THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 9): JULIE BRAGNZA’S PIANO

Music has been an integral part of my upbringing ever since we moved to Mumbai. I was 10 years old when we came and settled in Mumbai as a family of four, comprising of Baba, Maa, Aunt Padma and me. My mother had always been overenthusiastic about the role of music in a child’s life and Aunt Padma acted as a catalyst in this endeavor. I was never a very melodiously inclined child and was naturally scared on hearing the proposal.

The next question that arrived was what should I learn in music? This became a highly debatable topic over a few days and my guardians contemplated heavily before finally agreeing to send me for piano classes. To be more specific, the idea came from my Baba, who received the suggestion from one of his colleagues in the bank. Thus began my journey into the world of music!

We arrived at the small dilapidated single-storied house, in a small street behind the Mumbai Central Station. The walls of the house craved for a fresh round of whitewash, maybe from the last twenty years, while the small garden in front of the main entrance depicted clear signs of neglect. The owner of the house, Mrs. Julie Braganza welcomed us inside and Maa, Aunt Padma and I entered the small, dimly lit living-room and sat on the sofa. Mrs. Julie Braganza was perhaps seventy years old while her crippled skin and emaciated body presented the expression that she was possibly ninety years old! She lived in this house all her herself.

The old lady embraced me lovingly and took me over to an adjacent room while Maa and Aunt Padma watched. As I entered the room, I saw it! It was a mahogany colored vintage shaped grand piano! Even though signs of age were visible on its contours, the grandeur of the instrument illuminated the entire room. I had never played a piano before, but the sheer look of this retro yet mammoth instrument filled my heart with joy! The sight itself was so overwhelming that I clutched the hands of Mrs. Julie Braganza with delight!  

The old lady smiled at me and helped me sit on the pod in front of the piano and said, “She is a beauty, isn’t she? Her name is Diana!”

Saying the above words, Mrs. Julie Braganza stood beside me and began to play a melody that brought tears into the eyes of Maa and Aunt Padma. Even though I was pretty small, I too couldn’t hold back my tears on hearing the melody. Mrs. Julie Braganza stopped, touched my head gently and said, “Music is the language of God! Even a new born baby can understand the emotions expressed by it! I have dedicated 50 years of my life to music and this piano is my only companion with whom I am always happy. Pravin, I am sure you too would fall in love with this piano and the world of music!”

From that day, my rendezvous started with Mrs. Julie Braganza, her piano and the music lessons. Within the next two years I became quite proficient in maneuvering the instrument and the lessons became richer every day. I enjoyed playing the beautiful pieces (composed by great composers) like Chopin’s “Funeral March”, Beethoven’s “Gertrude’s Dream Waltz” and Mozart’s “Piano Sonata No. 11”. Every time I visited Mrs. Julie Braganza’s house, I felt ecstatic. The melody from Diana’s heart, filled the air with lyrical sweetness and refreshed my mind. By the time I was sixteen years old, music touched my every emotion when I sat and played Mrs. Julie Braganza’s piano. During this time, I observed a peculiar thing. The attachment that I felt with the “Diana” was different from any other piano I ever played! Once I played the “Polka Waltz” on a brand new grand piano at one of our relative’s house in Delhi, but it failed to cheer up my heart the way it did when I played the same piece on Mrs. Julie Braganza’s piano! A sweet connection developed between me and the elderly Mrs. Julie Braganza and I was even able to confide many of my little secrets with her! Maa and Aunt Padma appreciated this bonding, as this old lady filled the place of a grandmother in my life. Even today, I can visualize the thrill on Mrs. Julie Braganza’s face when I first completed the lesson on “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” by Mozart. I became one of her most favorite students! Then, there were the compositions of Mrs. Julie Braganza herself. I cannot express my feelings in writing, as to how much I enjoyed them! She fondly taught me some of her works and would listen to them with closed eyes, while I played them. She would then add, “Your fingers have a magic! My music and my ‘Diana’ becomes alive with their enchanted touch!”

Within the next few year, situations changed and I got more and more dragged into academics, so that I can have a secured future. Slowly, my piano classes became irregular and at last I had to discontinue them completely. Many years passed, but I somehow managed to keep in touch with Mrs. Julie Braganza. At times, on weekends, I visited her house for some quality time with the old Mrs. Julie Braganza, who was almost ninety years old.

A few years back, Mrs. Julie Braganza passed away. The members of a “Music Lover’s Club” took up the responsibility of maintaining her house, but within a year’s span, their interests, too, withered away. Soon, a local builder approached the society and some of Mrs. Julie Braganza’s distant relatives for ownership of the house. He wanted to come up with a multi-storied apartment in the area. Things got finalized and the folks started auctioning the old furniture and belongings of Mrs. Julie Braganza.

I got the news of the above development pretty late, and rushed to the spot in a fit of terror. I didn’t want to lose the most precious thing that was present in that house… Mrs. Julie Braganza’s piano! I was lucky, by the time I reached, there were no takers for the timeworn instrument. I spent a lion’s share of my savings and brought home “Diana”! She now stands gracefully at a corner in my father’s study-room.

I am writing this journal today, as I want to keep note of this special element in my life… my love for music and sheer ecstasy it brings into my heart. I know, even when I forget everything, I would not forget this gift of God and my proficiency in playing the grand instrument! Mrs. Julie Braganza might be gone, but her piano will be my companion forever! Whenever my fingers would dance over the black-and-white keys, the voice of “Diana” would bring a smile on my face! Whatever happens, Mrs. Julie Braganza’s piano would remain with me in house forever.

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 8): SWEET PAPAYA

Every emotion has a taste associated with it. The human mind perceives this taste whenever it experiences an emotion. Anger is associated with bitterness, sorrow is associated with sourness, and so on.  I had often pondered about what is the taste of purity and innocence? What is the taste of pure happiness and ecstasy? And I know the answer… It is definitely SWEET!

About six months ago, a pickle hawker arrived and setup a makeshift shop on the footpath in front of the apartment where I live, in Andheri East. Every morning he arrived religiously at 7 AM in the morning and started his shrill voiced hawking that would reverberate through the warm breeze flowing in the neighborhood. Such was his accuracy of arrival, that I was able to attribute it with the hour of the day. It became my usual habit to peep out from my window and verify his arrival with the time by my watch! Then again, as I returned home, every evening, I could see him sitting in his usual spot and wrapping up his meagre sale. Sharp at 7 PM, he would close his business and leave.

The interesting part in this entire episode was the presence of a little chubby boy, of around five years of age, who accompanied the man, every day. For the first few days my attention didn’t get attracted towards the duo, but one lazy Sunday afternoon, after lunch, I sat near the window and began observing their whereabouts. The little boy was cute enough to grasp the attention of any person with his mischievous and playful activities and I felt amused while watching him. Around three in the afternoon, the man took out a lunchbox and fed the little boy with some dry Chapattis and vegetables and then ate the rest himself. After lunch, the boy hugged the man, drank some water and continued to play around in the small garden adjacent to my apartment building. His innocent laughter floated in the air like a gush of freshness in the humid afternoon.

That evening, I went downstairs and met the man and the boy. The man’s name was Hokum Singh and the boy was named Ramu. I bought some pickle from Hokum Singh and then sat beside him for a little chat. Within the next one hour I learnt that Hokum Singh lived in the suburbs and traveled every day for selling pickle, as his livelihood. I learnt that Ramu was his only son and Hokum Singh’s wife had passed away recently.

“Sahib, this boy is my only family. My wife had a severe blood disorder and passed away a few months ago. I cannot leave this infant alone and go out to work, so I bring him with me every day. He too suffers from the same ailment as his mother and doctors say that he would require blood transfusions soon! I cannot live without him. I am trying hard to gather money for his treatment!” sobbed Hokum Singh.

I felt sad as I understood that the severe blood condition that the boy was suffering from was Thalassemia! I turned towards Ramu and asked, “Hi there. What does your Baba call you?”

Little Ramu, with animated expressive eyes and plump freckled cheeks, looked at me with an innocent grin and said, “PAPAYA!”

A sudden sensation of the sweet buttery taste of a ripe papaya filled my mind and I could instantly associate it with the carefree, cheerful and innocent laughter of the little child. His freckled cheeks got added as a visual attribution to this subtle image in my mind. I looked at him smilingly and replied, “Would you mind if I call you SWEET PAPAYA?”

Little Ramu nodded in agreement and went on to play around the bushes. Thus, my association with this SWEET PAPAYA began! Deep in my heart, I felt pained on the condition of Hokum Singh and Ramu, but tried to keep my emotions under control. From that day onward, it became my daily habit to spend some quality time every evening with SWEET PAPAYA and Hokum Singh, after I returned from work. On weekends I often invited Ramu inside our house. Aunt Padma too became quite fond of him.

One day, I gave a chunk of ripe Papaya in Ramu’s hands and clicked a picture just as Ramu was taking a big bite! I said, “This is the perfect illustration of your name… SWEET PAPAYA!”

I brought home a moneybox and began depositing some cash in it every day; I planned to hand it over to Hokum Singh when he would need it for Ramu’s treatment. At times I could observe that little Ramu’s health was failing and would buy medicines for him and give them to Hokum Singh. I even accompanied Ramu and his father to the local Hospital for an initial checkup. I was adamant that this SWEET PAPAYA should not get withered away by the cruel blow of a disease. Hokum Singh appreciated the gesture and said one day, “God has taken away his mother, but has given him another father, in you Sahib!”

The onset of my amnesia struck midway during the above sequence of events and I was bedridden in the Hospital suddenly for a week. Aunt Padma was completely devastated and kept praying for my wellbeing. Her prayers perhaps reached the right ears and I was able to return back home finally.

The day I came back home, as I peeped through my window at the footpath, I could not see Hokum Singh or Ramu. I asked Aunt Padma and she replied that the father son duo had not been around for a few days. I didn’t know where they lived and became anxious about the health of little Ramu. I asked a few servants who worked at households within my apartment complex, but none could provide a satisfactory answer.

Hokum Singh and Ramu were gone. From that day, till today, I had been unable to find them. It has been two months, but neither Hokum Singh nor Ramu returned. My amnesia is eating away my memory but I am determined to help the little child. I have kept the picture of Ramu beside the moneybox and am depositing the cash within it every day! I plan to do so until I meet Hokum Singh and his son again.

I strongly believe that the best flavor that defines happiness is that of Sweet and I cling on to the memories of my SWEET PAPAYA till fate unites us. This sweet child is like a sinewy courage in me. God has brought out the father in me, when SWEET PAPAYA came into my life and I know that even if my memories wash away, the attachment towards Ramu will not vanish. Every day I pray to God for the wellbeing of the child and hope that he again returns into my life. The picture of Ramu, my SWEET PAPAYA, would remain in front of my eyes, placed safely inside the wooden showcase beside the moneybox, and I know I will remember him, whenever he comes back. 

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 7): DEAR MAA…

Maa… This word, this sound, resonates like music in the hearts of every living human, and I am no exception. However, one exception does exist and I must note it down here, today. I have had the good fortune of being brought-up and nurtured by not one… but two mothers!

Born to Mr. Bhuvan Singhania and Mrs. Bhavna Singhania, I must say that I had an exceptionally beautiful childhood in our family of four members! I say four members, because my family is incomplete without the mention of Aunt Padma! She is the first cousin of my father, and I heard that she used to live in Mussoorie, before her wedding with Major Samrat Kumar at a very tender age of 21 years. However, within a few months of her marriage, major Samrat was martyred in battle and Aunt Padma became a widow. Unable to bear the grief and shock, my father decided to bring her home, to live with us. All this happened a few years before I was even born. So, by the time I saw the light of life on earth, our family comprised of Baba, Maa and Aunt Padma!

My Maa, Mrs. Bhavna Singhania gave birth to me as a little underweight, pale looking baby whom everyone was shocked to see. My Maa was worried about whether I would even survive a few days! However, Aunt Padma never had a doubt. She was stubborn in her determination to make me a strong young man and expressed her will right from the first day! Amid all the calamities in her life, I came like a ray of sunlight, a glimmer of hope and she embraced me with all her heart. She refrained from getting remarried and gave her firm decision to live the rest of her life with us. My Baba was helpless while my Maa lovingly accepted Aunt Padma as her sister and gave her a share of me!

Maa used to say, “Pravin, Aunt Padma is my alter ego! She is my mirror image. You are both of our son! You’re a lucky boy, Pravin, you have the blessing of being pampered by two mothers! If ever I am gone, she will be there for you…”

Days passed, years flew by and I grew up under the tutelage of Maa and Aunt Padma. They protected me, they punished me, they guided me, they scolded me, and made me the man I am today. I spent the lazy afternoons of childhood days listening to stories narrated by Aunt Padma or songs sung by my Maa. My pocket money was always double… a portion being supplied by my Maa and the part being sufficed by Aunt Padma from her late husband’s pension. While watching a horror movie, I used to sit between my two mothers and alternately hide my face in their respective laps, while they laughed heartily at my behavior. Whenever Baba used to be angry with me for my pranks, my two mothers would stand like walls of stone in front of him! However, later I would receive a double quota of scolding from them for my deeds! Every “Mother’s Day”, I made two cards, one for Maa and one for Aunt Padma! Unknowingly, I filled an empty void in the maternal being of Aunt Padma.

As I grew taller and stronger, I saw my two mothers growing older and weaker. I often questioned an unanswered question, “Why are you growing old? I don’t want you to become old. I want you to remain the same, always!”

Yet, the inevitable happened, and two years ago, I lost Maa and Baba in an accident. The grief overwhelmed me and I was completely shattered within. The loss of Baba and Maa, together, came like a thunder from nowhere and struck me! My only support remained in Aunt Padma. A few months later, aunt Padma suffered from a severe heart attack and her moving abilities were severely curtailed. I was again in a state of despair, but was contented that she somehow survived. I determined myself to take the best care of her and arranged for everything possible. At night, every day after dinner, I made it a point to sit with my old Aunt Padma and tell her about the stories that unfolded throughout the day. She is feeble now, she is weak, but her heart still blooms with love. She places her trembling hands on my cheeks and showers her love on me before I go to sleep.

When the news of my amnesia got revealed, I noticed a strange change in Aunt Padma. Even though she is physically weak, there was a spark of sudden strength that emerged from within her subconscious self. Her eyes, that were waning with every passing day, suddenly gained a glitter! She is trying hard to regain her mobility! I didn’t expect this and was surprised by this metamorphosis in her.

Today morning I confronted her and she replied with an elusive energy that shook me literally. She said, “Pravin, god has given me a second life! Within a year, you would be a child again, my boy, and it is my duty to ensure your proper upbringing... again! It is a promise I made to Bhavna and myself and I cannot repudiate it. Don’t worry about me… your Aunt Padma is strong as ever! I will fight with the almighty and live extra years, before I am satisfied that my little Pravin is independent again!”

Tears came out from my eyes, but Aunt Padma (the one who is usually the emotional creature) didn’t shed a single one. There was a determination in her eyes while she took her walking stick and paced within the living-room and said, “I have to walk now, so that my limbs become rejuvenated. But do you remember what day is today?”

I gave a somewhat blank look at this sudden question. To this, Aunt Padma patted on my shoulder and said with a smile, “Boy! Today is Mother’s Day! Go and make two cards as you always do! Keep one under the photograph of Bhavna and give one to me!”

I wiped off my tears and got up. I went up to my writing desk and in the next one hour, finished two handmade cards. I placed one under the photograph of Maa and gave the other one to Aunt Padma.

Inside both the cards, I could only write, “DEAR MAA…” Nothing else can be written, ever perhaps, in return of the love that this ethereal being showers on her children!