In the company of bibliophile

"The habit of reading is the only enjoyment I know in which there is no alloy. It lasts when all other pleasures fade. It will be there to support you when all other resources are gone. It will be present to you when the energies of your body have fallen away from you. It will last you until your death. It will make your hours pleasant to you as long as you live." - Anthony Trollope

 

Books have been my world ever since life's epicarp mellowed. In my earlier posts I have written about my love for pen and paper especially the printed ones, smell of the de novo pages unwrapped from a plastic sheath just bought or the yellow crusty pages of a book pulled from the shelves of a library. The touch and feel of the inked words spun a magic on me and even today the whiff of the mad rush charging my senses of holding a book in my hands is no different. Reading and collecting books, more so, adds to the space my soul yearns for in this life.   

 

To me, the joy of reading books and reliving the author's fine prints of life knows no bounds. I can happily stretch my lazy bones on an elbow chair for hours together unmindful of the clock chimes and way behind the usual meal timings. Giving a miss to baths too. I am candid enough to voice that in yielding to the euphoria of the book world, I am, from childhood days quite remote and reserved.

Often your love for something can reach the brim of someone's benevolence. People mistake your aloofness as conceitedness. Not all kinsmen regard your conduct pleasing. You tend to become clumsy in all that is sociable.  If your life's priorities are notably different from that of others and not conventional enough to suit the society's fabric, you'll be cut out of the customary pie.

Folks who know you long enough will be happy to tow the line of conformance in all walks of life as long as you lie low in their circle. Folks who feign unfamiliarity of your nature often try best to exploit you going miles that are preposterous in nature. Knowingly they enjoy opening the can of worms for someone who rarely mingles with the crowd let alone talk. Those who genuinely don't know your "outlier" character is bound to misinterpret you.

So is the company of a bibliophile welcoming?  The response would be a mixed one I suppose. Observing all these years, especially in the circle of kith and kin, a muted affair holds onto the twig of the ties. For people who share their lives with such oddities can be burdensome. Normal people whose activities are commonplace, works the other way around - they coax bookworms to come out of their safe ports and engage more with the life's flow. Their perceptions are, indeed, baffling sometimes unnerving themselves completely. Very few weigh their options well with the booklovers and take delight in sharing their mindspace with them.

However bibliophiles seek no pleasure in disquieting their mindset and hardly view life's prism from common man's lens. To them, books are paragon of excellence offering insights and wisdom of both the acknowledged and the anonymous world, answering life's uncharted territories. They rarely bow down to peer pressure, albeit a few, and freely ride the road less travelled.

I have often believed that holding onto one's love resolutely leaves you with a deep satisfaction abound. Book readers and lovers may not have a goal to score but they are spirited inwards searching for life's cognizance. The gladdening of the heart, while holding a book in hand, is immeasurable. Maniacs they may sound yet they become monstrous upon finding any damage done to his/her precious collection. For the love of books, imagination soars, innovation runs deep, impact is creative and the future of mankind metamorphoses into absoluteness.

Relish  reading!            

Mejo mama and me

I lost my mama, 'mejo mama' as we fondly addressed him, last month to a disease that is yet not known to our family and neither his doctors. As William Hale White rightly mentions in his book Clara Hopgood: “Whenever anybody whom we love dies, we discover that although death is commonplace it is terribly original. We may have thought about it all our lives, but if it comes close to us, it is quite a new, strange thing to us, for which we are entirely unprepared. It may, perhaps, not be the bare loss so much as the strength of the bond which is broken that is the surprise, and we are debtors in a way to death for revealing something in us which ordinary life disguises.” So very true.

 

Mejo mama was my mom's elder brother but not the eldest in the family. My maternal grandparents had five children - my mom being the only doting daughter. The family had already lost a son, who had been terminally ill, in his spring. With my maternal grandparents long gone, mejo mama's demise knelled death in the family after a period of twenty years or so. And of all my mom's brothers and cousins, mejo mama was my favourite.

 

The difficult part lies in explaining my darling handsome mama. It was my parents' annual ritual to ferry us to our both paternal and maternal households every autumn during the Durga Puja school holidays. Dividing between the two households and trying best to keep pace with our parents, my sister and myself fitted well into our mom's childhood den. Not to forget the mollycoddling of all our three mamas.  

 

Somehow I was more attentive to mejo mama since my childhood days. This fact did not dawn on me till I lost him. Mejo mama, matured and measured in every word he uttered, could enthral his immediate audience dishing out tales of all hues and shades from his official postings all over the country. I, for one, would regale and remain spellbound to such chinfests. He would summon complete attention from all huddling nearby and narrate buoyant, jocular and spirited anecdotes of his travel journeys, office colleagues and environment replete with culture connotations from all corners of India. Mama would recount each story, be it food, festivals, climate, personality or culture and ways and means of life, with impeccable details. His odysseys were all ambrosial. Driving back memory lane I can say that his vivaciousness and zestful attitude towards life hooked me as his steadfast admirer. More so my love for travel can be credited, in some measure, to his chronicles.

 

Ranajit Mukhopadhyay née mejo mama was a stickler for spruceness and unswayable discipline although he was not difficult. A morning person, he would routinely do his pranayam and yoga for better health after waking up and perform his morning ablutions followed by puja. He would then comfortably squat on a hand-woven 'asan' or sit on an old chair by the window side to devour the regional daily, happily tended to by mami, his wife, with frequent cups of tea and a big breakfast. His Sundays would unravel with cleaning the house surroundings, picking up veggies and groceries for the week ahead, washing his own clothes, putting them on clothesline, ironing his cleaned and dried office wear and polishing his shoes spotless. An avid organiser of accoutrements, his books, notes and family albums remained uncluttered and chronologically stacked. 

Eating habits in all my mamas' households are nothing to be noteworthy of barring my mejo mama's place and this too can be held accountable to my mama who took immense delight in picking up the fresh green veggies and river water fish for daily consumption. He also took much joy in inviting people at home for lunch or dinner. Never once did I miss his earnest invites which I readily looked forward to. Mejo mama's yearly voyage to places far and wide or sometimes nearby his hometown with a coterie of friends was a score on its own. Renowned for deft organisational skills and a genuine companion, he was the brain behind every sojourn. This character trait of his etched a personality whose service was often called upon by friends and families.

I remember, when during my adolescence, I was diagnosed with Cushing's syndrome and had to be rushed to Christian Medical College, Vellore for better and proper treatment, he did not for a moment hesitate to accompany my mom there. My family was passing through a rough patch but mejo mama acted as a beacon to my already devastated mom. During our stay in Vellore, my mama used to frequent the roadside eateries and on one such occasion I recall mama happily furnishing out details to my mom of his gluttonous 'dosa' eating venture. My mom had to restrain such exploits of mama as she was afraid of him falling ill on the journey leg. Not only did he cherish food, more of the roadside variety, but also spiritedly referred others of his recent findings.

 

On our journey back to Calcutta he felt ill and that was clearly showing on his face. His feeble nature surfaced whenever he exceeded his physical limits - here was one such case when my mom was apt to understand that mama's body became dehydrated. Inwardly frightened as she was yet outwardly for the sake of mami and given the nature of the timing when we had to depart from the health city, my mom's poised nature, astuteness and decisiveness helped mama regain his original bouncy self - he was made to sip lemonade every half an hour till we reached home.

 

Not only did he accompany his relations to other metropolitan cities in India for better treatment facilities but also his friends who easily banked on his sense and sharpness. Moreover his pan India postings helped him to be coherent in all his dealings especially with professionals. His lithe nature saw him actively involved in most of our family weddings and other events' organisation.  

 

My mom echoes that mama's arduous efforts in building the family's economical backbone stands out from those of his other brothers. Yet somehow he was not at peace with himself, remained much unstructured all his life. His knotty familial relations plagued much of his thoughts that acted like a ball and chain to his mental grit. Mama was greatly instrumental in designing houses of his kith and kin yet he vehemently failed in building his own edifice. The labyrinthine like relationship fringes belayed his facile individuality. 

 

"J-O-O-Y-E-E-T-A" was his beloved ahoy on spotting me - the man whose cessation of life made us all fall down virulently as mejo mama's physical presence was an umbilical connection to his soul. Mejo mama - RIP. 

 

 

 

 

Mejo mama (right) with my mami (left) - photo taken shortly after their marraige