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Down Memory Lane

A Library of Memories

Books once shaped Ms D. Bhattacharyya’s world, during her student days in Guwahati University. Though mobile reading now dominates her time, her most cherished memory remains a gift she once gave her father.

I used to be a voracious reader, but nowadays I barely read. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but the main reason for my shift away from books is the mobile phone. Most of my reading now is on the phone—news articles, recipes, opinion pieces, critical commentaries, excerpts from books. My reading diet has become so restricted to the short form that books—novels and even short stories—feel slow. I feel a certain lethargy when I sit down to read them.
As a student at Guwahati University, from where I graduated with a BA degree, I was very different. There weren’t too many Bengali books available in the market in those days. Bengali speakers like us would have to ask relatives back in Bengal to post boxes of books to us. For me the college library was a wonderland filled with all my favourite authors.
I would devour books by the dozen. If a book caught my fancy, I would not take more than three days to finish it. Before exams, one of my professors would scold me and even ban me from borrowing books. Only after exams were over would my borrowing rights be restored.
I remember once, near the end of my schooling days, that a teacher urgently needed Tagore’s Sanchayita for an occasion. He asked if any of us had a copy at home. My father owned an old print of the collection, and I lent it to him. The teacher never returned it, claiming he had left it at someone else’s place.
I was heartbroken. I knew how precious the book was to my father and regretted lending it out. Later, when I started earning, I bought him another copy of Sanchayita. It was perhaps the first book I ever gifted him. Though I gave him several books over the years, that copy of Sanchayita remained his most treasured possession. It carried immense meaning for him—not only the words of Tagore, but also the proof of my love and respect for him.

(as narrated to Support Elders by our member)
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In the Month of Shravan

Last month was Shravan, and during one of our daily calls to our member Ms T. Saha, she spoke to us about how she spends each Monday of the month and how her relationship with the Ganga (the Hooghly) deepens during this time.

For many years, I have observed a simple practice every Monday in the month of Shravan: fasting and then taking a dip in the Ganga. Today, for the first time in several years, I went to the river for a holy dip. I don’t remember the ghat stairs ever being this slippery. Worried I might fall, I asked a gentleman to hold my hand and guide me down.
After my dip, as tradition goes, I ate fruits and sabudana (sago) served on a banana leaf. My next meal will be tomorrow. This has been my way since I was young—a dip in the Ganga, followed by a meal of fruits to break the fast.
When I began working as a teacher, I kept up the practice. The sweeper would clear a corner of the staff room for me, and I’d sit on the floor, cutting my fruits on a boti (a vegetable cutter fixed to a wooden base). My colleagues would tease me, warning of “dire consequences” if I didn’t share my fruits! Once the fast is broken, tradition requires that the keeper of the vow be asked three times if the used banana leaf and utensils have been disposed of. During my teaching days, Swarupa—a spirited girl from Katwa—took on that role. She would laugh and say, “Tripti di, what if I don’t call out thrice? What if I don’t release you?”
Now I live alone, so I call out to myself three times and answer my own call. In a way, I have been released. But during my meal today, I kept thinking of Swapna. I wonder where she is now.

(as narrated to Support Elders by our member)