Bihari or a Bengali

I was 9 when our class teacher asked all students to get in writing from their parents as to which caste they belong to as it was to be maintained in official record books of school. There were 4 categories written on backboard. I didn’t know what it meant. So I copied the same in my diary and asked my mother and she said we belonged to General.

I was 12 and went to buy chart paper in a nearby stationary shop. The guy who owned the store asked me, which caste do you belong to, I said general because that I what I knew. He smiled and said there are subdivisions to it, better ask your mother. I did so and I was informed that I am a kayastha.

I was 16 and I went to my music class. My music teacher is a Bengali lady. She asked me your sister is a Bengali. Her family speaks Bangla. How come you speak Hindi. Moreover, my father uses a title das which is a Bengali title. So was I a Bengali? I was puzzled again. I asked my mother again and she said we are Bengali Kayastha.

Confusing J . It is, for me too.

And then one fine day, years after, I googled my so called existence. Where do we come from, who are we? And google is supposedly said to have answers to almost all questions in this world. It has, this time also J

It says we are basically Kayastha from Uttar Pradesh who settled down in Bengal when the rulers were trying to expand their kingdom towards east. As we lived in Bengal for more than 250 years this state had a deep influence in our language, style of dressing customs and cultures. We adopted Bengali traditions to its fullest. Baktiyar Khilaji invaded Bengal and defeated the then King Laxman Sen. In order to save life and property we started migrating towards Bhagalpur in Bihar. Vikramshila University in Bhagalpur was always supported by Laxman Sen and it grew with his support. So finally people of his kingdom choose to migrate to Bhagalpur due to their long connection with Vikramshila University. And this is how we moved to Bihar. I was born in Bihar and my prior generations are from Bihar, so let it put this way, I am a Bihari with a Bengali origin :).

I did not do this research because my existence bothers me in any way. In fact, I have lived with people of all castes all through my life. Right from school and here I would like to mention that I have changed five schools in my schooling career and so I met a lot of people in my school life. None were from “my caste” and it hardly made a difference to me. And then came college, a bigger circle altogether. I met even more people and became close to people who were not only from different caste but from different religion altogether. And today the same continues in my workplace too. So as long as there is a connection this caste factor does not bother me in any respect.

But yes, I should have answers to questions being put up to me. And so I choose to know my existence. It never was and it never will, matter to me in anyway but knowing things related to me does help to increase my knowledge. It did in this case J

 

 

 

Walking down the colony's lane in rain with the umbrella but making sure that tiny droplets of shower do touch my face, playing badminton in the evening with my landlady helper, watching kids of age group 2-8 riding bicycle, standing on the Terrance and simply feeing the swift wind that tickles me, eating the so called unhygienic yet the most yummy golgappas from the colony’s vendor, visiting the grocery store in my shorts at times without giving a damm to anyone who sees me and above all living a life of peace, this is what I had always dreamed for and I am living my dream!

When I joined hostel I was blank totally, no presumptions, nothing. And with an experience of 3 years in hand as of now, I can say it was more of learning lessons for life than just fun. Bitching, back biting, politics, unnecessary drama at times or rather most of the times, it sucked totally. I don’t want to escape from the adversities of life but yes these things I would rather avoid because there are certain harsh scenarios destined by nature that all of us willingly or non willing face but manmade superfluous problems, one can surely do without for sure! I somehow I don’t want to recall my hostel life cause even when there were moments of pleasure, the very next moment, situations were out of control. I sometimes wonder how a 20-22 year old person can complicate his/her life to such an extent and most importantly hamper the lives of everyone around.

I had dilemmas regarding my decision to take a PG this year. And almost a month has passed after I joined my new PG, and I am clear in my mind that I took the right decision. Bright faces of my PG friends, less calorie good food enriched with love and care prepared by aunty, uncle’s hilarious nature, chotu’s chit chat and rocky’s(doggy) barking one and all seem pleasurable cause behind each of these, there in genuinely which hostel life lacked.

I have never dreamed for the impossible or for something which is very lavish. But yes whatever little I wish of having must be authentic and provide me calm so that I can live not mere breathe. I wish that the days ahead are lovely and as of now I AM IN LOVE WITH MY LIFE TOTALLY!!!!!!

Is it me?

Staring at the mirror I thought “Oh god! Is it me?”

Clad in red shorts and white tee, all wet in sweat, sitting very comfortably on my friend’s couch waiting for her to get ready so that we could proceed towards the terrace and start with our game, I looked like a complete guy. I was 8 then. Biologically a girl but more of a tom boy! I had practically no qualities of a girl. My wardrobe gave an appearance that it was of some young boy and perhaps it was only at school or maybe when I visited some relative of mine that I was spotted in skirts! But that day something strange happened. For the first time I noticed that I looked like a boy, dressed like a boy and even had a haircut like a boy!

And then suddenly I started observing my friends who were girls. They were unlike me. Calm and composed, soft spoken away from fights! I was just the other way around, loud, ring leader of the group as quoted in my uncle’s word, always up with mischief’s and that too deadly one like playing with fire, experimenting with electrical sockets, involved in terrible fights with my cousins and other guys of my apartment which sometimes worsened because guys would not give up if punched by a girl and the same applied for me too. I was poles apart from other girls!

But then something struck me that day. It was not that I wanted to be like a guy but I had never realised that I acted like a guy! And after becoming conscious about this fact, I wanted to change myself. Changes were slow. In fact very slow!

The first change was that of my attire. I now had those frills and frocks which I once considered absolutely silly to wear! The next area of concern was to control my loud voice and moreover control my anger and stop hitting guys! And this was difficult. It took years. And by the time I was 11, I had, started developing girl instincts!

The major transformation took place when I was admitted to Notre Dame Academy in class 7^th. I had always been to a co-education school and it was my very first experience to join a girl’s school. Initially it was strange, 60 girls sitting in a room, all wearing same dresses looked the very same! I had a hard time memorising their names. But the most challenging job was still to come up, judging their natures, and poor I, till date i am very weak at it! I missed my friends from my previous school because I had no friends here. And it was difficult to make friends when everyone was so full of attitude and sense of letting the other one down. For a month I had my lunch with my cousin who was in the junior section until one day she suggested me to mingle with my class mates and develop a rapport. And once I tried, I was through! I made new friends.

And I learned a lot new things which I was poor at; a sense of creativity topped the list. Making bulletin boards on innovative topics with all sorts of craft paper, learning new art forms like pot painting, collage making, book binding, knitting, tie and dye, different stitches etc were all I developed an interest in. All this was so exciting and very new to me and I enjoyed doing it! Slowly and steadily I was more of a girl now.

Over the years things have changed. Now I like to wear a little bit of jewellery too but a lot of it still makes me crazy if it’s not something really trendy. I love wearing suits for some formal occasions. My interest in makeup had diversified. Nail paints of all funky shades, eyeliners and kohl of different colour, I totally love! Sophistication in voice and mannerism I can carry off well now. So progress is good. But I know I can never be like the pure girly stuff, and moreover I don’t want to become one after all individuality must be respected and one should be loved for it!

THIS IS THE 600 WORD SHORT STORY WHICH I HAD WRITTEN FOR COMMONWEALTH WRITING COMPETITION 2010.

The aroma of freshly prepared rotis had enveloped the miniature kitchen. Amongst a dim lighted lamp and some old utensils sat Kaveri Amma, as fondly called by the villagers. It was time for her dinner. Like an every day custom, she prayed to God before consuming the little she had prepared. Amma, in her late 60’s, mother of two sons, both well settled, was spending prime of her life in the ancestral house of her late husband.

As she lay quietly on the hand knitted rug, trying to figure out probable solution for her predicament, past reminiscences appeared before her. It felt as if it was just yesterday when she was married to Govind, who was nearly 15 years elder to her. A girl just 14, who played in streets, was suddenly the eldest daughter-in-law of Raghuvanshi Family. Along with Kaveri, 4 cows, a kilo of gold and silver utensils was send to the Raghuvanshi’s as a penalty of Kaveri’s dark complexion. But in spite of these offerings cum dowry, she was made to work continuously, without even attending to any of her genuine complains.

To muddle through the diverse responsibilities shouldered upon her was indeed a challenge. Right from getting up early at 4 for Morning Prayer, to sweeping the entire house, to cooking the varieties before the clock struck 12, to taking lunch to the farm for her husband and brother-in-law, to again cooking dinner and simultaneously managing other petite tasks like attending to frequent calls of her in-laws, to shopping out for households, was all she did on a daily basis. And amongst all this, she tried to figure out what an institution like marriage actually meant?

She got an acceptance into family after delivery of her first baby and that too not because her husband loved her as of now or her in-laws developed a sense of care for her but because she was on the threshold of continuing their generation. This period of 9 months was like a queen’s reign for her. She named it and it was at her service, the best of clothes, eatables and whatever she desired for.

Kuwar, a fair complexioned baby boy, liberated her from being a blotch on the pride of Raghuvanshis’.

And out of the blue, things transformed for her. She discovered new facets of life, motherhood marking the very start. With each step Kuwar took forth, a novel quandary was waiting for this inexperienced girl. And she, with all her efforts, was ready to combat them. Yes, there was someone to help her now, Govind. He was in love with her. Life changed its connotations; she became a wife genuinely after she became a mother.

And then life began. She felt like a bird that could spread its wings, fly high, and explore the vastness of existence. Marriage, love, commitment, she could now completely relate to. The perception of her in laws also revolutionized with elapse of time, she became more of a daughter than daughter-in-law.

This was the house where she was brought 54 years back. She acquired different roles that of a wife, a mother, a daughter-in-law, a mother-in-law and finally a grandmother, and this dwelling were evident of her being just to each of it. She could feel each of the brick reciting her past life, the air gently tickling her and reminding her of all those rejuvenating moments. A young girl as delicate as a petal transformed into an emotionally and physically stable woman here. She had made her decision, her heart and soul resides here, and she would breathe h er last here.

There are some places where we love to hang out with some of our best pals and yes I am all set to write about one such place. It’s about 15 feet above the ground, not very spacious but yes very airy and totally awesome place! It’s none other than tank top of Meharkunj apartment and the person who is my partner in crime is AKANKSHA PRIYAM. I call it a crime cause as a kid I had this mindset that everyone who went up there were weirdo’s and moreover girls never went up there, it was always the guys and I think we two are the one who started this trend.

An iron ladder which is fixed to the ground leads up there. Off course one needs to be careful cause we can fall while going up and coming down and that reminds me of the fact that I did fall once when I hurried after listening to my mum’s voice! But I am an accident prone person, and these things do not alter my determination much.

So talking about the place, it’s like it can accommodate 6-7 people, but I and Akanksha would actually dislike to take someone along with us up there. One can view a good range of vicinity which basically included lots of vegetation, some private houses and apartments. Especially after a little drizzle, the sky looks marvelously stunning and clear from there. I remember we sometimes try to figure out different patterns which are randomly created during cloudy weather. There are all sorts of birds that one can see. Some are the migrating ones which form very orderly pattern as they proceed and some totally random like crows and sparrows, but I guess each of it looks gorgeous. And sometimes there are unknown kids playing in the nearby apartments who wave to us and its lovely to wave back!

Now a list of things we do there. Actually there is no list it’s all random! We chat, we laugh,we recall some excellent memories of our childhood, sometimes I go mad and feel like yelling and that is the moment when Akanksha acts sensibly and stops me, we guess random cloud patterns, we see kids and sometimes we even see guys and that’s normal..and moreover that’s rare..very rare I guess…very very rare I guess..anyways..and the latest was our photo shoot..up above, random poses..lots of laughter..it was heaven!!!

And I guess all this ultimate fun was possible because I had you Akanksha Priyam! (Don’t fly! Come down) And now that you are all set to start your college life, I hope things would not change and every time we meet during our common holidays, we would do the same, ever and ever again!!!!

As I write this piece, I feel very heavy hearted. Mrs Rekha Srivastava, my history teacher, passed away this morning. She taught me when I was in class 8th. Long time….yet the memories are so fresh.

Mrs. Srivastava was indeed a fantastic person to know. Down to earth, loving and very caring she was. I remember once she told us that she must be very elder to our mothers and that we should be comfortable enough to share our problems with her.

History and Art Education was the two subjects that she taught us. As a teacher, she took utmost care that not only the students who were good in studies grasped things but also the weaker ones were with the class. Indian Freedom Movement was the course syllabus for us that year. And she taught us each and every lesson not with the purpose that we gained marks but because she wanted us to know about our country and the martyrs who laid down their lives with a vision of independent India. And yes, as each lesson progressed, we were into it. History had never seemed so interesting. And the day she finished with our syllabus, we all students stood up and sung the national anthem together as a mark of respect to our nation. We had developed the sense of patriotism within us and Mrs. Srivastava was the force behind all this.

Art education that year was about the basic arts. We started with pot painting, candle making, crafts made out of ice cream sticks. Girls made even more intricate crafts which I had never heard of even. And one fine day Mrs. Srivastava asked us as to which art we would like to learn next and there were suggestions like painting, clay art, etc. and I remember her reply in her exact words. She said “I know these art forms are interesting. But no one amongst you suggested cooking or knitting. As girls, you should all know this. I know cooking wouldn’t be possible in school buy yes, we can learn to knit.” We all agreed and then began the quest to learn this art. I call it a quest because maximum of us had never even thought that we would ever be learning to knit, that too in school. I tried my best to learn and whenever I went wrong, she called me up and taught me the correct way. We donated 60 scarfs along with the hard bound copies we had made earlier to Julie School kids.

More than the subject she taught us about life. How life is pleasant sometimes and very atrocious the very next moment! I remember her once narrating a tale about her driver who had burnt his only bed so that he could keep his room warm to protect his kids from the chilling weather outside.
She always wanted us to be good people along with being students. I remember once she had said that we would be growing up and along with being a daughter, someday we would be a wife, a daughter-in-law, a mother and with each of these relations coming our way life would be very challenging yet very beautiful.

And then one fine day one of my friend Sneha Jha was sobbing in class. It was Mrs. Srivastava’s class and she asked Sneha the reason behind it. Sneha kept mum. Mrs Srivastava guessed all the possibilities from her being ill to fights between friends but she declined all. And then someone from the class itself informed Mrs.Srivastava that Sneha was crying because Mrs.Srivastava would be leaving us very soon. She was shifting to Mumbai. That was the time I got to know that she was leaving. All that all she said was “girls, don’t make it difficult for me to go.” And after a few days, she left. I remember her last session with us. She had worn an orange and green saree with whit bangles. She had a talk for about half an hour and basically told us to become good humans. We all cried and even she did.

When I think of all this today, I feel puzzled because I am a person with a very bad memory. I forget birthdays, phone numbers and some times even the names of people I was once very close to and yet I remember Mrs. Srivastava and every detail associated with her so minutely as though it all happened just yesterday. Perhaps because I respected her loved her from within! And today when she is no more with us, I feel very upset. I pray to god to give strength to her family and friends to bear this sorrow.

Mam, your teaching will always help us in walks of our life. It was a great opportunity to know a person like you who in herself is nothing less than a legend.
I will miss you.

“Hey which country do you belong to?” asked a man nearly 60.
“I am an Indian, from the state Bihar, the land where Gautam Buddha attained wisdom. I replied and you?”
“I am a chinese by religion, a malaysian by nationality and a follower of Buddhism. Call me Uncle Choo, I must be a little elder that your father! What’s your name young lady?”
“ I am Surabhi.”
“ Now, how do you pronounce it?”
“Its Surabhi, Su..Ra…Bhi. My name symbolizes fragrance.”
“Oh! Lovely! And you have come here for a holiday?” he asked.
“Yes, with my family. My parents and my younger brother!”

Papa had asked me and Saurabh (my younger brother) to wait at the Malaysian Railway Station by the time he completed with the formalities so that we could proceed to Genting, our next destination. Though we were instructed to be a bit reserved, as you cannot be sure whether a person is genuine or fake and that too when you are in a foreign land, I could not resist myself when Uncle Choo initiated a talk. A man nearly 60, short height about 5’2 or so in a casual T-shirt, big glasses and a cap, he was noticing me and Saurabh before we got into an actual conversation.

“So, what do you do?”
“We both are students. I am pursuing engineering and my brother is a school student.”
“ That’s good. And are you carrying, what do you call it? Which is tangy in taste, with lots of spices. I had it once when one of my friends came from India!
“You mean pickles! Oh I don’t have it right now.”

I giggled as it was now confirmed that foreigners have this notion that Indian carry stuffs like pickles and other home made eatables wherever they go!

He then talked about his culture, the way people greeted each other there, their traditional dress and their rituals. He even asked me about the same and listened to me with keen interest. He told me that one should always respect his customs cause they give us our identity.

He appeared much attached to his family. I could make out that his son didn’t take proper care of him. As a matter of fact he didn’t say anything which wasn’t in favour of his son but I could sense it. He told me to take good care of my parents when they grew old, to respect them and love them always.

He asked me as to when I would visit Malaysia for the nest time. I said I wasn’t sure; it all depends upon my dad and his schedule. And he joked that may be some years later, I could come with my husband for my honeymoon.

We chatted for about next 45 min or so before my parents came. He told my papa that both of us were fantastic kids! He helped papa with the required paper work to be performed before we could leave Malaysia. Papa also discussed about the markets in Singapore and Genting as a person local to the place could give authentic information.

This snap posted above was taken early next morning at an intermediate station where our routes parted. He wished us good luck for future and we parted.
This was my first and perhaps my last meeting with him. I had never imagined that I would meet with a person on a unfamiliar land, who had absolutely no connections with me, and who would give me valuable learning for life. In a overseas country where people from your own place, speaking same language as yours behave as if they have absolutely no connections with you, this man made me believe that it is not you nationality or language that makes you closer, all you need is love and a pure heart to bond.

Uncle Choo, I respect you from the bottom of my heart and will always cherish the time spent with you. May god bless you always!