The Mistress, Part 1

Honestly, readers, I am in no hurry to begin this story, indeed it isn’t a story, but a mere observation of this blogger, connected with that interesting time of the early 90s, when I was about seven or eight, trying to learn the ways in which society functions and expects us to function, and more importantly, that there can be relationships out of the wed-lock, apparently, one which society condemns, and that the world isn’t just ‘husband, wife, son, daughter’, and other names of the relations that issues out of the primary ones, but there are a million other relationships that flutter our brains for a moment or longer, because we’re too ill-equipped to understand the mechanism in which the adult world functions!


As long as I can remember, it was in 93 when we had shifted to this house, and although I cannot recall everything in its entirety, but the thing that makes the years of 93-95 worth a blog post is because those were the years that saw my association with The Mistress.


The earliest impressions which I received in this matter, are certainly not attended with anything painful, or very humiliating, but are in the nature comical in the recalling, but it is difficult to keep the account distinct without blending.


Since we were the new arrivals our immediate neighboring aunty began to brief mom about the other families in the colony, which I guess was some kind of ploy to focus attention on house number 6 (opposite to ours) where the Mistress used to stay with her daughter. I bet she had spiced up the details because nobody ever knew anything about the mistress, it all depended upon the speaker who altered the details as and when he required and presented it as creatively and appealingly as possible, and as it turned out we kept hearing different stories about her in the course of two years.


At that age I could never understand what made the women hostile towards her but the fact that they so incessantly bitched about her generated enough interest in me and I longed to meet this woman. She rarely ventured out of the house but I would occasionally catch glimpses of her strolling in the garden or when we went to the local temple and all. I still remember it was diwali of 93 when I saw both the mother and daughter lighting those little earthen lamps and then silently closing the doors on the noise of the outside world. My mother somehow pitied on their lives but she was primarily a wife and no wife ever takes sides with a mistress! Even then mom had nothing against her and by the spring of 94 we saw mom trading varieties of hibiscus plants with the mistress, which in a subdued manner led to afternoon gossips amongst the other aunties. Having sensed this, mom grew careful of her dealings with the mistress and she was glad that she was working as that kept her away from home for most part of the day, a sure respite from the gossip-sessions.


And then the summer of 94 saw me at the door step of the mistress holding a bag of mangoes from the twin mango trees of our garden. It was then that I actually ‘saw’ her. Man, I can never forget that face. She looked like some actress straight out of the silver screen and with that big bindi-like the one that Bengali women wear, she had that whole artistic appeal in her, enough to make you fall in love with her. Presently, she pulled my cheeks and invited me in and before I could take notice of things around me, I was feeding on biscuits, sweets and Rasna. (hey we all remember rasna don’t we?)


Well, readers, the story’s not over yet and the remainder will be posted ASAP……


Now Playing:: Ye din kya aaye…………..Chhotisi Baat