I Am Neerja - The Diary Of A Braveheart Gone Too Soon

I am Neerja. Neerja Bhanot. My parents fondly called me 'Laado'. I came from a middle class Hindu Brahmin family based in Chandigarh. My papa, late Harish Bhanot was a journalist, and my mummy, Rama Bhanot, a homemaker. After being blessed with two sons, they had been longing for a daughter for quite some time. They prayed day after day hoping for a baby girl. They even visited Sati Mata temple of Hoshiarpur, in Hariana, and performed various rituals. My dearest mummy fasted endlessly, but her exhausted body never faltered in carrying out the household duties with utmost sincerity and dedication. When papa came back late from office, my brothers, Akhil and Aneesh finally stopped fighting over their playtime issues. Mummy always had the last word; one call out - 'Khaana lag gaya hai', and nobody dared a delay in reaching the dinner table.



It was September 7, 1962, my mummy brought me to earth. For the very first time, I felt a human touch, that of the doctor's on my tender skin after nine months of imprisonment inside a closed compartment that cushioned my organs to develop. The overflowing amniotic fluid hazed out my vision, hence I preferred keeping my eyes closed, and the umbilical cord helped me derive oxygen and the essential nutrients, so it lessened my effort in breathing and eating, thus survival and growth was easy. I was told that papa was on top of the world after hearing about my arrival from the maternity ward matron and gave her a double thanks along with a box of motichoor sweets.



My parents raised me like a princess. I was made to feel special in every single way and they got me all the things of joy and treasure even before I named them. I completed my schooling from Sacred Heart School in Chandigarh, and fared moderately well in all subjects which got me pampered by my parents all the more as ghar ki sab se chhoti, laadli. In fact, I can't remember mummy or papa addressing me as 'Neerja' and not 'Laado', more than a couple of times in my twenty-three year's life on earth. I was tall, lean, reserved and a no nonsense child. I, very clearly knew what I aspired for, and my career oriented temperament got me focused on my participation in school debates, sports competitions and fashion shows.



Childhood in Chandigarh was one of a kind. We were fortunate to witness the preciousness of a simple small town joint family of four, whose members had their emotional strings closely and firmly attached to each other. There were those idyllic memories of hot summer day drives to Ambala, that called for my mischievous brothers to contest over who could finish a glass of buttermilk at our most popular 'Puran Singh Da Dhaaba' en route to Ambala. I also remember those chilly winter evenings when papa drove all of us to Rishikesh for a fun weekend, and mummy kept us warm with her self-knitted sweaters. Blue for Akhil, Green for Anish, Red for me. And ahhh! The best part was when we not only savored the aroma of freshly made crispy aloo ke paranthe, but also polished off as many pieces as we felt like! That too, from the bottom of our hearts. We didn't have to diet then. So there was no fear of becoming overweight, and then getting grounded by the employer.



My brothers played Beatles, and they went through their many phases of personal discovery. It's not that they shared everything with me. I used to be their little doll. Protected from all perils, dealt with extreme care and sensitivity. My mummy's devoted role in the family was inspiring. She was the epitome of deep affection and sacrifice. She had a disturbed childhood wherein my nana ill-treated my naani. My naani wanted my mother to do something for herself, and become a schoolteacher. But she fell in love with papa at the age of seventeen and her studies were left half way owing to their marriage. I didn't want to be like mummy anyway. I did not wish to spend my entire life in the kitchen preparing tiffin for my kids. My father got a new posting and we moved to Bombay in March, 1974. I was in the sixth standard. Papa took me to Scottish High School for admission and he was told point blank by friends and relatives that admission would be impossible. But the principal sir was kind. He helped the process to start without any donation but considering my merit. As I grew up, I made it very clear to papa that I wouldn't want to pursue higher education. I was aiming at becoming a smart cabin crew and I knew only flying could give me those wings that I needed to set myself free and realize my potentials. I wanted to touch the skies, I wanted to befriend the clouds, I wanted to explore greater horizons that rarely a girl of that time from an ordinary family like mine was allowed to.


Mummy was a strong believer in astrology. She didn't appreciate the idea much of letting me step out of home for a challenging and demanding profession of an air hostess. However, papa was not so skeptical about my ambitions. While mummy always wanted me within the comfort zone of home, family and children, papa encouraged me and kept himself abreast with all the opportunities that Air India and Indian Airlines were offering that time. We didn't have mobile phones then, nor did we have an access to the Internet like the youngsters of today. Hence, keeping a track of job vacancies for airline positions zeroed down to newspapers.



Age was slowly catching up on papa and mummy wasn't keeping well. I learned from Akhil that they were looking for a suitable match for me to settle down. It came across as pretty much shattering for me, but if that brought them peace, I should be fine with that, I thought. I tried convincing myself, nevertheless, the idea of marriage kept me totally alien to what was going to happen to my flying dreams going forward.



My wedding was arranged. I tied the knot in March 1985, following a newspaper advertisement, and joined my husband in the Gulf. He appeared to be a decent guy, and little did we know of relationships, equations and wavelengths then, that couples of today's date take pride in. I was heading a foreign land to make a home, keeping the image of my doting mother in mind and the well-defined principles that my father had replicated in me. My papa believed in sharing his happiness and good times with loved ones, but not the adversities that life inevitably brings in for all. When the decision was made between the two families, it was categorically agreed upon as a dowry less marriage. My papa could have no way said yes to a business deal, giving his darling daughter away in the name of conjugal bliss. But probably fate had something else in store for my loving family. My husband turned out to be a scoundrel and started to show his real colors. He demanded heavy dowry and my marriage began to fall apart with no sign of love and mutual respect. I tried hard not to disclose about my jolts and wounds to my family and I had to put up with his daily abuses for begging to lend me money so that I could make a telephone call at home in India. My days were overcast with a gloomy patch of material loss and gain, and my nights were tormenting with continuous physical assault until I collapsed on the floor. When I asked him about the deception that was ruining my life, I was told that even a pauper father would gift something to his daughter in marriage, and that 'something' definitely meant a lump sum burning my father's sweat and blood, that would have perhaps satiated my husband's family's uncompromising avarice, yet not guaranteed a hassle free and happy marriage for this 'Laado'. I could envisage my family's breakdown on the news of this tragedy that my marriage was heading to, and I had no option but to stay tight lipped despite all ordeals that starved me off not only finance but also food. I realized I was getting weak and losing weight. My otherwise bright and flawless skin was reflecting the inner battle I was going through. He used to beat me up mercilessly if I retaliated and there was little room left for any empathy or consideration. He got me over a barrel and I couldn't thnk sanely. There was not a single soul I knew I could reach out for help and I was literally losing hope. One day, I secretly used the home telephone to get in touch with my childhood friend, in Bombay. He was to some extent familiarized with the scenario and helped me apply for a modeling agency with some immediate opening. It had been only two months and I was so very drained that it took me several weeks to regroup myself and put my life back on track again. He had been torturing me mentally too, as if I was little worthy of any human treatment. At last, the crude reality was brought to light and my parents opened the door for me on my return to Bombay. Under such unrealistic pressures from my in laws, I was reassured of my faith in Sati Mata when my family stood resolute by my side to give me strength and move on. So many times their 'Laado' was tried and tested, so much we all had already born with because of my ill fated marriage, that nothing could mark these four gritty souls less than my savior.



Luck was about to shine on me as I decided to accept the modeling contract that I was banking upon. I needed a source of earning. My earning, and not be a burden on my aging parents and my brothers' families. In our culture, 'shaadi ke baad ladki parayi dhan ho jaati hai'. 'Uske pati ka ghar hi uska ghar hota hai' - such old school notions were ingrained into the system of girls from our cast and community at a very early age and unlike the recent times, no feminist message could be trending from the length and breadth of a ‘tolerant’ nation and thereby empower women from door to door in order for breaking the rules and stand for themselves. At least my family didn't superimpose such patriarchal norms on my existence, and I still had the scope and age to create my own identity and make them proud. The scar from the past wasn't easy to be forgotten as a nightmare, and a humiliating letter from my so called husband followed, declaring a charter of demands and his dictating terms as a condition to my possible return, which we unanimously refused to comply with. He called me 'useless' and 'just a graduate' which had crushed my self-respect brutally but not my self-confidence remotely. Thanks to my amazingly supportive family, for all that they had been doing for me, and I shall remain forever indebted to them for giving me one big chance so that I could fetch them a reason to burst with pride with the very reference of their ‘Laado’.



I started modeling, and I got noticed overnight through the television commercials. I became a well-known face but it gave me peanuts even to share an apartment with my co strugglers in Bombay city. I had to catch a big fish to learn about the industry where my dreams roosted and I hardly knew anyone who had made it big by that time. Nonetheless, I applied for a flight attendant's job and Pam Am happened. It was a big test for me, as it wasn't only about good looks and communications. We underwent tricky situational analysis as a part of the interview process and such a huge round of general knowledge questions. Thankfully my last two months’ crash/almost no diet (that I was forced to go through), had helped me shed off those flabby bit that every Punjaban is heard complaining of after a certain age! Blame it on the desi ghee that all the awesome mummies use for their signature Methi Mathri and many more delicacies. So, my chances to crack this time were slim but finding my place amongst the top eighty out of nearly ten thousand applicants was invariably by the grace of Mata Di.




It was sort of a unique feeling of my new found liberty. My sense of individuality and independence that was crippled for so long and left my inner being devastated, now, could clearly see the purpose of my life sketched out. It was time to bounce back, more intently than ever, and I could see my dreams coming true. My goals were delineated once and for all and I was ready to put in my heart and soul no matter what. I was not 'just a graduate' who was questioned of her meager worth 'what are you?' I thought my free spirit was for the very first time uplifted and let off the hook. It was time to prove who I was and what mummy and papa had made of me for past twenty three years. I never wanted anything more passionately other than helping people, assisting them onboard while their safety and security would be solely my prime conern, and we would be soaring above at the height of 36,000 feet from the ground level.



Upon my selection with Pan Am and signing up for the basic cabin crew training, which included fast aid, emergency demonstration and safety and security services, our new team was sent to Miami for training. I was extremely eager to travel all around the world and was adaptable to the international culture.


I made a couple of good friends who were my batch mates and we undertook an in depth training program pertaining to the flight attendant's standard manual. The training was rigorous, and involved lots of theory as well as physical labor. We had to be well versed with various aviation terminologies, and the most vital was to understand the physiology of the aircraft. I was gradually overcoming the trauma and agony of a broken marriage and as I looked around me, it was sunshine everywhere ushering on a new beginning. My consciousness had surpassed the boundaries of guilt and forgiveness, and so, I stopped brooding over my past. Some of my colleagues knew about the personal mishap, and few chosen ones were even aware of the bitterness that my soured marriage had cast on my mind. I smiled, but they knew that I hated him to the core. After all, it was human.



I caught a good grip on the security procedure training, and my communication was always above average. I was asked to brush up my English to get rid off that slight mother tongue influence and I was soon excelling in the announcements and the emergency demonstrations too. Passenger handling was closest to my heart and I was a bit nervous when we were learning to operate the electronic devices onboard. In the initial days, I used to have butterflies in my stomach during the pre take off and pre landing hours. Safety measures, apron safety, carry on baggage placement in the upper head unit and galley management was comparatively uncomplicated and I enjoyed experiencing the different emergency situations, wherein we were to take charge of the crisis and comfort our jittery passengers and assist them in things like turbulence, decompression, usage of the oxygen mask, and finally the evacuation. My greatest apprehension was what if I couldn't look after infants with choking problems and old people and expectant mothers in need. My hand used to tremble when I was asked to do the dressing for wounds and sprains, and check the pulse rate for people fainting and suffering from heart attacks. It wasn't easy, but I made my way through the hardships and qualified in the examinations that followed. There were multiple psychometric tests conducted to gauge our innate abilities such as reasoning, judgmental qualities, interpersonal skills and leadership traits. I scored very well in all of them and was soon flying as a full time flight attendant. I was highly appreciated for my quick wittedness and decision making fervor, and thus I was designated as the senior most in my team of girls. Miami training days were truly crucial and it shone the light of success and achievement upon me, and the ultimate peace and content that I promised to bring to my benevolent family. My Miami inflight instructor Mr. Keith D. Smith applauded me with recognition more than once and my responsibilities multiplied to that of a flight purser, the head of our Pan Am crew team.



I used to be regularly in touch with home and they came to know about my promotion. I was back to Bombay as my base after six months and enrolled for an anti-hijacking course as an integral part of the training. Seniority meant more commitment, and commitment couldn't have come without invincibe determination and persistent dedication. I don't know why, mummy was always apprehensive of the risks that my job inevitably necessitated and at times she will be so worried that she will call the training center and beg me to quit - 'Teri modeling itni achhi chal rahi hai Laado, yeh air hostess ka job kyon nahi rehne deti hai?'



I could feel the degree of her unease growing manifolds with my each flight. But what could I do? I asked her not to think that way - 'I love my job mummy! Agar duniya ki saari mummy aisa sochne lagengi, desh ki koi bhi beti apne mulk ke liye kooch nahi kar payegi.'



For me, my work was worship and I was representing my state and country at an international level, which stipulated unrestricted zeal to perform, unflinching belief in oneself to take control and the courage to overcome all obstacles. And my Pan Am stature was a great gift of Sati Mata and the fruit of my tough grinds as well as long haul flights. I couldn't have imagined looking back.



It's not that I didn't feel lonely. It's not that I didn't feel the urge for a partner who could appreciate my talents and hold my hand with unconditional love. But sadly, the world is full of vulturous motifs and selfless people are hard to find. So, one has to work very hard to leave one's own mark by doing something commendable, something noble. My modeling was continuing side by side and the odd hours often had me deprived of sufficient sleep. Once back from the international flights, my body used to be hit by jet lag and I would often sleep all day long and keep awake the whole night until it was time to get ready and start for the airport. I wasn't really getting obsessed with the idea of life after death, but the thought of my family in my absence disturbed me. I often wondered what's the meaning of life? Is there also a life after death? Why am I here? What am I doing? What will happen after I die one day? Will everything change or stay as it is? All that lure for glamor, all that exhilaration before receiving those bulky paychecks, all the perks to show around my family abroad with free tickets and holiday packages at the best hotels of the world...Will it all also have its expiry date? I never read or heard about afterlife, nor did I believe in rebirth. But the verse that was taught to us as young kids in school, that all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again - kind of shook me from within. Yes, I was petrified of death. And nothing terrified me as much as the sense of nothingness that I knew would come one day as I depart from this beautiful world. But would I really be leaving behind everything that I earned so far? - I pondered. What will happen to all the reputation, all the honor and all the certificates? How could a person like me, with thoughts, dreams, feelings and aspirations simply cease to be in a blink of an eye? Come what way, one thing was sure, that the man who disregarded these, would at no cost be allowed to have even his shadow fall on my body, when it would be time for the soul to part with the flesh and bones.



Those days, I was trying hard to strike out a balance between work and family. I missed home and I could devote only a couple of hours to spend with my parents. I decided to move in at my parents' place. I did that. One of the days, I returned from Frankfurt. It was a Tuesday morning (September 2). My entire Wednesday went in shooting for a new modeling assignment, following which, I had to show up for another prestigious assignment on Thursday. I had to report for shooting at 9 a.m. and it turned out to be one of the best and most satisfying with director Ayesha Sayani. We didn't require too many takes, and Ayesha was happy and so was I. When I asked Ayesha, who was highly talented, enthusiastic and also a good friend - 'Main theekthak toh lag rahi hoon na? Meri neend poori nahi hui hai Ayesha'...to which she replied - 'I haven't seen a dedicated professional like you Neerja. Tu kaise sambhal leti hai? You make a wonderful model as well as an immensely committed air hostess. It's your inner light that reflects serenity on your beautiful face. Tu hamesha achhi lagti hai. Have a great flight tomorrow.' - Having said that, she smiled and we said good bye while hugging each other. I didn't know I was seeing my director friend for the last time. It was my last shoot, last take and precisely my last modeling assignment.



Once home around 8 p.m. I had a light dinner and retired early. It was the night prior to my Pan Am flight on September 5, the year was 1986. My birthday was barely forty-eight hours away, and I would have turned twenty-three on September 7 that year. Before I went off to sleep, papa asked me who all I have invited for my birthday party. I was supposed to be back to Bombay on Sunday morning, after long hours of flying, hence, I suggested him to keep it a quiet family affair. My papa had only heard from me about the brighter side of my highly remunerative and sought after job, that every single working day tok me to a new destination and a set of new passengers to interact with, but he had no clue of what kind of a life threatening aspect it brought along with the privileges. He could visualize that I was doing something varied and more diverse than almost anything other, but what he couldn't anticipate was the danger associated with my duties and its inherent thrill.



As I went to bed, I asked mummy to wake me up ninety minutes prior to the pickup call from Pan Am and she kept insisting that I telephone them to excuse myself owing to a very tiring day. Despite a lot of coaxing and cajoling, I didn't agree, to which she stated that her duty conscious daughter was a hard nut to crack - 'Laado, tu din din aur ziddi hoti jaa rahi hai. Bilkul apni papa ki tarah.' And she smiled. Her last few words faded into my ears as I was too fatigued to reply to her. She must have closed the door carefully to avoid any noise that could occur and thus hamper my sleep, as I used to be very fussy about looking and feeling fresh when I started on my flights. Pan Am informed that the pickup time will be 1.15 a.m. (September 5), and I could hardly open my eyes. I heard mummy banging hard on the door, which on pulling from outside used to get auto locked from inside my bedroom. She used to keep knocking until I responded to her, and she would know that I'm up. I never used to set an alarm on the clock and we of course didn't have IPhones then to drive all the weariness away with its coarsest alarm which rings within your eardrums at 200 decibels and is deadly enough to turn you deaf. I keep seeing all the lazy young cabin crews of today who party all night after long flights and hardly catch up on their sleep. And when they finally doze off for an hour or two before getting into their uniforms, they wake up to a huge jerk as if some sonic weapon has been drilled into their ears and that's how they are used to dragging themselves out of the comfort of their bed.



A cold bath always did wonders for me in the early morning and soon I was grooming myself, when mummy wanted to wake up papa so that he could wish me luck. I asked her not to. Mummy usually kissed my forehead before I left from home, that day she did early pooja of Mata Di and sanctified the kada that I wore on my right wrist with her blessings.



I was going on a very special flight indeed, Pan Am 73, the Pan American World Airways Boeing 747-121, which was heading New York City through Frankfurt. It was a great moment for me, as I was the one leading the crew members as their head purser. Our aircraft, with 360 passengers on board, had just arrived from Sahar International Airport, Mumbai. We were preparing the cabin so that boarding could take place and we could depart Jinnah International Airport in Karachi, Pakistan, for Frankfurt airport in West Germany, ultimately continuing on to John F. Kennedy international airport, in New York City, United States. While our flight was still on the ground in Karachi, it was all of a sudden hijacked by three heavily armed Arabic-speaking militants. They were of Palestinian origin, and belonged to Abu Nidal Organization backed by Libya. We couldn't foresee what ugly fate this setback was inviting for all of us, but keeping our cool and composure was the only option. There was a sudden riot of shock and terror doing rounds within the passenger cabin and people began to panic. It was my duty as the senior most member in the crew team to comfort the crying children, their frantic mothers and the horrified old citizens. I consistently kept using words of consolation so that I could know what would be my next step. But for that, I needed to understand the intent of the terrorists. Sometimes it's just the trepidation that is created by the tooled up appearance of these Jihadis, and their high pitched threats to victimize the innocent, that they take pleasure in. But I couldn't have taken a chance, as so many lives were at stake. The hijackers started giving rounds up and down the aisle pushing me away, as though taking a look at the passengers and minutely discerning their identity. On continuously screaming and demanding to know who all were the Americans, it was somewhat evident that American citizens were the main target of these Islamic terrorists.



Since the plane was on the tarmac, yet they had fully captured it, I knew, evacuation could still be possible. But before I could act on any further step, the terrorists instructed me to collect the passports of all the passengers so that they could identify the Americans, executing them seemed difficult to them, otherwise. Being the senior most attendant, I had to apply my presence of mind as well as I could, and served coffee and sandwiches hoping to keep the passengers calm. Meanwhile, the hijack code needed to be activated through the intercom, which was right next to our jump (crew) seat. One factor that I couldn't have neglected at that time of turmoil and uncertainty, was to keep my smile on. I had to smile, and I did smile, believing that Mata Di was there to safeguard me from all drudgeries. Our idea was to conceal all the passports of the American passengers, so that the militants couldn't have fathomed who was and wasn't US citizen. That was problematic for them, and we as a team took the maximum advantage of the same.



I luckily concealed many passports. I managed to convey in code words to my teammates, so that they could gather all of them and hide the ones belonging to Americans. There were all total fifty-one Americans on board, and my girls did an incredible job in hiding some under the seat cushions, and the rest down into a rubbish chute.



As the hijacking message had to be spread across the cockpit as well, I tried approaching the intercom. One of the terrorists grabbed me by my ponytail, but I was able to shout the code name for a hijacking, and with the promptness and cooperation of another attendant, it was relayed to the cockpit crew : the pilot, co-pilot, and flight engineer. It was human and very instinctive of these three American members of the cockpit crew to escape thus grounding the airplane. Being the senior most crew member on board right after the captain of the ship, I had to take over with a smile on my face. I could see the development was angering the militants. I had to struggle to gather guts even to speak to them, and defying their commands would have endangered all the lives onboard instantaneously. I was forced to communicate with them and deal with those dreaded men singlehandedly, while my juniors had almost surrendered and we all were at the mercy of those butchers. Probably that was the real trial of undaunted courage and unyielding conviction and I had to find a way. Hours after hours I persuaded and pleaded them to free us from that infinite misery, but the only response that my patience, politeness and smile got in that distressed state was the fact that they refrained themselves from any attack till that point in time. They were severely confused and unable to figure out the national origins of the passengers and thus hadn't started executing anyone. This continuous drama enraged them further and seventeen hours had already passed. I had no qualms about our cockpit team abandoning the aircraft - so many passenger lives lay on the line, and we, the thirteen cabin crews were on the threshold of an emotionally arduous circumstance. Getting out of the barbaric grasp of these cold blooded men wasn't easy. Obviously, determining the actions that the cockpit crew should have taken on hearing the hijack code were unknown to us. For the time being, the faces of my family members kept flashing before my eyes and there were times I wished Mata Di could give me more strength to keep my spirit indomitable and consequently fight for the sake of my guests and colleagues. In the meantime, I was sure, the news of my flight getting hijacked had reached mummy papa. They would have definitely tried their level best to find out more about what was going on at Karachi airport. At a personal level, I was glad that at least I could provide the kids with some left over duty free toys, and the adults were looked after within permissible limits. My biggest victory then was winning their trust as my smile was taken to be an assurance for solution and hope for survival. For a moment we all wanted to believe that the worst was not far from over.



But in reality, things were going out of control as the power generator ran out of fuel. I was standing very close to the leader of the terrorists, and the voltage was failing, making the cabin lights turn dim. They were unstoppable and opened fire. There was an outcry for help and blood curdling shrieks from passengers and crew members. The guns were emitting fire aimlessly within the aircraft and I dashed off to the emergency exit with whatever physical strength was left in me, so that I could throw it open. My first priority was to help my passengers to get out of the flight immediately, though many died on spot and it was a narrow escape for many who could manage to jump out of the exit. The zealots made it even worse by setting off explosives and shooting people randomly. The cabin was dismal due to smoke and many started bleeding from their nose due to lack of oxygen. I ran into them only to push them hard outside the exit while many lay on the ground strewn with blood. There were few already injured whom I could manage to quickly drag to the rear exit to get out, as the fall from the wing exit would have been too long for the terrified souls. Thanks to the Pakistani police force for they raided the plane at the right time enabling me to evacuate all the passengers as the firefight ensued. I was left alone and last on board, as the rules and regulations were expected to be, and it was my duty to do the last check. To my shock, I found three little children still hiding. It was a matter of these young lives, whose guiltless eyes and helpless condition broke my heart. I just couldn't leave them behind. I had perhaps pulled them out a bit toughly but time was short and the terrorists would have shot down these poor souls in a fraction of a second. I was leading them to the emergency exits, but alas! These surviving terrorists spotted the children and opened fire on them. I felt something strangely overpowering me and the given 'Shakti' of my Sati Mata that I had been calling upon for help all the while were dissipated inch by inch. The time had come, to do something in the interest of the mankind. After all, who could have resisted saving these tiny humans who deserved nothing but intense compassion and a renewed life to see another day? I jumped in the way of the bullets directed at them and the first one wounded me in my neck. What followed was a hail of several more bullets which I managed to escape from and finally succeeded in evacuating the kids safely. I was hurt, and could see a fountain of blood gushing all the way down the sleeves of my jacket. I was still standing on my feet, trying to touch the kada on my right wrist. I don't know why, that always gave me massive fortitude in the times I needed a boost. I was caught by the leader of the terrorists and he shot me point blank in my abdomen. He continued to unsparingly riddle the bullets into my chest, shoulder and arms until his AK 47 may have been entirely emptied and I couldn't help but collapse on the floor. That time the fall was harder than the earlier falls I had while beaten down by my estranged husband. I had to make a lot of effort to breath, unlike those times when I was in mummy's womb and the cord that used to bind me to her helped me inhale oxygen. I tried keeping my eyes open looking for my colleagues but couldn't find any of them. There was a sense of uncanny relief I found in that wait until the terrorists' gun was silenced with the last bullet. Two of my girls soon rushed in to the aircraft and found me profusely bleeding lying on the cabin floor. It had been some time that I lost considerable amount of blood but my heart kept pumping and I held on to my senses. They assisted me with my wounds that were getting from bad to worse with every tick-tock of the clock but they managed to help me slide down the chute to be received at the other end by another crew member. I could see the ambulance light blinking, I could hear my comrades screaming their lungs out at each other to hurry up with the stretcher, as I could scarcely walk up to the EMS. The pain was reducing, the sense of sound and sight were weakening. It was time to say goodbye.



I lay covered with blood, still dressed in a uniform with the name tag of N. Bhanot, the purser. Few pieces of cloth and metal that I took so much pride in; were soon of no use anymore. It was time for the soul to separate from what I knew as my identity for last twenty-three years (Oh wait! I couldn't even turn twenty-three. I was still few hours away from blowing the twenty third candle) - this mortal body, had taken its leave of its constant companion, the soul, which was preparing to rise to those heights that I always wished to attain.



It was September 7, my birthday, and my parents offered flowers on my coffin. I was cremated the following day in the middle of my family's anguish and heartfelt prayers.



In my earthly life, I only knew Sati Mata. The image of God to me was more of a motherly figure embodying naari shakti, who is venerated for vanquishing all evils around the planet. But Jesus was this holy historical name who lived centuries ago and accomplished a lot of good deeds, but nobody could know him personally. Just before I could know how it feels to be cremated, I found myself standing with a number of other brave souls, chanting hymns to receive Jesus Christ into their heart and heavenly life. I had a distinct sensation of that tremendous amount of pain and weight being withdrawn from my shoulder. I knew, my life had changed dramatically. I was soon surrounded by many more souls of Americans, Europeans, Asians, Africans, Latinos, and what was in common for all was - all of their faces were true to humanity. Now, after making a new commitment to Jesus Christ, not to forget where I came from, not to erase my memory of the path I followed, I pledged to inspire, motivate and guide the current generation to look for the meaning of life. Whether we are wealthy or poor, male or female, famous or unknown, we shall be remembered for what we have given to the world. Once that is realized, there will be no uncertainty, no suffering and no fear of death. There'll be no void inside, no inner solitude. Nothing will hold you back from shielding those who need you. You shall be forever remembered as a brave heart! 


Disclaimer: This is my perspective and it is based on publicly available facts and my imagination. This is a fictional article.

Santiniketan Memoirs by UV

 Sambit Sinha, uncle, this one’s for you… I am trying to pen my thoughts - an attempt I have not made in this decade… I hope I haven’t lost the capability to express it.

It was 18th December, the day we embarked on our trip to Santiniketan. Ushasi assured me for the umpteenth time that I would like it in Santiniketan and would be comfortable. I wasn’t worried, but she was probably apprehensive that I would miss some city facilities ie. shopping malls, multiplexes, etc. To me it was a countryside trip and I was looking for a much needed freedom which I missed in the restrictive Kolkata infrastructure. I was crippled in India as I couldn’t drive. The traffic and transport difficulties in Kolkata frustrated me to no end. I ended up being imprisoned in my own home. None of my close friends barring one lived in Kolkata anymore. Further I was on holiday, they were not, and had to attend their daily duties. I needed to break the shackles.

After a hurried lunch we made our way to the Howrah station through the busy Kolkata roads my thoughts being interrupted with the incessant jolts that we have come to identify Kolkata traffic with. After a few days in Kolkata this trip to Santiniketan brought with it a feeling of nostalgia of my childhood when every Christmas vacation brought with it a promise of a winter getaway from the busy city life.

 We arrive at the yet so familiar Howrah station standing with its enchanted glory. It hasn’t changed ever since I can remember, witnessing the changes the city has gone through over the ages. As the driver helped us unload the luggage we realize that one of the strollers’ handle refused to extract thus I am left pushing it along the platform like a toddler’s pram. We arrive at platform 12 only to realize a few phone calls later our train is sitting pretty at 10.

 We jostle our way back through the motley crowd with Ushasi grumbling away in the background as she is hit by ‘bonchkas’ and ‘tholis’. We finally arrive at the right platform and after almost walking half the length of the train we find our coach and the seats. With the luggage safely tucked away in the overhead rack we take a moment to bid goodbye to my mom with a promise of meeting soon in a week when they come down to Santiniketan for the Christmas party.

 The train is soon on its way and we spend our time analyzing our co-travelers most of who are students heading to Santiniketan for a Christmas and Poush mela outing. Ushasi spots one of her old Viswa Bharati professors but we keep our distance as this particular specie is well known to suffer from UBS, I mean Uncouth Behavioral Syndrome which apparently are stimulated in sight of ex-students and people not following the Rabindranath style guide. Me in an American Eagle cap and an Armani Exchange hoodie would definitely not evoke any pleasant feeling along with the Viswa Bharati ex sporting colored lenses.

 We overhear bits and pieces of the conversation as we bite into our snacks. The legendary ‘baul’ soon makes an appearance humming a folk song which I can’t make head or tail of, much to the amusement of Ushasi. She seems to recognize the song and has some funny memories associated with it.

 I was excited about this trip that had a prospect of playing cricket with Sarit, though sadly our team strength had been badly depleted with key players falling prey to different predicaments. Rahul probably had visa issues and was incommunicado, uncle had an operation partly due to my insistence but the biggest blow was Chirag missing the bus due to bunking a silly exam and then being ostracized by Kaki. I could hardly express my support for the poor soul as I was categorically told that he had committed a heinous crime and me being in line to become a parent sometime in the future should align myself to the parent camp and leave behind my ‘study hating student’ image.

 The train finally arrives at the Geetanjali station, no its still called Bolpur, Didi has so far failed in her renaming attempt! We see two anxious faces of uncle and auntie waiting to see if the US returned daughter and the SOL had made it in one piece. They were definitely relieved to see us and learn that we managed to keep the train journey uneventful much against our reputation.

 We take a short detour to Shanti Niloy. I could already feel the difference in the air, the pollution free sweet smell of the trees which I always associated with our family trips to Bihar or Orissa during my schooling days. As uncle explained about the various neighborhoods we were passing and their significance in history I tried hard to rack my brains to remember the roads from a year-old memory. I felt I remembered a few, some seemed familiar or was I confusing with some other place? I wasn’t so sure.

 Our arrival in Shanti Niloy triggered a bustle of activity which definitely disturbed the normally Shanto Niloy. I clearly remember the house and the structure and was relieved to see the open courtyard intact and surveyed the surrounding, planning where to hit the ever so juicy full toss with my new bat.

 After a hearty dinner and a few rounds of gossip later it was time to retire for the night in Dolon bari. We spend a few minutes exploring Dolon bari much of which matched my memory from last October except the new seating arrangement in the main bedroom. Though the glass walled sitting room was more appealing I had to settle with the main bedroom due to the lack of sleeping arrangement in the former.

 Ushasi was soon snoring away to glory (hope she doesn’t read this!) I too hovered for a while in the realm of dreamland and reality before slipping into a deep sleep. I woke up early and lay in bed listening to the birds busily chirping to make most of the short winter day. Ushasi was in no mood to wake up and after poking and prodding a bit I finally got the license to go to the main house for breakfast and coffee while she continued her morning sleep.

 Auntie was pleasantly surprised to see me up early and set my breakfast up along with my daily dose of caffeine. I spent most of my breakfast chatting and uncle soon joined the session. We were joined by Ushasi and after our breakfast we proceeded to the terrace to inspect the new lawn umbrella setup. The view of the open fields were both unfamiliar and enchanting. It was decided that I would accompany uncle to Talpukur housing estate as he had to supervise some maintenance tasks.

 Uncle and I took a shortcut through the field towards Talpukur, I loved this concept of the apartments overlooking the water body. We surveyed the property before ensuring the apartment that was being used to host my parents had the restrooms functioning which is where my dad loves to take refuge to escape my mom’s constant banter.

 We made our way back to the main house through the fields again, I noticed half of a skull of some unfortunate stray lying by the roadside. We did a brief inspection of the field only to figure out that it was way worse than the fifth day Nagpur pitch and that no play would be possible there.

 We had a cool welcome back drink (sherbet) and restarted our journey this time into the Viswa Bharati campus. I had visited Santiniketan a couple of times in my childhood but those memories were at best bleak. As we walked through the campus uncle pointed out the significant structures and the history behind each one. The vision of Kabi Guru came to life and each structure seemed to stand out as an astute witness to the progressive thinking of this great mind. The Kalobari, the Kala Bhavan and the Patha-Bhavan campus were a few among the many places we walked through. The warmth of the winter sun was pleasant and seemed to add to the festivities in the air. The students were finishing of their last few classes of the season in anticipation of the upcoming mela. Some of them gave us a weird look as we strolled along in shades and clicking pictures. We also walked past the hostels where a young Ushasi had spent a couple of days only to run away with tales of ragging and hardships that the students have to go thru.

 We were stopped at the Kaancher Mandir gates to uncle’s surprise and told that tourists were not allowed at this time. He wondered why after spending fifty odd years in the town has he been suddenly been categorized into a tourist. Little did he realize that his companion’s attire was to blame. He finally convinced the guard to allow us to walk through in order for us to reach home via the shortcut. We stopped midway in the University canteen to take a look at the revamping done and meet the new owner.

 After coming back uncle settled into his daily chores. I wandered about aimlessly for a bit only to realize that the wife was about to start her daily homemade beauty regime. I decided it was time I exercised my new found freedom and decided to embark on a discovery walking tour again much to the disapproval and dismay of Niludi who probably thought the Jamai is about to get lost.

 This time I went on a different route down by the Sinhas’ market and through the village down the winding road taking in the sights and sounds of the countryside. After quite a walk I reached the main road and realized I had reached the new scientific research bhavan which I remembered passing last night. I continued to walk forward stopping only to pick up a few mints and reached home completing a full circle just in time for lunch.

 The evening plan was to go shopping at Bhubandanga and the surrounding area. We stopped in a few shops and when we tried picking up a few gift items, we were quoted exorbitant prices meant for tourists. The lady was apologetic once she saw auntie and realized that we didn’t exactly belong to the tourist category. Auntie was pretty mad at the shop keeping lady for her audacity to quote such a price to her Jamai much to our amusement. We finally settled on a few items and made our way to Karukrit, where we picked up a panjabi for mama which he would have definitely not got had my wardrobe been not overflowing with red panjabis. I too couldn’t resist picking up a black one dreaming of flaunting it in some Indian function in SJ and imagining the envious looks that it would garner.

 We made one final stop at a roadside eatery in Ratanpalli, yes, I did finally manage to eat that roadside chicken roll much to Ushasi’s disapproval! A few strays hovered around hoping to get a bite but they finally had to settle for a healthier biscuit option as I wasn’t parting even with a tiny morsel of my delicacy.

 Once home uncle opened up the bar as we sat down for a relaxing session of tales from our day to day lives in the US and anecdotes. The session continued into dinner till we retired for the night.

 I woke up to a bright morning and after breakfast we proceeded to the terrace under the umbrella for a few glamour shots. I spent sometime in the Dolon bari terrace while Ushasi continued her daily regime. Ushasi promised to go out for a walk with me today. She wanted to show me the places where she spent her childhood and wished to relive memories of her school and college life. We would have to start early if we wanted to click photos as the light was fading pretty fast.

 As the evening fell Ushasi decided it was finally time for her to step outdoor and she took me for a walk down the university campus. We spent some time clicking the various landmark structures and bothering a few students to click a few of our photos. When I asked one student to click our photo he had a sudden loss of speech and started communicating with me in sign language, I never found out why. We however did get our job done.

 We continued our walk to reach the bank crossing and had a look at the lights of the ‘Teen-Pahar, near Ushasi’s nursery ‘Anandapathshala’. I wanted to continue walking down to Bhubandanga to experience the rustic environment and the people there much to Ushasi’s dismay. After a few steps she finally gave up and said she wasn’t up for it and we started to make our way back through the university campus. We met Niludi on our way back who seemed surprised to see ‘Mamoni’ walking, a sight she is not accustomed to.

We stopped again in the university canteen and had a cup of coffee. While the auntie there wasn’t looking I managed to enact how a typical Bengali college union dada would behave in the canteen much to Ushasi’s amusement. Finally, the sparrows, I mean the over sized mosquitoes started attacking us for invading their domain in way that we were forced to leave the canteen to make our way back to home into the safety of our savior, all-out.

It was Ushasi’s turn to act out our brief encounter with her old teacher Pabitrada and his malfunctioning tongue who we met on our way back.

 We set out for dinner in an eatery co-located with a movie theater and had sumptuous dinner with Bajirao Mastani playing in the background. Chhotochhi called up saying that she is ready and packed and that the bags were already out of the door. They would start early to ensure that they reach soon so that we can make most of the available time. Sarit though was very skeptical of the plans and couldn’t believe that the ladies could really meet the early start deadline. We had a brief photo session before retiring and Uncle was warned by Ushasi to look well awake in the photos as these would be posted on Facebook.

 The next morning, I woke a bit late to conserve my energy for the anticipated cricket session. When we reached for breakfast I learned Sarit’s apprehensions hadn’t come true and Chhotochhi and co are well on their way. We decided to spend the time sifting through the old family albums and old videos while we waited for the only remaining team member to arrive. They arrived in time for lunch with a ton of sweets and other goodies. Sarit was out on the ground as soon as lunch was over and I too soon joined him. After a good round of cricket where Moshai being the good Samaritan opted to just be a fielder on a pitch with extremely unpredictable bounce. The batsmen were frequently bowled as the ball kept low.

 Later we moved on to the kankor where Megha and Ushasi joined us for some badminton. Sarit towards the end of the session asked me wide-eyed – ‘how much energy do you have’? Little did he know that for people like us trapped in corporate offices chances like these are rare and far in-between. When we do get such opportunities we try to grab them with both hands and make most of it lest we regret later of having missed out.

 There was a function organized in Niloy to celebrate Niloy’s birthday which we planned to attend. I had brought my Indian attire for the function but judging Chhotochhi and Ushasi’s enthusiasm I had a feeling the function wasn’t going to be too enticing. However, Ushasi’s ‘Mishti Thapu’ had passed away in the morning and the plan was to have a prayer offered in her memory during the function. 

After the sports session I took a shower and dressed up in the Indian attire looking as Santiniketani as I could. Oh the blue lens though weren’t too Santiniketani. I joined uncle and my faithful companion Sarit leaving the ladies still applying their final touches as we made our way to the function. It was a session where a professor delivered a talk on Sri Aurobindo and Sufism, but 20 minutes into the talk he was still promoting Islam. Sarit and I started fidgeting looking for an escape route. We were desperately looking out of the window to catch a glimpse of familiar faces as an excuse to escape out into the open. There were a few in the audience who were audibly snoring and one of the culprits was the unforgettable Pabitrada. Oh finally we spot Auntie, Ushasi & Chhotochhi from the window. We didn’t waste any time in beating a hasty retreat leaving Uncle to enhance his understanding of Islam.

 Once out in the open Sarit & I decided it was time for a walk. We first took a stroll to the market complex in futile search of a coke shop. Unfortunately, none were to be found and we made our way back to the house for a sip there. With the function in Niloy showing no signs of getting over we decided to explore a bit further, this time we walked to the mela area to look at the preparations. The shops were at best half done and the jilipi stall owners were cooking some stuff for their own dinner. Disappointed with the progress we made our way back to Niloy just as the function was getting over. We joined everyone and slowly made our way back only to realize that Moshai and Megha had been locked in, which they used as an excuse for their inability to attend. I however had an uncanny feeling that had the door been open they still might not have made it.

 We decided to visit Nilanjana Mashi and Mimi Mashi while the others settled back. Nilanjana Mashi was very understanding and didn’t force us to eat sweets. We spent a bit of time listening to her tales of the peculiar characters that inhabit this small university town. Next stop was ‘Mimir Bari’ where Mimi Mashi lived. Though the exterior was unassuming the decor inside was a work of art I guess that’s why the saying goes not judge a book by its cover. Both ‘Mimidi’ and her husband were artists and the artistic taste was beautifully portrayed in the detailed decor of the house. She too regaled us with the difficulties of a family of artists for whom life events such as marriage are mundane events which are informed as matter-of-fact items by the artist son to the mother and the artist father has a very valid question of whether he has any role to play in the event.

 Moshai looked excited as the whiskey started to flow once we were back. The session soon warmed up with us all participating in acting out our most hated people and enacting their signature behavioral traits. Long live Pabitrada, because no session is complete without his caricature. Other teachers and childhood memories were shared. I tried sharing a few of my harmless stories in an effort to keep up my image of a not so naughty child. Everyone was tired and decided to retire, the next day’s plan was a family outing to watch ‘Dilwale’ followed by dinner.

 Early morning, I set off with Uncle to buy mutton from the local market. Ushasi would cook mutton the next day for the entire family to prove that stories of her culinary skills were indeed true. The local market was actually a concrete organized complex where the farmers displayed their produce for sale. It actually caught me by surprise as I had expected shacks by the roadside and not an organized complex. Our first stop was the mutton shop where we picked up the meat and I tried not watching the guy next to him who effortlessly took live chicken and cut off their heads coolly as if he was chopping cucumbers. Uncle’s next stop was the fish stall, I tried being brave and made my best effort to stand there but I could last only a minute before my whole system started revolting in the stench and I had to excuse myself and escape to the parking lot. Once the fishy business was done I accompanied him to the vegetable market where he picked ups lot of veggies. The final stop was the paneer shop. As we were about enter a customer coming out of the shop spit and it barely missed uncle trying to enter the shop. He got a glare from uncle but the guy’s expression was nonchalant as if spitting was the most natural thing to do in the world and it is the responsibility of others to get out of the way when he felt like doing it in public.

 Next morning after breakfast Sarit drags me aside and request me to go and ask uncle to arrange for us to borrow Ranjit’s bicycle. He believed probably if the SOL requested the FIL, chances of the adventure being rejected were slim. We soon set off to Talpukur to rob Ranjit of his bicycle and pedaled away through the winding lanes of Santiniketan. With the cool breeze on our faces and the warm sun on our back we felt liberated from the infrastructural restrictions. We did manage to come home in time for lunch, though with a sore bum from the bumpy roads and the hard seat. The new found freedom on wheels were addictive and we set out again after lunch exploring the by-lanes of the town, roads of which have started to look familiar to me now.

 As the evening set in we got ready to watch the ever-stammering superstar and the melanin operated milk-and-honey heroine on a much talked about action packed movie. With really almost no time to spare Uncle tried desperate measures to reach the theater in time. For once I was sitting back relaxed watching the father having to race against time, which I usually had to do for the rest of the year.

 We barely ran into the theater as the titles of the movie started playing. I spent rest of the movie being educated of what the ever-so-favorite heroine of many may have done to change from a dusky girl into the owner of an ever so pinkish flawless complexion. As Ushasi and I whispered among ourselves others were engrossed in the story Dilwale was trying hard to tell. To be honest I did like the few car stunts in the movie, but Mr Rohit Shetty you are damn lucky that you have the masses watching your movie because this definitely doesn’t have any class. The objective was anyway to do a family outing and that was well enjoyed where the movie and its contents were inconsequential. We trooped over to the SK eatery for our dinner. Ushasi needed to use the restroom and like all public restrooms in India this wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience. Sarit and I had to don the role of protector and cleaning inspector to finally certify a cube that could be used. Once the ordeal was over we came back to our table where all the ladies, well Megha still being counted as a girl, were on veg diet, it being a Hanuman-day.

 We were home soon and much to Sarit’s disgust I was offered a drink. He was petrified of the idea that I would fall asleep after my drink. His worst fears however didn’t come true. Sarit accompanied us to Dolon bari where we chatted and played ‘Drum Sharad’ late into the night.

 Next morning the house was bustling with activity and pandemonium had set it. The Bolpur station area had traffic restrictions. My parents were arriving and the car supposed to receive them couldn’t get through. Uncle was trying his best to work out something and was constantly in touch with my dad and the travel agent. I was on a holiday, I was chilled out, for once logistics wasn’t my headache, though I felt sorry for Uncle because I exactly knew what he was going through.

 Sarit and I set off on our now routine cycle trip while Ushasi got busy in cooking mutton. Ushasi had to live up to her reputation and this was her big test. With Niludi standing by her faithfully she embarked on her cooking spree. This morning we decide to take stock of the mela situation and rode to the mela ground. Today’s sight was much more heartening. 70% of the stalls were functional. Jilipi was already selling, I bought Sarit one and he seemed to like it. We slowly took a stroll of the mela ground with our cycles in tow. This was indeed good news. There was a function at Talpukur in the evening. The plan was to come to the mela after that. Sancharee was already here and I would meet her in person after ever so many virtual interactions. The Talpukur function was an annual event, though the contents of the function weren’t so appealing but the promise of Aniruddha Uncle’s open bar was ever so enticing.

 We reached home to find a relieved household that a car had finally been able to make it to the station and my parents arrived without any hassles. Mutton was ready and I had a first bite, it was tasty. Lunch was soon served and mutton well appreciated. Ushasi heaved a sigh of relief. My parents soon made their way to the Talpukur apartments for their afternoon siesta. 

As evening fell we got dressed for the event. Uncle left early to ensure all the arrangements were in place. At around 7.30 we were ready to go. However, we realized that there was only one driver, Moshai! I had long lost confidence of driving in crazy Indian traffic, though I can’t deny I felt a strong urge to do so. Sarit and I decided to walk to the venue leaving the girls to avail the car. We actually reached before the car arrived. Uncle met us at the gate and once the initial introductions were done I did not waste any time in making my way to Aniruddha Uncle’s flat. My dad had beaten me to it and was already onto his second drink. As I quickly poured myself one, I saw a very worried face watching me intently as to how the alcohol is affecting my energy levels, yes, Sarit of course! As I poured myself a second one he begged me to make it the last one for the evening. Ushasi & Megha soon joined us, though they didn’t participate in the drinking bout. Uncle ensured that the snacks were sent up to the room. Ushasi told me that one of the aunties had commented that I didn’t look quite like ‘Jamai-jamai’. Well in a leather jacket and torn jeans I dare say I could fit the Indian Jamai image that day, can’t blame her!  Oh well, to top it all I wasn’t even wearing my pom-pom cap. Now, I’m being a tad too sarcastic. We had dinner as soon as the buffet was ready. Uncle arranged a toto, basically a battery operated jumbo-sized auto to take us to the mela grounds. Sarit, Ushasi & I left for the mela to meet Sancharee and co. Our parents would wrap up the party and join us soon. We walked through the mela in search of Sancharee, attracting scandalized looks due to our western attire in poush-mela. We finally caught up with Sancharee, Soumya & Doyel hanging out with a couple of others. We had a good sit-down chat session in Banaful Caterers, where Doyel had dinner and they had lived up to their name and made it baneful for her.

Our parents with Chhotochhi, Moshai and Megha arrived and we had a quick family photo which I’m sure would be difficult to recreate soon. Sancharee and co were tired and left for home with plans of attending the early morning function at Chhatimtola. My parents with Uncle would attend that too. For me, my early morning sleep was more captivating.

Ushasi had an ardent wish to have jilipi and we walked to each corner but unfortunately none were to be found. We had to settle for coffee as that was the only thing available.

 Megha and Sarit would sleepover with us in Dolon bari today. We were to play 'Dram Sharad' however the girls wanted a few clicks and Sarit being a gentleman agreed to allow this event to precede the gaming session. But little did he know what he had done. The photo session didn’t get over till 3 AM in the morning and that’s when disaster struck. Sarit’s worst fears came true, I fell asleep! He was devastated! He thought of all possible punishment that should be meted out to the two elder sisters but none would still compensate his loss. He was crestfallen and even considered waking his mom up and going back to the main house. 

When I arrived for breakfast the next morning the mood was somber, Sarit was heartbroken. I was sad too and promised that tonight we would definitely make up for it. After breakfast, Sarit & I rode to the mela. Megha had already arrived there with Moshai to make best use of his early morning good mood and pick up stuff from the mela.

We met up with Megha and soon Moshai and Chhotochhi left as we three continued our expedition in the mela. Megha met up with her college friend for a quick hi. Sarit took a couple of round at shooting balloons while Megha and I tried the Banarasi paan. It was time to head back for lunch. Megha got on a rickshaw while we followed her on our cycles. By the time I reached home liquor was already flowing and a worried Sarit watched while I downed my glass with fervor. Memories of the night before were surely haunting him. He advised me to sleep it off in the afternoon and skip the evening drinks session. But then it was an evening cocktail party! He was very worried indeed!

I actually did sleep in the afternoon and was as good as new by the time the party started. I helped Sarit set up the bonfire. Moshai helped us in scouting for additional firewood. Soon the party was in full flow. The younger generation occupied the dining room which also was where the wine counter was! Alcohol always brings the best out of me, the best click of the trip with Megha happened then, and guess what, with a bottle of wine in my hand. We clicked quite a few amazing ones too with Ushasi, Megha and the parents, though there was one thing common, the glass in my hand! Sarit tried a shot of Kahlua and probably didn’t like it much and Chhotochhi was livid at Moshai for allowing that, who was cool as cucumber. The tandoori chicken was exceptionally good and by far the best I’ve had in a long time. We had dinner and I helped Sarit light up the bonfire. One more day to go, time was running too fast. My parents retired to their Talpukur apartment as we made our way back to Dolon bari. We had decided to skip mela tonight, this was the Drum Sharad night, we didn’t want another fiasco. Yes, we did play Dram Sharad and it was good fun. Aniruddha uncle’s rechristening of Sarit/Rambo would be immortalized through our session and so would Mangal Pandey. We finally slept at 3.30 with Sarit happy and peaceful.

25th morning brought mixed feelings, it was Christmas, but then it was the last day of the trip too. I was tasked to pick up the decorative masks and ‘Dokras’ from mela. Uncle and my parents were already there. Moshai, Chotochi & Megha had reached too. I with my favorite companion in tow reached without delay. After I picked up the advised stuff we made our way to legendary ‘Senjuti’. Megha, Sarit and I were the first ones to reach. Slowly everyone caught up and we ordered a round of fish fries and coffee. The older generation decided to head home after the session. Megha, Sarit and I decided to hang out a bit more to make most of our time. We even made a checklist of our to-do bucket list for the mela. Sarit had his rounds of balloon shots, paan it was for Megha and me. Ushasi had finished packing by the time we came back and were happy to see the items I picked up. We would go again in the evening for the final round. Chhotochhi had her wish list too. The plan was to have dinner there. Ushasi got dressed in a saree to do “antlami” at Senjuti as she termed it. As evening fell we all made our way to the mela one final time.

The mela ground was crawling with people and not everyone had noble intentions. A few just wanted to run their hands along some unsuspecting woman’s bum in the cover of the crowd. We the male members were thus encumbered with the task of safeguarding our women folk from the creeps on the prowl. Believe me Sarit was leading the charge! We visited a few handicraft stores and picked up some beautiful crafts to adorn our home back in the States. We then slowly made our way to Senjuti. Ushasi met with a couple of seniors while a few others scrutinized us from a distance. Our next stop was at the pithe shop and we had ‘bhapa pithe’ which were pretty nice. Aunty however said they were not well-done and other times they were even better. We were getting worried, having not much done from the checklist and we made a desperate attempt to go over to the jilipi stall and knock off at-least one item from our list.

The elders decided to head home while we would make most of what was left of the trip. Chhotochhi was still not done so Moshai didn’t have the liberty to go back. We split into two groups Chhotochhi and Moshai went by themselves while we ran off looking to a couple of gifts. After a few shops we finally arrived at the one where Ushasi had picked up some jewelry a couple of years back where Moshai had used his famed ‘ko poisa’ bargaining skills. I could imagine that the memory of that might have been so traumatizing to the shopkeeper that he had not forgotten the ordeal. One look at Ushasi and he says ‘aap pehle bhi aye the’ and that he was scared of how much bargaining it would lead to. We got our stuff custom made and it was time for the legendary fufaaji’s appearance. Oh what a performance! The guy would surely think twice before he set his stall up again in the mela. So much so as we were about to walk away with our bargain, little Sarit took pity and said give him another 50 bucks. I’m sure this guy will have Sarit’s number set of his fast dial whenever he comes to Santiniketan in future.

Chhotochhi picked up a small storage cabinet and it was time to head back home. Our to-do list wasn’t even half done. Moshai went ahead with Chhotochhi to get a toto while we followed at a leisurely pace. These were the last few hours and we didn’t want to let them slip. One last stop at the Banarasi paan shop was inevitable. The rides and ice-cream would have to wait for another time. This time the paan was big! We soon found the waiting toto and were on our way back to Shanti Niloy. Sarit and Megha would sleep with their parents tonight as we had an early train. Ushasi has a nausea problem on Indian roads hence we had to avail the train, others would drive. The trip had sadly come to an end but we had lovely memories to carry back. As we retired for the night with a bit of weight in our hearts I was at-least glad of having spent quality time with everyone. Chirag you were missed!