Growing Up

Boarding was being announced for a while. The queue was getting shorter. The smart young man, holding his hand-set was moving along the aisle, checking with passengers. He was now standing in front of her; his lips moved, but she could not hear his voice. Another voice was whispering in her ear. He turned her boarding slip over and gently nudged her to wakefulness. She got up, smiled at him, and seemed to shake her stupor off. Briskly she walked out to the waiting plane.

She had reached Kolkata six months back. Friends had warned her about India but her course professor had clearly stated that in her year of ancient language study she just had to have a six-month stint of Sanskrit and Kolkata seemed a good option. Prof. Ng had given her a letter of introduction and she had met Dr Amrita Chatterjee, the department head, of Sanskrit College, Kolkata. They had some communication problems initially; she with her Singaporean lilt and Amrita with her Indian accent. Arrangements had been made for her at the hostel. It was a modest room for two - bed, table and wardrobe. But she had the privilege of using it alone. The washroom was for common use, two on every floor catered to 20 people. There was no other way, so she thought of it as her own and cleaned it before use. It was essential, Amrita had explained, that she stay with the other students. It was alien; the language, the spicy food, the heat, dust and sweat. She had called Prof. Ng and said she was coming back. She would do without the all important credits that the six months would give. Ng had not said anything but asked her to sleep over it. Next morning, maybe it was destiny, she met Partho Majumdar from Detroit. Partho had his Bengali roots in Kolkata and was at the college as a guest lecturer in the English department. She sat in his comparative literature class as a special student, when her classes permitted.

Partho was the reason she called back Ng after a week. She was better poised, and Ng was relieved. One of his best students it mattered to him that she do well enough to get her scholarship. Her classes also made all the effort worth. The professors helped her beyond class hours. Most of them were women and Amrita particularly bonded well with her. This was North Calcutta, an older area compared to the more global looking south part of the city. Narrow lanes, hand-pulled carts – she was appalled when she first saw wiry lean sweat-drenched men pulling the carts, shops with half of their goods out on the narrow pavements, the constant honking, everything that made her head swim. But she loved the old houses, the wooden shutters on their windows (sometimes she would feel being watched), the red or green colour cement seats before each house; once when she and Partho were roaming the streets with their camera, clicking what tickled their fancy, they spotted a child playing on the cemented portico of a house. The door was ajar and she could hear the television. She was thirsty and asked the child for water showing her empty bottle. While she drank the water offered smilingly, Partho said he was not thirsty. Partho never trusted anything other than bottled water.

She fell sick, the doctor said it was viral. Amrita shifted her to her apartment. She met Dr Arun Chatterjee, Amrita’s husband. He was a medical doctor and the next few days in her feverish state of mind she could just about make out that instructions were given about her to the live-in maid. It was a Sunday and feeling well she had got up early. Arun and Amrita were having their tea and reading the morning paper. Arun had looked up and smiled and said good morning.

She never went back to the hostel. Arun would drop them to the college and pick them up. Arun was a prolific reader and writer. Soon they were spending much more time than was required. She was sucked as into a vortex. Was she betraying a trust and camaraderie? Amrita did not seem to notice and Arun set into her system in a mad rush. It was the most unlikely of friendships. To begin with, she and Arun had nothing in common; but both seem to adjust to each other. While he mellowed down, she grew up; while he learned to take, she learned to give. The remaining two months seemed to go very fast. On a weekend, Amrita had a college workshop and Arun had picked her up. They had gone on a long drive. Arun had sung a song, he had a nice baritone. Then he had explained its meaning-“when I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling I surely understand what the pleasure is, that streams from the sky in morning light…”

She was leaving in a day; Partho promised to be in Singapore soon. She could not show any enthusiasm. Arun was seeing her off at the airport. Amrita had gone to see her mother who was sick. Before leaving she had hugged and wished her well. There was a smile on her face; a smile she could not fathom. As the international terminal loomed up, she twined her fingers lightly into his and then she slowly slid them away.

The big airbus made a sweeping turn and headed east; her heart wrenched the pain so physical as to bring the tears to her eyes. As she closed her eyes, and the drops rolled down, a smile seemed to mock her while a voice whispered…