Skip to main content

Cheating

I remember when I was a small kid, I used to pull the plug on my mother.

She was, as usual, my first guru. She used to give me all sort of crazy Bengali spellings.
Like ‘kujjhatica’. And I have to write the spelling of the author. Pretty complicated to me even now. Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar. How I wished to kick this man when I grow up.

As usual after giving my best efforts for several hours, I used to fail spelling both. And my playing hours would tick by. Mother never allowed me play with my friends until I have finished with reading the sahaj path (that was not sahaj at all) fluently.
The only benefit was I used to read it without any effort as the entire book was memorized and I could recite it eyes shut.

I remember I used to rub the troublesome spelling with my saliva and wipe it out from existence. Then, poker-faced, I used to go to her in the kitchen. “maa, maa, bananta to aar pacchi na. Kemon kore jeno muche geche.”

My mother used to leave me. I did not waste time to kick the ragged old football in the muddy field. And I thought I am very intelligent and the idea is fool-proof.

My father, who is very mild in nature (I used to witness his karak image twice in a year, during the time of results) used to play with me and sister during studies.
If the education department of our family would have been with us, I swear, by now, I would have been an expert farmer, complete illiterate.

Once I employed the same tactics to my father. I rubbed a certain English word from my rapidex-reader and complained to him, "the word vanished, and I have nothing to study now" (I had written the table of two, my mother would have made me write the table of seventeen). My father, looked at me for length and said, “so you have nothing to do now”
No, said i.
So, what to do, you are free to play.

I jumped from the bed. Took my cricket bat (size 3), put my cap and attempted to conquer the world.

Before opening the gate, my father came to me called “shon shon”.

I went to him, innocent as an afghan hound.
He spoke in a very cold voice, “Janis ami ke?”
I was flabbergasted, I figured what to answer, before I can speak, he lightened my confusion, “mone rakhis, bhule jaas na, ami tor baba, tui jei schooler chatro, ami tar headmaster.”
I said, “jah, tomay konodin schoole dekhiee ni.”

He smiled. I went to play. I didn’t understand what he meant that time. I understand now.

Baba, maa, I love you. I miss you.

Comments

Tridib said…
LOL! Poor Vidyasagar, he would have been touched to knew your feelings for him!
One of your better posts. And, learnt a new use of saliva!
Ghetufool said…
tridibda and foolda,
great that you started visiting my blog again.
don't boycott it altogether please. kede felbo mairi.
Chaila Bihari said…
are ghetu, tui mairi ektutei ghete jaas. Tridibbabu and Foolbabu (sotti tai) o'rom i. Ekta jinise lege thaka oder ghub ekta ase na.
Boro manus bujhli.
Btw, tui east bengal na mohun bagan?
Ghetufool said…
ami pure mohan bagan. mohun baganer khelate chechiye galao phatiechi abar bajjat east bengal faneder hate maaro kheyechhi.

Popular posts from this blog

Kaun banega karorpati...dwitiya

--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya.
(audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king)
Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo…
(a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”)
Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile)
-Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man)
Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”

Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.

--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.

--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …

On Mithi

I became a father on 18 November, 2014. At that moment when fatherhood embraced me, perhaps I should have been elated, jumping up and down and doing all sort of activities that new fathers do, at least, that's what most sane people do. But nothing of that sort happened to me. When I heard my baby's voice, first like an angry cat and then a mild wail wafting across the operation theatre to the waiting area where we all were pacing up and down, the first thought that hit me was how was my wife? It was a C-section and she was partially unconscious. I should not have read Internet too much, for I was reading all sorts of horror stories, of mothers not waking up or recovering etc. I was petrified as I was not hearing my wife's voice. The doctors and sisters inside the operation theater must have been very busy with their other procedures. In fact, after bringing out the baby from the womb, they were busy closing the cut, I later got to know.
The realisation of becoming a fathe…

The Sculptor's Tale

(Note to readers ... mainly Ian, who is the only one who reads this blog >> i just finished writing this in office. didn't even re-read it after writing, forget editing. Expect a leaner/fatter and better written version, if my mood permits.)
Keep your hands busy, said my father every time I used to lean against the tree to catch my breath. Keep your hands busy you idiot, keep your hands busy, don’t let your head decide for you. Keep your hands busy, he would coax me to get working. And so I would again start chiselling the chunk of rock, along the lines my father, a master sculptor, had already outlined. But I would still dream with eyes wide open. When the hammer used to fall so gently yet firm on the chisel, I used to dream of the cities and the grand mansions. I was not good in sculpting, yet I wanted to be the greatest sculptor in this world. I wanted to be honoured by my king. I wanted to be the subject for which kings wage wars against each other. I was a dreamer, I …