I was feeling so sleepy that I could have dozed out at any point of time. The silky glow coming out of the UV Protected computer screen in front of me was having the same effect as a night lamp. It was a rainy September day and the skies outside had really opened up and spraying all the mortals below with its showers. Although I could not listen I was actually witnessing the lightening flashes all around through the tinted glass windows all around. It was 6 PM and time for me to leave office after a lazy day. Durga Puja the best festival in this part of India was just around the corner. It was more like the incessant rains that had managed to bring down all professional activities to a halt. Most of my Bengali colleagues including my boss were absent. Me being a non-bengali or to be precise a Guajarati was actually passing time.
Before going further ahead let me introduce myself. I am Sejal Shah, a mid twenties girl with all the ambitions in this world stuffed in my head. I hail from a small village near Surat where most of the girls around my age are not only married till now but some of them are proud mothers as well. Among my other two brothers and one sister I am actually the black sheep of the family. And the reason behind it is my mother. She is the guiding soul in my life who had shown me the lights whenever I faltered from any of projected goals. When I became the first graduate in my family to pass BA in economics with honors from Baroda University, she was the first one as always to provide all the people in my family and neighborhood with dhoklas and laddoos free of cost. Both this distribution of food and my becoming a graduate was something unheard of in my family where the actual business through the ages was that of diamonds and not university degrees. My father was not at all happy and I was almost banished by my own family. If some of you going through my rambling think that as a drastic affair then let me fill you in with the fact that most of my known native people were not even interested to know the age or education of a girl while preparing her match. They just wanted to know the so called "haisiyat"or status of the family and how much will be the dowry.
As told earlier my mom was a crusader all through and all her hopes were pinned on me. So next what she did was got me exported to Ahmadabad in the next available train and I was sent to a spinster sister of my Mom to continue with my studies. I personally have let down a lot of people in my life. My diamond merchant father who was terribly afraid thinking where from and what cost will he be able to get a groom for his learned daughter. My brothers and sister who never got through any classes and they thought their elder sister to be an enigma of sorts. And that list kept on becoming longer.
To cut a long story really short, I made through all the tests in my life and got into one of the premier B-Schools in India here in Kolkata. And after passing out what the Yanks say " summa-cum-laude" declined an obscene salary in a New York City based multinational and settled to experiment in an NGO which was not swanky to say the least but it still provided with the kind of job that I think I was capable off. And Kolkata not being a very costly city I did managed to do well with whatever salary I was offered.
I was laughably snided upon by my batch mates who were now almost sure that however eccentric they have thought of me was actually much less that what I was in reality. Other than my professor for OB all thought I must have gone nuts. Mr. Sumit Tripathy, the terror of human resource management was actually an affable guy in his late fifties. He was the only one to congratulate me openly. I still remember his words ringing in my ears. "Do whatever you think you love to do - but do make sure that some idiot pays the salary".
While in a state of semi-trans I was actually remembering all these things. And I was feeling very lonely as well. My beloved mom had passed away last year. Sickened by the demands of her family she was also becoming the victim of extreme work. And her heart was not getting any better. I fought a lot with my own people to save her, but I was brutally counter attacked by my father who lamely stated the fact that I was not part of the family any more and more than any thing my mother’s contribution is very much needed to keep the family running smoothly. And hence I was not shocked to hear that my mother has contributed her life to the good of the family. When I was coming back with tears in my eyes after the altercation with my father, Ma told me one thing very clearly that even something bad happens to her she will be happy always to know that she is leaving behind her legacy in me. Remembering those kind words made me even lonelier.
"Shejol, ghor nehin jayega?" I was suddenly jolted out of my reverie by the baritone voice of the Senior Accountant, Kunal Da, the fatherly gentleman in his late fifties. A very amiable fellow but with dangerous sense of hindi like many other bongs. "Kunal Da, it is Sejal and ghar nahin jaungi" I replied with a smile on my face. "Are Charo na, it is all in the meaning, whetever be the language". Shaking my head in submission I just smiled at him. Kunal Da has been with Manoshi almost from the time of its inception in Ithaca, New York. A brilliant number cruncher he has actually chucked a happening career in banking to join Manoshi, after the sudden death of his daughter about 10 years ago. Then Manoshi was not a global NGO as it is now. It was just a hole in a wall organization mostly funded by the Ford and Rothschild foundation. Manoshi was then a movement lead by the charismatic figure of Lady Shonali Sen, a UK based NRI who wanted to give back something to her country of origin. After the untimely death of his daughter Kunal Da has received mail by post in his Kolkata address from his daughter. As usual the mail was late due to Indian Postal System. The whole letter stated one fact that what was claimed as an accident by his daughter Aparna’s in-laws was something more than that. Kunal Da through a commonly known associate approached the Lady in Manoshi. And Aparna’s accident case was opened up in due time by the law and order people. Serious investigations proved that the car Aparna was driving has been tampered with and the death due to brake failure was nothing but cold-blooded murder executed by her own husband and brother-law so that, they can feast on the hefty insurance money to be disbursed on this eventual death. Kunal Da was then shattered totally and he actually can never get the fact that where he actually went wrong when he married his sweet daughter with a budding business man. To put it mildly Aparna was slaughtered in order to cover up a huge business loss that this budding business man had gone through. Although he could not stop his own daughter’s demise, Kunal da made it a point to use his expertise to stop other’s daughters undergoing the same fate.
I picked up my official folders and called Savitri on cell to get my car ready. "Kunal Da, do you need a lift till Ravindra Sadan"? I asked. Now Kunal da looked at me and said with a smile "It is Ro-bin-dro Shadon" and no I will be going to howrah via the old bridge today. So you can go ahead". Showing my teeth I moved on. It was 7 PM and the rains have taken a break. On the Kenwood a song by Hemonto (hope I have got the spelling right!!) was playing. Savitri, my personal aide cum driver cum cleaner cum guardian was in one of her good moods and the song was a rainy day song something like a : Meghla.. din… akela etc". The melody was good and it made me feel good as well.
"Shejdi, today something interesting happened while I went for fetching the car from the car park". As usual Savitri or "Shabitri" have again "bengalified" my name, broken it and added a "di" to it. In fact I have heard so much prefixes in the form of "da"s and "di"s after coming to Kolkata for last five years that I have grown accustomed to it. "What happened?" I loosely asked. "A very handsome man came down to me and asked whether this is your car or not. Instead of giving a reply I just ignored him. He became very sad and went away from there." I was a bit surprised. I have already crossed the age of girls where they always seem to enjoy extra attention from boys. And as per Savitri this is a man and not a boy. On asking her how did she know she replied in a very mature tone "Girls have an inborn knack of separating men from boys"? I started laughing at her sermon which made her very sulky. She said that she is ready to bet her one month’s salary on this fact. I was now not only surprised but a bit worried as well. Because the profession I am in never makes friends especially with the men. As Manoshi is always fighting and helping the cause of the fairer sex the darker ones are always ill at ease with this organization. In fact a few months back I have been threatened with life by a political goon as well whose bosses’ wife I was defending from marital atrocities. In my cell I always have the numbers of the high positions in the law and order apparatchiks. When Savitri ultimately took a turn toward Rowland Row, I shrugged off all my baseless fears and got ready to get out in front of my apartment block. The building in which my flat was actually constructed by a distant uncle of mine. Hence I got the 800 square feet flat dirt cheap. It was in the 7th floor and was amply airy and sunny as well. I really relished the prospect of sharing this abode of mine with none at all. It was eightish by the clock, when I switched on the television and asked Savitri for a cup of coffee.
I was engrossed in the business news from NDTV Profit when I heard the melodious ring tone of my telephone. Calls at ungodly hours are a routine in my profession which is actually more like counseling than management. So, without thinking anything I picked up the receiver. "Can I speak with Sejal Shah please?" on the contrary to my normal lady in trouble calls this was a man’s voice. Although surprised I did not show any. "Yeah, this is Sejal. Who is this please? After 2-3 seconds pause, the man responded, "Sejal, this is Vivek, remember?". " Vivek.. eh… who Vivek? And then the realization hit me. Trying to gain a control on the floodgates of memory, I blurted out "Vivek (Vicky) Basu? Apna VAD - Vicky the Dashing…!! "Haan, he replied". "Sejal, I want to meet you tomorrow… no not in office, somewhere else, can you take tomorrow’s lunch with me please??" The urgency in his voice was something which did not let me say a blunt "No". He told that he will give me a call tomorrow and hung up wishing me a good night.
Before going further ahead let me introduce myself. I am Sejal Shah, a mid twenties girl with all the ambitions in this world stuffed in my head. I hail from a small village near Surat where most of the girls around my age are not only married till now but some of them are proud mothers as well. Among my other two brothers and one sister I am actually the black sheep of the family. And the reason behind it is my mother. She is the guiding soul in my life who had shown me the lights whenever I faltered from any of projected goals. When I became the first graduate in my family to pass BA in economics with honors from Baroda University, she was the first one as always to provide all the people in my family and neighborhood with dhoklas and laddoos free of cost. Both this distribution of food and my becoming a graduate was something unheard of in my family where the actual business through the ages was that of diamonds and not university degrees. My father was not at all happy and I was almost banished by my own family. If some of you going through my rambling think that as a drastic affair then let me fill you in with the fact that most of my known native people were not even interested to know the age or education of a girl while preparing her match. They just wanted to know the so called "haisiyat"or status of the family and how much will be the dowry.
As told earlier my mom was a crusader all through and all her hopes were pinned on me. So next what she did was got me exported to Ahmadabad in the next available train and I was sent to a spinster sister of my Mom to continue with my studies. I personally have let down a lot of people in my life. My diamond merchant father who was terribly afraid thinking where from and what cost will he be able to get a groom for his learned daughter. My brothers and sister who never got through any classes and they thought their elder sister to be an enigma of sorts. And that list kept on becoming longer.
To cut a long story really short, I made through all the tests in my life and got into one of the premier B-Schools in India here in Kolkata. And after passing out what the Yanks say " summa-cum-laude" declined an obscene salary in a New York City based multinational and settled to experiment in an NGO which was not swanky to say the least but it still provided with the kind of job that I think I was capable off. And Kolkata not being a very costly city I did managed to do well with whatever salary I was offered.
I was laughably snided upon by my batch mates who were now almost sure that however eccentric they have thought of me was actually much less that what I was in reality. Other than my professor for OB all thought I must have gone nuts. Mr. Sumit Tripathy, the terror of human resource management was actually an affable guy in his late fifties. He was the only one to congratulate me openly. I still remember his words ringing in my ears. "Do whatever you think you love to do - but do make sure that some idiot pays the salary".
While in a state of semi-trans I was actually remembering all these things. And I was feeling very lonely as well. My beloved mom had passed away last year. Sickened by the demands of her family she was also becoming the victim of extreme work. And her heart was not getting any better. I fought a lot with my own people to save her, but I was brutally counter attacked by my father who lamely stated the fact that I was not part of the family any more and more than any thing my mother’s contribution is very much needed to keep the family running smoothly. And hence I was not shocked to hear that my mother has contributed her life to the good of the family. When I was coming back with tears in my eyes after the altercation with my father, Ma told me one thing very clearly that even something bad happens to her she will be happy always to know that she is leaving behind her legacy in me. Remembering those kind words made me even lonelier.
"Shejol, ghor nehin jayega?" I was suddenly jolted out of my reverie by the baritone voice of the Senior Accountant, Kunal Da, the fatherly gentleman in his late fifties. A very amiable fellow but with dangerous sense of hindi like many other bongs. "Kunal Da, it is Sejal and ghar nahin jaungi" I replied with a smile on my face. "Are Charo na, it is all in the meaning, whetever be the language". Shaking my head in submission I just smiled at him. Kunal Da has been with Manoshi almost from the time of its inception in Ithaca, New York. A brilliant number cruncher he has actually chucked a happening career in banking to join Manoshi, after the sudden death of his daughter about 10 years ago. Then Manoshi was not a global NGO as it is now. It was just a hole in a wall organization mostly funded by the Ford and Rothschild foundation. Manoshi was then a movement lead by the charismatic figure of Lady Shonali Sen, a UK based NRI who wanted to give back something to her country of origin. After the untimely death of his daughter Kunal Da has received mail by post in his Kolkata address from his daughter. As usual the mail was late due to Indian Postal System. The whole letter stated one fact that what was claimed as an accident by his daughter Aparna’s in-laws was something more than that. Kunal Da through a commonly known associate approached the Lady in Manoshi. And Aparna’s accident case was opened up in due time by the law and order people. Serious investigations proved that the car Aparna was driving has been tampered with and the death due to brake failure was nothing but cold-blooded murder executed by her own husband and brother-law so that, they can feast on the hefty insurance money to be disbursed on this eventual death. Kunal Da was then shattered totally and he actually can never get the fact that where he actually went wrong when he married his sweet daughter with a budding business man. To put it mildly Aparna was slaughtered in order to cover up a huge business loss that this budding business man had gone through. Although he could not stop his own daughter’s demise, Kunal da made it a point to use his expertise to stop other’s daughters undergoing the same fate.
I picked up my official folders and called Savitri on cell to get my car ready. "Kunal Da, do you need a lift till Ravindra Sadan"? I asked. Now Kunal da looked at me and said with a smile "It is Ro-bin-dro Shadon" and no I will be going to howrah via the old bridge today. So you can go ahead". Showing my teeth I moved on. It was 7 PM and the rains have taken a break. On the Kenwood a song by Hemonto (hope I have got the spelling right!!) was playing. Savitri, my personal aide cum driver cum cleaner cum guardian was in one of her good moods and the song was a rainy day song something like a : Meghla.. din… akela etc". The melody was good and it made me feel good as well.
"Shejdi, today something interesting happened while I went for fetching the car from the car park". As usual Savitri or "Shabitri" have again "bengalified" my name, broken it and added a "di" to it. In fact I have heard so much prefixes in the form of "da"s and "di"s after coming to Kolkata for last five years that I have grown accustomed to it. "What happened?" I loosely asked. "A very handsome man came down to me and asked whether this is your car or not. Instead of giving a reply I just ignored him. He became very sad and went away from there." I was a bit surprised. I have already crossed the age of girls where they always seem to enjoy extra attention from boys. And as per Savitri this is a man and not a boy. On asking her how did she know she replied in a very mature tone "Girls have an inborn knack of separating men from boys"? I started laughing at her sermon which made her very sulky. She said that she is ready to bet her one month’s salary on this fact. I was now not only surprised but a bit worried as well. Because the profession I am in never makes friends especially with the men. As Manoshi is always fighting and helping the cause of the fairer sex the darker ones are always ill at ease with this organization. In fact a few months back I have been threatened with life by a political goon as well whose bosses’ wife I was defending from marital atrocities. In my cell I always have the numbers of the high positions in the law and order apparatchiks. When Savitri ultimately took a turn toward Rowland Row, I shrugged off all my baseless fears and got ready to get out in front of my apartment block. The building in which my flat was actually constructed by a distant uncle of mine. Hence I got the 800 square feet flat dirt cheap. It was in the 7th floor and was amply airy and sunny as well. I really relished the prospect of sharing this abode of mine with none at all. It was eightish by the clock, when I switched on the television and asked Savitri for a cup of coffee.
I was engrossed in the business news from NDTV Profit when I heard the melodious ring tone of my telephone. Calls at ungodly hours are a routine in my profession which is actually more like counseling than management. So, without thinking anything I picked up the receiver. "Can I speak with Sejal Shah please?" on the contrary to my normal lady in trouble calls this was a man’s voice. Although surprised I did not show any. "Yeah, this is Sejal. Who is this please? After 2-3 seconds pause, the man responded, "Sejal, this is Vivek, remember?". " Vivek.. eh… who Vivek? And then the realization hit me. Trying to gain a control on the floodgates of memory, I blurted out "Vivek (Vicky) Basu? Apna VAD - Vicky the Dashing…!! "Haan, he replied". "Sejal, I want to meet you tomorrow… no not in office, somewhere else, can you take tomorrow’s lunch with me please??" The urgency in his voice was something which did not let me say a blunt "No". He told that he will give me a call tomorrow and hung up wishing me a good night.
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