Oddments

I asked this question to ma when I was in class 8- it was more of a rhetoric question, actually. But not once did I ever imagine that I will be asked a similar one, by my puny little three year old rascal.

Mishmash: Ma, tomollow we go to Tamanna house?

Me: No. She has school tomorrow.

Mishmash: I have school tomollow?

Me: Yes, you do.

Mishmash: Mummy has school tomollow?

Me: No. I am ‘big’ and am finished with school.

Mishmash: Big people no go school? Mummy no go school?

Me: That’s right.

Mishmash: When I be big? I big ma. Sharanya (a friend 4 months younger) small baby. I big . No school tomollow. Ok ma? Ok? Maa, ok? ok?

Me: Not ok.

Mishmash: waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.

(I had asked ma, ‘how long should one endure school,  I am big enough to give it up’ . I was 12.)

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This weekend told me living in Sydney was not going to be such an alien experience after all. We had an invitation packed weekend. The Sunday lunch was at a bong’s place. We had a double lunch invite (touch wood, I never had this kind of active social life back in India either). We dropped by at the first place and then went over to the second, bong lunch. The husband obviously had not bothered with breakfast- a bong lunch needed a lot of free space in the system. (So dutifully he downloaded, full marks to his super efficient metabolism and digestive system. Just like he can sleep where ever and whenever he wished to, he controlled his bowels, similarly. Its amazing. Really. ).

Anyway, we landed there- the first ones to land. Should have known, this was a bong get together and adhering to time was an insult. It only meant you have come to just eat and leave. On the contrary, reaching late and starting with drinks and entrées even if it is well past lunch time means, you are the true blue bong- the adda baaj bong. Soon the rest arrived and the adda began. After 2-3 pegs of Gin, things got clearer and the adda more passionate. Yes yes, coming to the point. And mind you this kind of adda can happen ONLY amongst the venerated pure bred Bengali. The topic in debate was- how to take over -a now in tatters tire company. Should they email Mamata didi or call her directly? One dada strongly objected to email- saying her juniors would never let the ‘voice’ reach didi. So the Dada in question would himself call Didi and explain their business proposition. The money to revive would come collectively- through various loans. The husband tried to interrupt and add his two pence- setting up an industry in Bihar was simpler than West Bengal-..before he could go any further, the dadas, ate, chewed and beat up this opinion supported by a hundred theories of how things had changed in WB.

And mind you me, this was not just another chat where one heard guffaws and snorts now and then- this was a full fledged serious discussion- how to revive a dead company. 4 dadas with Gin and lime in one hand and sheek kabab in the other, were going to save West Bengal, from its doom. had there been a dada or two, more, Didi would be summoned herself, to calm their soaring spirits.

Adda in its purest form, entertainment at its best.

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The husband to be was visiting Pune. This was 8 years back. Roomies seemed disinterested in the entire event. Said they didn't have the time to pick him up. Actually, like clandestine revolutionaries they were all the while making those atrocious placards you see in the pictures below and recording dhin-chak hindi numbers. One of them I think reads- ‘Das band’, and the other reads “aami tomake khabo’ (meaning, i want to eat you – a personal endearment i often used, which was made rather public by a vishwaasghaat.)

                               

They appear out of no where at the railway station with garlands and those placards with chiranjeevi and Rambha, to welcome Jamai-babu to be. If i remember right a few 5 rupee notes were also thrown in the air. And all the four danced the Govinda dance. A portable tape recorder perched on Pravi’s shoulder that played the cheapest songs ever in the history of Bollywood. Needless to say, I was  livid and didn’t know where to hide my face and was sure the man who arrived from Delhi, would take the same train back that very moment. But he stood there gloating, like a local MP. Almost as if no one in his entire life had ever showered such love. I guess that was his first (and last) ever moment of public glory. People standing on the platform gaped at the Tamasha. Some clapped. Some smiled. Most frowned. Like me.

Today, I am laughing my guts out. And praying fervently to gimme back those days- take me back, take me back- just for a day. Pretty, please?

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