Pride

Rupsa is all set and ready to go to the airport. Her father, Dhiman Banerjee, tensed yet excited and still thoughtful, walking inside the rooms, bit fast, a bit slow, and somewhat hesitant if his decision after three months of thinking is right or wrong. Her mother Mitali, with tearful eyes, was all set to bid goodbye and good luck to her dearest. The seventy-seven years old, the two-storied house at one corner of the crowded Kalipado Dutta Lane next to Amherst Street, Kolkata is suddenly, momentarily vibrant on a Sunday afternoon;  but they were missing their son Souvik, who promised to come back from his electronics repairing shop where he had to go suddenly to pick up legal papers for the new shop he will be renting, next day morning. They were also missing Dhiman’s mother and elder brother who lives on the ground floor since they had to ‘suddenly’ go to Dakhisnwhwar Kali temple for a long-pending ‘puja’. “Baba, I am getting late…Will dada come back? Do you want to call him up once more? Else should I call a taxi and go?” Dhiman, a bit shy, murmured “I called him Ma, but seems he is not ‘near’ to his phone or maybe the phone is silent” and looking dubious, at her wife “Do you want to try once? He may answer”.  

Rupsa suddenly went to her corner room,  busy, checking her last-minute checklist. Dhiman, took his specs in his hand standing in front of the rusty window, which is almost twenty years older than him, trying to look as far he can. His heart is still anxious and he can suddenly see the day when on the same Sunday afternoon someone knocked the main door. “Mr. Banerjee; Good Evening. I am Nikhil, Kolkata head of Rainbow Production,  owned by renowned film producer Mr. Khanna of Mumbai. Can we talk for few minutes, if you allow Sir?” Nikhil Awasthi quickly came in, put his stylish black glasses in his white shirt pocket, took out his shiny black shoes, and sat next to Dhiman, in their 80 square feet, small, living room. Dhiman, always bashful to people in suits, unmindfully folded the sleeves of his off-colored, off-white ‘Panjabi’ and looked at Nikhil with eyes full of questions. “Well, Mr. Banerjee, your beautiful daughter Rupsa is selected for one of our upcoming movies. It’s a multi-starer big budget one,  and we are thinking of her for the main character, maybe a lead. Her lanky look, curly hairs, the olive-colored face may do perfect justice to the character we thought for her,  in this movie”.  Nikhil was straight, to the point, trying to be a ‘Bengali’ as much he can with his mixed vocabulary.  “You mean cinema and she will act? No way! in our Banerjee family, no one did that ever! And not even in this esteemed, cultured Kalipodo Dutta Lane. No one”, Dhiman screamed though softly, and his wife Mitali walked into the room, stood next to the chair where Dhiman was sitting. “ Mr. Banerjee, I must say it’s your choice, but remember this is not an ordinary movie. It’s a novel which was screened way back in the 1930s, written by one of your greatest,  Bankim Chandra, but will be remodeled in today’s time to give a new look to ‘Kapalkundala’. And she may be the lucky one to play as Kapalkundala. Can you imagine how it will be? I don’t know how much you watch movies but ‘Parineeta’ in a similar capacity took away as a storm”, Nikhil tried his best possible convincing voice. “and this can change her life and yours too, Mr. Banerjee.”

“Baba, I think I must call a taxi now. Dada was never for it and I think he left in the morning, purposefully”, Rupsa looked at her both parents while putting the only ‘golden’ watch she has in her right hand, which Dhiman gifted her after she passed the Masters in Accountancy, 2 years back, with First class. “Let’s do that Ma; let me go out and call a Taxi for you. I will come with you”, Dhiman said looking at Mitali to get her nod too. The dusk slowly shading the old houses of Amherst Street, Mitali did not forget to say “Dugga, Dugga” while the taxi left for the airport with an assured daughter and her diffident father.  Mitali came back to their room, checking once more if her daughter left anything, unmindfully; she picked up the old, yellowish, ruled pad where Nikhil Awasthi’s phone number is still written. “Do you think we should allow her to do this...it’s a big opportunity for her but. And I think it's a lot of money”- Mitali told Dhiman after Nikhil left their house, that evening, with a wish to hear ‘yes’ from him.  Dhiman quite confident that this cannot happen bashed at her daughter as soon as she came back from her work that evening, from Gariahat, where she works in a Retail superstore as a Store Accountant.  Though she enjoys her number job, that evening due to the upcoming Durga Puja in the city, the traffic took 2 long hours even on Sunday, from South to North Kolkata.  With Dhiman, her mother, elder brother, Mitali, and their son Souvik, it was like a small round table conference, that evening, something they never did for many years. Rupsa, hesitantly confessed that she went to their office to give a first-level screening a month back, got selected from a cluster of 147 girls, 3 of them who are called for the final selection at Mumbai; and also told she did attend ‘Hindi’ classes for last 1 month at Keytala road, next to her office, in the evening. The entire crew in the living room was surprised and frustrated. Dhiman for the first time in his life smacked her daughter.  Souvik, 5 years elder than her, always a little envious of her sister due to all reasons, did not leave this opportunity to say  “Baba, Ma, do you think we will be able to walk down to the street and all those folks will laugh at me saying. See that’s luscious Rupsa’s brother; Did you see how she looked in that movie, Kapalkundala, wrapped in a saree?” while Mitali furiously tried to put her hand in his mouth so that he can’t speak more and more.  It was a dark, silent night for 2/6 Kalipodo Dutta Lane, Amherst Street, Kolkata.

Mitali recalled, The debate continued for a month, while Dhiman discussed with a few of his colleagues in the Port Trust office where he has respect as the senior office clerk. With just one more year to retire, he was also conscious not to talk to too many. Mr. Samanto his close peer in the office had some connections in one of the esteemed Studios at Tollygunge and knew some of the crews there. Dhiman and Mr. Samanto even went to Tollygunge to get advice from some of the known technicians. It was encouraging since Mr. Khanna is a famous producer in the country and the remuneration can be lucrative. The meeting in the house continued too.  Mitali was cautious and expressed that people in the close neighbors already came to know about this since in this narrow lane, few houses with the common wall but nothing uncommon in their living, are keen to know about Rupsa and her 'cinema'. Mitali also said many are talking “Why Dhiman is allowing her daughter to go for acting. that too in Mumbai, .it’s not the right place, right people”. But at home, except Souvik,  everyone was slowly getting engrossed with the fame, pride, and silver which seems to be coming together in the Banerjee’s house, finally, but still unsure. Dhiman's mother and elder brother were softly supporting Souvik, Mitali felt. One Friday afternoon Mr. Samanto knocked on Dhiman’s house and told them to visit them in the evening so that he can let them meet a family friend who is visiting from Delhi.  Mr. Samanto introduced them to Avik and Soma, their distant but close relative, and their beautiful daughter Tanya. Tanya’s beauty was not only in her face but in her voice too captured their eyes instantly, while Mitali not able to recollect where she has seen this girl; got her memory refreshed as soon as Soma, within the short introduction, started talking about Tanya’s success in the leading national channel’s Soap. And, Soma kept on talking about her popularity in Delhi, respect in the kitty party, Tanya’s hectic schedule for Ms. Kapur’s famous soap which now has the highest TRP, money, fame, new offers, and whatnot. That evening was like a dream for them and the turning point. Mitali’s neighbors got to know most, Dhiman’s colleagues got to know more; many are keen to see Rupsa; The Banerjee house became a “Pride” in the orthodox North Kolkata “Para”.

A month passed; Rupsa, is back after her screen test, all neighbors poured in to know more and every bit of what and how, ‘their’ life, ‘their’ style, Shahrukh Khan, Rani Mukherjee; and Rupsa states all she knows; but anxiously opens the mailbox every evening she comes back from office and waits for the envelope engraved with Mr. Khanna’s Production house.  Finally, that Saturday when all at home, Dhiman collected the letter in his hand, while Rupsa snatched the letter flying down from her room on the second floor.  She did not open it until she reached her room, back. After few minutes she came down with tearful eyes and gave the letter to Dhiman. Dhiman not able to hold the letter properly with his shaking hand can only see the few lines which means she is not selected but they congratulated her since she came thru all this way. Her ‘Hindi’ needs to be improved as they said.  A simple letter brought a strange heartbroken, silence.  Dhiman sat down in the chair, reading the letter again and again and again. Mitali was looking at Dhiman with blank eyes.

Dhiman muttered “What you did Ma…what we will tell to people now? Our only ‘pride’ was we don’t let our daughters, our Lakshmi of the house to go the tinsel town and act in the silver world, but you stole that ‘pride’, the only pride' of a middle-class family!"