Of Saabs and Memsaab

Year: 1969.

Place: New Delhi

                In a small government quarter in Nanak Pura, three people were conversing quietly. The house was so small that you could hear everything from anywhere. “We are doomed…he’s gone off with all our life’s savings…we will never be able to complete the construction ever….,” said my sobbing mother. My father, as usual, never said much but the glum and gloomy look in his eyes said it all.  The third fellow was a huge Sardarji in uniform who was trying to understand the gravity of the situation and said, “Bangali tha kya….strange because bangalis are generally cowards and will never do a thing like this.” “He has not only cheated us, but many more people whose houses he was constructing”, said my father.

                My parents had, during partition, come over from East Pakistan (Bangladesh) to India in search of a better life. Pandit Nehru allotted them a piece of land in Delhi and named it EPDP (East Pakistan Displaced Persons) Colony which is now the famous Chittaranjan Park…Chit Park for many, now made famous by Shoojit Sircar in ‘Vicky Donor’ and ‘ Piku’. The land was given on a 99 years lease to about 2500 Bongs who were, mostly, working in government jobs. Both my parents applied and got two plots but my father did not accept his as he felt the larger plot he got, based on his salary, would be difficult to construct on with the small savings they had. They went on to accept Ma’s smaller plot.

                With all their life’s savings and a bit of borrowings from friends the construction started. One of my parents would go to the site alternately to see their house getting constructed. The foundation was dug and slowly the walls came up. The construction was being done by our architect-cum-builder Mr. Sen….no relation to us. The man was well known and many people trusted him. One fine day the construction stopped….the labourers got jittery after a couple of days and started complaining of lack of materials and non-payment of their wages. Mr. Sen was nowhere to be found. All the lost souls got together and, after much search, came to know that he had vanished to Calcutta with all the monies.

               Twelve thousand rupees is what my parents lost. It may sound silly but 45 years ago when my mother’s pay was about Rs 250 per month, it was more than a king’s ransom.  My mother was often found crying….the one litre milk in our house got reduced to half but we were too young to understand as our milk glasses were always full. Later she told us that she would add equal amount of water. The Sunday mutton became from a weekly to a fortnightly affair. My father, who could not eat a meal without fish that he so fondly got from INA Market, now got it once a week. New shoes were bought only when the earlier ones had been repaired many times over and the cobbler finally gave up on it. To us kids at home, we never understood anything other than someone called 420 had cheated us but taught us to live with little less. Ma had done away with the domestic help and would do everything from cleaning utensils to clothes to cleaning the house…cooking, that she so dearly loved, anyway continued to be part of her chores.

               After nearly six months, news came in from what I would now term as AAP (Aggrieved  Association from ex-Pakistan)… “ He is back in Delhi and is staying at Greater Kailash”.

               That’s when the huge uniform-wala Sardarji said, “We will go tomorrow to his house and make him pay up. I will get my jeep and we will all go together in the evening”. “Theek hai Commander Saab” my mother said, thanking the man who was an acquaintance from the Defence Ministry where she worked. The word jeep was manna to my ears. No sooner had the man departed I told my parents, “Aami o jaabo (I will go too)!” No matter how much my parents protested, I would not budge an inch. Next day after returning from school I changed into my favourite policeman’s uniform with a cap and a smart baton in hand. So many times my friends called my name to go out and play, but I did not leave my station even for a moment that day. As evening dawned, my parents returned from work. After a while, I saw an army jeep coming to a halt outside our house. Commander Saab came out and walked to our house and I quickly made my way to the back seat of the jeep. I was feeling like a big hero sitting there with my friends watching me with envy. After a while the army vehicle moved….

               This was like an Inspector Eagle story coming true….maybe the Army Commander was the Inspector and I was Havaldaar Naik…tan tan tarannnn!!!! With the address in hand the jeep reached the big bungalow at GK which happened to be Mr. Sen’s sister’s house. The guard outside saw the army vehicle and quickly opened the gate and saluted the army man. Whether I reciprocated the salute or not I do not remember but surely this was getting better and better. We were ushered into a huge room beautifully decorated with photographs, paintings and books all over. The servant got us some cold water and sweets. While my parents asked the servant to call the 420, I did not waste any time in eating the sweets laid before me and then went on to hog from my father’s plate as well when my mother gave me a stern look that forced me to sink into the super soft sofa.

                After a while came in Mr. Sen. He looked a decent guy…in his 50s with specs…looked every inch a ‘bhadralok’ you see at bong weddings and Durga Puja in crisp starched dhoti-panjabi. He sat down on the sofa set and started sipping tea. Commander Saab raised his voice, “When are you returning the money? Don’t ask me to use force and take you to the thana. These are my friends and I cannot see them suffer because of your charsobeesi…!” I was admiring Inspector Eagle’s style and his baritone voice and then looked at Mr. Sen who said that he did not have any money to pay. He had been declared bankrupt. The one sided talk went on for a few hours but the man just did not budge an inch, no matter how much my mother pleaded with folded hands and told him of our sorry state of affairs, or how much Commander Saab thundered. All this while, I was enjoying the mishti on the table as others were too busy in their heated conversation. As luck would have it, the sweets finished and so did the talks. We went back to the jeep and I slept off missing all the talks that would have happened on the return journey.

My parents accepted the fact that the money was gone. We all reconciled to a life that was not so easy. The worry was how to complete the house, where to get the money from. My mother took out her ornaments, not that she had too many, and sold them one by one. She asked one of her office colleagues, whom we knew as Chaudhury Saab (everyone in government office was a Saab in Delhi), who knew something about construction to help and he did. In the winter of ‘71, we moved from Nanak Pura to our CR Park house to oversee the finishing. As luck would have it, it was also the time of the Indo-Pak War when ,during the nights ,we had to shut out the lights whenever the siren would sound. We were living in constant fear that Pakistani fighter jets would soon bomb Delhi and blow off the roof we had got with so much pain and sacrifice from over our heads.

When the glass name plate was getting painted, normally the name of person in whose name the lease deed was registered would appear. My mother, although proud at being the Memsaab and landlady of the house, said the name plate should just read ‘Sens, K-2082, Chittaranjan Park, New Delhi’.

On this Mother’s Day how I wish I could thank her for all she did; how I wish I could say sorry to her for all the wrong things I did and said to her…..just love your mother no matter how old she gets, how much of a bother she is to you, for after the days are gone, there is only regret that remains. The sacrifice, the pain your mother goes through in her lifetime and the care she takes is difficult to pen or express. How often she would overlook your faults and be your best defender whenever anyone said things that were bad about you. Oh how I wish I could get some time to tell this to you Ma.

SS