Sreoshi Mukherjee; End of Term Assignment - Prompt 6 and Self-Reflective Essay

Prompt 6

Homes of the Past and Present

You will find my grandmother doing her own thing most of the time. She likes to read the newspaper in the morning, it’s a daily ritual. She then moves to stand in the balcony, surrounded by plants, soaking the sun. From there, she calls out to the vendors who roam around with push-carts - selling fruits, vegetables and fish. In the evenings, she loves to binge watch her Bengali soap operas, and would not miss a single episode for the world! The earliest memory that I have of my maternal grandmother, is that every night before I slept, she would read out a Bengali folk tale to me. Some of these tales had morals, some were humorous, but also quite ridiculous now when I think about them. Over time, as we grow older, we get busy in our own lives. I do spend time with Dida (my maternal grandmother), but I have’t had a proper conversation with her in a long long time. So I decided to learn about my family history, where do I come from? What’s my heritage like? This conversation mostly consisted of her stories from her childhood, and us sharing some laughs together.

‘Dida why didn’t you name me Mrinalini, after my great grandmother?’
‘Why? Do you like that name?’
‘Don’t you? Or does it remind you too much of your “saansu-ma”?’
(She proceeds to give me a whack, while chuckling at my comment)

Born to Bijendra Kumar and Charubala Dutta in 1933; Dida’s place of birth was in Rajshahi, Nauga District which is now in Bangladesh. She was given the name Ila, after a Hindu goddess or perhaps it meant the Earth. She’s not too sure. Digging deep in to her childhood as well as my grandfather’s (who is no longer with us) brought out a trunk full of memories and anecdotes. However, I can’t vouch for the dates very much. Unlike my other grandparents who came to India after partition, Dida came to the country at the tender age of 10 for a holiday, and then ended up staying in Calcutta. She attended the Kumar Ashutosh Institution from 5th grade onwards, before that she was home-schooled in Bangladesh. Admitted in the girls’ section of the school, Dida went on to complete her school education from the institution. My grandmother proudly tells me, that the principal of her school was Jyotimoyee Ganguly, a noted freedom fighter and daughter of Kadambini Ganguly - the first female doctor in South Asia.

They lived on rent, in an old house in Dum Dum. The house had big windows, double pillars as columns, and doors that were made of half glass and half wood. The glass panes could be opened, creating another set of windows. The house belonged to Kishori Chand Mitra, and he gifted it to his daughter, who later gave it out on rent. Mitra was a renowned civil servant and writer. He was known for founding the weekly newspaper called ‘Indian Field’ in 1859. His dear friend Michael Madhusudhan Dutta, who is famous for his enormous contribution to Bengali literature, wrote a book in the same home. Dida lived in this old colonial house from elementary school to her college days. After graduating from school, she studied history at Bethune College, the first women’s college in India, that is affiliated with the University of Calcutta.

‘You studied history? That’s so cool, Dida! What did you love the most about your subjects?’ 

‘Studying the Mughal Empire’
‘So, who was you favourite emperor?’
‘Akbar most definitely! He was kind and benevolent but he also knew how to rule. Shah Jahan was good too, but he is known for his romantic and amorous behaviour more.’

They eventually had to leave their old home because it became a potential hazard. The first floor, where they lived was broken down first. The ground floor became the Ananda Ashram - boarding for girls for a brief period. However, the ground floor was also demolished soon after. Dida and her family moved to their new home which was behind Leela Cinema, but she didn’t spend much time there. She got married to my grandpa almost immediately after she graduated from college.

On 11th February 1961, my grandmother was married to Dilip Kumar Ray (Boro Nana), who hailed from Bangladesh (then East Pakistan). Ray moved to India with his family post independence. He was studying to be a doctor but had to leave his education mid-way because of the turmoil of one country splitting in to two. He came with his younger brother - Premendra Kumar Roy (Choto Nana) to Delhi, and worked here while Choto Nana attended university. Before moving here, both of them attended school in Dhaka. They went to the Pogose School, the first private school of Bangladesh, established in June 1848.

Both my Nanas’ and their parents moved to New Delhi around the time of partition. My great grandparents were colloquially known as ‘Shundor Da and Shundor Didi’ (literally translating to ‘Sundar Bhaiya and Sundar Didi’)! They were apparently very good looking from what I’ve been hearing. My great grandmother, Mrinalini Ray was believed to be a very good cook. She also enjoyed music and reading. I was told that my great grandparents would sit on the terrace, and sing songs to one another. They seemed to be quite in love with each other, as Dida tells me. Their home in Bangladesh - the Daroga Bari, used to host a massive Durga Puja every year. The family would get their own idol, have celebrations and rituals within the house, and anybody could join their festivities. This invitation was extended to the Nawabs of Dhaka and their family as well, and they would be present during the festival at our ancestral home. The word ‘Daroga’ in Bengali refers to a police officer, the house got its name because someone in the family was a police officer during the British Era, but presumably they were much higher up in the family tree because no one could recall who served in the Police. My great grandfather worked as a tax collector before they moved to India. Their home was located in a place called Shubhadda, very close to Dhaka. However, to reach there one, would have to commute via boats. The house was very close to the banks of the river. Boro Nana and Choto Nana would even have to go to school in boats! 

I hardly have any memory of Boro Nana. He passed away while I was very young, but I grew up hearing stories about him from my family members, and neighbours. He was a very friendly man, who loved chatting. Many a times, he would get stalled while catching up with people, sometimes they would invite him over for a cup of tea and samosas, which would further extend the conversations. One such incident was when he went around distributing my mother’s wedding cards, inviting friends for her wedding. He didn’t return home for a very long time and Dida started getting worried. When he finally returned, she bombarded him with questions, and very innocently he replied that he got caught up - catching up with an old friend. When asked about the invitations, he sheepishly took them out of his bag. Amidst the long chat, he completely forgot to give out the cards. My grandma was furious, to say the least!

When I asked Dida how she met Boro Nana, she told me that she saw his “advertisement” on the newspaper. The word advertisement amused me a little, but then it occurred to me that the classifieds section in newspapers still exist, even today! After their wedding, Dida moved to New Delhi with Boro Nana, and they lived in Connaught Place below Madras Hotel, opposite Lady Hardinage Medical College’s hostel. Two years later, my mother was born. She spent her early years in the Connaught Place house before moving to Chittaranjan Park in the 1970s. Chittaranjan Park was initially known as the EPDP colony, which stood for East Pakistan Displaced Persons. The Government of India allocated this space for everyone who was displaced during and post partition. The government distributed plots of land to people from East Pakistan, and Boro Nana was given a spot too. He built his home from scratch in Chittaranjan Park. It’s funny how even I spent a considerable amount of time in the house he built. I was born and brought up at my grandparents’ home. It was only much recently that we got the house renovated, and now we’re back in this home once again.

While we live in this house, my paternal grandparents live down the same lane, just six houses away. Kalidas Mukherjee, my paternal grandfather (Dadu) also hailed from Bangladesh, and just like Boro Nana he also came to India after the partition took place. He stayed in Calcutta and completed his schooling there. At the age of 17, he worked at a rifle factory and then moved to Pune, to a place called Khadkee, to work as an accountant in an ammunition factory, during the British era. Pune is a place I consider as my second home for several reasons. Dida now has a house there, it was the first place my mother went to as a new bride, her cousin brother and their family also live there now. To be honest, I believe I have visited Pune more than I have visited Kolkata. 

While Dadu was in Pune, he took the competitive exams and got through the Indian Foreign Service. He came back to Delhi, and talks of marriage were on the cards. In 1948, he got a call from the Ministry of External Affairs for a job offer. On 29th April 1951, he married my paternal grandmother, Pratima Mukherjee. Pratima, who I lovingly call my Thamma was born in Chetla, Calcutta. She got married to Dadu at the young age of 19, right after she finished her education. Alas, she couldn’t complete her graduation because she had her own wedding to attend. She got to know about Dadu through her aunt (father’s sister). She would visit his family with her aunt before wedlock, and they grew to like her, so they fixed their marriage. Dadu and Thamma got married in April, and on 19th of July they were flying off to Bangkok - Dadu’s first posting in the Indian Embassy of Thailand. What excitement! It was her first flight ever, and that too she was flying to a new country - which was a whole new ballgame to deal with. She opened up maps to locate where Bangkok is. Once they reached, language turned out to be a huge barrier. Thamma knew how to read and write in English but wasn’t very confident speaking it. It was in Thailand that she learnt how to speak Hindi with the help of a Punjabi neighbour. They would communicate in bits and pieces, joining several broken dialects together hoping to make some sense. She remembers her neighbour quite fondly.

Dadu got posted to various parts of the world. After a posting abroad, he would come back to Delhi spend a couple of years in the capital, before he would get posted out again. Due to his job, both my paternal grandparents became globetrotters. They lived in Thailand, Iraq, Switzerland, Indonesia, New Zealand and Malaysia; because of this, all of their children were born in different countries. My elder uncle was born in Bangkok, my father in Baghdad, my aunt in New Delhi and my younger uncle was born in Jakarta. They remember the old times and smile. Thamma was telling me about this trip they took whilst they were in Europe. It was a voyage on a ship, through the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic ocean for thirty-three days.

My father, Ashis Mukherjee was born in 1962 when my grandfather was posted in Iraq. He lived a nomadic lifestyle as a child and travelled all over the world. I guess, the way he grew up influenced his choice of jobs in the future. He went on to serve in the Indian Army. He met my mother as a young teenage boy, because they would live on the same line. Dadu got the CR Park house also in the seventies, but he would be shuttling in and out of India. They would stay in the house at the intermediary postings between two countries. It was then that my father got to know my mother. My aunt (Pishi) and my mum grew up together and they became the best of friends. It was when these guys (my mom and dad) were around 19 years old, they realised that they had feelings for each other. All those evenings playing badminton with each other, visiting pandals during Durga Puja, hanging out in the same friends’ circle perhaps sparked some chemistry between the two. My father joined the National Defence Academy in 1981 and then went on to the Indian Military Academy. With no access to fast technology during the eighties, the would send letters to each other, and wait in long queues just to make one STD call per day. They would stand in line at 10 o’clock at night because the price of an STD call would drop to the quarter of its original cost post 10 pm. There were times, my father would go to the post office and request to make a trunk call, and he would waited patiently till it got through to Delhi. It was interesting to imagine a long distance relationship with no texts or phone and video calls. Having to wait two weeks for a response, really made me wonder about all the things I took for granted, especially because of this conditioning to get an instant response almost immediately.

When the two families found out about my parents being together, it was a havoc! It wasn’t common for two people to fall in love, have the autonomy to choose their partners and get married to each other! My parents, as stubborn as they were, put the their foot down too. Like rebels, they announced to their families if they don’t let them get married to each other, they wouldn’t get married at all! Finally after dating each other for 6 whole years, and their families giving in to their wish to be married to one another, my parents got married on 17th May 1990. Another 6 years later, I was born. My mom is an only child, as am I. My father has 3 siblings (two brothers and one sister). It’s by chance that all my uncles and aunt have sons, which makes me the only girl in the family. 

Listening to the stories of my family members and relatives move to various houses throughout their lives, starting new beginnings and continuing their lives without pausing, I have come to realise that the house isn’t what matters. It is the memories that are created within the house, which make it a home. The home is created by the people living inside, not the structure built on the outside. A home does not necessarily have to be a physical construction, it can be a person, a memory, a pet? It can be anything that makes you feel at ease.

Self Reflective Essay 

I chose ways of reading as my elective for this semester because I wanted to improve the way I wrote, and understand how good writers write. How is it that their work is captivating? What is the characteristic that makes readers want to read more, and feel a connection to the piece of work. I took this decision after interning with CNN International for two months in the summer. They gave me the freedom to file stories and write about them, and that’s when I found what I really like doing. I enjoy talking to people, learning about their stories and experiences, and then weave them into an article. This class was so much fun to attend, every writing and reading exercises that we did, made me think about its practical usage. For example, just like a title is crucial for the literary piece, similarly a headline can make or break a story. Coming from a sociological and dance background, in one of the classes we were critiquing a poem that was based on a dancer and how the dancer navigates through space and time. It reminded me of an essay that I had read in my sociology class. It was written by Erving Goffman who spoke about performances in the everyday life. We are all actors who play different roles depending on the situation that we’re in. For example, a young girl plays the role of a student, a daughter, a friend, a sister, a granddaughter, and every role is different from each other. I could associate what was being taught in class with life that occurs outside of the university space. Studying a subject of Literary Art gave me a multitude of perspectives to look at. Everyone perceives situations and experiences differently. There are hundreds of ways one can express themselves. I observed that when we were reading the poem ‘Michiko Dead’ by Jack Gilbert. The poem was written after his wife passed away. As a class, we were not told the title of the poem, but were asked to interpret the poem in our own thoughts. It was based on a box that was being carried by the character in the poem, and so many interpretations came out of it. The aim of that lecture was to introduce extended metaphors in writing, to give the piece more depth and create nuances. We learnt to break the barriers between the abstract and the concrete, and also create a link between the abstract and the concrete by following a train of thought that moves from the general to specific. Another teaching that stuck with me was to evoke imagery and extensive description through the senses of smell, sound, touch, taste and sight. The five senses bring out memories, and it becomes easier to picture the environment and the scene in one’s head. It makes reading more relatable. Attending Aditi Rao’s workshop was another fantastic experience. Aditi Rao’s work was first introduced to us during a writing exercise. We read her poem to understand line breaks in poetry. But reading the poem also opened up so many discussions on the gradients of consent. There was a sense of disassociation, despair, emptiness, and the poem hinted at an uncomfortable experience that the character was going through, which suggested that perhaps this interaction (most likely sexual) was not consented. Aditi Rao in her class made us explore the genre of free verse. It looked easy but at so many points my mind would be blank. What do I write? Why did I write that? However, I must say that it was a learning experience. Exploring feelings, colours and what emotions do these colours, people, spaces bring out was a wonderful thing. I have had a marvellous time being a part of this class, wherein I got to write works of fiction and non-fiction; stepping out of the world of the same old theories and researches. This class gave me a fresher view on academics, and I’m grateful that I could take this with me. The last time I wrote poetry was in school, I was extremely nervous writing poetry again because of this long hiatus in the middle. For what it’s worth, the mid term assignment gave a boost to my confidence because I was happy with a couple of poems that I had written. I sincerely hope that I retain what I’ve learnt in this class for years to come, because this was one of the most fun and educative classes that I have ever attended.