The mango tree

There were three mango trees beside the pond in my ancestral home. I have seen them since my early childhood and one of them bore quite an ample amount of fruit till the date a mastodon chopped them off for money.

 

The things which I loved most about those trees were they were home for a lot of birds. I used to sleep in a first floor bedroom back then, the branches of one of the trees almost touched my window. I used to sit at the window and watch the birds quite often.

 

Early dawn of summer meant a group of doyels singing a melody from the branches, these tiny birds had a very loud voice, enough to wake you up if you are sleeping near the window, but you wont grumble, that much I can assure you because they will bless you with a divine strain for next half an hour. It starts with a hesitant chirping, soon touches the peak and then stops.

 

Drowsy noon of summer meant the soothing call of doves, who used to sit on the braches in pair and softly sang while endlessly petting each other.

 

There were gorgeous kingfishers and woodpeckers. Both looking for their foods. One in the pond, and the other in the tree itself.

 

Occasional visitors like benebou, who called in the sweetest voice or the nightingales who were mostly silent but sometimes played a little symphony.

 

Then there were wingless beings too, gangs of langurs who came there for mangos or berries. Squirrels who lived there and ran around the branches playfully. It’s a great thing to have a fruit tree like that in home. They always invite birds and animals for food.

A river flowed by

My ancestral homes are situated on both banks of damodar river. One in burdwan, the one in which I lived till 7^th august 2007 and the second one in the opposite side of damodar, where our ancestors lived for centuries. Our old, almost ruined home is there. Every year Durgapuja is held there with a huge gathering. Apart from that Kalipuja is held with a small gathering and every other puja is performed in the temples created by my ancestors.

 

Damodar is most probably one of the most attractive rivers in India, it’s a very wide river, but maximum proportion of the river bed is sand, with small streams of water running through them. Crystal clear water, sometimes just wetting your feet and sometimes upto throat or may be more.  We were terrorized by elders and villagers that there are shifting sands and other scary things so we never ventured much.

 

I personally believe that most probably sometimes the sand banks gave away beneath the feet of a non swimmer plunging him into very deep water without any chances of getting out. We have seen those sand banks without water, they are sometimes very high, fifteen or twenty feet, may be more. And just like any other sand sculpture they are always ready to crumble.

 

I have spent a lot of time in the companionship of this river. One of my favourite hobbies was to wake up before dawn and take the longest possible route to the river bridge, watch the sunrise there and return home.

 

During the durgapujas I used to spend a lot of time having fun on its banks with my nephew and nieces. Splashing in the water and playing with the sand. Or just sitting there and talking for hours. Watching the river and enjoying its serene beauty.

A neem tree

How many of you have had a huge neem tree in your garden? We had one, in our courtyard; I think it was older than me. I recollect seeing it when I have visited my home as a small baby. Then childhood memories are quite tricky, but its trunk was massive so it might have been older than me. It was chopped down by the same troll, the greatest troll I have ever met in my lifetime and am not very keen to meet another or him again.

 

Neem trees are really beautiful, a little messy because they shed leaves but they compensate by wonderfully fragrant flowers. I love the fragrance of neem flowers and they look very beautiful too. I used to put the branches in flower vase after storm, they stayed fresh for a day or two, without fragrance though.. only the beauty.

 

The branches of this tree touched our roof, and created a wonderful hiding place for me, I used to climb down on a wide parapet with a book, or walkman and sit there for hours. I could see the surrounding from the cover of the leaves but was only partially visible to others. It gave a sense of disappearance in the crowd.

 

There were lots of squirrels on that tree; it also invited parrots and other birds with its ripe fruits. Parrots and koyals used to come and eat those bitter sweet fruits, my siblings also relished them, I tried a couple of times but did not love them much. I preferred the flowers and the tree itself.

 

We used to climb it a lot before a creeper completely covered it, that creeper had thorns, so we were deprived of that joy thereafter.

 

When a tree is standing in your garden for years it becomes like a living being, someone you know, I wonder why trolls don’t feel the same way. These people have an inborn hatred for every thing beautiful I believe, and its really painful to live around them.

Feeding

This joy unraveled itself to me as a pleasant surprise. It was the most pleasant surprise of my life.  

 

I don’t remember the exact year, it must be some time between 2001-2003, a cyclonic weather formed in my hometown, Burdwan. In West Bengal such weathers are not too unusual because the low pressure weather is not much different than it. The same symptoms, days without a single sight of sun and a steady drizzle, with or without wind.

 

During this weather disturbance I first encountered a hungry squirrel, I was drinking tea in our verandah, when that little thing scurried toward me, it was desperate with hunger because it started to eat crumbs hardly a feet away from me, so I did what every human being will do I guess, I slowly placed down a piece of biscuit as far away from myself as I could and it instantly grabbed it and ran away a little distance to eat it. Soon another follwed it and by the end of an hour I was happily feeding atleast a dozen of them and some bulbuls or nightingales. Thus started a  strange routine.

 

I bought a few packets of puffed rice and started to feed the squirrels, the weather cleared after a week but they did not ran away. I fed them till the last day I spent in Burdwan, that is seventh August 2005. We left early in the morning but I scattered the last meal for them in the garden before leaving.

 

They taught me how pleasing it is to feed a hungry soul. Very rare joys can compete with this specific joy I believe. The trust in their eyes, their childish pranks for food, the memory of those days will be treasured in my heart forever.

My cat

I have a pet cat. She is not my private property. She is a free soul, who roams around the whole neighbourhood and spends quite an ample time outside my window.

 

 

I prefer not to get attached to her, because getting emotionally attached to a stray will always be painful, especially if she is a noncommittal being like a cat. But they are safer for a person like me, who loves animals and birds. Why? They never get attached.

 

I have lived in my own home since sixteen years of age, my first experience of rented house started in 1999, and then I started to live in rented houses permanently from 2005. my first landlady was a very religious type of woman , we used to feed a stray dog and that created a lot of problems, since then I promised myself that I wont feed strays from house. Canines get attached. Their loyalty is what makes them my favourite creatures.

 

I would not have fed kitso either, that’s the name of my feline friend, but she conquered my resistance, and it’s her, who became my pet. She spends quite an ample amount of time outside my window, watching me. She is a real doll. If it was my ho\me I would have taken her in months ago, she is that cute.

children

Small children are God’s greatest gifts to human beings. I truly adore them, ever since my teenage my nephew and nieces have showered me up with their devoted affection. So I lived almost fifteen years in their close companionship, that is through mails and occasional visits. Unfortunately most of them lived quite far away from my home and my own sibling’s children are very small. Actually my own siblings taught me one should not get too much attached to other people’s children, a lesson which my cousins never taught me, they were pretty happy when their children ignored them and flocked around me.

 

Ever since seeing parental jealousy in its darkest form I have decided to stay away from other people’s children but still their angelic beauty always impresses me. If a person wants to live a really happy life he can learn to live from children.

 

I truly love to see the world through their eyes, their eyes of trust, happiness and forgiveness. Have you ever noticed how happy children are in their day to day affairs? Climbing stairs is a fun to them, watching a bird or beast or flower is a thing of great joy to them. So is running around, basking in sun, drenching in rain, playing with water.. their list of happy activities is too long.

 

Their hearts are huge. They will instantly forgive you even if you are absolutely wrong. They will trust you with all their heart. Even though I should ask people to practice caution in these two things but again I will say that if we want to be happy we should practice “rrust with caution” and “forgiveness with caution”. What if instead of making people earn our trust we do the other way round? Trust people till they convince us that they are untrustworthy? Or try to forgive others as long as they don’t convince us that they should not be forgiven?

 

I truly believe in that old quote “Child is the father of the man.”.

Kalipuja

Most of the urban Bengalis celebrate deepawali, but to some rare and lucky people like me, who have a “desher bari aka family home in village” are blessed with the chance of celebrating the real Kalipuja.



Well, let me warn you in the very beginning its not for feeble hearted people.

My ancestral home is under Khandaghosh P.S., its an old single storied home, atleast a few hundred years old, surrounded by ruins of our earlier abodes. The scenery is simply mind blowing.

On one side there is river damodar with its vast spread banks of sand and small gardens, on the other side are ruins, bushes, trees, bamboo groves and empty land.



Our home lights up only five days per year, during the durgapuja, when the entire family gathers. They bring generator sets and electricians who light up the entire house. It is enveloped in darkness through out the remaining year, the only mean of light is primitive forms like lantern and candle.

I have been to the Kalipuja a few times only, the place is not very safe so I had to stop myself from visiting regularly, but the memory of those puja is never to be erased from my heart and mind.

Kalipuja starts at midnight of the amavasya and the idol is immersed on bhaiphonta aka bhaidooj (the day after kalipuja). We - I, my two siblings and my uncle used to land in home at about noon of Kalipuja, after that my uncle used to leave to locate the purohit and see if the preparations are going in the right direction, and we used to fish out the pradeeps to clean them up and fill them with oil.



We used to place them all around the house after the dusk has settled in, with the help of others. I still rue the lack of a good camera, by which we could take the snap of that marvelous picture which those lighted pradeeps used to make at night.

Those of you who have a little imagination can just close your eyes and imagine a very old house surrounded by utter darkness. Only the house is lighted with simmering pradeeps, lined up beautifully against the dark sky and the dark surroundings. I still can see that scene after ten years in my mind’s eye.

After the puja used to start we used to gather in the pujamandap with handcounted villagers, who had sacrificed the funs of crackers to attend the puja. The pujamandap used to be dimly lit, with a couple of lanterns and petromaxes (a lantern like thing which burns atleast ten times brighter). We used to silently sit there, half dozing or watching the puja.

I used to slip out before the balidan (animal sacrifice), and go to the home, and sit at the gate, silently watching the people of Burdwan bursting crackers. As the only thing between Burdwan and my village was vast bank of Damodar river and the river itself I could see the bright crackers.



That’s a non forgettable memory. Not a single soul any where, just me and the silent surroundings. The sky full of stars, a silent dark row of ruined rooms where once was atithishala (rooms for travellers seeking shelter for night), and our own ancestor’s abodes, a sleepy riverbank lined by trees, the sky full of light of firecrackers.

We used to return the next morning, the purohit used to take care of the puja of the remaining two days, and the bisarjan.