IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER

Aninda Mukherjee

The Arnold Palmer 9-hole Golf Course was a gem. Beautifully planned with subtle hazards and strategically placed water bodies, this section of the greens was a favourite of veteran golfers at DLF Golf and Country Club, nestled comfortably in Sector 42 of Gurgaon. There was also the other, newer, more contemporary par-72 course curated at an exorbitant cost by Gary Player Associates. This appealed to professionals and the younger lot. But the golfing nerds often preferred the charm of a quick game on the Palmer, specially on a weekday morning when time was of the essence. As they got off the cart and headed towards the Golfer’s Hut, Alokendu observed Somak, his friend from school. They were, he guessed, what folks in these parts would call ‘chuddy buddies’….and smiled to himself. Lost in myriad thoughts, he reached for a bottle of water from the near end of the fuelling station and kept walking. Once in the Men’s Room, he sat down on the wooden bench, sipped the cold water and started to unlace his East Star Todd spikeless shoes. He wondered how time had flown. Thirty years was a long time. Yet, after meeting Somak that morning, it was yesterday once more. He was transitting through Delhi on his way to Calcutta. The early morning Emirates touch down and the 1400 Vistara connector to Dum Dum afforded him half a day in Delhi. On seeing the itinerary, Alokendu had crawled down his contact list and after hesitating for a moment, had left a message. An ecstatic Somak had called back within the hour. After some animated catch up replete with typically Calcutta expletives, they had decided on golf at Somak’s club followed by brunch. It would indeed be too short and woefully inadequate, as reunions between lost friends often are. But thirty years was long enough and they were grabbing this gift of time. Somak led Alokendu to the corner table at the Shamiana with a glorious view of the unending greens. Breakfast was ordered.

******

The start to their day was toss-up. A probabilistic trick or treat.

The two routes 47 and 47A made no difference to Diptosh Bose, Upper Division Clerk at the Calcutta Municipal Corporation. But for his only son, Somak, a class 6 student of St Xaviers, the two events led to significantly divergent outcomes. While both the bus routes would take Diptosh to Chowringhee, from where the Corporation office near New Market was a short walk, it was a 47A that young Somak prayed for. He would then get down at Minto Park and walk past Hindi High and Saturday Club to reach his school’s Wood Street entrance. The 47, on the other hand, turned left at Elgin, resulting in a longer walk and a resultant time penalty.

The rest of the morning was however thankfully predictable. At dawn, baba would walk down the block to get milk from the ‘Harin Ghata’ milk booth. Ma would enter the kitchen with her second cup of tea as Somak quickly completed the unfinished assignment to be submitted that day. The Statesman would come flying from the vendor’s cycle and land on the verandah with a thud! Rolled papyrus kept together with a thin coir thread. The only washroom was never free. Someone was always in…or out. Another small family busy preparing for the day.

By the time Sarbani laid out food on the table, father and son were inevitably running late. A rather strange breakfast of rice, ghee, mashed potatoes and boiled eggs was served. For Somak, there was a glass of milk. Diptosh had a bowl of curd. As convention went, this was more of a lunch and it amused Somak. But Diptosh was quick to remind him how lunch would be bread and jam, glucose biscuits and a banana, more like breakfast! Somak would dump the clipped enamel tiffin box into his back pack, Diptosh would pick up his brief case and the duo would rush to the Beltala bus stand about 500 metres from their home. Diptosh would think of yesterday’s unfinished memo on his Remington type-writer. Somak would simply hope it would be a 47A!

At 9, the blaring siren would rudely shake the city up from its inertial stupor. Rain or shine, Bhowanipore would walk itself into another busy Calcutta day.

***********

Somak pushed the serving of tuna sandwiches towards his friend and sipped his fresh orange juice. Alokendu picked up a small piece and placed it on his plate.

“ Think of it, Somu….Inter School finals, travelling all the way to Liluah…and you bloody missed that penalty! We would have defeated Don Bosco on their home turf!”

“ But it was their goalie….he anticipated just…..’

“ Bull shit! Banchod, Mr Hilt had repeatedly told you to punch the ball to the left, and you go and mess it up!”

“ Aar tui? And you…Weren’t even in the eleven. Carrying glucose and giving gyaan…”

The cell vibrated on the glass top. Alokendu reached for it! Sylvia. Incorrigible! She must be researching her next story again late into the night, and had realized that Alokendu was somewhere between flights.

“ Hey, Sils..”

*********

The school would get over at 3. Within minutes, the large brownish green football field would be a melee of young boys of all shapes and sizes, running around, kicking ball, throwing a frisbee or just plain heading for the green benches on the other side for a chat. It would be a flurry of white, kids celebrating freedom, the child being a child, the sheer randomness of joyful energy, all the world’s worries willfully kicked to slush with Bata’s Naughty Boy shoes! The chubby, pink faced Jesuit priest smiled as he looked down from the southern wing balcony on the third floor. When he saw the orphan from the local Parish being joined by the son of an Armenian baker and the scion of the city’s much celebrated Marwari business family, he realized what ‘mission’ meant to the maverick ‘missionaries’ like him who sailed from faraway Belgium and Luxemburg to the shores of this wondrous land! The lamp of knowledge had been lit, the fire to succeed was ignited. The spirit seemed unbreakable. The seeds of eclectic scholarship were sown. As this extraordinarily egalitarian stage presented itself on the field below, the priest looked up at the sun lit sky and said a silent prayer.

It was around then, somewhere between the green benches and the school chapel, sitting on the stone steps, over a pack of oatmeal cookies, Somak had shared a small dream with his best friend. Alokendu had laughed…This? Just This? And why….you are crazy, Somu!

Somak had looked longingly towards nowhere in particular….and said, almost to himself, “ Baba can then drop me on the way to office…”

Then the two inseperable friends, two young minds with simple desires, had slung their bags and walked out of the green gates. Homeward bound…..

*********

Altaf placed the second pot of Darjeeling on the table and cleared the used plates. Bose saab looked so happy this morning. Must have had a good game. Hoping this mood would translate into a good tip, he discreetly withdrew to clear the next table which had just fallen vacant.

Somak passed his phone on to Alokendu, who smiled at the image of a seemingly shy teenager in a school blazer.

“ Chele…my son. Rahul.”

“ Ah! Handsome young man. Must have taken after the mother!”

They both laughed. Alokendu poured himself some tea.

*********”

The West Indians under Viv Richards were touring India in the winter of ’87. Eden Gardens was to host the third test on Boxing Day. Calcutta Corporation received a quota of tickets from the Cricket Association of Bengal, which were distributed to the staff. Diptosh had managed three tickets for the first day. Alokendu was overjoyed when Somak invited him to join them for the game. A day at Eden watching a Test match was every boy’s dream!

By the time Alokendu arrived at Beltala with his white Panama hat and two small Indian flags, Somak was ready with a flask of lemonade and a hamper of biscuits and oranges. He carried a small album for autographs…..just in case Kapil fielded on the fence.

Diptosh, in an unusually generous mood, hailed a cab near Lansdowne Market, and they were off to the Gardens! The day, however, had been a disaster for India with Greenidge and Richards in sublime form. The Carribeans piled up a huge total showing absolute disdain for the Indian bowling. The only high point was the lunch from the Bijoli Grill stall — fish fry, four slices of lightly buttered bread and a small helping of green salad! In keeping with the quintessential Bengali spirit, the disappointment of watching the home team’s lackadaisical performance was, to an extent, compensated by some fish fry for the soul!

The return however had been a nightmare! On coming out of gate G opposite Akashvani Bhawan, they had walked with the crowds of returning spectators towards Shahid Minar. Then onwards, across the tram tracks, towards Metro Cinema. There, after hopelessly waiting for more than an hour for a bus, they had started walking south along Chowringhee. Now, seeing how tired the boys were, Diptosh looked out for a cab. But to no avail. The traffic was maddening. Buses had passengers precariously hanging to the door handles with barely a toe hold on the steps. Night had fallen. The sound around was deafening. Tired pedestrians, mostly returning home after a hard day, shoved and cursed. They were now ahead of Lindsay Street…..moving in a direction vaguely southwards. Traffic was crawling. Minds were in chaos.

When all hope seemed lost and they were part of a resigned, dejected procession helplessly moving on tired limbs, a voice floated in from somewhere to their right.

“ Somu! Alok!”

Diptosh turned towards the general direction of the voice and saw that a blue Ambassador had slowed down and a boy, roughly his son’s age, was waving frantically to catch their attention. Somak was the first to react.

“ Arre! Hi Paksy!”

Prakash Manchanda, their class mate, seemed to be the sole passenger in the shiny blue vehicle. The chauffeur, in smart whites and peaked cap, had, by now understood Prakash baba’s requirement and was sliding the car slowly towards the pavement.

“Where to?” And without waiting for a reply, “Aaja…”

Prakash opened the door and shifted right. The two boys moved in beside him. Diptosh took the seat next to the driver.

The lights had turned green and the car eased ahead. They were on their way.

It was pitch dark, Somak was driving a white Ambassador down Red Road…past Fort William….past the Race Course. He gripped the steering wheel, looked hard in the rear view mirror, furiously shifted transmission. He felt the ice cold wind sting his face through the open window. It felt like the exhilaration of a free fall in a roller coaster. He drove like a maniac….fast…faster….he had to reach….there was no time! Then suddenly a man appeared right ahead. Somak swerved, lost control, skidded off the road. The car rammed into the red bricks and a black collapsible gate….. of the Beltala house! There was an explosion, a ball of fire, a blinding flash….excruciating pain inside his head..

He woke up in cold sweat and sat up. Confused, disturbed, breathing heavily, he reached for the bottle of water by the bed.

***********

“What time is your flight?” Somak asked.

“ 2. Leave by 11.30?”

“12 should be alright. Shouldn’t take more than 45 minutes at this time of the day.”

“Good. How’s Mashima?” Alokendu was making the pattern of a bird with a paper napkin with neat geometric folds.

“ Oi aache! Sort of okay. Borderline hypertensive, nagging issues with the eye. Glaucoma. Old age aar ki…”

“ Was remembering the luchi — mangsho (poories and mutton curry) at your place…..to die for.”

Somak laughed out loud.

“Those were the days! Aar aaj! Can’t get past a Caesar’s Salad!”

********

It was winter in the late Eighties. Alokendu was visiting from Kharagpur. With a high CGPA and an excellent GRE score, he would soon move to Philadelphia to join Penn for a Masters in Applied Mechanics.

As Somak’s mother brought hot luchis from the kitchen, the two friends knew intuitively that their friendship would now have to embrace the pain of distance.

“Mashima, a little more mutton….”

“Ma, pack some for his trip to America….”

Somak had cleared his CA Inter and was preparing for the Final exams, having completed a rigorous articleship with Arthur Anderson.

Across the room, Diptosh watched the news on TV in mute, lounging on the old cane easy chair. It was around 10 and he worried about Alokendu having to travel back to his home in Jadavpur.

“Dekho baba, don’t be too late. It’s not easy to get a cab at this time of the night.”

“Meshomoshai, now you must buy a car. There’s been a lifetime of taxis and buses.”

Diptosh smiled. “ Shomu, ki bolish re? What do you say?”

It had not been an easy farewell. But it remained an easy friendship.

In December, late next year, two letters arrived in the letter box of a non descript Beltala address. The first was an offer of appointment from Lovelock and Lewes to Mr Somak Bose. The other was a post card from Philadelphia. It read ‘ Leges sine moribus vanae’. Laws without morals are useless! It was indeed the motto of Penn U. But Somak knew, this was also an apt, if subtle, message for his chosen profession of accounting and audit. Typically the man he knew. Alokendu had decided to intern with General Motors and would not visit India that Christmas.

**********

They stepped out of the air conditioned space and walked across to the smoker’s corner. Alokendu lit up and held the pack out to Somak, who held his palm up, smiled and declined.

“ Koto din? How long?”

“Oh! Fourteen….maybe fifteen years. Around the time Rahul came…”

“Ah! Good for you. Maybe I should offer you a Phantom’s sweet cigarette. Remember the red packs?” A deliberate circling of the lips and a ring of smoke, like a lazy child blowing a bubble of soap.

“That would be difficult to say no to..”

“ Tell me….. Rahul….are you guys close?’

“Well, yes….” Somak was frantically trying to find something in his head. He knew the feeling. It’s not impossible to solve a complex equation with multiple variables. But if one already had a definitive answer, it became infinitely more complex to search for and identify the variables which initiated the exercise. Somak was rapidly exiting his comfort zone and entering a mental maze with trepidation. He looked for a binary….

“Yes, yes…and also not…in a way…..I mean Mayo…the distance…we meet during breaks…”

Alokendu stubbed his cigarette and threw the butt into the steel ash bin in the corner. “Chol. Let’s go in.”

He gently put an arm around Somak as they slowly trudged back to the climate controlled cocoon of a comfortable glass room gradually putting more and more distance between them and the elements.

“Somu, it’s been some time…’

He pointed towards the sun soaked world outside indicating nothing in particular.

“There….sometimes it’s impossible to shut that out. But maybe you need not always feel it.”

***********

Lovelock and Lewes LLP never compromised on the competence of their audit team. Only the most proficient Chartered Accountants would take a seat in those hallowed chambers informally called Billions and Bullions. Somak was considered a star recruit, a financial brain to reckon with. After a few trips to Bhadrachalam to audit the ITC Paper Mills there remained no doubt that he made a difference to the balance sheet of the firm’s talent pool.

So, when one of the partners, over scotch and bridge at the Bengal Club, sensed a subtle hint that ITC had offered Somak a promising opening as Deputy Financial Controller at Virginia House, L&L revised his remuneration suitably. Incidentally the enhanced package also included an interest free loan for a car, a Maruti 800 or similar, with advantage of full ownership post phased depreciation.

That Saturday morning Diptosh and Sarbani had accompanied Somak to Mohan Motors, the city’s new Maruti showroom in Topsia. Over a cup of coffee and cream cracker biscuits, the salesman had taken them through the attractive glossy brochure, Sarbani thought would cost considerably more than the Nabakallol Pujabarshiki! The three had toyed between the milk white and the cherry red, ultimately homing in on to the metallic red. Red simply looked lovely on a small car. The potential customers had then proceeded to check out the car, each in turn taking the front and rear seats, feeling the steering, caressing the upholstery, checking the rear view mirror and stretching their legs. The salesman then proceeded to take them for a test drive in a demo car. Diptosh by the driver, mother and son in the rear.

Diptosh had repeated “Smooth…khoob smooth!” several times. Sarbani had once mentioned something like “ bah! Ki thanda ( nice and cool)”.

Somak had signed the cheque for the booking amount. Inexplicably, Sarbani had taken the cheque and touched it to her forehead before handing it over to the cashier. “Shubho khon to…its an auspicious occasion.” She sheepishly said. Somak had laughed wondering whether it was more auspicious to Mohan Motors than them!

There was a waiting time of almost six weeks. But the dealer had promised to try and expedite the process. Diptosh had insisted that the delivery be made before the Pujas next month, giving the distinct impression that Durga Puja without a car was unimaginable to the Bose family!

On the way back, they had stopped at Kim Wah near the Garcha Law College for mixed chow mein and chilly chicken. Not much was said. The feeling was good.

That night, Somak had called his friend to give him the news. Alokendu had just moved to Detroit.

***********

Somak rested his Cobra RADSpeed bag on the teak counter and handed over the parking card to the club valet. Alokendu placed his small bag on the table. He was only carrying his golf shoes. The other bags would be transferred in transit by the airlines. He glanced at his watch. Noon.

Somak had an afternoon meeting with the Senior Partner of KPMG at Saket. He would drop Alokendu at the airport. It was on the way.

*********

By the time Somak rushed back from his Camac Street office, it was over. Dr Dutta was writing on his letter head sitting at the dining table. He looked up but didn’t speak. Somak staggered into the bedroom, feeling numb, lost…..Sarbani sat frozen on the lone chair by the bed. Piyali boudi, their neighbour, held her lightly. The only other person in the room had left a while back.

Pulmonary embolism leading to cardiac arrest. Unexpected but not exactly uncommon. Diptosh had indeed been on blood thinners for some time now.

Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s voice still lingered in the air. It was Mahalaya. The Devi, Ma Durga was on her way to her baper bari (parent’s place) from Kailash. Festivities were underway in the city of joy.

************

The car slowly drew up to the entrance of the club foyer. Somak took the key, opened the rear door and threw the kit in. He held the left front door open for Alokendu to step in. He then walked around, took the wheel and cranked the machine. The engine purred to life.

The car sped out of the club’s main gate, turned left, did a quick U-turn and deftly joined the highway bound traffic heading towards the National Capital. Considering its 1995 vintage, the Maruti 800 DX handled exceptionally well.

One had to admit that cherry red suited the small car.