Hi, Ma! It’s Ashtami tonight, which saree are u going to wear?
Do I have a choice? I am still wearing whatever the sculptor fellow had wrapped around me way back in Kumortuli.
Same here! Did and I are stuck in our red and white uniforms, our hands in fixed positions, mine fitted with a Veena and Didi’s with her Jhaanpi. We can’t get our hair styled at Habib’s, we have to wear it long and loose for four days and nights at a stretch, no combing, no brushing, no oiling, no shampooing. Perfect for a nightmare of tangles and split-ends.
Won’t matter, really. I have been doing this for ages, literally, several ages, you know? And so have you! It is this useless globalisation that has put all this useless tension in your head.
But Ma, style is important.
And you have style.
Our style has gone out of fashion now.
Your favourite fan Rabindranath once wrote, style never gets outdated, only fashion does.
Did he? He has written so much, Ma, I can’t keep a track. But why did he say that?
I suppose because fashion is created by others, it keeps changing, style comes from your personality, it is what you create for yourself, it’s your own thing. Don’t you see, I may not be fashionable but I do have style.
So does Dad, riding his bull in his hip-hugging tiger skin, his tangled brown hair in a casual top-knot, so much neater than the Rastafarians, a free flowing river pinned to it, topped by a crescent moon at a rakish angle, snakes coiled round his neck and arms.
I quite like his weird style, Ma. No fashion designer can copy it. Dad’s unique. And so cool!!
That’s why he is Debadideb Mahadeb. I had gone through endless trouble to get his attention, you know. But when I got it, I was terrified of those snakes hissing in our bed...
Are the snakes poisonous?
I don’t really know , my dear, but it wouldn’t matter to your dad, with all the drugs he has taken he must be immune to snake poison by now.
Hush, Ma, first you talk about bed, then about Dad doing drugs... let’s change the topic. I am so glad you got me a swan for a pet, and not an owl. Swans are so graceful, so elegant. I can’t stand owls, Ma. Ugly and pretentious, always flaunting an omniscient look...
But Lakshmi wanted one, and she is quite attached to it. And Ganesh wanted the mouse. He caught it himself playing with this trunk when he was a baby, and so was the mouse. In fact it was a teeny-weeny little thing, jumping about, pink delicate and cute...
Not anymore. It’s brown, fat and creepy.
Nor is you brother the same, sonamoni. Pink he may still be but not delicate.
But he is sweet, Ma, with his big tummy and one broken tusk. And he is so smart and wise.
Smarter than our handsome young man with this fashion statement of a peacock. Where is your Didi, by the way? Haven’t seen her for a while...
You know she can’t sit still, she must be making an unexpected round of the banks, or making the Sensex dance a tandav.
I bet on it, Saras!
And may I say something? I beg your pardon, Ma, but I often wonder how you managed to kill the demon. Was it your pet lion that did the trick? Or did the poor demon commit suicide for your sake? Mohini you sure are, Ma, looking not a day older than your daughters and far sexier, wearing your dazzling weapons like ornaments. You can keep people mesmerised, generation after generation, make them bow and pray for five days and nights without even changing your sari once. Call it your style or whatever, it works. Yes it could kill a demon, I guess...
Thank you, sonamoni, I am glad you have found an answer. I can hear the owl hooting, your sister can’t be far away, it’s time for us to get ready. It’s Ashtami night, Sandhipuja is coming up soon, the drumbeats are changing. I have work to do, give me a few minutes. I need to concentrate.
Original Story by Nabaneeta Dev Sen, some paragraphs are edited though :-)
