Wahida's fondest memories from childhood included going to the movie theatre with her Abbu and Ammi, in their new, black Cielo. They had shifted to proper Calcutta from Murshidabad, for her father's expansion of business. It created a stir in the family. She remembers the anger Daijaan showered on Ammi, cursing her as the house-burner. Wahida did not quite understand how Ammi was responsible when there was no fire. One of those afternoons she even asked her, 'Daijaan, how did Ammi burn the house?' The innocence of her question did not shake the rustic belief of the grandmother though.
Abbu bought an old house in New Alipore and renovated it even as we lived in it. As an effect, I grew up amidst plumbers and carpenters and masons and painters. Abbu's shop in AJC Bose Road quickly picked up the loyalties of clients in matters concerning flooring and artificial gardening. How Abbu had to fight with Daadajaan for him to begin this idea. Ammi too seemed way prettier in clothes outside of the black hijab. She wore the neatest salwar-kameezes I have ever seen on any of my friends' mothers. In some years she devoted herself to that one room in out house which she turned into Wahy, the best boutique around. How proud Abbu was! And how disappointed and disapproving my grandparents.
When our white Maruti-800 became Ammi's car and Abbu bought himself the bigger Cielo, we decided to celebrate. I was all of nine or ten. Ammi proposed we go for Titanic in New Empire, and then a dinner at The Oberoi Grand. The property issues were easing out and I can safely say money was never too much a thought. Hence, the evening was on. I was so excited through the day that I could not focus on my classes. Class Four was a tough nut to crack. I longed to be home, to be dressed in my favourite princess pink frock to go out with Ammi-Abbu, to watch an English movie and have dinner in a five-star. I wondered during my Mental Arithmetic class how were hotels classified into stars. And if Oberoi was so fantastic, why just the five stars? Most of my sums were wrong that day. I ran off the school bus into home.
What an evening it was! Abbu had come back early to collect us. I felt so proud as Abbu looked handsome in his light brown linen jacket over his white shirt and dark brown trousers. And what does one say of Ammi? She was mesmerizing in her blue saree and sleek gold chain from which a diamond pendant looked as if the first of dew on a morning green leaf. She even wore the Omega that came to her from Naani. 'This watch is for special occasions, beta,' she used to tell me. We looked the happiest family to anyone who saw us get off the black Cielo. This is the happiest day of my life!
Over a memorable but not-so-relishing dinner at The Grand, I was pre-occupied. I saw Ammi fill buckets during the movie, and Abbu lightly holding her hands as I am sure I heard him stifle a sniff too. I loved the pretty Rose and her ardent lover, Jack. His hair was so adorable. I could not get out the image of them standing on the Titanic's end, outstretched hand in outstretched hand. And I hated life for keeping Rose alive. Ammi, if Jack died, why didn't Rose? Ammi laughed out aloud and fed me the chilli beef instead with a fork. She asked me to try the strawberry milkshake. She could not tell me why Rose lived so long.
Ours was an arranged marriage, and Akram was really nice. In fact, he was largely lovable. They ran one of the oldest cane industries in the city. Cane furniture. Ammi's obsession with artefacts, and how the treasure hunt led her to Akram Salim. The reception was held in The Oberoi Grand and that is where my memories flooded back, like in Titanic, how the sea filled the lower bunks in an urgent rush. We did not 'date' persay, but we were comfortable with each other. Within a week of other wedding formalities, we left for Switzerland. Life was right out of the books for me. Abbu turned our house in New Alipore to a palatial opulence and Ammi's boutique now had a branch on Sarat Bose Road. The M-800 and Cielo are no longer there in the garage, giving way to an Innova, an i20 and a Mercedes E-Class. Nor are Daijaan and Daadajaan. Murshidabad money made the Mercedes possible, many would say. What's wrong in that? I graduated with a decent degree in English from Loreto College, and never entertained late nights, though Ammi-Abbu often, contrary to how our community was, encouraged me to go out and be with friends.
Akram Salim was yet another page off the golden book of life. He was a good husband, and becoming a fast friend. The complaints I heard about husbands from my friends were not remotely present in him. He behaved, meant, looked, earned well. He was partially well-read and enjoyed movies and football. In fact, his enthusiasm with football made me enjoy ninety minutes with him too. In short, the honeymoon was a success. On return, I took over Wafy, Sarat Bose Road. I had a car to my disposal and the helps at our Tollygunje flat, which was also a gift to the newly-weds, took care of the cooking and cleaning.
Eight months of conjugal life passed in a colourful jiffy. Akram returned last night and asked if I would like a vacation. He would like to 'get-away' for a week, and Star Cruise was an ideal location. There was nothing to not agree with. We would leave in three weeks and I began the planning and packing. On the day of departure Singapore Airlines, funnily, even upgraded us to Business Class. My life is wonderful!
The cruise set sail from Singapore. We had a pleasant two nights of luxurious living on water, accompanied by private sunrise and private sunset. Yet, by the third, I felt I was losing sight. No, not literally. Whenever I sat to soak the saltiness of the surroundings on the deck, I thought we were heading towards an iceberg and the captain was keeping it away from us. Everybody planned for me to drown in the depths of the night. I would go underwater and meet Jack. Jack in his adorable golden hair. This was the day for which I was raised as a bait. By whom? Somebody inside me did try to rationalize. And why? She tried harder. Her voice drowned after sometime too.
Akram was becoming aware of the symptoms. I was unsually at unease and really restless. The doctor on board put me on traquilizers and classified my churnings as sea-sickness. I was turning pale and one thing I remember is asking Akram if he knew why Rose was alive. The look on his face conveyed he comprehended nothing. Each half of the day he would offer prayers in our suite so that I would be fine. I decided to.
On the dawn of the sixth day, I woke up, took a long hot bath, had tea in my room and dressed my best. I even applied kohl and lipstick. I, then, slid next to Akram, caressed the tuft of hair on his temple and kissed him. He opened his eyes to my classic maroon smile. Immediately, he was happy. 'Oh, Wahida darling. You are back! Allah is great!'
'Would you like to watch the sunrise with me?' I asked.
He rushed for a bath and came out neatly dressed and ready for the deck. We went, hand in hand, towards the stern bulwark. The handrails were done in a dust gold. We stood beside each other. He spoke of things I did not understand, or did not listen to. That he wished for such a morning perhaps, or was it a business deal? I ssshhh'ed him quiet and pointed towards the rising orange of the east. Both of us breathed in an air of satisfaction. And then, as if I were no longer me, I pushed him off the rail. Into the sea. Nobody noticed. I had to find the answer myself. How could Rose survive Jack?
This room does not smell like nursing homes are told to do. I smell the soft white roses and cleanliness and service. Isn't this supposed to be smelling anitiseptic? An old doctor in white hair and white beard left with me this diary and a pen. And said, 'Write. Write whatever you wish to.' You did well. Shut up voice inside me. My language is not as good as poets and novelists. The doctor will like it. Shut up, voice. You are stupid. A piece of writing asks for a reader, not a doctor. Oh right, I am stupid. And you are a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer. The nurse came in with a glass of milk and some pills. Ammi is here, she said. Would I like to meet her?
Would I like to meet her? 'Yes!' No.
I will write later. Will you now, Wahida?
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