Poignant

What is your favorite genre of music?

Falguni stood staring at the top of a beetroot which peeked out of the
ground. She thought for a while and arrived at the conclusion that
maybe it was time to take the beetroot out and ask my grandmother to cook
something delicious.

Falguni ran on the small path through the garden back towards the
house. Falguni’s grandfather Mr Basak was reading a newspaper on a
chair, in the compound adjoining the garden. His favourite team had
won the cricket match last night, he was enjoying it even more by
reading about it in the newspaper.

Mr Basak heard the sound of two small feet approaching, he folded the
newspaper and smiled at Falguni.

“So, who is chasing you today? Is it the cat or the squirrels?”, asked
Mr Basak holding Falguni’s hand.

Falguni felt shy remembering how she used to scream on seeing a cat or
a squirrel, “I am not afraid of cats or squirrels anymore,” then her
eyes grew wide with excitement, “guess what I found in the garden?”

Mr Basak made a very curious expression, “Did you finally find the
tree which grows candies?”

Falguni giggled, “No, I have not found that tree yet. I will find it
one day. What I have found today is a big beetroot; I think we can
take it out of the ground and grandma can cook it.”

The fragrance of sandalwood floral incense sticks burning crept out of
the room into the compound.

“Looks like your grandma is busy with the morning prayers. Come, let’s
go and get that beetroot you found,” Mr Basak said.

Mr Basak took out the gardening spade out of the tool cabinet and then
followed Falguni to the garden. They reached the spot and Falguni
pointed out.

“So, what do you think? Am I right? Is it ready to be taken out?”
asked Falguni with excitement.

Mr Basak looked at the beetroot and said, “Oh! You are absolutely
right. Let’s take it out at once.”

Mr Basak loosened the soil around the beetroot with the spade and took
the beetroot out of the ground, holding the stem of the beetroot. Then
he proceeded to remove the soil still clinging to the beetroot.

Falguni looked carefully at how her grandfather did it.

“Next time we find a beetroot, I will take it out,” Falguni said excitedly.

Mr Basak smiled, “Of course you will. In fact, if there is any garden
related work, I will pick up the phone and call you back home to come
and do it. You will come, won’t you?”

Falguni giggled, “Yes, I will. When I grow up a little, I will be able
to travel by myself, then I can always catch the train and come down
here and I will stay for many days beyond the school vacations.”

Mr Basak smiled and yet felt a hint of sadness, he had experienced it
so many times. He was once a small grandchild as well. How with
growing age, these innocent promises fade away.

Mr Basak recalled his own childhood when he sat and spent time with Mr
Debnath, his paternal grandfather during his school summer vacations.

Mr Debnath was very fond of playing the flute, and it was a part of
his every day schedule to play it. It was amongst the things he did
before he left for work and in the evening when he returned.

Mr Basak loved to wake to the music of the flute played by his
grandfather. After the break of sleep, Mr Basak would keep laying on
his bed, focussing all his attention on the enchanting tune that
flowed through the air. He kept his eyes closed, for not even vision
may disturb the peace in the moment. When his grandmother came around
to wake him up, she would often wait for him to finish enjoying the
music, after all, how could she wake a small boy who looked so happy
and in peace.

In the evening Mr Basak would sit with his grandfather, while his
grandfather played the flute. The sound of the flute is what allowed
Mr Basak developed a love for classical music.

“When I grow up, I can come down often on my own from the city and
hear you play flute for many many years,” Mr Basak told his
grandfather, to which Mr Debnath only smiled.

As Mr Basak walked home with Falguni he realised his grandfather knew
what would happen. As we grow up somehow the voice of the child in us
becomes subdued by many other voices that develop inside us and there
are also those that exist outside of the world. The childhood wishes
begin to disappear with the understanding that the world has a much
different shade than the magical tree which grows candies in a garden
or a flute in which is stored a world of peace.

Written by Anuran Chatterji

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