An Epitome of Sacrifice:

Chapter 5: An Epitome of Sacrifice:

Recently I was talking to someone about how in recent years, I have started feeling like a stranger in my own native place, Kolkata. 29 years in Bhutan is a long time, no doubt, and I consider myself lucky to have spent the better part of my life in this gorgeous, glamorous, glorious and god-blessed country. But that is no reason why I should hesitate to talk to my own people, why I should think twice before saying anything (it’s yet to happen though). By nature, I am a chatterbox. My wife, Jaya, would often joke with me by saying how I seldom allowed my eldest brother to talk, speaking non-stop myself, when he was in dire need of rest with his eyes drooling. She would also remind me how I would go up and lie beside my late Ma in her bed, having woken her up to share all my sorrows, complaints and joys, while, poor Ma, would be lost trying to catch us with the lost sleep!

Now, I cannot open up to anyone anymore. If I say something about the North Pole, they would invariably hear something about the South Pole and the look of suspicion, distrust and even dismay, on their faces, would say it all! Now, most of my own people know it best to keep a safe distance from me. It is either Bappa (my nickname) is either very arrogant or very boisterous or an upstart.  I don’t know whether I would ever get to open up to the few people I have always enjoyed to but the possibility of it seems like a long forgotten memory. The day I turn my face away from my sis or it happens the other way round, will be the most painful day in my life or may be, in hers!

Now to come back to my sis, I have, on account of being born in a very large family, had the good fortune of coming across all sorts, shapes, sizes of people. I can honestly say based on my having observed them from close quarters that I have rarely seen someone with kind of sacrificing mentality that my  has displayed almost all through her life. She must have imbued it from my late Ma. I have already written about an incident featuring Ma. That hot, hungry afternoon, she was about to sit down on the floor for lunch (she was always the last one to have her lunch), when a relative turned up, famished. Ma did not think twice about offering her untouched share to him. No wonder people called her “Ratnagarva”, (Sorry, I can’t think of the English equivalent right now). My other two sisters were also very generous. My Bardi was someone with the Midas touch. She brought sheer luck to the Bhatta Family in Jiaganj, Murshidabad after her marriage at around 16. She loved her parents and siblings and never hesitated in giving to others whole-heartedly. My second sister, Mejdi’s life is a perfect example of ‘rags to riches’ story. She was born in a middle class family and went on to become, by dint of sheer determination, merit and  diligence, one of the richest ladies (Mejdi, wherever you be, please forgive me for writing so bluntly). By the time, she was in her late 40s; she had already had one apartment and a house at Salt Lake, Kolkata. Very few sisters can do what Mejdi did for her father’s family. Like my brother wrote in a post dedicated to her the day before yesterday, she delighted in giving, never expecting anything in return. I remember an occasion when she offered a gold en bangle to all her sisters-in-law. Can you believe it? Girls normally gloat over the golden ornaments they have amassed in life, while there was this Mejdi giving away her golden ornaments without the least bit of uneasiness! God bless both my sisters.

But, keeping their thoughts in mind, I would place my youngest sister at the top of the list on Generosity. She was not employed till 52, mind you. She started looking for a job after a cruel stroke of fate, dislodged her from the comforts and security of the umbrella she thought she had over her head till then. But I have rarely seen anyone thinking so little about her own interest. During the Durga Puja, some 10-15 years back, my Barda and Mejdi, and the other siblings staying away from 41 deblane, would close shop at around 7 in the evening to get back to their destinations with their dinner tucked in tiffin careers. My youngest sister would personally see to it with the delight of being able to do something for her siblings writ large over her face. Most of those siblings never had time to find out if there was anything left for my sis. She would untiringly distribute the food to the other relatives before finding a few luchis is all that she was left with. I think once she tried to inform some of her siblings about this disgraceful practice prevailing during the Puja times, it’s better not to write about the heinous lessons she learnt as a result. That scene of my sister, being hackled by even some of the youngsters of the family, would remain etched in my memory.

Anyway, I have seen her distributing things amongst the other members of the family and I cannot recall a single occasion when I found her trying to keep something aside thinking about her own share. If there is a God, He cannot turn a blind eye to such selfless sacrifices of my youngest sister. No novels, no stories ever get written about such people, but the truth is it is people like them who give Life all its glitter and grandeur.

To be continued,