We called him Munnu Chacha*, a lanky young man darker in complexion than most in our family, a little awkward around the older members and at ease among children. He was my father’s cousin- his maternal aunt’s son. Children just loved him; I still believe that I loved him the most. He lived with his parents in Lucknow. Since we visited Lucknow rarely, mostly for weddings or some other family events, we solely depended to see him on his visitations to Allahabad. Fortunately, he came to Allahabad to write for various service-exams, IAS, PCS, Probationary officer for State Bank of India and so many others, sometimes many times in a month. And when he came he bought one children’s magazine namely, Champak, Nandan, Parag, Chandamama, or a copy of Amarchitra Katha, for us. But that was not the only reason I looked forward to his visits- he also provided live entertainment.
I remember sitting on the sofa with my sister and watching him in awe while he performed magic tricks for us. A minute his thumb would detach from its root and start to shift towards the tip of the forefinger, and the next minute it would be whole again. Years later I would understand the trick, but still I have to come across a person who can be as deft as he was. Many coins had disappeared into the flesh of his arm and none left a mark. We would remain intrigued for hours. Was it his perfection or our inexperienced eyes that made those tricks seem remarkably perplexing? I still could not decide one way or the other. But regardless, he was perfect! It was fun to watch him shave. His angular gaunt face would scrunch and wrinkle when he wanted to shave the difficult places, like under the chin or near the nose. He took extra care when shaving near the nose; after all he had a nifty moustache to guard. I used to be so scared that he would nick, because of the angles on his thin face. My grandmother was often reprimanding him on his scrawny physique, but she very well knew that he had taken after his mother, her younger sister. He was fortunate she would say, because he resembled his mother. I would agree happily and wish for his good fortune- at that time it was the wish that he became a government officer soon. I was eight years old he must have been 22.
Years later (4, I think), my aunt’s family had moved to Lucknow** and the following summer my grandmother made plans to visit them for some time. There also was a wedding. Munnu-chacha’s older brother was getting married. My sister and I were excited. I had settled down after my grandmother gave me a good scolding for asking for the 100th time, if we would see Munnu-Chacha. The answer in affirmative, each time, was still not fulfilling. I had nothing to pack just a few storybooks; the rest was on my grandmother. Next morning we started for Lucknow and reached soon, as the train-journey lasted only 3-4 hours. Excited we got down of the train and my uncle (Bua’s husband) promptly received us. That evening we visited Munnu Chacha’s house, he was not there, but came back shortly, to our relief. We had bragged immensely to our cousins about his magic tricks and also felt contemptuous that we had witnessed something they had not, as yet. He entered the room and we greeted him with euphoric glee, we instantly demanded for the magic show. My grandmother eyed us sternly, but his willingness forced us to disregard her reproachful glance. He gracefully submitted to our requests and steered us into the verandah outside. We watched the tricks with newfound enthusiasm, that it had been performed umpteen times before, did not occur to us. Then he took us to the makeshift zoo that his veterinary brother, also the betrothed one, had made. A few rabbits, a fawn, a mongoose and many guinea pigs were the members. It was a fulfilling visit.
For the next two years we would be out of touch from Munnu Chacha, Lucknow also had become a center for those exams that my uncle kept appearing in many times before. He also was working part-time in the University. We were children with short memories and a whole lot of schoolwork. Although we never did forget our uncle, we definitely were growing out of the fascination for his tricks. It was after my eighth grade that we revisited Lucknow again. I had grown and was a discomfited little teenager by then. I don’t think I felt eager to meet Munnu Chacha that time. But we did meet. He joked around and I felt embarrassed that I could have been fooled into some fake magic and squirmed internally for my naivety. Those were difficult adolescent years.
In summers terrace makes for an improvised communal bedroom. It was fun watching the moonlight reflect on white cotton sheets crisp and fresh from the washer man’s house. We would go up first, after the beds were laid and wait for the adults to join us, wishing secretly that they took longer than usual. Our garrulous sessions would end with their arrival. But nonetheless they did arrive compelling us to retreat into a forced silence, faking sleep. That night started in the same manner, until the adults arrived. We were feigning sleep as usual. Adults remained unusually quiet that evening, until my grandmother let a sigh escape her lips. Her daughter was by her side, we watched the silhouettes, and she was consoling my grandmother, who seemed to be taking her spectacles out to wipe her eyes. I sat up; it was rather unsettling for me to watch my strong grandmother weep. Soon my sister and cousin followed my action and we all sat around my grandmother. “What happened?” we asked for the umpteen time. “Nothing, you all go and sleep,” was an unconvincing reply, every time. We understood that it was a delicate moment and scolding us is not what my grandmother would do at that time. We pressed our case and were enlightened of the shocking phone-news- Munnu Chacha had met an accident while driving his bike. The collision was with a truck and Munnu Chacha had landed on his back with a fatal thrust to the back of his head. He was in the hospital, in coma, and things did not look well. I remember myself gaping at my grandmother in disbelief. I remember the scenes pass before my eyes from my childhood where he performed the magic and I sat agape. I was devastated and remember giving out a painful wail, to the surprise of my grandmother and aunt. After a long time my uncle joined us at the terrace, he had just come back from the hospital. My grandmother’s sister was given sedatives to soothe her down into a slumber, he informed. Her husband was in proper control of his emotions and the next day was set for a brain surgery.
I did not sleep the whole night, weeping, while my sister who slept next to me consoled me with a soft pat on my shoulder, whenever my sobs woke her up. The next morning, I sat watching the sun come up, when my aunt came up to wake us up. My grandmother saw the bags under my eyes I did not need to ask her permission to accompany her to the hospital. She advised me that we might not be able to see Munnu Chacha- it did not matter, as I still wanted to go.
When we reached the hospital my grandmother’s sister was sitting on the bench outside the operation-theatre. She had aged in a night. Her lean body now looked tired and weak. Her husband next to her had a tragic look on his face that scared me. I was in the habit of being greeted by them with a smile and pat on my back. That look they exhibited that day was new and daunting to me. I sat beside my grandmother and I think I was clutching at her sari-end, because I remember her prying it out of my hands. I had to return with my aunt, I was way too young to endure the long day and the lurking tragedy to conclude.
On my return I saw my sister and cousins huddled around the TV, it was a weekend, some godforsaken movie was on. I sat down and tried to catch on to the silent wonder that the other children had on their faces. The afternoon, evening and night passed almost in silence with episodic exchange of words when they were absolutely necessary. My grandmother returned late in the evening and ate a few bites on my aunt’s insistence. That night no adult got a chance to admonish us for delaying bedtime. We followed the routine without any duress from the adults. I slept fitfully and I think so did the others. The night was calm and very silent as if it had plunged into the morose mood-pattern of the household. My grandmother and aunt slept downstairs in the rooms; they wanted to be at an accessible distance from the phone.
I was an early riser, but the next morning I did not wake up until the sun was in my eyes and that too because my cousin was whispering in my ear, “Munnu Mama has passed away.” I woke up startled, the hair on my arms stood erect and my eyes dilated. Teenagers can be insensitively foolish, so was he. What a way to tell such tragic news? I would hate him for months later, to be the bearer of that devastating news, and on his method of delivery. But mostly I felt angry that my dear Munnu Chacha had passed away. He had just availed an officer’s position with the State government; his endless efforts had been fruitful. He was on his way back after celebrating that attainment with his friends. He was also engaged and the wedding was scheduled for December. He was 28 at that time. His life met an end when we all thought it was actually beginning. People said he was lucky that he resembled his mother. What a joke!
I ran downstairs to look for my grandmother, but she had left in the middle of the night, to be at the side of her grieving sister. Of course, that was where she should be, but I too needed solace. I rushed to the bathroom where nobody could hear me cry with the tap water flowing in the metallic bucket. It took me an hour to let the grief out of my system only to realize that it welled up in my heart soon after it emptied itself. My grandmother did not return that night. I waited for her eagerly, so that I could bury my head in her bosom and feel secure again. Needless to say, I was shaken.
We were there for the cremation ceremonies that followed soon after. I got an opportunity to see his mother several times in the following few years. She was never the same jovial self. She rarely gave way to the jingly laughter that she had, which I loved. Four years later she joined her son, after a short illness. Munnu Chacha was her youngest child.
* Chacha- paternal uncle (father’s younger brother/cousin).
** Lucknow- a city in northern India.
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