Shubho Bijoya

1

The plane was about to land at the Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport at Kolkata. Tori looked out of the window and caught her breath. Kolkata bathed in the dazzling autumn sunlight. Looking the same as it did nearly nine years ago, when she last visited. She had come down for her father’s funeral.

She came out of the arrivals gate after an hour. Abesh was waiting for her. Tall, rugged with salt-n-pepper hair, her first cousin (a year older than her) still looked like 30 years. He was 55 now.

“Tori, you are growing younger!” cried Abesh giving her a bear hug.

“Look who’s talking,” said Tori ruffling his hair.

“Shubho Shashthi, by the way.”

“Is it Shashthi today?”

“Didn’t I tell you yesterday? How was the flight?”

“It was good, though I couldn’t nap much.”

Tori drew in a deep breath and looked up at the sky. There was no scent of shiuli flowers here at the airport. However, she saw the white fluffy clouds, so typical of the autumn sky in Kolkata.

“When did you last come for Durga Puja?” asked Abesh.

“Can’t remember...years ago, I think right after Bonnie was born.”

“Why didn’t he come?”

“He wanted to but there’s a critical project going on that he can’t leave behind now. He wanted to meet you badly though.”

“I know. We chat a lot on Facebook and WhatsApp. I am his favourite uncle.”

They were in Abesh’s car now, on their way to their ancestral home in Deshapriya Park.

“Are they here?”

“Yes, we are going to pick up Hanshi from her house on our way. She came down yesterday. Lalu is already at the house.”

There came an awkward pause, after which Tori asked, “Any response on the Facebook post?”

“Not yet.”

“She won’t respond.”

“Let’s not give up so easily.”

“I know her Abhi, she won’t come back.”

In the silence that followed, both held back words. Abesh reached out to hold Tori’s hand.

“You miss her a lot, don’t you?”

“Naah. Where’s the time to miss people these days? Life’s so fast and short...I miss you though....”

“But we chat regularly, don’t we?”

“Yes...but it’s not the same as meeting,” Tori said pressing back his hand.

They had grown up together, she and Abesh, best of friends sharing secrets, happiness and pain.

“The promoter will come on Tuesday, that’s the day after Dashami,” said Abesh.

Tori was looking out of the window at a puja pandal.

“Beautiful,” she said faintly, “Kolkata is all dressed up for the Durga Puja.”

“You have it there in London too, don’t you?”

“Hmm...but not like this. No place can quite match Kolkata during the Durga Puja.”

“True. I come down every year,” smiled Abesh, “I can’t help it. Last year Runa and the girls stayed back in Mumbai. I came alone.”

“Where did you stay? At the house?”

“No at my flat. Went to the house once though.”

“Do we still have the puja right beside the house?”

“Yes.”

“I hate you Abhi.”

“I know...but it was your choice Tori.”

They had reached Hanshi’s house in Harish Mukherjee Road now. She was waiting for them and nearly ran towards the car.

As bubbly and happy as ever.

“Tori di, you look gorgeous!” she said hugging Tori, who had stepped out of the car to meet her.

“And you look like a teenager,” said Tori, “Does Piu feel threatened by you?”

“Huh!” Hanshi rolled her eyes, “She barely has time to notice me,” she added getting into the car.

“How is Binoy? I saw his post on Facebook about the environmental summit.”

“Busy as always,” said Hanshi with a frown adding, “Father and daughter are busy with their lives Didi. I am the one who’s bored to death.”

“Nonsense,” quipped Abesh, “You have at least 200 friends. You are always on Facebook and Instagram smiling in different poses at different places with them.”

“What to do Dada? I have to spend my time somehow don’t I?”

"Yes, and also your husband's hard-earned money."

“You are always criticising me, just like Ma,” Hanshi scowled.

They fell talking about Kolkata, Durga Puja and the sale of their ancestral home. They had their flats or houses and none were interested in staying at the old house. Only the caretaker Basanta da and his family lived there now. The four cousins had chipped in for the house’s maintenance, ever since Hemantika, Abesh’s mother, passed away. However, the taxes were getting higher and Basanta da was getting older. So the best solution was to sell it off.

The initial negotiations happened through video calls, con calls and emails. However, now they have to be here in person to sign the no-objection and final sale deed.

They were crossing the Rashbehari Junction now. They stopped talking and looked at the familiar crossroads with four metro stations at four corners.

“They have changed the murals on the metro stations, haven’t they?” Hanshi asked Abesh.

“Yes, last year. You didn’t come last year for puja?”

“I told you, we went to Rajasthan.”

“I want to go to Rajasthan once,” said Tori abruptly.

“Let’s plan a trip Tori di!” cried Hanshi, “Remember when we went to Shimla?”

“The great family trip,” said Abesh wistfully, “I think that was the last one.”

“Yes and remember how Chhorda and Imu di got lost?” Hanshi gushed.

Abesh gave her a hard steely look. She stopped, stricken. Both of them looked at Tori. She was looking out of the window trying to draw a blank in her mind to shut out a surge of memories.

“This is why I don’t like coming to Kolkata,” she thought bitterly.

The car turned left from the Deshapriya Park crossing. Tori saw the house. Old, weather-beaten with patchworks all over....yet an imposing three-storey structure. 

Abesh was talking to Lalit on his cellphone. As the car drew up in front of the house, the front door opened. Lalit, Basanta, Deepa and a scrawny kid came out.

“Welcome home Tori!” said Lalit, coming forward to hug her.

“Won’t you call me Tori di even once Lalu?”

“High hopes dear. You’re barely a year older.”

“How are you? When did you arrive from Singapore?”

“I am here since Mahalaya.”

“We didn’t know that!” chorused Abesh and Hanshi.

Lalit grinned sheepishly and said, "My gift to myself this year. I have been staying in my flat but spending the weekends here."

“You could have told us,” said Abesh.

“Yes,” added Hanshi, “We could have come down earlier too.”

They entered the house. The big square living room had a staircase on the right and a row of four rooms on the left – kitchen, storeroom, dining room and guest room. The servant quarters were at the back of the house. The staircase went up to the first and second floors. A beam of light fell across the room from the windows, the dust particles dancing merrily in it. The sofa sets, chest of drawers, porcelain jars, everything stood the same as ever.

Tori slowly looked around. The years fell away. She could hear the chatter of people, the tinkling of spoons in teacups, the whistle of the pressure cooker, the aroma of spices from the kitchen during cooking, their grandmother running after them, she and Abesh playing thief-and-police, all of them playing hide-and-seek, Ma, Baba, Kaku, Chhotoma, she and Imu – the memories halted there.  

Hanshi came up behind her and held her hand, pressing it gently.

“Tori, have you met Tikli? She is Basanta da’s granddaughter,” said Abesh gesturing towards the dark scrawny kid.

Tori smiled at Tikli then fished out a bar of chocolate from her bag, “Hello Tikli. Do you like chocolates?”

Tikli smiled shyly, then reached out, took it and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Tori ruffling her hair.

“Yes I am waiting for the chocolates too!” cried Lalit.

They started laughing. Basanta da and Deepa di served tea and biscuits.

“Tori Didi, I have made French toast for breakfast. Hope you like it,” asked Basanta da.

“Of course, Basanta da!” Tori exclaimed, “No one makes them like you. Garnished with tomato and dhonepata!”

“You remember them still now?” Basanta da said, delighted.

“Of course I do!”

They relished the childhood favourite recipe with tea and coffee and then went to their rooms on the first floor.

Hanshi threw her small luggage into her room and ran upstairs to her parents’ bedroom. Someone had placed fresh flowers and lit an incense stick (called dhoopkathi in Bengali). She remembered the fragrance. It was the one her mother, Hemantika, used. She stood there looking at the pictures on the walls, her eyes moistening.

Lalit entered the room to see her staring up at their mother’s picture. He went and put his arm around her shoulder. Hanshi quickly wiped her eyes and turned to him with a sad smile.

“Who bought this particular dhoopkathi?”

“I did.”

“Can you get me some?”

“I have already got some for you. Come let’s go down to Tori’s room. She’s got some gifts for us. I am hoping it’s chocolates.”

“I’ve also got a little something for you all.”

“Ahem, I think all of us had that bright idea,” he said leading her down the stairs. He rarely saw his youngest sister cry. She was the “ever happy” one amongst them, never yielding easily to tears. He hoped everything was fine behind that ever-smiling face.

By the time they settled down and took their baths, it was nearly 2 pm. Basanta da called them for lunch. They had a four-course lunch (mung dal, dhokar dalna, rui kalia and murgir haalka jhol) and then sat on the first-floor terrace that overlooked the main road.

After some casual chatter, mostly about the puja pandal that stood right beside their house, they started to discuss the sale of the house.

“Here are the papers that we have from the promoter till now. I made four sets for us apart from this set,” said Abesh handing them the folders.

“No wonder you are the Managing Director of a top MNC Dada,” said Lalit admiringly.

“Stop pulling my leg Lalu,” Abesh retorted.

“Oh but I am proud of you, we all are, aren’t we Tori?”

“Yes,” Tori agreed, "In fact, I am proud of all of us. In our ways, we have made it. Let's raise an imaginary toast to ourselves."

She raised her hand in the gesture of a toast. Others followed.

“Okay now let’s come back to the point,” said Abesh, “Please read the papers. Look at the agreement, terms and conditions. We have to read this before signing the no-objection certificate and finally the deal papers.”

“I don’t need to read this Dada, I’ve already decided,” said Hanshi, “I will sign.”

“Me too,” said Lalit.

“But at least read them. What about you Tori?” Abesh turned to Tori. She was staring out at the horizon, oblivious to the conversation.

“Tori?”

“What? Yes tell me Abhi,” said Tori coming out of her reverie.

“Are you ready to sign the papers?”

“I...yes I guess. I mean do we have any other option?”

“No practical one,” said Lalit.

“Yes,” said Abesh with a sign, "Who will look after this house? None of us stays in Kolkata."

“Except....,” started Lalit and then stopped abruptly.

“Except who Chhorda?” asked Hanshi.

"No nothing, I was just wondering if anyone of us has any plans of returning."

“I don’t,” said Abesh.

“Me too,” chimed in Hanshi.

They turned to Tori, who remained quiet.

“Stop daydreaming Tori,” said Lalit, slapping her on the shoulder.

“I can’t say for sure,” said Tori, “You know I rarely plan. But Bonnie is very interested to come and stay here.”

“Really???” Hanshi sounded most surprised.

“Yes. Rabi has influenced him. I suspect he too wants to return someday.”

“What about you?” asked Lalit ignoring a warning look from Abesh.

After a brief silence, Tori answered, “I don’t want to return.”

“Ok, so right now we have to sell off this house,” said Abesh.

“Dada, let’s go to watch the evening arati in the pandal today. Please,” said Hanshi, oblivious to the slight tension that hung in the air in the last few minutes.

Abesh looked at her eager face, smiled and said, “Of course we shall.”

2

On Saptami morning, they went pandal hopping nearby and visited four pandals. Tori loved the different themes portrayed by each puja club.

“They are such relevant ideas!” she exclaimed after watching the first two.

“Yes it’s nothing like our childhood days,” said Abesh.

"No, we had themes even then. But these are far better!”

“You should see the next one Tori di,” said Hanshi, “They are presenting the impact of social media on real life.”

“How did you know?”

“I read up about them in advance whenever I am here during the puja.”

 “I don’t,” said Lalit, “I like the being surprised.”

“Oh look!” exclaimed Tori, “Crushed ice lollies!”

Hanshi had already started walking towards the stall. They had ice candies before walking towards the next pandal.

What is Durga Puja without eating from the endless food stalls present outside each pandal? So they also had fuchka, papri chaat, candy floss, sugarcane juice and ice cream.

Tori took in the scenes hungrily (like someone who has been starved for days), capturing snaps.

Have you ever visited Kolkata during the Durga Puja? At any puja pandal, you can see everyone dressed in their best with happy faces, despite the heat, humidity and dust. People queued up in front of the entrance to the pandals. The children honking small paper-trumpets or buying toys from the hawkers. You have to shout to continue any conversation in the din and bustle of the crowd. It would irritate you in a different setting but here you smile, as you are infected by the happiness in the air.

You can easily locate teenagers in their big groups, talking animatedly. The blushing faces of young girls at compliments from their boyfriends or suitors. If you suddenly see two or three boys following a group of girls, don’t worry. This is the norm during pujas. The girls are dressed to kill and they are enjoying the attention. Many love stories start during Durga Puja. Some develop into serious relationships while others remain as sweet memories of crushes/infatuations/flirting during the five puja days. You can also see the happy families, four or five people, trying to walk in the same row, blocking your path. Not to mention the squabbling couples, arguing on their way to the pandal.

The elderly folks are out there, braving the sun, rain and crowd, everyone making way for them. There are also the beggars who sit there looking on at the world of lucky people, wishing they too could join them...someday. It’s a kaleidoscope of life. You can watch it every year in Kolkata during Durga Puja.  

The cousins returned home way past lunchtime and Basanta da asked them with a grim face, “When do you plan to have lunch? Or did you have biriyani from the stalls?”

Some things never change. One of them was Basanta da’s way of dealing with children. And he still now considered them to be children.

“How could we Basanta da?” cried Hanshi, “We know that you have cooked pulao for us today.”

“I am very hungry,” declared Lalit.

Basanta da smiled and said, “Ok then go and wash your hands and feet. Deepa is serving lunch.”

If anyone asks you the meaning of the term “Bong”, you can simply answer as “a person who loves Kolkata and enjoys the city’s gastronomic delights”. Even those who stay outside get converted to this definition of Bong when they are in Kolkata. Any cuisine, from any part of the world, you name it and Kolkata will serve it to you garnished with her exotic twist. If you have been finding it a bit tiresome to read the names of many Bengali dishes and silently cursing me for not explaining them, please accept my apologies. I didn't want to rob you of the pleasure of googling them and seeing what the dishes actually look like. That would give you a better idea than any words.

They relished the pulao with kasha murgir jhol and fish fry, reminiscing about the family occasions when Basanta da used to cook it.

“Can you pack some pulao for me when I go home Basanta da?” said Tori.

“Won’t it go bad?” asked Basanta da. 

“No, I will freeze it and then pack it.”

“Me too,” said Hanshi.

“Count me in,” said Lalit.

After lunch, Hanshi went off to take a nap. Abesh settled down on the terrace with his iPad. Lalit went to his flat to “bring a few things”.

Tori walked around the house, looking into the rooms, touching a piece of furniture here or a knick-knack there. Memories rushed by like a carousel. She didn’t stop them, rather she couldn’t. She opened her mother Nirobala's wardrobe and smelt her sarees. She went into her father’s study and sat on his chair. As a child, Tori loved sliding down the banisters of the staircase. She was about to try it when she thought she heard a familiar voice crying, "Don't Tori don't! You'll fall!"

Imu used to be scared when Tori took her joy slides on the banisters. Tori closed her eyes and sat down on the stairs. Abesh found her sitting there while coming in from the terrace.

“What happened? Tori, are you alright?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” said Tori, trying to smile.

“Let’s go and make ourselves some strong black coffee. I need it."

“Yes. I need it too.”

In the evening, Abesh, Hanshi and Tori went to watch the evening arati. While returning from the pandal, they decided to offer anjali (flower offering) to the Goddess next day, Ashthami, the most important day of puja.

“Remember all of us going for the anjali? How Kaku used to hurry us on,” said Tori.

“Yes, Baba loved offering anjali on Ashthami,” Abesh said smiling wistfully.

“And he made all of us follow the proper dress code for anjali too, remember Dada?” asked Hanshi.

“Yes, Kaku got us our first red-bordered, cream-coloured sarees, remember?” asked Tori.

“Of course I do! And Imu di spilt ice cream on hers right after the anjali. How Boroma scolded her – ” Hanshi stopped abruptly and glanced anxiously at Abesh, who was looking up at the sky now.

“I wish we had brought red-bordered, cream-coloured sarees with us,” said Tori, trying to lighten the situation.

“Me too,” said Hanshi frowning.

3

Ashthami started with a sweet surprise for the two sisters. Abesh and Lalit gave two packets to each. They found a red-bordered cream-coloured saree (with accessories) in one packet and a gold chain with earrings in the other. Needless to say, Tori and Hanshi were overjoyed. The four of them set out for anjali in the “correct dress code”. Tori and Hanshi wearing the traditional saree with gold jewellery. Abesh and Lalit in white kurtas and pyjamas. Basanta da nearly cried in happiness when he saw them off at the gate.

Hanshi’s mother-in-law had invited them for lunch. So after the anjali and a quick breakfast, they started, planning to cover a few iconic pujas on the way. Tori made a video call to her husband and son showing them one of the pandals. The afternoon passed quickly at Hanshi’s house through endless conversations, laughter and of course lots of food.

“I hope Basanta da makes something light for dinner," said Abesh while driving back home, “I am stuffed. On second thoughts, maybe I’ll skip dinner.”

“He is making chicken stew tonight. I am not going to miss it for anything in this world,” Lalit declared.

“Remember how we enjoyed this stew during fever?” asked Tori.

“I hated having it with roti instead of rice though,” said Abesh.

“I have an idea!” said Hanshi.

“What?” asked Lalit who was a bit scared of Hanshi’s “ideas”.

“Let’s cook lunch for Basanta da tomorrow!”

“Whaaat? Why?” asked Lalit. He disliked cooking.

“Good idea!” said Tori, “Then who cooks what?”

“Ok!” Lalit raised his hand, “I’ll cook the rice.”

Tori pinched him.

“No seriously, that’s the only dish cooked by me that you can eat.”

“Do you never cook Chhorda? Vinu boudi does all the cooking?”

"Yes, she does. I'm a worthless husband."

“I think I will make ilish bhaape,” said Abesh.

“Oh my God,” said Lalit, nearly salivating.

“I will make mutton,” said Tori.

“Ok then chingri maachher malaikari for me,” added Hanshi.

The rest of Ashthami and Nabami morning whizzed past in preparing for the feast. They first discussed the menu with Basanta da who offered to make moong dal and chhanar dalna (he forced them to include at least two vegetarian items to balance the meal). They went to the market to buy the meat and dry ingredients in the evening. Early next morning, they went to the fish market. Tikli tagged along with them, and it was good that she did. All the fish sellers knew her, as she regularly came here with Basanta da. She told them that Basanta da had sent them here. The fish sellers smiled at her and brought forward the freshest of fish.

At lunch, Basanta da started crying when the cousins served lunch to him, Deepa and Tikli.

“They have come out fine, the children of this house,” he thought, “Their parents would have been proud to see them now.”

All the dishes (including rice) had come out well. Hanshi’s “idea” was a huge success. She posted snaps of the lunch spread on her Facebook and Instagram along with group pictures with her cousins.

Lalit was the first one to doze off after lunch saying, "Cooking is hectic!"

“Hey!” cried Hanshi, “You did nothing except ordering me and Tori di to ‘check the rice’.”

“That’s the only thing you need to do for rice; sort of oversee it,” said Lalit, trying to ward off slaps from Tori.

“What about the jokes I told you to keep you entertained while you slogged in the kitchen?” he said trying in vain to stifle a huge yawn.

He soon stretched out on the divan in the drawing-room and started snoring. Abesh looked at him, took his iPad and reclined on the big sofa browsing lazily through news and mails. Hanshi and Tori were browsing through the zillions of snaps that they had captured over the last three days on Tori’s laptop. The sisters were chatting about each other’s lives too.

“Tori di, can I ask you something?”

“Sure dear.”

“Do you think I can work as a freelancer for your company?”

Tori was the Executive Editor at a reputed publishing house in the UK.

“Ummm. Send me your CV. We will send you an online test. If you qualify, then we would add you to our list of regular freelancers.”

“It’s that easy?!”

“Well...the test is not that easy. You need to practice grammar and writing a bit. But I think you can clear it.”

“Tori di, thank you! I am bored throughout the day. Besides, I feel so worthless when I look at the people around me. Most of my friends are something, like a teacher, fashion designer, nurse, banker, software engineer....I...I’m just a housewife. I also want to be ‘someone’ besides being a mother and a wife. Do you think I am too late?”

“It’s never too late to start,” said Tori, “By the way, being a housewife is a full-time profession that needs multiple skills and 24 hours of the day rather than just the office hours. So, don’t underestimate yourself as well as the generations of talented women who made homes out of houses for us. You are earning your living too. However, I’m glad that you want to try out something new. Create your CV and share it with me.”

"I have already created my CV and appeared for a few interviews too. Looks like I am way past the age to get the first job."

“Let’s see how we can bust this age myth. Send me your CV.”

 

4

Next day, Tori woke up to the sad strains of shahanai playing in the nearby pandal. Sad because today was Dashami, the day to bid farewell to Mother Durga for this year. The end of Durga Puja.

The day moved fast as they visited two more pandals in the morning and then went to their favourite Chinese restaurant at China Town for lunch. Back home, they rested a bit and then got ready for the shindoor khela. Women smear Ma Durga and her children with shindoor (vermillion) and offer her sweets before she starts on her long journey back to Kailash. After that, they wish each other "shubho bijoya", which literally means happy victory, with shindoor dots and sweets. The men look on affectionately while eating sweets and preparing the idols for the immersion procession.

They returned home at around 7 pm smeared in red. Lalit quickly washed his face and went out to meet a friend. Abesh, Tori and Hanshi distributed sweets and made video calls to their families wishing them “shubho bijoya”.

Basanta da surprised them with yet another childhood favourite – chandrapuli – a sweet made of coconut. They sat in the drawing-room savouring the sweets and arguing about which puja pandal should get the sarad samman (best puja awards). Deepa di brought in tea and was busy adding sugar in the cups when the doorbell rang. They looked at the door. Tikli ran and opened it. Lalit stood there with a woman.

He came into the room and started taking off his slippers.

“Dada, I’ve got someone to meet you all,” he said looking back at the woman who now stepped forward.

It was Imon.

Tori and Imon were identical twins, Imon 8 minutes elder than Tori. Their mother Nirobala, who loved Indian classical music, had named them after two Indian raagas, imon (also spelt as yaman) and tori. They grew up closely attached as twins usually do, but with opposite natures. While Tori was devoted to Imon who was better than her in everything they did, Imon wanted a greater share than Tori in everything, right from toys (as kids) to the affection of their parents.

Their mother Nirobala loved them equally. However, their father Arjobir, couldn’t help loving Imon a wee bit more. She was the one who won prizes and medals at school, in extra-curricular activities and even in extempore competitions. Tori tried hard but she was never the winner. Yet she stayed happy in Imon’s shadow.

This would have continued except that Rudra, who was Imon’s senior at her engineering college, fell in love with Tori. Everyone thought that he often landed up at the house to meet Imon. But he was trying to woo Tori, who sat along in their conversations, chaperoning them. When Rudra finally made it clear that he was in love with Tori, the general feeling was that of surprise. Imon however, congratulated Tori warmly and declared that she was never interested in Rudra. Thus began Tori and Rudra’s five-year courtship after which their families wanted them to get married. Tori was about to complete her Masters in English literature by that time.

On the day of their formal engagement, Rudra and Imon eloped together leaving behind a letter to Arjobir and a lot of questions that stayed unanswered...to this day.

And now Imon stood in front of them, looking every bit of the 54-year-old woman she was. No one would imagine her to be Tori’s identical twin...   

Abesh felt like strangling Lalit for springing Imon on Tori like this. He could never forget Tori’s blue face when they found her lying in bed with an overdose of sleeping pills. The still brown eyes that stared blankly for days to come. The way his uncle Arjobir broke down and never recovered. The scandal that shook up their family. It took years to bring Tori back to normal life. He had always known that Tori was a better human being. He was unaffected by Imon’s versatility. And Tori proved him right by overcoming her set-back and becoming a successful individual. But now Imon was back to shake up Tori’s world. Why did Lalit have to bring her back?

Tori stood rooted to the spot. "Is she Imu?” she thought, “Is she alive?"

Imon looked at Tori as one looks at a long lost treasure. The twin she had first pitied and then envied. The one from whom she had wanted to snatch away everything. And yet the one person whom she had missed the most over the long years.

Hanshi stood frozen looking anxiously at Tori.

After what seemed like ages, Tori stepped forward and said faintly, “Shubho bijoya Imu.”

Imon slowly went up to her, tears streaming down her cheeks. The once brilliant and confident Imon now looked broken and defeated.

“I’m sorry I came...just wanted to see you once...,” Imon said.

“I missed you Imu,” Tori said simply and reached out to touch Imon’s hands.

“I, I am sorry Tori,” said Imon in a tear-strained voice grasping Tori’s hand, “Can you please forgive me?”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing to forgive. It’s all past and forgotten. We have been looking for you for all these years, waiting for you to come back.”

“See? I told you so,” broke in Lalit, “We’ve been waiting for you, all of us. Now stop playing the tragic heroine and sit down.”

Tori’s face twitched as she tried not to smile at Lalit’s words.

“How are you Imu?” Abesh now came forward.

“Shubho Bijoya Imu di,” said Hanshi, glad to be able to talk at last.

“Imu didi!” cried Basanta da who had arrived on the spot after Tikli informed him about the “interesting scene in the drawing-room”.

Imon bent down and touched Basanta da’s feet. He blessed and embraced her. Imon started weeping.

It was past midnight when they finished catching up on Imon’s life and sharing their updates with her. Imon had married Rudra but soon separated from him and remarried. Her second husband had passed away after nine years of marriage. She had worked in several software firms but could never settle down in a 9 am to 5 pm job. Besides, luck seemed to have ditched her the day she left this house. She now worked in a private software firm, and she has been trying to set up an NGO for old people for the last two years.

Tori watched her twin in wonder. There were wrinkles on Imon's face. Her once lustrous hair was cropped short. She was a bit flabby and wore shapeless clothes casually thrown on without much thought. Yet, she looked more beautiful than the perfect Imu who was her idol.

Imon gazed admiringly at Tori, trying to understand how she could have forgiven her. “I would have never forgiven her had I been in her place,” thought Imon, “She is a better human being than me...I guess she always was.”

They updated Imon about meeting the promoter on the next day. She was ready to sign the deal. She would use the money for her NGO.

“She has changed,” thought Abesh, “For the better. Life teaches best.”

Lait had traced Imon five years ago. Being a newspaper editor helped. He met her. Imon begged him not to tell the rest of the family about her. Lalit kept his word though he stayed in touch with her. This year, Tori insisted that they try finding Imon before they sell off the house. They posted messages on Facebook and newspapers. Imon was not there on Facebook. However, Lalit showed her the newspaper post and convinced her to at least come and meet them once.

Five of them went to bed at night but stayed awake for a while before sleeping.

“It’s like a role reversal for Tori di and Imon di,” thought Hanshi, “Thank god I don’t have a twin.”

Lalit smiled and thought, “I am happy Imu is back home. Hats off to Tori for forgiving her.”

“I hope Tori goes off to London soon and doesn’t stay too much in touch with Imu. All said and done, I can’t trust her completely....not yet,” thought Abesh.

"Thank you, Tori, for forgiving me," thought Imon, “Though I know I don’t deserve it. Not after all the bitter thoughts, I had about you ever since we were born, and the way I betrayed you. I hope that someday I will be able to become a good person like you. I love you, Tori.”

Tori stood at the window, looking up at the clear autumn sky twinkling with stars. She sighed.

“I didn’t know myself that I had forgiven her long ago, the very day I left Rudra behind in my life,” she thought, “Imu seems to have suffered a lot. I hope the money will help her....the money from the sale of this house. But, wait a minute," she went to the dressing table and switched on the overhead lamp, "Do I want to sell off this house?"

She saw the answer written clearly on her face in the mirror, smiled mysteriously and then went to bed.   

Basanta da served luchi, begun bhaja and sujir halua for breakfast. They ate while talking, mostly about the promoter and the deal.

The promoter, Mr Rathin Ghosh, arrived at around 11 am. After introductions, they started discussing the deal. Mr Ghosh explained the details to them. Deepa di served snacks and tea in between. Abesh, Lalit and Imon had many questions, while Hanshi and Tori listened silently.

Finally, he produced no objection papers for them to sign. Abesh, Imon, Lalit and Hanshi signed. Hanshi passed on the pen to Tori, who continued to sit with a faraway look on her face.

Abesh went and sat beside her.

“What happened dear?” he asked gently.

“Abhi,” said Tori, looking at the one person in this room whom she didn’t want to disappoint, “Will you be mad at me if I don’t sign?”

“What??”

“I don’t want to sign.”

“But why Tori?!” cried Lalit, coming towards her now.

Imon and Hanshi too came and stood in front of Tori.

“What happened Tori di, are you feeling unwell?”

Mr Ghosh sat and looked on unperturbed. He had witnessed similar scenes before. 

“I don’t want to sell this house,” said Tori.

“But why?” asked Imon.

“I...there are too many memories for me here. I can’t lose them.”

Lalit was about to start speaking when Abesh gestured him to stop.

“Even we have many memories here. None of us wants to lose them. But, how do you suggest we maintain this house?” asked Abesh.

Tori looked up at his face trying to read whether he was upset with her. He gave her a reassuring smile. She looked around at their faces, all waiting for her to speak.

“Can we turn this into an old age home?" said Tori, "There are so many elderly folks in Kolkata whose children stay outside. They would be happy to pay adequately for top-notch services delivered with love, care and empathy. I have saved some money. We all can contribute as much as we want to, in cash or kind. This is just a thought Abhi. Please don’t be upset with me.”

“But that’s not a bad idea at all,” cried Hanshi, "In fact, I can handle the logistics, planning and set up."

“I think I can do the publicity bit,” Lalit wondered aloud.

“I will connect you with the NGOs,” said Imon.

They turned to Abesh now. He looked at their faces trying not to show how glad he was at their decision.

“Ok,” he said after a brief silence, “But let’s tell Mr Ghosh first.”

“Ahem,” Mr Ghosh cleared his throat, “I think this is a personal matter between you now, and my services are not required. But do let me know when the old age home is ready. I can send a few clients maybe.”   

“Oh Abhi,” cried Tori as soon as Mr Ghosh left the room, and ran into his arms, “I can never thank you enough for hearing me out.”

“Three cheers for Tori,” cried Imon.

“Hip, hip,” cried Lalit.

“Hurray!” Imon and Hanshi cried out. 

Basanta da who had come in with the second round of tea, looked on smiling, a drop of tear rolling down his cheek.