Those Were The Days

My mother was a Dacca bred lady married to a farmland holder of a remote place of Faridpur not far away from the mighty Padma. On most occasions she returned to Dacca for Eid. It was the end of forties and the beginning of the fifties. I was the only little boy around. My nani and the eldest of my two unwed khalas poured all their affection on me. Eid was the particular occasion when there was profusion of their affection. They will have the best dress for me. For one particular Eid my Khala wanted a 'motor bhajawala juta (a pump shoe with crepe-sole with the upper ringed with puffed up pea size designs) for me. The Eid moon had been sighted and the siren blared long ago. The order for the shoe was placed with a Chinese shoemaker household establishment at Mitford. A child's heart was anxious for the shoe. My bara mamu arrived with it. My joy knew no bound.

Next time in winter my khala wanted that I should have a Sherwani. My chota mamu took me to Basiruddin Master Tailor in Patuatully. I was placed on the counter and the measure was taken.

I also fondly remember the dress of my Ammi and Khalas. They wore kamiz, gharara and Dopatta like Suraiyya, Rehana, and Noor Jehan the film actresses of the time. I remember the song 'Chup chup khari ho jaroor koi bat hai' of the film 'Bari Bahen' and the dress. They also wore Georgette Sari.

On the Chand Raat we along with our little cousins used to huddle around the younger brother of my Nani to listen to fairy tales in which he excelled. He used to narrate through his betel juice marked broken teeth in an amusing style the revelry in the Sultan's court with the Shehzade pensively waiting for her Shehjada. The fairies were dancing to the tune of Rubab with badam ka sherbat passing around. The courtiers were in such state of intoxication that their tunics were compromisingly disheveled. It is here my Nana the patrician interjected believing that the limit of decency has been crossed, 'Sujat Ali kya kahe rahe hai'. He innocuously informed, 'bachcho ko kissa suna raha hoon!

More about Eid, Madras' S.S. Vasan's extravaganza Chandralekha was showing on in Nagar Mahal (now Chitra Mahal). It was a costume movie with T. R. Rajakumari in the title role and M.K Radha as the male lead, with Ranjan as the primary antagonist. The approach to Nagar Mahal was circuitous with a steeply curved aqueduct on the Dholai Khal underneath it. It was a tough task for the hackney carriage to rise and to descend. My mother and Khalas used to travel these hackney carriages at that time.

The next day my family took carriages to spend the day at my Khala's house at Nawab Street Wari adjacent to Baldah Garden. At that time Wari was a posh residential area with sprawling houses. Now with unplanned multi-storied residential complexes at every corner it has become a 'Little Bikrampur' like 'Little Italy' of New York.
At the western end of Nawab Street there was once a stately mansion. The heritage of Wari is lost. Wari was a solitary place with handful of people around Joginagar-Rankin Street cross-section. It had the only mosque in a distance. The employees of Dilkusha Garden (present Bangabhaban) used to reside in a small part around the intersection. My Khala previously used to reside nearby. Justice Nurul Islam and his poet wife Jahanara Arzoo's 'Kabitangan' residence opposite the cross-section was formerly the seat of Indian Deputy High Commissioner. The building with fine architectural elegance has a cramped clinic and a drug store in its place.

The Christian Cemetery on the eastern side of Baldah Garden stretching up to Narinda is a notable burial place of Dhaka. Once one of my cousins took me to Wyer Street, one of the three north-south streets bisecting Wari. I remember finding a small Christian burial site. It is still there. The street issues forth into Madan Mohan Basak Road (now Tipu Sultan Road).  

My Khalu's place had a cottage house with extended garden both in the front and behind. He persevered to do justice to the place by tending to all sorts of floral and fruit plants and large trees. He tended the plants and trees during leisure time and also used to relax in an arm chair in the veranda reading books. He looked stern with his large brood. In fact he was a man of few words, he never growled. There was a swinging board in the garden where my Khala always kept an eye on me.

It was a day long picnic under the shade of the trees and veranda. Then Wari was a sanctuary of monkeys. They dangled from the branches and jumped from one foothold to another. Often they dashed into any nook and corner of the house to scamper away with eatable items, particularly fruits. As a small boy I enjoyed the house and its sumptuous hospitality. Yet I hunkered into the corner. The monkeys still stray into Wari from Bonogram, making a mess of the fruit plants on the roof and when the bathroom door is closed they wring apart the water supply pipes. Poor animals they survive on little!

I understand commodities were cheap then. My Khala was an enthusiastic hostess. She poured the tin can of ghee at every opportunity. The parathas, pulao, curries and  eggs were cooked and fried in ghee. The tea had special flavour. She was rare of her kind in beauty, culinary feats and endearing warmth. It is difficult to forget her.
In the afternoon my family used to visit the museum of Anami Prasad Roy Chowdhury: a two storied building inside the 'Psyche' compound of Baldah Garden. The ladies sprawled on the ground for photographs.

Then it was time for my Nana to arrive. He arrived by a hackney carriage in the evening calling my Khala by her name. She rushed with the end of the sari rustling on the ground, responding with a beaming face, 'Abba Abba'. The bonding was so deep and the outpouring reared in love and caring! Those days are within us to resurrect it.