And then came the end....the journey ends...another begins...
The Communist---Baba , part of an Indian trade union delegation, giving autographs in China... 
“Tui phele eshechish kare
mon, mon re amar,
tai janam gelo shanti peli na re,
mon, mon re amar…”
(who have you left behind, oh my heart,
in this life, you never could have peace,
oh my heart…”)
My Father's favourite number..... I picked it up from him. There were so many songs and things I picked up from him.
mon, mon re amar,
tai janam gelo shanti peli na re,
mon, mon re amar…”
(who have you left behind, oh my heart,
in this life, you never could have peace,
oh my heart…”)
My Father's favourite number..... I picked it up from him. There were so many songs and things I picked up from him.
Baba was like “dhritarashtra”, my relatives would say. He was blinded by love for his son. That’s me. He never found fault with me. Even when I was wrong and I often was.
“Tui aai. Aami ekhon thik acchi, duto nurser dorkar nei. Toss kore nish kake rakhbi. Aami Delhi ashbo (You come. I am better now, there’s no need for two nurses. Toss and decide, which of the nurse you want to retain. I will come to Delhi)”…he said to me on the phone on January 8, 2010. “Aami magic korbo, Rintu chole ashbe (I am going to perform a trick and Rintu will come back)…he told the nurses and my aunt At 2.45 in the morning on January 9, he died. The day before he had shaved and cut his hair. He wanted to “look good.”
My mother would often recall : “Once there was an earthquake in Kolkata. Rintu was small. He was sleeping. His father just picked him up and ran outside the house. Once out, he realised we were still inside and started calling for us. For him all that mattered was Rintu…”
“O amar shonar chhele (he is my golden boy),” he would tell everyone. He would boast to his friends about me. “My son is a journalist,” he would keep saying and then force them to read my stories. There was no escape from that !! Open the albums, they are filled with pictures of Baba rocking me, holding me.
Could I have saved him ?? Kept him alive for a few more years ?? Few more weeks ?? A few more days ?? He was 83 and had been hit with old age ailments. After my mother expired last year, Baba was shattered. He would keep crying. He felt lonely. He needed me. But I was away, I had no time. I had my job, I needed a career, I needed to secure my future, buy a flat etc etc etc….
“Tui aai. Aami ekhon thik acchi, duto nurser dorkar nei. Toss kore nish kake rakhbi. Aami Delhi ashbo (You come. I am better now, there’s no need for two nurses. Toss and decide, which of the nurse you want to retain. I will come to Delhi)”…he said to me on the phone on January 8, 2010. “Aami magic korbo, Rintu chole ashbe (I am going to perform a trick and Rintu will come back)…he told the nurses and my aunt At 2.45 in the morning on January 9, he died. The day before he had shaved and cut his hair. He wanted to “look good.”
My mother would often recall : “Once there was an earthquake in Kolkata. Rintu was small. He was sleeping. His father just picked him up and ran outside the house. Once out, he realised we were still inside and started calling for us. For him all that mattered was Rintu…”
“O amar shonar chhele (he is my golden boy),” he would tell everyone. He would boast to his friends about me. “My son is a journalist,” he would keep saying and then force them to read my stories. There was no escape from that !! Open the albums, they are filled with pictures of Baba rocking me, holding me.
Could I have saved him ?? Kept him alive for a few more years ?? Few more weeks ?? A few more days ?? He was 83 and had been hit with old age ailments. After my mother expired last year, Baba was shattered. He would keep crying. He felt lonely. He needed me. But I was away, I had no time. I had my job, I needed a career, I needed to secure my future, buy a flat etc etc etc….
I wanted to bring him and my brother (Pintu) to Delhi…but he was not keen. And maybe I did not force him enough. May be I hesitated….
Baba virtually lived for us. And for me. He believed in me and believed in what I did, even if that was completely wrong.
Baba, wanted to be with me, but I couldn’t be with him. I kept running like that race horse, flogged, whipped by circumstances. As I gained speed, I left behind my ailing parents, my brother. I sent them money.
Baba, who had come to India from Bangladesh before partition was like that street fighter, who managed to survive. Like that survivor, he had his shares of arrogance.
With him around, I always felt secure, …”baba to ache (Baba is there if I am in trouble).” But could he think the same way ??? Perhaps not. He would keep calling and want to know, when I am coming then say :: “Na na tor chakri achche (no no, you have a job). And I went on doing my job.
I feel very lonely. Guilty. How does it matter, what I achieve or do ? Who’s going to run around and talk of my little, insignificant achievements ?? Who’s going to force and make his friends suffer my articles ??? Who’s going to declare.. ”my son has a flat in Delhi ?” Even if it is in a godforsaken place.
The day I bought my first car, a second hand fiat in Kolkata, my father called up all his friends to announce the event. When we went for a ride, the car broke down. We pushed it all the way back home
A few days before he died, he would ask me to sell his shares and take the money. He felt, I was spending a lot on his treatment. Everytime I sat beside him, tears would trickle down his tired eyes-- “You look a lot like my father,” he would touch my face.
That day when I touched him...He was cold. I gently pushed him, trying to wake him up. I kept trying till the body was pushed into the furnace. I kept whispering---” Baba otho (Baba wake up).”
Baba virtually lived for us. And for me. He believed in me and believed in what I did, even if that was completely wrong.
Baba, wanted to be with me, but I couldn’t be with him. I kept running like that race horse, flogged, whipped by circumstances. As I gained speed, I left behind my ailing parents, my brother. I sent them money.
Baba, who had come to India from Bangladesh before partition was like that street fighter, who managed to survive. Like that survivor, he had his shares of arrogance.
With him around, I always felt secure, …”baba to ache (Baba is there if I am in trouble).” But could he think the same way ??? Perhaps not. He would keep calling and want to know, when I am coming then say :: “Na na tor chakri achche (no no, you have a job). And I went on doing my job.
I feel very lonely. Guilty. How does it matter, what I achieve or do ? Who’s going to run around and talk of my little, insignificant achievements ?? Who’s going to force and make his friends suffer my articles ??? Who’s going to declare.. ”my son has a flat in Delhi ?” Even if it is in a godforsaken place.
The day I bought my first car, a second hand fiat in Kolkata, my father called up all his friends to announce the event. When we went for a ride, the car broke down. We pushed it all the way back home
A few days before he died, he would ask me to sell his shares and take the money. He felt, I was spending a lot on his treatment. Everytime I sat beside him, tears would trickle down his tired eyes-- “You look a lot like my father,” he would touch my face.
That day when I touched him...He was cold. I gently pushed him, trying to wake him up. I kept trying till the body was pushed into the furnace. I kept whispering---” Baba otho (Baba wake up).”
8 comments:
No need for any guilt. you gave him the best send off. you were by his side in the last days.My condolences.
PS-Be sure he is surely telling those angels at heaven about the hero his son is down here.
you loved your father very much he couldnt have had a better son
i never got know him the way you did. i never knew what he was really like. the stories i heard were hardly intriguing. but the few times i spoke to him, he would fill me in with stories of his "shonar chele", telling about your accolades and adventures alike. He was proud of you. and he wanted me to be equally proud. i never completely understood why he would tell me your stories. But yeah he was a proud and loving father. And he always will be.
You have been a good son, did your part from the bottom of your heart. You should not feel guilty. Both your parents will be by your side with their blessings for you always..I am sure..my prayers are with you and Pintu
Try not to feel guilty..you have done what many children do not do for their parents, haven't you heard of the stories how they let the parents be alone and never care for them. With your busy life and being away far, you have done what you could, and most important you did that not as your duty but for the love you have for them.
You have people around you who love you dearly...
May your parents souls rest in peace...
Keep writing..
The first thing that I did after reading your post was to call my father and I could do nothing but cry my heart out...It suddenly made me insecure and left me wondering as to how would be life after my parents rest...God! the fear of lonliness gripped me so hard..I will not be able to get over it for weeks to come...I really have no condolences to offer you Sanjay coz I know they will be no good...All I can say is that certain relations and people are not meant to part...U stay united, as u've always been. Do not let the pang of separation hit you ever!! Your Baba is just a thought away!!
Sir,
I simply couldn't hold my self falling on the bed and crying. Even I could completed reading it after three breaks as it was a very emotional experience while reading this write-up. When you said, "He was blinded by love for his son. That’s me. He never found fault with me. Even when I was wrong and I often was", I could clearly see myself. The narration is in such a way that one can feel it, experience it.
Keep Writing. May GOD bless you.
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