Taaler goppo with Dida

Dida; Didishashuri; My grandmother-in-law

Janmashtami is around the corner. In every Bangali household ‘Janmashtami manei Taal’ (Janmashtami and Taal are synonymous). And Taal always brings back fond memories of a very special person in my life. It takes me back to those days when I was still a new bride.

My grandmother-in-law was alive when I got married. But we met when I had been married for a year. I had heard stories of her beauty, her personality and the way she had brought up her children.

I met her when she was well past 90. I was extremely scared of the whole idea of meeting her. Well…I was only 26 then! These days girls get married as late as 34 while I had gotten married at 25! Unimaginable isn’t it?

She lived in a village called Saraihat which is a few hours away from Malda in West Bengal. This was the place where she had shifted after marriage and had started her 'shongshar'.

We reached Saraihat around 9am after a tiresome journey and made our way to my husband’s ancestral home place in a white Ambassador car sent by one of the uncles. Throughout our drive, children followed us shouting ‘notun bou esheche’ (the new bride has come). People looked around twice to check out the new 'naat bou' (granddaughter-in-law)in the car. Once in a while the car would be stopped to get a better view of the 'naat bou'. The 'naat bou', that’s me, had by then shrunk into one corner of the car, gradually growing uncomfortable with all the attention and curiosity around. Finally we reached our destination.

I could hear from outside a shrill voice barking orders at everyone inside. Images from many a Bengali movie flashed across my mind. They were mostly of old, wizened grandmothers-in-law driving their young granddaughters-in-law to hell. I wondered why had I ever agreed to visit my husband’s ancestral place. I cursed myself for expressing my curiosity. I wanted to slap that tiny voice inside me…that tiny voice which had often reminded me that I should go and pay my respects to my husband’s grandmother.

Well, now that I had reached, there was no turning back.

Gathering up all my courage and the 'pallu' securely over my head, I fell in step with the husband and followed him like the dutiful, obedient wife.

I saw her. She was thin. She was frail. Stooped with age, she sat in a high wooden chair bent at an odd angle. Her hair was shorn till her scalp could be seen. There were patches on her scalp indicating the clumps which had been shaved off unevenly.

Nowhere could I see traces of the luxuriant hair I had heard about from my mother-in-law. A fly kept bothering her while her nearly sightless eyes tried in vain to shoo it off. A mere shooing of the fly seemed to take away all her energy. This was the woman I had been scared off. This was the woman who had once been celebrated for her beauty and hair. I felt ashamed of myself, of my fears! I realized how age works on one! This could very well be my future some day.

She must have sensed our entry for she turned around to look at us. The moment I looked at those grey eyes, I lost control of myself and rushed to embrace her. Probably this was the first time in many years she had been shown such affection. She stilled for a while. I think she was surprised and quite bewildered. She looked at me for long. She then traced my chin with her unsteady, bony fingers and clasped them tightly. And then she cried. She cried for long. I remember sitting there for a long time holding her tightly while she cried. I weaved my fingers through her bare head thinking of those luxuriant tresses that had adorned her once. She looked so helpless and old.

We were there for two nights. For two days she sang so many songs, she would break into whoops of joy, she told me so many stories about Dadu. Wish I had written them down somewhere. They are so precious!

One evening I remember my uncle-in-law had got taal for us. She must have seen it for she burst into a song 'Taal er bora kheye Nondo nache re/digbaaji khai chele gulo mathai taal niye. Ke dekhbi ai re. Ke dekhbi ai re.’ She kept on singing the song while the sap was extracted, 'taaler bora' made and served to all.

We left the next day. That was the last time we met her. June 25, 2008 while I was celebrating my grandfather’s birthday I got a call informing me that we had lost Dida. She was free at last, free of all the pain and suffering.

She is gone but every Janmashtami and with every taal that I bring home I still hear her singing…’ Taal er bora kheye Nondo nache re/digbaaji khai chele gulo mathai taal niye. Ke dekhbi ai re. Ke dekhbi ai re.

What memories do you have of Taal or Janmashtami? Do share them so that I can share with all who read my blog/page.