The Vegetable Seller
AUTHOR"S NOTE : This tale of a neighborhood and the unheard stories of it's inhabitants is something that came to my mind while observing a man pulling a vegetable cart announcing his arrival with a sharp sound of 'kakima!'( this is from pre-pandemic era).I thought of a sentence a friend of my mom's said on a phone call "No one cares enough to check on each other in the para anymore ". And it is true . Para culture had died with the onslaught of digitization and fast life . The para I paint here is sort of inspired by my own neighborhood. To summarize the feedback given by sa.re and SleepyArcher this story is good enough to make it on the list of necessary texts for board examinations 💓. Offer still stands if you guys want a reference to context question paper.😋😂.
“Why the neighborhood? Because that's where everybody's stories begin. And some stories remain interrupted.”
My morning for the past couple of months has usually begun with the creeping feeling of being watched crawling up my spine and raising my head to investigate the source only to find a beady eye spying at me through the gaping crack of the glass window pane next door. A daily ritual in the morning routine of the pasher bari pishima.
When she catches on to the fact that I’ve caught her in the act for the up-tenth time, her eyes narrow and I can almost hear the silent contemptuous “humph” she lets out before moving away from her peeping station, as if she rather not waste time on a boring subject such as myself. I’ve never seen her tire of it though. She is more inquisitive about me than about my landlady Ratna di who in my humble opinion has a more colourful life. She’s kind and friendly and gives me a lot of freedom to do as I please (which comes with exceptions of course). This is a bhodroloker para. I’m allowed to bring my work colleagues over and before letting them in my room, I make sure to close the drapes properly to prevent even a slip of sight to feed my neighbor's surveillance interests. Sometimes I think Pishima regards me as some sort of exotic, endangered bird she needs to scrutinize. She wasn’t particularly sparkling herself, wearing sarees of muted colors, her graying hair almost always in a tight bun. She was round but not exactly fat; more like a shrunken football. Her features, despite the wrinkles, were sharp and shrewd. She appeared to look always in the middle of scheming something like the villanious mothers-in-law in serials.
Pishima reigned the center of discussion in the parar adda that took place opposite the local pharmacy, right under a shady tree. Every evening at five my ears are greeted with the sound of loud laughter from a cacophony of male voices ranging from middle-aged to aged, retired to tired. Their voices floated down the path so anyone who was in the street minding their own business or enjoying beverages on the balcony like me would inevitably become part of the merry chatter. Para addas for the uncles were equivalent to live WhatsApp group chats. The topics ranged from politics in the country to politics at home, classical music to classic songs, medicines to drugs and the unique personalities that peppered the locality. Besides Pishima, there was Sandesh kaku. Sandesh was not his real name but he inevitably gained it way back in his youth. Sandesh kaku had low immunity and he crumbled as easily to illnesses and criticism as as the popular Bengali sweet itself. Hence the rechristening. What none bothered to tell me and something I came to know on meeting him myself was that his heart was softer than Sandesh as well.
Angel Leela (yes that is how she’s known) is the belle of the para and a huge source of gossip. She goes to college and has her own YouTube channel with 30 subscribers where she uploads makeup hacks. She’s known to be quite angelic in manner and deeds or at least that’s what I hear from the uncles’ rumour mill. One habit of Leela that is favored and cited as exemplary by the parar kakimas to their disgruntled children is her love for vegetables. Everyday when the vegetable boy pulls into the locality with his four-wheeled cart full of fresh leafy greens, she would be one of the first customers to hound him and nearly empty the cart of supplies. I thought it was impossible for someone to be so on time with the vegetable seller’s timing and idle curiosity made me peek down from the verandah almost everyday to see the waif-life figure of Angel Leela dutifully standing in front of her house gate with a shopping bag that looked more like a picnic basket (actually on closer look it is a picnic basket. What the heck?)
I suspect Leela’s astute dedication to a vegetable-rich diet has more to do with the boy pulling the cart rather than the content he sells. I ate enough vegetables myself; my green intake was heavily supervised by my landlady as per request from my over worrying mother. But Leela was a certified herbivore. I once happened to see her face from close quarters while passing by. She had pleasant features but she tried to enhance them further with thickly applied pink lip gloss to make her lips look luscious and appearing to have overdosed on sugar syrup instead. Her thin strips of eyes looked unusually large thanks to the black kajal that seems to be permanently imprinted on her skin .I appreciated her long luscious black hair that cascaded down her bony back. She reminded me of a potato stuck on a match-stick. She was waiting impatiently for the vegetable seller who was late that day. She was still standing vigil in front of her house when I got to my residence. Later on, while exchanging gossip with Ratna di, I found out that the boy had come down with fever and therefore could not come by that day. I can only imagine Leela's disappointment.
The neighbors living to the right of my rented home are Meera mashi and her son and wife. I harbor a deep adoration towards her. She was one of the first to personally welcome me, a stranger, when I arrived here months ago. Armed with Darjeeling tea, a packet of crackers and her sweet smile, Meera mashi quickly invaded my heart. She, without question, enjoyed undue popularity in the neighborhood for her agreeable nature. She had been quite the beauty in her heyday and, from the unsolicited information I got from the loud parar adda, had shaken many an unmarried heart the day she first arrived. An ethereal bride sent from the heavens, as proclaimed loudly by one of the uncles, his friends approving his hyperbolic statement.
I personally thought Meera mashi was still very pretty. Perhaps it's true that a good heart makes a beautiful human being. Her son and daughter-in-law worked at nine-to-nine jobs so it was virtually impossible to meet them. What little I knew of them came from mashima herself.
One end of the neighborhood split into four roads leading to other paras with their own systems and stories. One of the roads led to the bazaar and it is from there the young vegetable seller appeared every morning. He was tall and had a slender build with features good enough to make Angel Leela look twice. He’s the darling of the parar kakimas, the angel with the cart brim full of fresh, juicy and leafy produce to rescue their husbands from trudging to the market in sweltering heat. He is quite friendly and a great conversationalist and there are days when I would look out the window and see a small group of women huddling together around his cart, exchanging spicy details and bargaining with him at the same time. Ratna di, a professional gossip, told me that he is quite the hard worker. He was homeschooled in primary education and is now attending high school with his own earnings. He is currently trying to save up to get into college. Her source was from the uncles’ chatter however so I didn’t believe her fully. Then again it's not something to establish belief over.
He was great friends with Ratna di. Whenever he passes by he would exchange cheeky greetings with her. Today was no exception.
“How do you do Didi ? I hope you don’t drink too much and lie down on the road again. Ami ek raat dekhe vablam tumi petni hoito!”
“Oi” scowled Ratna di playfully, karate chopping him on the head, “Do I look like a petni to you? And that was one time!”
“I'm really not a drunkard,” She added to me in a whisper.
“Ok.” I said placatingly before turning to the boy who was observing us silently “Here you go,” I paid him, “Thank you for the veggies. They are fresh as always. How do you get a hold of these with such high quality by the way?”
The recipient to my question did not immediately answer. His expression seemed to freeze for a moment, appearing to look dazed. We waited for him to snap out of his daydream. He did so after a few seconds, jerking his head around in a nervous fashion before muttering something to himself and practically dashing away, his cart creaking behind him as it rushed to match its master’s tempo. I was puzzled at his strange demeanor until my landlady ruined it .
“Oh my, did you see him turn red? He's definitely crushing on you!” she crowed gleefully.
“Stop it, didi, he's just a kid.”
“You speak as if you are 50.”
"What can I say I'm an ancient soul."
******
The pharmacy of this locality comes with its own set of quirks. The chemist who mans the shop along with his assistant has quite the proud temper. He proclaims that his shop has the best of all supplies yet one has never been able to be on time to secure a cotton roll for the stocks ‘ran out’ as soon as they present themselves on the other side of the glass-top counter. A doctor’s chamber owned by him is situated right beside the shop which solves a major traveling problem for the elderly of the neighborhood. His chamber is surprisingly well maintained and hosts many doctors which I feel is the secret to his popularity and the very reason why no one out of absolute frustration ravaged his shop for continual deficiency in necessities. The assistant is a young boy who has a larger nose than what he physically possesses. He had perked up from his calculations when I had first arrived at the shop to buy sanitary pads. Pharmacy kaku regarded me in the same way that one may regard an outsider. Deeming me to be worthy, he walked deeper inside the shop to collect the product I asked for. The young boy who had raised his head from his calculations to stare at me calculatingly asked in a suspicious voice, “What do you need, Didi? Who are you? Where did you come from?”
I stared at him for a long time, pondering on the proper response to his google-type queries. I took a long breath and without breaking eye contact replied, “I'm a Russian spy and I need to buy some pads so I can put tracking device in them.”
Even to this day that moment feels like a farce because of the absolute bullshit I just spoke. I barely suppressed hitting myself for letting my mouth run off all the way to Ladakh.
“Oh,” Assistant boy looked shocked at my response. I sympathized with him secretly for sacrificing his ears to my inane answer. He leaned over the counter towards me and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “Is it for something important? Are there terrorists nearby?” he looked genuinely excited and scared.
“Tokai!” barked the pharmacy kaku, appearing behind him suddenly and rescuing me from the ability to form a response “Stop chit chatting and note down the prices!” He then turned to me, “Here are your pads.”
I paid him and chanced one last suspicious glance towards the assistant Tokai to see if he was actually messing with me. He merely looked back, afraid yet thrilled. I left the shop, wondering how to clear up this weird story. Someone snorted behind me and I turned around swiftly, thinking it was Tokai. It was a tall boy manning a cart full of vegetables, holding his stomach and laughing silently, staring in the direction of the pharmacy. Red faced, I left the premises quickly. Even though Pharmacy Kaku still runs out of supplies months later, I developed a somewhat lukewarm friendship with him and Tokai so all was alright in the end, I guess.
(I explained my stupidity to Tokai a little while after that day. “Ha! I knew you were joking Didi. What! Do you take me for a fool?” he scoffed unconvincingly. I'm just happy he doesn’t view every lady buying pads from the shop with suspicion now so I let him enjoy the illusion.)
******
It was Sunday and my day off so I decided to laze around in my room all day. My landlady had gone out for the day. After a refreshing cup of chai and biscuits, I retired to my room. The first task I did was pull the drapes closed over the window that overlooked my spying neighbor's house. I thought I heard an irritated huff and furious pulling of fabric after I did that. Laying down on my fluffy bed with a book in my hand and music turned to a moderate volume, I was beginning to slip into a relaxed state of being with no desire of motion for the remaining day. A sharp burst of, “Didi!” broke my reverie.
“O Didi!” came the cry again. Irritated, I pulled myself off the bed and trudged down the stairs to open the door and saw the vegetable seller at the front of the gate. His hands cupped around his mouth, getting ready to let out another blast of sharp noise.
“Di!-” he stopped abruptly on seeing me. Perhaps it was the power of my glare that halted him. He quickly looked down, his face a bright red picture of embarrassment. “Ratna di isn’t home.'' I said with an annoyed tone .
“Oh...ok, Didi.” he replied, quieter than a mouse now. I looked at him carefully before asking, “Is there something else you needed?”
He merely shook his head fast, not quite looking me in the eye. Guilt entered my conscience for getting mad at him though he did disturb my ASMR mode time "Uh... do you have Cauliflower?”
He perked up quickly as if the name of vegetables were signals to his personal antenna. “Ache toh Didi!” He said, rather enthusiastically, proceeding to flip off the plastic cover he laid over his goods. “I have fresh ones! lady fingers, beans, onions, fruits of the season. Anything you want!” His eagerness shone like a road reflector, subtle yet prominent.
“Ah, then I'll have some pears too.”
“Here you go,” he handed me a plastic bag full of my purchases. I vaguely noticed his hand movements as he passed me the bag with his fingers holding the tips so as to avoid touching my hand. I did not ponder on this much longer and dropped the money into his palms. Perhaps he thought it would be unwise to touch someone with dusty hands although there was not a speck of it on his own.
“H-have a nice day didi.” He stuttered, smiling brightly as he pulled his cart away from the gate. He was looking back, still sporting the same bright grin he was known for before stumbling into two of the parar kakus and earning indignant squawks of, “Can’t you see while walking?!” from them.
I chuckled at the commotion and turned around to go back inside when Ratna di came running by, “I’m such a fool!” she lamented, “I forgot my purse.”
“Damn” I acknowledged sympathetically, “By the way the vegetable boy was looking for you.”
“Vegetable boy? Oh you mean Raju! Ah yes that brat has been badgering me for days because I've been putting off giving him the book he lent me two weeks back.” She grumbled while rummaging through her drawers.
“Book?”
“Yeah, a short story collection. I know it seems surprising but he’s actually quite the reader and he owns some books he inherited from his father. You should discuss books with him sometime too since you’re a boipoka.”
I admit I was quite narrow-minded enough to be surprised that a vegetable seller had the time and the eagerness to read books apart from necessary texts for school. I silently vowed to be more open-minded. I climbed back to my room, eager to resume my holiday. A pleasant wind blew in from the open door leading to the verandah. I walked outside to enjoy the breeze. My eyes fell on the verandah of the house to my left. There was my neighborhood spy Pishima (or as I secretly call her ‘spyshima’) staring at me openly, disapproval melting off her face. I stared back annoyed as well. Then she glanced down and her features seemed to turn a poisonous colour of red; the colour of rage. Swiftly she slid back into her cement cave. I looked down as well in the direction she looked and saw no one but the vegetable seller Raju being hounded by Angel Leela with her picnic basket as usual.
******
The para at night existed somewhere in the middle of the safety index: not too unsafe yet not too chummy either. This being a gentlemen’s neighborhood, the nightlife was unlike the rambunctious city outside its perimeters. Most of the major shops peppering the locality closed down by ten and only the liquor shops and the pharmacy remained open till late at night. The adda under the tree shade fizzled out by seven and thus night was peaceful, occasionally interrupted by the honk of a car , the noises of the night creatures and the squeak and creak of rickshaws. The paved roads are lightly illuminated by old-fashioned street lamps drooping down like old men or depressed adults who ate Happy Dent all day. These brightly lit orbs were further accompanied by square windows of light of every house and apartment on both sides of the street .
People did pepper the streets although fewer in number and lesser in age. Youth and a few weary office men crowded the alcohol stall and fought for the best bottle; the hollering sometimes raised in volume so as to bring out alarmed neighbors and pissed off policemen to drag the disturbers for a night out in jail. Women returned from offices and hangouts around this time as well, with spyshima keeping a vigilant eye of judgement on their attire and the time on the clock. Ratna di belonged to this crowd. She had work that lasted late in the evening and hangouts that lasted even later so whenever I sat in the verandah for a brainstorming session, I would spot her coming down the street, appearing exhausted with a hunched back resembling the streetlamps above her, heels clicking and clacking loudly in the peaceful silence. Once I saw her quickly sneaking into the crowd in front of the alcohol shop and emerged seconds later with a black plastic bag in her hand.
“I’m home, my dear tenant!” she announced loudly as soon as she stepped inside.
“What did you get?”
“Hm? Get what?” she asked, innocent as a child.
I rolled my eyes at her. “Stop trying to fool me I literally saw you buy stuff from there. So what is it, Antiquity Blue or old monk?”
She deflated a bit at my response before perking up. “Black label!” she said excitedly, pulling out the tall glass bottles out of the plastic, “or at least I think that's what it is … I'm not good with alcohol names. Ah who cares as long as it tastes good!”
She's positive like that. We ended the night with a measured glass and colourful gossip.
Sometimes the streets would completely empty out, even taking the alcoholic crowd of the liquor shop with them, turning the para into an oddly desolate and eerie space. It was on one of these nights when I heard a scream and furious thumping noises from outside.
I was scratching my head in frustration trying to cook up something creative when I heard the commotion. Concerned, I quickly padded towards the verandah doors to take a peek at the on goings. To my surprise it was my energetic landlady hitting a stranger with her bag furiously, “You Scumbag!” she yelled loudly and even from here I could see her nostrils flaring and her expression livid. Her object of ire was the scraggly dressed and clearly intoxicated man who didn’t seem to mind the rain of blows. He rather leered at her, trying to get close to her as she vehemently brandished her leather weapon at him. Unable to watch any longer, I skipped down the stairs and rushed out the gate to find a bystander to the ongoing tussle: the Vegetable seller Raju who was equally agitated but unsure, his arms extended out in pause as if waiting for the chance to jump in. As the shouts rose in volume, a few neighbors came out to see.
“What is going on?!” asked Meera mashi urgently, worry creasing her eyebrows as she hurried out of her home along with her son. Soon the man was dragged away by the police. Ratna di furiously wiped off the sweat dripping from her face. She looked shaken and angry. I took her hand gently and led her back into the house.
“Take a shower, di.” I told her, “I’ll be right there to make some tea for you and talk if you want to.” She nodded and went inside. I stayed back to thank the neighbors who helped out and reassured mashi that it's fine now. As the small crowd dispersed, I spotted Raju who had relaxed from his fighting stance but still looked worried, “I was returning when I saw Didi.” he said “She’s very strong. But still I hope she is alright.”
“She will be,” I told him reassuringly, “Thank you for helping.”
His cheeks coloured and he looked down quickly, “I didn’t do anything. I just stood to the side.”
“But you didn’t look away. You were ready to help if you saw things going wrong. Although Ratna di hardly gave anyone a chance to interfere.” I chuckled, my admiration for my landlady’s assertive and brave nature increasing by tenfold.
“Yes I know! Puro Jhansir Rani Didi!” agreed Raju excitedly.
“Yup. Ok good night. I better go make some tea for her. Get home safely.” I said, retracing my steps back inside the house.
“G-good night.” his stuttered greeting was the last thing I heard before I closed the door.
******
“Here’s your mail. Have a nice day.” the post man handed over a few envelopes before heading off in his motorcycle. I retreated to the living room on the first floor and made myself comfortable on the foam sofa. I opened one of the more formal looking envelopes and read the contents, surprise replacing my previously placid emotions.
“Hi …what's wrong? Received money or what?” Ratna di’s teasing voice interrupted my train of thought.
“Nah, no one’s that lucky. I just got a letter from office. I'm being transferred.”
“Transferred?”
“Yeah, looks like I've to move some place else now. My job here is done.”
“Oh..” was all she said, disappointment marring her tone. Suddenly she threw her arms around me. “You are like the best tenant I had so far. I'm gonna miss you.”
“I'll miss you too.” I reciprocated her action.
“WHAT NONSENSE IS THIS???” A scream of utter rage, like a sharp blaring noise, cut in the previously tranquil atmosphere. Shocked out of our sadness, we rushed out to the front gate. There stood Pishima on the steps leading to her house gate, smoking at the ears as she threw a nylon bag full of vegetables onto the ground. In front of her stood Raju and his vegetable cart, his face ashen, his expression somber. “This is vegetable?!” shouted Pishima “This is quality?? Why, boy do you have any idea of what makes good food? None of these are top tier! Who gave you the right to sell such low-grade stuff around here?!”
Her yelling had once again gathered a small collection of curious and concerned neighbors surrounding her and the poor boy with the half empty vegetable cart, most of his produce now laying in the grime and dust of the road. Some of them tried to reason with her while one or two reluctantly opined that the best vegetables could be found in the main market itself. Pishima, however, wasn't finished yet ."Give me back my money, you thief!” She spat at Raju. The latter said nothing but rummaged in his cart for the coin pouch he kept and counted out the money he then returned to his dissatisfied customer. She snatched the notes from his hand, her beady eyes sparkling maliciously, “Such low standard!” was her parting words before retreating into her house. The nylon bag still lay where it was. The crowd eventually dispersed. Both I and Ratna di started forward to help but Raju was faster. He picked up the bag, deposited the dust-licked vegetables carefully onto one side of the cart far from his fresher products, hung the bag onto one of the spiked tops of Pishima’s gate and took hold of his cart before noticing our worried gazes. He blushed ; an expression of utter shame and desolation came over his entire frame. He rushed off before either of us could stop him.
“She’s such a huge -” Ratna di gritted through clenched teeth, barely stopping herself from mouthing expletives.
"I know." I agreed, looking in the direction of Pishima's home. "Why is wrong with her? It's as if she likes to bully him or something."
"Yes! And the poor guy, he's been nothing but polite against all that shit she throws at him, that old crone." Ratna di raised her voice as she said, perhaps hoping Pishima could hear her. "I really wanna give her a piece of my mind right now."
"I think it's best not to pick a fight before you're attacked first." I tried to placate her, "You know how she is, she might turn this against you."
"Let her try!"
"Calm down Ratna Di. Let's go back inside. Didn't you say you were gonna cook chili fish today?"
I was agitated too at this sudden state of affairs but the printed words in the letter from my office was a reminder that this was no longer my area of business. In fact this had never been my business. I was eventually a temporary othiti of this neighborhood.
******
"Oh my god! Did you hear??" Ratna Di barged into my room one fine evening before the day of my departure. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils flaring in withheld gossip. "Did you hear about Raju??" She repeated.
"Um … No, I didn't." I replied hesitantly, wary of the raging gossip bull currently in front of me "Was I supposed to?"
The bull leaped out at my ignorance. I barely had time to pull out the metaphorical red cloth before she ran me over with information.
"Oh what a scandal! That Raju, he's no ordinary shobjiwala! He's the son of that meddling pishima's late brother and wife! Infact he's heir to his parents' quite large property! I bet his name isn't even Raju!"
"Oh." My brain was trying to process the details so I was less coherent in my response. It didn't bother my landlady. She plopped down on my bed and begin to chatter.
"Imagine such a twist! And in our mundane ol' neighborhood! You know how we always say that Rakhi pishima's annoying and irritating and just gives off bad vibes? Well what do you know, the power of human instinct! That old wench actually conspired to have him thrown out after his father died. The mother didn't survive either, I think, although no one knows for sure... She kind of left after her husband's death."
I was secretly grateful that I was leaving tomorrow otherwise my spying pasher barir Pishima would have probably swindled me out of my property too. I folded my clothes and packed them into the trolley, the soothing background noise of Ratna di's chatter chatter accompanying me as I traversed from almirah to table to bed and so on. My mind did slip sometimes to the news I just received. I always had an inkling that Raju appeared more refined than you would expect a vegetable seller to be. I sketched it down to a good schooling and barred judgmental thoughts from clouding my mind. I felt a twinge of sympathy and anger for his unfair situation. But since I won't be in the para any longer, I thought it was best not to put my nose where it doesn't belong.
******
The next morning, I booked a swift desire. My lyadh-khor soul needed the leg space. Ratna di was quite teary as she helped me pack the last of my stuff I had scattered around the room, my temporary home for the last few months. I sent a cursory glance around once to partly to check if I left anything and partly to reminisce about my days spending staring from the window and sketching down the people and their para. Paras, I thought, were stars forming bigger clusters of cities and towns. Cities and towns in turn form misshapen shaped states and the states glued together to form countries. Each neighborhood has a story of their own. I realize now that I was privileged to witness one such of them. Of course, this ongoing tale introduced a latest twist but I'm afraid I don't have time to partake in the conclusion.
Ratna di, however, had taken the duty on her shoulders and promised to ping me about the imminent familial showdown .
"You won't forget me ok toh?" She said with sad round eyes.
I couldn't help but smile at her.
"Of course, I won't. And thank you for hosting me for such a long time. You are the most helpful, kind and friendly landlady ever. I'm definitely referring you to any of my friends who needs a PG"
"Oh stop it you! Makhon mara bondho kor!" despite her chiding, she glowed at the praise.
She was simple and sweet like that.
"Where will you go next ?" She asked curiously.
"Probably make a detour to visit my family before moving on to the next location they transfer me to." I replied.
"Another Para?" She said knowingly, aware of my small obsession.
"I have a sneaking suspicion it might be a mohalla this time."
She laughed "It's like you're not a world traveler but a para traveler. You sure love neighborhoods don't you?"
"Yup" I admitted. "It's where everybody's stories starts."
Leela was secretly glad at my departure although I couldn't figure out why. She came by to offer me some fruits and a box of chocolates, expressing her sadness at the fact that we couldn't spend much time together. The absolute joy on her face clashed with the undiluted sorrow in her words. I wordlessly accepted her presents, hoping she didn't poison the chocolate. I will still eat it anyway, knowing me. After she left I noticed a gathering of sorts a little distance away from my former home but I was already running late so I didn't venture to investigate. I made a few calls on the shopkeepers and my former next door neighbors quickly. Meera mashi pressed a packet of crackers in my hands and blessed me with a safe journey and good health. I mayhaps teared up a bit as I hugged her.
No other neighbors or friendly faces I had acquainted myself with had come by. I gathered it was related to the crowd that had marginally grown larger in the time I made my rounds. The mob consisted of most of the people I thought would visit. They were now nearing my neighbor Pishima's house. As they crept closer, I noticed a four-wheeled flat-topped vehicle in their midst. It was the vegetable cart and manning it was the vegetable seller. The cacophony of voices mixed and resonated in the air, some incredulous, some angry, some carrying the tone of the just and the fair and some merely there to participate in the cyclonic oshanti I could sense was gradually building up. The eye of the storm seemed to be Raju. I could hardly discern the boy's reaction to all of this; his face was obscured by the tightly knit group of noromundus. Curiosity made me take two steps towards the human hive in the middle of the street, the hunger of information and gossip building up in my mind.The people stopped in front of my nosy ex-neighbor's home. Someone, probably one of the kakus from the adda knocked on the door in an annoying, almost rhythmic motion. When that failed to elicit a response, he used his entire palm to slam on the cream appendages blocking the entrance repeatedly. Shouts of, "Pishima! Dorja khulun!","Rakhi di open the door enough is enough!", "You cannot stay locked in your home anymore!", "Paaper shasti petei hobe!" "Let in the son who rightfully owns this house you WRETCHED WOMAN!"
Those who didn't partake in the hollering watched, like me, from a distance; spectators to a real-life drama that rarely graces this relatively tranquil corner of the town. The customers at the tea shack sat idly, dipping their biscuits in their tea with relaxed ease, observing the descent into chaos with deep interest. The customers at the pharmacy too stopped to look, the chemist and Tokai included. The entire para seemed transfixed.
Desperate to see what was going on, I started to make my way towards the commotion. A call from from my landlady stopped me in my tracks. The car had arrived. I checked my watch. The waiting charge would be expensive if I delayed the journey. I retreated back to the front gate of my former residence. She was already down with the luggage. The driver helped in putting the trolley in the dicky. I checked my belongings and made a quick trip to the bathroom since it was a long drive. I hugged my newfound friend for the last time. I walked out.
As I opened the door, I looked up. The mob cleared a little for me to see the back of Raju's head clearly. It was impossible to see his expression. My eyes fell on what seemed like a bouquet of roses placed on top of that day's fresh produce.
"Madam chale?" The driver's query broke my concentration. I swallowed my flaring curiosity and replied, "Yes, let's go." I think I saw Raju's head jerk to the right as soon as I spoke. I didn't stop to gauge his reaction since I was running low on time so I got in and slammed the car door closed. As the engine revved to life, a deep melancholy of going away from a place I made my home from the last two months settles in my chest.
The car moved forward slowly as the driver had obstacles in the form of a narrow street and screeching pack of humans. As we passed by, I saw Raju notice me. His eyes widened with shock. He grabbed something from his cart and harshly elbowed his way out of the crowd. He ignored their puzzled protests. I watched him break into a sprint. I waved back, hoping he saw it. He ran faster, waving what I now recognize to be the bouquet in his hand. Suddenly he stumbled and fell down. The bouquet flew from his grasp and fell on the street only to be run over by a rickshaw.
The car gained momentum and my vision of his figure sitting on the roadside grew smaller as he fell farther and farther away, gradually obscured by the smoke and dust from the gas pipe. I vaguely discerned him getting to his feet and starting to run again but then the driver turned a corner and I could see him no more.
Story interrupted.
**************
GLOSSARY:
pasher bari pishima = next door aunt. 'Pishima' is a bengali term used for the father's sister or female cousin.
bhodroloker para =gentlemen's neighborhood
parar adda= neigborhood chatter or gossip. in a quintessential bengali neighbourhood , the adda is the soul of Bangaliana😉
kaku= uncle (other variation includes Kaka )
Sandesh= Indian sweet made from paneer and sugar and cut into squares . It crumbles easily. take it from me , a Bengali accustomed to numerous mishti muk (sweet tasting) during occasions😓
parar kakimas = aunts of the neighborhood . 'Kakima' is usually ascribed to the wife of the father's younger brother.(Kaka's wife kakima). I think we have like four words which all mean aunt in bangla😂
mashi= Aunt. usually refers to mother's sister or cousin or female friends.
bazaar= market. in bengali the 'z' is pronounced like 'j' so its 'bajaar '
Didi= elder sister
ek raat dekhe vablam tumi petni hoito= one night i saw you and thought you were a demon ( petni is a term used to describe female demons or ghosts in bengali folklore)
ache toh= yes i have!
boipoka= literal translation is book insect😂 but its used to describe bookworm or bibliophile
Puro Jhansir Rani = like the Rani of Jhansi /exactly like the rani of Jhansi
othiti = guest
shobjiwala = vegetable seller
lyadh-khor = So i don't know how to describe this so I'll go by the standard definition I googled😂. the bengali term 'Lyadh' is the fine art of being unproductive without guilt. It has a more expansive meaning so 'lyadh' can also mean relaxing and being lazy all day. 'lyadh-khor' means love for laziness😂 like i said it doesn't have a concrete meaning so it can mean anything in the sphere of laziness and relaxation.
Dorja khulum = open the door
Paaper shasti petei hobe = you must pay for your sins
Madam chale? =madam shall we go?
Makhon mara bondho kor = stop buttering me
toh = this is what one proffessor once told me is 'empty words'. they have no meaning but they are like an add on to verbal speech . kind of like 'eh' ,'huh' , 'hmm' or 'ah' (although 'ah' and 'hmm' has been used to express emotions in some cases). The Bengali verbal speech has words like these too .
oshanti =unrest
noromundus =human heads or many human heads
dicky =boot or trunk of the car
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