Literature often speaks of strange or sublime creatures. Nabarun Bhattacharya’s Fyataru is a magical set of flying human beings. Fyatarus are marginal to society and fight diabolical interests. Their anthem was even made into a song by the Bangla band Chandrabindoo.
Satyajit Ray’s Tarini Khuro is full of funny and fantastic tales. Being mistaken for a dacoit or having to play cricket with Ranjitsinhji’s bat, his tall tales are enthralling, but often stretch the imagination.
Here is my share of curious characters. And unlike Tarani Khuro, I can vouch for their existence. The only reason I am not using their real names is the fear of legal action and assault.
For many of us, who had to study the story in school, Uncle Scrooge in Dicken’s Christmas Carol was the epitome of cold-hearted miserliness. No longer. Move over Scrooge, now Kripon Mandal is here.
Kripon (obviously a moniker he has gathered over the years) refuses to switch on lights and fans at home. He reads his correspondence using the light that emanates from his TV set. Yes, he is addicted to television. Otherwise, even the TV set would have been in switched-off mode.
He charges every family member for any ‘additional’ expenditure that might have been incurred on their behalf. A bus or a parking ticket, jhal muri at the local mela, their share of rickshaw fare… every cost is apportioned and billed. And the children are made to pay. It is not uncommon for earning family members to pitch in, but making schoolchildren pay is Dickensian in many ways.
Kripon Mandal is not the only one. Oddities are sprinkled across our lives and times. Take for instance, Bati Pagli. The Aquaguard at Bati Pagli’s residence conked out four years ago. And she has refused to repair it ever since. Every morning, dot at 10am, she ventures out with a bagful of empty plastic bottles. All neighbours are requested to fill up only one bottle each so that they do not find the request burdensome.
She collects the filled bottles and returns home a happy woman. Then begins the arduous task of storing that water. Saucepans, medicine bottles, bottle caps, slightly curved plates, glasses, airtight plastic containers… anything, literally anything that can hold a little water is used. And this has worked for her for four years!
Papaya Pishemashai has a scientific bent of mind. He tries naturopathy on fruits. Once, when his daughter’s would-be mother-in-law had dropped in, he offered to serve some delicious ripe papaya to fix her constipation. When Papaya Pishemashai instructed his manservant to take the papaya out of his pyjamas, the would-be MIL almost fainted. She was unaware of the fact that Papaya Pishemashai kept the papayas wrapped in his pyjamas to help them ripen faster!
Then there was Dudu Mama. Dudu, as you would know, means breast in Bengali. How he came to acquire such a name is unknown to his family, but the name stuck. In defence, some would say, dudu meant two or twice over, implying his parents thought him good enough to perform the role of not one, but two sons.
History has not recorded whether he lived up to his name, but what he did do over and over again was to unfailingly get drunk in the evenings and turn up at his nephew’s place and threaten to kill him. Sholay was still some years away, but Dudu Mama’s daily dialogue was quite akin to “Maa kaa doodh piya hai toh…” The nephew’s family could never fathom what prompted such a murderous outburst. Thankfully, he never carried out his threat.
But the man to beat all men is Plabon Pardesi. This gentleman hails from the outskirts of Dumdum and lives in the US of A now. Nobody knows for sure what he does there, but it is rumoured that he is a janitor, which he hotly denies. To prove the point that he is no ordinary NRI, he sponsors the annual jatra held after Durga Puja.
As the sponsor, he demands a speaking part in the jatra. He arrives a day or two before the jatra is performed and has little time to rehearse. It does often happen that Plabon Pardesi forgets his lines in the middle of the performance. What occurs next is pathbreaking.
The jatra comes to a sudden halt midway. Plabon goes backstage to rehearse his lines and makes a comeback once he is confident of delivering them. The audience waits. The other actors wait. The jatra is over once Plabon Pardesi is happy with his performance.
Imagine Sunil Narine being hauled for a six by Rohit Sharma in an IPL game. Sunil is not happy with his action, halts play, goes to the nets for a quick practice session, and then comes back to bowl! Plabon does something similar.
The next guy under scrutiny is very aptly nicknamed Gautam Gyne, with due apologies to Upendrakishore Ray Chowdhury. This Goopy-act alike was never granted any wishes by the King of Ghosts. He remains amongst the most tuneless citizens of Kolkata. But unlike some of us, who would hesitate to demonstrate our lack of musical skills in public, Gautam Gyne revels in displaying his talent, or the lack of it, to unsuspecting strangers.
He carries his gaaner khata everywhere. Everywhere means everywhere. To the market, public toilet, annaprashan, funeral procession, political rally, morning walk, laughing club, doctor’s chamber… everywhere. He strikes up a conversation with the person sitting/standing next to him and after the initial remarks, steers the conversation towards music.
The moment the hapless victim expresses even the remotest interest in music, out comes the gaaner khata and Gautam Gyne sings with full-throated ease. Imagine yourself stuck in a public toilet, letting go after a long drive in terrible traffic and the guy next to you is murdering one of Kishore Kumar’s greatest hits! You cannot run away because your hands are full, and you have made the mistake of admitting to a stranger that you quite fancy the songs of the most famous Ganguly from Khandwa!
It is rumoured that markets empty out, schools declare a holiday, doctors go on long leaves, laughing club members fall silent, political rallies disburse when the word goes around that Gautam Gyne has been sighted. Cricket commentators in Hindi use this favourite phrase, “Khata khola hai’’, implying that the batsman has opened his account – scored his first run, that is. However, Khata khola hai – for Gautam Gyne has ominous implications for anybody within earshot!
Then there is Dental Debjani. If she ever makes a request, you cannot brush her aside. She takes it to heart and stops brushing her teeth! “We need a 56” TV in the house”! Her word has to be her husband’s command. If he chooses to ignore her request, there will be gentle reminders for the first couple of days. No response. Very well, then. No brushing my teeth!
Unconfirmed reports have it that Dental Debjani’s husband is fond of kissing. It is a well-known fact that kissing leads to increased saliva production, reduces plaque and cavities, and boosts the immune system. However, what is not particularly well known is that the husband in question likes kissing because it is a pleasurable activity and not because of its positive oral health impact. Debjani knows that well.
Hence, the decision to stop brushing to make kissing less pleasurable. The husband once had a close brush with death trying to kiss his wife after she had not brushed her teeth for a week. He promptly bought her the TV. At least, somebody in Kolkata finally got a 56”!
Until now, we have been discussing solo stars without paying attention to those hunting in pairs. Imagine a children’s game named after a couple!!! People staying in a particular area of Rajarhat would have experienced children playing the Srijit-Srilata Game. The game involves a young girl sitting in a pushcart, tricycle or a step walker and a boy pushing it around. And around and around. The longer the duration, the better.
The afore-mentioned couple – Srijit and Srilata – has a car that reportedly breaks down frequently. Srilata, it is said, refuses to disembark from the stalled car, compelling the hapless Srijit to push it all the way home or to the nearest motor mechanic while his bitter half frets inside the vehicle. This has happened often enough to obtain the proportion of folklore and lead to a children’s activity being named after them.
Another odd couple, Divya Diarist and Naresh Narcissist, must find mention here. As the nickname suggests, Naresh was in love with his own voice. So was Divya. They were this besotted couple at Jadavpur University during our times. Naresh would speak for hours. Divya would take copious notes in her diary, not missing a single word of what Naresh uttered.
It was more like a guru-shishya situation. Seeking enlightenment at the feet of her master. As is common amongst a lot of gurus and shishyas, they got married. Divya, being the sharp student she was, found a lucrative job and built a successful career. Naresh was left with a voice that nobody listened to any longer. He turned alcoholic. The marriage turned sour. Divya still kept a diary. Not of what Naresh said but what he did. It helped with the divorce.
Arup Ghosh is a communications expert and columnist.
