Kunal Roy
———- Forwarded message ———
From: KUNAL ROY
Date: Sun, Mar 27, 2022, 7:01 PM
Subject: THE WHISTLING SEA OF RELATIONSHIP
To: Gautam Nath
My parents were Bengalis. They were not from different states. They came to know each other in a limited and permissible manner. My mother was not much educated. She grew up under the able guidance of her elder brothers. However, my father’s sisters never showed to be her good friends. They were rather a bit more disciplined, which seldom matched with the ideals of my mother. My grandmother echoed a sense of balance in her relationship with her daughter -in – law!
Amazingly the bond lasted between the two till the ‘last’ day when my grandmother forgot to breathe in the wee hours of a winter morning. I saw my mother crying for her. She could not accept the fact as others embraced the truth!
Their marriage was a success. They did not know much of each other. A hand in glove bond existed between similarity and difference. My father loved to talk, interact and at times encouraged in the spiritual hour, much to the interest and eagerness of the genuine individuals. I did not see my father inviting much his batch mates and colleagues. He was rather possessive of his kith and kin. He always desired to spend the lazy summer afternoons and drizzling rainy evenings amid chats and wines. As my grandmother told me that he was very good at sports. But couldn’t continue owing to the peer pressure of studies and financial straits!
Mother was essentially a home maker. She seldom took the interest to step out of her known realm. However, before I was born, they frequently visited their relatives’ houses, especially my maternal uncle’s huge, posh and stylish mansion at Palm Avenue, a renowned place in South Kolkata. She was never so sharp like the people around her. But loved to listen to quietly and intently to her immediate superiors. In fact she could not think beyond the four walls of kitchen, though not a “kitchen sink realism” fettle as occurs in Patrick White’s “The Solid Mandala”.
It is customary in the social milieu that children should shower love and show reverence to their parents. But my parents never laid much emphasis on this particular stuff. They believed in the lessons of life imparted to their child. Love and respect cannot be taught. They are spontaneous, ever flowing like a perennial river. I never made an earnest effort to understand the bond between them. I am the only child of my parents. During my college and university days I saw the ups and downs in their relationship. But never intervened in their affairs. Yet there was a silent touch of vibrancy in the bond nurtured for a span of more than three decades!
The opinions clashed. The perspectives differed. But the bond never diluted. I still believe that the secret of their love, attachment, hope and despair was hidden in a different hemisphere, faraway from the public view.
Mother came from a financially sound family. After the death of my grand father the whole responsibility was shouldered by my uncles. After the wedding my mother came to stay in my father’s house. My father was a government employee. The salary was meagre but the job was secured. He fulfilled all the essential demands of my mother. But she was never gifted with a piece of jewellery, not even on her birthday. Surprising though, a reality in every possible way! I had only seen my maternal uncle’s wife visiting my mother. Her younger sister seldom visited her. Amazingly I did not see the eldest sister of my mother. I heard a lot about her from my mother.
My father was prodigal like Shakespeare’s Bassanio. He loved to spend money, eat, drink. My mother seldom protested against this nature. She believed in the security of future, but couldn’t utter before him. A tongue tied situation indeed!
I can still call up more than one occasion when my parents exchanged heated words and wanted to prove themselves. She was upset after the occasion. But she could revive her normal vibration to continue with her household chores again. My father turned oblivious to the situation. However, the occasional interruption of the other members aggravated the matter, much to their dismay. She reduced her anger after having a cup of tea. My father didn’t drink a single drop. He managed to find his mental comfort in some other domains of life.
I had a few friends whom I visited. I found how the females were dominated by their male counterparts. The major decisions were taken by the tough masculine gender. A contrast. My mother’s voice still rings in my ears. Past redolent with the present. Her soft tone showed her to be a good partner ( if not a perfect one) of my father. She cooked food for him. She carried out the work assigned to her. My father was never a cook like my mother. She too was not an expert at shopping in some of the best shops of Kolkata. They respected each other’s preference.
After my father’s untimely death she didn’t lose her nerves. I was always there to support her in the way she liked. The initial setbacks were overcome by her. She was sensitive, vulnerable and practical too. Her world began to grow up afresh around me. She didn’t wish to spend a single moment without me. It was simply out of an unflinching affection and not essentially an act of obsession. Truly “a relationship works when it is enlivening and poignantly wrenching when it ends”.
Gradually she aged up. I never left her alone at home. I enjoyed the evenings with her. Hot cups were there to boost up the mood. She always waited for me to discuss the day’s talks, after I returned from the college.
Today she is no more. A year has passed. I never told her anything except one (giving her a hug), ” You are the one and only mother of mine “. She smiled and replied ,” O my son, how many mothers will be there! I am your only mother, happy!!”
– Kunal Roy