SONGS OF MY MOTHER

I can’t quite recall when I came to realize that Mummy was an extraordinary singer. I may have been 4-5 years old, we had still not shifted to Dhanbad, but I remember there was great excitement in the house that Mummy’s song was to be aired on the radio. Local Radio station was in Chajju Bagh, Patna. Many of the huge joint family that was ours in Kadamkuan were huddled around a radio, probably in the room abutting my grandfather’s . It was evening. I felt very proud. 

“She is a Radio Station artist , “ family members would talk effusively about her singing talent. I don’t think anyone else in the house sang so well. After we moved to Dhanbad, in late 1968, Radio Station recordings ceased- as would my father’s participation in the Masonic Lodge meetings of which he, like a very large number of people in the family, were regulars in Patna. 

My father was very appreciative of her singing abilities, and in many colony and office level cultural functions, she sang. She sang bhajans and ghazals ( a few penned by her father as well). Very lavish praise attended her performances- but I never saw her practise, do riyaaz, etc. She didn’t have time - she had started to teach , and what with bringing up three children with limited luxury of helps, and tight means, it was not possible. There was a collection about ten songs from which she sang regularly. 

She was much in demand to sing the songs during weddings, which were big family gatherings . At least for three days , the household would be filled up with kids and their fights, women and their gossip and men and their arguments. Not all women were great singers- but sheltered by the anonymity in a chorus or the voice of an accomplished singer , many would join in - some unwillingly, some courageously. Mummy’s voice stood out.

She was the lead singer of an ensemble which consisted of my Dadi with her encyclopaedic collection, my phuas and women of similar antiquity and intimidation, a few friends, and Novices being initiated into the Order of Bihari weddings. She had built up a huge collection for the various occasions - haldi, ghritdhaari, matkor, chheka, mandapachhadan, haldi kutai, tilak, etc. Within the genre of wedding songs was also the  gaali which were sung to welcome the baaraat , and abuse the groom’s relatives. Competition between the women choruses of both sides were common- I believe our team used to fare well. I am told that ribaldry was much more during my Dadi’s time- she also had a more colourful Nandkeolyar tongue and much at ease in using it. 

But even more than these wedding songs , for me, my connection to Mummy’s voice was her Guru Vandana. Hey Dinabandhu. Dayal Guru kehi bhanti tab gun gaaoon mai….My Nana was inducted into the Ramashram Satsang , headquartered in Mathura, and Mummy, not yet a teenager, joined it with all her passion and devotion. It stayed with her till her death. The puja corner in my house consisted of a framed photo of Guru Maharaj on a pedestal - tucked under it was a copy of Ramcharitmanas ( passages from which she would read out during teej ) , a dabba of mishri, and a folding prayer mat which she would take out while praying twice a day. When she died, she was among the oldest shishyas of the Order, and commanded a respect from many across Mathura, Patna, Jaipur, Tundla, Gaya and many other places where the bhandaras would be held - known to many through her name Pratibha and even through her delightful maiden nickname Putul. I barely knew the wordings, she never made us learn even though she would take us once in a while to the Sunday sittings. But my whole world of connect with divinity was photo of Guru maharaj and my Mummy’s beautiful vandana, with its lilting tune, the crescendo and decrescendo, broken with a period of silent meditation. It was the time we were also not expected to disturb her. 

She loved her ghazals the most, it brought her nearer to her father. Her talaffuz was remarkable- given that she was raised in Ara and Chatra and in her natal household everyone conversed in Bhojpuri. Once I left home after my 10th exams, and visited our homes intermittently, I did not hear her sing as much, though she was quite prolific in the Western Coalfields Limited functions at the club.After my father’s death, Mummy would divided her time between Kolkata, Ahmedabad and Delhi- with her three sons. Vikas had managed to get a few ghazals recorded in Ahmedabad. Even as recently as 2020, when karaoke assisted songs would be sung by people from their verandahs in the evening, to break the melancholy of lockdown , Mummy was much in demand by Bunty’s neighbours at East Kidwai Nagar. I saw and heard her on videos Whatsapped to us.

But amongst the numerous occasions that I have heard her sing, the most poignant was in the summer of 2012. As my father lay wasted due to glioma, relatives would keep on coming to visit him, rather to be with him because he was non responsive. It was an evening , Vikas and Bunty with their families were present , and the sun was going down. Maybe a couple of more cousins were also there. We were all sitting in the lawn of my Salt Lake house when  Vikas egged her on to sing. She sang, with a passion, with a depth that I could make out was a one off moment as her voice  trailed off with the strain of singing so many and tears that had welled glistened in the lambent lawn lights.  It was the last time she sang for the man she loved, convinced he was listening. He passed away a few days later. It is a moment that still gives me goosebumps. 

Almost ten years later , she went away - in an ICU. Without a word of goodbye, without holding my hand as I had thought she would do for one last time. I don't have the last photo I clicked with her, but a black and white of my first with her remains my screen saver.