he was a wizard. with a thin whitish gray film of hair on top of his head. his hands dug deep into the pockets. his hatred for flies on the dinner table. a very well concealed one, true. but he couldn't fool me.
he had zillions of scrumdiddlyumptious tales for little boys and girls. and he never. EVER. ran out of them.
Fishing in the Padma river for ilish. one of my all time favourites. sitting under the choi of a boat, listening to ghost stories, accompanied by sandwiches and patishapta. one little girl felt transported back to those grand times. grown ups said it was a real hard word : I-M-A-G-I-N-A-T-I- O-N. but between you and me, it was magic, wasn't it?
there were truckloads of others. going to heaven for instance. magic shows in kailash pahar,picnics on clouds...he almost made dying seem fun. and the best part was, no maths!!
"tor mone hoy thakur ra class I er moto uchu class er onko khata dekhte pare??? ki je bolish! ora to lekhaporai jane na re!"
encomill in siliguri. another name for neverland. he had a private zoo there, they used to say (this is true). imagine, a barking deer, a peacock, and a baby tiger, all in your back yard!
he had fever. amma was packing to go to delhi for a week,but hesitated before leaving. "amar kichhu hobe na. ei to torsha amar dekha shuna korbe. ki re, parbi na?" i nodded assent.
why, dada, why did you trust a seven year old???? i still wake up some nights in a cold sweat. i failed.
it became serious. and, for the next couple of months, my life was a blur of beeps, red lights, fear and patience.
''ma, how is he?"
'' alright. he's getting better.''
''can i go see him?''
''ki kore niye jai toke? tor je annual porikhha? holei jabo.''
we went to kolkata. CCU.
''ma, take me to see him''
''tor dada to critical care a achhe re. general bed a dilei toder niye jabo.''
never happened.
he was gone.
fuck, i can't say died.
he went to some other little girl maybe, or on a picnic with durga thakur spreading butter on warm toast.
you brought magic into me dada. I LOVE YOU.
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