The year was 2003, the month May, Sarvajit was posted to Delhi. Ananya had just left for Princeton when Sarvajit returned to India on a home posting. The poignance of Ananya’s departure was still lingering within us, when the pace and momentum of our splendid Motherland took charge, leaving us spinning like tops, Sarvajit in office, me at the British School New Delhi, my charge comprising Primary, Middle School and Secondary, including exam candidates.
Ours was “not to reason why, ours was but to do and die”. Abundantly grateful to the Executive Committee for having subsidised our little girl’s fees, I hit the ground running.
Sarvajit lived, ate and mostly lived in office, like all other bureaucrats, while Aparupa headed for exams both in academics and flute, (Trinity College), was a source of constant delight. Juggling her ever expanding social life, tennis and other commitments, she was head over heels in love with her school, her only embarrassment being ME! Mother and daughter refrained from acknowledging each other during school hours and that was THAT.
Leela, having raised the said daughter was probably pivotal in ensuring discipline and a sustained rhythm in our frenzied pace of life. She managed the home entirely, with grace and dignity but remained firm with regards to Aparupa. The nursery was hers and hers alone, we NEVER interfered and still maintain the same code of conduct!
Lest it be misrepresented, let me clarify, penury was the name of the game and I remain indebted to the said school for their faith in me and the opportunity provided. We needed the money, and it finehoned my teaching and learning process exponentially, allowing for foraging strategies to enhance learning for a wide range of abilities amongst students. Amidst the monumental marking, preparing exam candidates, teaching and staff meetings, Aparupa and I had a ‘date’ once a month, the day I got paid. It was consequent upon one such ‘date’, that we decided to visit Sarvajit, before heading home; our ‘date’ splendid with scrumptious food at Narula’s and shopping at Janpath.
I recall walking into South Block after a long day at the British School, daughter in tow, the day done for us but not Sarvajit. Our little girl sped ahead while I trudged on with my bag of notebooks, ready for correction. Sympathetic in my solitude, a hanuman leapt off the parapet, clung to my ‘jhola’, embroidered by Dadi, and accompanied me to Sarvajit’s office. It was a long walk with the said gracious hanuman taking a water break while I watched stupefied! Not just opening the faucet, but closing it after use, we walked together, animal and woman, one tall, stately unfearing, the other shrunken, cowering and trembling.
The juxtaposition has lived on as part of our anecdotal references since…
Rupa Chakravarti
Photo courtesy Internet