Here’s a short story by Atrayee, peppered with sparkling wit and humour. An exclusive for Different Truths.

Those of you who follow my stories and blogs for quite some time now are familiar with my very close association with Bipan babu. Remember him? My old, common man in the crowd, with some uncommon trysts!

Oh, the friable nature of our lives and memories! Never mind. As of now, neither is my Bipan babu any Sherlock Holmes, nor I, his storyteller, Arthur Conan Doyle to engage your memories forever. Nevertheless, Bipan babu is not someone we can avoid. His sense of humour and that enema of sarcasm is so astute, that it is hard to miss.

Anyway, let me bring you all up to speed. Writers are poor people. Now and then, they need to advertise their creations, lest they are overrun. Bipan babu is my favourite protagonist. A retired central government officer and a law-abiding citizen, well-settled in his own house in Kolkata. Treading at 65 or thereabouts, there’s a handsome inflow of pension and CGHS facility. A friendly and cheerful soul until his knee pain troubles him much. These days, though he tries to hog the crest with his fact-steering cogent and coherent anti-NaMo arguments, he is still loved for busting the ‘London Dreams’ of a true blue Bengali. Especially the ‘Laundon’ going aspiration of groom-seeking Bengali parents.

Bipan babu is my favourite protagonist. A retired central government officer and a law-abiding citizen, well-settled in his own house in Kolkata. Treading at 65 or thereabouts, there’s a handsome inflow of pension and CGHS facility. A friendly and cheerful soul until his knee pain troubles him much. These days, though he tries to hog the crest with his fact-steering cogent and coherent anti-NaMo arguments, he is still loved for busting the ‘London Dreams’ of a true blue Bengali.

Let’s not scrape much from that old pickle bottle, shall we? That too, when I’ve got a new savoury to serve. CORONA. It is indeed the newest recipe in the market. Now and then some of the other stories are baked afresh; then why should I also be mum? So, here goes…

***

 Bipan babu has woken up early today; much earlier than his usual schedule. He looks sad. Not for the lack of sleep, but his well-devised plan of making a cup of tea for himself fails to work out. Staring out through his bedroom window and massaging his knees, he sighs. Not sure; if the sigh is for the pain of the knees or of the heart. Or who knows, maybe for the brewing aroma of the recently bought autumn flush of Darjeeling Tea, which the Missus is making for the son.

Sweet, delicate and just the right notes of a fruity aroma. Aha! Even a blocked nose can feel the tickle. And that Muscatel, the famous one, is much of an appellation of some French wine. Bipan babu’s doctor uncle used to tell, ‘Even the best of champagnes will bow before a cup of our Darjeeling Tea’. Gone are those days.

“Here… Take your tea.” Missus comes in and distracts Bipan babu with a cup of HIS tea. One inch of ginger gently simmered in water for a perfect fifteen minutes, and then a spoon of honey and 1^1/4 spoon of lemon juice added; Whoopee! Bipan babu’s tea is ready.

“Tea…my foot!” He mutters this every morning under his breath and gulps it down. No matter how fast he gulps or how hard he tries to like that sweet and tangy ginger water, Bipan babu blatantly calls this warm liquid anything but TEA.

“Tea…my foot!” He mutters this every morning under his breath and gulps it down. No matter how fast he gulps or how hard he tries to like that sweet and tangy ginger water, Bipan babu blatantly calls this warm liquid anything but TEA.

Missus sits on the other end of the bed, slowly sipping on her cup. Even that is one of the rules it seems. Drink it slowly. Relish it over a period of 5 to 10 minutes. That improves the bowel movement and strengthens the immune system. Honey in warm water also reduces the tummy apparently.

Bipan babu looks at his bulged out paunch. Four months he has been under this maleficent morning drink, yet look at this MRF-tyre around his waist. It seems to be brand new. Not a dent. No sign of a puncture. It looks amply filled with air; that too topped up to the correct pressure.

Bipan babu looks at his bulged out paunch. Four months he has been under this maleficent morning drink, yet look at this MRF-tyre around his waist. It seems to be brand new. Not a dent. No sign of a puncture. It looks amply filled with air; that too topped up to the correct pressure.

“I don’t think this is working…” Bipan babu smirks and gulps down the ‘TEA’ at one go.

Missus glares back at him. “Nothing works out if you don’t follow the rules… Top it all you should have faith in what you do. Home remedies have long term effects…and is also permanent. Huh!” Missus frees her hair from that top-knot bun and prepares to go for her bath.

Darjeeling tea is still brewing over the gas and Bipan babu chooses to show his displeasure in his own way. “1200 Rs I paid…Don’t spoil the tea by boiling it like this.”

Missus is also irked now. She hollers to her son to switch it off and instructs him to add just two or three spoons of milk to it. Son cannot have black tea.

Adding milk to Darjeeling tea? Utter blasphemy for a true connoisseur.

“DO NOT add milk.” Bipan babu countermands and eyes the Missus.

“Can you please concentrate on your knee exercises? Simply massaging it is never going to help…Healthy lifestyle… exercise, proper diet, less of ghee and big fish… Huh! Who listens to me? Stuff those tablets and you think all will be fine.” Missus splutters out every single word at one go; insolently ignoring any input from Bipan babu.

Neither a word uttered nor a change in mien; poor old man gapes at his wife. His big black eyes float in a blind alley. Missus has changed so much over the years. Bipan babu sighs again. What should he call it? Emboldened may be. Or is it something like Age-related Audacity of an otherwise obedient wife?

Thirty-five years ago, when Bipan babu got married, his mother introduced the new daughter-in-law as a personification and amalgamation of Goddess Lakshmi and Saraswati. Reasonably true. Fair, beautiful, thick wavy black hair till the waist. Soft-spoken, mellifluous voice. A graduate of Home Science, a good cook; affable and adjustable in a big family. What else one needed in those days? Although her name translated into one of Maa Durga’s many and she literally worked like having ten hands altogether but never did she evince any form of anger or acrimony.

These days, however, Bipan babu senses a difference. A big one though; and very much flagrant. Apart from that Lakshmi-Saraswati patchwork which is still functional, Maa Kaali seems to be her frequent guest. More often, when Bipan babu tries to disagree with Missus.

These days, however, Bipan babu senses a difference. A big one though; and very much flagrant. Apart from that Lakshmi-Saraswati patchwork which is still functional, Maa Kaali seems to be her frequent guest. More often, when Bipan babu tries to disagree with Missus.

Anyway, musing over Missus won’t solve his needs. Bipan babu must go to the bazaar. His fish supplier, Dinesh, has stowed away a good Rohu, some prawns and fresh Pabdaa for him. Last night itself, Dinesh has informed him. Those will suffice for a week or two, he presumes. These days, he cannot go out anytime he wishes to. There has been a strict prohibition thrust on him through all the near and dear ones. Reason? What else, but CORONA.

Before the Missus puts a lid on his bazaar plans, Bipan babu must push off. He dresses up and is about to leave and at that crucial juncture, the otherwise never-intruding son butts in.

“Where are you going? What do you need…I’ll get it for you…You are at home.”

Missus, busy with her deities and morning session of puja, signals Bipan babu to go. An added gesture she makes; PUT THE MASK.

This kind of mutatis mutandis is becoming a norm these days. Especially, after the implementation of ginger tea in the morning, turmeric latte in the night. Or should he name it the only benefits he reaps in this Naturopathy art of living?

This kind of mutatis mutandis is becoming a norm these days. Especially, after the implementation of ginger tea in the morning, turmeric latte in the night. Or should he name it the only benefits he reaps in this Naturopathy art of living?

A bout of dry cough? No need to panic. Gargle with warm water. With some turmeric and salt added in that, one is good to go. And then, suck on some kababchini (Cubeb) and a little piece of jashtimadhu (Liquorice). No upper respiratory infection can ever scratch you. Any kind of gastric disturbance, place your bets on asafoetida and cumin seeds and give a goodbye kiss to the Gelusils and Pan 40’s forever. Pain? Bony? Spasm or a strain? Just utter. And there Missus supplies you with some sweet and bitter thing to chomp on or to drink.

Now, who is this agent provocateur for these new and sudden changes in Bipan babu’s life? None other than his daughter. A health educator and a naturalist apostle, she believes everyone must incorporate some lifestyle changes to alleviate their complete dependency on allopathy. May be true. It does work for many. However; according to Bipan babu all these are phoney as his neighbour Mrs Ganguly’s concern for everyone.

During her last visit to Kolkata, the daughter has brainwashed the Missus. She has assured a normal cholesterol level after two months of a changed lifestyle. For that, some more strategies have been laid out as well. Boiled veggies, especially bitter-gourd, raw papaya and Okra. A complete ban on tomato and blah blah.

The only thing Bipan babu puts his foot down for is on the variety of fish he eats. Better to die than leaving fish! That hasn’t bothered the daughter much, so nothing to worry about.

The only thing Bipan babu puts his foot down for is on the variety of fish he eats. Better to die than leaving fish! That hasn’t bothered the daughter much, so nothing to worry about.

And then, one fine day this CORONA arrives and throws all the Bengalis into their bygone days of ‘Eta korona- Ota korona’. (meaning don’t do this- don’t do that). Missus dials her daughter for expert advice and the daughter proclaims a closing verdict.

‘If the immune system is strong, nothing can invade you’. No pause, no comma, no semicolon. Direct Full-stop. Keep following the Naturopathy regime. No CORONA shall come to you. And since then, the very vagaries of herb-ology is dished out in every food item. From dawn to dusk, some or the other herb has been barging in.

Bipan babu’s phone beeps for a message. He never takes his phone to the bazaar. Any day if anything urgent comes up, to be immediately conveyed to the Missus, he asks Dinesh or Kaalu or Robi and likewise for their phone. An age-old resident, everyone knows him by the name and face. Sometimes, even by being the second son of the family; Mejda. Though not much similarity one can draw between Sarat Chandra’s creation and my Bipan Babu. Anyways.

The SMS is for the online blood test report. Son opens the link and smirks.

“Everything is underlined Ma… Still.” He giggles. And there Bipan babu is back with a bag full of vegetables and four different types of fishes.

“No need of going out until this Corona fever dies.” He gasps and sits down on the dining table.

“What is still underlined?” Bipan babu enquires as he drinks his Glucon-D water.

“Both yours’…cholesterol and triglyceride levels are marked. Still high” Son repeats. Even the giggle repeats.

Missus who is still swinging with her God-pacifying chants arches her eyebrows on the father-son duo.

“Whaaatt?” Bipan babu is shocked. One should see the pleasure he heaves. He guffaws out loud. Just loud? Monstrous laughter is what he throws in.

“Fail? Naturopathy FAIL?” He rolls in the aisles. “Ginger tea, turmeric latte… All Fail? What else son?” He laughs again and this time some water seeps down to the windpipe. Oh, God! He chokes. Son comes for his rescue, patting his back. And there Bipan babu coughs and laughs and coughs again and narrates the full Tale of this Great Fail.

“Fail? Naturopathy FAIL?” He rolls in the aisles. “Ginger tea, turmeric latte… All Fail? What else son?” He laughs again and this time some water seeps down to the windpipe. Oh, God! He chokes. Son comes for his rescue, patting his back. And there Bipan babu coughs and laughs and coughs again and narrates the full Tale of this Great Fail.

What a sight to behold! In a while, Bipan babu perhaps informs all his relatives about this disastrous four months of a failed attempt. God! No sign of worry for that raised cholesterol at all. Bipan babu seems to be more eager in dispatching the infirmity of the herbs. Not his fault. Bipan babu has some established allopathy doctors in his bloodline.

In the end, the Missus is not happy. She bids adieu to her Gods for the day and negotiates with all the probabilities of the failure.

“Enough!” Bipan babu shuts her up. “I shall make some tea… Proper tea for myself…Any one of you want?”

Son flutters his eyes amidst this old couple’s banter and raises his hand for a good cup of Darjeeling Tea.

Bipan babu sips on his tea. Ah! It seems to be a whole life wasted without this mesmerising sip.

Missus is seated in the kitchen chalking out the meals for the day and also chewing on her scurf. For four months she has followed everything. Every herb that has been prescribed. Leave Bipan babu; he is very much capable of cheating. Who cares? But, what about her? She hasn’t missed or gone astray anywhere. Yet there’s no change in her reports. Utterly No Change. Disgusting!

Missus puts the spices and red chilli in the pan. Oil has been heated for long it seems, the spices splutter loud. The smoke seeps through her nostril and Missus coughs. Dry cough; for a couple of minutes to be precise.

Missus puts the spices and red chilli in the pan. Oil has been heated for long it seems, the spices splutter loud. The smoke seeps through her nostril and Missus coughs. Dry cough; for a couple of minutes to be precise.

Bipan babu comes to the kitchen to check on his beloved wife. He pats on her back to comfort the cough and slowly whispers.

“All your herbs have failed…You are coughing… Should you go for a Corona Test? If positive, quarantined.”

Missus widens her big eyes and shouts back. “Go back to your never-ending knee exercises. Always rattling around with nonsense.”

She puts the cut vegetables into the pan and mutters. “Not all coughs are Corona… Some are just wrong cooking.” And there she smiles and turns the other gas on for her cup of Darjeeling tea.

***

Now, who am I and how do I get to know so much about Bipan babu?

Hmm. Can I be that lizard behind the cupboards who remains agile and alive forever; generation after generation only to peep through your privacy? Or, maybe I am that ant which comes to the puja-room every day to lick those candied sugar cubes. Why only creatures? I can be the Abendroth; that red tinge on the western sky you see every dusk while the sun sets. Or, I can be one of those susurrating leaves at your backdrop.

Here, I leave all of you there, in the lure of knowing me…Hasta la vista for now.

Photo from the Internet