Rathin Bhattacharjee shares a personal essay, which is also a part of his work-in-progress novel titled MEJDI, the Star Hidden Behind the Clouds.
Inside the jam-packed bus meant for route 45, I start feeling suffocated. I try to keep myself from leaning too much on the passenger sitting in front of me by trying to hold on to the support rod over my head with all my might.
“Dada, can’t you stand straight? You’re putting all your body weight on me…”
“Sorry, Brother. Actually, it’s the man standing behind me pushing…” Then, turning to the man behind me, I request him not to lean on me like he is doing.
“Dada. If you think I’m doing it for fun, intentionally, you’d better travel by taxi…” Some other passengers break into a laugh. But today I do not want to reply. I am sorry, we are on our way to Nilachal, a place for the mentally imbalanced people and my elder sister, Mrs. Arati Guha, whom we call Mejdi lovingly, has been residing there for the last 7 months or so. Mejdi, who has taught me right from wrong, who is a living example of the best that Bengali ladies the world over are known for, has been brought to this unimaginable situation by a series of cruel strokes of Fate. The woman, who at one point was the envy of others, who had everything – success, wealth and respect, has been brought down to earth like very few have been, ever before and not many are likely to be in the distant future.