Sister, my Sister

My sister: Your departure from this Earth on 25^th April 2021 was a great shock and deeply painful to everybody who knew you. You touched the hearts and minds of not only your near and dear ones, but also everybody who happened to come across you.

But why did you have to leave Earth on the day I was born? Was there a sublime message you were leaving behind for me? Couldn’t we stay together, as we had been doing for many, many years now? A few more years together, happy care-free lives, wouldn’t have caused anybody any harm. So, why did you have to go now? Life is undoubtedly brutal and Tagore expressed that very succinctly in one of his songs:

আমি তোমারি মাটির কন্যা        

জননী বসুন্ধরা !!

তবে আমার মানব জন্ম

কেন বঞ্চিত করো ?

Translated in English, it may read like this:

I am the product of your soil, Mother Earth,

then why do you deprive me of my human life?

Your life and my life, as your younger brother, kept flashing in front of my eyes now. The days when I was just a tiny tot, I used to trail you, follow you, copy you, do everything you did. In my childhood years in Hemnagar, Mymensingh you were my guide, my mentor. Although I was not of schooling age, but you showed me the English alphabet and taught me very gently and lovingly how to write my name in English. I used to wonder how on Earth you can read English and even understand it! You used to tell me stories from your books.  You told me the story of Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘Kabuliwala’, which I liked very much and asked you to tell me over and over again. Years later in Dhaka, you told me in simple Bengali language the story of The Merchant of Venice, and I developed a deep dislike for Shylock who asked for a pound of flesh from Antonio’s body for non-payment of debt!

As our father was the Manager of the Hemnagar Zamindari – appointed by the government of Pakistan in the absence of Hindu Zamindar after the partition of India – we had all the trappings and social privileges of zamindari life style. Although we did not live in the Zamindar’s palace, our home was quite spacious and very comfortable. At the crack of dawn, you used to wake me up, put a flower bucket (ফুলের ডালা) in my hand and asked me to go and collect ‘bokulful’ (a very fragrant flower of jasmine genus). There were two or three bokulful trees just outside our house. Bokulful opens up its buds and becomes extremely fragrant in the early morning and drops on the ground. When I used to bring back bucket full of ‘bokulful’, you used to make garlands. The perfume was simply divine. The habit of rising in the early morning that you induced in me stayed with me almost all my life.

In the tin-roof bungalow type of house where you used to stay while in Hemnagar, there were two tiger cages at one side, each about 3ft high. You used to have one tiger cage and I had the other. There were four mango trees behind the bungalow you had been staying. During the seasonal fruit time, at the slightest of breeze, the ripe mangoes would fall on the ground and that was the time when you and I would compete. Although I was much smaller, I managed to fill my ‘tiger cage’ almost to half of its height, whereas your cage was no more than third full. The reason was that I was more persistent in collecting mangoes than you were. Eating mangoes was not the purpose, filling the cages was.  

When we came back to Dhaka to live permanently and you were in Kamrunnesa Girls school, I was your outside arm. You used to ask me to take your sarees to the laundry that was good 15 minutes’ walk and then a day or two later I had to go and collect the sarees. You used to give me your letters to post at the post office, which was more than 15 minutes’ walking distance. All these things I used to do for a little cuddle and a praise from you. When I learnt how to ride bicycle, one day I borrowed an almost dilapidated bike from my cousin next door and as I was going out, you gave me a letter to post. So, I headed for the post office. On the way there, through the bumpy road, bicycle chain fell off and it took me quite a while to put the chain back, post the letter and come back home. Seeing me back, you said, “You came back quite quickly”. Although that was not exactly true, but that pleased me quite a lot.

Years later, after the death of our father, when within a few months your marriage had been arranged, it was a big occasion. However, the arrangement of this wedding was bit dramatic. In the summer of 1958, you and I went to Boro Khalamma’s (eldest auntie) house in Boiyder Bazaar for a holiday. After about three days, we saw that our Mum had sent a man to Boiyder Bazaar to bring us back to Dhaka immediately. As per instructions, we came back to Dhaka cutting short our holiday and found that your marriage had been arranged. The groom’s side needed no meeting with the bride, no background check of our family etc, as the groom’s side had surreptitiously been fact finding for months and just waited for the opportune moment to propose to our family.

The wedding was on 27^th June. I do remember the date because many of the wedding presents came with the inscription, 27^th June, Zu-un’s wedding (২৭ জুন , জুনের বিয়েতে). The large gathering, the glitch and the glamour of the wedding party were all very enjoyable to us all. I was at the centre of attraction in the party as the younger brother of the bride. But within a month, Dulabhai took you away to Karachi, his place of work. When after three or four months, you did not come back, I got impatient. I asked my mum, “Mum, why Chhoto Apa is not coming back?”. Mum said, “She is married now.”, I said, “So what? Pay back all the money Dulabhai had spent on Chhoto Apa and bring her back”. That did not go down well with Dulabhai! I was only 12.

About ten years later, in February 1968, after my M.Sc. exam I went to visit you and our other siblings in Karachi. Probably realising that 10 years earlier I had to endure the agony of losing you to Dulabhai, he made up for everything. He treated me as if I was the most precious person in the whole world! I had the most fantastic time with you in your house at the Karachi University campus. After coming back, when I got the M.Sc. result and immediately got the University Lecturer’s job; you and Dulabhai were the first persons to congratulate me.   

Just after a short four years, after the liberation of Bangladesh, all of you came back to Bangladesh and Dulabhai took the teaching position at Jahangirnagar University Bengali Department. By that time, I came to England to do my Ph.D. However, I visited your place at Jahangirnagar University every time I went to Bangladesh and found you so happy in the academic atmosphere of the University. After Dulabhai’s retirement from University, you did come back to our parental home in late 1980s(?), with Dulabhai of course, from where you left with Dulabhai over 30 years earlier. Of course, our parental home had changed into a multi-storied apartment block and my apartment was right next to your apartment and then I would have no grounds to complain that you were not with me.

I visited your apartment many times. In fact, most of the times when I visited Bangladesh, I stayed with you. Years earlier when I was staying with you, on the second or third day, you wanted me to make sure that I dine with you. Not knowing what was going on, I stayed home to dine with you and you brought duck meat. I said, “Oh, my God, this is my most favourite meat”. You said, you knew and that’s why you had cooked it by yourself. And then you brought Bhuna Khichuri. I was taken completely aback. I thought, only my Mum knew about my most favourite dish. But you knew too and entertained me with such a dish. You took the role of our Mum.

You were the glue to the whole of our family. You always treated everybody with love, care and affection. Even if someone misbehaved with you, you never fought back. When you told me many of such instances, I used to ask you, why didn’t you reply back? You used to say, what was the point in hurting the feeling of that person. You were always compromising to maintain amity within the family. 

You were very proud of all of us. When I wrote a text book about 10 years ago on “Decommissioning and Radioactive Waste Management” for graduate and post-graduate studies in British and European Universities, you asked me to give you a copy. I said, I wouldn’t expect you to read it. You said, “No, but I would show others that my brother had written it.” So, I gave you a copy.

Your love and affection to all our relations, even to strangers, were legendary. When you were in the ICU with Covid infection only a few days ago, a doctor came to see you; after his visit, you asked the doctor whether he had his lunch yet. The doctor was stunned, no patient ever enquired about doctor’s well-being or his lunch. The doctor said that she was like his mother. You loved and empathised with anybody who came in contact with you. That is why, the helpers in your apartment building were so very distraught at your demise.

We all love life and despise death. It is definitely very painful to see someone gone forever. But to create a false narrative that heaven and hell are all waiting (somewhere) is just misleading and delusional. The poet, D L Roy expressed the ultimate truth in more realistic and mundane way when he said:

আমরা এমনি এসে ভেসে যাই

আলোর মতন, হাসির মতন

কুসুমগন্ধ রাশির মতন

হাওয়ার মতন, নেশার মতন

ঢেউয়ের মতন ভেসে যাই

আমরা এমনি এসে ভেসে যাই

Translated in English, it may look like:

“We just come and float away

            like the ray of light, like a smile,

            like the sweet smell of a fragrant flower,

            like a breeze, like an intoxication,

like the crest of a wave,

            We just come and float away.”

Dr A Rahman is an author and a columnist

Mita Haque – the obituary

Mita Haque, the eminent Rabindra Sangeet singer

Mita Haque, one of the foremost Rabindra Sangeet singers not only in Bangladesh but also in West Bengal of India had sadly passed away only at the age of 59 at 6:15 am on 11 April, 2021 in Dhaka. It is a great loss, almost irreparable loss, to the Tagore song lovers all over the world. The inconsolable grief of the people of Bangladesh and of West Bengal at her demise is heart rending to watch.

Mita Haque was born on 6^th September, 1962 in Dhaka in a very music-oriented family where songs, music, performing arts etc were parts of life. Her father was an enthusiast musical instrumentalist. But the major influence on her life came from her paternal uncle, Mr Waheedul Haque and his wife, Dr Sanjida Khatun, both of them were stalwarts in vocal music. Waheedul Haque must have sensed her talent at an early age in vocal songs, particularly Tagore songs, and encouraged her to follow it up.

As Mita Haque herself reminisced in her later life that even before she could speak, she used to rhyme. When she was about seven years old, she used to listen to elders singing Tagore songs and she would sing on her own a line and then she might forget the next line, she used to make it up and sing! As a small school girl, she was a regular singer at the annual school cultural activities. When she was eleven, she participated at the International Children’s Festival in Berlin in 1973.

She started taking music lessons seriously at the age of 13 from Mohammad Hossain Khan, who was a leading tabla player at that time. Although as a child she used to listen to and sing all varieties of songs such as Atul Prasad songs, D L Roy songs, Nazrul Geeti, modern songs etc, but she was wedded to Tagore songs right from childhood. She said, all other songs were for her to listen, Tagore songs were for her to sing. She embraced Tagore songs, Tagore poems, Tagore’s myriad of literature etc with all her life. Tagore was with her ‘in dreams as well as in waking hours’ (শয়নে স্বপনে).

Although she showed tremendous promise at an early age, she never went to Santiniketan, the school which Tagore family established and Rabindranath expanded for Bengali arts and culture. She learned everything, her love for Tagore songs and music etc, from Waheedul Haque and Sanjida Khatun. In that sense, she was purely a home grown product in Bangladesh

When Shailaja Ranjan Majumdar, a direct disciple of Rabindranath Tagore who worked on making notations in a number of Tagore songs, came to Dhaka in 1981, she along with other budding Tagore singers met him, sang songs for him. Before he left Dhaka, he said to Mita Haque, “Don’t take pride in your achievements and someday you will be a great singer”.

Indeed, she achieved greatness. She was the highest grade Rabindra Sangeet singer in Bangladesh Radio and Televisions. In her relatively short life, she had 14 solo musical albums released in India and 10 albums released in Bangladesh. She received almost all the awards, accolades that there are to receive. She was awarded Shilpakala Padak for Vocal Music, Rabindra Puraskar (Rabindra Prize) from Bangla Academy in 2017, Ekushe Padak for Arts (Music) in 2020 by the Government of Bangladesh. Nearly 15 years ago, she set up a music school called Surtirtha (translated as Centre of Lyrics) to give music lessons to students. She was also the Head of the Department of Rabindra Sangeet at Chhayanat Music School.

Mita Haque was married to renowned actor-director Khaled Khan who died in 2013. She leaves behind her only daughter, Farhin Khan Joyita, who is an accomplished Rabindra Sangeet singer in her own rights.

Lately, for about four years, she was not well. She had problems with her kidney and she had to have dialysis once a week. Few months ago, kidneys deteriorated further and she had to go through dialysis three times a week. Around two weeks or so before her expiry she was diagnosed with Covid-19; although she received best possible treatment, she succumbed to it. Her body was taken to Chhayanat for homage by colleagues, students and the general public within the prevailing restrictions and then taken to her ancestral home at Keraniganj in Dhaka, where she was buried beside her parents’ graves.

Mita Haque gave enormous pleasure to all Bengali speaking people by her melodious rendition of Tagore songs. People will continue to enjoy her songs and admire her enormously. It is said, “Do take heart that a person is not dead while his or her name is still spoken”.

Mita Haque held Tagore in her heart. Tagore wrote poems, songs, verses on all possible human emotions – love, joy, devotion, birth, death, grief, eternity and so forth. Her sad demise would bring grief to millions of Bengali people all over the world, but we can pay homage to her memory by remembering one of Tagore’s songs, which reads:

 আছে দুঃখ, আছে মৃত্যু,

                           বিরহ দহন লাগে !

  তবু শান্তি, তবু আনন্দ,

                           তবু অনন্ত জাগে !

Translated in English, it may read like this:

                 There is pain, there is death,

                               the grieving soul burns.

                 Yet there is bliss, there is merriment,

                              the eternal life runs.

Dr A Rahman is an author and a columnist

Secularism in Bangladesh: The troubled Constitutional pillar

The ubiquity of the word “secularism” (it is mentioned in more than 75 of the world’s Constitutions as an ideal the State promotes, or an organising principle that it affirms), and the passionate discussions it generates throughout the world, sometimes distracts us from the fact that its origins are relatively recent.

It was only after the Age of Reason and the Age of Enlightenment in the 17th and 18th centuries; after the bloody inter-denominational conflicts in Europe, or the clashes between ecclesiastical and temporal authorities, which eventually led to the sovereignty of the State (occurring between the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648 and the Congress of Vienna in 1815); after Jefferson’s famous “wall of separation between Church and State”, and Voltaire’s “privatisation of religion” found a welcoming environment in the American and French revolutions in the late 18th century, did the idea of secularism become well entrenched in European literary and political consciousness. The English writer George Holyoake was the first to use it in a systematic manner only in 1851. It was during the French Third Republic (1870-1940) that it was declared to be the “defining ideology of the State”.

Not only is it a relatively new concept, it was also delimited by geography. It was essentially a European phenomenon, both in terms of the intellectual tradition that generated it, and the military conflicts that necessitated it. Hence for the rest of the world, which did not share that reality, it was a foreign concept where its relevance was dimly understood, its meaning fuzzy, its embrace clumsy.

It may be argued that the idea of “democracy” is similarly alien. But democracy was easier to explain, it animated the anti-colonial struggles, and it was reflected in some concrete practices and institutions that were identifiable and populist. Secularism was not. But, more importantly, while democracy did not challenge deeply held commitments and values, secularism problematised the core of their belief systems, and sometimes even their identity. It should be pointed out, as Karen Armstrong has done, that the notion of “religion” understood in the West, is subtly but substantially different from what the Arabic word “deen” or the South Asian word “dharma” connotes.

It was expected that the road to secularism would be rocky in South Asia, perhaps more so in Bangladesh. There were pre-existing tensions between Hindus and Muslims (mitigated to some extent by Sufi teachings, some syncretistic cultural practices, and the moral economy of the peasantry) which were aggravated by the Permanent Settlement Act of 1793 that conflated class and religion and sharpened earlier divisions. There were the machinations, and sometimes the confusions, of the British. There was the emergence of a middle class in both communities (a little later, and weaker, for the Muslims) which led to a competition for political power and economic favour from the British, and provoked the self-conscious exploitation of religion, the creation of the dreadful “other”, and the divergence of the faith communities. And finally, there was the Partition of India in 1947 which appeared to confirm the primacy of faith as the very basis of personal and national identity.

Nonetheless, its journey in independent Bangladesh began in some optimism and apparent clarity. The constitution of 1972 unambiguously accepted secularism as one of the four foundational pillars of the State. This was entirely expected. This followed the logic of linguistic/cultural nationalism that had challenged the earlier Pakistani formulation, as well as the defeat of the Pakistani military which had pursued an overtly religious agenda. They lost. While the other pillars, such as democracy and socialism, were going to entail further negotiations and struggles, this issue, it was felt, had been settled. That confidence was seemingly misplaced.

Secularism was not killed with Bangabandhu’s brutal assassination in 1975, but it was dealt a crippling blow. The subsequent leadership did not pursue this ideal with the courage, commitment or the charismatic authority that he had represented. Religious groups and leaders, who had remained defensive and tentative initially, were allowed and, at times invited, into the political arena, gradually began to assert their presence, eventually emerged as critical players in bargaining-based and alliance- oriented “democratic” arrangements, and steadily pushed back against earlier secular guarantees. Even its location in the constitution became far less settled than had been originally assumed.

In fact, the 5th amendment (1979) removed secularism from the constitution, and the Divine invocation (Bismillah-Ar-Rahman Ar-Rahim) was inserted at the beginning. By the 8th amendment (1988), Islam was declared the “State religion”. In 2005, the Supreme Court invalidated the 5th amendment (not on the religious question per se, but on the unconstitutionality of the Martial Law that had been promulgated and hence all laws, acts and amendments passed at the time were deemed to have been automatically nullified). In 2011, Part II, Article 8 of the 15th amendment restored secularism as a fundamental principle of State policy, and Article 12, Part II specifically indicated the elimination of communalism, the non-privileging of any religion, or any discrimination based on faith. However, in Article 2A, Part I, Islam was retained as the State religion, and the invocation remained unchanged. Thus, the constitutional position of secularism became a bit murky.

The increasing influence of the religionists was reflected in other areas as well. First, in education, Prof Abul Barkat reported that between 1970 and 2008, the number of alia madrasas increased from 2,721 to 14,152, and the number of qawmi madrasas went up correspondingly. By 2015, the government indicated the existence of 13,902 qawmi madrasas (though, largely because of definitional imprecisions, some estimates could be several times higher).

Moreover, in 2017, the qawmi madrasas, which had always resisted any government interference in terms of academic substance, quality or control, was able to get its Dawrah degree recognised as equivalent to an official MA degree.

These forces, spearheaded by Hefazat-i-Islam, were also able to influence the curricula of the official education system. In 2017, as many as nine chapters were quietly deleted from school textbooks (which included contributions from Lalon, Sunil Gangopadhyay, Sarat Chandra, Satyen Sen, Humayun Azad and Rabindranath Tagore) and substituted them with more religious-minded pieces (from Shah Ahmad Sagir, Alaol, Golam Mostafa, Kazi Nazrul Islam and Habibullah Bahar). Similar other texts were added. Further changes were demanded and remain under consideration.

Second, such groups, and others emboldened by them, carried out various acts of repression and violence against religious minorities. Odhikar (a Human Rights based organisation), reported that between 2007 and 2019, 12 people belonging to minority faith communities were killed, 1,536 injured, seven abducted and 19 raped, while 62 pieces of land and 40 houses were grabbed, 1,013 properties and 390 temples were attacked, and 889 idols damaged or destroyed. It should be pointed out that the victims were mostly Hindus, but also included Christians, Buddhists, and Shia and Ahmadiyya adherents. Minority organisations report numbers that are understandably higher.

A large number of minorities have felt compelled to leave the country. According to the official census reports published by the government, in the 1951 census (i.e., after the early exodus forced by the Partition), Hindus were 22 percent of the population of East Pakistan. By 1961 it had come down to 18.5 percent, by 1971 to 13.5 percent, by 1991 to 10.5 percent and by 2011 to 8.5 percent. Some of this may be partly explained by economic and family factors, but it would be quite implausible to deny that the atmosphere of threat and vulnerability they faced did not contribute to this migration.

Third, these groups have also been successful in creating an intimidating environment that has caused a “chilling effect” on free speech. They have assassinated secular and atheist writers and bloggers, attacked teachers and editors, and threatened artists and performers on the pretext that their religious sentiments and sensibilities had been hurt or offended. Even the suspicion or accusation that someone had done so may lead a Hindu principal of a school to be forced to do sit-ups in front of an entire assembly of students and citizens, or a person being burned to death.

The Digital Security Act vastly expanded the arsenal of weapons available to the politically or religiously hyper-sensitive. With its sweeping generalities and lack of clarity about the meaning of “religious sentiments” or what constitutes being “hurt” or “offended”, legal harassment was added to public humiliation and physical attacks as a relatively safe and seductive tool in the service of intellectual and religious intolerance.

It must be pointed out that the most serious and worrisome challenges to our democracy do not come from wild-eyed, bomb-throwing fanatics who can attack a cultural programme celebrating the Bengali New Year’s Day and kill 10 people (April 14, 2001), cause more than 400 simultaneous explosions in 63 out of 64 districts in Bangladesh (August 17, 2005), or slaughter 28 people, including 17 foreigners in an upscale Dhaka restaurant (July 1, 2016). These are dramatic and dangerous manifestations of Jihadi militancy. But, they can be, and have been, largely contained. The much greater threat, more insidious and more far-reaching in its consequences, is the creeping advance of religionists in the country through a process that has been deliberate, organised and strategic.

It must be emphasised that there is a distinction between the concepts of being “religious” and becoming a “religionist”. The first refers to a commitment to personal piety, rigorous practice and spiritual salvation, the second indicates an interest in attaining political power, dictating government policy and dominating the public discourse. The first is perfectly compatible with secularism, can embrace modernity and scientific progress, and peacefully co-exist with other faiths and persuasions. The second is skeptical of science, judgmental about other faiths, and ready to retaliate against any questions about their own. Secularism is integral to, and a precondition for, democracy, while religionist absolutism is a threat.

This does not mean that secularism automatically ensures democracy. History is replete with examples of very secular authorities being cruelly illiberal and authoritarian. This only refers to the fact that unless there is tolerance for other ideas, respect for other faiths, acceptance of questions and criticisms, openness to science and evidence-based enquiry, trust of the will of the people (and not merely the assertions of dogmatic clerics) to make right decisions and judgments, and a strict separation between the private sphere of individual faith and the public space for civic engagement—unless these “secular” values and practices are upheld, democracy cannot be sustained.

The secularist argument, hence democracy itself, has been under considerable stress. The anxieties and uncertainties created by technology and global dislocations, the increasing inequalities everywhere, world-wide conflict particularly the instabilities in the Middle East (and the feeling that Islam is under siege), and the corruptions and inefficiencies in so many countries, have all contributed to a widespread skepticism about the West, a hostility to its traditions and examples, and a turning inward among Muslims.

Reinforcing this anti-secular backlash here has been India’s unfair and selfish pursuit of its interest (in relation to Bangladesh), and the increasing bigotry and viciousness it has displayed against Muslims. Moreover, financial patronage and Salafi indoctrination flowing in from Arab countries provided support and direction to the religionists. Finally, the stereotypical dismissal of religious people as backward, misogynist, violent, one-dimensional and unpatriotic has been arrogant, counter-productive and polarising. Instead of helping the cause of secularism and democracy, it has only strengthened its enemies.

But, more importantly, the leaders of supposedly secular parties in Bangladesh have probably been complicit in creating this Frankenstein. It is not a question of apportioning blame, as the parties are now childishly doing. Almost all parties had probably tended to this poisonous plant (perhaps some more readily than others), and helped it to flourish through compromise and accommodation.

It may be argued that compromise is part of the democratic process, and hence should be supported. But compromising what, and with whom, is relevant. This was the fatal fallacy of the (in)famous policies of “appeasement” pursued by the Allied powers in dealing with Hitler. Throughout the 1930s he consistently violated the terms of the Treaty of Versailles—building his armed forces, remilitarising the Rhineland, stopping reparation payments, reuniting with Austria through the Anschluss, and finally claiming the Sudetanland (at that time a province of Czechoslovakia). The Allied Powers, desperate to “secure peace for our time” once again, gave in. Hitler not only occupied the province, but the entire country. And then he demanded Poland, and invaded it in 1939. World War II, preventable earlier, became inevitable.

“Appeasement” was destined to fail. To a bully, a compromise is a capitulation. It does not make the problem disappear, it only encourages the next demand. The religionists kept on steadily advancing their agenda (affecting the constitution, education, public policy, free speech, etc). The parties in power did not confront them. In this sense, our “Sudetanland moment” was perhaps the removal of the Lady Justice statue from the High Court premises. That crucial “victory” may have paved the way for the unimaginable and unforgiveable audacity of the religionists in defacing Bangabandhu’s sculpture in Kushtia, and demanding that none others be built.

If we care for Bangabandhu, the spirit of our Liberation War, our obligation to our own constitutional principles, and our commitment to democracy, we must be bold, decisive and resolute to protect secularism in order to consolidate democracy. A Faustian bargain with the religionists may provide political gains that are illusory and temporary, but moral losses that are substantive and permanent. To paraphrase Benjamin Franklin, those who forsake their constitution for the sake of power, deserve neither.

Dr. Ahrar Ahmad is Professor Emeritus at Black Hills State University, USA.

Lockdown Love – Part Three

“But for somebody whose fate was unmistakably written in tragedy, how could one expect normal joyful life? Her husband back to his country found a niche in the writers’ corner and gradually started to prosper. That made Sudha happy endlessly and she even started sending money to him so that he could devote his whole time uninterrupted in writing. Sudha’s dream of a cultural hub, a centre of attraction of poets and writers in her house is gradually coming into reality. But, as it is said, “Man proposes, God disposes”, life started to get sour for Sudha again”, said Adit.

“What happened then?”, asked the Police Officer.

“For the first few years, things were going more or less as planned – Sudha was rearing her children in Princeton and her husband was pursuing his career back home without contributing anything to the family finance in New Jersey. Then news started percolating to Sudha that her husband was seen many times in the company of a young female news reporter. Initially Sudha refused to believe that, but the news became more and more persistent and even Sudha’s mother told her on the phone that it was not a rumour anymore and they were living together. Sudha was devastated by this betrayal of her husband. She stopped sending him money. That prompted her husband to take a retaliatory step and a few months later they got married.”

“The plot is thickening. Now the divorce would follow”, commented the Police Officer.

“Precisely. Following a flurry of letters between Sudha and her husband, it was agreed that a divorce proceeding would be initiated by Sudha and her husband would not contest, as he was the guilty party, who married someone while being married to someone else.”

 “Even then it took a couple of years to settle the dispute of custody of children and financial matters, however little asset they had. By late 1980s the divorce was finally granted”, said Adit.

“So, Sudha was then free to get married.”, said the Police Officer.

“Yep, in theory. But she neither liked to get married nor did she get someone she fancied. Her husband’s utter betrayal made a huge big dent and a deep scar in her heart from which she did not recover for quite a while,” said Adit.

“So, where do you come in?” asked the Police Officer.

“I will be in the scene soon. But we will have to skip through a long period of 30 years of her life”, said Adit.

“Wasn’t she looking for a man she liked all those years?”, asked the Police Officer facetiously.

“Not really. Sudha had numerous approaches from her colleagues and even from her bosses. Incidentally, she changed her nursery job to a newspaper editorial job. The money was good and that gave her some financial stability. But she resisted approaches from males, primarily because she could not trust male folk after the betrayal of her ex-husband for whom she sacrificed so much. How could one leave his own children and his wife and go after another woman, particularly when his wife was not only looking after his children but also supporting him to fulfil his ambition?” Adit said in exasperation.

“You seem to be very much in sympathy with Sudha. But where do you exactly fit in?”, asked the Police Officer.   

 By that time dinner trolley came close to their seats. They unfolded their tables and got ready for the dinner. Dinner was served. The flight was nearly half way through when they finished dinner.

After the dinner, Adit continued, “My married life also came to a sudden halt. After more than 40 years of married life, my wife suddenly decided to leave me and the matrimonial home. I did not know where she went. As far as I could say, there was no third party involved. I only saw her few times at the Magistrate’s Court on divorce hearings. I had no intention of getting involved in any romantic affair whatsoever after my divorce. But I must admit that living alone in a house without any companion was not very pleasant. Apart from tackling day-to-day matters, loneliness could occasionally be over-powering. So, when Selina joined up two sides across the Atlantic together, there were no impediments for a morally acceptable friendship between me and Sudha.”

“As I said I am an investigative officer, I looked into your affairs on a request from New Jersey State Police to see if you had any role in Sudha’s present predicament”, replied the Police Officer.

“What do you mean by Sudha present predicament? Is she not alright? Are you suspecting me of some wrong doing? Is that why you are sitting next to me?” a flurry of questions blurted out of Adit.

“No, you are not a suspect nor of any wrong doing. However, you got the ticket from the NJ Police Department, who is investigating Sudha’s situation. That’s why you got the MoD allocated seat in the plane. I don’t know Sudha’s present condition, but they wanted you to be in their office to clear up few things. I will transfer you to NJ State Police official when the flight reaches JFK airport.”

“Am I under arrest?” asked Adit.

“Of course, not. It is not a criminal investigation. We are just trying to find out if there is any foul play by anybody. As far as I can see, you are on the right, so far. By the way, coming back to the question of third-party involvement in your matrimonial affair, I have to tell you that your wife left you to live with another man, who was married and his wife was away to live with her grown-up children. When his wife and their children came to know about this affair, they descended on the house immediately and he had no option but to evict your ex from the house. She then rented a house, in fact, a single bed apartment. She had to file a divorce case quickly to settle financial matters with you before the scandal broke out. She kept her address hidden from you under the pretext that you may harm her”, said the Police Officer.

Adit was totally stunned and shaken. How could that woman whom he trusted so long become so dishonest and vulgar? He even agreed to give more than the share of asset the Court wanted him to give. He wanted to let her lead a life as comfortable as it could be. Now the scandal was coming out behind her abrupt departure. Adit was shaking his head in agony.

“It seems that it was a good thing that your ex kept her address hidden from you for her safety. Otherwise, things could possibly turn nasty”, said the Police Officer.

“I am devastated”, confessed Adit.  

(to be continued)

Lockdown Love – Part Two

“When we were exploring each other’s background, we found that there were lots of common likings and dis-likings, common attributes between us. We were students of the same university, but she was one year junior to me. We had lots of students’ tittle-tattle to share,” said Adit. “Although the name Sudha was familiar to me from my contemporary male friends, as there were always so-called Romeos among my friends; but I never saw her and probably she never saw me. I gathered from those Romeos that she was a stunning beauty, but she was also very proud of her beauty and very conscious. She would not even talk to a male student whom she did not consider smart enough, or not interested in contemporary arts and literature and, of course, in contemporary music; just being a very good student and academically brilliant did not cut ice with her.”

“Was she one of those girls on high pedestal looking down on boys?” queried the Police Officer.

“Only, I guess, on cultural issues; that is what Sudha led me to believe. Financially, academically and socially she was just an ordinarily girl. Probably her family background had influenced her in molding her attitude. Her father was a prominent journalist. Her house was always journalists’ meeting place – editors, reporters, writers, poets and so forth used to throng in the house. On top of that, her father was a keen musician and used to organise musical soirees in the house on various occasions. Life was very pleasant and enjoyable for Sudha at that time. However, good days came to a shuddering halt when she was about 15”, said Adit.

“What happened, then?” asked the Police Officer.

“Her father suddenly died of cardiac arrest, although some suspect foul play. But no untoward elements had ever been found. That event was nonetheless extremely painful, heart-wrenching experience for her and an end of an era of cultural life in the house. That joyful home atmosphere left a lasting impression on her that would last all her life”, said Adit.

“In the university, the good and the bright boys in her department and in other departments approached her, with roses in their hands, so to say, but she would not budge except for an outwardly smart, culturally inclined boy. She fell in love with that boy, who was even one-year junior to her. Her presumption was that he was a budding poet and a writer.”

The whiskies and cashew nuts were served at that point and they had a little sip. They were only couple of hours in to their journey.

Adit continued, “Although Sudha studied political science at the university, she embraced cultural life whole-heartedly. Her boy-friend was a rather pretentious poet with hardly any accomplishment. He projected himself as a poet of great promise and associated himself with established and semi-established poets and writers of the day. That pleased Sudha to no ends. She welcomed the budding poet with warm hearts along with his writer friends to her house in order to create an atmosphere of cultural life, which the untimely demise of her father drew to an abrupt end. Not long after the completion of her university education, they got married.”

“Sounds like it is heading towards a happy ending”, said the Police Officer.

“Far from it. That was the beginning of the tragedy. After the wedding reception at a local hotel, the couple had nowhere to go for the night. A relative attending the party, out of pity, offered them a place in his house for few nights, they had no honeymoon. Married life could not have started worse than this for a girl like her”.    

“Did she say all these things to you on the telephone?” enquired the Police Officer.

“Yes, everything and much more. The vagrant husband would not do any work to earn his living. He would beg money from Sudha so that he could pursue his so-called literary career, but more likely to continue with his vagabond life! Sudha took a job at a local college to maintain some semblance of a married life. But the money was not enough to have a separate abode and so Sudha and her husband had to move in to her mother’s house”.

“You are right, it is getting worse and depressing”, said the Police Officer. Then he said, “I am going to the toilet and be back in a minute.”

Adit then looked around. The front two rows were empty as well as the back row. This separation from other passengers gave Adit a feeling of privacy in the plane. He started sipping his whisky again.

The Police Officer then returned to his seat and said, “Sorry for the interruption. Would you please continue with the story?”

“Are all Police Officers good listeners like you?” enquired Adit.

“Who knows? Investigative Police Officers always like to hear interesting stories. They can detect any gaps, mishaps and mis-statements.”

Adit was somewhat surprised by his statement but continued unabated.

“Life for Sudha was going from bad to worse. Her husband had no job, no earning. But he used to go out of the house in the morning and not return till well in the evening. He would not disclose even to Sudha, what he did throughout the whole day. Sudha also did not press hard and intrude into his personal life for the sake of family peace. Around two years after the marriage, Sudha had the first baby. But her husband would not change his lifestyle at all. His vagabond lifestyle continued while Sudha had to assume the role of the bread winner for the family.”

“That was a terrible situation. How long did it continue?” asked the Police Officer.

“When the baby boy was about three years old, her husband started coming home very late at night and sometimes not at all. Sudha was obviously very distraught. In one-night, past midnight, there was a knock at the front door. Sudha was alarmed. Anyway, she opened the door and there were a few policemen in front of the door with a search warrant and an arrest warrant for her husband. Her husband was declared a terrorist. However, he was not in the house and so he escaped arrest.” Then Adit continued, “Few nights later, in the early part of the morning, her husband came to the house totally dishevelled and said in a hushed voice that he would have to leave the country and when he would be able to come back, he did not know. Sudha broke down in tears, she begged him to take her and the boy with him. He could not do that. Eventually, with Sudha’s mother intervention, it was agreed that the family and friends would try their best to get visas to a foreign country for all three of them.” “A couple of weeks later, all three of them flew to Bangkok en route to New York. That was mid 1970s”, said Adit. “How they managed to get the visa for the whole family so quickly was a mystery to me.”

However, in America, in New Jersey to be precise, they found a tranquil life for some time. Her husband found a job as a courtyard attendant at a patrol station and she as a nursery teacher. So, life settled down to a rather peaceful non-turbulent life. They had a daughter in early 1980s. But her husband was getting restless and disheartened that his writings were of no value in America, there was no appreciation whatsoever of his work. Sudha also was not getting the buzz of a cultural hub in her house. Her dream of a centre of cultural activities, musical soiree etc were in tatters. So, it was agreed that her husband would go back to his native country and Sudha with children would stay in America until they finish their education. Once her husband established himself as a poet and a writer in his country, Sudha would join him and lead a life full of song and music”.

(to be continued)