Wanderlust

The late afternoon was setting in to evening hues. The sky was a bright shade of blue. The cottony clouds floated by, as the sun shone playing a game of hide and seek with the meadows below. The Flight was on time. The window seat saw an eager face smiling down at the roads heading straight for the city ahead, patches of greenery, huts and perhaps cattle. She smiled down at the scene. In her late twenties Baitanbonhi Mukherjee was coming back to her roots after a really long time. Felt like forever. She wouldn’t have this time also but Bengali mothers have their way with emotional blackmails that forced her to pack her bags and come back this time. Ma and Baba waited eagerly at the Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose Airport’s Domestic Terminal.

"Why isn’t she still here?” He checked his watch the umpteenth time while his wife gave a look of warning. “It’s too late; the flight landed such a long time back. ” He reasoned. Her face lit up seeing her daughter wave at her. In a pair of baggy jeans and a loose t shirt, with her geek glasses and messy bun, Bonhi smiled at her mother gleefully. The mere sight of her felt like home, as she ran for a hug and the smell of her saree completed the feeling. "Come, we need to get a taxi. ” Her father took the trolley from her hand as the mother kept looking at her face and hands, “Have you not been eating anything?”“Ohho Ma!” She sulked “Don’t start! ”So, how is … umm…” Her father had half turned in his seat, inside the cab, as it zoomed through the smooth roads towards their home in South Kolkata. Staring out and sinking in to the feeling of home she murmured “Work. Good. ”

“Sure. ” She had heard him murmur under his breath “If you call it that. ”“Uff, she is just here, don’t start now. ” Her mother had forced him to look ahead at the running meter of the yellow cab. She smiled to herself feeling her mother’s cold stare at her father. He always gave in. Yes, according to the middle class Bengali household or rather its relatives and friends, hers was rather a money less madness than a job. Who becomes a travel journalist anyways? That too after so much of education. Then writing books? That too not a literary wonder. Such a shame. “ Oije. ” Lolita Mashi had dipped her crisp biscuit in the tea cup “Banerjee’s son, is a film maker. A real one. They also don’t live away from home. And she needs to go for…” She had made Baba nod. “All are excuses. To get out of the house, and responsibilities. I am telling you, Marry her off before she grows wings! Are we dumb Jamaibabu? We have seen more world than her. ”She had heard everything from her room while she packed in the packets of Nimki her mother had made for her. It was a week before Durga Pujo just like this one. A few years have changed a lot.

She blinked at the hoardings, the half done pandals and the decorations. For a second, it felt like nothing changed. “Bonhi, I have done some marketing for you. ” Her mother made her turn as she smiled gleeful “From Myntra. ” That amused her.  “Maa! You have learnt online shopping!” She saw her mother blush. The signal had turned red as the cab stopped. She looked at the crossing ahead, a crowd of people. “Last minute Marketing” Her mother quipped at the packets. “Maa. Marketing? Shopping!” She nodded in amusement. Some things though, felt like home. “So… where have you been?” Baba’s tone was softer “I heard the flat at Udaipur is empty most of the time…”“Have you been spying on me?” She raised her eyebrows suspicious. “No. I… Amitda’s son was in Udaipur, I gave him your address. . . ”“He could just call!” She shrugged “And please Baba next time ask me before…” She stopped at his stare. “But Bonhi, Where were you?” Ma’s voice showed concern. “Don’t you stay home at all?”“I was making a short trip Ma. ” She shrugged “Have been to places. I called once a week?”“But you should tell us where you are. ”“Ofho! This is why I don’t come home. ” Her words had silenced the cab the rest of the way. Baba was struggling with the keys. For the first time, standing under the sun and sweating Bonhi noticed he was getting old. She stepped in, taking the keys from him and turning it.

“There” she opened the heavy wooden door. The first thing she spotted in the newly colored interiors is the frame in the wall. An annoyed three year old was braving the sun rays for a snap, sitting on her mother’s lap and her father beside her, in the beach at Puri. Her eyes travelled across the room, to her favorite corner swing in the balcony, and the book shelf. Her eyes froze there. Two volumes of her ongoing series were there, sitting pretty beside the Rabindra Rachanabali.  She walked up to it as Ma beamed “You never send us a copy, Baba got them pre-booked at Amazon. ” A sense of guilt hit her as she stared at the man making his way slowly towards his room. He had been stubborn, so was she. In all these years not a word was exchanged with him except “How are you? Am fine”“Have you read them Baba?” Her voice shook.  He had stopped and not turned. “You have proven me wrong Bonhi. ” He walked away leaving ma smiling at her. She blinked away the coming tears.  

Opening her bag, she took out a certificate. “Ma, I got this one at the Jaipur Literary Fest as recognition. I thought you should keep it here. ”“Give it to him. ” Her mother urged.  “Baba. ” She knocked softly. “Esho. ” She had stepped in silently, spotting a photograph of hers beside his bed. “Baba I got this. ” He had put on his specs slowly and frowned at the writings “Bah” made her smile. "How many days are you thinking of staying?” He asked. “ Aree, she is just here, a month at least. She is here after so long. Taina?”“I am currently working on the third part of my series. I am here till Kalipujo or so…” She smiled at her pleased mother. “Besh Besh” Her father had nodded. “Rest in your room now, we have cleaned it for you. ”Putting the backpack down, she looked around the corners of nostalgia. Her book racks, her posters, the old wooden cupboard, the trunk full of broken toys. Her phone rang for a brief time as she picked it up with a frown. “Yes?”“Baitanbanhi Mukherjee?”“Yes?”“Ma’am am calling from a Little Magazine.

Nomoskar. ” “ Who gave you my…”“Ma’am can you please give us one interview. The readers will be delighted to know how “Wander lust” is feeling back to her roots. Everyone loves your travel fictions a lot ma’am especially your wide research on…”“I am tired. ” She murmured. “I will get back to this number after Durga Pujo. ”“Okay Ma’am Thank You Ma’am” She disconnected as she sat down on the old four poster bed.  

Five years ago, she had been on a dream run, literally. After numerous unsuccessful attempts a publisher of a local paper and magazine at Udaipur had offered her a dream job. Travel Journalism. One thing had led to another and she now had two books on it. She was never someone to sit in one place. She loved exploring; she loved trying new experiences, feeling new places, tasting new cuisines. She called herself “Wander Lust”. Soon, these fiction tales of a girl traveling through the country for purpose had been up on the bestsellers racks. She had covered Rajasthan and Punjab with parts of Himachal on her books. She planned to do down south with the third one. She had settled in Udaipur, called it her “Go to place”. Luck, seemed to start there. More importantly, it was away from the friends and family waiting back in Kolkata for a grand wedding to some doctor or engineer. Now here she was, watching the familiar ceiling fan make a strange noise as it whirled.  

She sat up on her bed hearing Ma say in a most familiar way “Dinner is ready, hurry up. ” She had missed home. She realized that the moment she tasted the mustard fish curry Ma served. Or was it just her cooking? She saw the smiling face serve her one more piece of fish.  “Set the alarm at 3. 55 AM” she had heard ma tell Baba as she stopped typing away on her laptop. Her Eyes stopped at the calendar. It was Mahalaya tomorrow.

At 4AM she had turned on Dida’s old radio. Miracle is how it worked so well after decades. The sound of conch shells ushered in “Mahishahurmardini” and she felt goose bumps. Standing in the balcony, as the first light of dawn set in, all the houses down the lane, echoed with “Ya Devi Sarvabhuteshu santi rupena sangstitha namastashay namastashay namastashay namo namaha!” she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Sipping in the morning tea, the breeze had that Pujor Gondho. She was tapping on the grill, humming while the phone rang. “Publisher” it said. “Hey Janki. ” She smiled as the other person spoke “Yes, yes, I promised you a topic for the third one. Yes… I am working on it… I…” She searched frantically across the stacks of new clothes and gifts in her room for the laptop.  Her hand had stopped at Dida’s radio. “You know what Janki…”“What?”“I found a topic. ” She smiled. “You are covering down south right?” The publisher asked hopeful. “The Wander Lust is Home!”“Pardon?” The publisher was clearly taken aback because she herself had insisted on south.  “Yes, I will cover east.

Home. To be precise. As I see it. As everyone else sees it here. I just need some time. I need to shift, back home. ”“Okay Okay, it should be the best that’s it. ” The publisher had dealt with mad writers before. She just meant business. “It will be my best ever Janki I promise. ” She beamed. “Okay. Good Morning by the way. ”“Subho Mahalaya Janki. ” Bonhi smiled disconnecting the call. ]