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ANANDO BHAKTO

ANANDO BHAKTO
Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eyes or face,
Nor for any outward part, Love me for my child-like Heart!

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

(June 15, 11:21pm)

You know I met Mustaque ji today...the old rickshaw puller..one of mamma's aides when we were grwoing up..and lived in that big, cottage-house in Sultan Ganj..

with that Kadam tree spreading its huge, leafy branches all over..kadam..what do you call that in English?

XXX

He had heard of the news somewhere..and he was too anxiously shooting his questions..which of-course stemmed from his genuine concern for us..like whether we were left with enuf resources..whether the funeral had been elaborate enuf..to say meet muma's stature..and the kind of ppl who had come for homage..

He tried asking all that..subtly, so as to not hurt my feelings, say if the circumstances hadnt been generous..

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I booked him for the rest of the day..like muma would do when we were young...we had some 6-7 retainers..the family's old guards..the kind of arrangements mumma had had, while she was grwoing up..only that then, it was the luxary arriving out of too much money...and the lifestyle which it therefore stipulates on you..

We had similar comforts..but not as much money..mumma might have been masters in mathematics..but was naive in its airithmetical implications certainly..

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He wanted a minute by minute narration of whatever happened...I obliged..then he longed to see her picture....

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He, Kuddus ji were the two pullers, muma would engage all day..one to escort her to college and then home everyday..and Mustaque ji just if the maids needed to go around marketing or somewhere..or else, he wud take us to grannie..

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That time it was usual arrangement..now i know the price for it...telling you, it costs you fortune..to have two rickshaws booked all day..and throughout the month..mumma never bothered..our comfort was more important..

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We had these three aayas (helps) too..Syama Dasi..the old, frail refuge from (now Bangladesh) East Bengal..who wudnt be able to help in any sense at all..and whom, mumma still wudnt relieve.."How wud she make her living then?" she'd argue..

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Malti ji and Kaalo were the other ones..

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We didnt have a car then..Mumma wasnt left with too much deposits..he usurped it all by fraud..when she separated..

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I wanted to do the grossery..Mustaque ji took me to that old shop..which was quite a haunt for elites then..he dusnt realise, it aint anymore..

and more importantly, he dusnt realise i aint elite anymore..unless i restore all of muma's money, and multilpy that too dexterously..

XXX

Purely airithmetically, mumma too hadnt been elite..the implications of "Biswas (her surname)" had long vanished..since muma's grandfather breathed last, i guess..because whatever airethmetical unadroitness i keep complaining about, muma had learnt it all from her father itself..

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Her family had been doing good in Bengal..and they were called Mitra then..until, the local king conferred the title "Biswas"..sometime around late nineteenth centure may be..

But mumma's lifestyle and her tastes had remained unambiguously elite..

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I got Mustaque ji a Loongi (a 10-yard cloth worn by labourers often)..and paid him triple of what he would have earned rightfully..thats how mumma would do..

Actually, mumma would have given him few kilos of mangoes too..and got dinner parcelled for him..I guess i did my best still..

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He was very happy to know there hadnt been financial implications of mumma's passing away..I let him have his false contentment...

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He kept recounting the goods mumma had done him...and that was quite a list i tell you..the Gods...they have given me a mother ppl so dearly acknowledge..im privileged..

and you know what, there wasnt any iota of attitude there..no desire to take credit for what she'd do..she wudnt want receipts for the charities even..unless ppl convinced her there wasnt anything wrong there..

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"Ek haath deele, aarek haath na jaante paak..se-tai deya" she'd tell us.. (When one hand gives, even the other hand shudnt know..giving with humility is true giving)..

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"Aapke nanaji to bhagwaan aadmi thhen" Mustaque ji said.. (Your maternal grandpa was a God).."Yeah, thats how my naani ended up an exiled Goddess," I thought..

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