Touch And Go

Author's note:

As usual I am unsure of the story category and there is no sex. The story is based in Kolkata where things are a little different. I have used some words that are typical of the Bengali culture.

Phuchka is a tangy, spicy snack composed of a fried and puffed crispy puri filled with mashed potato and chick peas. The entire puri is dipped in a spicy tamarind water and chewed and gulped down. There are too many variations of the same in India.

Didi (elder sister); Dada (elder brother)

*****

Had it not been for the juicy and delectable 'Himsagar' mangoes, a foray to Kolkata in scorching June would have simply been a strict and an enormous 'no'. Foolishness? May be. Kolkata, the 'tilottoma' (the enchantress) was incredibly sultry and generously sprinkled grime, sweat and frayed tempers onto her admirers. She was hot but definitely not sexy.

We had very little choice as far as leave was concerned, thanks to our peculiar work plans.

After gritting our teeth through the tantrums of the yellow taxi and spending the entire day cleaning the house, I was almost dying of exhaustion. So, when my worse half (pun intended) suggested that we sample some quality 'phuchka' that was nigh impossible to find in Delhi, I enthusiastically agreed and in no time, we were at our old haunt, Gariahat. The typical and delicate taste of the green chilies and the roasted 'dhania jeera' (a typical Bengali spice) to a large extent, compensated the constant stream of sweat that was dripping down my neck, not to speak of the tangy but ethereal admixture of tears and nasal discharge that accompanied it. Heaven!!

The mood elevating evening was just settling in, the omnipresent hawkers and girls and boys in pairs sharing their happiness, banters and some 'churmurrr' (another spicy snack) were all around us. If there was 'swarg' (heaven), it was here!

Even us! We looked more human than the career 'rodents' we had become in Delhi.

"Isn't that Didi?" A voice filled with simultaneous excitement and pleasure shouted out, as the bike screeched to a halt. We both looked up at the man whose head was still covered in his helmet. He removed the headgear quickly and we faced someone whose smile literally extended to his ears.

"Didi! Remember me? I am Sukumar," he said breathlessly! His wide smile instantly brought back memories, all at once! He cocked his head to the right and asked my husband, "What Dada, remember me? You all right! Oh, how can I ever forget those days?" Dada! Have you reduced your smoking or not? Didi used to scold you so much! And what about Ranju and Gudiya's mother?" He was unstoppable with genuine delight. And he wasn't finished yet.

Suddenly, he said, "Oh, I forgot," bit his tongue and before we could react, quickly bent his torso and touched my and then my husband's feet. Yes, he was Sukumar all right.

"How are you, Sukumar? It's been such a long time. It's so wonderful to see you," retorted my husband, full of genuine happiness while placing his palm on his head.

After the initial euphoria, Sukumar, at last, settled down but the smile remained on his lips. He hadn't changed a bit. I asked him what I must have asked umpteen numbers of times, "So, how's everything?"

"Everything is fine Didi, everything is fine; with your blessings Didi," he answered, as he always did.

"And, how is your beautiful wife," my husband asked with a bit of naughtiness? Sukumar looked abashed and said, "she is doing wonderfully well, Dada. Beyond imagination! Dada, you know her, na? She has now expanded, big time. Hardly gets any time."

That response was expected. Sukumar could hardly see anything beyond his Mitali. I had never seen any man so completely in love with his wife. The man called 'my husband' needed some lessons!!

"Are you still working out of Barasat or moved near to Kolkata?" I asked.

For a moment, Sukumar appeared to be in a bit of dilemma, then smiled brightly and said, "Didi, Mitali has moved to Kolkata, the business is all there. It's a big thing. It was impossible to manage from Barasat."

"How is Mashima (aunty); she agreed to leave Barasat?" I joked.

Sukumar was quiet for a second and then said with some extra enthusiasm, "Maa won't leave. I am with her. She's getting older and a little cranky. Mitali has moved alone, she needs proper help now. It is no longer business on bikes. She has a boutique now, you understand, na! He said with obvious pride.

I was stumped. What was he saying? I was left for words.

"No, I don't understand," said my husband, surprising me with his tone. "No, I don't understand, Sukumar," he repeated.

The smile vanished from Sukumar's face for an instant but it returned. With an embarrassing face, he said, "Mitali was having problems working from here. She needed more money to expand. She's now working in partnership with someone. She has opened a big boutique. Sticking around with me would have led to nowhere. I only asked her to go. Honestly. Didi, you must visit her boutique. She will be so happy to see you."

He continued to blabber. In a minute, I came to know everything about the boutique and how it had overtaken all competition. At last, he stopped and looked down, the smile still pasted on his face.

With great difficulty, I asked, "Sukumar, when did this happen?"

Sukumar looked up and said quietly," Didi, one year back. But believe me, she had no choice. I only told her." He stopped, overwhelmed.

He suddenly put his helmet back and said in a strained voice, "Didi, please go to her boutique if you have time. It is beautiful." He paused and said, "Everyone says so."

He thrust a card into my hand and with that, he kicked his bike hard and left. We stood like framed pictures watching the tail light disappear into the crowd.

---------

Thinking of Sukumar, I was transported back to our days in Kolkata, four years behind. We were then staying at the government quarters near the race course. I was employed as a thankless, frustrated and unpaid housewife looking after one useless husband (Mama's boy!) and one incorrigible daughter (Papa's pet!). It was again, the month of May and the humidity was killing when suddenly, there rang the bell. I opened the door and a smallish man with a wide grin was standing at the door. I had no clue as to who he was.

Undaunted by my complete lack of recognition, he confidently said, "Didi, we have come from Barasat, but the person we have come to meet is not at home. I have my wife with me and she is feeling unwell. The liftman said that you are a Bengali and I said to Mitu, "won't she give us a glass of water; definitely, she will; Didi, can you give us a glass of water?" It was then that I noticed, a shy girl standing halfway down the staircase clutching the rails.

The man introduced himself, "Didi, I am Sukumar and she is Mitu... Mitali. We are out since morning and it's so hot. All the way from Barasat. Mitu is not well. Can we come in?"

I virtually had no choice, so I let them in. After a bit of hesitation, Mitali sat on a sofa but Sukumar promptly and confidently plonked himself on the carpet near his wife. He looked around and said, "Didi, what a lovely house you have and all those small Ganeshas (elephant-headed Hindu deity); you collect them, Didi?" Embarrassed, Mitali gave him a small poke. Unabashed he continued his childlike enthusiasm. Meanwhile, I brought in water and some sweets. Sukumar refused the sweets but insisted that Mitali eat them. In the end, he too finished the plate.

In a short while, I learned (mostly from Sukumar) that this frail girl, Mitali was an exceptional artist cum entrepreneur who was designing exquisite sarees and offering them only to the discerning gentry who understood art. I asked a few mundane questions, out of courtesy. In a flash, he was up, ran down the stairs and hauled up two large bags full of sarees (a special Indian dress) and started displaying them much to the discomfort of Mitali who was cringing in embarrassment. I soon realised that both of them were indeed a talented couple and Sukumar was not off the mark in his assessment of Mitali. Meanwhile, Mitali too warmed up and started discussing various art forms and in her, I found a very knowledgeable girl. Her husband left no stone unturned praising her, whenever the opportunity arose. Though not needed, I did end up buying two sarees. They left on a bike with two big bags precariously hanging on both sides.

That was the start. Over the next year, I came to know them threadbare and they lost all their inhibitions. They would land up at my place and show me their new creations. Mitali would ask me about different patterns and motifs and experiment out, creating excellent artwork. Sukumar would untiringly transport Mitali and the bags of sarees all over the city sporting his typical smile. He was very straightforward and would often ask for food without hesitation. Once he and Mitali dropped in the afternoon and straightaway said, "Didi, do you have some rice and dal? We haven't had anything since morning. We are driving directly from Shantiniketan." And that day, I actually had only 'that' in my house but the glee with which he ate and forced Mitali to eat that rice and dal and an omelet was so heart-warming. I soon noticed that behind his own requests for food, he always encouraged Mitali to eat. Like a stern headmaster.

Mitali was a postgraduate in English and I was surprised that she was into the business of sarees. I was also a trifle intrigued by her unusual combination with Sukumar who was academically nowhere near her. She would endlessly discuss her plans and dreams with me. She could work hard and travel. Sukumar was the perfect foil for her, always ready to cart her around, with the widest smile I ever saw. Sukumar was a great human.

We left the city three years back and lost touch with them. Our chance meeting with Sukumar kept playing on my mind.

Lying beside each other, I brought up the subject of Mitali and Sukumar. Somehow, there was something that was bothering me. My husband was practical; he morosely advised me to mind my own business and not think too much about others. He said only one sentence in Bengali, "Aapni banchley baaper naam (Lucky, if we survive our own problems)."

There was nothing much I could say. He was actually right. We were indeed struggling!

------------

For the next few days, we moved around Kolkata reliving our older days and visiting places akin to a pilgrimage. Barbeque at Park Street, Peter Cat, Balaram Mullick, Hatari, Music World, Coffee House and finally the great Gariahat.

And, of course, "The Academy of Fine Arts and Rabindra Sadan."

We were in a trance. We would leave the house in the morning and return late at night, exhausted but exhilarated looking forward towards the next day.

The third day, we saw a play in 'Madhusudan Mancha', had biryani at 'Arsalan', sweets at 'Banchharam' and roll at 'Bedouin'. We loitered around Gariahat aimlessly till night when all of a sudden my husband nudged me. I turned and found him pointing somewhere. I followed his gaze and my eyes got stuck on a bright neon sign, "Mitali Creation's". For a moment, I wasn't sure, maybe, it was some other store. After all, Mitali wasn't an uncommon name. But the eyes of my husband confirmed the address and my feet started moving towards the store on its own.

It was a great boutique, tastefully decorated and designed. The colour scheme, the apparels, the paintings on the wall, all looked perfect. A girl approached us to help and I suddenly realised that I had no actual business there and immediately felt nonplussed. My other half tactfully managed the situation by calmly explaining that we had come to meet the lady of the house, Mitali. We were politely informed that she wasn't in but we could be helped. Again, my worse half rose to the occasion and scribbled down my name and mobile number on the visitor's book. And we left. I had a relook. Definitely, it was a stellar show.

It was not different from my expectations. But, what about her?

The answer came the next day. My phone rang and an unknown number stared at me. After some hesitation, I answered. At the other end, it was Mitali, the same sweet voice that I was so familiar with. She was a little tentative and so was I but both of us quickly got over our initial shyness. Mitali wanted to come and meet us. My hubby looked irritated and made gestures with his hand that doubtlessly meant 'to get rid of her.' I was in a fix and tried to be diplomatic, but she wouldn't take no for an answer and insist on having lunch in addition. And the 'dice was cast'. My poor hubby was upset since his 'Mainland buffet' was ruined. Though distressed, he gamely acted the gentleman and went to the market to procure materials for the impending lunch. Sometimes, the fellow appeared reasonable though I was sure he volunteered to go to the market just to steal a smoke.

She came in at 12 pm sharp, in a chauffeur-driven car. She entered and I couldn't take my eyes off her! Mitali, whom I knew so well, had vanished. I was no longer looking at a frail, intense girl running from pillar to post, selling sarees, but a smart, beautiful, well dressed, and a glowing woman of substance, oozing confidence. In front of her, I felt our own presence, diminished. For the first time, she appeared to comfort me; such was her presence. She spoke to us with assurance, joked at my husband and commented on my dishevelled hair benevolently. I suddenly felt uneasy about the food that I cooked for her. I had expected Mitali I was familiar with, not a CEO.

Even my 'smart alec' hubby looked a bit discomfited. He was surely outwitted.

However, our old Mitali slowly emerged from her shell of smartness and I realised that she was the same old self, though in a newer avatar. And soon, she was all over the place, reliving olden days. She remembered each and every small thing that I had somehow forgotten! She had brought a gift for me. I was reluctant to accept because it was obviously expensive but before I could open my mouth, she did a strange thing. She kneeled and placed the gift on my feet and won't let me go till I said yes. Crazy girl! It was a saree with 'fine brush' batik work, exquisite. Undeniably, her own artwork and compellingly expensive.

While serving food, I hesitated and apologised for the meagre arrangements that I had made for the lunch but she fiercely scolded me for even entertaining the thought. All this while, my husband was quiet, staring strangely at Mitali, as if assessing her.

Once the food was over, Mitali comfortably settled herself on the bed and held my hand. Till now, we had not spoken anything about her, neither asked about her work nor about her new life. I finally asked her about her boutique. I said that it was beautiful and she agreed. She had suddenly quietened down as if struggling with herself. She suddenly blurted out, "Didi, I no longer stay with Sukumar."

We knew that. We waited for her to say more. She wanted to say more, but she was unable to initiate. I tried to make it easier for her and said, "Was it difficult to manage from Barasat?" Mitali contemplated the question and said looking downwards, "Didi. I was never afraid of hardship and I always did honest work. I struggled for three years. I produced high-quality material and went door to door, selling them. People appreciated the work but sales were low because my work was relatively expensive. Even that was not a problem but the crowd where I operated considered me just a vendor, never an artist. For them, I was just a saree seller. I needed to come to Kolkata. I needed to show what I could do and Barasat was stifling my capabilities. I was getting frustrated. Sukumar was comfortable within his own surroundings but he never liked Kolkata. I thought a lot and decided that I needed to move ahead in life. I met a man who helped me set up the boutique, helped me with finance and infrastructure. For one full year, I slogged to establish myself. Days and nights had no meaning for me. At last, I met with success. Today, I travel in a car; meet people who appreciate my work; people who take appointments to meet me. I have achieved my dream. Am I wrong, Didi? Am I wrong, Dada? Tell me. Your words mean everything."

Simple straightforward words. What could I say? There was nothing wrong with the logic but Sukumar's smiling face continued to inundate my mind. If there were 'horns of a dilemma', then this was it. And worse, I had no way to vocalise. What could I say?

We all remained quiet for a long time. My husband who was unusually quiet during the entire visit unexpectedly spoke up. I was surprised, to say the least.

He said, "Look Mitali, I have no 'locus standi' to say anything and If I do, I will transgress propriety. But let me still say a few things. You are unnecessarily trying to find fault with yourself where none exists. You are absolutely right that you needed to move ahead. And, for that, you needed to take some tough decisions that included leaving Barasat and Sukumar. It would have been foolish for you to keep yourself bound in a relationship that hardly had any future. It was a pragmatic decision and expected of an intelligent girl of your calibre. You need to be congratulated that you have not unnecessarily destined yourself in routine and mundane definitions of social responsibilities against your wishes, your future. Hat's off to you."

He paused for a second, organised his thoughts and pressed on, "Now about Sukumar. I have seen you both for a long time and I wish to say this. To me, Sukumar comes across as a sheer opportunist, adept at going piggyback on his wife's capabilities and his own inadequacies. He does not deserve to have a wife like you, but being selfish, he does not want to let you go, and he is well aware of that. He is like hundred others who would behave nicely and have a cushy time at the expense of his wife who is far superior to him.

Actually, he is a parasite who had been using you by doing unnecessary things like lugging some luggage and chauffeuring you around on a painful bike in the name of comfort. That was how he manipulated attention. And sad to say, he succeeded for a long time!! Shame!!

Remember, he always did funny things in front of others like showing public affection and requesting you to eat well or show concern about you being unwell. Whenever someone was nearby, Sukumar would praise your skills or your hard work or bring soft drinks and confuse the bystanders. This way he garnered sympathy. That's how he survived. That was his game. Your leaving him has put all his plans to a nought!

Actually, we met him the other day and I could make out that he is still hopeful. He knows well enough that he should let you go; still, he gave us your boutique card so that we could go there. Why? So that we can tell you how nice he is. Parasites are like that.

I am sure that at Barasat, you must also have had a terrible time with his mother. Which mother would accept a daughter in law better than her son? My own mother never accepted, ever!

Mitali, you have taken a good and bold decision. Start a new life with someone who is equal to you and not someone who is a loser; like Sukumar."

He, in the end, smiled and said cheerfully, "let us have some tea and celebrate Mitali's escape from bondage."

And he went out of the room.

I sat stunned.

---------

Silence!!

Not knowing how to react and what to say, I went to the kitchen to make tea; just to find some time and think over this bizarre development.

After about 10 minutes, as I returned with tea and biscuits, I found Mitali lying prone on the bed, her face pressed to the pillow; her body contorting and shaking in agony.

She looked up and said through her bleeding eyes, "Dada is wrong."