The Photograph

Chottu was the latest servant employed by Ranjit’s father. With a sick wife, he needed someone to do the cooking and the chores in the house. So he phoned his mother, who lived far away in the village of Darbhanga, to send someone to the city.

He went to school in the village, but hated the discipline and rules there. He wanted to be free, to be able to do what he wanted, and not be in a jail guarded by the many tyrant teachers. Squashing the minimal opposition offered by his rather submissive mother, he left school after the 7^th grade.

One day, Ranjit’s grandmother showed up in his small hut. She was rather appalled by the slum-like house that they lived in, and this repulsion only served to steel her determination. When Chottu brought her tea, she took the cup, and asked him to sit down opposite him.

“Do you want to work?”

“Yes, it’s much better than going to school” Chottu replied indifferently.

“My son’s family in Kolkata needs you. They will pay you a good salary.”

“Kolkata? But that is so far away! I don’t want to leave my mother alone here.”

“You can still come back once a year here.”

“Can’t we go there together then?”

“No, they only need one, and preferably a young guy like you, who can be good company for my sick daughter in law”

“I will not leave my mother. I will find some other job in this village.”

Chottu’s mother just then came up to him and slapped him tightly.

“I am tired of your excuses! If you don’t study, at least go work!” She shouted.

“I left school because I don’t want to be in a jail! I will not go to another jail for work!” Chottu, his cheeks flushed and eyes watery, screamed in retaliation, and then he rushed to the door and ran outside.

“I will speak to him” Grandma quietly comforted the mother, who had also started sobbing, and went outside.

The sun was shining brightly. Chottu stood on the edge of the yard, looking down, deep in thought. Grandma went up to him.

“Chottu, don’t you want a better life for your mother and yourself? Think about it, you are going to really earn a lot, you can do buy yourself cakes and toys and everything, it wont be like a jail! My son’s family is really nice! You will be able to send money back to your mother! Don’t you want to buy some nice clothes for her?”

Chottu turned around. “I do. She’s always working so hard, doing chores in everybody’s houses and she still gets paid virtually nothing. She’s too soft to ask for a higher wage!”

Grandma kneeled down and placed her palms on Chottu’s shoulders.

“You are already starting to speak like a man!” Grandma smiled.

That’s right. Chottu needed to do something about his house. He needed to fix all the damage that his stupid, alcoholic father had done. It would be difficult being in a strange family far away from his mother, but he would get used to it.

With eyes still watery and cheeks still red, a look of determination nevertheless flashed through his face.

“When do I start?”

“Next Week.”

                                                        *****

About 8 months later, Chottu got a call from Grandma, who informed him that his mother had suddenly passed away. Chottu immediately took a train came back home, and after performing all the rituals and ceremonies, saw no point in staying there any longer. So he came back two weeks later.

Perhaps he should have stayed. After he came back, he seemed to be absent minded. He was unable to focus on his work or on conversations. He remained quiet most of the time, and spoke only when absolutely necessary. The family members at the house were very understanding and did not berate him for this.

Chottu felt lonely. Extremely lonely. He felt a huge gaping hole in the world around him. That was weird, since the world around him had barely changed at all. The sun still rose and set like every day. Every person was waking up and going to work just like always.

The truth was, that the gaping hole was within him. His mother was just a tiny particle in the world outside, but a colossal giant in the world that was inside of him. That inner world was suddenly deserted and empty. Chottu struggled to understand this sudden drastic change.

Four months later, the family decided that it was time to let him go. He was beyond their help. He had been making too many mistakes in his cooking, and had several times mixed up the medicines he was supposed to give to Ranjit’s mother.

Chottu accepted this decision without protest. The next morning, he started packing his clothes into his suitcase. While collecting all his stuff, he found that the single photo he had of his mother was missing. He asked everyone, and no one knew where it went. He searched every nook and corner in the house. When even that failed, he asked Ranjit’s father to let him stay for a few extra days so that he could take time to ask the neighbors or some other of his friends.

“You probably took it last time you went home!” He said.

“No I didn’t” Chottu replied.

“Why do you care so much about the photo? She is so ugly anyways!” Ranjit’s little sister quipped in.

Ranjit immediately motioned to her to shut up.

Chottu remained speechless and left the room.

After giving a talking to his little sister, Ranjit went to the big bedroom and gently pushed open the blue door. Its two seams parted, revealing a harshly lighted room with dirty walls and a table with a computer on the right end. The cooled air gently grazed his face and legs. The hum of the AC brushed into his ears, and also, the sound of whimpering. Chottu was seated on the bed, his wet eyes peering into the wall opposite him. His cheeks were flushed red, he opened his mouth and exhaled sharply. Ranjit looked at him for a few seconds, then turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him.

                                                          ******

The door bell rang. Ranjit opened the dirty green door, and Chottu was standing there with his right hand on the handle of his pink suitcase.

“What happened? You missed the train?” Ranjit inquired.

Chottu just looked straight ahead for a few moments.

“I can’t go back”

Chottu stayed on. No matter where he searched, he could not find that photo. Still unable to work, he was becoming a cost to the family.

One evening, Ranjit’s father brought him into his room. It was a dimly lit room, with a damp atmosphere.

“Was that the only photograph you had of her?” He asked.

Chottu nodded.

“And you have no idea where you last saw it?”

“I think it was in my wallet, the last time I remember”

“Listen, Chottu, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to forget her face.”  Chottu almost choked with emotion.

“I lost my parents too 20 years ago. Let me tell you something. You forget their faces eventually. Even if you have a photograph. The images in your memories get blurred.”

“What you don’t forget, however, “ He continued, “is how they made you feel. That is something you will always have access to.”

“You have lost your mother and are desperate to cling to whatever is left of her. A photograph is just an added, actually unnecessary, detail. All that you actually need of her is already within you.”

Chottu lowered his head.

                                                              *****

The sun was bright again. It shone on the sandy ground, on the stacks of hays near the huts, and on Chottu’s bare forehead and bare arms, which were already sweating. The wheels of the suitcase sputtered on the uneven ground, punctuated by steady streams of the wheel’s hums.

He took a turn and his thatched hut came into view. It was the same as before. Only inside, there was no one. Also outside, Ranjit’s grandmother was standing in a blue saree. Through her spectacled eyes on her wrinkled face, she looked at the approaching Chottu, who noticed that she was holding a piece of paper in her right hand.

He came to a stop just next to her.

“Ranjit told me all about your recent drama.” She said with a smile.

“I have had a hobby of painting since ever since I was a child. I think this is the greatest work I have ever done yet.”

Grandma turned over the sheet. Chottu’s eyes widened and then became watery.

His mother, from the chest above, clad in a blue saree, looked at him with squinted eyes and had a bright laughter on her face. Just like the time when he had told her about how Sagar had started singing that favorite Bollywood song of hers randomly in the middle of maths class, to the disbelief of the teacher, and to the amusement of all others.

The picture of his mother in his head, that had already started to blur, suddenly became sharp, and the dam that was holding back all his cherished memories of her, burst, and they all flooded in.

The first time since his mother’s death, he cried. He cried a lot. Grandma held him, and he still couldn’t stop sobbing.

The flood did wane after some time. The storm did subside, even if only temporarily. Chottu took the portrait, held it between his hands and stared at it.

She was really beautiful.

                                                    **THE END**