Hearing the knock on the door, I jumped out of bed. As I moved to open the door quickly, I stumbled on a brick placed to raise the leg of the cot in the dim darkness of the room. My mood soured instantly. After composing myself a little, I opened the door to find the lanky, long-faced Sanatanda standing there. As soon as he saw me, he started shouting, “Will you guys ever become human? It’s eight, eight-thirty in the morning, and there’s no sign of you waking up. The neighbors are peeking out because of my shouting, but you’re still not waking up.”
My face was already somewhat contorted from stumbling, and Sanatanda’s scolding contorted it even more. With a contorted face, I said, “Oh, you’ve come. Come in and sit down.” Sanatanda entered the room, pushed aside the mosquito net, and sat on the cot. I untied the ropes of the mosquito net one by one, bundled it up, and pushed it to a corner of the cot. Then I slowly sat down next to him and asked, “What’s the matter? You’ve come so early in the morning and started shouting?”
“I have a tuition for you.” “I have to teach a student?” “Yes, the party is good.”
“What do you mean the party is good? Tell me properly who the student’s guardian is, what the student studies, and where I have to go to teach.”
Hearing my questions, a smile appeared on Sanatanda’s face. He understood that I might agree to his proposal! He laughed, showing his teeth, patted me on the back, and said, “Hey, I’ve come to you because everything is good. The student studies in a Darjeeling convent. A very young boy. He has come home for the winter holidays. The boy’s father is a very good man. The gentleman was in a tight spot and approached me. That’s why I rushed to you. Don’t worry about the money at all.”
Even after all this, I still had questions. I said, “I understand everything you’re saying. But where will I teach the student? What is the student’s father’s name?”
“Hey, the gentleman lives in the hospital quarters. You’ll go there to teach. The gentleman is a renowned gynecologist. Dr. Moti Baidya. Head of the Department of Gynecology at the Medical College.”
“Head of the Department of Gynecology?” I asked, almost startled. “Yes, the gentleman is the head of gynecology,” he replied promptly.
I stared at the lanky, long-faced Sanatanda’s face for a while. Then I said, “Well, Sanatanda, you’re almost forty-five years old; you haven’t married. How did you get into this gynecology business? Oh, I see, you’re actually looking for a way to butter up Dr. Moti Baidya to get extra praise from your married friends, right?”
Hearing my words, Sanatanda got angry. He said to me, almost agitated, “You make fun of everything. This is too much.” Then, composing himself a little, he said slowly, “Biju’s father-in-law introduced me to the gentleman. While talking casually, he told me about his problem with a private tutor. That’s when I immediately thought of you. That’s why I’ve come and told you now.”
“Oh, you get angry so quickly. I’m just joking with you, and you’re taking it so seriously. Don’t be angry. Since you’re saying it, I’ll take the tuition. I’ll teach the son of the head of gynecology.”
Hearing my words, Sanatanda smiled. He got up from the cot and, as he was getting ready to leave, said, “Then I’ll talk to the gentleman and finalize everything.”
“Okay, you finalize it,” I said immediately.
Sanatanda, happy with my positive consent, pushed the door and went out of the room. I also followed him and then said, “Sanatanda, you came in the morning, wouldn’t you have a cup of tea?”
Sanatanda said “no, no” and walked briskly down the road past the gate. After he left, I thought to myself, “My sala, now I need a private tuition for the son of a big shot in a supply office. There’s such a scarcity of baby food in the market. Nothing ever happens on time for me. What I need doesn’t happen. My luck is just bad. Wow, if I had gotten this tuition two years ago, I could have gotten all my wife’s prenatal check-ups done properly by the head of gynecology, Dr. Moti Baidya!”
Sanatanda took me with him to Dr. Moti Baidya’s house to finalize the matter. The doctor was sitting in the drawing-room. Hearing that he was the head of gynecology, I had imagined him to be of a certain age without seeing him, but in reality, it didn’t match. I guess this is possible because he is a doctor. Sanatanda almost dragged me by the hand from the veranda and entered the gentleman’s room. Gesturing for me to sit in a chair, Sanatanda said, “Here, Dr. Baidya, I’ve brought your master.” In the meantime, I sat opposite the doctor. The doctor looked at me and said, “You’ve saved me, sir. I was very worried about the boy.” I couldn’t think of what to answer immediately. It was as if someone had sealed my lips with transparent tape. No words came out. I looked at Sanatanda once and then again at the head of gynecology. I thought to myself, how many different worries people have in this world.
Seeing that no words were coming out of my mouth, the doctor sat down a little more comfortably, then he said in a particular tone, “The boy is very young. He is staying with his parents for a couple of months on holiday. So, naturally, his mind will be a little more flighty when it comes to studies. He wakes up in the morning and has his breakfast by eight-thirty or nine. From that point of view, I think it would be good if you came in the evening. Just come every day and fiddle with the boy’s books.”
While listening to the doctor, I was furtively looking at the small bottles of various medicine companies, tablets, capsules scattered on his table, and the calendar hanging on the wall. “Just come every day and fiddle with the boy’s books!” Hearing these words, my spleen almost jumped out of my skin! As it is, I have to twist my lips and tongue in various ways to pronounce words in the Calcutta accent while teaching. I have to speak holding my breath. And then again, every day? I say, does this man have any sense? The practice of going to a student’s house to teach every day ended ages ago. Nowadays, no gentleman makes such a request to a master to teach his son at home. If we were not in the drawing-room but somewhere else outside, I would have given him a piece of my mind. Due to my direct involvement in the matter and Sanatanda’s mediation, my strong protest could not reach a high pitch.
I mumbled to Sanatanda, “Sanatanda, I can’t come and teach every day. At most, I can come four days a week.” As I said this, a small smile flashed on my lips. The smile was not at all sincere. It felt as if I had hastily borrowed a formal smile from someone and put it on my lips for a moment.
Hearing my words, Sanatanda didn’t know what to say. He remained silent. Seeing that he was not saying anything, the doctor broke the silence after a while and said, “Okay, you can do as you please. I was saying you should come every day - but I also have to see your convenience and inconvenience, what do you say?” Sanatanda hadn’t said anything for a long time. As soon as the doctor finished his sentence, he said, “That’s right.” Then he turned to me and said, “Okay, teach him four days a week. But put pressure on him to study so that he studies alone at home.” I nodded in agreement. Just then, Mrs. Moti Baidya entered with my future student. The lady must have been in the next room and heard our conversation. The boy looks smart. Usually, when I see chubby, pampered, young boys from rich families, my bad temper flares up. I feel like taking them to a secluded place and pinching their bottoms hard. Of course, I have never been able to do it. The doctor’s son is not chubby and pampered. He is quite smart. I liked him.
Mrs. Baidya, while sitting in an armchair, said, “The student is very naughty. He only shirks his studies. You have to tackle him tactfully.”
Handle this! Now, I hope she doesn’t start a lecture on tackling tactfully. I think to myself, and without showing any distorted expression on my face, I say with a smile, “If he doesn’t make mischief in his childhood, will he do it when he’s old?” Then, very cautiously, I ask the boy sweetly, “What’s your name?”
“Shaibal Baidya.” “Wow, what a beautiful name you have. So what’s the name of your school?” “St. Edmund’s, Darjeeling.” “What class do you study in?” “I study in class five.”
The boy answers my questions very quickly. I feel very good hearing his words. Not only me, Sanatanda also likes him. Usually, small children move away from the lanky, long-faced Sanatanda from a distance. Sanatanda also doesn’t pull small children close to him with affection. But he pulled Shaibal close and, pointing to me, said, “He will teach you at home. You’ll see, he can tell such beautiful stories. If you want, he can also teach you many games. You will study with him very attentively, okay?” Hearing Sanatanda’s words, the boy nodded his head.
A lot of time passed during our conversation. I am thinking to myself that it would be better to leave now. I signaled to Sanatanda. Sanatanda is also in a great hurry. He probably has to go out for some other social service or some other business. As soon as he got my signal, he got up. He said to the doctor, “Well, doctor, I’ll be leaving now. Everything is more or less settled. He will come and teach from tomorrow.” The doctor said with a smile, “Okay, okay.” Then Sanatanda and I said goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Baidya and left the drawing-room.
As evening approaches and the lights of the shops on both sides of the road begin to twinkle, I set out from home. After crossing the lane of my house and walking for five or six minutes on the main road, I reach Dr. Moti Baidya’s house next to the hospital. A few years ago, the place was quite deserted. At night, the lights from the glass doors of the hospital would fall a few yards away and lie prostrate. From a distance, the dimly lit wards in the deserted environment would embrace the dilapidated, diseased individuals in a mysterious form. Occasionally, the owls from the old, shaggy tamarind trees would hoot ominously and spread panic. On the opposite side of the hospital, in the old, broken-down shacks of Kalumistri, Jagai Mochi, and Biru Pal, the dim light of the kerosene lamps would burn for a while in the darkness of the evening and then go out with a puff of smoke. Of course, it is not like that anymore. It is not known where Jagai Mochi, Kalumistri, and Biru Pal have gone to some unknown place. After demolishing the broken shacks, the Seraogis, Bihanis, and Seths have come and settled down. Now, only after evening, they are doing a lot of business with various machinery and pipes. They are on very good terms with the big bosses of the office. I walk along the main road, pass the shops of the Bihanis and Seths, and enter the lane just opposite the Seraogi’s shop.
Dr. Moti Baidya’s house is just a few yards from the mouth of the lane. A few gentlemen are pacing in the lane. Looking at them, one would think they are very high-class people. Besides their fixed government salaries, their pockets have the magic of accumulating a large sum of money. I walk past them and enter the house. As soon as I step onto the veranda, I am startled. This is a strange thing, my friend! I have never seen such a wonderful gathering in my life. I have seen a half-furlong long line of tins and bottles for kerosene on the side of the road. I have seen the pushing and shoving of the emaciated, dirty, and unruly crowd to buy two kilos of rice from the state federation. I have seen the line to buy railway tickets. But I have never seen such a wonderful gathering of pregnant women. Pregnant women are sitting in rows on the veranda of Dr. Moti Baidya’s house with their bellies sticking out. At first, I couldn’t think of what to do. Then I composed myself and glanced over them. Most of them are all skin and bones with huge bellies. There are a few exceptions, of course. They have probably come because of the pain of not being pregnant. Among them, on a bench in the corner of the veranda, a gentleman is also sitting huddled next to a stout pregnant woman. He must be the lady’s husband. Seeing his sheepish face, it seems that all his wife’s pain has possessed him. This is a unique sight. Wild animals are beautiful in the forest, and pregnant women are beautiful on Moti Baidya’s veranda. I couldn’t stay for long. The suspicious looks of all of them were annoying me. I went straight into the house. For a moment, I felt like shouting and telling them that my arrival has nothing to do with the imminent labor pains of the pregnant women. I will now go straight upstairs, right above Dr. Moti Baidya’s head. But without saying anything, I had to go upstairs.
Shaibal is eagerly waiting for me. As soon as he sees me, he welcomes me warmly. I pull up the chair in front of his table and sit down. There are math, science, and English books on Shaibal’s table. I casually pull out the math book and give him a few sums from the beginning to solve. He takes his notebook and pencil and starts solving the sums one by one like a motor car on an empty road. I am very happy to see this and say to him, “Wow, you have a wonderful hand in math. How beautifully you are solving them one by one.” Hearing my words, he giggled, and immediately a black tooth in his upper gum caught my attention. I ask him in surprise, “Hey Shaibal, why is your front tooth so black?” Hearing my question, he gets a little embarrassed. Then he said, “It’s not my fault that my tooth is black. When my mother was pregnant, my father gave her some tablets to eat, that’s why it’s like this.”
Handle this! This one is a modern-day Abhimanyu. Hearing his answer, I didn’t proceed further on this topic. I say, “You solve the rest of the sums.” Shaibal concentrates on the sums again. I sit there glumly. After a while, he said to me, “You know, uncle, I was very nervous.” I am startled to hear such a thing suddenly. I immediately ask, “Why?” He said, “When my father told me about the master, I thought, who knows, some old man in a dirty Punjabi will come and sit in front of me chewing paan and just scold me for no reason.”
“I can also scold.” “You can’t at all. You are very good.”
“Hey! Is this little kid flattering me?” I think to myself. Even if he is flattering me, I can’t say anything rude to him in this situation. I say to him in a simple way, “You’ll see how I scold and twist your ear if you don’t study.” Hearing my words, he smiled a little and started solving the sums again. I am looking at him once and then at the road outside through the upstairs window. Vehicles and people are moving on the road. The Seraogis’ shop is fully visible. How quickly the Seraogis make their business line easy and simple according to their own will. The big bosses of the office, S.D.O.s, Executive Engineers, cunningly hand over various orders for this and that to them throughout the year. My thoughts wander around the Seraogis. Suddenly, the connection is broken by Shaibal’s abrupt question. Shaibal, with his pen and notebook in front of him, asks, “Uncle, may I ask you questions?” “Yes” “What is your name?” “Brindaban Das.” “What is your father’s name?” “Kashinath Das.” “Do you play?” “No” “Do you go to the cinema?” “I go occasionally.” After all these questions and answers, he pauses for a moment. Then he says to me again, “Well, uncle, tell me what my first question was?” I think for a moment. Then I said, “Your first question was - What is your name?” Hearing my answer, Shaibal jumped up with joy. He started shouting loudly, “Uncle, you failed, you failed! You failed the memory test!” At first, I was quite taken aback.
He says with a laugh, “My first question was - May I ask you questions?”
I am caught and feel like a fool. To cover it up, I start laughing loudly, “Ho ho ho.” With the shaking of my body with laughter, both the chair and the table shook. Suddenly, it occurred to me that Dr. Moti Baidya is below me, examining the pregnant wives of the city’s wealthy people one by one in a dark room, pressing their bellies to see if their future generation, which will maintain their glorious lineage, will be able to come into this world strong and healthy. Dr. Moti Baidya is checking if everything is all right. He is checking and giving prescriptions. He is giving prescriptions and, after checking the money, putting it in the drawer. And I, sala, have lost my civic sense and am creating a nuisance sitting on his head - shame! Thinking about all this, I became quiet and, becoming serious, concentrated on teaching Shaibal.
I sit next to Shaibal for about an hour and a half and supervise his studies. Then, after explaining the next day’s lesson, I slowly come down from the second floor. Dr. Moti Baidya is still busy with the pregnant women. Of course, the gathering of pregnant women on the veranda is almost empty. I slowly cross the veranda and come out of the lane onto the main road. Walking along with the flowing sea of people, I think, this is a strange, traditional glory of this ancient country. If the pregnant women line up in advance on Dr. Moti Baidya’s veranda, their problems are solved by the gentle touch of Moti Baidya’s hands at the right time in the hospital. Otherwise, Moti Baidya’s head gets messed up when he sees the crowd of ordinary pregnant women without prior acquaintance in the hospital. I am a three-paisa master! In class, if a boy asks more than two questions, I silence him with a roar like a tiger’s cub. But when I go to a student’s house to teach, I speak sweetly even if he makes a thousand tantrums. This is another strange, traditional glory of this ancient country!
Samakal, September, 1979