Finchu Mama

Then rumours started flowing in. Any and everyone coming from any direction was telling one story or another and some of which was that the muslims were mustering all around the town and the outskirts for attacking the Hindus in the town. In Jalpaiguri town the Hindus were a vast majority. There were hardly more than ten percent muslims after independence and partition of the country. Some ares in the outskirts and adjoining villages there were a number of muslims who were mostly poor farmers with one or two landholders among them. The elders congregated in a meeting on the varanda of Ghatak Bari and after much deliberation it was decided that all women and children would be sent inside the jail compound for their safety and all youngmen would stand on guard at all the places of entrance to our locality with whatever weapons they could gather. Though we were college students but we and all our friends were given the duty of guarding the streets, lanes and by-lanes within the Para mostly guarding our own houses. Jiban Gati Ray, with his double-barrelled gun stood on the ist floow varanda of his huge mansion. My father with his single barrel gun was posted on the crossing in front of Umagati Vidya Mandir. A group under the leadership of Sambhu Mukherjee took position near Raikut Bari More (Street crossing). A group took position near Dinbazar Post Office just near the Bazar er pool. Two other groups assembled at Dhardhara bridge near sub-area school and on the road from Walkergunge. It was a scene when the ladies of our locality with their gold and jewellery bound in a corner of their sarees and small children in hand started walking towards the jail compound water pouring profusely from their eyes and lamenting loudly at the loss of everything in their lives and at the same time giving solace to each other.

Finchu Mama

It was end 1949 or early 1950. I was in Ist year. Gora was my class mate but in science stream. Finchu Mama was in class IX. He was two years my junior. He left Zilla School and was admitted in Fanindra Dev Institution. The political tension was mounting between India and Pakistan. A riot started in East Pakistan. Actually it was not a riot. The muslims in East Pakistan was literally slaughtering Hindus, torturing Hindu women, driving them out by force. Almost lacs of Hindu people were flooding West Bengal every day. They were coming by train, by road, on carts and even on foot. Then a few trains arrived the border and also Sealdah station with a number of wounded and slaughtered dead bodies consecutively for a few days. Obviously the tensions were mounting in West Bengal also. We were getting the news thorough newspapers. There were stories and photographs every day in all the papers. Then suddenly a few dead bodies arrived at our town by train from east Pakistan consecutively for two days. Darjeeling Mail in those days was still following its old route from Sealdah to Darjeeling via Barrackpore, Naihati, Ranaghat and then through Darshana, Poradaha, Iswardi, Santahar, Parbatipur in the then East Pakistan (and now Bangladesh) and then entering India again at Haldibari and reached Siliguri (Siliguri Town Station at present) passing Jalpaiguri on its way. These dead bodies arrived in Darjeeling Mail. The situation in our otherwise very calm and sober town was very tense. Classes in college remained suspended. Then one morning news reached us that looting has started in the Dinbazar area. There were some shops belonging to some muslim people on the main road just in front of Nawab Palace. Some miscreants, taking advantage of the political and communal tension, started looting those shops. One of friends, Laxmi, who went for daily shopping, instead of vegetables and fish etc. was coming back with shoes loaded in his shopping bag. We stopped him in front of our house. When his bag was unpacked we found a number of shoes and sleepers but could not find even a single pair which could fit both feet of a person. Luxmi told us that when he reached the place, looting was in full spree and he just collected and bagged whatever he could lay his hands on. Luxmi felt very ashamed in front of all the people many of whom were the elders.

Finchu Mama

Finchu Mama had a wonderful sense of humour. I shall narrate here a few such examples. The first one is like this : One day Finch mama asked me whether I know how a sikh greets another person or how a sikh is usually greeted by any other person. I did not know. I told him so. Then Finchu mama told me that it is the practice to greet a sikh with the words "Sasuragal Mundia". He also told me "Minu, whenever you see a sikh, greet him with those words. He will be very happy." I was not sure and at that time I did not know any sikh gentleman. After a few years when I visited a tea garden for some work and was in the midst of a discussion with the manager, a sikh gentleman came and met the Manager of the tea garden. The Manager was a marathi. He greeted the sikh gentleman with the words "Sat Sri Akal". The sikh gentleman returned the greetings with the same words "Sat Sri Akal" but his pronunciation appeared to me somewhat like "Satsrigal". In my leisure I pondered over it and then it struck me why Finchu Mama told me to greet a sikh with the words "Sasuragal.....". Most probably he also heard a sikh pronounce the word "Sat Sri Akal" in the same diction as I heard that day and twisted it a bit for me. But even then the word "Mundia" eluded me. It so happened that the same sikh gentleman came to the garden again next day and started a general conversation with me. In no time I became at ease in his company. Then casually I asked him about "Sat Sri Akal". He explained me the meaning of it and admitted that his own pronunciation "Satsrigal" is not very correct, but that is the common practice with many north indians. Then in between conversation I casually asked him about the word "Mundia". He told me that it means "cleaned shaved" and I came to know that a sikh who maintains the five rituals of Kada, Kesh, etc. feel offended if anybody call him "Mundia". When I came together face to face with Finchu Mama, we had a great laughter over it.

Finch Mama

Here is another instance of Finchu Mama's translation hobby. In those days there was a very popular modern bengali song which ran as : Prithibi amarey chaye. Rekhona Bendhe amay. Khule dao priya, kule dao bahu dore.

Finchu Mama translated it : "World wants me, Don't bind me, Open my dearest, Open thy binding."

I now do not remember the other lines. But in the same song there was another line which ran as : "Kato Bodhu kande, Kande koto ashahay". The translation was " How many wives cry, cry how many helpless."

Both of us laughed to our heart's content and enjoyed the exercise.

(more on Finchu Mama to follow......)

Finch Mama

Here is another instance of Finchu Mama's translation hobby. In those days there was a very popular modern bengali song which ran as : Prithibi amarey chaye. Rekhona Bendhe amay. Khule dao priya, kule dao bahu dore.

Finchu Mama translated it : "World wants me, Don't bind me, Open my dearest, Open thy binding."

I now do not remember the other lines. But in the same song there was another line which ran as : "Kato Bodhu kande, Kande koto ashahay". The translation was " How many wives cry, cry how many helpless."

Both of us laughed to our heart's content and enjoyed the exercise.

(more on Finchu Mama to follow......)

Finchu Mama

We were in school in those days. Most probably we were students of class vii or class viii. Finchu Mama suddenly developed a new hobby of translating bengali songs into english and translating names of english/hollywood films into bengali. At this age I do not now remember all. But I can recollect one or two. A new Hollywood film named "Random Harvest" was released. It was a very popular film. We did not see the film but were acquainted with the name of the film. In Finchu Mama's vocabulary the word "harvest" was absent and he therefore thought it to be "Her Best". I do not blame him for this. I knew a number of people in those days who would pronounce it as "Landrum". Finchu Mama was loudly thinking of how "random harvest or " random her best" in his mind could be best translated into bengali. After some deliberations for sometime, he told me "Minu, I think random means "Tal Betal" meaning "no rhyme or reason" or something like that. What do you think?" "May be.", I murmured. So Finchu Mama finally concluded and translated it as "Taal Betaal - i tahar bhalo." (more to follow)....

Finch Mama.

Compared to Finchu Mama, I was a damn bad actor. Yet, I tried my hand in it. My attempt was during a Rabindra Jayanti festival. I was then a student of class VII or class VIII. Gora planned to stage Rabindranath's Dakghar and Badal Da wrote a drama on the early life of Rabindranath when he was mostly kept in charge of the servants in the Tagore House. My sister Bulu played Rabindranath in Badal Da's play and Amal in Dakghar. Finchumama was Amal's Pishomashay and I was doing the role of "Dada Thakur or Kavi" in Dakghar. Gora arranged my dresses with white hair, beard and mustache made with white cotton. The beard and mustache was attached to my chin with some kind of sticky gum. Badal Da's play was very good and all the actors did very well and Bulu was really superb. Dakghar was also going on very well. Then my entrance came. I was wearing a silken cloth in the fashion of a lungi over my half-pant and a punjabi belonging to Gora's father. I looked like a big handi placed on the head of bamboo stick with my beards and all. I was not at all feeling comfortable with my lungi and the beard and mustache. Then the climax happened. It was the scene where I was sitting on a chair beside a cot where Amal was lying. Pishomoshai (Finchmama) and Kaviraj Mashai was attending to Amal. My first dialogue was "Chup karo abishwasi. Some cotton from the mustache was trying to enter my mouth and I was trying to blow it out. I did not use my hand because Gora, our Director, repeatedly told me not to move my limbs too much unnecessarily. So, I was trying to blow it out. My mother, who was sitting on the second row, was trying to draw my attention and ask me not to do what I was doing. After she failed to persuade me to desist from it, she lost her cool, stood up and shouted out " Ei Minu, Hochche ta ki. Sei tokhon theke bosey bosey phu phu korey jachchis?" I thought it discourteous of me not to explain my predicament to my mother's querry. So, I started to get up to reply. In those days it was not considered a good behaviour to give reply to elders while sitting when the elder is on her feet. My lungi fell to the ground and I stood there with a very big punjabi on a half-pant with cotton-white hair, beard, mustache et al on the stage. Everybody including the audience was mesmerised for a moment or two and then burst out laughing. It was a roar. Gora, somehow, managed to draw the drop scene down.

Finchu Mama

Finchu Mama was just three months my senior. He was very simple at heart and relied on my judgement in many matters. He was an average student like us but had the unique talent in acting in school days. He was also very good at recitation of poems and every year participated at the "Kala Protiyogita" held at Arya Natya Samaj and earned prizes. I still remember his acting in the role of villain in a drama on the life of Maharaj Nanda Kumar enacted by the students at Zilla School. He was possibly a student of class V or Vi at that time. It was so good that everybody appreciated it. Our friend Gora (brother of Left Front minister and Forward Bloc leader Late Nirmal Bose, our beloved Badal Da.) was Nanda Kumar and another boy did Warren Hastings. Finch Mama's role was comparatively very small as a witness in the case against Nanda Kumar. But he did a wonderful job. In later years, however, he did not persue this line. In fact he never persued those points where he had a talent. There was a time when he started wrting short stories and those were really something wonderful. He became very popular as a story writer, particularly among the girls and ladies. I do not know whether any of his stories have been preserved. Those were mostly published in the magazine published by Danpiteder Ashar and edited by Dr. Sarajit Bagchi. (More on Finch Mama...to follow).

Busy.

I was otherwise busy and could not post anything for quite sometime. I will now try to come back again.

Memoirs of another day - A. Roy Mukherjee.

The other most exciting event of this period was the 1942 movement. We were then at Rampurhat, a small town in the Birbhum district. One day a procession was passing through the street in front of our house. I was standing at the gate of our house. Bhola Da, my father’s official orderly was also standing beside me. There were a number of Santhal adibashis joining the procession and shouting slogans. Suddenly a very tall and stout person from those people took me away on his shoulder and started dancing and chanting slogans. I enjoyed it very much. Bhola Da was running side by side and urging the person to leave me alone. The procession halted near the local Police Station. The agitation increased to a crescendo. Bhola Da, somehow, managed to take me away from that person and we came back home. But we could see everything clearly from our house, as the Police Station was not very far. However, nothing much happened that day and after sometime the procession passed peacefully.

Memoirs of another day - Arun Roy Mukherjee

During this period the most exciting news was the sudden disappearance of Subhas Chandra Bose from their house in Calcutta where he was under surveillance of the British Government Police. I was only amazed by the news that he simply vanished and nobody could find any clue about it. My parents were however very agitated and often discussed the matter in hushed tones. There were so many stories running. Some people said that he went to have some fresh air near the Outram Ghat accompanied by the Prime Minister of Bengal and then suddenly jumped into a Japanese submarine anchoring in the Ganges and the submarine immediately vanished from the scene. Another story was that a sadhu came to visit him and after talking to him for some minutes left. When the people went to his room to serve him food after about a few hours, he was not there and the sadhu was also not there. I remember having seen Subhas Chandra from quite a distance when he came to Jalpaiguri to address a meeting. I do not remember the exact date or the year. But it must be either in 1938 or 1939. My mother along with me accompanied by a few of the family members went to see him. I faintly remember his appearance.

Memoirs of another day - Arun Roy Mukherjee

The world war broke out sometime in September, 1939. In the next two years it spread into Asia and almost covered the entire world. When at Rampurhat, my father was contributing to two daily newspapers of which one was in English and the other in vernacular. The news of the war which included the description of war zones and movement of opposite forces covered most of the pages. These also included maps of those areas. I developed a liking for study of the Maps. My father bought me a very good atlas which had detailed maps of all the countries and of India and Bengal in particular. I spent a good amount of my time, after school and studies in those pages of the newspapers and the atlas. Within a very short span of time I knew almost all the big towns, rivers, deserts and mountains of the world in the maps. I also learnt to relate the maps printed in the newspapers to the country/countries shown there to the maps in the atlas and where those are in the world. My interest in physical geography grew from that time of my life and it is continuing in the same fervor till date.

Memoirs of another day - Arun Roy Mukherjee

XXIV : While in this school at Rampurhat, a fuuny incident happened and I still enjoy a hearty laugh whenever it come up in my mind. I was then a student of class IV. A notice was circulated that a high government official was coming to visit our school. So the Headmaster and the teachers started preparing for the impending visit by the official. The Headmaster, who knew my father and also knew that my mother can sing songs, requested that a few boys be trained by my mother in singing a good song of welcome. My mother accepted the proposal and started training four of us, all students of the school. My mother selected “ Swagato, Swagato he aji atithi”, a Bengali song of Rabindranath for the occasion. It so happened that the said government official was also to visit some other institutions also. The organizers and officials of those institutions got the message of our music training and approached my mother to allow the boys to sing the same song at their functions when the government official visited their places. My mother told them to take up the matter with the school headmaster for such permission. Any way, permission was granted. It was so arranged that we, the four of us, would first attend the school when the officer arrives and after completing the song, shall immediately leave for the next venue of his visit and so on. On the appointed day, the officer arrived at our school first. We sang the song and then was almost snatched away for the next venue. We arrived and sang our song and so completed three such places one after the other. The incident happened at the forth spot. The officer arrived, was welcomed and garlanded and took his chair on the temporary dias. We were all ready with our harmonium et all. As soon as we started to sing, the officer jumped on his fit. He was in state of fury. He raised a finger at us and shouted in chaste Bengali “Ei chorara, tora tham to. Sei sakal theke jekhane jachchi, seikhanei ei choraguno amar pechon pechon giye suru korch Hagoto, Hagoto. Jathesto hoyeche. Ar noy.” (You boys, just stop your music. From early morning wherever I am going these boys are following me and starting their song “defecate, defecate”. I had had enough of that.)

Memoirs

I thought of writing something on a current issue. I now do not remember what it is all about. I have become old. I shall surely come back the moment my memory helps me.

Memoirs of another day - Arun Roy Mukherjee

XXIII : My father was transferred to Rampurhat, a small town then in Birbhum. Initially we put up at a mud-built two storied house in a locality near the “Chal-dhowani” pond. This was a very big pond and was the source of water for drinking and cooking for all the residents of the locality. Our first acquaitance there was with the Ganguly family who lived very near to the “Chal-dhowani” pond. The family consisted of an elderly couple and their only son who was my name-sake “Arun”. After a few months we shifted to a new brick-built house near the local police station. A mosque was just beside our house and a very big pond was also there at the back of our house. This is for the first time that I was admitted to a school. I became a student of Rampurhat High School and was admitted into Class IV. The school was very near to the local court house, Sub-division jail and the Railway station. The Town Hall and Club and the local football ground were also not very far. Initially Bhola Da used to take me to school everyday but after a few days I could make it all by myself. Bhola Da used to bring my daily tiffin consisting of a few sweetmeats and a glass of milk. My father became a member of the Town Hall club and used to visit the club every evening. The club organised to stage two drama. The members of the club played the different charecters in the drama. One was “Tatinir Bichar” and the other was a historical drama consisting a period of Aurangazeb’s rule. In “Tatinir Bichar” my father enacted the female role of “Tatini’s Pishima”.and in the other as the Rajput king Jay Singha. Mukunda Babu was the rector of our school. Much later in life I came to know that the rector of our Rampurhat School Mukunda Babu was the disciple of none other than Sri M (Mahendra Nath Gupta) the famous writer of “Sri RamaKrishna Kathamrita”.

Memoirs of another day - Arun Roy Mukherjee.

XXII : Sejomama in those days was staying at Belakoba. Belakoba was a remote village and very few people lived there. Sejomama lived in a house the walls of which were made of bamboo. One local man used to attend to Sejomama’s all personal needs. The man had the habit of taking opium. He used to boil some milk with his dose of opium every evening and drink it and keep the vessel somewhere outside the kitchen. One night a tiger came to that place and somehow had a taste of the remains in the vessel. From then on the tiger would come every night and taste the opium-milk left in the vessel. One day the attendant took leave and went somewhere else. There was no opium-milk that night. The tiger came and having not found the opium-milk started howling and roamed around the place till morning. Sejomama was very much afraid and left the place at the first opportunity and came back to Jalpaiguri and did not go back to Belakoba again In winter tigers used to come even to Jalpaiguri town almost every other night. (Posted)

MEMOIRES OF ANOTHER DAY -XXII -Arun Rou Mukherjee

XXII : Sejomama in those days was staying at Belakoba. Belakoba was a remote village and very few people lived there. Sejomama lived in a house the walls of which were made of bamboo. One local man used to attend to Sejomama’s all personal needs. The man had the habit of taking opium. He used to boil some milk with his dose of opium every evening and drink it and keep the vessel somewhere outside the kitchen. One night a tiger came to that place and somehow had a taste of the remains in the vessel. From then on the tiger would come every night and taste the opium-milk left in the vessel. One day the attendant took leave and went somewhere else. There was no opium-milk that night. The tiger came and having not found the opium-milk started howling and roamed around the place till morning. Sejomama was very much afraid and left the place at the first opportunity and came back to Jalpaiguri and did not go back to Belakoba again In winter tigers used to come even to Jalpaiguri town almost every other night.

Sickness

I am not well yet and am unable to post any.

Sickness

I am still sick and am unable to post any at this moment. I shall try to do so within a week.

Sick

I am still not well enough to publish any post.

My sickness

I am still very much sick and am unable to write anything for the present.

My sickness

As I am sick, I may not be able to post anything for quite some time. Please excuse me.

Memoirs of another day - XXI - Arun Roy Mukherjee.

XXI : Community Durga Puja of Raikutpata, in those days, were used to be celebrated on the open field belonging to Jiban Gati Ray which was adjacent to his ancestral house. Wrestling competition and such kind of games were organised on the Mahastami morning at the Puja venue. I was accompanying Didima to the Puja pandal on the Mahastami morning when we saw that the wife of Heramba Mama (Heramba Bose, father of Nirmal Kunar Bose, who in later years became a forward Bloc leader and a minister in the Left Front Government in West Bengal) was returning from the puja venue and tears were rolling down her eyes. Didima asked her for the reasons of weeping on such an auspicious day. She replied that she had made a great mistake that morning at the puja pandal. She stated that she being a kayastha ( a non-brahmin) went inside the puja enclave and touched some puja materials and at that the brahmin ladies who were helping the priests chastised her. Didima became furious to learn that she had been virtually driven out of the puja enclave for this so called mistake. Didima told the lady not to weep and come to the puja pandal with us. Didima virtually dragged her to the puja pandal and after arriving at the site demanded to know who had driven the lady out from the puja enclave. She emphatically stated that this being a community puja, every person of the locality, irrespective of caste, creed or any other consideration had an equal right to participate in every aspect of the puja. She then dragged the lady along with her inside and asked her to join her in helping the priest. All the people present there were dumb-struck and did not either utter an word of objection or shown any resentment openly. Instead, the youngmen present appreciated her move.