Mrin wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Maybe she was born with a bronze one but it didn't last beyond the first three months. Her father was teaching a school at that time and her mother had graduated from a local college but decided to be a homemaker when she got married. They had a fair income to survive as a quintessential middle class family in the 1980's but then he got into a PhD program with the Ohio State University. The lure of becoming Dr. Ganguly proved to be too strong as he finalised his departure but decided against taking with him his wife and baby daughter. His wife didn't even know how to speak English and feeding 3 mouths with the limited income seemed difficult. He of course promised to send money every month. Then one early September morning, as is the characteristic of flight timings for international journeys, he took off. That was the last anyone heard from him. He didn't turn rogue. He was a good Bengali boy with roots and values. His plane didn't crash. He didn't die in a shootout. He caught pneumonia, had some complications and died within a month of landing in U.S.A.
Mrin's mother had moved back with her parents when her husband left. She was a nice lady, if slightly naive. She had genuinely believed he will come back after his Ph.D. When the phone call came through, her father attended the call. She didn't understand English. She was busy massaging Mrin's tiny body with hot mustard oil while basking in the mild October sun. The sky was clear blue. Durga Puja was around the corner. You could smell the anticipation in the air. There was a latent feeling of joyousness in the atmosphere. Her father came and took Mrin out of her hands and then broke the news to her. He knew otherwise Mrin might have been dropped. She fainted at the news.
Mrin's grandfather was a retired clerk living on a pension. While he fed and clothed Mrin's mother and Mrin, a baby's growing needs was proving to be too much. Remarriage was not unheard of but still rare in the 80's. But Mrin's Dadu (as she called him by then) was a good respectable man who had helped a lot of people in his time. He called in a few favours and Mrin had a new name at the age of 3. She was now Mrinalini Roy Chowdhury. She had a room for herself. She also had 2 siblings now. Well step siblings - a 16 year old brother and a 11 year old sister. They were not very accepting of this new kid in the house but they didn't resist much either. The house was big enough.
When Mrin's mother remarried, Mrin was too young to remember the day or time. She was later told it was "Hemanta Kaal" - the autumn season. The morning sky was azure blue with wisps of clouds floating in the sky like the remnants of a dream now no more. But as Bengali weddings go, it was held in the dead of the night. Her Didun (grandmother) recounts that they were all worried Mrin will cry and throw a fit and they tried to put her to sleep. But she stayed up the entire duration and stared in wonder at the ceremony. Her large black eyes were open with wonder as they hungrily devoured the scene in front of her, the ceremonial fire, the chants, the colours, the unintelligible Mantras, everything. The ceremony was simple, it was the second wedding for both bride and groom and both didn't want the fanfare of their previous wedding. Some close family and friends were all that was there.
Mrin didn't remember her biological father nor did she hear much about him. No one ever spoke of him at home, not her Ma, her Dadu or her Didun. Her mother was barely out of her teens when she married. It was an arranged marriage where she barely said 5 sentences to her would-be groom before marriage. Post marriage, she had Mrin within the first year. While she was devastated at losing a husband, her emotional bond with him was not so strong that she would be wounded for ever. So when her father suggested the second marriage, while she was appalled initially at the very idea, she gave in soon. For her, her second husband was to go on to become the sign of marriage. But initially she did oppose. She was worried for Mrin. Mrin was her own, a part of her and she wanted whats best for Mrin. Eventually it was Mrin and her well being that turned her around to the idea of the wedding.
Mrin grew up to believe Mr. Roy Chowdhury to be her father. No one ever hid her past but no one spoke about it openly either. Mr. Roy Chowdhury was much older than her mother, almost double her age. He gave Mrin all the material comforts. Having being born and spent 3 years in comparative hardship, the golden spoon was suddenly thrust into her mouth at the age of 3. But with the golden spoon, something slipped away. Something like the comfort of an old and tattered yet much beloved blanket of love of her grandparents and the undivided attention and love of her mother.
Mrin's mother had moved back with her parents when her husband left. She was a nice lady, if slightly naive. She had genuinely believed he will come back after his Ph.D. When the phone call came through, her father attended the call. She didn't understand English. She was busy massaging Mrin's tiny body with hot mustard oil while basking in the mild October sun. The sky was clear blue. Durga Puja was around the corner. You could smell the anticipation in the air. There was a latent feeling of joyousness in the atmosphere. Her father came and took Mrin out of her hands and then broke the news to her. He knew otherwise Mrin might have been dropped. She fainted at the news.
Mrin's grandfather was a retired clerk living on a pension. While he fed and clothed Mrin's mother and Mrin, a baby's growing needs was proving to be too much. Remarriage was not unheard of but still rare in the 80's. But Mrin's Dadu (as she called him by then) was a good respectable man who had helped a lot of people in his time. He called in a few favours and Mrin had a new name at the age of 3. She was now Mrinalini Roy Chowdhury. She had a room for herself. She also had 2 siblings now. Well step siblings - a 16 year old brother and a 11 year old sister. They were not very accepting of this new kid in the house but they didn't resist much either. The house was big enough.
When Mrin's mother remarried, Mrin was too young to remember the day or time. She was later told it was "Hemanta Kaal" - the autumn season. The morning sky was azure blue with wisps of clouds floating in the sky like the remnants of a dream now no more. But as Bengali weddings go, it was held in the dead of the night. Her Didun (grandmother) recounts that they were all worried Mrin will cry and throw a fit and they tried to put her to sleep. But she stayed up the entire duration and stared in wonder at the ceremony. Her large black eyes were open with wonder as they hungrily devoured the scene in front of her, the ceremonial fire, the chants, the colours, the unintelligible Mantras, everything. The ceremony was simple, it was the second wedding for both bride and groom and both didn't want the fanfare of their previous wedding. Some close family and friends were all that was there.
Mrin didn't remember her biological father nor did she hear much about him. No one ever spoke of him at home, not her Ma, her Dadu or her Didun. Her mother was barely out of her teens when she married. It was an arranged marriage where she barely said 5 sentences to her would-be groom before marriage. Post marriage, she had Mrin within the first year. While she was devastated at losing a husband, her emotional bond with him was not so strong that she would be wounded for ever. So when her father suggested the second marriage, while she was appalled initially at the very idea, she gave in soon. For her, her second husband was to go on to become the sign of marriage. But initially she did oppose. She was worried for Mrin. Mrin was her own, a part of her and she wanted whats best for Mrin. Eventually it was Mrin and her well being that turned her around to the idea of the wedding.
Mrin grew up to believe Mr. Roy Chowdhury to be her father. No one ever hid her past but no one spoke about it openly either. Mr. Roy Chowdhury was much older than her mother, almost double her age. He gave Mrin all the material comforts. Having being born and spent 3 years in comparative hardship, the golden spoon was suddenly thrust into her mouth at the age of 3. But with the golden spoon, something slipped away. Something like the comfort of an old and tattered yet much beloved blanket of love of her grandparents and the undivided attention and love of her mother.
