When they met Dada in the corridor, they asked first about the unborn child and then about Boudi, which was curious and disheartening.
‘She’s okay.’
‘How did it happen?’ asked Maa.
‘She got hurt in the office.’
‘And you’re telling us now!’ shouted Maa, inviting looks from the others around us.
‘She didn’t want to worry you. Anyway, the doctors did an ultrasound. Everything is in order. They are going to let her go in an hour,’ said Dada.
We went to Dada’s flat from the hospital. While Boudi rested on the sofa, the bulge in her stomach dangerously big, Dada and Maa fought, faces flushed, lips quivering.
‘What’s the need for her to go to office? How are the doctors still allowing this? And don’t teach me about career. I have a career too. When it’s time to rest, it’s time to rest,’ Maa addressed Dada as if Boudi wasn’t in the room.
‘If she wants to work, she will work, Maa. What will she do sitting in the house all day? She will get bored.’
‘Bored! Just so she doesn’t get bored she will put my grandchild at risk? No! Tell her she’s not going to office tomorrow,’ said Maa.
‘Your Maa is correct. Enough has happened. It will be good if this house doesn’t see any more misfortune,’ said Baba.
‘Nothing will happe—’
‘Chup kor to!Shut up! How many kids have you had, huh? What do you know what can or cannot happen?’ snapped Maa, invoking her right to win an argument like this. Our dead sister was helping Maa from even beyond the grave.
‘Maa, I’m not getting into this. She will manage,’ said Dada.
‘I saw how she managed! I saw how the two of you managed! Great job! Should I clap for you two? Let’s do that!’ screamed Maa. She got up from her chair and turned to Boudi. ‘In our families, it’s the mother who takes care of her pregnant daughter. Since your family . . . that means I have to take care of you. I am asking you to stop going to office from tomorrow.’
Boudi looked blankly at Maa. ‘Don’t do what you did today. Tell me the minute something happens? Am I clear?’
She looked at Dada and said in Bengali, ‘The next time she does something like this I’m going to slap her. Mind you.’ She switched back and said, ‘Both of you have done enough to hurt this family. Like your Baba said, I don’t want another misfortune. You wouldn’t be able to live down a dead child, Anirban. I’m telling you.’
As Maa–Baba turned away from them, Dada spoke, ‘Maa. You can’t keep talking to us like this.’
‘What?’
‘Maa, you keep taunting her. We are married now. She feels hurt when you say what you do.’
‘What do you want me to say then? Praise?Ei dekho!Look here now! What great deed my son has done getting a Musalman girl home! Is that what you want me to say? We are doing everything to accept this situation. Please forgive us if we are not better parents to you. I hope in your next life you don’t get us as your parents.’
‘Maa—’
‘I don’t want to hear anything more. You’re giving us a grandchild, that iskhub bhalo.Very good. But we won’t ever forget how you have hurt us, how you have disgraced us in public,’ said Maa, now sniffling into her saree.
Before Dada could say anything, Baba ushered her out.
‘I think you should listen to Maa,’ I said. ‘It’s not too much she’s asking for.’
Then I left.
3 January 2000
Today morning, I wanted to let it out, tell someone how disgracefully Dada had behaved with Maa–Baba, and so I rang Arundhati’s bell. Who am I kidding? I had to fill the Brahmi-sized hole in my heart with anything I could get. It took her five minutes to get the door.
‘You can’t come in,’ she said.
‘Why? You have an exam?’
