Once upon a time in the land of no great opportunities, lived an ordinary man named Surojit Banerjee. With no ambition of either serving the country, or reaching corporate heights, he was complacent in his managerial position with a local shoe-company. His parents lived in a town with their older son, while he lived life with his wife, Mrs Banerjee. Oh yes, he called her Ranu. They had a daughter, who was in standard eight, and a son studying in class six. "Life cannot be better for Banerjee!" he often heard people say.
Yes. Everyday, he woke up by the alarm to read the headlines and make tea. Everyday then, he went out for a walk and returned to get ready for the store. He had a scooter which guaranteed his travel in relative ease. The daughter was secretive and the son, outgoing, while Ranu, what could one say about Ranu? She was the quintessential Bengali, desirable neighbour who created a whir of gossip wherever she went. Her life centred around the proper raising of her children and tending to her husband. She was suitably educated to impart tuitions and earn herself a saree once in while.
If not fairy tales, certainly their lives were like lessons out of fables. There was hardly any controversy, or any difference of opinion. No dissent towards a unanimous decision and the family looked in complete sync with each other. Thus said, they lived sadly ever after.
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