Golpo for Amolika series : The Story of Cinderella (with a twist!)

Once upon a time there lived a girl named Ella.

Her mother died when she was a child. The father had to be away for work, so he sent Ella to his sister’s place.

The sister or Aunt Molly was not good to Ella at all. She made her do all the household work – washing, cleaning, scrubbing, cooking, fetching water and even chopping firewood. Poor Ella worked hard all day long. She was not even allowed to go to school.

The hard work made Ella look shabby all the time. Her hands were rough, her hair matted, her clothes torn, and there was ash (from the cooking she did) all over her.

Aunt Molly had a daughter named Eureka. The mother and daughter made fun of Ella and laughed at her condition. They even called her Cinderella, cinder meaning ash, as Ella was always covered with ash and soot from the kitchen work.

Ella was a strong girl; she did not pay much attention to all these taunts. After work, when her aunt and sister retired to bed, she would stay awake and study by the kitchen lamp. She had managed to hide few books her father had given her. If Aunt Molly got to know, she would surely tear them.

Ella knew she would not stay in this house for ever. She was just waiting for an opportunity!

And it came soon!

The king was getting old and he wished the Prince to marry soon and ascend the throne. To find a suitable bride for the prince, the king decided to host a royal party and invited all the young girls of his kingdom. His idea was that the prince could choose a suitable wife, the future queen, for himself.

When the news reached Ella, she was very happy. She wanted to attend the royal party to dance and enjoy. She had never gone out anywhere and this was one such opportunity. She knew that the prince would not choose a common and ordinary girl like her, hence she was not too worried about any party makeup or dress.

When Aunt Molly came to know of Ella’s plan, she started screaming.  

“Are you out of your mind, no one will allow such a dirty and filthy girl as yourself in the royal palace. You will stay home and finish all the work; I will take Eureka there. Is that clear?”

This made Ella sad! 

Yet, she did not lose hope. Something in her told that she would surely meet the prince that evening.

Ella was busy washing utensils when she felt a cool and fragrant breeze blowing about. She felt the presence of a kindly light in the kitchen. She heard a tinkling sound and a soft laughter from near her.

She thought she must be dreaming and rubbed her eyes. When she opened them, she was startled to see a fairy standing next to her. The fairy smiled and gently caressing her said, “Don’t worry Ella, you shall surely attend the royal party. Now close your eyes for a minute please.”

Ella did as she was asked. When she opened them, she found she was wearing the most beautiful silken gown, a colorful tiara studded with diamonds was nestled on her head, and on her feet were silver shoes.

Ella thought she must be dreaming again. The fairy gently scolded her, “Ella, you must hurry up in case you wish to meet the prince. A carriage is waiting outside to take you to the palace. Please have fun.”

Ella thanked the fairy and was about to leave when the fairy stopped her.  She said, “Wait a minute Ella. I am sure you will have a great time at the party, however, remember this magic spell will wear off by 12:00AM. Please come back before that, after 12:00AM you will become the original Ella.”

Ella nodded in agreement and hurried to the waiting carriage.

As she reached the palace gates, the guards thought she was a princess from another kingdom. When she went in, everyone stared at her in surprise. No one looked as elegant as Ella that evening.

When the prince saw her, he immediately wanted to dance with her. Ella had a great time. She enjoyed as never before. She sang and danced, had good food and made many friends.

Dong, dong, dong, dong…

What was that?

Suddenly Ella remembered.

Good Lord!

The royal clock was striking twelve!

In all the joy of the evening Ella had completely forgotten about the magic spell and what the fairy had told her.

What should she do now?

She dropped whatever she was doing and bolted for the door. She had to reach the carriage somehow before the clock struck full twelve.

She muttered to herself, “Hurry up Ella, hurry up, else it will be too late.”

It was too late by then! 

The clock had struck full twelve.

The magic spell ended, and Ella froze.

She was her original self – shabby, messy hair, torn clothes and ash all over her body!

The prince’s jaw fell open!

The musicians stopped playing!

In the entire hall there was pin drop silence!

Everyone stared at Ella in disbelief!

Then someone started screaming.

It was Aunt Molly.  “Ella, how dare you come here, I had asked you not to. Have you finished all the household chores? Wait till you return home, and I shall show you your rightful place.”

Eureka felt ashamed and started sobbing.

By now, the other girls had formed a circle around Ella.

Shame! Shame! Shame!

They mocked her and made fun of her.

Ella stood still; her head held high.

She was not embarrassed of her condition.

She rather looked proud.

Finally, the prince spoke.

“Silence everyone! Not a word anymore. If I see or hear anyone making fun of Ella, I shall get the person arrested.”

He then turned to Ella and offered her a seat. He asked the royal servants to get her a glass of water.  Once Ella was comfortable, he gently asked her to tell him her complete story.

Ella told him everything…

How Aunty Molly made her work and not let her study…

How Eureka made fun of her…

How eager she was to attend the royal party…

How the fairy helped her…

At last, she told the prince about the magic spell.

The prince listened to Ella in rapt attention. After she had narrated her story, he realized how brave Ella is.

“Ella, tell me how I can help you?” he asked. “If you wish, I can get your aunt and sister imprisoned for the way they have treated you,” he added.

Ella knew this was the chance she had been waiting for long.

She smiled at the prince and said, “Thank you Sir, I do not wish my aunt and sister to go to jail, I forgive them.”

She further added, “I want to study further. I want to become a doctor so that I can help the poor and the needy.”

The prince was very happy and really felt proud that someone so brave lived in his kingdom. He ensured everything Ella wished for.

Today Dr. Ella is the royal physician. She nursed the old king back to life when he fell very sick.

She is loved and admired by all for being kind and courageous.

She is a role model for all young girls in the kingdom.

The fairy’s magic had finally cast its spell.

Remembering Baba on my birthday…

 

“21^st August, my birthday and for the first time in my life, this birthday would be different than the ones which have preceded it... Baba, you are not going to be around this time…at least in your physical form…

Today morning upon waking up, I felt a warm haze embracing me, I could feel your benign presence Baba. I received your blessings and instantly knew today would be very special!

Baba, I remember you today more than on any other day, after all, I am here because of you and Maa.”

Baba left us to be at the lotus feet of Krsna on 3^rd Nov. 2019

The day was a Sunday, I had just got up after having my lunch. Sundays are generally laid-back, it was 03:45PM when my brother broke the news, Baba had breathed his last at around 03:40PM

During his last days, Baba was with my brother’s family in Meerut.  I, my wife and our seven-year-old daughter stay in Gurgaon.

A world without Baba hasn’t sunk in yet, and I am sure it never will. My only solace is that he is no longer in pain and finally found peace at the feet of the Lord.

Baba suffered for almost two and a half years, a debilitating brain stroke pushed him to a vegetable state, unable to fend for himself, even basic human functions were a struggle for him.

The downward slide started with a slurred speech, dimmed vision, loss of hand eye coordination and finally he could not move at all. For a child, to see his parent so helpless can be excruciatingly painful.

The worst of all was his inability to recognize us, for almost two years he never spoke to us or even smiled at us.

The family could never come to terms with his condition. A man who walked all his life (he did not know how to ride a two-wheeler or a four wheeler) would one day have to depend on others for survival!

Born in Bangladesh (then pre-partitioned India) in a landlord family, he had a simple upbringing. After completing his matriculation studies from East Pakistan board (as a result of partition during India’s independence, the area of today’s Bangladesh was called East Pakistan) he came to India lock, stock and barrel.

Coming to India was less of choice and more because of religious persecution. During India’s independence from the British and subsequent partition, there was a mass exodus of Hindus from Pakistan (both East and West.)

Partition is and will always be an open wound for my generation. Imagine, one fine day you wake up to find you are homeless, that is if you are lucky to have woken up. Most did not, having been either killed in their sleep or burnt to death as their houses were set ablaze. The land upon which generations of your kith and kin had tread, suddenly became alien, childhood friends who swore by you, now became your sworn enemy.

A refugee is always an unwelcome guest…the new land does adopt you eventually, but there is always a searing pain in some dark recesses of your heart, an unfulfilled longing of the soul…a dream that one day you will return to your motherland to kneel down to kiss the soil and pick up some to rub it on your forehead.

Alas, for Baba that was never to be!

My earliest memory of Baba is of him holding my hand and walking me to school, this was in Ghaziabad. Baba had signed up for a better opportunity and we had recently moved from Calcutta (now Kolkata.)

From there, Agra beckoned us. I was then seeking admission to class IV. Baba sought me admission in one of the upcoming schools, today it is a name to reckon with in the field of education.

The new Principal on hearing my name exclaimed “Ah ah! Chakraborty…a Bengali, they are supposed to be intelligent, hope you will live up to this expectation.”

Baba smiled and said, ‘Yes, Ma’m he will,” although I was not quite sure if I was the right choice to carry this burden (Today, as I look back on my career, I have not done that bad either!)

Baba did not study after class X, earning his livelihood and settling down in a new land took priority. What he lacked in formal schooling, he made up for being a lifelong student in the great school called ‘life.’

Yet he ensured both I and my brother receive the best of formal schooling and a university degree.

This, of course, meant huge sacrifices from both our parents. I still remember days, when there would be practically nothing to eat…and, there were many such days…

Baba’s work never paid him well, and whatever he earned, most of it was kept aside for our education, the remaining was gobbled by rent, bills, medical bills etc.

When we were growing up, we never took a vacation, very rarely did we go out for movies or a family dinner. Maa only had two formal sarees in her wardrobe and Baba would wear out his shoes long after the shoes themselves gave up!

Yet Baba soldiered on, he always believed that education would surely be the passport to a great future for all of us.

After Baba left us, the first few months were more trying to understand our physical world without him. Honestly, I never really gave thought to the essence of the man, the living conscious being part of existence for eighty-two years.

Now, whenever I am alone or can manage a few moments for myself, I think about him a lot… more than the physical, the spiritual aspect of him.

And, I am sure, he is always with us…

Yet one thought keeps coming back to me – what did Baba bequeath unto us? What is his legacy?

And, very important, are we worthy successors to him?

Well, tough questions and the more I think, the more I am sure of one thing – he may have lived a frugal life, a life full of trial and tribulations, yet never once did he trade his integrity, never once did a harsh word escape his lips or an unkind gesture hurt anyone!

Never once did he betray his family’s trust, never once did he give us an opportunity to feel sorry that he was our Baba!

If this is not true legacy, what is?

“Baba, we know, you are watching us from above, and we know you are proud that we are steadfast on the path you have illumined before us by living a virtuous life.

Baba, this I can promise, that until the last breath I take, I shall always follow your footsteps, make good on your teachings and never give you an opportunity to feel sorry that I am your son!

Until we meet again! Hugs and kisses!

Aamu’s 7th birthday and Golpo, a good story.

Dear Aamu

Truth be told, we are quite surprised at how fast time goes by. Always on the gallop. Just the other day (and it seems like yesterday) on your sixth birthday, both I and your Maa were going crazy over your ever-growing friend list, you wanted to invite your entire class to the birthday party!

And, today you have completed seven years! It all seems like a Ripley’s believe it or not.

I cannot help but become full of wonderment thinking of you, my daughter. Since morning, I must have stolen a hundred glances at you. As you preened and pirouetted like a danseuse in front of the mirror, your new dress sashaying (you had chosen a long frilly skirt to wear today,) a father’s heart swelled with pride.

Then you turned and flashed your million-dollar toothless smile (only today morning you lost your second tooth) my knees felt a little wobbly, the heart missed a beat!

The past year has been eventful, I would say, even tough for a child your age.  As a family we have weathered much. Yet, I marvel at your calm demeanor and the way you have handled so much craze all around. I would have surely become a bundle of nerves, if I had to endure the same when I was your age.

School life too, I am sure, comes with its own challenges for a seven-year-old. When I see you engaging with your classmates – a loving pat on someone’s back, a stern look at the other, a little nudge here and a wink there – I feel confident, that you are growing up with a wise head on your shoulders. Your teachers speak highly of you and it is like sweet music to a parent’s ear.

With all the boldness that you display, there are times when you are a little mushy all over. Well, all seven-year old girls should be, isn’t it? Then, do remember a father’s advice, to borrow a quote from Ella Wheeler - “Laugh and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone.” The import of this might not come today, but if you follow this closely, it will hold you in good stead always.

The past year, you have added to your repertoire of new skills besides dancing – storytelling being a major one. Your YouTube channel – Golpo by Amolika has been accepted well, as your inimitable style of narrating tales. I am sure, if you pursue this art, you will become a good storyteller.

Remember, stories are Nature’s way of speaking to us. Look around and you will find a story. The pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, the gentle pitter-patter of rain falling, the gurgle and chortle of a river. A lion’s deafening roar, the cry of a mother cow for its lost calf.

The flutter of a butterfly’s wing, a spider spinning a web, the first rays of the sun, the magic of a golden sunset – exciting stories begging to be discovered and told.

Nature’s stories are full of wonder and amazement, but strangely only a child is filled with it. Maybe that is why they say – childlike wonder!  I wish you many such wonderful story mornings, afternoons and nights.

Then there are stories of human affairs – happy stories, sad stories, stories of loving and losing, stories of hope and stories of resilience. Of all these, there is one story I want you to believe in always – the story of the resilience of the human spirit!

As you grow in years, there will be times when you will find yourself at crossroads. Many roads will stare at you, friendly advises will be hurled at you. You will want to turn back to look for our support, and finding us not there, become unsure.

Remember, there is a story in the making. Here is your chance to create the story of a lifetime. Go ahead and craft the most blockbuster of all stories. Choose the right words, pack in the powerful punchlines, and when done, narrate your story with aplomb.

Never underestimate the power of human resilience, never underestimate the power of a good story.

Today, on your seventh birthday, may you be blessed to uplift others with your stories, giving hope to bruised hearts, solace to weary minds and balm for tired eyes.

To quote Maya Angelou, an American poet, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”

Go head, tell yours! We may not be there in the audience, but we will surely be listening, I can promise you that. We will be listening in rapt attention, and I am sure, you will make us super proud!

Love

Baba with Maa

P.S. Golpo is a Bangla word for story.

Titli

It was almost 05:00 AM, Khoka strained his eyes to look at his wristwatch. In another few minutes he would arrive at his destination.

The shrill cry of the porters and tea-sellers meant it was the station Kathgodham. Generally, Khoka travelled light, however this time he was carrying two suitcases, the extra one was for a dear friend whom he was visiting in Ranikhet.

From Kathgodam, Khoka hired a taxi. An hour and a half later, he reached the hotel where he had booked his stay in Ranikhet.

Khoka was excited. And a little nervous too! How does she look now? He vividly remembered the twinkle in her eyes and her dimpled cheeks. Has her hair grown long enough to touch her shoulders? What about her missing teeth? Her impish smile. Has she finally picked up the alphabet? Could she speak Hindi fluently? Does she still need to be rocked before sleeping? Will she recognize him?

Khoka’s mind was a whirlpool - thoughts, questions, emotions - all going around in no serious order. He gulped down the tea and finished a light breakfast of toast and eggs. The next minute he found himself in a tuk-tuk (auto-rickshaw) chugging along the cobbled road that would finally take him to her.

This was Khoka’s second visit to Ranikhet. The previous one, about a year and half back, was more keeping his academic interests in mind. He was working on a research paper as part of his M.Phil submission. Field visits were a regular feature to collect data for his study. He had met Titli during one such visit.  

She was all of four then. Wiry and frail looking for her age, Titli had the most beautiful smile. And a very sharp mind too! During their first meeting, Khoka requested her to recite any  poem. She chose – “Johnny Johnny Yes Papa.” Blushing, and with frequent nods of her head that made her hair fall over her face (she had to pause to push them back) she recited the poem in grand style.  Titli…, Titli…, Titli…-the audience boisterously encouraged her with cheers and applause.

Khoka took out his pocket camera and asked if he could click a picture, Titli suddenly became conscious. Preening herself, she pirouetted like a ballerina, held the helm of her skirt, tilted her head sideways, and exhibiting a toothless grin posed for the camera. She has all the airs of a star in the making, Khoka thought lovingly.

Titli stayed in an orphanage for HIV children along with her foster parents. She did not go to school as no school was willing to admit her. Her parents taught her at home.

Being a shy child, she would take time to warm up to a stranger. Yet, for some unknown reason, she and Khoka got along like a house on fire. She would call him Kaku and would look forward to his daily visits. While together, Khoka would read her stories as she made monkey faces imitating him. She loved playing hide and seek, and one of her favorite hideouts was the space under her bed. Crouching underneath, she would call out to Khoka, daring him to find her. Khoka would put up a big drama of trying to look for her here and there, all the while calling out her name and not finding her. Then he would slowly tiptoe to the bed, bend down to look under and cry out loudly - ‘I Spy, I Spy.’ She would lay perfectly still without making the slightest noise, refusing to come out. She would relent only when Khoka flashed a torch on her face and implored her to come out.

For few months, after returning from Ranikhet, Khoka had exchanged correspondence with Titli’s parents. However, his work and other pursuits kept him busy and slowly the connection broke. Then, a few days back, a sudden letter opened the flood gates of memories. The letter solicited his immediate presence at Titli’s house, the parents had requested. The letter only said this much.  

A pleasant smile played on Khoka’s lips remembering his little friend. Suddenly a rude jolt shook him. He looked enquiringly at the driver. His glance was returned rather sheepishly, the driver pleaded guilty of rash driving. He had driven the tuk-tuk into a roadside pit. Khoka had to look for another vehicle. When he did find one, he requested the driver to be careful.

Realizing the doorbell was not functional, Khoka knocked softly. A little later, a middle-aged man, Titli’s father, appeared at the door. He greeted Khoka and invited him in. Please be seated, while I get you a cup of tea, saying the father went inside. Khoka kept the suitcase he had brought with him and sat down on the sofa. His eyes were searching for Titli.

The father came back carrying a plate of sweets and a glass of water. His wife followed him shortly. Titli was nowhere to be seen. Khokha could sense an uneasiness in the air, and he did not like it a bit. Please call Titli, I would like to meet her he asked, unable to restrain himself any longer.

The wife was the first to break down. Our daughter was a warrior she said, however, her frail body could not take it any longer, In Titli’s own words, she had now found a place among the stars, shining brightly to show the path to lost travelers.

She has left this for you, the father said, handing a little red heart shaped box to Khoka. She would wait anxiously for you each day and was certain you would come. In case you came, and were not able to meet her, this box would be her parting gift. She made me promise that you will be the first one to open this.

With trembling hands Khoka opened the box. In it were cowrie shells, a twisted iron key, a torn one-legged doll, a small mirror, used lipstick, broken comb, hair clips, and a box of crayons he had gifted her. Beneath all these, he found a letter, rolled and tied with a red ribbon. On it was scribbled – ‘FOR YOU.’ As he untied the ribbon, Khoka had to fight back tears to read the complete message - ‘Kaku, wen w i l l YOU co me, I mis yo u a lot.’  (‘Kaku, when will you come, I miss you a lot.’)

Back in the train, Khoka sat clutching the box close to his heart. He thought about the name ‘Titli.’ In Hindi it means a butterfly. Interestingly, a butterfly lives only four days on an average. Such less time, yet she is never in a hurry to go about life. Savoring each moment, without a worry chasing her, she dances, flutters and moves blithely from one flower to another. The myriad hues and splashes of bright colors that she paints the world with is a source of unbridled joy and inspiration to millions.

Clutching the box even tighter, Khoka smiled remembering his friend Titli. In her short sojourn, she touched and inspired so many lives. 

Khoka felt blessed to have known her.

The Toy Story

I hope you are home abiding by the lock-down rules, staying healthy, spending time with your family and keeping yourself busy. It has been a while we chatted, hence thought of checking on you.  I am grateful you all liked the previous story And then the first few drops fell...

Many of you asked if I have other stories to share. Surely, there are many. Today’s one is a personal favorite of mine.

Many years ago, in a remote village of Bengal, there lived a rich man. The man and his wife had no children. Desperate to have a child, they consulted many doctors. They even kept fasts, chanted mantras, visited holy men, fed the poor and donated huge sums for charity. They hoped all of these or at least one of the advices would help them. Sadly, none worked, and they were bereft of the joy of being a parent.  

One day, while they are returning from a trip to a mountain shrine, they passed through a jungle. Suddenly, the wife pulled her husband’s sleeve. Do you hear? Or am I hallucinating, she asked teary eyed? The man cupped his ear and tried to listen carefully. Yes, he exclaimed, it seems like a baby crying! Frantically, they started combing the area, and to their utter surprise, found an infant wrapped in a banana leaf dumped mercilessly behind a thorny bush. The wife let out a wail, how can someone be so cruel? Saying this she picked up the baby and clung it to her heart.

Seasons passed and soon the baby became a toddler. They named him Aryamaan. The man and his wife did not let him out of their sight even once. He had princely clothes to wear and the cook was instructed to prepare the choicest delicacies for him each day. His room was filled with toys of all shapes, colors and sizes. Imported ones lined the racks. When Aryamaan went to school, an attendant would escort him, wait for the entire duration and accompany him back.  When at home, half a dozen people waited on him all the time.

Now all this pampering got into the boy’s head. He became fussy and started throwing tantrums at the slightest of pretexts. Initially, the man and his wife mistook all of this to be a child demanding attention, and they plied him on with more pampering. Nothing helped. The boy knew he could always have his way in the house, especially around his parents. And this made him even more obstinate. The worst affected were his toys. Poor things! He would chew them, tear them apart, stomp over them, hammer them till they broke, or stash them away in some corner of the house. The imported ones stopped exciting him the day they arrived, one look, and he would get over them, never to re look again.

The man and wife were completely at their wits end. They tried every trick in the book to please him, but the more they tried, the more recluse Aryamaan became. He would now shut himself in his room, and all they heard was the noise of toys being broken or his shrieks. There were days he even refused food. The once doting parents could only watch their son helplessly from a distance.

Now in the same house, unaware of all this drama, lived another boy. Raghu was the same age as Aryamaan. He was Rajaram, the rich man’s gardener’s son. Raghu lived in the attendant’s quarter with his father. His mother died while giving birth to him. The room they occupied was very sparse - a cot, few utensils, a cloth line to hang clothes and a derelict table fan. Their only luxury! During the hot summer months, one could hear the fan noisily humming away, trying its best to provide some relief from the sweltering heat.

During the day while Rajaram tended to the rich man’s garden, Raghu would keep himself busy with a ragged teddy bear. He had found it lying in a corner of the garden. It was love at first sight for both. Raghu called him Bhalu. Both friends set on many an expedition and adventure together. They climbed tall mountains, sailed on turbulent seas, rode wild elephants, hunted ferocious tigers, sipped the nectar of strange flowers (the secret to their superpowers!) Just the other day, they had tamed a dinosaur and made it their ride. The dinosaur took them to a magic castle which was full of toys. Every toy in the world was there. Ah, what innocent fun they had! Both would laugh together, rolling on the floor, over the jokes Raghu shared. Rajaram, stealing glances from his work, also joined in sometimes to have a light moment with his son. Life was indeed beautiful! 

One day, while Raghu was regaling Bhalu with the story of the flying elephant who could also swim, the rich man dropped by. He had come looking for Rajaram, when suddenly, the warmth and mirth in Raghu’s laugh caught his attention. How can anyone laugh with such gay abandon? He stopped by their room, and peered in. The sight that greeted him, almost took his breath away! Raghu was lying on the floor with the teddy on his chest and talking animatedly. In between, he would squeal with delight, and then laugh raucously. It seemed he was having the time of his life. The rich man watched spellbound. He had never seen such a happy child before!

That evening he called Rajaram to meet him. Bring your son too, he asked. When the father and son came, they found the man and his wife waiting for them. Crestfallen, the rich man narrated his ordeal. He lamented, I am a failed father, however hard I try, I can never make my son happy, he never smiles let alone laugh.  As a father I want to make one last effort. With folded hands, he turned to Raghu. Son, I have seen how happy you are all the time, and the great bond you have with this teddy. It seems to me that this toy is the source of all your happiness, if you give this to Aryamaan, he too shall be happy. A helpless father is asking this of you.  Please don’t refuse. The wife too nodded pleadingly.

Raghu was standing there tightly holding onto the teddy. The next moment, he handed over his only possession, his best friend Bhalu to the rich man. And then, he turned around, took his father’s hand and both walked away. Not once did Raghu look back.

Let us all be like Raghu. Selfless love, innocent laugh, seeking pleasures in whatever life offers. And, then at the first available opportunity, eager to give it all away. Not caring even if it is one's most prized possession. The world today needs more of Raghus. A little love will surely heal this broken world.

Well, if you liked today’s story, do share your comments and feedback at chakraborty.ashish@gmail.com. Until next time, stay blessed and happy! And be a Raghu in someone’s life if you can be.