The Onus of Ancestry by Arpita Mogford Page A

interminable bores as he spent those days relaxing in their home. Dwita used to avoid his company and disappeared into her own domain of books, records and children’s games – Maheshwari quite liked to play a game of Ludo with her.
    Brojen Halder was anxious to win Dwita’s favour and tried to draw her into their company, much against her wishes. He invited her to join them for a visit to the cinema or for a treat of ice cream or
faluda
on the Strand. She usually accepted to avoid incurring her mother’s displeasure. Dwita quite liked their outings to the Strand where on a quiet evening she could count the boats on the river or watch the progress of the orange sun setting over the Ganges. She sometimes listened to the nostalgic singing of the boatmen in the distance, or the laughter of the fishermen displaying their day’s catch accompanied by incomprehensible dialectical exchanges amongst themselves. She felt happily detached from the mundane world of Parna and Brojen, they did not matter – even Brojen’s presence could not take away the magic of that brief twilight hour. She wished to answer the call of the distant enchantment that beckoned her – her grandfather must have felt the same urge when he left the safety of these shores for a tryst with the unknown.
    Then it would be time to return home and they invariably ended up buying several hilsa fish which Maheshwari would have to turn into various culinary delights – such as
hilsa teljhol
, hilsa in mustard sauce, smoked hilsa and so many other delicacies. Maheshwari was an excellent cook and handled her art with both versatility and sensitivity.
    In the old days Dwita had loved her Sunday lunches, the happy, relaxed eating at Dima’s table was very enjoyable. Although Parna had introduced many new aspects of non-Bengali living into their lives, she had retained the Bengali muse and Bengali food. They still followed Dima’s traditional approach – Basmati rice, fried greens, a clot of fried bitter
neem
with sautéed aubergines, or a few bits of fried bitter gourd (Dima said a taste of that purified the system), one of the many varieties of lentils, an assortment of spiced vegetables, fish in mouthwatering sauces, deep-fried pakoras, chicken or mutton in fragrant mughlai style, chutneys, yoghurt and
sandesh
– a never-ending flow of delicacies to please the palate. They had to be eaten and relished in their order of priority, without haste or any sense of urgency. Dhiru was used to Nirupama’s style of living and entertaining but Shivnath was new, hence Maheshwari ended up supervising or even cooking most of the items on the menu. Nowadays the Sunday lunches were more a matter of habit than a special weekly event awaited with a sense of anticipation or enjoyment. Brojen Halder sat at the head of the table, making noises of approval, whilst the others ate in silence. Life was becoming very boring with Mr Halder’s constant, unwanted presence – and now frequent interference – in all affairs. He was increasingly assuming a paternal role in her life.
    Dwita was now well past twelve; puberty had come early and with it a certain amount of knowledge and maturity. It was not her mother who had thought it necessary to explain to her the pangs of shame and embarrassment she experienced with the first onslaught of puberty. It was Mrs Owen, the elderly school nurse who had talked to her about it lightly and sensibly, as a minor but regular and unavoidable nuisance. When Dwita had turned up a second time, doubled up with pain, she had given her an analgesic pill and sent her off to the games field saying, “The infirmary will only make it worse, learn to put up with it the normal way, and you will soon cope – nothing like a good game of basketball to drive away the monthly blues.” The practicality of her approach had helped relax Dwita and further exchanges with her friend Chandni cured her aches