THE CRAFTSMAN

White Pyjama, Kurta,
color ripe orange
Moti Babu as the
suggests reminding a bun
dashed to the home
far away from Kolkata
at least once a year
in the capacity of my
uncle’s close friend.
Moti Babu always pleasant
smiling, tongue-in-cheek
sent waves of joy
through the nerves
of all at home.
Moti Babu always talkative
knew my mother tongue
and spoke a like a
gurgling stream
flowing north to south
in front of our home.
Moti Babu, Uncle, I
we three
never rested at home
during day time
we went out
visiting nook and cranny
of the village
to the fascination of
my friends, uncle’s friends
seeing a walking, laughing
loud-speaker
in Pyjama,Kurta.
Moti Babu waved to
everyone, all amused
and enchanted on watching the
once in a year phenomenon.
During nights
Moti Babu and my Uncle
breathlessly spoke about
their Calcutta days
their pranks and mischiefs
and secrets best known to
them while I went for
my daily nap.
Moti Babu brought me fruits
sweets, colour pencils and
story books
and to my uncle,
Bengali classics, English fiction
and Bengali dishes, ready-made clothes
of various colours
all glittering to my Grandma, aunties, uncles
and myself.
Moti Babu spent joyous moments
with my Grandma
called her ‘Amma’
the way my uncle called her
ran his fingers through her
snow-white long flowing hairs
lied on her lap
like a child
but that was all once
upon a time.
Moti Babu too was
gradually ageing
my uncle too
river of time continues
to flow
time a craftsman
versatile in creating
handicrafts on all
no escape from his clutch
Moti Babu started not coming
asked I to my uncle one day
replied he sadly, tiredly
‘Moti Babu is too weak
he is ageing know?
Like me, your uncle?
Uncle’s answer satisfied me not
‘Am I not ageing’ asked I
‘No,no,no, you are growing
growing tall’ – Uncle smiled.
But I felt indescribable sadness…….