It is Gut (Bheela Wadehra), my sister’s birthday 23rd July, ideally I should be writing about her but she will retire this month end and I am sure she will write endless stories soon. So here I am writing about Lapishi, my paternal aunt, who will not be writing about herself personally so here I am probably writing because she wants this shared. Gut will be just as happy to be getting this published for her birthday. So will the whole family and all who know Lapishi, as she was loved by one and all.
The year was 2002. I was returning to Bombay from Gawuhati in a train. It was to be a long journey. The train started at 3.00 in the afternoon. Soon after I settled I overheard co-passengers, a few men in military were to get down at Jabalpur. I stopped them in their conversation to confirm if I had heard correctly. We brothers and sisters can hallucinate about Jabalpur. Even when they said they would, I checked the Railway Time Table, which one of them was carrying. I could not believe myself that I had taken a train and did not know it would be going via Jabalpur. I excused myself, as I remembered that I had taken the train ticket at Gawuhati airport. I was so fascinated with the facility to get train ticket at the airport and also available for the required date that I had not seen the train schedule. Well there I was figuring out the time when the train would reach Jabalpur and obviously I was going to break journey with no urgency to go to Bombay. I did not know what was calling me to Jabalpur. The correct time was in the middle of night but the passengers assured me it would reach early morning. Any time is good time for me to get down at Jabalpur. I love train journeys but I am surprised now that I had booked myself for a three day journey. Relative sensibility and perceptions! After two nights in train, third day early morning I got down in Jabalpur.
After I completed the process of break journey at the platform, I proceeded for home. As usual Ma showed no surprise at my sudden arrival without any prior information. This visit even I did not have any idea of it till I boarded the train in Gawuhati for Bombay. Bombay somehow refuses to become Mumbai in my head, I keep hearing, ‘ye hai bambai meri jaan’ — ‘this is Bombay my beloved’. Oh there I was at home with Ma waiting with chai for me, hers extra sweetened she had stopped sweetening mine when I started leaving tea in the cup after a sip. She said over the cups of tea that we would go meet ‘Annabhai’ as she was not well. ‘Annabhai’ is my Baba’s sister, whom we all called ‘Lapishi’. Her name is Anima so ‘Annabhai’ for my Ma.
I do not know how she became ‘Lapishi’ to me. I being eldest started the addresses for my uncles and aunts. Lapishi was extremely fair but what I remember was her soft ever smiling love filled face with sindur bindi, sindur filled parting and aaltaa filled feet. Maybe all that red led me to call her Lapishi short of Lal(red) pishi(aunt). The worst violence on me was when during one of my earlier visits I went to see her and she was without her trademark sindur bindi. I am still surprised that why I did not prepare myself when I knew that Lapishai, her husband had passed away. I was zapped, angry, hurt, all kinds of feelings tumbling at the injustice of the social structure which I too am very much part. I remembered my cold anger, when I had returned from leaving my Baba’s body in medical college, someone had taken the liberty to drape Ma in a white sari. I instantly told her to change with the whole crowd still around. No one dared to utter a word and Ma for the first time broke down in tears, but changed into another of her home wear sari. Thankfully Lapishi was not wearing white but it was a virtual rape for my senses seeing her face without her red bindi. I told her categorically to wear bright coloured saris with stress that Lapishai liked her to wear them and keep laughing the way she always did. I learnt later that she had quoted me to others. I on my part am still struggling with my helplessness at my inability to make her put her bindi, sindur and aaltaa. I knew what I was up against — the strong hold of internalized socialization of South Asian patriarchal norms!
There is a story about her and the house where I spent my childhood long before I was born. There was an inner courtyard in the house which she could not cross. Halfway through she would faint so she would have to go via the rooms adjacent to the courtyard. When this happened a few times Mummum, my grandmother is supposed to have got that place dug. It is said that there was a skeleton of a young woman, probably a worker, who died during building the house. Whatever Mummum felt required for the dead, she did. And Lapishi could then cross the courtyard. She did her schooling and graduation from Jabalpur and got married. They would go away to Lapishai’s home town in Bahrampur, where her first child, our brother Ashish Sen amongst six sisters was born. I do not remember his birth but none of us can imagine a life without him, our Raja Babu. For all who were born after him he is Raja Dada (elder brother).
A phone ring broke my reverie into Lapishi’s remembrance. The Sahakar Nagar home had a landline then. Ma was her peaceful self when she told me that Lapishi is no more. We were as it is going to her place, so I prepared her that she should come back after sometime and I would stay back. I sent her back. It was night by the time it was time to go to the crematorium near Narmadaji. By then I had convinced Boropishi, my eldest aunt, that, I would go too. I heard comments — women do not go, you are so brave, this time of the night there is no need, etc etc. My sister Moona, (Shipra Sen) my Boropishi’s younger daughter, an army man’s wife, who had already done a couple of cremations, accompanied me, ‘you go I go’, and we both stuck to Babu throughout the ceremony. Everything is ceremonious birth to death, till Chhutkaku, my youngest uncle (Ranjit Dasgupta), who has special affinity with Narmadaji took a dip, anytime day or night, for him a dip in Narmadaji is a must and we came back in the early hours of morning.
I knew why the Universe had conspired for me to take that train and break journey in Jabalpur so I would hold my brother’s hand and walk this last few steps with Lapashi on the shore of Narmadaji. Babu was born to Lapashi after lot of prayers and it assured her that he is not alone in this world. Even though we all stay in different parts of the world, all his sisters and brothers are connected to him. Lapishi of course continues to live in each one of us with her sindur bindi, sindur in her parting and aaltaa on her feet.
