As time moved on and I saw this baby grow up, I realised that since I was not the youngest, I was no more a kid. I sometimes played the boss, sometimes the fan, sometimes the contender. In all those roles, one thing was common; we were a team. Not exactly ideal but a closed knit one. I had my pangs of jealousy but it was always followed by a sense of guilt. We were very different from each other, even back then. He was rebellious, I was blasé; he was indiscreet, I was manipulative. Sometimes I feel that an arithmetic average of Reshu and Ashu might be the proverbial ideal man philosophers and scientists have been searching for since aeons. Despite all the differences between us, one great thing in common was that we both loved to imagine. Our favourite sport was not cricket or hide-n-seek but screenplay, direction and acting in our self written short movies. We used to spend hours designing and enacting our stories. And they belonged to all possible genres; all except romance, of course. But here also, we had a bipolar attitude. He was obsessed by horror stories and I was struck with mysteries. Whenever I try to remember those days, I can see two happy little kids playing in the backyard of Raj Kunj at Sahibganj and in this particular case, the story they are enacting is of Sherlock Holmes solving the case of the Frankenstein; not very original, I guess.
“Ravana, you are dead now”, I said. We were playing Ramayana. Being the elder one, I always picked up the role of the victor and this time also, I was playing Rama and he was Ravana. I shot him once again to verify. I was getting restless by now. I said, “This time you are dead for sure. Arre... why are you still laughing? You are already dead, you evil Ravana.”
“Ravana might be dead but I am his ghost and you can never kill me”. This small incident clearly conveys what Ashu is. His ‘Never Say Die’ attitude was not just for the role of Ravana but for life itself, come what may.
By now, Papa had already started his medical practice and our family had moved to a petite but chocolate box town called Sahibganj. On its three sides were the primordial Rajmahal Hills while the mighty Ganga flowed on the fourth. It was just like the magical city in our games. We spent our mornings seeing the sun come out of the Ganges and then see the hills gobble it down every evening. From exotic immigrant birds to Bangladeshi refugees, Sahibganj was indeed the haven for anyone who needed a home. The most fascinating community in Sahibganj were the old British Sahibs who had preferred staying back at this picturesque town rather than their motherland which they had never known. Since Papa was a nature-lover and an adventurer to the core, he ensured that every weekend we had a picnic, sometimes jumping over the rocks at the waterfalls or sailing to the other bank of Ganges on a sailboat. Sahibganj remained our home for the next eighteen years (till the day tragedy struck but let’s not get ahead of the story) and still is an integral part of my existence.
Life was pretty simple then.
Papa was home by 4 in the evening and since we had no TV, it was his story sessions that we awaited every single day. He also made certain that he brought a gift for Ma and us every single day, even if it was just a 10p sugar candy.
Life was pretty simple then.
There was no pressure of studies; except the fact that since our class topper was a girl and the child of a doctor, my Ma always poked me to put in a little more effort. The doctor wives’ had their weekly kitty parties on Thursdays in which the girl’s mother always used to flaunt a lot about her topper daughter. I really dreaded and even hated these kitty parties back then as it was only on Thursdays that my Ma would make me sit on the study table for 2-3 hours.
Life was pretty simple then.
It was in Upper Kindergarten that Sister Lily became our English teacher. She was a 20 something nun and had travelled from far-off Malta to come and join the missionary. To be truthful, I don’t remember her face but somehow remember it to be fairer than anyone in the class and prettier than anyone I knew. She always came like a cool breeze after the volcano of our Maths teacher Mrs. Banerjee had left us sweating. Sister Lily talked about ancient cultures, extinct birds and exotic lands and the entire class would listen to her, rapt by her Maltese accent and melodic voice. Back then, we always talked in ‘toota-foota’ English with each other as we had a rule of ‘one cane per Hindi word’ in school but despite being an English teacher, Sister Lily allowed us to talk in Hindi as well. In her white dress, she looked just like a lily, a fragrant white flower which is said to be of divine origin. She sang songs of love and talked of feelings I had not known before then. I and a few of my friends (Rajiv, Arijit, Prakash, Amit) loved making small skits and staging them before the class during free periods. Sister Lily always encouraged us and even suggested stories for the skits. Once when I was playing the role of Hamlet in one of our short plays, she had complimented me, “Aayush, you are a Superstar”. And then she had smiled. I guess that must have been my ‘first blush’. She taught us for the next two years before she moved on to her next mission in Nigeria. I still remember the entire class weeping out loud at her farewell. I might have been just 5-6 year old then and didn’t understand that strange heart-ache I had as she spoke her final words before boarding the school van. Years later, I had a similar pain when I saw the Sinha family go away in a jeep, but let’s not rush to that story so easily.
Life was pretty simple then.
There was a Peepal tree near our home. This was where ‘our ghost’ resided. Every child in India has ‘a ghost’. Whenever a child in India doesn’t drink his/her milk, the mothers usually warn them about this very ghost. Whenever they fight over something, they are told that the ghost will punish them. Whenever there is a bad news in the newspaper, the blame is put on this very ghost. It is this ghost we pray before exams and fear before stealing biscuits from the kitchen. In our case, this ghost resided on a Peepal tree nearby. One fine evening, Ashu and I had a bet if either of us can go and touch that tree. Being a self proclaimed ghost buster, I decided to go first.
As I moved towards the tree, my heart started pounding harder. I had encountered many a ghosts in my magical world but this was for real and all my gallantry seemed useless here. It was murky and dim all around and all the usual sounds of the dark felt scarier than ever. As I got closer to the tree, I was shocked to see a few white figures at the base of the tree. I froze where I was. I could see those shadows move and the fear of the unknown gripped me over. But, if I returned back without completing my bet, my little brother would have a lifetime of a laugh. All my bossing around would not be effective anymore. I needed to make a choice between the fear of losing my life and the fear of losing my nobility. I chose to complete my bet and moved closer to the tree. As I approached nearer I could see a woman dressed in a whitish sari and surrounded by two naked kids. I could feel my legs shake as I sweated and shivered at the same time. As I came still closer I realised that this was just a homeless family which was planning to sleep by the Peepal tree. All my fear vanished in a second as I realised that these people were themselves quivering with fear thinking that I was a ghost. Since it was as dark and dusky for them as for me, they had seen me emerge out of nowhere and move stealthily (and supposedly scarily) towards them. From that day onwards, the tree held no more importance to me. Needless to say, I didn’t divulge this secret to Ashu and the Peepal remained ‘his ghost’ for a couple of more years. My second encounter with the Supernatural was not as stirring as the first one but taught me a great lesson for life – all our ghosts are imaginary, we just need to get closer to them to know this.
Life was pretty simple then.
I was in Class Two when Ashu also joined the KGs in the same school. His classes would end one and a half hour before mine but everyday he waited for me and we would return home together at around 4pm when my classes ended. One day my class ended around two hours before schedule. I came back home talking to a friend of mine. When it was around 5 pm and Ashu hadn’t come that I realised that he was still waiting for me at school. I ran back to school to find him still sitting at his usual spot, convinced that I will definitely come. The school guard had spotted him and was frantically trying to induce him to go back home before it got too dark. As soon as our eyes met, he was all smiles and I was all tears.
Life was indeed pretty simple then.
Chapter 4 is awaited.
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