নেটখাতা

October 11, 2005

TJ2: Nutan (continued)

(… continued … )
In the next few years to come, so many things were happening around Tridib, in his personal life, and so many times Tridib would like to return to this picture of a girl becoming a woman. Sitting there, beside him, on the floor, and making him eat “everything there”.

Tridib knew, Nutan did not have a happy family life before her marriage, the same man who named her Nutan, most probably, who else can it be, his affects to the daughter, the daughters actually, Nutan had a sister too, to the mother of the daughters, all the affects had undergone a queer but common turn, violence becoming its primary language. Tridib once saw this man too, a very strongly built physique, a kind of biological force emanating from his every gesture, maybe he was more than dissatisfied with his frail and asthmatic wife, suffering from malnutrition, and so, naturally he tried to settle the unsettled conjugal account in every possible alternative way. Almost every night, all through Nutan’s childhood, he would beat up this wife, not that his physical vigor could achieve a full-employment scenario even here, so little of violence was required at all to overpower this junk of a woman. And if the terrorized daughters happened to be there, they too got endowed with their share of familial affects. A common tale but true, that repeated every night, after his regular quota of alcohol.

Now a tea-totaler for the last eight years, for quite a long time Tridib was himself an authentic alcoholic himself. His own experience with alcohol always falls inadequate of this: how some amount of that tinted liquid, a bit unfriendly with his digestion maybe, but how the hell can it make someone do this? This is actually unjust abusing towards that larger than life liquid. That man who named Nutan as Nutan, provided the patronymic and never lived up to becoming a father of Nutan, most probably, had his alcohol just to rationalize his violence. Why he wanted to be violent? In his own way, Tridib has discovered so many unpredictable ways of loving that it makes him think at times, is this another form of love? Poisonous, killing, dirty, but love still? Just that the man does not know any other language of loving? Tridib is not at all sure here, how he can be, who knows what works in anyone else’s head, but one thing is sure, if violence is there, it should never be one-way. Why the woman should not strike out? In fact, while writing this, this image comes to life in his head: man and woman fighting between them, fighting physically, the hard way, just as a variation on the theme of romance. Why not? At least it sounds less stupid and more full of life than many other so popular ones.

That Nutan was deprived of her childhood, a childhood that every child should get, makes it doubly magic, how she could remain so much alive and childlike, some savage paternal heritage?

Time was moving on its own course. A few meetings happened within that. Once or twice Tridib went to their place with an occasional set of Salwar-Kurta, that Tridib purchased after a lot of browsing in New Market, when he discovered that peach-colored salwar suit filled with Lakhnau Chikan embroidery it seemed that it was created just for her. Nutan liked Tridib’s going to her place on bhaai-phnota, the traditional autumn ritual of brothers and sisters, the whole thing getting more authentic because, as if providence set it that way, “see, you don’t have any sister, and I don’t have any brother: when I was young, how I would like it, if I had a big brother”. Tridib, though getting touched by these, actually feels kind of uneasy with every expression of emotion, as if it is getting recorded somewhere, and some day, when things have somewhat changed, and things do change, really, they are going to return to you and ask, ‘did you cheat that day’? Something like this happens with him, and so, Tridib does never feel at home with these expressions, and so would reply back with his stupid grin, time now to make it a global patent, but why, why others should not have any right to use it? Copyleft is the name of the future.

Like this it was going for years. Peaceful and everything, as one expects any story to be. Then things started changing.

( … continued … )

Filed under: ব্যক্তিগত, মানুষ — dd @ 5:27 pm

1 Comment »

  1. Dear friend, moments matter , time does not or does it even in your rectlinear array of scattered letters? Why be afraid of expressing emotions if at that moment they are real enough? And love has only one language – that of love.

    Comment by Anonymous — October 12, 2005 @ 9:17 am

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