. There was a king-sized bed, a few pieces of furniture like an almirah; a study table and so on.

“Dekh,” he exclaimed, pointing a finger up at the huge framed photo of India’s melody queen, Lata Mangeshkar, above the racks in the wall in between the two doors – the one through which we entered and the other on the opposite side that led to the veranda.

It was a half portrait of the singer most probably, in her early forties. Clad in a printed sari, with her hair neatly plaited into two, her face shining with that winning, infectious smile of hers – the picture really looked larger than life.

While I stood there, looking at the photo, thinking about the days when I had one of Madhuri Dixit’s in a calendar hanging from the wall above the book rack, Subho was busy setting up his record player. Soon one of Lata Mangeshkar’s favourite Bengali song –

Ogo aar kichhu to nai

Bidai neyar agye Tai,

Tomari nayane pawa

Tomari sure gawa

E gan khani rekhe jai….

(There is nothing else, dear,

Before the farewell draws near

Am leaving behind the song,

The song found in your eyes

Set to music in your own voice)

He soon changed the song and Lata’s eternally favourite wafted into the entire room :

Pas aaiye ki hum nahi 

Aaenge bar bar ………

Ankhon se phir ye pyaar ki /Barsaat ho na ho /Shayad phir is Janam mein

Mulaqaat ho na ho ….

(Come closer for I won’t keep coming over and over. The tears of love may not pour down from my eyes yet ever. In case, we don’t get to meet in this life…….)

*************************************************

I am one of the clumsiest of persons when it comes to going on an evening walk or outing or whatever. I feel very comfy staying at home, under the folds of my Maa’s sari. Shubho was exactly the opposite.

“Bappa, chal ektu bazar theke ghure ashi.” ( Let’s go to the market) Bardi had asked him to buy some singaras from the market for the evening snacks and he wasted no time in plodding me on.

He would take me from Turu Kaka’s ( Turu Kaka, Jamai Babu’s late friend was long gone) glittering Watch Shop on the way to Renuka Talkies to his own friend’s shop ( Adhir – the one with heavy-rimmed glasses? Sorry, I can’t recollect the name) to Madhu’s confectionery in the centre of the market.

“Madhu, chhoto mama ke niye elaam.” He chirped while making his way through the rows of wooden tables and chairs towards the cash counter.

The sturdy chap with curly hair and an equally attractive moustache smiled at me from behind the counter.

Shubho would then order the singaras and sweets, mostly postor misti, a famous Jiagang product from there while I eased myself down on a nearby empty chair. Once the boiling singaras were out of the cauldron, Madhu would have them parcelled in a packet. But before I could get up from my seat, he would cry out :

“Mama, (I was addressed by that term universally in Jiagang!) ektu basun.” Asking me to sit for a little longer, Madhu would shout out to someone, “Kirey, Mamake misti dite bollam na!” (What! Didn’t I ask you to serve Mama some sweets?)

And the next moment, I had three or four of the choicest mithai served to me on a plate!

Madhu was just an extension of the antmarikata ( heartiness?) of the people of Jiagang.

A few years later…..

“Bappa, Aaj Dama ( his closest friend, an Officer of Kolkata Police at Lal Bazar), other barite Kali Pujar jannyo invite korechhe. Tor Katha bar, bar bolechhe…” ( Bappa, my friend Dama has invited us to the Kali Puja in his house. He requested me several times to bring you along as well ….), Shubho told me one Kali Puja evening. That year I stayed back in Jiagang during the Puja holidays. I can’t recall what exactly prolonged my stay till Kali Puja.

That night at Dama’s was magical. While trying to recapture the beauty, the magic of the night, I find that I have forgotten most of what made that night so special. Afterwards, the three of us, sat up on a mattress in a corner of their rectangular rooftop, lethargically enjoying the fruit offerings; watching all the fireworks, talking to our hearts’ content about our future, career and Life in general.

Some years down the line, I was waiting just outside the Galli, when a Kolkata Police Van stopped near me on the concrete pavement. The next moment, Dama looking glamorous in that black and white KP dress of an officer, came out. His black, pointed shoes were shining as was the belt around his waist. He had barely time to drop by. Even then, he stepped in to say hello to my wife.

This recently-retired KP Officer from Jiagang, has done well for himself. He has his own apartment in the DC Block of Sector – V, New Town with his only son, a software engineer, in the final semester of an MBA Course or its equivalent. Extremely proud of his association with KP, he told me the other night that he has had no unpleasant experience whatsoever of working with the Kolkata Police. And I have no doubts in my mind that for every seven or eight rotten KP-men, there are 2 or 3 absolutely honest, helpful and proud KP Officers like Dama.

In the final analysis, it boils down to the same age-old saying. You do good and good will come back to you.

My Bhagnes, Gutuda and Shubho, Dama all these village-born people came to Kolkata with the same goal. “We’ll show them(the Kolkattans) what we are made of”, and show us they did!

All three of them, along with many more, went on to leave their marks. One as a Bank Manager, one as a District Magistrate and the third, as a Police Officer. They bought their own houses, cars and raised their kids well. 

At the end of day, they all look contended with the near unblemished lives they have led.

To be continued….