Jolly John’S Last Laugh
1963 The bungalow, which I have bought from Richbold Montogomary has a down the earth price tag. The war with China is just over. Most of the remaining Europeans and Englishmen in particular have started leaving India in a hurry. Another war is more than a possibility . The tension has no chance to dissolve so early. I am a confirmed bachelor then with resolution to remain in India. Both of my parents of English origin were issued their Death Certificates after they had breathed last here. When alive, they used to say to me that they could hardly get a better place than the foothills of Himalayas characterized by the endless blue of sky or flaunting gold of paddy fields or its rich tropical forest . So after their death, I prefer to live by memories of mom and dad than settling alone in England or Australia. In fact, I hanker upon a simple but good life , rich of experience and knowledge like millions of my type of man and woman. You do not need to be crude to define us - very lonely, shy and unsociable . My perception is that I am rich by even sunrise and moonlit night. Bank balance on the contrary may lead to make me liable for worst situations , even crimes, which I am afraid of. So, the glitteratti of west did not seem to me to be my cup of tea for obvious reasons. During first inspection of the property, I find three important things of truth. One that Montogomary may have a larger sized name but has a small sized bunglow. Two, the price is a symbol of a desperate sale. Third, the impeccable scenic beauty of the place is not a common truth but an extraordinary one to enter into one’s brain and senses. The white but worn out neatly planned single story duplex pattern house stands at the middle of the valley , surrounded by a set of tall hills on guard from characters born in our belief like the gods and demons , whom local people strongly use to believe as dwellers behind those “ mountain ranges”. The peasants use to reach a certain temple down at the foothills for offering prayer with small animals like birds, chicken and goat. Their route to the temple is the road laid down in front of my bunglow. On various occasions, they use to move in a procession with much sound and bustle , by blowing drums and trumpet , women blowing caunch cell , children quarrelling with each other. A few large rooms with a portico, a balcony at the first floor apart from a square sized green lawn are parts of my possession. I have felt jubilant to possess that one, Montogomarys of Nainital went on staying for generations. I am settling down with the new place of dwelling at my newer address. My first action is to learn and know it more for acclimatization. With every new morning I start to learn newer things in that house. The footprints of the predecessors start being wiped out with the arrival of footprints of newer set. The nameplate of brass JOHN TAYLOR (JOLLY) has been fixed at the gate. The sun is flashing on my nameplate in every morning onwards. The road that can take me to the valley from the bungalow was a straight one , by the side of which a large contingent of trees standing in ovation for me, as I start to have a long stroll in the morning , when the light and shadow piercing through the leaves of the trees use to reach for my shoulder blades, caress my cheeks or touch softly on my receding hairline. The ecstatic chivalry of morning sun use to accompany invisibly with me , step by step in harmony with morning breeze and chill. But the moment I put my steps inside the bunglow , crossing the front door to enter the large drawing room , my invisible company uses to go for a change. It is not the mellowed darkness of old and stinking furniture or worn out walls of a time tested old house but an air of wet emotions moving around me to remain close . Thick but not alive. A very uncanny feeling of the seemingly insensible sense, that hardly murmurs but goes for deep sigh of nothingness. Such nothingness , can have no place under the sun but in the darkness, you can smell its sweat and breathing more and more with the passage of time. Within a few weeks of my stay, I can diagnose the closeness of air smelling female perfume of imported french make , speaking in silence – a lot of no words but so much of soundless whisper……… till I find a small locally made wooden pot with a lid …. And the pot is having a small dose of vermilion. So far I know the European family has had nothing to do with vermilion. I ask myself one day ,” Am I getting possessed by some spirit ? “ The answer knows the question or vice-versa. “No, Never . “ Then what is it exactly surrounding my body and soul round the clock ? The inquisitive mind has endless journeys to and fro in search of the answer but can hardly identify at so much of ease. At the expense of a month or a bit more, complete profile of the company has been nail painted. The mirror , when I use to comb at or fix up a tie , has given me a shadowy feeling of an English woman staring at me or at my reflection at the mirror, which neither me nor the mirror is clearly sure of. One day, I suddenly look around to check, and obviously, I see none there. Very shortly, my cheerful profile is gone. The reason , I have had a nick name of Jolly is fading fast. “ Vikhoo, come here ! I find some thing , say, a ghost figure at mirror for few days, Do you find anything, objectionable ? ” I ask him. “ No, Jolly sahib, nothing of the sort.” I do not bring more details to him. Otherwise, he will take the matter to public, making them suffer in panic and me in tension. Under the carpet of my apparently nothing-happened attitude, I am at first feeling gloom for buying a suspected ghost house . Then I start searching for a logical solution. The diversion from that pinching problem is another hide out , I decide to adopt. “ I have to divert my mind” I tell myself spontaneously. Retd. Colonel Sundaram is a South Indian by birth. They are known for their sharp intellect and strong mathematical sense. He is of erect physique with sharp nose and a dark skin. As one of my mates in the group of morning walkers, while having a stroll on the green for about an hour , he use to shared with us his good jokes and rich stories from life in Indian Army. “ Sundaramji, you often talk about logical solution of problems. In war also, you have seen top level officers solving problems in logical manner. Now, you tell me, does only man possess that kind of mindset or beasts are also prone to that ! ” He is taken aback at my out of the way question. He smiles and answers. - “Way back in late forties, during second World War, I had a worst toothache in extremely dense forest on the border between Burma and China. At one point , I was alone, and suffering from such acute pain that I was weeping on a low branch of a large tree for hours. That was winter season. Perhaps, such suffering could hardly be tolerable. And medication there was a far cry. It was before dawn , I heard huge movement of leaves as a monstrous ape did hang from higher branch of the same tree to throw a broken leafy branch to me with a grimace . Before I came to senses to understand anything, he was gone. Then I analysed the whole episode by logically putting pieces in one chain. His behavior became clear to me. I chewed the leaves and tender branch covered in them like a hungry cow. Gradually the pain started receding to end. I was cured . People believed that it was miracle of God. I as the victim believe that the miracle was the result of strong observation and logical thinking of a wild beast to turn to a typical physician at that odd hour for prescribing the herb that would heal. “ Colonel. Sundaram stops. Then says, “ Jolly saab! Don’t you think that if this incident was documented and shown to the world, human beings as only animal with thought process and brain could have been dethroned of the centuries old supremacy and pride , which could be the greatest news for ever ?” I am amazed. Speechless. “ Oh Gosh! What a story !! But Sundaram saab, you find logical thinking of apes in this story, but I find aroma of love here as well. Is n’t it ? ” Sundaramji nods in confirmation. I have thought of serving this rich storyline on platter to my readers quickly. Let them share the taste of it. When on my way back home under the trees , a thing has struck my perception. Is there any logical solution of my problem without a single wave on the surface ? I have shrugged . As I scratched my head, I am sure to know that I have no flash of answer. A part of mind retorts,” All questions need not have answers.” The way to fight my problem logically out has got momentum. I become confident enough to solve this problem in my own way without any body’s intervention. So, confident…….. that I have become little more careless to cross dingy roads till a horse carriage hits me. My ankle has got a hairline injury as I have to take admission in a local Nursing Home in Simla. Next day, the first visitor with bouquet of flowers at hand during the Visiting Hours, is a lady I haven’t met before. “ Hello ! I am Dorothy, Dorothy Smith. Professor of English Literature, Simla College My apology. When the carriage has hit you , I was inside. Actually, I instructed the driver to run back fast to my home , where my gas oven was not put off , by mistake. “ “So, every thing is okay ? ” I ask. “Yes! I rushed, entered, and opened all doors and windows of my flat. So, accumulated gas went out fast. I am saved.” She smiles of relief. “ That’s fine. Thank god ! A hairline fracture is much welcome than a holocaust. “ I smile in humour. She blushes for few seconds. “ I am awfully sorry and embarrassed. Please do n’t make me ashamed. I could not sleep well last night. “ “Neither did I ! “ I laugh – in pain. “ Hey ! Please don’t tease me. I know that. By the way, this accident has brought us close. We have n’t known each other but staying in Simla for years. Right ?” “Yeah ! That’s true. Well… err.. , what about your husband ?” I ask. “ I am issueless Divorcee. My ex-husband is in Delhi, settled. Working as Consultant Physician( Nephrology), AIIMS.” “ Oh ! I’m sorry. “ I say. “No, no ! why you should feel sorry for that? I’m a self reliant woman. I ‘ve no problem. By the way, I shall come to see you daily till you are fit and discharged to go home. Okay ? “ Dorothy says. When she comes to know that I am a writer cum columnist of several leading magazines and newspapers, Dorothy is convinced that a friendship of understanding can be tried. She has brought me to her flat after I am discharged. She has given care . She prepares Mushroom Soup, Apple –pie, Lemon tart etc. , my favourites. She reads Tennyson, Shelly. She plays records of Nat King Kole,Harry Bella Fonte & Frank Sinatra. We enjoy. Then , she says her story. And gradually, she raises love in me………. love for a woman’s company……….elegance…….. comfort …. wavelength till we grow to be bold enough to hug ………. to lock in a kiss………...to not to try to miss each other. During one rainswept night, she inserts herself in my blanket with, not speaking a word, her blue sleeping suit rolled up to allow my lips to shelter her nipples , my chin to rest on the small pillow of her breast and my palm pressed, soft and warm between her legs. I can feel the rise and fall of her tits, listen to the fast rush of her breathing till we hold each other tight. We are asleep. Or lost. Or both. Thereafter. My return after a tiny sojourn of a couple of weeks sees the neighbors waiting in eagerness. All known faces are out there. And the Bunglow having my name plate. Vikhoo, my personal help lends his hands with a ear to ear smile on the face. I feel happy that they all care for me. Under medical advice, I can not move for eight weeks , except few small steps around my bed. Vikhoo takes me from room to room on a wheel chair. Even to the balcony. I sit alone to feel the nature that is around and to think of Dorothy only………. My love. I miss her too, as she is in Mumbai for attending a week long seminar. But , I think only of her. Her oval shaped face with curly hair is embossed in my brain. Her smile… looks…...words…..and the perfume she uses.In my mind, she traverses in a horizontal circle. And gradually, comes out with existence, that one can only feel. Within ten days, I am quite fit to walk limping from room to room, to toilet. Till I reach the mirror to shave and comb on my own. As I approach it holding my shaving kit , I feel typical ladies’ perfume and a shadowy feminine figure emerging from behind like ever before. I slowly open my eyes to see the reflection on the mirror…………………. It is of Dorothy’s… Not any other’s, I am sure of. I have started laughing at last. ……………………… 0000 ………………………. This is an original story written by Partha Pratim Majumder 53/1A,PGH Shah Road, Kolkata – 700 032 , India , Email : [email protected]/[email protected]
Copyright © 2004 Partha Pratim Majumder |