PAPER BOATS!

যখন    পড়বে না মোর পায়ের চিহ্ন এই বাটে,

আমি    বাইব না মোর খেয়াতরী এই ঘাটে,

Dadubhai retired as General Manager Eastern Railways. Son of Sir Lal Gopal Mukherjee, he had what everyone else did in that era, the Oxford background, the Aryan good looks, light eyes included, the colonial habits of splendid articulation, excellent skill in sports, tennis predominantly, flair with continental cuisine, et al. But to me he was Dadubhai, the one who sat me at his knee by the lily pond in his official residence at Alipore and unfolded a world where make belief became permanent, folded neatly and set asail in the lily pond.

Betwixt Abol Tabol and Hajobarola, Wind on the Moon and Winnie the Pooh, he and I were writing our own stories, Dadubhai the prompter and I the prompted. The said stories were then neatly folded into paper boats and placed in the water, allowing imagery and imagination to determine their destination. No credit to me, but at his kind behest, his unfailing instinct, I became adept at origami.

At his knee, I picked up pencil, crayon, charcoal, water colour and oil paints, learning from the best as he was a painter of fair repute, having fraternised with the best during his very separate youth. The collection still holds pride of place on walls in need of paint and plaster, and Ma’s book, ‘ STRAWBERRY PATCH’.

Not unusual then that his 1st book, ‘ Chuhulika’, was dedicated to me. My grandparents called me Chuhu. I was the apple of their eye, this robust child, imaginative and confident, painting, writing, reciting, singing, dancing, very poorly I may add, with the benefit of hindsight, but versatile certainly! I grew up knowing nothing was really a challenge, believing in my eternal prompter, Dadubhai.

Years later, betwixt Arnold, learning to appreciate poetry, Dame Laura Knight, understanding the outreach of Art, M.S. Subhalaxmi, appreciating music and Sound of Music, relating to cinematography, that I recall a trip to the Metro, our weekend ritual, this time to watch ‘ Flipper’. To the amazement of the audience and complete lack of response from Dadubhai, when Flipper was lost, I stood up on my seat, all 3 and a half feet of me, my clarion call of ” Flipper, Flipper”, resounding through the noble portals of the said cinema house!

Much later, this time 5 feet and 4 inches, Dadubhai would come to pick me up from Presidency in his old Vauxhall, precipitating great curiosity about the ‘ older man’ in my life!!! Yet again, Dadubhai allowed imagination the upperhand and we engaged in a story, ‘ The Selfish Giant’, not Oscar Wilde but Chuhu and Dadubhai.

I dreamt of Dadubhai last night. A vivid dream, his last words to me, this time, me the adult, he the child. He whispered to me kindly, with understanding, with love, ” Chuhu, remember our ‘ KAGOJ NOUKAKHANI?”…
Rupa Chakravarti