BRINJAL

There are vegetables and then there are vegetables.Until the last couple of decades we were not conversant of the food value of vegetables and how good they were for a long and healthy life.Thanks to the yeoman progress in research, we have come to learn of it in recent years. Strict non-vegetarians have not only done a u turn in their food habits and become vegetarians but there are some who are known as vegans who do not partake any milk products too.

Anyway,to cut a long story short I hated brinjal and its sight and taste turned me off. I was in class IX and an active member of YMCA College Branch. It was then situated at the crossing of College Street and Harrison Road, dutifully re-named as Bidhan Sarani and Mahatma Gandhi Road by the government. In the fifties and sixties its membership sounded like a who's who of Calcutta. Be it sports like table tennis and billiards, writers, thespians and film personalities.Yours truly went to play table tennis and participate in quiz and recitation competitions.

Our secretary was Mr P K Adhikary and he was universally loved by us for his nature and behavior. A Bustee Boys' Camp was to be inaugurated at Ranaghat (Nadia) and he offered to organize a three day trip for YMCA members. Most of my friends immediately registered themselves, it being part of the summer vacation, and I was no exception.

A bus was booked,and around thirty of us with our satchels and water bottles trudged in. After about three hours the coveted destination. It was love at first sight, lush green fields all round, a huge corrugated sheet cover with about forty cots, a temporary kitchen and rudimentary toilets. The icing on the cake was the meandering Churnee river on whose bank this Camp was being constructed.

Without waiting for any further instructions we changed and plunged into the river in our shorts. What followed was total chaos and mayhem. Not only did we swim, tried out different strokes but also tried our best to out swim our comrades in instant competitions. So far so good, but after an hour Adhikary Sir, as we called him lovingly, blew his whistle, and we had to leave the water dress properly and sit down to thank the Lord in prayer.

At this juncture, I felt so hungry as I have never felt in my life before. Freshly cut banana leaves were placed before each of us, followed by salt and a tiny piece of lemon. Next item on the menu was steaming rice. But till now nothing had been served for us the famished souls to start eating.

What came next was a disaster for me. It was a piece of fried brinjal neatly cut length wise. I was in no position to resist the temptation of  attacking it with gusto along with the rice.

I burnt my mouth in the process, but also learnt to savour brinjal from that memorable day!

GOOPEY SAHEBER GAPPO

Some thirty years back, when plastic currency had not intruded on the middle class, most people carried a reasonable sum of money in their wallets and shirt pockets. In Calcutta, even though the country's first metro was  already operational, a large chunk of office goers commuted in buses and trams. Losing their wallets and money wantonly, made the Babus furious. They felt helpless at the growing menace which was attaining an alarming magnitude

Our story begins at this point of time. 

One morning, I received a phone call "Mr. Rakshit? This is the O.C. of Maniktolla police station speaking. One Mr, Goopey Nath Gayen wants to talk with you." Goopey Nath Gayen was informally and universally known as "Goopey Saheb" I asked him as to what had transpired. Apparently, while Goopey had been marketing, one Chhotu Lal, a pickpocket, had tried to relieve Goopey's pocket of its contents. Unfortunately for him, he was not prepared for what transpired next.  Goopey had kept one scorpion in his shirt pocket which  had immediately swung into action and pounced on Chhotu's nimble fingers. The yelp that Chhotu had let out caused a huge commotion in the market and the public (of Calcutta of course) had nabbed them both and escorted them to the Police Station. I immediately went to the P.S., met the O.C. and secured Goopey's release on a personal bond of five hundred rupees.

Goopey Saheb was not a saheb at all. On the contrary, he was a hundred percent Bengali who covered long distances on his Atlas bicycle. His permanent dress was a dhoti, a half shirt and a traditional Englishman's hat (topee), which I believe was his grand dad's.

While discussing the pick pocket menace over a cup of tea one day, I asked him if he could something about it. "Well, I can try," said Goopey. "I have friends in Krishna Nagar, I'll ask them to make some clay imitations of scorpions, to be kept in shirt pockets of  gentlemen in  such a manner that the deadly claws will be visible to  one and all. This will detract pickpockets who will presume these to be real scorpions. Believe it or not, this scheme worked out superbly for two or three months and the Calcutta Police heaved a sigh of relief as did the public. But as all good things reach their inevitable end, so did this master plan, as the rogues also learnt of these imitations and returned to their profession with unparalleled  vengeance. Goopey returned my five hundred rupees on his next visit, claiming that it was from his 25% commission.

Goopey was a man of many accomplishments. A devout Brahmin priest was in need of a guard dog. Goopey arranged for a mastiff for him which only ate spiced spinach and chewed used tooth brushes. Here also he earned his 25% cut!

A cinema hall named Chhaya, quite the old type, was having problems to ensure its continued presence of its patrons. A number of pigeons used to come and sleep on the rafters and defecate on the audience.This led to a near empty night show practically each night. Goopey was summoned and on learning of the problem, suggested hiring two extra high ladders. Each night the ushers would climb the ladders and gently squeeze the tummies of the  pigeons. However, this act had to be repeated for a couple of more days as the birds were quite dumb. Ultimately they would get the message that they were not wanted here and fly away. This plan was remarkably successful and Goopey made a killing with his 25% commission on this deal!

Majority of the urban bourgeoisie had started developing hearing problems due to their constant exposure to the unbearable honking of Calcutta traffic. Unfortunately, hearing aids came at a premium and even the cheapest were priced at Rs 1000/= plus. People, while conversing with colleagues and friends indoor, could hardly hear what was being spoken till Goopey Saheb came up with the ultimate invention of his illustrious career. He started manufacuring and marketing hearing aids at Rs 10/= a piece! One such aid usually consisted of a black silk cord attached to a white button. One had only to jam the button in his left ear and place the cord in his pocket. This would immediately induce the speaker to talk loudly! He used to sell customized aids also, with differently coloured cords and differently sized buttons. These were, however, priced at Rs 20/= a piece. I have no idea as to how much commission Goopey earned on this,but after a couple of months, he paid a visit to my house with a specific task. I had to guide him to apply for a PAN card!

Inspired by Late Raj Sekhar Bose (Parashuram) 's short story entitled Goopey Saheb.Additions, alterations and aberrations are entirely mine. S.R.

Pasha

Pasha

My daughters Misha  and Paroo were about 4 and less than 3 months old respectively. We had jst moved into our own house 48 Surajmukhi at Rajkishore Nagar, Bilaspur. Our domestic help was Dukhalin Bai, a middle aged Chattisgariah lady, who knew the A to Z of taking care of new borns and allied activities. She used to massage Paroo from head to toe, and made her do some exercises, all the time singing " Dighi dighi dighi re, gutki ganiari!" and call her "Raani Bitcoolia".

Under these circumstances, my better half Iti decided that we must have a pet. Accordingly, scouts spanned out in all directions. To cut a long story short, we brought home a 10 day old dachshund, from the DIG's daughter. He was really tiny and could hardly sit. Every hour or so, he cried for milk which was dutifully passed out within 10 minutes. So, one empty carton, was converted into a dog basket, complete with towels, tissues, ping pong balls, rubber bones, et al.

After a long deliberation, we zeroed in on a suitable name for him, Pasha, coined from Paroo and Misha. Besides me, he was the only other male in our family of 6. Dukhalin was our local guardian and stood towering over Iti and the kids (both figuratively and literally). Pasha used to move around, sleeping all the time in Iti's apron pocket. tailor made for him! Our Bai observed, " You have no work, isn't it? So you have brought this dog?"

Iti had her hands full (as usual). I used to leave for work at 10 and return around 7/7:30. One day, I came home around 4 and our good neighbour, Mrs Bhattacharya asked Iti through the adjacent kitchen window, " Is Dada okay? He has come home so early?". Brother, this was the reputation I enjoyed.

Anyway, Pasha started growing by the day and in the absence of Pedigree (it was 1990) was thriving on milk with bread and chicken and rice. About a year later, Iti and our daughters went to Allahabad, Ma was in Calcutta and I was left to fend for myself. I had a small amount of raw chicken, including a leg piece, to cook for the weekend. I decided to prepare it the way I had seen Iti do umpteen times. As it was a Saturday, I reckoned I would be back by 4, and dipped the pieces in a glass bowl in half a cup of vinegar to marinate. I returned in the afternoon and to ensure that the chicken was sufficiently softened, I added two tea spoons of sauce and a sliced tomato. besides these ingredients I also added salt, chilly powder garlic paste and a pinch of haldi powder. Finally, to lend a touch of class to my dish, I put in small quantities of sliced potato, onion and carrot. I poured the gravy in the pressure cooker and after the designated three hoots, switched off the gas, and waited for it to cool.
Half an hour or so later I opened the lid, and observed that the stew looked great but there was something fishy somewhere. Well, being mighty hungry and unable to resist the temptation of tasting my first culinary effort, I took out a large spoonful of the stew and added it to the steaming rice on my plate. My anticipation knew no bounds when I put  the first handful in  my mouth. I immediately threw it out, it was so sour. I could hardly believe that anything could be so horrible to taste! I finished my lunch with a dollop of ghee and green chilly. As the roasted chicken was not to be wasted I kneaded the rice and chicken and placed it in Pasha's bowl
Will you believe it? He smelt it once, and just disappeared before I could even see where he had gone. And dogs, they say, are man's most loyal friend, the traitor!