‘The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark. The small truth has words which are clear; the great truth has great silence.’

— Rabindranath Tagore

I

Today is indeed a very special day for Shubham. In less than half an hour, he will be meeting his future mother-in-law. How would it be meeting Tiyasha’s mother?

The slender lady in a white palazzo suit, seated beside him in his Volkswagen Polo, and giving directions, is his fiancée. They met at a job interview. Shubham was one of the interviewers on the board. Needless to say, the first impression was strong enough to cast Cupid’s magic over him.

Tiyasha joined as a junior software developer in his team. With time, their relation changed from workmates to soul mates. After three years of courtship, Shubham and Tiyasha decided to tie the knot. She has joined a new company last summer.

Shubham currently shares a rented house in Salt Lake area with a friend but he has already booked a flat in the same locality. His family constitutes of his father, brother, and sister-in-law who live in Asansol. They have already met Tiyasha when they came over to Kolkata four months ago. Shubham had lost his mother at the tender age of seven years. He barely remembers her. His father and his elder brother who is ten years older than him have brought him up with all the love they could give.

Shubham had been a very quiet and studious child from the very beginning. That helped him find solace in his solitary motherless life. He was adored by his aunts and friends’ mothers but never found in them the motherly figure he had always craved for. Now that he will be meeting Tiyasha’s mother, he was wondering whether she will be like all the other faces in a crowd, or someone noticeably different.

‘Here we are. Yes, the yellow coloured three-storey house with a black gate, beside the Queen of the Night tree,’ directed Tiyasha.

They got down from the car and she had barely reached out her hand to press the doorbell when her mother opened the door.

‘Please, come in. I was waiting for you,’ smiled Mrs Pujarini Lahiri, Tiyasha’s mother.

When Shubham looked up at the middle-aged, fair lady clad in a sea-green tussar, he noticed the serene look in her eyes. Worth a second glance!

He bent down to touch her feet when he felt her gentle hand reaching for his temple in a gesture of blessing, ‘long life, my son’.

Within a short span of time the room was brimming with sounds of Shubham’s peppy repartees and their chorus laughter. While Shubham admired her pristine demeanour and endearing smiles, Pujarini enjoyed his light banter. Meanwhile, Tiyasha’s uncle Arunava and his wife Supriti who reside in the same house also joined them.

Pujarini’s homemade sweets imbibed a mellower melody to the evening. Then Tiyasha took Shubham to the first floor, passing by Arunava-Supriti’s and cousin Diya’s room to reach their master bedroom. There are two rooms in their portion, one small room which serves as her study room and a master bedroom where Tiyasha and her mother stay, since her father’s death five years ago.

As they entered the room, Shubham took a quick glance. He appreciated the overall decor. The harmony of cool lemon green and light blue stripes on the curtains and bedcover created a sense of serenity, much like Pujarini, he thought.

‘Ma has designed the room in her own way. I’m too lazy to look into these matters,’ said Tiyasha, taking the cue from his gazes.

A few family photographs and a Jamini Roy painting on the wall, some dokra figurines in the alcove, fresh philodendron on the window sill, potted houseplants at the entrance of the adjoining balcony casting a freshening feel in the room and … he stopped. Was that a tanpura at the corner, wrapped with a dusty old piece of cloth?

Not that Shubham was an avid lover of music, but for some unknown reason the tanpura drew his attention.

‘Whose is it, Tiyasha?’ he asked.

‘It is Ma’s.’

‘Does she sing?’ He seemed curious.

‘No. I do not remember her singing,’ she paused for a second, ‘probably in my early school years.’

‘Sure?’

‘I don’t know. Why are you bothered about that musty old thing anyway?’ Tiyasha was about to start a discussion on her latest project. She was slightly miffed at his sudden interest in the dust smitten tanpura which she thought was the last thing in the room to lay her eyes upon.

Just then Pujarini entered with two steaming cups of tea.

‘Auntie, do you sing?’ he asked, as she placed the tray on a side table.

‘I used to. A long time ago. Not anymore,’ she said handing him the cup.

Shubham noticed that her face lost its colour. Her lips quivered for a nanosecond, and then Pujarini got up. ‘You two talk. I will come after a while,’ and left the room.

Was she trying to conceal something? Or did she want to say something, but stopped herself mid-way. Shubham also remembered the uneasiness on her face in the soft light and then pondered over the words, ‘used to’, ‘not anymore’. Some thoughts are best understood when unspoken. But before he could say something, he was stopped by Tiyasha. She was saying something about her Philadelphia-based client.

Shubham noticed Tiyasha's indifference, Pujarini’s sudden exit and then looked at the tanpura once again. There it is gathering dust in one corner, while nothing in the room escapes Pujarini's meticulous attention.

II

It was half-past four in the afternoon. Tiyasha and Arunava were both at their workplace. Pujarini’s sister-in-law, Supriti, was engrossed in her favourite Bengali serial. She would now concentrate upon the miseries of the protagonist. Pujarini was not very fond of daily soaps; she flipped through old novels or listened to music on the radio.

Today, as she tuned in for her favourite radio station, Shubham’s question on the tanpura flashed across her mind. A simple tanpura opened a plethora of questions in her mind and all because Shubham asked something yesterday, which nobody has asked her for many years.

Nobody in the Lahiri house or elsewhere remembers her tanpura, today. But at one time it used to hold a special place at her in-laws’ place. It has always been special to Pujarini.

It was twenty-five years ago, she could still see herself singing in the early hours of the morning. Her days began with the tunes of Bhairon, rolled on to Behaag, Bageshri, Pilu and then to a mellowed Ashabari. Her movements echoed the ragas in which she dwelled and dreamt. She never went to any formal music school, nor had any music teacher to guide her, if anyone had ever tutored her, it was Atanu-da.

The same Atanu-da who taught her to read, Ghalib or Neruda, also taught her to listen to Aamir Khan Sahib and Beatles at the same time. He was not her sibling, perhaps some distant second cousin or a member of the extended family, dwelling at her paternal home. To her he was much more than a lesser-known half-cousin, Atanu was her first and only guru who discovered an exceptional talent in her. While her parents and two elder brothers took her singing to be one of the many arts mastered by most Bengali girls to make an extra impression in matters of matrimony, Atanu honed her with utmost care in the formative years.

He taught her to take music as a passion, and not as a hobby. Atanu, himself, had a wonderful voice but failed to carve a niche for himself. His fickle nature had prevented him from settling down to a fixed job. The middle-aged bachelor had travelled to many parts of India, and had, finally settled at Pujarini’s paternal residence. He used to work as a part-time music teacher in a nearby music institution and gave tuitions to a few students. Atanu knew that his favourite pupil Pujarini had a natural inclination for music and he wanted to see her come out as a strong performer.

She was a regular performer since her school days. By the end of her second year in college, she had started singing in several cultural functions. Her parents took pride in her. Her siblings and relatives liked to refer themselves as part of Pujarini’s family. Atanu, however, was reserved about her performance, though he knew that his protégé had a long way to go. She had just appeared for a radio audition and was foraying into the music industry with a couple of offers, when….

The doorbell was ringing. Pujarini opened the door to find a postman. He put forward a wedding invitation card. Her nephew will be tying the knot, this winter. Pujarini remembered her sister-in-law informing her of the probable marriage last month. And then it also occurred to her, that her own marriage had been fixed somewhat, suddenly.

III

It was a wintery night in November. Pujarini was performing at a local cultural programme. She still remembers the day, quite clearly. She was in the middle of a kaharaba; it was well past nine, but the front row was still full. An aged couple in their mid-fifties was discussing something very softly. Pujarini did not know till then that they were her future in-laws, or that she, a probable match for their son, was the centre of their conversation, rather than her singing.

She came to know that a few days later when she overheard her uncle talking to her father.

‘This is the best proposal, I’ve ever heard, dada,’ he said diligently. ‘The Lahiris who came to the show last Sunday, want to marry their son to our Pujarini!’ He also added that the elderly couple had approached the show organiser and were eager to meet her parents. He further added that the Lahiris who stayed in Bhowanipore are pretty well off and their elder son Amitava is a real gem.

The good news soon spread in the whole family and was even carried to distant relatives. It was unanimously agreed that Pujarini was indeed very lucky; her would-be father-in-law was a practicing advocate, the groom himself was a Mathematics professor, the younger brother was a banker and most important of all, the Lahiris had a small family, unlike Pujarini’s maternal home and so, there would be no grumpy aunt or sister-in-law to pester her!

Pujarini’s family was on cloud nine with the proposal and no one felt it necessary to ask for her consent. She was considered too young to make her own decisions in life. Only Atanu told her to reconsider the marriage proposal, for he wanted her to have a successful career in music.

Marriage can happen later, he had suggested. But then it was too late to rethink. The Ganguly family was overjoyed to find an excellent match for their eldest granddaughter; even their horoscopes matched remarkably! Who listens to the senseless prattle of a vagabond singer?

The groom’s parents had assured Pujarini that she would be able to continue with her singing after the marriage. Amitava, who was more than ten years older than her, never made any promise, nor was he interested in his wife’s singing. He just married some young woman of nineteen who would take care of him and his family.

The marriage took place after five months, as the family astrologer had come up with grave predictions for the groom’s marital life if he did not marry before thirty. Pujarini was married to Amitava, a fortnight before his thirtieth birthday.

IV

Pujarini’s husband Amitava, spent all day in college. The evenings were reserved for tuitions. His students occupied the living room of their Bhowanipur residence. He would be busy all evening and would retire at nine at night, only to dine with the family.

Amitava’s socialising was limited to playing cards or chess with friends on Sundays or on other holidays. Pujarini hardly remembers going out for a movie or a cultural function with her husband. Most of her time was spent in household chores. The tanpura that she had brought from her paternal home filled her leisure moments. She tried to include an hour or two for practice every day before Tiyasha was born. During the early years of her marriage, Pujarini went to several cultural functions. She also cleared the audition for radio programs. Her in-laws kept their word. They always encouraged her to take part in radio programs.

Amitava was, however, absent from the scene. He was hardly interested in his wife’s singing, and he never went to any of her shows. If someone complimented on Pujarini's singing, he gave an indifferent look, or said something like, ‘I understand too little to comment on her singing prowess.’ On a number of occasions, the comments were made in the full presence of his wife, quite casually, without realising the impact it might have on her. He had very little interest in the finer aspects of life.

Atanu came to her in-laws’ place a couple of times, even though Amitava did not approve of his frequent visits. Though happy to see Pujarini settled, Atanu also encouraged her to take interest in regular public performances. He had even arranged for a series of song recordings at a nearby studio. It was then that Pujarini realised that she was expecting. She was advised to rest by the family physician. Relatives poured in all hours of the day with their expert advice, giving her more trouble than going for a few song recordings.

In the next few years, Pujarini could hardly spare any time for her singing. Little Tiyasha took away most of her time. Meanwhile, Amitava's younger brother, Arunava got married. Her in-laws passed away within a span of two years. Pujarini had to step into the shoes of her mother-in-law. The early morning hours, which were earlier reserved for her riyaz, were now spent in the kitchen. Her evenings passed by unnoticed, helping Tiyasha do her homework and offering tea and refreshments at regular intervals to her husband Amitava, during his tuition classes.

Holidays or Sundays came to be reserved for domestic ceremonies or for attending to guests, who frequently dropped by. Her recording dates soon became a forgotten subject in the Lahiri house, after repeated postponing and rescheduling. Atanu's visits became fewer and fewer and eventually stopped.

Gradually, Pujarini came to be known as an efficient homemaker, a dutiful daughter-in-law, a caring wife, and mother, rather than a singer of redoubtable talent. Nobody noticed the transformation in her and never asked about her singing. After the death of her in-laws, Pujarini's singing became a forgotten thing in the Lahiri household. Her favourite tanpura took a backseat, as her singing career.

Pujarini looked at it once. There it lies, dust smitten and forgotten, like her. But why did Shubham ask her about the tanpura, a question which no one cared to ask in so many years? She wondered. It is not that he is a great connoisseur of music. He is quite different from his peers; sensitive, observant, and caring. Pujarini thought Tiyasha's a lucky girl!

V

Shubham and Tiyasha were at a jewellery store to buy their engagement rings. Tiyasha was trying out rings and Shubham was making fun of her fickle choice. But he was also thinking about something else.

He had never thought that he would find something so ‘invaluable’ in his ancestral home at Asansol while looking for a couple of old books in the attic. He found nothing more than a decade old defunct record, but he knew that a careful digging into its functional days will lead him to something he is yearning to know and perhaps go even further. The faded and blurry cover showed a demure young woman in her early twenties and the writing beside it revealed no other name but Pujarini Lahiri.

When he asked Sidhu uncle, a yesteryear’s singer and a neighbour, he took much time to remember that she was a promising singer in her early years. But faded long before, and to be more precise, she quit singing; that is what he had heard from others. That often happens with many performers, especially, with female singers, he commented. What he said was not something unheard of, but it struck a chord within Shubham. He remembered the subdued fire in Pujarini's eyes, on their first meeting. Her eyes seemed to speak a lot more than her lips. He had a strong feeling within him that somewhere deep within she needed a push to move forward with her singing.

‘Shubham, see, isn’t this lovely?’ Tiyasha chose a diamond-studded gold ring for her.

‘Yeah, it is beautiful,’ Shubham said.

He had already chosen his ring and now they headed for a long drive to Nola World for dinner.

They were enjoying a breezy ride and were talking about everything under the sun, when Tiyasha said, 'Ma has grown very fond of you.'

Shubham was about to say, me too. But he stopped himself and asked instead, ‘Why dear?'

‘Because,’ said Tiyasha taking a quick glance at the traffic signal, ‘she feels you are very different and someone who becomes a part of the family, much faster than most close relations. And yes, she likes your silly jokes too.’

‘She’s warm,’ said Shubham, looking up at Tiyasha. ‘Though she's a bit reserved, it seems.’

‘Yes, that she is,’ replied Tiyasha.

'And particularly about her singing,’ pepped Shubham.

Tiyasha gave him a perplexed look. 'I don't know why. She hardly speaks about it. Some yellowed photographs, a couple of old records and that dust smitten tanpura is all that I know of her singing.'

'And you never asked her?'

'I did. But she always brushed aside with words like that was just a hobby. But...,'

He could read the question in her eyes. 'You must be wondering, as to why I'm interested so interested?'

Tiyasha nodded her head, to which Shubham replied, ‘You see, I have a plan.’

Tiyasha looked up at Shubham. His face was looking so different in the mellowed yellow light.

VI

Shubham took a quick glance at his watch. It was already eight twenty. They were supposed to go out for dinner. However, Tiyasha called him up later asking him to come over to her place. ‘I have a presentation at 7 and then a meeting. I won’t be able to leave the office before seven-thirty. Come over for dinner.’

As he reached out his hand for a magazine on the glass table, he heard someone singing. It was a familiar voice. The voice reminded him of the cascade lilt. Free-flowing and with a languid sweetness, the song instilled in Shubham a feeling of freshness. The song was well known and so was the singer; only it was the first time he heard her sing. Perhaps she was not aware of his presence. Tiyasha changes her plans too fast at times.

Shubham’s proposal at the dinner table surprised Pujarini. They were planning for the engagement party next week. Tiyasha wanted to invite all her friends over. Pujarini, on the other hand, was more concerned with the rituals and guests.

Then Shubham said, ‘I have planned something different for the party.’

Taking note of the two pairs of curious womanly glances, Shubham added very slowly, ‘I would like Auntie to sing a song.’

‘What?’ Pujarini chuckled. ‘I don’t understand a word of what you are saying?’

‘Why? It’s so simple. I want you to sing a song at the party.’ Shubham replied.

‘It’s not that simple Shubham. After so many years… moreover, singing at my own daughter’s engagement party. No way. What would people think of me?’ Pujarini said looking at Tiyasha.

‘Nothing wrong with it, Ma. That’s a very good idea. I strongly appreciate it and support Shubham.’ Tiyasha winked at Shubham.

‘Yes Auntie, please do not refuse. This is a sincere request from your son-in-law. Please.’ Shubham insisted.

‘So, this is a joint conspiracy, I see.’ Pujarini said trying hard to hide her feelings of surprise, joy, and embarrassment.

Or was it something else, some amount of hurt pride, some scars, which do not heal with time. Shubham was not digging into them, she knew. In fact, he was alleviating her pain, knowingly or unknowingly.

VII

As Pujarini peered out of the window, she saw a small bird at the window sill, humming on its own. Will she continue to hum on her own, or will someone stop her, will she stop humming if no one listens to her? Why cannot she sing for herself? The questions kept coming into her mind, again and again. This is what Shubham was saying when he called up this morning.

Tiyasha who was getting ready for office handed her the mobile phone. Shubham said Debesh, a friend of his, who was a known name in the music industry, was planning to launch a music album on Tagore’s songs and that he wanted a new voice. Shubham had spoken to him of Pujarini and requested her to sing for this album. What, a solo album?

After almost 20 years? Was he out of his mind?

But Shubham silenced her with one answer: you will sing, auntie for yourself and everybody else will listen.

Their engagement was barely over and the wedding was still ahead. How could he think of all this? So much work is left. Shopping for marriage, all other kinds of arrangements, invitations, how can she afford the time and attention for this recording?

Everything will happen at its own time and nobody needs to wait for anything. But opportunities do not come always. And when they come, we should embrace them. These were Shubham’s words to Pujarini. He sounded very familiar. Like someone who disappeared from her life a long time back. Yes, she remembered at last. Atanu da, her guru.

In the eight-minute telephonic conversation they were interrupted twice by Tiyasha who was getting late for office, and was asking for her white scarf, but never once did she ask what it was all about. Some parts of her were incorrigibly like her late father, Pujarini thought.

Finally, Pujarini asked Shubham to call her back on their landline number. He called up half an hour later and confirmed the date of her first recording. He also said that he will be coming to pick her up from home the following Monday.

What it was, she was wondering. Was it just her ‘amazing’ performance (that’s what Shubham said) at Tiya’s engagement? And why was he doing all this for her? Was it because he wanted her to pursue her singing once again? Was it his philanthropy? Or was she dreaming all this while?

Some questions are never answered. Or you might just find their answers in other questions. Who knows?

VIII

‘How long do you think it is going to take? We are already late by an hour or so.’ The impatient assistant gazed at his watch again.

‘Two more hours.’ Debesh replied impassively without taking his eye off the glass room inside which Pujarini was recording for his album. ‘Go down and have something, if you are hungry. I will manage.’

‘But boss, this is against your principles. Usually, we record two songs per day. And this lady has already taken one day because she was jittery. How come…’ before he could say anything more, Debesh snapped him short by placing a finger on his lips.

‘I know what I’m doing.’ He took off his headphones. ‘She is not like one of those wannabe starlets who play with the microphone. Do not comment without knowing.’

The assistant gave a shrug and descended downstairs. Pujarini came out of the recording room precisely after one hour fifteen minutes. Debesh stood up from his stool and gave her a smile. ‘That was really nice, auntie, far beyond my expectations.’

She tried to smile and muttered something that sounded like a thank you. Then as her eyes fell on the large studio clock, she said, ‘I am so sorry dear. I have made you guys wait so long for me. It’s well past three in noon.’

Debesh nodded his head and replied in an assuring tone, ‘Nothing to be sorry for, auntie. It happens. Please, sit down. Let me order lunch for all of us.’ He picked up his mobile and speed dialled the nearest food joint number.

‘Why are you taking the trouble?’ Pujarini was slightly embarrassed. ‘I will go home and have something.’

‘I am not taking any trouble. By the time you reach home, it will be time for an early dinner. Besides, you are my guest today. Kathi roll, would be fine for you, auntie?’ Asked Debesh as the person on the other side of the phone asked for orders.

‘I am okay with anything.’

‘Okay. Cool. So, we are staying back for an extra hour today for rehearsal, auntie?’

Pujarini nodded. There was so much to see, so much to learn from these people, whom we always regard as outsiders. Step out of your domestic cocoon and know the world. Only then you will discover life in its true form. Atanu told this time and again to the docile and homebound Pujarini.

IX

Four months later, Pujarini was looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a temple border cream-coloured sari that Shubham had gifted her. She wore it today for a brief photoshoot for her album.

‘Auntie you look so gorgeous,’ said Shubham winked at Tiyasha. ‘Your daughter is nothing compared to you.’

Tiyasha made a funny face and then said, ‘Well, I appreciate your choice, sir,’ and then burst into laughter.

The trio was out for lunch today after Pujarini’s photoshoot. They were happily gorging on Chinese delicacies when Tiyasha broke the news, ‘I suppose, we will have to postpone our marriage, by at least 3 months.’

Both Shubham and Pujarini were surprised. She spoke in a very calm and composed tone, ‘I have an overseas project trip coming up next month. I will be in Florida for six weeks. Marriage can happen only after that. Not before January.’

Outside it was raining heavily. For a moment everybody was silent only the sound of raindrops falling on the glass pane.

Shubham was happy, but also hurt by Tiyasha’s indifference; she never told him anything though she knew well in advance. But he put up a smile and congratulated her.

Would it be appropriate to ask her if she can be present for her album release slated for release next month? Are the two dates clashing?  Pujarini wondered.

Tiyasha was too excited about the onsite opportunity and shopping for that. She did not want to interrupt her conversation with Shubham.

It was still raining. They dropped her home and went shopping.

Pujarini looked at herself in the mirror again. She was reminded of an old Tagore song, Jodi Tor Daak Shune Keu Naa Aase Tobe Eklaa Chalo Re, (‘If no one responds to your call, then go your own way alone’).

X

Three weeks later, September 15, 2011, Tiyasha was wading her way through a busy Park Street. She just passed Trincas. For the umpteenth time, she cursed the unavoidable traffic jam. And why on earth did Shubham call her to Music World today? When she asked him over the phone, he first asked her what date it was today, and when she failed to remember (well, she was pretty bad at that, she cannot remember her own birthday, at times, forget all other insignificant occasions, and what’s the big heck, by the way?)

Shubham simply said, ‘You would better come here today to remember,’ and hung up.

This was so damn irritating! And where the hell do I park my car? And why it has to drizzle now only? And where is the idiot Shubham? Tiyasha was fuming.

As she paced towards the music world store, she saw a huge crowd at the entrance. What is so special today? She wondered. Then Tiyasha noticed press reporters hustling in the crowd to get a byte of some lady, far away. She saw photographers flashing their cameras.

OMG… it has started raining again! Oh no, my new car. She was about to cry. She came out rushing.

It was then that the crowd started dispersing, because of the rain, and also the distant lady of whom Tiyasha caught a faint glimpse was stepping out.

‘Shubham,’ she yelled at the top of her voice, as she saw him come out. But she could barely be heard. She was being pushed aside. The security guards were making way.

He was here, right in front of her, but who else was with her? The beautiful lady whom the shutterbugs were busy clicking, was no other than Pujarini!

Today was her album release? She told her about this a week back, and Tiyasha said she was not sure if she would be able to it the event. After all, she is leaving for Florida next week.

‘Ma,’ Tiyasha called out as loud as she could. Could she hear?

Did Pujarini turn around and see her? She tried to move forward in the crowd. But it was raining too hard. Everything was becoming blurry in the afternoon showers.

You cannot make out the difference between teardrops and rainwater. Both look and taste the same.