Abhimanyu Banerjee was walking fast past the corridors of the sprawling English department of St.Xaviers College lest he be late for his first class with the first year undergraduate students. Today he was supposed to begin the controversial play of Christopher Marlowe, Edward The Second. With the autumnal festivities gathering momentum in the city, traffic is paralysed every year this time, Metro rail, an erstwhile posh ride for the Kolkatans is now synonymous with the quintessentially Bengali Bongaon local where commuters pant for breath and almost dangle on the doors. The cabbie left him stranded at a jam-packed J.L.Nehru Road crossing because of a rally in protest of the recent atrocities against the students at a city college. Abhimanyu had a tough time walking all the way from Metro cinema to Park Street with his 34 inches bulging waistline hindering his acceleration. The stretch from Asiatic Society to Mallickbazar crossing remains open one way and you don’t get any cab to take you to any of the destinations in between. Abhimanyu was in a red stripe shirt and a beige trouser, looking quite decent with his college guy image. This is what makes him so popular among his students. He hardly looks 32-------despite his chubby stature and grey streaks all over his back brushed hair. During his last hair cut, Abhi was coaxed by the barber to get his hair dyed, the but fact was Abhi had been harbouring a dream of seeing himself in the lines of Ustad Amjad Ali Khan ever since he first saw his live concert. Now it’s a trend to grey your hair artificially to bring that typically Kolkatan pseudo-intellectual look. In fact Abhimanyu’s mother looks graceful with her whites though she’s only fifty three. She’s a home maker and has diligently brought her son up amidst hurdles with the best of everything!! His father is a retired banker who gorges on Debabrata Biswas’s Rabindra Sangeet and Swami Narayan's channel after his by-pass surgery two years back.

The class had just ended. Abhi put his cellphone on normal mode and saw there were three missed calls from Debojit, his buddy.

A text read- gt bck 2 me 1nc u r over wd ur cls. Baba fell down in the bathroom and fainted. Doctor says it’s a stroke and he needs to be hospitalized. I have called on the ambulance and we are taking him to AMRI.
Oh Gosh…wait I will be there in forty minutes. don’t be afraid. by the way, have you informed Shinjini?
Ya, informed her. She’s on the way. Is it okay for you to leave the college midway and come?
Yep, on my way……

Debojit is Abhimanyu’s college mate-----both of them have been the best of buddies since last seventeen years and stood by each other during thick and thin. Deb works as a journalist for a reputed publishing house in the city. He lost his mother to cancer when he was in class twelve. He has an elder sister Shinjini, married to an IT professional Niloy. They stay at Gariya.
Abhimanyu arranged for his classes for the day with his colleagues and rushed outside for a taxi. He was somewhere near Park Circus when the mobile beeped once more.
‘Yes…I am on the way…..where are you guys?’
Debojit was on the verge of breaking at the other end….
‘Abhi………Baba is no more….the doctor just came and told us!’
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Abhi’s grand parents had passed away when he was in school, so adult Abhimanyu only had the misfortune of coming to the last rites of a near one during his maternal uncle’s sudden demise about seven months before and he was nauseated with the customs carried on a corpse at a crematorium. He felt the agony of coming to terms with the fact that someone who existed few hours ago doesn’t exist anymore; how mechanically the priest asks the son or the daughter to besmear ghee all over the body, take out the sacred thread so that he is liberated from all earthly ties, take off the clothes so that the deceased is exactly in the same state when he was born. Debojit’s father lay motionless on the cemented floor. The relatives had all arrived. Some of his colleagues were there with wreaths. His Uncle was sobbing, Aunt was busy consoling Shinjini while others watched from a distance. Abhimanyu held his buddy’s hand firmly while the latter did the funeral rites of touching his father’s face with the fire. All were asked to offer their last pronaam to the departed. Debojit was stolid, so long executing the instructions of the priest. Only when his father was about to be taken inside the incarcerator, he broke down seeing the capricious flames of the furnace. Within seconds the collapsible gates closed and everything was over.
‘I just can’t take it Abhi….baba…baba is not there!’
‘He was reading the newspaper some time back….and now he’s no more. How do I take this Abhi….how?’
Abhi hugged him and they waited for the ashes to be collected.
Pujo was only ten days after. Debojit had planned a vacation with Abhi and his father to Periyar, Kerala after Dashami. Hotels had been booked, the Indigo flight tickets were already confirmed. But Pinakijethu’s journey was meant to be elsewhere.
Shejomami had arranged for an iron bar, a flame and neem leaves which needs to be touched by all those who return from the crematorium. Debojit was draped in white and hung a key around his neck. Twelve days of an official mourning would be too much of a punishment for Debojit, thought Abhi.
‘Can’t he do without this white robes jethima?’
‘No dear. Hindu brahmin’s son has to wear it after parents’ death. And yes, whatever cooked stuff is there in the fridge has to be thrown away. Debojit, you can’t comb your hair or shave for the next twelve days, you remember naa? and only boiled vegetables with saindhav salt.’
Debojit was mum for a second. Jethima, I don’t think I will be able to do all this. I will have to join office in three days.
There’s an important assignment to be finished.
That means you will go to office now? Borda won’t be too happy at this decision. I guess Debu. It’s your life, you decide.

Abhimanyu was with his friend for some time, then as relatives started pouring in with messages of condolence, he felt it was time for him to leave.
Shinjini would be there for the next three days along with her son Bingo as the departed father gets the first offering from his daughter.
‘Debu, now that baba is no more it’s time to bring a new member in the family. Have you thought of it?’
‘Come on didibhai, please can you keep aside this topic for now? It’s been only five hours that baba has left us, and I really don’t want to discuss this now.’
Debu left for his bedroom and switched off the lights
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Abhimanyu was the only child of his parents----his microcosm consisted of literature, music, and Debojit. A shy and introvert Abhimanyu was never too vocal about his abilities or talents at either school or college. It was Debojit who had brought out his musical talents and literary flair to the surface. Abhi still remembers the day when Debojit had registered his name at a famous college fest for a solo music contest, how he had endeavoured to publish his first short story in a little magazine at the book fair exploiting some of his journalistic contacts. They had spent hours at the National library and British Council browsing through the pages of Emily Dickenson or Herman Melville, watched 'Tumhari Amrita' twice, stayed awake the entire night at the Dover Lane Music Conference to hear Pandit Bhimsen Joshi’s Darbari Kanada, or freaked out at the coffee shop near Rowdon Street with their favourite grilled club sandwich. They had once planned to start a publishing house together. Initial talks were over, personal loan was also arranged through a common friend, but the plan fell flat because of Abhimanyu’s triumph at the NET exams. Infact none of them ever felt the need of a lady in their lives-----such fulfilling was the camarederie. Abhimanyu’s parents have been coaxing their son to get married lately, as he was the eldest cousin in the paternal side.
'If you can’t find out for yourself, give us a chance Abhi..shall we post an advertisement in the matrimonial?'
'Baba,I have told you many times, I don’t see myself as a husband material. Why force me like this?'
Abhi’s mother would spring in-‘’all boys say like that before marriage. Once you are a husband, you will become a material
Bujhli? You are thirty two now. Arko says he won’t marry before you. Mejdi, Rangadi fondly speak about their grand children. I have to keep my mouth shut.’’
Oh Maa!! Enough is enough! give me a break….I will speak to Arko personally. He needn’t wait for me.'
The next few days were hectic for Debojit. Getting the shopping done for the twelfth day rituals, printing the invitation cards, calling up friends and relatives, getting a photograph of his father framed from the framemaker at Gariahat. Abhimanyu was with him most of the time as is customary for the mourning son not to move alone during this period.
‘Abhi, I don’t think I will shave my hair. Would that be too much of a strong decision?
‘Absolutely not, Debu. Your loss or mourning has nothing to do with getting your hair shaved or not shaved. Do whatever is comfortable’
Jethima was furious on hearing this.
‘Oh my God! Such a blasphemy…Hindu Brahmin son, not going to shave his hair at his father’s death. Has anyone heard of such a thing before?
I am not going to stay here for a single moment.’
Shinjini interrupted, ‘Jethima,do you really think its obligatory to display your grief to the world?’
‘If bhaai doesn’t want to do that, leave him. Moreover, I don’t think baba would be offended if he doesn’t shave his hair off’
‘Yes..yes, I understand. You people are today’s kids. It affects your style. But shastra, rituals can’t be forgotten totally’
Debojit’s paternal uncle added, ’We really can’t force you Debu, but give it a second thought. If boudi had been alive, probably she would also want you to carry out the customs properly.’
‘And you people would plunge to rub her vermillion and break her conch shells right? I know jethu, conventions are important for you, but for me it’s the call of the heart which matters!’
It was Mahalaya morning. The ghats of Kolkata were abuzz with men offering their tarpan(tribute) to their forefathers. The priest was chanting the hymns. Sandalwood incense, rajnigandha garlands, jasmine garlands had piled near the portrait of Debojit’s father. Jethima draped in a white and red dhakai saree was sitting beside Debojit who was clad in a white dhoti and chadar. As he repeated the hymns with the priest, his eyes reddened. The stotras mingled with Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s ‘’Ashwiner Sharodopratey…to create a harmonius euphony. Abhimanyu was standing near the doorstep closely watching his friend religiously following the priest’s instructions.
Shinjini, in Debojit’s room was turning the torn pages of a family album which had photographs of her late parents pasted. Shinjini in the lap of her mother, while Debojit holding the hands of his father at Puri’s Konarak temple. As she arranged the table, her eyes fell upon a book named ’’Shakespearean Sonnets’’.
‘’Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and temperate…’’
She read the preface and saw her brother’s handwriting on the first page. It read:
‘For you only….Abhi’
For a moment she was dumbstruck, she looked up at her father’s photograph and cried to herself.

Debojit was almost done with the rituals.
Shinjini walked up to the other room, held Abhimanyu’s hands and gave him the book,
‘’Look after him’’
The sandalwood incense had filled the room with a mystic aroma.