A Daughter Behind Her Father's Ouster
Normally a daughter is said to be her father’s Little Princess. Most of the daughters are their fathers’ pets and pride. While I have heard of incidents when the father, the head of the family, did ask or kick the son out of the house in the heat of the moment, I was overwhelmed when I heard this story of a daughter, (a daughter!) who was instrumental in ousting her father from his own house for good!
Well, let me tell you, without any further ado, the story of how Bhola was shown the door of his house by none other than his own daughter and why he decided never to return there any more.
Bhola was christened Bhola Nath Sarkar. Bhola, in Bengali means innocent, some sort of a simpleton. It is doubtful if he really was as bhola as his people would have us believe but he was quite naive and straightforward.
From his childhood Bhola prided on being an obedient son. Agreed, he was not earning much by the time his Baba (father) passed away. But he was immensely proud of the fact that before his Baba's death, he had hand-fanned him time and again as his father with a pacemaker installed in his chest, found it unbearable when there were prolonged bouts of load shedding in Kolkata in the seventies.
Besides running some errands for his Baba daily, Bhola also accompanied him with his nurse when he went out for his evening strolls. His father, clad in a dhoti, would have his crutch under the right arm with his 24-hour-paid-nurse close at heels while Bhola had to support and steady him from the left with his arm across his father's back.
On a bleak, gloomy day, his father, in the middle of a heated argument, asked the eldest son, Ratan, to get out of the house. Bhola, extremely annoyed with Baba for he loved this brother dearly, stopped coming anywhere near Baba for the next few days. When things began to cool down between him and Baba, and Bhola told his father the reason for avoiding him, Baba, with a look of hurt in his eyes, pondered :
“I have been thinking since then why Bhola, of all, has started neglecting me?”
It was a great feeling to have told his Baba a couple of months before his demise, “Baba, I love you so much.” Bhola, like many others, had always been a mother’s boy. You should have seen the smile on his Baba’s face at that time!
All his life, Bhola found no other woman more deserving of love and respect than his Ma (mother). He, no doubt, had the good fortune of coming across some truly wonderful women. A brother’s mother-in-law; a brother-in-law’s mother, and not to forget his own elder sister.
Anyway, to get back to the story - in due course of time he got married. When his wife, Namrata conceived exactly a year after their marriage, their joy knew no bounds. Though Namrata, unlike many, was botherless about the gender of the foetus of the baby, both Bhola and his widowed Ma wanted a son desperately. While his mother, belonging to the old school, wanted them to have a son “to continue the family lineage and legacy”, Bhola did so as he had always been driven by this glorified notion of a broad-shouldered son carrying him off in his bare arms to the hospital when Bhola was old and infirm and just like Barda, his elder brother, had carried his granny in Mumbai during an emergency!
He was leaning against the wall of Angel Nursing Home at Sonarpur, watching a sea of people coming in and going out. His wife had been in the labour room since the early hours of the morning when the nurse came out with a file to inform him that the Doc had decided to go for the caesarean as his wife’s water had not broken even after a long wait. Any further delay might cause some unforeseen damages both to the baby and the mother, he was told.
He signed on the papers and waited listlessly outside. Soon, he was joined by his mother-in-law, fresh from the afternoon siesta from her residence not far from the nursing home. She greeted him before sauntering into the OT as she was quite well-known in the locality and marched out half an hour later.
“Congratulations. You’ve a daughter.” She informed Bhola briskly. She looked far from happy while disclosing this news but after a while, she looked up to him and exclaimed:
“Don’t feel so sad. I know how badly you wanted a son but one’s lucky to have a daughter these days. A son might not look after you in old age but a daughter will, mark my words.”
Even his Ma, not so surprisingly either, reacted happily. “Be happy with what you have been blessed with, son. Having a daughter doesn’t mean the end of the world. Besides, I always thought you were fond of girls!”
Those days - after the birth of his daughter Riya; the frequent visits to the doctor as the baby was underweight, the sleepless nights when she fell sick; her admission in Little Angels - rolled on like in the blink of an eye!
After Ma’s demise, at Namrata’s request, he decided to have his daughter, Riya admitted at his own school in Siliguri. She was a bright, obedient child and his heart swelled when she started topping the weekly, monthly and term tests.
During one summer holiday, while they were down at their ancestral home, Bhola had gone out with Riya, to the Haringhata milk booth, a government undertaking, to fetch their daily quota of milk.
He was hurrying back home with his daughter, aged not more than 7 or 8 at that time, closely behind. Natu, the naughty boy from the house next door, was coming from behind as well, whistling a catchy Hindi film tune. By the time Bhola turned his head, he was in for a shock. Natu had stopped before little Riya with his back to him, thereby keeping her rooted to the spot, and the lout had the cheeks to have her cheeks firmly cupped in his hand!
Bhola didn't know why a seething rage came over him at that time. How dare that uncouth, rotten lout touch his daughter in such a lecherous way, that too in his presence? He thought. What angered him even more was the way Riya was standing, helplessly, not knowing how to react to the brother more than ten-twelve years her older! She stood looking petrified.
Bhola started yelling at Natu, “What do you think you are doing, rascal, holding the cheeks of a baby in your dirty hand like the way you are? Who gave you the right? You don't even stop to talk to or wish me when we bump into one another on the way! Why are you taking advantage of her innocence in that lewd manner?”
Natu seemed hard hit by the fury in his voice and scurried away sheepishly while Riya stood there, looking confused and shell-shocked!
In the Boards when Riya topped her school, Bhola and Namrata decided to take her down to his hometown, Kolkata for admission in a reputed school called Calcutta Public School, With the passage of time, she grew up to be her mother’s daughter, a carbon copy of Namrata. Five feet five, bespectacled by the time she was in class nine, she had her mother’s roundish face and striking good looks without the dimples, adorned with a mass of curly hair and a persona that wouldn’t get lost amidst the crowds.
Riya had been a topper all along. It was not surprising therefore, that by the time she graduated from high school, she had a number of admirers.
Bhola didn't know anything about the incident in his previous school about Dhruva, a Class-XI student having sent her a chit through a common friend. She was sitting in the lawn outside the administrative building when Piu, a friend, came running to her with that letter in hand.
Sitting in the lush green lawn with a gentle breeze blowing across, Riya could see beautiful Dhruva from a distance, sitting with his close friends on the corridor of XI Block. She took the proffered letter, glanced through it hastily and gave it back to Piu without uttering a word.
It would be wrong to say that she wasn’t excited but she was scared of her father's presence at school. It was her first love letter and wasn't she over the moon? But she was worried that the matter might be reported to her father by one of the teachers or supporting staff or one of the students even. Anyway, she stayed a goody-goody girl at school and gave the impression that staying focused on studies was the only goal of her life!
No sooner had she got admitted in Class-XI of CPS for the Science Stream than she fell flat for Manoj, one of the brightest students of the school. Manoj, unlike her, was an introverted boy and kept a safe distance from most others but for his group of close friends. It was Shree, a bubbly, chubby classmate, who introduced Riya to Manoj and forced him into taking her out on their first date.
At the end of the round of snacks consisting of chowmin and soft drinks in a restaurant, when she took his hand into hers thanking him for the wonderful time, she could feel his hand shaking.
She couldn't have dated Manoj more than two-three times yet their relationship was the talk of the school. Riya could remember the nights she would go to Pissimoni’s (her father’s elder sister’s) room, giving everyone at home the impression that she was preparing for the Boards, when the fact was that she spent half the nights chatting with Manoj, professing her profound love and fantasizing for the rest of the nights about the rosy days of their togetherness ahead.
Namrata had absolute trust in her only child and could never guess her real motive in going up to Pissimoni’s room. Besides, as Riya’s best friend, she was aware of the goings-on in her daughter's life.
Life couldn’t have been any better for Riya but for three incidents. Firstly, the night when they all slept in their room downstairs. Baba was back home for the Summer Break and was lying beside Ma on the other bed. Riya never expected him to get up in the middle of the night and pounce on the mobile she had kept beside her pillow, in the way he did it!
Holy yaaks! She had all her messages, chats and pictures with Manoj in the mobile! Riya sprang out of the bed as if her very life depended on it and snatched it away from his hands in a flash, hissing.
“You’ve no right to look into MY mobile!” she shot out. She didn’t know from where she could muster up the courage to scream at him like that. Her outburst, in the meanwhile, had woken Namrata up and as long as she was awake, no one could lay a finger on Riya. Not even her father. She wouldn’t forget the look of surprise and hurt on his face though. He stood near her bed, with a stupefied expression on his face, his head hanging low.
The second incident was when the Board results were out. From a topper in SCS, she became a mediocre student at CPS, result wise. She had none to blame but herself for the poor results. How could she concentrate on studies when she was so lost in Manoj’s love?
That afternoon, she had asked Manoj to come to her house to help her carry and sell the used textbooks at the College Street Market.
She wasn't prepared for what was to follow. She had no idea whatsoever that Baba had been closely monitoring her on social media, especially on Instagram. She had taken all precautions while posting photos on Insta to avoid being caught by him. She couldn't fathom how he had managed to see the photo of Manoj standing behind her in that orange shirt while she had the matching orange, house skirt and T-shirt on! The other pairs were also dressed in a similar fashion. God knew what ideas the photo might have implanted in her father’s head!
When Manoj trotted in the afternoon, Riya introduced him to her father.
“So, you’re Manoj. I’ve heard a lot about you. Riya shouldn't have troubled you like this, sonny. Coming all the way from Garia just to carry her books is something beyond me though! Anyway, the way the youths act these days is outrageous and was unthinkable in our times!” He said while Manoj looked at his feet and Riya looked daggers in the eyes at her father.
“Anyway, let me make it quite clear to you right now that if you two have become love-birds, she’ll go down in my eyes. For when I asked her about the kind of relationship you two had a few months back, she told me that you were just good friends and there was nothing more to it.”
Bhola paused for the words to sink in while Manoj looked completely ill at ease before raising his face up to Riya’s for the first time.
“Baba, it's getting late. We’ve lots of books to sell, so we’ve to get to College Street at the earliest.” Having said this, she literally pulled Manoj out of the room behind her.
A few months after this, Bhola heard it from Riya that she had stopped meeting Manoj as she had caught him red-handed with a former girlfriend of his.
Manoj was two-timing them!
After the Boards, Riya appeared at the NEET but her heart was never on being a Doctor. She was found to have qualified for MBBS the day the result was out.
“Baba, you already know that I’ve no intention of opting for the MBBS Course,” she told her father over the phone from Kolkata.
Bhola couldn’t believe his ears! Since Riya was born, he had wanted his daughter to be a doctor. No one got more respect in society than a doctor. He had already seen how two of his doctor relatives were treated like the royals! He had informed Namrata earlier that, if need be, they would sell their utensils and all to pay the fees for the MBBS Course.
“Baba, there’re three reasons why I don’t want to go for MBBS. Number one, it’s very expensive and you won’t like it a wee bit if you’ve to pay the expenses for the course for the next five years. Besides, there’s no guarantee that I’d get a job right after completing MBBS. I’ve to go for a specialisation like MD or something similar. That will cost more money. I know, you’ll make life hell every single day for the rest of my life if you’ve to pay so much…”
Though Bhola chuckled throatlessly to himself on the other side at this, he really thought his daughter was pulling his legs. He should have known her better!
“Number two,” she continued,” my ranking is not all that good. I may be sent, if I opt for the Course, to a very remote place. Again hostel, transportation, fooding and lodging …. almost everything will cost you money.”
When did money matter so much to him or to her? Didn’t he pay nearly ten thousand as her tuition fees alone for two years at a stretch when she was preparing for the Boards? She really couldn’t have meant what she was saying over the phone!
“And finally, Baba,” She barged into his thoughts again, “I’m tired of studying all day long. I ain’t the studious type, you know. I wanna take life easy, go for a diploma course, get a job and settle down ….”
All his dreams regarding his daughter’s future were being shattered to shreds. But as he had never imposed his will on his wife or daughter, he kept quiet. Was it wrong on his part? Should he have been more authoritative? He couldn't help wondering.
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All of Bhola's siblings had their own houses or apartments in Kolkata or at its outskirts except Bhola. As he had been working in the school in Pradhan Nagar in Siliguri, staying in the Staff Quarters all through his teaching career, he couldn't make arrangements to purchase his own in his native place. During holidays, he would come down to his ancestral home and stay there with his family. He had requested a couple of his siblings to look for a flat but they told him that he had to be personally present during the purchase as papers needed to be signed by him as the prospective owner.
Time flew by like that and Riya learned to get used to changing with her back turned towards him when Bhola stayed in the only room allotted to him in their ancestral home in Kolkata. He and his wife Namrata did look up a few flats during the summer or winter breaks. They were either not up to the mark or the price was exorbitant.
So, when Bhola finally found and bought a flat in Sonarpur, he was in the seventh heaven. That had to be the greatest achievement in his life. But as luck would have it, he was totally unprepared for the tricks that Life was about to play on one as simple and unassuming as he was.
Both Bhola and Namrata had liked the look of the flat advertised in the paper. They talked to its owner, Srikanta Babu the very same day and met him at his Jadavpur residence a number of times. A stylish man, liberal, amicable and a good host - Srikanta was a former Zonal Manager of New Insurance Company. Every time they visited his house, they were treated to some choicest sweets and a steaming cup of coffee without fail by his taciturn wife. At Namrata’s request, Srikanta even agreed to bring down the price of the flat by a whooping fifty thousand!
The flat that Bhola thought he would never have in his lifetime, was to be finally a reality. Srikanta paid them the key as soon as the advance money was transferred to his account. Bhola’s whole family was overjoyed. As all three of them, including Riya, were employed, Bhola had to be the one visiting the flat from time to time on holidays to supervise once renovations started.
Fortunately, his retirement happened at around the same time. Getting a lawyer for the deed, mutation, registration kept him busy for the next couple of months. Namrata had already consulted the family priest for an auspicious day for the house warming ceremony. A date was found in the month of February, the following year.
One day Namrata informed Bhola of Riya’s desire of paying for the things required for the living room of their apartment. One by one, the LG refrigerator, the 42” led TV, and the sofa set found their way into the flat. Bhola didn’t complain. If Riya wanted to pay for the furniture, let her, was his plain thinking. After all, she was earning good money by then.
One evening just before the house warming, Riya ordered dinner online. Sitting together, they were enjoying biriyani, chillie-chicken and ice cream when Riya quipped,
“Baba, you’ve been running our family for so long. Now, you're retired, we’ll all contribute equally to the monthly family income and expenses. I’ve also decided to maintain the accounts from now on at Ma’s request.”
Everything had been taken care of! He took it as a good sign as well and acquiesced with their plan. Bhola was not aware even then of the game that Destiny was playing with him!
“This’ll be my room. You can take the other, bigger room for Ma and yourself. I’ll have a rack placed here for all my books,” she cried aloud before adding, pointing to the wall. “And my room will be painted in my favourite colour, light green.” Her excitement was only too evident.
Though Bhola didn’t approve of such blatant expressions of feelings and opinions on the part of one so young, this time he refrained from chastising her as times were changing.
Once they shifted to the flat, Bhola tried to adjust to his life post-retirement. The two other family members were working ladies. As he had nothing much to do, (he was never interested in giving tuitions) he took it upon himself to sweep and scrub the rooms in order to keep himself physically fit. He also decided to do the laundry as no one had spoken about the need for buying the washing machine yet. But he was over sixty now and washing the clothes was proving a laborious job whenever he had to do it.
That day while he was on his way to having a short respite in between washing the clothes by sitting on one of the dining chairs before getting back to washing again, he was shocked to see Riya awake in her bed, casually fiddling with her mobile. Keeping her feet, one on top of the other, she was swaying them from right to left like the leaves swayed by a gentle breeze!
That evening sitting in their bedroom, Bhola intended on talking to Riya, who happened to be sitting beside him in a jolly good mood.
“I could never stay idle in my childhood or youth when either of my parents was alive and working. I’d make it a point to be helpful to them.”
Riya kept quiet with that bored look in her eyes.
“The way you dump all your clothes in the basket is something I couldn't have done in my life.”
“OK, Baba. If washing my clothes is proving such a hazardous task for you, I promise to clean them myself from now on and not to ‘dump them’ like you said in the basket any more.”
Bhola was happy. His daughter, an intelligent girl, no doubt, had realised that he was not young any more and it was a good sign that she promised to do the washing herself.
But when her jeans and shirts, socks and undergarments were there up to the brim of the basket the very next day, he was in for the surprise of his life!
He couldn’t remember what led to the quarrel that followed soon afterwards. He had called his Sis earlier in the day and remarked that modern women seemed to have taken it upon themselves to misguide their daughters and other girls about men. They had been spreading false conceptions about childbirth, that labour pain is an extremely painful and laborious process and there could be nothing comparable to that experience.
In the name of women empowerment, they were encouraging girls to have sex before marriage; live-in relationships and what not, he added. He also told his Sis that his daughter thought her Mom was the most hardworking lady in the entire universe when the truth was she was a work-shirker and skipped preparing the meals at the slightest opportunity.
After he had hung up, Riya ambled out of her bedroom, sat down on the chair at the dining table facing her father and exclaimed expressionlessly :
I wish Baba would be reborn as a girl in his next life.”
“Oh, I get it. You must have overheard our conversation on the phone. I didn't tell my sister any lies, did I? I don't consider your mother to be a hardworking lady ….”.
“You’re really impossible, Baba. How can you say that? From the time she gets up, she’s busy cooking, doing the dishes, and getting ready for office. She gets there by the metro. Do you have any idea what these to and fro journeys entail?
She comes back home at eight in the evening and has to make tea for you first thing just like I saw a cousin waiting for his wife to get back home from school to make tea for him! And then back Ma goes to the kitchen again to prepare dinner.”
“She doesn't cook for me alone. Why can't you do it sometimes if you care so much for her or do you expect me to do it along with the washing, sweeping and scrubbing?”
Riya started shaking her head. “You’re really too much. There’s no point trying to make you see reason. The very idea that modern girls, in spite of helping the family financially by being employed, are meant to be confined to the kitchen - is so deeply ingrained in your thought-process!”
One thing led to another and the burning issue of Tilottama, a trainee doctor, who was raped and murdered in a popular Government hospital in Kolkata recently, cropped up in their argument.
“As long as there are people like you, self-centred rapists, girls are never safe anywhere in the world.” Riya was fuming by then.
“Is this how you talk to your father? Me, a rapist? After all I have done for you! I’m ashamed of calling you my daughter.” He found his voice rising to no less a crescendo.
“Who wants to be the daughter of a rapist like you?” Riya was acting like crazy, shouting at the top of her lungs now. “Not me. Get the hell out of my sight. Get out of this house for all I care.”
Bhola, livid just like her yet too stunned to say anything, pushed his daughter away hard. Namrata, standing close by with bulging eyes, had murder in her eyes!
That is when Bhola, feeling all alone and scared, decided to leave the flat. As he was crossing the threshold, Namrata, quite composed by then, asked him to have something, not to leave the apartment on an empty stomach so early in the morning. But he was adamant and in a foul mood. Having slipped on the chappals, Bhola looked at Namrata and shaking his head very slowly, heaved out :
“I’ll never set foot in this house again. Never ever.”
Bhola never set foot in his own apartment again for as long as he was alive.
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