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.