Cloud Capped Cat / মেঘে ঢাকা বিলাই
My father was really sick then. Pemphigus Vulgaris. A rare disease. Considering Dhaka and Bogura we have visited numerous doctors. My mother said that some doctors paid close attention while watching cricket on TV and predicted my father’s future, saying “he won’t survive for 5 to 10 years.”
Like all mothers, my mother is full of compassion. After Hridi and I, my father also gradually became another child. My mother took care of him as much as he would fall sick. Even when we all lost hope, she wouldn’t give up. My mother said, “Let’s go to India, they have better treatments there.”
I was a first-year student at Pathsala at that time, a very attentive student, mind bursting with colors. I would bring a handful of photographs to class, spend hours after hours in the dark room. During breaks I’d hang out near the lake, after class, in late hours, I would often hop on a bus with Joe and Topu. Where would we go, when would we come back, who knew?
I skipped classes, Mother also took a leave from her college. Then the next few years, we moved from Dhaka-Kolkata-Vellore for my father’s treatment. 20-22 days each time, even after we returned, it was time to leave before we could get settled in. At first I decided, wherever I go, I’ll take pictures. Eventually, I realized it wasn’t that easy. It took months to prepare for the hospital, doctor, hotel, food, visa, passport, and transportation. My hands were never free to take pictures. Water bottles, suitcases, tickets, prescriptions…. Yet, there was no end to the stories around me. I was very eager to take pictures of everything, but I couldn’t. Instead of telling stories, I was slowly becoming a part of the story myself.
When my father was admitted to an Indian hospital, we used to visit him and consult with the doctor in the morning, we would prepare and eat lunch; before visiting my father again in the afternoon. During the afternoon, my mother would sleep and I would spend my time leisurely. This time was really quiet, nothing to do. A little dull.
I started drawing pictures in a notebook I had made myself with. Everyday life, whatever I would see-very mundane. So I used to draw them as I could not capture them or I would draw the stories I left back at home of which I wasn’t sure I was part of anymore.
Self Portrait
23.09.2014
The hardest thing to draw is one’s own self. I don’t get to see myself. Then again perhaps it ought to be the easiest thing to draw. After all, who sees me better than I see myself? Spent a while doodling in my sketchbook before realizing: “Bah! This didn’t work!”
Luipa
29.09.14
The last time I met Luipa was from the veranda of our house at Maltinagar, a long time ago. I showed her a tree as I told her this is me and my mother’s Bonsai. She replied they had one too, made of plastic.
My room, Shyamoli
01.09.14
While studying in Dhaka I used to stay at Butita’s (my aunt) place. My room had mosaic floors. A mattress and a low computer desk. It was a small room, nothing special. During this uncertain time, when we were staying at a hotel in Kolkata, I wanted to come back to this room. And returning home meant returning to emptiness, no work, no sleep, no rules; only the room.
Me, Joe, Topu; Pathshala
03.10.14
On a Friday afternoon. I, Joe and Topu were waiting on Pathsala’s roof for the sun to go down. The school was empty. It’s a holiday. The roof on the second floor under a mango tree was our courtyard. A place to hangout and smoke cigarettes. Moti bhai used to take care of 2 ducks and a few chickens and pigeons. They used to roam around there as well.
We would go out and take a bus after the sun goes down. Where, we didn’t know.
Boin (Sister)
03.10.14
Hridi is my younger sister. Very cordial and loved. When you see someone after a long time, it feels like they’ve grown a lot. But for Hridi it was the complete opposite, she would seem younger every time I saw her.
Bap (Father)
05.10.14
Father’s left leg started swelling up. His stomach was bloated. I have never seen my father unshaved before. Slowly, his face filled up with a scruffy beard. He seemed very tired. At our house in Bogra, Father used to sit in his living room couch with weary eyes, holding the TV remote in his hand. He didn’t seem to pay attention to what was happening on TV. Nothing could be heard from the next room except the monotonous buzzing of the TV and his heavy breathing after he had fallen asleep.
Mao (Mother)
07.10.14
When we were living at home, my mother could hardly find time for herself. Father was becoming a little kid day by day; becoming my mother’s new baby. After teaching at college, cooking, giving Father his medicine, dealing with house maids and us, there was no time for herself. Every night when Father fell asleep, my mother slowly climbed the stairs to the roof to water her plants.
Father, Mother, Peerless Hospital
15.10.2014
At that time, Abbu was a little better. We also adapted to living around the hospital area. In the visiting hours I used to carry a few empty bottles, to bring back drinkable waters from the hospital. Only one attendant was allowed, but somehow I and ma managed ways to enter. Abbu’s face lit up with a smile as soon as he get our glance. They talked a lot during those two hours. How is our hotel, how do people talk around, is abbu getting enough sleep, will he love to have some guava?-a lot to ask. In between words, I used to excuse myself to go to the restroom and get out of the hospital – give them some space to talk.
Food Fiesta, Serve Park, Kolkata
16.10.14
Maa said today we’ll eat outside. Eating outside means we won’t eat at the restaurants or canteens around the hotel where we eat every day. Today’s budget for food is higher, so we will eat at the other side of the street. There are shops on the street, packed with people on Sunday evenings. Maa ordered a vegetable dish and I ordered a chicken chowmein, and we sat facing each other to eat. Maa seemed happy and cheerful. There was also a local family sitting at the table in front of us. The girl from that family might be going to study abroad, in Australia or Canada perhaps. She looked pretty, with her hair tied to one side. I kept stealing glances at her. My mother kept talking about the food and people around here.
The girl looked at me and I looked back at her. For a long time.
Maa Kamakshya Nibash, Kolkata
18.10.14
Our hotel is on the other side of the hospital, inside a narrow lane, on the road, on the third floor. The room is quite big, with two beds. The rent is fifty rupees more than other rooms. In all the hotel rooms in this area, there is a small TV near the ceiling. In the evening, the sound of Hindi songs and Bengali serials from the rooms creates an ambience around the neighborhood.
WireTree, Nandan; Kolkata
20.10.14
Today I won’t go to see Abbu. I left Ma in the hospital and went to Nandan. Rudra-Ananda had made a list of places to visit in the city. We have two phones, one with Abbu and the other with us. I gave our phone and hotel key to Ammu and left, promising her that I will return before the visiting hours ended. Sitting outside Nandan, I saw a dead tree, tangled with old cables. They have kept the tree, perhaps so that they don’t have to clean up the cables.
Cooking, Maa Kamakshya Nibash, Kolkata
23.10.14
In the hospital cafeteria, one can find dishes like Charapona, Rui-Katla fish, Egg Curry, lentils, fried potato, and Chicken Curry. The restaurants outside are also pretty much the same. In the beginning, we used to eat at these restaurants. Mother is a homely person who likes to arrange, cook and eat in her own way. She wouldn’t enjoy eating at restaurants. Apart from that, in Kolkata Abbu used to stay with us for one day at the beginning and one day at the end of the trip. Mother would never let him eat outside food anyway. I found out by searching around that at our hotel, for around hundred to hundred-fifty taka, we could rent a pot, plate, spoon, knife, bowl, and stove for fifteen days. We took it. We heard about a market near the railway station from the locals there and bought some vegetables, chicken, rice, lentils, spices, and oil. We made vegetable khichuri. My mother always liked celebrations and parties. Even in this small cooking, she managed to make a festivity out of it. I couldn’t cook at that time and I kept asking questions. My mother, who was an expert cook, was answering me with a smile. Occasionally, she would give orders like do this, cut that, bring the betel leaf. Soon, the lid of the pot started rattling and the hunger spread with the aroma of the khichuri.
Maa Kamakshya Nibas, Kolkata
29.10.14
In our hotel room, there are two beds, one small and one large, next to each other with a window beside both. After finishing our meals, we sit and talk on the small bed. My mother has a small notebook where she writes down daily expenses.
Before evening, the neighborhood becomes quiet. Occasionally, a couple of empty rickshaws pass by the empty streets. Before the visiting hour at the hospital, everyone rests a little. During this lazy afternoon, Maa takes a nap after lunch, I sit on the floor and paint.
One day, while paitning, I turn around and notice that my mother is sitting quietly, awake from her nap earlier than usual. The window behind her is open, and the curtains sway gently. Her face is expressionless, and her hair is disheveled. Her gaze is vacant, and she doesn’t see anything in front of her; what she sees is not present here.
Tree of the Balcony, Balcony of the tree
29.10.14
A small balcony in our Shyamoli’s house. Our cousins’ spot for gossiping.
Affection/Illusion
02.11.14
Joe is my dear friend. When I’m in the country, I hang out with him and when I return to the country, I look for him first. He lives in the attic of a seven-story building on Nurjahan Road. The ceilings are made of tin and are very warm. I go to hang out there, sometimes stay there as well. We talk all night, about philosophy, cooking, and so on.
Ayan
……
Ayan asked me to draw a picture of him after seeing my drawing notebook.
Fire at the Lamp post
25.11.14
A cattle market is set up before Eid in the Gabtoli area near the bridge of Amin Bazar. Straws are brought along with the animals. One evening, while roaming around I saw a small fire in the straws under a lamppost. Smoke was all around. The light of the lamp post and the smoke created a stage. No play was to be staged there, the stage itself was the play.
Hair
26.11.14
I woke up at an odd time. A little while ago, I saw a girl drying her hair in the darkness.
Amit Bhai
27.11.14
In Shyamoli, we, the brothers, used to watch movies together until very late at night at my aunt’s house. On some days, when everyone had gone to sleep, Amit Bhai would quietly sit on the corner of my bed and look at something on his screen. By then, the other brothers had already fallen asleep. I might have been awake, tossing and turning. Sometimes, the two of us would smoke on the balcony, trying to extract humour from space, human history, atoms, myths. Although all we would accomplish was spending the night.
Ammu, In the garden of the dead tree
20.12.14
Maa had a lot of plants on the roof. Before leaving home every time, mother instructs someone to water the plants. Sometimes during the rainy season, they grow on their own, and when mother comes back home, she sees the flowers have bloomed. Sometimes the pots are seen broken and withered due to storms.
Once during winter, after returning home and arranging everything, I went to the roof with mother and saw that all the plants had died.
Mother planted new plants. She removed the grass from the old pots, dug the soil, and gave water to the dead plants, hoping they might survive.
