Bhabi
"one short sleep past, we wake eternally" -Donne-
by
Pritpal Singh Bindra

Pritpal Singh Bindra

Bhabi
"one short sleep past, we wake eternally"
-Donne-

At last, through the glass partition they noticed Baboo in the Arrival Lounge of Pearson Airport. They sighed with relief. She went around the ramp, picked up her two suitcases, put them on a trolley, and walked towards the customs. After a few minutes, the automatic doors slid back, and she came out. Most of the rush had subsided. There were not many people outside. When Baboo saw her fiancé, Jogi's Papa and Mama coming forward she pushed the trolley to one side and bent down to touch Papa's feet.
Papa softly and affectionately caressed her head and blessed her, "Long live Beti."
Baboo turned to Mama and was going to bend to touch her feet when, instead, Mama grabbed her in her arms, hugged her and said, "Your place is in my heart."
Baboo raised her head and saw Jogi's brother Bhola standing there. She was about to utter, `how is Bhalu', when she realized his parents' presence and said, "Namaste Jee," adding `Jee' to enhance respectability. During their college days, Baboo often called him contorting his name to `Bhalu', the bear, which he never resented. He responded to her salutation meekly.
Baboo was engaged to the older brother, Jogi, but she had arrived in Canada as Bhola's `fiancé'.
Bhola and Baboo had known each other for a long time. On their first day in college, both were late. They entered the classroom at the same time. Each looked around, but found only one empty desk at the end, with two seats. Bhola had no choice but to sit next to Baboo. He had never been so near a girl. She noticed his embarrassment and intentionally slid her body closer to him. He approached the edge of the seat and, with a slight push, would have been on the floor.
On the blackboard the Lecturer wrote: "ENGLISH LITERATURE, GOOD ENGLISH PROSE" on two lines. After introducing himself and asking every student's name in turn, he proceeded with the subject. Bhola was engrossed in the talk. He was first to answer when any question was put to the class. A few times he interrupted the Lecturer so that it seemed he knew more than the Lecturer himself. Baboo, who was extremely impressed, felt embarrassed and moved back to her side to let him sit comfortably.
When the bell rang, they were last to leave the room. Baboo was not shy in talking to the boys. She had been attending a coeducational school, where her mother was a teacher. Bhola was the product of all boys' institutions.
Baboo approached Bhola and said, "You seem to have read a lot on English Literature, and Prose."
He responded nervously, "Me? Yes... It is, rather, my hobby."
Must be, Baboo thought, a devoted intellectual but real `bhola'--the simpleton. One track mind, she assumed by checking out his clothes, at least on the first day of college, he
should have worn something nicer; college students in New Delhi always dressed up impeccably, not like him. He could be a great asset in her studies, she envisioned, and said, "I'm glad to meet you. English Literature is my greatest weakness." Beseechingly she added, "You could help me, I hope," and looked straight into his eyes.
In the days to come Baboo found out he was good, not only in English, but in all the subjects. He was brilliant, Baboo conceded, except that he lacked poise.
Bhola having no friends, as such, after almost every lesson, would explain to Baboo the topic of the day in very simple terms. To help her further he would select books for her from the
library. Jealousy prevailed among other boys in the class. Why a flamboyant girl, like Baboo, was clinging to a lalloo, a prosaic lad, they reasoned. A few times some hot headed boys hooted when both were sitting in the lawn. As the cacophony spread, she decided that she should not tolerate it any more. One day she stood up in the class and declared, "My relation with Bhola is my business. If any one wants to compete with him in intelligence come out now, and if you want to see his physique, he will be ready outside in the lawn after this period. Come on stand up, if any one of you have drunk your mother's milk."
Bhola was baffled by her action and was shaking internally, what would happen if one really challenged him especially in physical bout. She was so blunt and full of confidence that no body dared to get up. And then on, no body cared how they sat in the lawns and talked. Rather her eloquence earned her such an acclaim, when she proposed Bhola's name to be class-representative on the College Union, he was elected unanimously.
One day on the College lawns, Bhola was speaking non-stop on the topic of the current Lecture. Baboo's mind was wobbling and she was constantly looking at his overgrown whiskers.
"Bhola what time do you get up in the morning?" she asked.
"Very early. I like reading when it is very calm and quiet. Sometimes I get so absorbed that I lose the track of the time and get late to reach the class, especially when Mama is not in the town."
"That is why!" she said.
"That is why!... What?" he expressed his surprise.
"Nothing...."
"There is something?"
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't...."
"Come on. Please Baboo Jee, tell me what is in your mind?"
"Your overgrown beard. It looks a bit scruffy."
From that day on, he was seldom in the Class without a shave.
It was the last period of the day. They came out of a lecture on the Study-of-Style.
"What a bore--what was that? Style is the man, or was it man is the style?" complained Baboo.
"No Baboo Jee, it is very simple," and he quoted from a book on prose-writing that he had read the previous night. "It is like this, `in painting it is composition, colour-sense, and brushwork; in sculptor it is the treatment of depth and surfaces and choice of stones and metals and....'" They were out of the gate. His eyes caught a motorcycle on the roadside, its driver standing nearby. "Oh, Baboo Jee I forgot, I won't be catching a bus today," and rushing towards the motorcycle he said, "I'll explain it to you tomorrow."
Baboo looked at the Motorcyclist. Wow! What a smart, tall and handsome man, she whispered to herself, immaculately dressed up, what a style... style?... yes... now she understood and she started walking briskly towards the on coming bus.
Next day they sat down on the lawn during their free period. Baboo asked Bhola who was the man he went with on the motorcycle. "O' that?.... He is my brother. He has started a small manufacturing business on the other side of the town. He came to pick me up."
Baboo was drenched in deep thought. What a contrast, she thought and asked, "Is he brilliant?"
"Must be, Papa has invested lot of money in his business. We hope he'll do fine. He has great ideas and always thinks big. He certainly does not believe in Mahatma Gandhi's theory of `Simple Living and High Thinking.' Live simple and think High?--he always ridicules. He believes in `High Living and High Thinking.'"
"Well, well. Very interesting," she mused and they heard the bell for the next period.
Bhola had just come back that day. He had gone to Calcutta with a group of students to visit Shanti Niketan; the University established by Dr. Rabinder Nath Tagore, the Nobel Prize Laureate. He was the only freshman in the party. The rest of the students were either from B.A. Final or M.A. Classes.
As he sat in the lounge browsing through his notes, the doorbell chimed. He was utterly surprised to see her at the door, "Baboo Jee... you?" and thinking that she might have come for the books he had promised, he added, "I am sorry, because I was leaving for Calcutta, I could not go to the Library...."
Towel in his hand, rubbing his hair, his brother barged in, "No yaar, she has come for me. We are going to a Matinee--Amitabh's new film.... Come in Baboo, I won't be long," As he went into his room he requested Bhola, "Would you please look after the Lady?"
Bhola and Baboo walked into the lounge and quietly sat there for a few minutes.
"Baboo... Jee?" Bhola was confounded.
"Didn't he tell you?" asked Baboo.
"No! When I returned this morning, he had already gone to the factory and when he came home now he went straight into the bathroom, saying that he was getting terribly late.... Tell me! Tell me, what?"
"That we are getting engaged," informed Baboo.
"Engaged?" exclaimed Bhola.
"Yes," replied Jogi coming into the Lounge, "engaged. Aren't you happy? I am sorry, it was so sudden. Papa, Mama, Seeta -- everyone knows. I'll explain it to you when I come back in the evening.... Come on Baboo, we are really getting late, we don't want to miss any part of the film." He grabbed Baboo's hand and pulled her to go out.
Half turned back, she asked Bhola, "Why don't you come as well? They say it is going to be a hit film."
"What? Bhola come with us?" Jogi intervened.
"Why not?" asked Baboo.
"Because... because... he doesn't like Amitabh's films. He would rather go and see My Fair Lady. Isn't that right Bhola?" Jogi pulled harder and without giving Bhola a chance to reply, led Baboo out of the door.
O' God, Bhola thought... what luck.... So Baboo was going to be his BHABI--his brother's wife.... He was going to be her DEVAR--her husband's brother.... Bhabi-Devar... what a fantastic relation.... BHABI was like a mother when DEVAR wanted some help... mainly financial.... She was like an older sister when he needed some consolation during rough times.... When he wanted to diffuse his acrimony, she became a younger sister who accepted all sorts of abuse with a smile.... Most of all she became a go-between for the Devar and his girl friend... or his fiancée; in orthodox families, in India, couples were not supposed to see each other before the marriage ceremony.
He would call her Baboo only in future, he thought, no more formal `Jee'... or might be just `Bhabi'
By the time he reached college the next morning, he knew what had happened. Baboo was waiting at the bus stop outside the college. Jogi recognized Baboo, a classmate of his brother, and offered her a lift home. Hesitatingly--merely to show off, Jogi would learn later on--she accepted. They ended up in India Coffee House for the next two hours plus, exchanging their family histories, considering their present predicaments, and pondering upon their future conceptions. Then it was time for them to see Baboo's mother. Her mother had always expressed full confidence in her daughter. She had never put any unnecessary restrictions on her movements as was prevalent in India. She consented to their mutual proposal.
Jogi went to his factory to use the telephone. He left a message with his Uncle in Chandigarh to be conveyed to Papa and Mama in the village in the morning. Every three or four months, Jogi's parents used to go and stay at their villagehome about ten kilometres from the City of Chandigarh, the Provincial Capital. This way they could meet their daughter, Seeta, frequently. She was in the second, and final year of an M.A. Maths programme in the University there. The next day they had a very long, expensive, and happy conversation with Jogi on telephone, and the engagement date was fixed.
"Bhole.." Baboo called alighting from the bus.
Bhola looked at his watch, there were still a few minutes before the bell.
"Baboo Jee!" The night before he had determined to call her just Baboo or Bhabi but his shyness and unassertive nature did not help him. "You, I think, are a magician.... Jogi agreed! There have been dozens of offers--rich, very, very rich girls; poor but extremely beautiful girls; highly qualified girls... but he always discarded them. He insisted that he was not ready yet."
"Same here Bhola. Mummy's friends and colleagues brought a great number of offers--some from foreign lands but... I don't know myself what came off.... It was so quick.... Sometimes I feel I am dreaming.... I get scared as well but I am confident Bhagwan, the Lord God would bless us."
"So you are going to be my Bhabi now?" Bhola asked as they approached the main door of the College Building and he pulled open the door. Baboo half turned, entered, looked at his face, and inquired, "Did you get up late this morning?"
"Why?" and spontaneously he took his chin in the hollow of his hand, the overgrown whiskers pricked his fingers, he realized what Baboo meant, "Sorry I just forgot, never realized...." and they heard the bell.
The engagement ceremony was very simple. Seeta had come from the University especially for the purpose. When every body had gone, Baboo and Jogi took all the three parents to one side and Jogi said, "You all were pressing us both, individually, to get engaged at least... that is done. Till the time I am fully established in business and Baboo has completed her Degree you, none of you, are going to press us for a marriage."
Baboo's Mummy intervened, "Why should we, so long as you don't get stupid," and she looked towards Jogi's mother.
Walking towards the exit door of the Airport Papa asked, pointing towards an executive style dressed up gentleman, "Baboo Beti, You know Mr. Sukhdev Mooney, Vakil--the Lawyer?"
"O' Vakil Uncle!" Baboo exclaimed, "I am sorry I didn't notice.... It has been a long time. Last time I saw you at Daddy's...." She could not complete the sentence, bowed her head before Vakil Uncle, apparently to seek his blessings but, in fact, to hide her watering eyes.
How could she forget Vakil Uncle. It was Baboo, a little girl then, who dubbed him with that nick name. She kept coming to his office in New Delhi where he had started his law practice. She parroted `Vakil Uncle' almost after every sentence. Vakil Uncle become his first, last, and pet name. His younger colleagues and a few acquaintances started to call him as such, as well. It was used so often that even the other lawyers, during their discussions inside the Courtrooms, addressed him as `Vakil Uncle'. Once the Courtroom burst into laughter when a High Court Judge spontaneously and inadvertently referred to him, "Now I call upon Mr. Vakil Uncle...."
He had very good practice in New Delhi but it was always based on a devious methodology. Too proud and too confident of his political affiliations, he once tried to influence and bribe the Chief Judge of the Supreme Court to win his case. The Judge, unseemingly, had good connection with the President of the powerful Law Society. Vakil could have been debarred but was quietly advised never to show up in any Court again. He did not dare to challenge or contest as the evidence against him was so overwhelming. Within a few months he was in Canada, establishing a successful practice as an Immigration Consultant. By dint of his efforts Baboo had arrived in Canada today.
"O.K. Bhola, you go up the escalator and get the car. We will push the trolley out and wait for you at the curb-side," said Vakil Uncle.
They came out and while waiting there Vakil Uncle asked, "Baboo Beti, why did you take so long? We got so worried, it really scared us."
She stretched and composed herself, "The Officials at the Counters shunted almost all of us holding Indian Passports into a huge open hall. After about fifteen minutes, a Lady Immigration Officer called me into a Cabin. She was typically gloomy and gave me a sullen look. She snatched the passport from my hand, pointed me to the chair and saying, `I'll be back in a few minutes,' went out a sliding. A few minutes to her turned out to be more than half hour. I almost dozed off. She walked in with a computer sheet in her hand and immediately fired questions at me . That was good in a way, it woke me up, and I became alert. According to your instruction to Jogi Jee last month on your business trip to New Delhi--I wish I could have met you then--I had crammed all the details like a parrot. The faster the Immigration Officer asked, the quicker I replied and the more courageous I became. I was very blunt. When she picked up the stamp to put on my passport, I said, `I am sure my fiance is outside, if you would like, you can call him in,' morosely she answered, `there is no need for that' and handed over my passport."
Mama came forward, said, "You are my Sherni," and caressed her back; she admired her courage of a tigress.
Baboo sat in the car right behind Bhola. He was driving. Even Canada could not change him during all that time, she thought. His hair, she would bet he hadn't combed since morning; his suit, though expensive, needed to be ironed a bit; and his beard--at least he could have shaved that day, after all, she was coming--officially as his fiancée. What a contrast, the older brother was so immaculate, she admired Jogi, he would never take a step out of the house unless he had seen himself in the mirror a few times; and he was so fast... fast? She looked out... O' God what fast traffic... and look at how many lanes there were.... Jogi would be so pleased... he would go crazy... he would drive his motorcycle... no... no a sports car on those roads one day... fast... fast, and she drifted and nodded off to sleep. After all, she had been in the flight more than sixteen hours except an hour or so at London Heathrow.
Mama saw her tiresome eyes closing, "Soon we'll be home, Beti, and you can rest and sleep as much as you like."
She felt a soft touch on her forehead, "Where...?" She opened her eyes with a startle and looked at the face of the woman above her. She paused for a moment and then jumped up, "Didi," and they-hugged each other.
"You have been sleeping for more than four hours now," said Jogi's older sister, Seeta, "I could not wait any longer. I hope you don't mind."
"No... no... Didi... In fact I have been dreaming about you."
"How was your journey?" Seeta asked.
"A bit tiring... but forget it, meeting you has caused all my pains to fly away."
Baboo remembered how Seeta was here in Canada already. She had come back home from the University after completing her M.A. Maths. A few weeks after her return, Baboo saw Jogi in a Coffee House. He was very sad and concerned. It was Seeta who worried him, he told Baboo, she had started applying for a job. But neither Papa nor Mama wanted her to work. They desired her married off or at least engaged. In their opinion, once a girl entered into an occupation, it became more difficult to find a suitable match. She did not like their interference. A tussle was going on in the house all the time.
"Look here Jogi, isn't this strange?" Baboo was going through the Matrimonial Columns of the Times of India she had found lying in the seat next to her, "All these ads have Box Numbers except this one." She slipped the paper to his side with her finger on that spot.
Jogi read carefully, "You're not thinking of ditching me."
"No silly," she slapped his hand, "I am thinking about Seeta."
He looked at her face seriously, "Get up, let's go."
"Where?" she asked.
"To the hotel" and Jogi softly pulled her up.
The advertisement had specified that a family from Canada was visiting India. They were interested in a suitable match for their son. They had given brief details of their standing in Canada along with some academic and professional achievements of their son. They wanted immediate personal contact not to waste time in correspondence.
Jogi and Baboo were very much impressed. They had never met such a frank, straight forward, and extremely cultured family, no smell of false vanity. They invited the family to their home. Seeta objected very strongly but Baboo at the end convinced her, "There is no harm in meeting them. Who knows, even if no relationship is established, we may end up being good friends. They are such nice people."
But the meeting culminated in a relationship. The marriage was registered next week. The family went to Canadian High Commission and applied for a visa for Seeta. The following week they flew back to Canada. Three months and a day passed before Seeta received the visa, and two weeks after that she was in Canada, very happy.
After about a year, Seeta came back to India to visit her family. The life practices to which she had become accustomed in Canada spoiled her. Though her family had installed a telephone at home in India, the line was seldom available; electricity was often cut off; getting the cooking gas-cylinder was laborious, many a time they had to resort to charcoal--in the cramped apartment. Above all Jogi's business did not progress, as had been expected. Even Bhola had offered to leave his studies, and start on a job to supplement family income. She thought over the plight and recommended that the whole family emigrate to Canada.
On her return to Canada, she sent them sponsorships. The Canadian High Commission at New Delhi told that for Papa, Mama and Bhola, there was no problem, and the whole procedure would take just eleven months. But they rejected Jogi as he was over twenty-one.
The family was very much depressed and consulted a so-called immigration lawyer. There was nothing to worry about, the Lawyer told them, as soon as the rest of the family was in Canada, Jogi would go over as a visitor. Any body who entered Canada once never really had to leave. He advised that they invite Jogi when the time was ripe.
All the formalities were completed; they intentionally lingered on and within a few weeks of Bhola earning his B.A. Degree, three of them flew to Canada. After another three-month period, on the advice of the immigration lawyer, Jogi applied for a visitor's visa to the Canadian High Commission.
"Why do you want to go to Canada?" asked the Official.
"To visit my family," Jogi replied.
"Would you like to stay in Canada permanently?" The Lawyer had warned Jogi against entrapment questions, but Jogi saw a glimmer of hope in that. Maybe, he thought, the Official was sympathetic, and he wanted to help him to stay in Canada for good.
"Yes," Jogi replied, "if I get an opportunity I would definitely stay there."
That was that. His application for the visa was turned down, as his intentions were not honest.
They, both were very much depressed. Just when they had resigned to the fact that their move to Canada was not in their luck, Vakil Uncle reappeared in her life.
Mr. Sukhdev Mooney, Vakil Uncle, used to visit New Delhi almost twice a year to help prepare the cases of relatives of expatriate Indians. One morning in New Delhi he heard his friend calling his granddaughter to go to school.
School--Central Model School, Vakil thought, would Baboo's mother be still there, it had been long time, she might have softened and pacified by now, should he go and try to see her again, she might start shouting... no he won't go.... what the hell he would try again... and said aloud, "Wait for me, I am coming too," at least he would come to know how Baboo was doing.
Vakil and Baboo's father had been a real chum. They were together in school for ten years. They were like brothers. The only act Baboo's mother did not like was them having beer sometimes. They were neither alcoholics nor habitual drinkers but she hated the smell of the stuff.
Vakil had bought two tickets for the one-day cricket match between India and England. India won leading to big jubilations. On their way back they just had one beer each in the restaurant and bought a couple of bottles to drink at home.
But as the luck had it, the scooter was hit by a truck coming out of a side road. Baboo's father who was riding pillion and had no helmet, died instantly. Baboo's mother blamed Vakil for the tragedy. She swore never to see him again and forbade him from ever trying to see Baboo. Vakil tried many a time, directly as well as through mutual friends, but received nothing but abuse and curse.
Baboo's mother was taking a class, Vakil was told, when he approached the School-reception. He had to wait in the Visitors Lounge. He did not give his name to the peon, just that a very close relative had come to see her. After twenty minutes she walked in.
"You again?" she said curtly and turned to leave.
He rushed, blocked the doorway and pleaded, "Please Bhabi? Please... please just listen for a minute. I havn't got much time. I am flying back to Canada tomorrow."
Canada! she thought. She mollified herself, turned around and said, "O.K.... But I havn't got much time."
"Baboo.. how is my little girl?" he asked.
"She is no longer a little girl. She has completed her B.A."
"Is it possible? Can I see her just for a few minutes maybe.... Please Bhabi."
"I am sorry, she has gone to Bombay for a few weeks to stay with her Uncle's family... she was very depressed."
"Depressed!... Why?"
And then she told him briefly what had happened.
"Oh' God, why did I not know this before? Bhabi, I am a very big Immigration Consultant in Canada. Almost every six months I come to India to sort out visa problems of the relatives and friends of Indians living there... and here a girl, who is like a daughter to me, is suffering." He asked if he could see Baboo's fiancé.
She was totally conciliated by now, and said, "His factory is not very far." She looked at her watch and continued, "I won't be able to stay. I have a class to take later on."
Vakil alone stayed with Jogi. At the end he told Jogi that the case had become very much complicated, but if Jogi did the way he had discussed, it might take some time but would surely lead to a happy ending.
It took four months to get the papers through. The day Baboo was leaving for Canada, she could not control her tears. She was very happy but the thought of being away from Jogi made her depressed.
Just before she was going in the Departure Lounge, Jogi started searching his pockets. "Where the hell did I put Vakil Uncle's address?" he murmured. He took out a little book and pen from his pocket, "Baboo, would you give me your Uncle's home address once again; I think I have misplaced. I will write to you at Vakil Uncle's every week."
"Why there?" asked Baboo.
"Because you will be staying there until I reach Canada."
"No, I am not going to stay all alone there. I will be staying with Mama and Papa."
"Bhola would be there too?"
"So.... so what?
Jogi did not reply. The last call was announced and Baboo rushed in.
Seeta told Baboo, "Sukhdev Uncle has come back to see you." In Canada no body called him Vakil Uncle, "He wants your passport. Take your time, have a shower.... Come on, I'll show you around the basement apartment."
All dressed up and looking quite fresh Baboo came up from the Basement and handed over her passport to Vakil Uncle.
"A Three month stay!" murmured Sukhdev Mooney as he looked through the pages, "Don't worry, I had expected this and have arranged everything." He looked at Seeta and Bhola standing nearby, "You both, not Pop and Mom, come with Baboo to my office on Wednesday at ten in the morning. I have made an appointment with the Registrar for twelve noon."
Sukhdev had told the Registrar of Marriages that the Indian custom did not allow the bridegroom to kiss the bride in public and he should not ask for the same at the end of the ceremony.
Just after twelve thirty, four of them emerged from the Marriage Hall. Baboo was, officially, Bhola's wife--the thought alone was making Bhola nervous, and shy.
Next day they visited the Canada Immigration and Canada Employment Offices. They were assured that the Social Security Card and the Ontario Health Insurance Plan Number would be issued to Baboo within a fortnight.
She was there permanently now, Baboo thought.
In the evening the family made a telephone call to India. Baboo talked with Jogi on the extension in the Basement. As assured by Vakil Uncle, she told him that it was only a matter of a few months now. When everything was set in Canada, Vakil Uncle would come to India himself to file the papers in the Canadian High Commission. To cover every aspect, he was working on the case with one of his lawyer friends.
Seeta had taken time off her work and spent the next few days taking Baboo around the city. On the last day Seeta took Baboo to her office in Rangar Computers.
Mr. Dev Rangar and Seeta's husband were very old and close friends. Dev was very intelligent and possessed a highly innovative mind. After completing his course in Computer Hardware in the Sheridan Technical Institute, he worked for about one year on the assembly lines of I.B.M. Then he took a chance and, with his meagre savings, started his own inspection, testing, and repair workshop.
Not only he had good technical expertise, he was also endowed with a great gift of gab. Retailers and some department stores started referring their clients to his shop, in some cases with under the table incentives. Within one year he started his own assembly plant.
A few weeks after Seeta's arrival in Canada she had complained to her husband that she was feeling restless and getting bored doing nothing all day at home.
"Then why don't you come to my factory--my office," Dev Rangar, who was having tea with them at the time, intervened, "you can look after my personal accounts."
"Personal Accounts?" Seeta's husband inquired.
"Yes yaar," and continued candidly, "you know I can't put every transaction on the books--taxman cometh every year... you know," and turned to Seeta, "Surely I could trust you. You come and keep all my accounts, personal transactions. I am losing much money being too busy in keeping my eyes on the production lines and forgetting the cash payments due. For the Company accounts I have a full time C.A. and two girls to manage the office."
Seeta started coming to the factory regularly. She picked up very promptly, and took care of the little red book in her purse diligently. After about two months, she commenced courses on Bookkeeping and Advance Accountancy. Within a few months she was virtually in charge, not only of accounting but also most of the Company's affairs.
When she left India after her first visit, she had told both her brothers that in Canada everyone, irrespective of one's intelligence and qualification, had to start from the scratch.
And Bhola's mind had already been conditioned when he left India. He was prepared to start on an odd job on arrival in Canada. On the third day after his arrival, he was working as number four warehouseman in `Rangar Computers'--he was amazed to perceive his sister's position and authority.
The computer inspection and fault-finding laboratory adjoined the warehouse. Bhola had to go there very frequently to pick up equipment for shipping or to deliver returned goods. He always observed the repair and other work very minutely and started browsing through the operational and repair manuals. With the consent of the Works Manager he took a few with him home to read.
The library was around the corner of his house. With the help of his sister, he got a card for himself. He appreciated how good and liberal the library system was there, they would get him almost any book he asked for.
At the back of Inspection Laboratory was a small room full of defective hardware, the Company policy was to replace immediately. The technicians were so busy in turning out new pieces that they hardly found time to look into the defective ones. He asked the Foreman if he could try his hand on some of those in his spare time--no one refused him.
One day while checking the computer sheets for the shipping and receiving, Mr. Rangar observed that the number of `Reconditioned' sets sent to the retailers had gone up considerably, and amazingly none of those had so far come back with any complaint. He called the Works Manager who enlightened him that it was the result of Bhola's exceptional capability.
It was late in the evening. Bhola picked up his bag and just as he was going out, Mr. Rangar caught him by his arm, "Come into my office, I want to talk to you."
Bhola was nervous; he feared he would be told off for handling the repair works.
"I have just come to know about your exceptionally good work. I have asked the accountant to work out your share of the profits on all those sets you have repaired. He will give you the cheque immediately. And in future you are not going to work in the warehouse. I want you to work independently," Mr. Rangar had seen great potential in him, "All the hardware, I deem to have been sold to you as scrap, and after the repairs the Company would credit you. However, any set which comes back with a complaint will be your responsibility," he wanted him not to slacken off, "There is a lot of spare testing and inspection equipment in the store, and you can set your bench at any unoccupied place in the factory."
Bhola cut in, "No, Veer Jee...."
"What?" Mr. Rangar thought that he was rejecting his offer.
Bhola opened his bag and took out a few catalogues, "No... what I am referring to is the testing equipment.... The present equipment in the lab is antiquated, I am sorry to say that, it is quite out of date. I would like to..." and he showed him the catalogues.
So, the `deal' was done. In two months Bhola was running his own inspection and repair shop in the side wing of the Company's property at a rent well below market rate.
By the time Baboo was ushered by Seeta into Bhola's establishment today, he had five technicians and one foreman working in his lab. He had put down a deposit and moved into his detached five-bedroom house. In addition to a truck for his business, he had purchased a brand new six-cylinder car.
Both the ladies slipped past the benches on which the work was in progress and entered a glass cabin. Bhola was busy on a computer with his back towards the door.
`Look at that,' Baboo whispered to herself, `his table is cluttered with papers--pink pile, blue pile, yellow pile and papers... papers... all over the table. Someday someone will have to teach him a few things... when time comes for his marriage--I mean his real marriage, I will make sure that the girl selected is capable of making him as good and sophisticated a man as Jogi is.'
Bhola swivelled his chair. "Oh, Baboo Jee... Bhain Jee, you could have told me that you were coming," he said.
"That's all right Bhola, we were just passing through," Seeta replied.
The door opened and a girl peeped in. She asked Seeta, "Madam, Mr. Rangar wants to see you, just for a minute." Seeta walked out.
"Don't you get confused with all those papers on your table?" Baboo asked Bhola.
"No Baboo Jee, it is an organized mess--blue ones are completed works, the red ones, work in progress, and the yellow ones are for payments due to the Company."
"And if a wind blows, they will balance each other," she said smiling and added, "Why don't you keep a clerk to handle these?"
"I wish I could. I can't find a trustworthy person," he responded.
Seeta had entered the room and heard his remarks. She asked Baboo, "You won't be doing anything at home. Why don't you come here and help me, and Bhola too?"
Baboo started coming to the factory regularly. She took crash course in Accounting Program and Word Processor. In about two months she became adept at handling Bhola's accounts and knew all about secret transactions in the little red book.
During all that time she kept on pressing Vakil Uncle for quick action regarding Jogi's visa. Just when three months were over, Vakil Uncle told Baboo, "Now the time has come for you to move into my condominium apartment."
"Why? Do I have to....?"
"No. You don't have to... but on the papers we must show that you had to move out of Bhola's house... that they have been treating you cruelly... that Bhola sometimes hit you, and that you have been confined to a cold and dark basement...."
"Uncle!... I can't do that. The whole family have been so nice to me.... Blame them?.... You must be joking, Uncle."
"That is the only way. Now that we have reached this stage, there is no alternative. I had told Jogi everything quite clearly and most explicitly. There is no other quick way, Beti. There is no harm in it. It is just a matter of paper work.... Bhola, Papa, and Mama have talked to Jogi on the telephone.... They all say that it is up to you.... Your decision is the one they will abide by. Even your Mum told Jogi that she did not see any harm proceeding this way.... Nobody talked to you because I had asked them not to. I did not want them to disturb you. I wanted to explain the plan to you personally."
So that was the plan, she thought. It would be a simple matter of divorce and remarriage, and quite straight forward, her mother had told her.... Baboo's mind was boggled on the precarious speculations of Vakil Uncle. If there was no other quick alternative, she thought, then let what be.
Baboo was quite late. She wanted to buy some groceries for the house but before that she went to Eatons to browse through the ladies' fashions. She opened the door and walked into the house with shopping bags in her both the hands.
"Yes, first available flight." She heard Vakil Uncle saying on the telephone, and, then, on seeing her, quickly dumping the hand-set down, his face was very gloomy. Her eyes immediately turned towards the lounge. Papa had his both the hands on his face and had his head buried in his knees. Dr. Nath, a friend of family, had just taken last step down the stairs. Bhola was right behind him.
Dropping the bags there and then she asked, "Is Mama O.K.?" Mama was the only person missing down there, and, as the Doctor was coming down, she presumed perhaps Mama was not feeling well.
Vakil Uncle put his left hand on his eyes and threw his right arm around her shoulder.
Bhola came forward, "Baboo Jee... " But his voice choked and he put his both hands on his face.
"What is going on? Would please... somebody tell me." Doctor took courage, "There was a telephone call from India...." He took a deep breath but no further word came out his mouth.
"Then?" Baboo nearly shouted.
Vakil Uncle steadied himself, tightened his grip and said, "There was motorcycle accident...."
"Jogi... Jogi.... Is he all right?"
Vakil grabbed her in his both the arms and said, "No Beti... no, he is no more..." but the tears stifled his voice.
"Oh, no." Baboo pushed him away, banged on the wall with full force, and ran downstairs into the basement.
Bhola wiping his face stepped forward to go down but the Doctor checked him to wait, and taking his bag quickly followed her.
Seeta was nearly a lump of flesh when she was brought in, supported by Mr. and Mrs. Rangar, and followed by her husband and both the in-laws. It was heart rending scene when she met Papa and Bhola. She lifted her face, looked around, and asked, "Where is Mama?"
Doctor intervened, "I have given her an injection. She is sleeping. Please don't wake her up yet."
"And Baboo...?"
Bhola's eyes pursued the steps going down, she did not wait for the answer and rushed down. The Doctor and Vakil followed her asking Bhola to stay with Papa.
Papa and Mama left for India the next day. Seeta and Bhola took great courage and started looking after the household. Seeta decided to remain in the house with Baboo until Papa and Mama had returned.
Baboo confined herself to the basement. Vakil Uncle asked her to move to his apartment, but she just shook her head. `I think I will go back' or `I think I should go back' was the only reply Vakil Uncle, Seeta, and Bhola could get from her. Her mother advised her on the telephone to consider all the aspects very carefully and rationally. Her mother also asked Vakil to help her to calm down, and to persuade her to stay in Canada.
Vakil really wanted this way too. All what he had, he thought, belonged to Baboo anyway. Baboo was a little girl when Vakil Uncle's wife died of cancer. He really loved his wife and had decided not to get married ever again, and he never did. He had asked Baboo's Mum and Dad many a time that whenever they had another issue he would take Baboo away from them and adopt her as his own daughter.
Papa and Mama got stuck in India for the disposal of the business assets and the sale of the apartment there.
One day Baboo asked Bhola to get the details of the flights to India. When he gave her the information she said, "Not yet Bhola... let me think again." After a few weeks she repeated the same story. "May be not yet," was her reply.
Bhola came home in the evening. Seeta had told him that she was coming a bit late as there was lot of work lying pending which she wanted to finish. When he opened the door he was astonished to see Baboo sitting on the dining table in the kitchen. She had a plate with some food in front of her. Both her hands were lying flat on the sides of the plate. She was in deep thought, lost in oblivion.
"Baboo Jee, I am really glad to see you up here," Bhola said. Hesitating but affectionately he put his right palm on her left shoulder. "Baboo Jee... I am sorry it had to happen this way.... I am just coming from the Travel Agent." She had asked him for the flights previous evening and had told him that she was determined then.
He asked, "You just have to name the date."
"Bhole..." she spoke softly, "It is very cold, and dark, and lonely down there in the basement." She paused. "I want to move upstairs.... I... I want to move in your bedroom." She lifted her right hand from the table and slowly moved it up and put on top of the Bhola's hand, already on her left shoulder, looked straight into his eyes, and added with a will of resurrection, "I want to move in your bedroom... with you."
And she squeezed his hand.
The End