Bipin and Das are identical twins. I am of their age and live next door.
.As children, sometimes we all used to sleep together and our parents did not object to it. Though my parents are from the South, we all lived happily like a family.
We all went to the same school and this continuous interaction must have been a factor for our choosing economics as our subject.
I am black and we were nicknamed the “the black and white trio”. I was far more intelligent than Bipin-Das and used to clear their doubts, during studies in their room. Now I do return home, even if it is very late in the night; my father will be waiting till my return.
We are very poor, depending upon father’s meager pension and this disparity in status pained me considerably, as I grew up.
Once I had to attend a marriage for which we all were invited. I feigned illness because I had no god sari. Das knew me well and brought his mother’s sari which was quite costly. H forced me to wear it. His mother immediately recognized it and looked at me so disdainfully that I wished to run away the same night, to some unknown place and work as a sweeper!
Das embraced me and wiped out my tears. He promised never to repeat such mistakes
But Chitharanjan Da was different. He liked me and I used to spend some time with him, reading out the newspaper. He had cataract problem, but was afraid to operate it. He asked me to learn Bengali, to read the best writers in the world. I could not read any Indian language. English was enough for me.
I used to press his cloths and make idli and dosa which he relished very much. He would joke: why not bring this blackie as my daughter-in-law?
Whenever Das hears it, he would grind his teeth in anger.
He would tell me; sorry girl; these people are so insensitive to the feelings of others.
I got a call letter from Jadhavpur University .with an offer of stipend of upeess. ten thousand.
Das gave me travel expenses and his ATM card. When I said good bye, I had a premonition that I may never return. I wept all the way to the railway station.
As soon as I joined, I became extremely busy with my thesis. Instead of using data from published sources, I decided to tour the remote villages, to see for myself how people lived there. The poverty appalled me .There were women in rags carrying children who are unable to walk, because they had nothing to eat.
I shouted at them: Why do you open your thighs? Next time, your husband comes, you kick his balls hard. He should not be able to do it again.
During my visit to rural areas, Das came to Calcutta. He left a note and went away.
My father and Chtharanjan Da used to write long letters. I used to talk to them frequently in my mobile phone. I lived on minimum expenses and sent lot of money to my father, who had enough to spend for the first time.
Once I met Binayak Sen and showed him my thesis which earned much praise and was published in the college magazine.
He just threw it into the waste basket.
He said: it is worth only this, pointing to the basket. Do you think it will solve rural poverty? The politicians thrive by exploiting the rural poor. Of course, you may get placements in big business establishments and earn money. What will you do with money? Live in posh locality in Delhi, forgetting poverty and ignorance all around you?
Enough of theory; go and fight the enemy with guns, he said.
I was shaken and wanted to see my parents. All were overjoyed when I appeared among them. Bipin had married a rich heiress. Das was pensive and talked less. He always remained with me. He could not score marks, sufficient to impress the people who matter. I felt sorry for him. He now works as a teacher.
Years went by, and I enjoyed life among academic people in the university. . No one approached me for marriage. I was quite happy living alone, reading and writing. I have quite a good reputation as a writer.
When I was past forty, a young man came to see me. He told me he admired my work and my essays in the newspapers. He had a serious look, with his spectacles and slight beard. I liked him and spent hours talking about everything under the sun
One day he asked me point blank: do you love me?
I had a hearty laugh! I said: you are young enough to be my grandson.
Is love regulated by considerations of age?
I do not know; I had close friends of my childhood; I never thought of marrying them.
Are they still unmarried, after all these years?
I don’t think so; I never enquired.
I want only an answer: yes or no.?
In the coming days, he began sitting very near to me and even fondling me without being unduly audacious. I like it. One day I kissed him in the mouth and suddenly he became a bull and charged me vehemently. Next day we gave the registrar our notice regarding intention to marry.
Only Das came to witness it. He looked prematurely old, with streaks of grey hair We embraced each other and wept. I felt it a big loss when he went away.
We all went to the same school and this continuous interaction must have been a factor for our choosing economics as our subject.
I am black and we were nicknamed the “the black and white trio”. I was far more intelligent than Bipin-Das and used to clear their doubts, during studies in their room. Now I do return home, even if it is very late in the night; my father will be waiting till my return.
We are very poor, depending upon father’s meager pension and this disparity in status pained me considerably, as I grew up.
Once I had to attend a marriage for which we all were invited. I feigned illness because I had no god sari. Das knew me well and brought his mother’s sari which was quite costly. H forced me to wear it. His mother immediately recognized it and looked at me so disdainfully that I wished to run away the same night, to some unknown place and work as a sweeper!
Das embraced me and wiped out my tears. He promised never to repeat such mistakes
But Chitharanjan Da was different. He liked me and I used to spend some time with him, reading out the newspaper. He had cataract problem, but was afraid to operate it. He asked me to learn Bengali, to read the best writers in the world. I could not read any Indian language. English was enough for me.
I used to press his cloths and make idli and dosa which he relished very much. He would joke: why not bring this blackie as my daughter-in-law?
Whenever Das hears it, he would grind his teeth in anger.
He would tell me; sorry girl; these people are so insensitive to the feelings of others.
I got a call letter from Jadhavpur University .with an offer of stipend of upeess. ten thousand.
Das gave me travel expenses and his ATM card. When I said good bye, I had a premonition that I may never return. I wept all the way to the railway station.
As soon as I joined, I became extremely busy with my thesis. Instead of using data from published sources, I decided to tour the remote villages, to see for myself how people lived there. The poverty appalled me .There were women in rags carrying children who are unable to walk, because they had nothing to eat.
I shouted at them: Why do you open your thighs? Next time, your husband comes, you kick his balls hard. He should not be able to do it again.
During my visit to rural areas, Das came to Calcutta. He left a note and went away.
My father and Chtharanjan Da used to write long letters. I used to talk to them frequently in my mobile phone. I lived on minimum expenses and sent lot of money to my father, who had enough to spend for the first time.
Once I met Binayak Sen and showed him my thesis which earned much praise and was published in the college magazine.
He just threw it into the waste basket.
He said: it is worth only this, pointing to the basket. Do you think it will solve rural poverty? The politicians thrive by exploiting the rural poor. Of course, you may get placements in big business establishments and earn money. What will you do with money? Live in posh locality in Delhi, forgetting poverty and ignorance all around you?
Enough of theory; go and fight the enemy with guns, he said.
I was shaken and wanted to see my parents. All were overjoyed when I appeared among them. Bipin had married a rich heiress. Das was pensive and talked less. He always remained with me. He could not score marks, sufficient to impress the people who matter. I felt sorry for him. He now works as a teacher.
Years went by, and I enjoyed life among academic people in the university. . No one approached me for marriage. I was quite happy living alone, reading and writing. I have quite a good reputation as a writer.
When I was past forty, a young man came to see me. He told me he admired my work and my essays in the newspapers. He had a serious look, with his spectacles and slight beard. I liked him and spent hours talking about everything under the sun
One day he asked me point blank: do you love me?
I had a hearty laugh! I said: you are young enough to be my grandson.
Is love regulated by considerations of age?
I do not know; I had close friends of my childhood; I never thought of marrying them.
Are they still unmarried, after all these years?
I don’t think so; I never enquired.
I want only an answer: yes or no.?
In the coming days, he began sitting very near to me and even fondling me without being unduly audacious. I like it. One day I kissed him in the mouth and suddenly he became a bull and charged me vehemently. Next day we gave the registrar our notice regarding intention to marry.
Only Das came to witness it. He looked prematurely old, with streaks of grey hair We embraced each other and wept. I felt it a big loss when he went away.
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