The Banyan Tree and the family of drifters

A friend of mine occasionally asks me to jot down concepts for her documentary films or rather flesh out the skeletal structure that she narrates to me with words. This is a family she actually knows and the characters are real.She just told me about them

 

 

I sat at the gnawed wooden dining table basking in the warmth of her welcoming graceful smile as she nodded her white head, urging me to tuck in to the sumptuous breakfast laid out in front of me. The sunny side up poach, the crisp toast, the steaming cup of tea was the usual fare in the morning whenever I dropped in. She moved around with gliding ease as she did her daily chores. Clad in a simple sari, her elegance was captivating. Her manners, her disposition, her imperturbable calm has mesmerized me ever since I met her when Raja Chatterjee took me over to their house on Elgin road for the first time. I had heard so much about her, that in anticipation I had taken special care to prepare for the encounter. I had donned a red and white traditional saree, left my hair open, and picked up a bunch of white tuberoses for the elegant lady. She smiled at me and said, “Remember how beautiful you looked that day, and the fragrance and freshness of those tube roses which still haunt me?” I was rather struck by her beauty, her simple yet immaculate hairstyle, her warmth, her smile and her ease in conversation. She was like a soft glowing candle that would never flutter with the whimsicality of the breeze that blew. At 85, having survived the onslaught of cancer, the ravages of time, and the turmoil of human trials, she was still unruffled, still beautiful, still an epitome of elegance and everybody’s beloved Rikuma, alias the well known Rekha Chatterjee.

 

She was the wife of the late Kamakhhi Prasad Chatterjee and belonged to an elite family on Elgin road. Her house was the hub of intellectual and cultural exchanges, social revolutions and artistic creative discussions. I sat there looking at her with awe and reverence. The dilapidated structure on Elgin road with its dim lights, rickety staircase, cobweb infested brick bare walls is a mere shadow of its former self but she isn’t. She was the central attraction of the intellectuals and artists who flocked to her house as her husband’s acquaintances. Her husband was busy with his cultural and intellectual pursuits but she did not confine herself to being a pining lonely housewife. She was busy reading, writing, translating and being the focal point of stirring intellectual discussions, playing the perfect host rustling up succulent beef steaks and serving wine or whisky, and sitting amidst her elite guests sipping at her own glass. Most of the men were in love with her, gazing at her with devotion and admiration and listening to her words in bewitched silence. She held everything together, be it her family members or her guests or the gatherings that took place in her house.

 

 

 She was blissfully unaware of my gaze. She had a lot to do. Runu had to leave for school and she had to get her breakfast ready and pack her lunch. Runu came down but her footsteps were confident in spite of the darkness of her blind world that enveloped her. Rikuma had always been there to make things easy for her and breakfast was already served when Runu came in. Rikuma drew out the chair for her daughter. Runu was getting ready to go to the school where she was the piano teacher for the children .Her interest and skill in music had been her strength from childhood .Ever since she had lost her vision,  her focus had been on making her fingers more deft as they twirled over the piano rids. Rikuma ensured that no detail was missed while getting her ready for school and applied lipstick on her lips with loving care. Runu had been the only earning member in the family for years. Thus the family was not very comfortably off, with the absurd rents paid by old tenants on the ground floor and her salary being the only source of sustenance. Thus, the deeply etched lines on the floor were the only reminder of the grand piano that had stood there, and had to be disposed off due to their inability to maintain it. Now Runu practices on her Yamaha synthesizer to keep her skill alive. She left for school with the servant as her faithful attendant. However not so many years ago it was Raja Chatterjee who ensured that he took her to school personally every morning.

 

When Raja stepped on to the streets of Calcutta for the first time he had a different name. He was called Sushil Bhattacharya and was from remote Dhubulia. He came in drifting to sample slices of life in the city and swim in the vastness of the city’s intellectual and cultural waves. Neither did he have any roots nor any specific destination.  Destiny as it were brought him to the Chatterjee household which was then the hub of intellectual and cultural discourses. He became a regular visitor. He was mesmerized by Rikuma’s calm elegance and erudition. Then he met Runu and took it upon himself to take the reigns of her dark world into his hands. Since he had nowhere to stay in the city he moved into the Chatterjee house and adopted the name Raja Chatterjee as Runu’s husband. They fell in love and he would often try to be a “Gandhari” reincarnate, and accompany her to school blindfolded to try to get the feel of how she groped around in her blind world. Many accused him of being an opportunist and a parasite but he was unaffected. He was too much of a drifter and was hardly around. He was dabbling in the weirdest of pursuits. He was performing in street plays, wandering with the minstrels of Bengal, tagging along with a film unit, selling bibles using a Christian name, sitting around and enthralling people with his ramblings at Coffee House or being a faithful companion to a loner at Flury’s sharing a sandwich or a coffee or rushing off to help someone in distress. He had no means of livelihood and each tomorrow was another day. He lived off people but he wasn’t fleecing any body. He would borrow a hundred bucks from a friend (he had plenty of them) and would hail a cab buy a quart of gin or whisky and then get whisked away to another call. He still spends his mornings at the coffee house and there is always an admiring lot of youngsters gathered around him drinking in his words as he sits sipping his tea or munching his little snack which others are only too happy to buy for him. However he moved away from Runu and couldn’t connect to her heart of darkness any more. He loves her as he always did though his bohemianism and his drifting never allowed him to bond with her.

 

 

Thus he brought in Ranjit, another blind man, one day to teach brail to Runu. Ranjit and Runu spent a lot of time together and thus they came close in every sense of the term. Raja had to move away both physically and mentally, and he did that without resentment because he realized that he could never fill in the void in Runu’s life nor bridge the gap between their worlds. He sleeps outside their bedroom now, where Ranjit has moved in with Runu, and he sits outside after a long and tiring day listening to the sound of brail typing or the blaring transistor that is Runu’s constant companion. As he sits there tired and lonely Rikuma never forgets to send him a properly laid out elaborate meal befitting the son in law of the house. The changed equations between Runu and him hasn’t affected Rikuma’s attention or care for him.

 

As I sat there admiring the matriarch Rikuma’s attention to details while she was laying out Raja’s meal the phone rang, Rikuma answered as usual and called for Raja as it was for him. She sent for him as she knew he could now come in to attend the call as Jhimlu wasn’t there in the house. She told me that Jhimlu, Runu’s daughter had left at 4 am as she had morning shift duty at the airlines office where she had a cushy job. This was Rikuma’s usual routine - waking up at 4 am to give breakfast to Jhimlu because she had morning shifts quite often. The strain between father and daughter affects Rikuma a lot but she doesn’t show that to either and continuously persists in her efforts to bring them back together. Jhimlu, when I first met her, was a little girl in a pretty frock and a radiant smile. But now she is a hardened person and bitter as well. Raja in a fit of rage revealed to her that she is an adopted child and the shock was too much for her to absorb. Ever since that day father and daughter haven’t communicated.

 

 

When Raja came in to receive the phone call I looked at his emaciated frame and remembered the first time I had seen him, a strapping handsome man with a resonant voice. Now he was a mere shadow of his former self, but the spark in his eyes was still as bright. He was speaking to some eager young people waiting for him at the coffee house. He said he would be late as he had to take Ranjit to Calcutta University, who was planning to do his MA. This man had developed a strange bond with Ranjit who had edged him out of Runu’s life and bedroom. He had no resentments or indignation. There was no pain in his eyes except at the mention of Jhimlu. He regretted only one thing, that moment of outburst when he had revealed her origins to Jhimlu. Yet he and Runu had done more than their best to provide everything to Jhimlu, education, proper upbringing, music lessons and unconditional love. But Jhimlu doesn’t play the piano any more. She has moved away from music as she has moved away from her father.

 

Rikuma wilts a bit when she thinks of this rift. But otherwise, nothing has scarred or marred her radiance. I had seen her crying only on the day Lobon, the darling of the house - the pet dog, died. She cares about each and every member of the household and takes everything into her stride. I spent the whole day with her. After her daily chores were over, she sat stitching a baby frock which she planned to gift to someone just like the one she had given my daughter when she was born. As she chatted with comfortable ease I took several trips down memory lane with her and the house came alive and resonated with voices and music through her words. What a contrast these images were to the present state of the house in its dull weather beaten condition, dimly lit by tungsten lamps and the eerie silence that sets in when everybody leaves. Yet she is like the Banyan tree that has withstood the passage of time, the decadence that has set in, the tumultuous relationships in the family and the macabre changes.

 

 

When I stepped out of the house and looked back at the skyline, the Chatterjee house on Elgin road seemed a proud and stubborn survivor against the grotesque silhouette of skyscrapers.

Reviews

[An Ordinary Woman]

I had seen her crying only on the day Lobon, the darling of the house - the pet dog, died. She cares about each and every member of the household and takes everything into her stride. I spent the whole day with her. After her daily chores were over, she sat stitching a baby frock which she planned to gift to someone just like the one she had given my daughter when she was born.... Your descriptions really are quite vivid, giving the reader great imagery. It's very well written and drew me in. I liked the part about sewing baby clothes and the piano being replaced with a keyboard. Great writing! I'm sure your friend for which you write enjoys as much as I did.

[[untitled]]

Allow me to congratulate you on your excellent English grammar and expression skills. This is a good story if a trifle long winded with wordiness, however that is easily fixed. Your protagonist is a wonderful character, they all are, but Rikuma is a standout, in-your-face woman and your descriptive talents are second to none,
right down to your depiction of the well-worn house. I think the last line of this will leave the reader very impressed as I was. Considering that you have written this about another family I think you have done a tremendous justice to them by putting this beautiful short story where it belongs...on the top shelf.
Cheers,
Helen :-)

[Rain]

Incredible smoothness in your choice of words, that made the depth of characters so alive. I would have liked to see more reference and linkage to the Banyan Tree, only because it had so many opputunities, but it didn't take away from the story, in the least. I am tremendously attracted to the differences of culture. These little seemingly insignificant things are what separate us, and you so eloquently pointed them out. You can be proud of this. Rain..

[saint]

The one most important thing which i look for, in any piece of writin, watsoever, is its adhesive force, its grip on a reader's senses..no matter how desperately hurried he might be,he'd be compelled gliding his eyes through the work,with just a tingling involuntary smile on his face and feel grateful in the real sense of the word,not to the author,but to sumone up there,for bringing the author to this world..
never knew,that the wonderful person u r,u cud actually even write so exquisitely and powerfully articulate!!u deserve to be in the league of big names anyday!!
Amazing work ma'am!!i salute u!! :)
and btw,i dont believe u wen u say dat u havent even met this lady!! ;)

[Blackbirdsong]

What beautiful recollections you have here and what a beautiful way of telling them also. Clearly you have an affection for this lady since it shows so much in your writing and the little details you add to bring her to life for her for your readers. You begin a lot of sentences with the first names of characters in certain places and after a while it becomes repetition. So you might want to think about editing or perhaps do as I do when I'm not certain about something and read it out loud and see if there are any places which make you stumble or pause. That always helps me.

You've written a wonderful story here and I look forward to reading more from you.

[echo]

Moving.
I love these characters whom you have sketched beautifully, but I mostly admire the non-judgmental way in which you have presented every relationship.

[Wolfwind Words]

This was a tapestry of words woven together creating and excellent tale of life and love and compassion. It molded together little aspects of life that many people simply overlook these days. It captured my soul, at the thought of having to sell the grand piano, just to survive. Reminding me that life isn't always grand or perfect. I loved how even thought there was a flow of time with in these passages. The tale of the matriarch of this house on Elgin road, Held time at bay with her strength of character and compassion towards all that entered its doors. I really enjoyed reading this peice. What a wonderful tale of family love and timeless compassion.

[Mayukh Das]

ma'm... wat can i say abt this. the characters never let me take my eyes off the writing for a single moment.
and the description of the house was just wonderful....i bet i can paint a picture of that.

[R J Askew]

This line bit my eye... 'a strapping handsome man with a resonant voice.' ... as that is how I would dearly love to be, but, alas, am not. One line or thought in a story or poem is all I ask.

[None]

Your story is impeccable in both content and presentation. The strength of Rikuma and your detailed descriptions draw the reader in to this time and place beautifully. This would make a great foundation for a vivid movie involving these people. A most enjoyable and eloquent story.