R.I.P.

9th of December, three days from today the city will go all vocal and moist about the AMRI fire mishap and that would mark the 365 and 1 day after I last prayed for Nana .

I have forever had a very sweet and diplomatic face towards most of the people around, at times, even against the strong urge to hit them right on their face (that I accept is a very bad quality), but Nana was someone I have grown up shouting at, and mostly, at non-funny situations. My fondest memories of childhood would include Nana taking me to the park every evening and buying me bhutta. The Durga Puja-s and “Roth”s were always passed getting all the pampering  from people all over the para with the same old “arre o toh tamal er bhaiji”. Everyone knew him. From purono para to ei para, people just know him as he would randomly help people with their luggage and shopping bags. Nana would take immense pride over getting to do small favors for me, especially when Maa or anyone else of the more normal ones of the family asked for it. The mentioning of the normal is absolutely intentional because the rest of the world secretly or openly thought that he was not one.

I have grown up watching him getting advised, being suggested, on what he will wear, on what he would eat, where he would go, when he would come, whom he should marry, how he should save and what not. Back in the days of old Amma-bari, I remember the alarm clock ringing at our room every morning when Baba would wake up to wake him up at 6 for his morning shift at the not-so-prestigious-office because every other place required ‘normal’ people. At around 7, Kaku would go and check of he actually went to work or bunked it like most of the days. When he came back at 12, I felt extremely happy to get back someone I could bully till Maa returns at night. Thus went my childhood with Nana picking me up even when there was a Maashi to do the needful every day after school from bus stand to home.

He would always say “taka chai taka?” and then bring out the only 25paise coin with a sad face and I would say “thak ota. Pore ota diye ekdin Phuchka khabo”. I always thought Nana was “Gorib” and therefore everyone helped him, because I always saw people paying for all of the things that he needed and hence, even the pochish poisha that he offered, in those days of childhood when I though 5takar coin< two 1 rupee coins, made me feel, made him sad. At the lunch hours, he would finish off his fish first before even touching the rice and then would have the rest of the normal members of the family offer their half to him. He loved food. He loved love. And he was loved.

I have grown up regretting the way I treated him. I always took him for granted. Planted a slap every now and then if he denied acting according my wish. I had been at my rude best for the first six years of my life when I treated him like a piece of shit, like someone who is absolutely not important, and most importantly, like someone who should be AT MY SERVICE, always. I can never forgive myself for all those summer nights and winter afternoons when I too was a part of the fun-making-gang non- advertently of his various foolish incidents. He on the other hand, would always be as sweet as one can be, to me. He did not let Maa scold me EVER. In case I have not mentioned, Nana was my Kaku.

He WAS, because he died on the 8th of December 2011 at AMRI, the day before the hospital was burnt down, almost. What happened to him and Why is a long story altogether but HE made winter all the more sad for me. It was today, just a year ago when Maa drove me all the way to AMRI at 1:50 am, the whole family waiting for news needed food and blanket. I must mention here that I avoid going to hospitals and they cause nausea. That night which followed my Physics semester exam was spent at the hospital because no one moved an inch towards home. Everyone cried, everyone prayed and I have never seen a sadder scene.
I have never seen my family so worried about money till those days last year when they went up to the extent of taking gold loans as an option after AMRI attached some XYZ machine to his body that charged 10lakhs per hour. Yes, per HOUR. There had been only hospital talks and money calculations and family fund discussions and tears since November last year and finally, 8th of December 2011, 5am in the morning, the news was delivered. The semester exam was due after some time that day itself. And thus, I could him see him last.

I miss him more than I can imagine missing someone. I miss him more than I miss Mejo-pishi who died a similar death. The sight of his son will give you a thousand deaths when he would blankly stare at Nana’s photo. Nana loved me more than he loved Habul; I knew this a matter of fact! There is a tinge of regret when I remember him today for all the times I did not value him. I wish I had kept one of those 25paise coins that he offered throughout the childhood days. The last time he told me, “Dekhish Guria toke biyete ami ki dei!” and I laughed. That was bhai fota last year. That also was the last time I saw him. I went to hospitals after that though but never ended up visiting his bed for my own selfish reasons.

But. Today. The same night.  ALMOST the same night. And. On most of the nights. I can at times hear him say.
TAKA CHAI TAKA?