Chaalchitra

"Bajlo tomar alor benu..."

("The flute of your radiance begins to play...")

Mrinalini woke up to the tune of 'Mahishasurmardini' being played on radio sets of neighbouring households. On Mahalaya's auspicious morning, Birendra Krishna Bhadra's voice reciting the 'Mahishasurmardini Stotram' floated in the air. To Mrinalini, it always seemed like the first breath of autumn on earth. 

A sense of relief washed over her as the realisation dawned that all the chaalchitras ordered for had already been painted. Today, representatives of Puja committees and some bonedi households from Kolkata were supposed to collect the chaalchitras and pay her dues. The months leading up to the Durga Puja had been hectic. This was the time when demand was high for the chaalchitras.

Mrinalini put the kettle on the stove to make some tea for herself. Today she had no more work left on chaalchitras. She was just a year shy of eighty and those long hours of work for the past few months made her legs heavy and her hips ached. She added a few cloves and cardamoms to the boiling tea leaves for that extra tang.

The morning tea ritual was over. Mrinalini had ample time today. She lovingly looked for one last time at her own creations, the chaalchitras heaped on the floor of her workspace. In the middle of one particular chaalchitra, she had painted Mahadev. It reminded her of her own Mahadev - her long-departed husband, Subodh. Subodh was a chaalchitra and pot shilpo artist. It was he who initiated her into the art of chaalchitra painting more than sixty years ago. Mrinalini could almost visualize the shy, naïve, eighteen-year-old version of herself, the touch of Subodh's callused palms on her tender, creamy hands, gently guiding the intricate brushstrokes while she painted Radha-Krishna. She was the Radha, head over heels in love with her Krishna. Subodh was not just her partner, he was her mentor, her guide and her eternal lover - steadfast in his love towards his Parvati, just like Mahadev.

Subodh had always hoped to pass on the mantle of his art to Sunil, their only son. But Sunil had neither the artistic inclination nor the patience required to paint chaalchitras. Instead, he was more interested in making quick money. After finishing school, he managed to find a job as a security guard in a residential complex. When Subodh passed away, after forty years of blissful married life, it was Mrinalini who took up the mantle.

After Subodh's death, Mrinalini suddenly found all the colours drained from her life, leaving behind a gloomy, grey-tinted existence. The only things that added colours to her life were the colour palettes meant for chaalchitra painting - white derived from chalk dust, yellow from turmeric, blue from indigo and red from vermillion. She clung to those colours for dear life. Today as the honey-coloured autumn sunlight bathed the earth in a warm glow, she whispered, "Wait a little more for me, Subodh! Together we'll paint the heaven red."

Glossary:

Chaalchitra - A traditional form of painted panel art from Bengal, often depicting mythological or religious themes. These paintings are typically created on wooden boards using natural pigments. It serves as a decorated, painted backdrop behind Hindu deity idols, particularly during Durga Puja.

Bonedi - A term used in Bengal to refer to members of the traditional aristocratic or upper-class families, usually landowners or people of high social status with a long-established lineage. Bonedi families are often associated with wealth, heritage, and influence in society.

Pot shilpo - A term referring to artistic work involving painting or drawing on earthen pots, often featuring traditional motifs and designs, and is considered a form.of folk art from West Bengal, India.

Image: AI generated.

Table for One

Present day

This year, monsoon has arrived with a vengeance in Kolkata. There has been a steady downpour since morning. When Iravati stepped out of her office in the evening, it was still drizzling. With an exasperated sigh, she opened her umbrella and headed towards the nearby café instead of rushing to the bus-stop. Today, more than anything else, she needed to sit with herself.

As she neared the café, her mouth felt dry and her feet wobbled. She had visited the café many times with Neel. She was afraid that going alone this time would flood her with a fresh wave of grief and longing. But she was determined to get out of the murky feelings of heartache. So she steeled her heart and walked on towards the café.

As she stepped inside the café, the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee, buttery pastries, herbs and spices greeted her. After taking a cursory look at the menu card, she decided on Caffe Americano and a plate of Corn patties.

Two years ago

Iravati was fresh out of Engineering College when she joined "CodeLyne Technologies" as an Associate Software Engineer. He was already a name there- Neel Sengupta, Senior Project Manager. He was tall with athletic build. His broad shoulders draped in crisp cotton shirt, his neatly ironed trousers, shiny black shoes, few grey strands of hair near his temples rendered him an aura of respectability. He had piercing black eyes which seemed to scour anyone's innermost thoughts. However, there was a lingering shadow of melancholy in his eyes. He was twenty years older than Iravati and... married.

The day Iravati laid her eyes on Neel Sengupta, she felt an almost magnetic pull towards him. But she was well aware of his marital status. So she tried to give him a wide berth. Iravati herself was an average-looking woman with wheatish complexion and medium height. But her mother said that her eloquent eyes and her long, glossy, straight, raven-black hair made up for all her shortcomings.

Neel was proficient at his job. Iravati soon discovered that he was very kind-hearted and always willing to extend a helping hand to juniors when necessary. She also received his help on many occasions.

One and half years ago

It was a day of unrest. A day of revelation. The election results had just been declared. Around midday, there were violent clashes among followers of two rival political parties. All of a sudden, a strike was declared and the entire city came to a standstill. At evening, when Iravati reached the bus-stop, the road was almost empty save a few private cars. Suddenly a car stopped in front of her and the window glasses rolled down. It was Neel peering from the driver's seat.

"Want a ride?'

She hesitated for a few moments, then gave in.

The air inside the car was fragrant with the scent of Neel's woody, citrusy perfume. He broke the silence first and started making small talk. He talked about his unhappy marriage with Maya, about how trapped and suffocated he felt in that marriage. for the first time, Iravati saw a vulnerable man masked behind the suave corporate executive who had no one to care for him.

The distance between them suddenly melted that day. Iravati felt a strange affection for this man. She often cooked his favourite dishes to serve him during lunch-time.

Reshma, her workplace buddy and closest confidante, sensed something was amiss.

"Neel Sengupta is a married man. Don't fall for his charm.", she warned Iravati.

But Neel was Ira's own secret which she fiercely guarded from the world.

"You're over thinking. We're just good friends", she laughed drily.

With the passage of time, love between them intensified. She loved how he made her feel. She loved how his lips felt so perfect on hers. And she loved their secret love-making sessions.

Neel promised her that he would soon divorce Maya so that they could marry.

One month ago

The office grapevine was abuzz with the rumour that Neel's wife was pregnant. Ira's whole world crumbled down when she heard the news.

"Is it true?", she accosted Neel.

"Yes, Ira. It is true. I wanted to tell you myself, but didn't have the courage. It was just... a mistake. But now, I can't avoid my fatherly responsibilities for the sake of my own happiness. Forgive me, if you can. And please try to forget me."

Ira stood shell-shocked.

"One more thing. I've applied to the HR for a transfer. You don't have to face me daily."

Present day

The waiter placed her order on the table. She inhaled the invigorating aroma of the coffee and felt relaxed. Then she took a bite from the corn patties. The chopped green chillies of the stuffing set her tongue on fire. Her eyes smarted. But she didn't stop. Another bite. Then another. Something inside her unravelled.

She realised that what lies on the other side of heart-break is reclaiming her self-worth. He might have failed her, but she must not fail herself. He might have abandoned her, but she must not abandon herself. He might have wandered to a life that didn't include her, but she must not wander away. She must come back to her whole self.

Outside, the rain had subsided. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin up, gathered her belongings and headed towards the bus-stop. 

Image source: iStock

Her Mother's Lover

"Happiness [is] only real when shared." ~Jon Krakauer

The wedding preparations have begun in full swing now that the Pandit ji have fixed an auspicious date and time for the wedding to take place. It'll be a simple wedding ceremony, in the presence of the marriage registrar, with only a handful of close family members and friends present. The registry marriage, devoid of any wedding extravaganza, was Anu's wish. There's no such close family members on her side to take on the responsibilities of arranging the marriage. So a simple registry marriage was the only available option for her.

But no matter what, Mira Aunty and Parimal Uncle, Sumit's parents, are overjoyed and excited at the prospect of the imminent arrival of a daughter-in-law in their household. They are going out on shopping expeditions almost every weekend. Anu also accompanies them whenever she can afford time. 

With only one month to go for the wedding, most of the preparations have already been made. This weekend, Mira and Parimal are going to visit a renowned apparel shop to purchase their own outfits for their only son's wedding. On Mira Aunty's insistence, Anu is also accompanying them to help them make the perfect choice. 

"Look, Anu beta, how is this saree looking on me?", Mira Aunty asked inquisitively, placing the pallu of an off-white silk saree with maroon border tentatively on her shoulder.

"You look older than your age in this saree. Please choose something more colourful.", Parimal Uncle protested.

Watching their playful banter, Anu sighed silently. If only her mother could participate in her wedding, she would have been this happy!

*****

Anu was seventeen-years-old when Meghna, her widowed mother, introduced her to Ajay Uncle. And she took an instant disliking for him. Ajay Uncle made many efforts to win her heart-- buying her expensive costumes, taking her and her mother to lunch at high-end restaurants, showing genuine interest in her studies-- but all in vain. He seemed like an unwelcome intrusion in her life. Finally, when Meghna announced her plan of tying the knot with Ajay, Anu shifted to her college hostel and snapped all ties with her mother. Meghna sent her money every month, but apart from that, there was no real connection between Anu and Meghna. Anu received Meghna's letters on regular intervals, pleading with her to come back home, but that didn't change her heart. Meghna's phone calls, too, went unanswered. Gradually, the frequency of the letters dwindled and finally, they stopped altogether.

*****

Dear Maa,

Hope this letter finds you in the pink of health. You may be astonished to find a letter from me after ten long years. But Maa, I'm really sorry for all the pain I unknowingly inflicted upon you. Your marriage to Ajay Uncle came as a rude shock to me. After Papa's death, you and I had built a life together. And there was no space for any third person in that life. But I was so wrong. I saw you as a unidimensional person. Just a mother. Nothing else. I failed to recognize your need for a partner, your craving for intimacy. In my rage, I snapped all ties with you. But my perception changed entirely when Sumit came in my life. I began to view you as a woman.

Please forgive me if you can. And please try to attend my wedding ceremony. I'm sending an invitation card with this letter. You'll find all the details in the card.

With love,

Anu.

P.S.- Please try to bring Ajay Uncle with you, too. I want to see both my parents happy on my wedding day. 

*****

With trembling hands and teary eyes, Anu folded the letter and slid it inside an envelope. 

Image Source: Unsplash

Either You Want Your Daughter To Marry Or To Be Happy; You Can Only Get One!

 

“Love is love

Everything else is something else.” — Scott Stabile

Jaya looked from the open kitchen door towards the adjoining living room, while stirring the vegetables in the pan. Teesta was sitting cross-legged on the living room sofa, her eyes trained on the television screen. Head slightly tilted, the spectacles perched on her nose, she was chuckling silently sometimes. She was probably watching a comedy movie, Jaya thought.

Watching movies was Teesta’s only source of entertainment during Sunday evenings. In her tumbleweed hairdo, loose fitting t-shirt and pajama, she was looking more like a truant schoolboy than a grown-up woman.

Sighing silently, Jaya poured a little water into the pan and placed a lid on it’s top. Those sparkling pair of eyes behind the specs reminded Jaya of Tarun, her husband. Teesta had inherited her father’s brilliance. How unpredictable life was! Jaya wanted to spend her entire life with Tarun, yet destiny had other plans for her. The vegetable curry had started to simmer.

“Maa! Listen!” Teesta’s yell broke her reverie. “I have invited a few of my friends next Sunday to celebrate my new job. Is that okay with you? You don’t need to bother about the food. I’ll order something online,” she informed her.

“Okay, dear. No problem.” Jaya turned off the gas burner. Dinner was ready.

*

When Jaya looked down, the magnificent spectacle took her breath. It was the confluence of the two mountain rivers– Rangeet and Teesta. Nestled among the mountains was this hamlet Tinchuley, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city life. There were verdure pine forests all around.

“Beautiful! Isn’t it?” Tarun’s voice jolted her out of her reverie.

“Yes. It’s simply breathtaking,” a beaming Jaya replied.

It was their honeymoon trip to the mountain town Darjeeling. They stopped on their way back to Kalimpong at this Lovers Meet View Point to witness the surreal view.

“Lets make this trip memorable. I have decided to name our daughter Teesta, if we ever become fortunate enough to have one,” he suggested.

“But what if we have a son? What will be his name?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Hmm… well, we can name him Rangeet,” he guffawed.

*

All those seemed to be the memories from a previous life now. Jaya wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The coloured photographs of Tinchuley on the open pages of the magazine ‘Manabi‘ made her travel vicariously to the place. She was a regular reader of the women’s magazine. Its latest issue covered Tinchuley in the travel section. She absent-mindedly turned the page over. The next couple of pages covered the Lets Talk section where a panel of expert counsellers answered readers’ mental health queries. She tried to focus on reading the questions and answers and forget Tinchuley.

“I was in a relationship with a boy in college for more than two years. One day, he left me saying he never loved me and always wanted to end things to focus on his career. I am shattered. I tried to move on, but I never did. Please advise me. –Anonymous”

Jaya rolled her eyes. These young girls! The only problem they ever faced in their lives is break-up with a guy. Irritated, she shut the magazine. They would never know how difficult life could get sometimes.

Tarun had died in a car accident when Jaya was seven months pregnant, leaving her all alone to fend for herself and her unborn baby. It was a long, arduous battle of raising a daughter single-handedly while managing to secure a livelihood.

Teesta was a brilliant student. True to her name, she was bubbling and effervescent like a mountain stream. After obtaining her engineering degree, she landed a lucrative job at a tech firm. Now Jaya had only one unfinished business– to find a suitable boy for her daughter and arrange her wedding. Then she would be free from her responsibilities.

*

It was a sultry Sunday night. Teesta’s party was almost over. The guests had started to leave one after another. Jaya looked at the mess at the dining room, took a deep breath and tucked the pallu of her saree in her waist. She needed to clear the left-overs from the plates and place the plates in the kitchen sink.

“Can I help you, mashima?”

Jaya glanced up. It was Imran, Teesta’s friend from college. The boy looked quite handsome in his bristly moustache and straggly beard.

“So nice of you beta, but I…”

“Please mashima. Let me help you.”

The boy was surely trying to be helpful, but was there any specific reason? Her brows furrowed in anxiety. She had often noticed him glancing with admiration at Teesta. She was liberal enough to not bother about her daughter inviting her friend belonging to a different faith at home, but surely Teesta and Imran couldn’t be a couple. That would be… well, that would be simply impossible.

*

Teesta was humming a happy tune while getting ready when her mother stormed into her room.

“Where are you going you?” her mother accosted her.

“Maa, I’m going to Imran’s place. I told you yesterday about today’s party. Today is his sister’s birthday,” she answered calmly.

“Are all of your friends invited?”

“No, Maa. All of Shabnam’s friends are invited and only I am invited among Imran’s friends.”

“Why only you? Tell me.” Jaya started to lose her temper. This couldn’t be happening. Her daughter couldn’t let her down in this way. She would try to prevent the disaster with all her might.

“Maa, you know how much I love to eat biriyani. And Shabnam makes delectable biriyani. That’s why she has personally invited me to her birthday party.”

“What are you trying to hide Teesta? Do you… err, do you love Imran?” she asked hesitatingly.

“What? No!” Teesta waved a deprecating hand. “Bye for now, Maa. And stop overthinking.” She left the room in a huff.

*

It was Sunday. Teesta was watching a movie sitting cross-legged on the living-room sofa. Jaya finished cooking dinner and entered the living room. She tiptoed to the sofa and sat silently beside her daughter.

“Teesta, I have something important to discuss with you.”

“What? Tell me,” she replied, her eyes still glued to the television screen.

“Dear, you have finished your education. You have got a job too. Now it’s high time to settle down.”

“Settle down… what do you mean, Maa? Am I not settled?” Teesta was baffled.

“No, you are not. It’s high time I should start looking for a suitable groom for you.”

“No, Maa! Please! No!” she sounded horrified.

“Why? Do you have anyone in mind? If you have anyone in mind, don’t hesitate to tell me. I don’t have any problem if he is suitable for you.”

Teesta switched off the television.

“I have someone in mind. But I’m afraid if it will be a suitable match according to you.”

A shiver ran down Jaya’s spine. Was her worst fear going to be true?

“Is it… Imran?” she trailed off.

“No, Maa. It’s not him.”

Jaya sighed in relief. “Who is he? Please tell me. You can bring him home someday. I want to meet him,” she sounded eager.

“Maa, it’s not a guy. It’s a girl I love. I’m in a committed relationship with Shabnam, Imran’s sister,” Teesta answered calmly.

“What? What are you saying? Have you gone crazy? She is just your friend… isn’t it?” Jaya shrieked in disbelief.

“No. She is more than a friend to me. I never felt attracted towards men. But I never had the courage to confess this to you. Now that you want to get me married, I think it’s important for you to know my truth. I don’t like men, I like women.”

Jaya was shellshocked. She sat motionless on the sofa for hours. If Teesta and Imran being a couple was impossible, Teesta and Shabnam being a couple was simply preposterous.

*

It was a bright, sunny day. The morning air was crisp. Jaya was sipping her morning tea sitting on the balcony. The Gulmohar tree across the road was in full bloom, it’s chartreuse branches with fiery red flowers a stark contrast against the pale blue sky. The breeze bullied the reeds forcing them to swish and sway to it’s vagaries, forwards and backwards, this way and that. Everything was as it had been yesterday and the day before. The cuckoo bird continued it’s ‘coo-coo-once-is-not-enough-here’s-another’, coo-coo call, pleased with its own poetics, its rhythm unfaltering. So much had transpired, yet nothing had changed. Jaya felt as if her world had turned upside down. Whenever she thought of Teesta’s confession, her eyes turned moist. She was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. If only Tarun were alive, things could have been different. He could have counselled her, comforted her. All these years, Jaya tried hard to be a good mother, but now it seemed that she was an utter failure. Where did she go wrong?

The morning ritual of having tea sitting on the balcony was over. Jaya got up, the empty cup on her hand. Suddenly her eyes fell on the stack of magazines on the glass-top table in the living-room. Yes, the counsellers of the Lets Talk column of Manabi could help her. Hurriedly, she put the cup in the kitchen sink and washed her hand. Then she opened her mailbox and started to compose a mail.

“The major issue I face is about my daughter’s sexuality. She is a lesbian and feels no emotional attachment with any male. I feel very depressed sometimes. I just want her to marry a man and live a normal life like everyone else. Please help me. –55-year-old single mother.”

*

Jaya opened the latest issue of Manabi with trembling hands. She glanced through the contents quickly and took a mental note of the page number of the Lets Talk section. She quicked flipped over the pages. Yes, her letter was there on the top of all others. She was too excited, her heart beating wildly, like a teenage girl secretly reading her lover’s letter. She started to read the reply:

“Your daughter is very brave. Coming out to one’s family requires a lot of courage because we live in a heteronormative world. If we are not able to step into who we truly are and remain closeted, we may feel deep sadness. I encourage you to seek support groups for LGBTQIA+ individuals and their family members. Your daughter is absolutely normal and she is not alone. You have two choices — either you want your daughter to marry or you want her to be happy. You can only get one.”

Jaya decided to visit a psychologist for further clarity. It was about her daughter’s future and she didn’t want to take any wrong decision.

*

It was Sunday. Teesta was sitting on the edge of the sofa, fumbling with her mobile. She placed the dinner order online. She was feeling knots in her stomach. She didn’t know why her mother didn’t cook and instead asked her to order dinner online. Apparently, her mother had important discussions with her, so she didn’t waste time cooking dinner.

“Order placed. Now tell me what you want to discuss now,” she said nervously.

“I have some questions. If you want to spend your life with a woman and not with a man, what will do about children?”

Teesta was elated. It was a good question.

“Maa, I can always adopt a baby. There’s no problem in that.”

“What about security? What if you want to go to a hospital at three in the morning?”

Another thoughtful question.

“My partner will be with me in any crisis situation. Besides, we have safer cabs now.”

Jaya fell silent for a few moments.

“Invite Shabnam for dinner next Sunday at our home. I want to meet her. Tell her I can also cook delectable Biriyani,” she said finally.

Teesta was beaming with pride. She knew her mother could never be wrong. Never.

Editor’s note: This month’s cue has been sent by Manjul Bajaj, the author of Come, Before Evening Falls (shortlisted for the Hindu Literary Prize in 2010) and Another Man’s Wife (shortlisted for the Hindu Literary Prize in 2013) and In Search of Heer (listed for the JCB and other prizes in 2020). She has also written two books for children—Elbie’s Quest and Nargisa’s Adventures.

The cue is from her book In Search of Heer.

“The breeze bullied the reeds forcing them to swish and sway to its vagaries, forwards and backwards, this way and that. Everything was as it had been yesterday and the day before. The cuckoo bird continued its ‘coo-coo-once-is-not-enough-here’s-another’, coo-coo call, pleased with its own poetics, its rhythm unfaltering. So much had transpired, yet nothing had changed.“

Image source: Tanishq Mother’s Day ad/YouTube

A One-Night Stand

Decked in a heavy yellow Kanjivaram saree, when Pallavi entered the living room of her own house, carefully balancing the tray of sweets and savouries in her hands, she was already feeling like a clown in front of curious onlookers. Four pairs of eyes of the boy's party followed her as she set the tray on the centre-table and managed to settle down on the sofa. 

After the initial exchange of pleasantries, the boy's mother abruptly asked, "So tell me Pallavi, are you willing to work after marriage or you would like to be a housewife?"

Pallavi stared in shock at the lady. "Of course I would work, aunty. Otherwise what's the point of doing an M.Phil. in Chemistry!", she answered smugly.

Even her mother who was so keen on getting her married, was incensed at this thoughtless question.

The boy's sister shoved a gulab-jamun into her mouth and after chewing it thoughtfully for a few seconds, asked, "What is all this on your face? Acne scars?"

Her mother blurted out, "You needn't worry! It is curable. We've already consulted a dermatologist."

Even with the most assiduous application of sandalwood paste and Multani mitti (fuller's earth), Pallavi's acne scars had persisted. But her mother's intervention embarassed her. What was the need to justify the acne scars? All these people could notice in her was these scars. They never appreciated her thick-lashed eyes sparkling with brilliance or her luxuriant, black hair reaching upto her waist. And wasn't she more than her mere outward appearance?

"What is wrong with my acne scars now? I still look beautiful, isn't it?", she asked defiantly.

The boy's party was taken aback with this unexpected retort.

"Yes, sure.", the boy's sister murmured.

Pallavi was already feeling uncomfortable in the heavy saree. Beads of perspiration lined her forehead. All she wanted was to change into her over-worn cotton pyjamas and curl up in the sofa.

All this while, the boy sat silently.

"Beta, don't you have any questions?", her mother asked ingratiatingly.

"No, aunty.", he mumbled.

They left saying that they would get back soon after consulting the astrologer for matching of the horoscopes. Her mother sent a silent prayer to the gods for the finalization of the match.

But the gods seemed oblivious to her prayers. The horoscopes didn't match and the match fell flat.

*****

Pallavi was on the wrong side of thirty and this arranged marriage business had started to get on her nerves. She felt that she was doomed to spinsterhood forever. She pined for the 'right man' sans the ridiculous rigmarole of arranged marriage route and in the hope to find him, she started using a dating app.

Pallavi met Aditya via a dating app. The moment she laid her eyes on him, her mind wolf-whistled. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever met. Aditya's witty banter and ready grin charmed her. They hit it off instantly.

When they met for the second time, she was already craving for his physical touch. His gaze made desire flare inside her. After a few rounds of drinks, when he held her hand, she didn't pull away.

"Lets check into a hotel, Pallavi.", he whispered in a raspy voice which made her go weak in the knees.

She merely nodded in agreement.

"But first of all, let me make one thing clear. It's just a hook-up. Don't expect marriage or commitment from me. I get bored easily.", he gave out a small laugh.

After going through innumerable arranged marriage bride-inspection sessions, Pallavi was tired of waiting for the proverbial knight in shining armour. She, too, didn't want to die virgin and craved for physical intimacy.

What followed was a night of passionate love-making. But unfortunately and predictably, the second date never culminated into a third date.

*****

Soon Pallavi landed a cushy job as an assistant teacher of Chemistry in a renowned public school in the outskirts of the city. The school was a residential one and owing to the difficulty of daily commute to and from the school, she soon shifted to the quarter allotted to her inside the school premises. The serene environment of the school made her full of bliss.

In the euphoria of settling into her new job and new life, she didn't notice anything amiss till she skipped her period. She always had an irregular cycle, so she didn't suspect anything wrong. It didn't occur to her that she might be pregnant until a full two months later. As she tracked that fateful one-night-stand, everything came back in a rush. She vividly remembered that Aditya hadn't used protection that night and she, quite näively, didn't insist on using protection. Moreover, she wasn't on birth control and it never occurred to her to use the morning-after pill the following morning.

Her worst nightmares came true when two parallel pink lines on the pregnancy test stick confirmed her doubts. This came like a bolt from the blue. She had seen this in movies, but she couldn't believe that something as natural as getting pregnant could happen to her in real life, that too before marriage. The whole thing seemed surreal. She didn't want to be a single mother. Though words like "pro-life" or "pro-choice" weren't parts of her vocabulary, still continuing with the pregnancy was not an option at all. Rather, abortion seemed more of a necessity than a choice. She wept miserably for hours. She was afraid to share this terrible news with her parents or colleagues. Something must be done. She tried to pull herself together and booked an appointment with a gynaecologist the very next day. She was afraid of the doctor's reaction. So she took appointment of a female gynaecologist hoping that she would be sensitive to her.

*****

The bespectacled, middle-aged gynaecologist looked as prude as the starched cotton saree she was wearing. She made Pallavi go through an untrasound first to confirm her pregnancy.

Then she asked her how long she had been married.

Pallavi dreaded this question. Lowering her eyes, she fiddled with the edge of her dupatta before muttering, "I'm not married, doctor. It was a one-night-stand. I've decided for an abortion."

"Women of your generation are so reckless. I'd advise you to talk to the father of the child. Think of this pregnancy as an opportunity to settle down with that man.", came the brusque reply.

Hot tears pricked her eyes. She tried to explain that marriage was not on the cards. She made an appointment for the abortion and fled from the clinic.

*****

The anesthesia was slowly wearing off. And Pallavi was slowly drifting towards the edge of consciousness. There was a white-hot, searing pain in her womb, as if somebody had set her on fire. When she opened her heavy eyelids, she felt as if a veil had lifted before her eyes. She was utterly exhausted. She could see the prim gynaecologist in that room suffused with the smell of medicines and disinfectants. 

"Doctor, is it successful?", she managed to ask in a tired voice.

"Wait for the report.", the doctor replied curtly.

Pallavi rested for a while before taking a taxi back to her quarter.

*****

The report came after four excruciating days of waiting. Yes, the abortion procedure had been successful. But Pallavi slipped into a deep depression. She wasn't worthy of being a mother. Perhaps God would never forgive her for this irredeemable sin.

*****

After one year

Pallavi drew aside the curtains of the large French window of her room. Sunlight generously streamed through the window. Outside the teachers' quarters, the bougainvillea tree was in full bloom. 

She still shuddered whenever she thought of that godawful experience of going through an abortion. It took her many counselling sessions to recover from all that trauma and depression. Yet one positive outcome of that painful incident was that she learnt to take responsibility of her body completely. She still enjoyed sex as much as she did earlier, but gone was the callous attitude towards her body. She was full of gratitude towards the universe.

Note: According to a report by the India Spend, in 2016 almost 10 million women in the country undergo a secret abortion each year. However our homes, educational institutions and public platforms remain silent about the conversations surrounding it. At the heart of the problem lies two integral reasons that go against the principles of Indian family values: either premarital sex or what is seen as a denial of life.

Image source: Unsplash

This Is Not How Your Story Ends

"All stories must end so, with the next tale winking out of the corners of the last pages, promising more, promising moonlight and dancing and revels, if only you will come back when spring comes again."

-- Catherine M. Valente

Kolkata, 2022

"Yes, twelve boxes of Motichoor Laddoos. Make sure that each box contains twenty laddoos. And deliver the sweets to my place as soon as possible.", Upasana Roy issued frantic instructions to the shopkeeper of the nearby sweet-shop over the mobile. After that, she took a few moments to calm her jittery nerves.

"What will you do with so many sweets, Maa?", asked a bemused Radhika.

"I'll distribute the sweets among our neighbours.", replied a beaming Upasana. "After all, I'm the proud grandmother today.", she added for good measure.

"That's true. And I'm the proud mother. Lets plan a family dinner today at 'The Cinnamon Lounge' to celebrate Julia's success at the board examination. My daughter is a big girl now.", Radhika smiled triumphantly.

Julia came out of her room and tightly hugged her mother. "Love you, Maa!", she planted a light kiss on Radhika's cheek. "Love you too!", Radhika felt choked with emotions.

Who knew such unadulterated happiness was waiting for her? She had lost all hopes of becoming a mother. But destiny had other plans in store for her.

*****

Kolkata, 10 years back

The divorce dragged on for five years, almost as long as the marriage. When it was over finally, Radhika expected a feeling of relief to wash over her. Instead, she felt lost, depressed and despondent. She was a thirty-five-year-old divorced woman. She had never imagined her life to be this barren at this age. Her job as a software professional ensured her financial independence. But she felt that she was doomed to live a life devoid of love and affection.

Sitting on a couch in the living room, she was wallowing in self-pity when a gentle touch on her shoulder jolted her back to reality. It was her mother's touch.

"Beta, our neighbour Vandana has invited us for her daughter-in-law's baby shower. Would you like to attend it?, she asked gently.

Radhika was cut to the bone. She burrowed her head in her mother's chest and started to sob silently. Only she knew how a searing jealousy coursed through her whenever she saw other women's happy family pictures on Facebook. Or the photos from the hospital where the lucky mothers flashed tired, albeit content smiles with babies on chests. Or the pictures of pudgy baby fingers wrapped around their mothers' fingers. Each marked a milestone a woman achieved. The milestones she would, perhaps, never achieve.

Upasana placed an assuring hand over Radhika's head.

"Shhh... be quiet, child! I can understand your pain. But don't despair. You too can become a mother."

Radhika looked up quizzically. 

"What? How is that possible? Please don't advise me to go through the rigmarole of another marriage now.", she replied sarcastically, wiping her tears.

"No, child! I'm not trying to cajol you to marry right away the next guy you meet. All I'm trying to say is that this is not how your story ends. Rather, it's just where the story takes a turn."

"How can I have a baby without a husband, Maa?", Radhika was genuinely surprised.

"You can always adopt a baby, dear. Of course, it'll not be the same as having a baby with a husband by your side. Now you'll have to choose between having no baby without a husband and having an adopted baby. Which choice will make you happy when you reach the age of sixty? Think long and hard before you take a decision. Who knows when you'll meet the 'right sort of man'. Such things are beyond your control. Or may be, you will not want to remarry. Also, once you have a baby, some men won't be interested to settle down with you. Others will be fine with the baby and may be, you'll find the 'right sort of guy' among them. But regardless of whether you choose to re-marry or not, whether you end up finding the right guy or not, you'll have a baby."

*****

Kolkata, 8 years back

When Radhika registered for adoption, all she hoped for was a cuddlesome, healthy baby of any gender. But when she was going through the process of adoption, she realised that a child was after all a child, be it a newborn or an older kid. Soon she realised that the trend in India was to adopt younger kids. She started wondering what happened to the older kids. The older the kids got, their probability of getting adopted lessened, for no fault of theirs. And if these older kids were not adopted, where would they go? The institution sheltered them till they turned eighteen. After that, they were abandoned by the institution too. Considering they had been abandoned by their biological parents, this was their second abandonment. Radhika shuddered to think about how those hapless children felt.

It was the D-day, the day Radhika was supposed to become a mother. She could barely sleep the previous night, tossing and turning in the bed. By dawn, she fell into a fitful slumber. When she opened her eyes in the morning, she felt a strange adrenaline rush imagining about what the day had in store for her. She got ready in a jiffy. Then she looked at herself in the mirror and adjusted the pleats of her cotton saree one last time. She put a red bindi tentatively on her forehead, hoping that the red bindi would make her look more motherly. She cast one last appreciative glance in the direction of her soon-to-be-daughter's room which she had painstakingly decorated over the past few weeks. One central wall had been painted with a deep shade of pink while the rest three were a lighter shade of pink. Stickers of fairies and gardens adorned one wall while clouds were painted on the ceiling. A newly purchased bed with bright upholstery, a study table and a dresser were waiting in anticipation to welcome the new member of the family.

When Radhika reached the orphanage, the director told her that her daughter would be coming from the building on the other side of the courtyard. Radhika dropped her tote bag and waited anxiously to meet her daughter. Soon, the most gorgeous little girl she had ever seen walked into the room, holding the hand of her teacher. When Radhika inched towards her, she became afraid and hid behind her teacher, clutching onto her teacher's pallu. The director informed her that Julia had been adopted by a family earlier who later surrendered her. Radhika's heart melted for Julia and she made a promise to herself to be a good mother to Julia. She hugged her and shed copious happy tears. That day, 38-year-old Radhika Roy bacame the mother of a 10-year-old girl, Julia.

The initial days of motherhood were a roller-coaster of emotions, both for Radhika and Julia. As Julia was not a baby, but a 10-year-old girl, she naturally came with her own baggage of past experiences. Unlike other mothers, Radhika was not allowed the privilege of naming her daughter. By that age, Julia had internalized her name which had become a part of her identity. And with so much changes taking place in her surroundings, Radhika thought it best to let her name remain unchanged. The name, perhaps, acted as an anchor that symbolized a semblance of stability in Julia's life that had turned upside-down overnight.

Julia gelled quite well with both Radhika and Upasana. It seemed that she was thrilled to have a mother and a grand-mother and an opportunity to have a normal childhood. Age-wise Julia was supposed to be in fifth standard. But soon Radhika discovered, to her horror, that she was still trying to learn how to read and write like a first grader. Even though she attended school at the orphanage, no one really bothered to push kids like hers to learn. Radhika had a hard time getting her admitted into a school and helping her cope with her studies.

But the real challenge proved to be the court hearings which were like nightmares. Every time they went for court hearings and every time Julia saw her previous caregiver, she would get triggered. Her eyes would widen with fear. What would happen to her if her new mother left her with that caregiver? She would have meltdowns. She would clasp Radhika's hand tightly and weep bitterly. Radhika would try to pacify her. 

"Shh... don't cry darling... I am your family now and we will go back home together."

But Julia was inconsolable.

She feared going into crowded areas such as shopping malls and airports where her fears of abandonment surfaced. She threw tantrums whenever Radhika broached the topic of visiting shopping malls to buy her new dresses or boarding planes to go for vacations. Radhika had a tough time convincing her to come out of her cocoon. Motherhood never came easy for her.

*****

Kolkata, 2022

In a cosy corner of 'The Cinnamon Lounge', the three women sat together occupying a table. Three women of three generations. An array of delicious dishes were spread before them.

Upasana raised a toast first. "May you, my dearest Julia, live all the days of your life.", she grinned.

Next was Radhika's turn. "May you live to learn well and learn to live well.", she beamed.

Julia was the last to raise a toast. "Here's to being a family for eight years.", she gave out a warm smile.

The three women clinked their glasses together.

Note: Child adoption practices in India are not homogeneous. Among several personal preferences influencing the choice of the child to be adopted, is the desire for babies rather than older kids.

In 2015, the Central Adoption Resource Authority (CARA) issued guidelines that approved single people adopting children: "A single female can adopt a child of any gender," it said, making it easier for single people to adopt. This has now been replaced by the Adoption Regulations, 2017, which also allows this.

Yashoda's lament

The eastern horizon looks magnificent in a riot of colours as the orange-hued sun slowly makes it's appearance on the sky. The serene water of the Yamuna sparkles in this early hour of the day. I take a dip quickly in the river water. Then emerging from the river, I fill my pitcher resting on the bathing ghat with water and turn towards home. After returning home, I put the pitcher down and water the basil plant in the courtyard of our house. Did I just say 'our' house? That means, does my subconscious mind still consider Nanda Rai as my husband? I sigh heavily. Then I drag myself to my room to change into a dry cotton saree and head towards the puja room.

Lord Narayana is the presiding deity of this household. As soon as I enter the puja room, the fragrance of fresh flowers engulfs me. I notice a small cane basket full of flowers kept at one corner of the room. My lips curl into a smile of satisfaction. Malini, my personal retainer, has plucked the flowers and kept here for my morning ritual of worshiping the Lord. My health is failing of late. I can no longer work as hard as I used to do before. So I had no other way than employing a personal retainer. Nevertheless, Malini is a very hard-working woman and she takes great care of Nanda Rai's household.

I light a few joss sticks and offer the flowers at the feet of the Lord. I then start my prayers, "One about whom we don't get any clue at all through mind, words, or actions, who pervades this universe, and by whose power we easily come to know everything in this universe, I take refuge at the feet of that Narayana of incomprehensible power."

I pause and reflect on my personal misfortune. Then I start praying fervently to the Lord, "O Narayana! Please cut asunder the cord of my maternal affection which binds me so that I become free from the 'sense of mine' towards the body, house, and children, and gain refuge at your lotus feet." I start to sob silently.

I don't know how long I sobbed sitting in front of Lord Narayana when Malini's voice snaps me out of my funk. She is calling me for breakfast. Unwillingly, I step outside the puja room. Of late, I have lost my appetite. Malini places the plate in front of me. It contains flattened rice and curd. As I start eating my breakfast sitting on the kitchen floor, Malini starts preparations for the lunch. She peels and chops the vegetables. And occasionally stirs a pot on the chulhah, containing butter. The butter melts into ghee. The rich aroma of ghee wafts in the kitchen.

"Maa, I need to take some leave. Will you be able to manage on your own for a few days?", Malini asked me softly.

"Why? Is there anything urgent?" 

The thought of managing the household on my own annoys me. I think I have got used to her presence in my life.

"Lalita is pregnant, Maa. It's her first pregnancy. So she has come to stay with me. The pregnancy has come a full term. She is due to deliver the baby soon. I need to be with her at this time."

I know Lalita, Malini's daughter. She used to come to our home when she was a child. Now she is a lively young lady. Malini is a lucky woman, indeed. I too gave birth to a daughter. But destiny separated us. And the son whom I raised so lovingly, never looked back at me.

A commotion is heard outside in the cowshed. The cowherd boys have come to take the cattles off to graze. Men whom Nanda has appointed to milk the cows have come. The clanging of brass vessels can be heard. Some women have come to take milk, butter and ghee to the market. Malini goes out in the courtyard hastily to supervise everything. Life for a cowherd family is not easy. There is work to do from dawn to dusk.

I focus on finishing my breakfast. After finishing the breakfast, I come outside the kitchen. There is lot of work to do. I squat in front of a vessel full of milk and start churning the milk to turn it into butter and buttermilk. When my son was very young, he used to love to savour butter. I don't know what he loves to eat now. My mind drifts in and out of reverie. If I didn't lose my daughter that day, I too have become a grandmother by now. Like Malini. Daughters make at least one yearly sojourn to their parents household. They also come during their first pregnancy customarily. Sons don't have any such obligations. I have heard that my son has sired children. Though I never had the good fortune to meet any of my grandchildren.

I still remember that fateful night. The sky was overcast from the morning. Then came the drizzle in the evening. By night, it changed into a heavy downpour. A violent storm raged outside. Inside my room, I was writhing in pain. Then I felt an excruciating pain around midnight and lost consciousness. When I regained my consciousness by morning, I saw a little baby boy sleeping beside me. I wrapped him in a loving embrace. I was a mother finally. I felt complete. I named the boy 'Krishna' or the Dark One, because his complexion resembled that of rain bearing clouds.

I raised my son with great care and affection. I had everything a woman can ask for: a home to call my own, a loving husband, a healthy child. My happiness knew no bounds. But back then, my fledgling self didn't know that happiness is fleeting. It has always eluded me.

I know that the bards will sing paens for me in future, praising my love towards little Krishna. People will know me as the epitome of motherly affection and virtues. But they will never come to know of the searing pain that afflicts my life in these autumn years of my life. The pain is so intense that sometimes it seems that it is ripping open my heart. The pain brings tears in my eyes, making my vision blurry. Through that blurry vision, when I look at my own reflection, I don't see the image of an ideal mother. Rather I look like a sham who failed to protect her newborn daughter.

My son was no ordinary. He had demons to slay, wars to win, kingdoms to conquer, philosophies to preach. So one day, he left us to fulfill his own ambitions. And he never came back. I being his mother, always prayed for his well-being. I heard that he had become a king. That he had married, not once, but eight times. But I didn't witness even a single wedding. I tried to accept his absence in my life with equanimity. Perhaps this is the fate of all mothers with successful sons. 

Then came the revelation. The revelation that shattered my world forever. Kalawati, my friend and confidante, revealed the secret to me. Kalawati is the mother of Radha, my son's playmate. Krishna told the secret to Radha which she, in turn, told her mother. And from Kalawati, the news travelled to me. She told me that Krishna was not my biological son. That I gave birth to a baby daughter that night. Vasudeva exchanged her with his own son. And my beloved husband, Nanda Rai, wad privy to all these happenings.

I never craved for a daughter. I just craved for a child made of my own flesh and blood. Nanda deprived me from being a mother to my own daughter. A daughter who would have become my own reflection. Since that very day, I started to loath my own husband. By suppressing this terrible truth from me, he has proved that he considers me nothing more than a foolish woman. A puppet in his hands, perhaps. I was never his life-partner in the true sense of the term. I tried hard to trace my daughter, but in vain. It seems as if she vanished in thin air.

We wait for so many things in life. For women, the waiting game starts in childhood. I remember my girlhood years when I used to play with dolls. My mother used to tell me that one day, I would have a husband and children of my own. While taking care of my dolls' household, I dreamt of a real household of my own. Husband. Children. Grandchildren. Now in the twilight of my life, I realise that there's no reward at the end of this waiting game. That the household that I once dreamt of is a mere illusion.

Today I finally realise that I am not Nanda's wife. Or Krishna's foster mother. I am Yashoda. A woman only. A woman who can be manipulated. A woman who can be fooled. And a woman who finally realises the futility of the waiting game at the fag end of her life.

Image Source: By Raja Ravi Varma

This story is one of the winning entries of the October 2020 Muse of the Month contest at Women's Web.

Happily Ever After

"You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection." ~Buddha

Have you ever heard of "Rosogolla"? If you are a Bengali like me, you must be all-too-familiar with the name of the famed sweet. Or that divine sensation when you put the spongy, syrupy sweet in your mouth. Now imagine a world where everybody is obsessed with Rosogolla. Bards sing paens praising Rosogolla, white like moonlight. Poets write poems about it's out-of-the-world taste. Filmmakers make films where the main theme is, well, Rosogolla and it's virtues. Lovers feed each other freshly made Rosogollas. Newlywed couples gorge on Rosogollas during their first meal together. Does any of it make any sense to you? You're probably feeling befuddled seeing everybody around you fussing over Rosogolla. It is, after all, just another sweet. Why this insanity for it? Quite naturally, in a world obsessed with Rosogolla, people will look down upon you. Over time, you'll begin to think that you are probably different from the others. Now replace the word "Rosogolla" with "Love" and you'll understand exactly how I feel about my existence in this planet. I am Aditi. A 24-year-old corporate lawyer. Welcome to my world.

*****

"Hey, have you noticed the new professor? He is such a dreamboat.", Nisha whispered.

I didn't know how to respond to such comments. 

"I... umm... I mean..."

While I fumbled with my response, Shweta chimed in. "You mean, Professor Chatterjee? The other day in his class, I just couldn't take my eyes off him. He has such a husky, sexy voice."

All the other girls burst into an uproarious laughter. It seemed that just the woody, spicy notes of Professor Chatterjee's perfume would give the girls of first-year a collective orgasm.

I mumbled an excuse incoherently and decamped from the classroom with utmost velocity.

During my teenage, when all the other girls gossiped about men, I always found it hard to participate. I never took a fancy to any man. For a long time, I used to think that I was, probably, broken. That was something hard to accept given the fact that I had a fairly normal childhood. Though my parents never showed any signs of intimacy in front of others, they had quite a functional marriage. They tried hard in their own ways to give me a secure, comfortable life. While my father worked hard to ensure that bills were paid on time, my mother ensured that we had hot meals ready on the table when we were hungry. Then why did I grow up to be different from other girls? For a long time, I simply didn't have any answer. It's not that I liked women instead of men. Surely, I was not a lesbian.

*****

When I was in the final year of graduation, Nisha, my closest friend, broke up with her boyfriend. She was devastated. While I tried to comfort her, I often wondered about the futility of love and relationships with the opposite sex. If this can lead to so much pain and heartache, what was the point of falling in love? I tried to explain my point of view to Nisha. But she merely sniffled and looked at me strangely. "You won't understand, Aditi. Or you'll probably understand when you will fall in love." She looked away to hide her tears.

All this while, I was searching for the answers to my questions in internet. Why was I so disinterested in men, even when I was well into adulthood? Why sex didn't mean anything to me? What was wrong with me? Was there others like me? As I started to dig deeper, I discovered that I was not broken. I was 'asexual'. And there were many people like me all over the world. It was a revelation to me. As if someone had removed my blinders and I had started to see the world from an entirely different perspective.

*****

After completing my studies, I had started working as a corporate lawyer with a reputed corporate. Meanwhile, Nisha's parents had chosen a nice guy for her and she had agreed to go through the arranged marriage route. As her closest friend and confidante, I was playing the role of a bridesmaid. I chaperoned her in all her shopping expeditions and visits to the salons.

"You know Aditi, he likes mountains. So we're heading off to Shimla immediately after the wedding for our honeymoon.", she said coquettishly.

"And what do you like dear? Beach or mountain?", I enquired.

"I just want to see him happy.", she lowered her eyes coyly.

On the D-day, when she was exchanging garlands with her husband, I realised that I, too, wanted to become a bride. This nervous excitement leading up to the D-day, this anticipation of stepping into a new life, blessings of elders and gods, the incomprehensible Sanskrit chants of the priest, seven pheras around the sacred fire, the bright red vermillion in the parting of hair, the glitz and glamour surrounding the marriage ceremony, the meticulous planning for the honeymoon-- I wanted it all. But at the same time, I didn't want to put up with any dowry demands, curbs on my personal freedom, leaving the comfort of my own home, pesky in-laws or domestic violence most of which are ubiquitous features in Indian marriages. I wanted love, security and comfort. And I never wanted a man or a woman as my partner. In short, I wanted to be a bride, not a wife.

*****

I run my fingers over the smooth fabric of the exquisite, lustrous silk saree. The golden threads forming intricate floral patterns make the Benarasi saree look appealing. The scarlet red hue of the saree matches the depth of the pleasure that I'm feeling on my special day. The salon girl's deft fingers fiddle with my long tresses and arrange them in a neat coiffeur. I take a final look at myself in the mirror and adjust the pleats of my saree one last time. The bright red-coloured bindi at the centre of my forehead is sparkling. My kohl-rimmed eyes have taken on a new brilliance today. Slowly, I descend down the stairs. The heavy wedding saree has slowed me down considerably. I saunter towards the wedding mandap teeming with guests. 

My parents have always been supportive of all my decisions and given me carte blanch to do as I please. Though the news of my wedding has created quite an uproar in social media, my parents have not only supported my decision to marry, but they have also gone the whole hog to hire a decorator, a priest and a wedding photographer to make my wedding extra special. Thanks to the decorator, the wedding venue has been beautifully decorated with strings of marigold and tuberose flowers. The priest who is supposed to solemnise my wedding beckons me to go through the wedding rituals. I take seven pheras around the sacred fire, mumble Sanskrit chants after the priest and finally, apply vermillion on the parting of my hair. Then in front of the astonished guests, I fish out a piece of paper tucked safely inside my handkerchief. I have neatly scribbled seven wedding vows on the paper. I start to read the vows slowly.

I vow to accept myself with all my strengths and faults.

I vow to be my beloved always and in all ways.

I vow to live life on my own terms forever.

I vow to prioritise my own happiness forever.

I vow to comfort myself during times of hopelessness, despair, depression, disillusionment, or any difficulty that arises.

I vow to always forgive and believe in myself.

I vow to never refuse, abandon or scorn myself.

Wedding rituals being over, I head towards the dining area to gorge on the delicacies prepared for this special day. I stuff my mouth with the delectable kosha mangsho, unmindful of the stares of the guests who have, probably, never come across such a ravenous bride. I know that many people mock me though some have applauded me saying I'll be an inspiration to many. Some have labelled me as being narcissist while some have criticized sologamy as a bizarre act, something unsuitable for Indian culture. 

People's opinions are a dime a dozen. But I have never cared for others opinions and have always listened to my heart. Between mouthfuls of bhetkir paturi, I start dreaming about my honeymoon. Tomorrow, I'll fly off to Goa to enjoy the bliss of solitude in my solo honeymoon.

Note: Sologamy is the act of marrying oneself in a public ceremony, also referred to as self-marriage or autogamy. While such a marriage has no legal sanction or status, the symbolic ceremony is used by many as an act to emphasize their self-love and independence. There are no rules or social norms. They can be similar to traditional two-people weddings, or not.

Glossary: kosha mangsho- The spicy Bengali mutton curry.

bhetkir paturi- Bengali style Barramundi Fish cooked by wrapping in banana leaf.

Rosogolla- A Bengali dessert.

Acknowledgements: Articles like this and this.

Image source: unsplash