28 Years Later

Given to her predilections, a misguided woman of 48, my mother thinks there's a God. This leads to inflamed and often philosophical renditions of menopausal angst. It entails the rest of the family seated uncomfortably round the dinner table being serenaded by tales and sermons drawn from obscure books which none in their right minds would read.

-'You know, we should go to Tarapith one of these days'
-'No way' My conscious protest.
-'Whatever' My brother's apathetic opinion.
-'Cholo' My father's unwilling resignation.

At this point, though our mouths are stuffed with rice and bhaapa ilish, and our hands are engaged in trying to separate the bones, our ears are assaulted by her highly knowledgeable opinions about the everlasting hereafter. Thereafter, the conversation rolls on with little contribution from any of the others, besides the intermittent chomping of food which we resort to gladly, as the only means of distraction. The Biswases have evolved to phase out simultaneously.

-'Jokhon Ramkrishno tarapithe gechilo-'
-'chomp chomp chomp'
-'-Tarpor (insert funny name) Brahmon Norok giye-'
-'Chomp Chomp Chomp'
-'-sheetkale lungi pore Jadavpure-'
-'CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP'

It might not be exactly what she says, but as I said, I had phased out and let's face it, nothing of that sort makes sense anyway.

Mothers are a curious breed. It is her 28th anniversary. We are sitting in my room, sprawled on my comfy mattress.

-'What have I done in this life?' The philosophical waters have been tested. This never bodes well.
-'Huh?' My dad, caught thoroughly by surprise.
-'Well, everyone is meant to have a purpose in life.' I slyly withdraw from the conversation and sneak away from the bed.
-'Well you were probably meant to teach us-'
-'Chup koro. Baaje kotha bolo na!'
A valiant attempt. But it's surprising how even 28 years spent with a person cannot teach one to shut up when required.
-'I did my schooling from Loretto, my B.Ed from <____> and my M.Sc. from <____>-'

I admit I phase out more than necessary.

-'-I should be doing something productive!'
-'You are. Where would we be without you-'
-'Chup koro. Baaje kotha bolo na!'
By now I've almost reached the door. By now I've unhappily realised that my father is either blissfully naive or severely overestimates his eloquence.
-'We're getting late for the trip. Tuku, giye taxi deke aan!' Now he tries to digress.
-'NA!' Square one.
-'You see? See how your kid talks back?'
-'My kid? He's inherited your tendencies. He eats 24x7, is lazy like you, shies away from responsibility-'

Spirituality be damned. Now I have an identity crisis on my hands. Whose child am I?

-'-doesn't work, weighs like a hundred kilos-'
Now I don't know whose kid they're talking about. I definitely don't weigh a hundred kilos.
-'-Your mother didn't bring you up right.'
Oh, now I get it. Dad's mom's kid.
-'You leave my mother out of this!'
-'You leave my Tuku out of this! Ja baba, taxi deke aan.'
-'NA!'
-'My mother brought me up just fine. We used to do whatever our parents asked.'
-'Well then, look how well you turned out.'
-'And look how well Tuku turned out. Ja taxi deke aan.'
-'Yes dad.'
-'Really?'
-'NA!'

Somehow a change once in a while from the regular discord over the remote is refreshing. Even the regular discord over the remote is not regular sometimes.

-'Where's the remote?'
-'Dada has it.'
-'No I don't Tuku has it.'
-'No I don't. Then Daddy has it.'
-'I just asked!'
-'Then you must've kept it somewhere.'
-'I was taking a dump!'
-'Then why can't you flush?'
-'That's none of your business'
-'Who forgot to flush the toilet?' The mater. The return.
-'Daddy.' The frater. The damned.
-'Golu shut up. Give me the remote.'The pater. The guy who forgets to flush.
-'Give me the remote' The mater. The interjector.
-'-but I wanna watch the match-'
-'-but I wanna watch Star Wars-'
-'-but I was gonna watch the news-'
The others. The insignificant.
-'I have my serials.'
-'-But-'
-'Chup koro. Baaje kotha bolo na!'
The mater. The victorious.

I have made my new year resolution. I am going to run away and become a hermit, then gradually ascend to sainthood and preach a religion worshiping toads and snails. I am not happy to be 20 and old. I am not happy that my father forgets to flush. I am not happy that I might have to take a trip to Tarapith sometime this week. I am not happy that I'm called Tuku.

-'Mom, I don't like being called Tuku. Who named me that?'
-'Chup koro. baaje kotha bolo na!'