Lizzy's OSs - The New York Chronicles OS 27 Up! - Page 4

Thanks Annu, Pratamesh and Ash...and Ash, take your time with the OSs...read them whenever you're comfortable doing so 😊.

To understand this OS a little better, you might have to read/remember the event's in my second NYC OS "Ma!". The titular character of this one makes an entrance there. She's Jewish, so you'll be seeing her celebrate Hanukkah here instead of Christmas (of course, a lot of American Jews celebrate Hanukkah with a very Christmassy touch). Hanukkah is a festival celebrated around the time Christmas is celebrated, and it's called 'the festival of lights' 😊 like our Diwali is.

I make a mention of a Jewish bakery that actually exists in Kolkata, called Nahoum's...it's kinda famous, and I've heard a lot of my Bengali friends raving about it so I thought it would be interesting to have him bond with someone who has some sort of connection to Nahoum's 😆

Latke: Potato pancakes.

Challah/Chola Bread: Bread that's shaped like a braid.

Menorah: A candlestand with seven branches, usually lit during this festival.

Hope that helps and clears any confusions in this story!

--

Aunt Letty

Onu never forgot the day a middle-aged, very pale, very bitter-looking woman saved him from the cold in the middle of the night and gave him cookies to munch at an hour when he should have been sleeping. Back then he had believed she was nothing but a figment of his imagination, like the people of his dreams, but a week later on one of his evening jogs, he realised she was for real.

From that day on he started visiting her every week, and though you could tell she wasn't used to much company and sometimes wasn't really sure she wanted him there, she never made him feel any less at home. Around her, Onu could forget for a while the utter disaster his froglike voice had become. Already he couldn't wait for it to deepen and take on a baritone.

Her name was Leticia Cohen. She'd been living in this neighbourhood for almost thirty years, and in her twilight years she was alone, having lost one son to the Gulf war, and another son who was already in training for the U.S. army.

Their pictures were kept on the mantelpiece: the deceased elder one looking dark, handsome and incredibly cocky, with a curl of dark hair that fell over his forehead like Onu's did sometimes. The younger one had sandy brown hair and dimples.

She hardly spoke much to him at first, and so did he. Years later, Onu would say that it probably was their tacit agreement to not force a conversation on each other that made them talk eventually.

They didn't take each other's names. For him she was Mrs. Cohen, and for her he was boy.

She'd once told him her sons' names were Mikhael and Mathew, though she often called the latter Motya.

"Mota?" he had echoed, his heart swelling at the sound of the old nickname.

Letty Cohen had let out a wheezy chuckle, "Motya."

"Oh," In his disappointment, the oh could barely have been heard, "I had a nickname that sounded like that. Motu. They called me that because I was fat and there was no hope in hell I'd ever be thin again."

"I wouldn't say that," she said, taking a cake she'd just finished baking out from her oven, "For a plump little duckling who's been here only three months you've shed a lot of lard, boy."

There was complete silence in the room, before she said: "Besides...he's left us too far to call him Motya anymore..."

He'd left her house not long after, a hollow feeling in his chest. This grief was her territory, it was something he didn't know how to handle. When Subodh died people were too busy worrying about who really killed him for it to really sink in. When Kaka died people said it was time for him to go. But what could you say to a woman who lost her son to her country, and would probably lose another one too?

From that day on, he'd called her Aunt Letty and to his utter surprise she let him. He was still boy, though she sometimes called him Mota when she thought he didn't notice. Or maybe she didn't notice that slip of tongue either.

--

Christmas was around the corner and Orindam Uncle thought it would be nice for the kids to pay Mrs. Cohen a visit. Nupur didn't mind tagging along: Mrs. Cohen was cranky and irritable and spoke her mind, and Nupur loved to imagine that she'd be a lot like her when she grew up.

So it was that Onu and Nupur ended up at Aunt Letty's on Christmas Eve, handing over the silverware Orindam Uncle had bought as gifts for the neighbourhood. As a rule (and because Mrs. Cohen was just so cool that way, Nupur had once said on the rare occasions when she forgot that she and Rags weren't on talking terms), Aunt Letty took the gifts given to her with a supreme indifference.

The house seemed filled with the smell of baked bread and fried potatoes. It suddenly made him wish that Laboni Ma was in Aunt Letty's house too, but he closed his eyes and shut his brain before the ache could take over and make him break down completely.

Aunt Letty had said that crying was good, it cleared your head and heart...but too much crying made you blind to all the good things you had right now. He couldn't allow his memories to break him like this, he knew that.

Aunt Letty's house looked lovely and festive, but what really caught his eye was the seven-branched candle in the corner that was glowing brightly.

"That's a menorah," Nupur said, sounding very full of herself, "they light it every Christmas."

"All white guys' houses do that?" Onu said, unaware that their pact to not talk was being broken already.

"No...not all of them do this for Christmas. She's using the menorah because she's celebrating Hanukkah."

Hanukkah...where had he heard that word before? And why did it remind him so much of...of...

"Latkes and challah bread, kids?" Letty asked the moment she'd left the kitchen, holding a tray in her hands.

...of Taani.

Of all the people he'd had a tough time trying to not think about 24/7, Taani proved to be the hardest. He didn't want to forget her, of course he didn't, but it would hurt a lot less if he didn't keep thinking about her. By God, she was everywhere.

Aunt Letty's tray was filled with something that looked like potato pancakes and braided bread. It hurt him to know that on most days she ended up eating all this food alone.

Nupur didn't need an excuse to gobble up the fare in front of her, and Aunt Letty smirked at the gusto with which the hazel-eyed beanstalk ate. He dipped the potato-filled latke into a bowl of sauce, and closed his eyes at the taste. It was oily and soft and moist and delicious, and the sauce tasted like fresh apples. It was when he took the bread that his eyes snapped open.

"This...this...this is chola bread, isn't it, Aunt Letty?"

"It is," she said, a frown marring her forehead, "You've had this before?"

"I've had this before..." he whispered.

Nupur now looked too interested to resist talking to him directly.

"You mean in Calcutta? No way!"

"Yes way! They used to sell this at that bakery...Nahoum's! Yes! Nahoum's at New Market... They used to sell this every Christmas too."

Oh...what a place it was. Ananya Di and her friends had always preferred the more flambouyant Flury's, but Taani went to Nahoum's whenever she had the time and resources. It wasn't just cheaper, it was more like going to a friend's place than a bakery. Going to Nahoum's was like stepping back in time, like tasting the mutton samosas and the coconut singaras that your Thakoma had relished in her youth. Both Taani and Onu swore by their plum cakes, and a month before he had left he'd become enamoured of the braided bread that David Nahoum called Chola, the twin of the one he was holding right now...

"Nahoum?" Aunt Letty echoed, her voice sounding like it came from very, very far away, "Is he Jewish?"

The Nahoum's were very Jewish, but nobody really noticed their Jewish food that much, it was the cakes and the samosas that people had loved so much...specially the two of them...

One look at his face and she understood. "Eat up, you lot, and get home soon. Then I'll spend the rest of my Hanukkah in my own scintillating company."

His own mothers would have thought of such a celebration as sheer blasphemy. Then again, people in Kolkata almost always loved having other people around.

Nupur smiled and helped her clear the plates, and insisted on playing her favourite song on Aunt Letty's old radio before they left. While Nupur attempted to cheer her up with a very odd-looking dance that wound up making the two of them look like clowns without makeup, Onu walked out of the house, his boots crunching on the soft snow, little droplets adding colour to his black jacket.

Lost in his memories, Onu listened to the sad, mellow melody of Bally Sagoo's Noorie, and remembered the tastes and smells of Nahoum's, and how the smell of baking would not leave either him or Taani after they left.

Heartache happens when your memories make you forget the first time you felt snowing, Onu thought to himself.

--

December 24, 2000.

Mishti,

Can't talk. Hurts too much.

Love,

Motu.

P.S. I'm sorry. Came back after two hours and read it again, and now I feel like bonking my head with a book. I mean, what's the use of writing a letter if you're not going to WRITE it? But I don't have anything to write today. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like anything.

P.P.S. Snow is as gorgeous as you and I had thought it would be.

P. P. P. S. I miss the way you used to lick Nahoum's Christmas cake off your fingers.

P. P. P. P. S. Nupur likes this song called Noorie. No, no, not the film-wala one that Ma used to sing so often. The Bally Sagoo version. She plays it every day and every hour. Grr. Bhootni kahin ki.

Amazin update Lizzy!!! Love the way Anu shares his feelings with Taani in letters!!! Wow, I never knew that there was a place in Kolkata that had Jewish food!!! Sorry I couldn't comment on the other part as I was very busy!!!

Very nice lizzy,luved it n aww onu called nupur bhootni!!!
🤣

Lizzy...

first of all

Lizzy🤗

So Onu felt that the aunty didnt exist..😆 Poor Onu... But then he came to know that Mrs Cohen was for real.. I loved how Onu jumped up in excitement hearing motya, maybe it reminded him of Taani and her calling him motu..😆 Feel bad for Mrs Cohen, she lost one son to the war and the 2nd one seems to be following his brothers footsteps..🤔 So Onu has already started losing weight...😳

He was still boy, though she sometimes called him Mota when she thought he didn't notice. Or maybe she didn't notice that slip of tongue either.
Awww Onu must've been glad someone calls out to him in that name...

So Christmas time and Nupur seemed like a guide to me explaining Onu about each n every thing..😆 Hanukkah... Thats great.. Chola bread got Onu back to Calcuttaand him n Taani's time spent at Nahoums..☺️

Coming to the P.P.S
I mean, what's the use of writing a letter if you're not going to WRITE it?\

Actually Onu is so right... He was WRITING them, but still not WRITING them..🤔

😆 Onu called Nupur a bhootni🤣 🤣

I loved the part.. The Hanukkah description, Onu going doen memory lane, Nahoums.. Taani and him cherishing their plum cakes...Awww.. So cutee...😍
Waiting for the next one... 🤗

I maybe acting dumb at the moment😳 but i didn't get

Well, since it's happening in Onu's dream and he can only hear the voices of his family...the 'No Dada to hit me!' comes from dream-Robi who - at least in the dream - is hitting himself because he's so alone. If you remember Robi's reaction when Onu left, he was anguished to the extent that he would rather be hit continuously by Onu than not have him in his life. In that way, he's seeing Robi's grief as manifesting in him screaming that his dada wasn't there to hit him anymore, and hits himself instead. Hope that helps!

Originally posted by: Elizabeth Darcy

Well, since it's happening in Onu's dream and he can only hear the voices of his family...the 'No Dada to hit me!' comes from dream-Robi who - at least in the dream - is hitting himself because he's so alone. If you remember Robi's reaction when Onu left, he was anguished to the extent that he would rather be hit continuously by Onu than not have him in his life. In that way, he's seeing Robi's grief as manifesting in him screaming that his dada wasn't there to hit him anymore, and hits himself instead. Hope that helps!

yeahh i got itafter reading the full paragraph😳🤣

Thanks all of you for those reviews...especially Kali and Ash. This chapter is one of my weak points because I'm not exactly good at geography-wise stuff really.

The song that Nupur and Veena sing here..."forget all your worries" etc...is from a song by Petula Clark called "Downtown".

I've brought back a character from chapter 1, so if you haven't read it yet, go back to page 1 already! 😆

Touch the Sky

Prior to Onu's arrival to the States, Orindam didn't see his frequent business trips to Cleaveland or Texas or Louisiana as much of a problem. Nupur was easy to handle: she'd stay with the Chakraborthys across the block. They never minded having Nupur around because she would always provide ample distraction for their daughter anyway, and it meant their house wouldn't be a bombsite for once. Nupur, for some reason Onu could never fathom, always seemed to have a sobering effect on Veena.

So when Onu started joining Nupur over for their makeshift slumber parties, he was bound to feel like the third wheel in the trio, and wasn't as enthusiastic about meeting the family as Nupur obviously was. But the Chakraborthy household had other pleasures that revealed themselves to him later, like a bottle of apple cider stashed secretly in Veena's older brother's bedroom cupboard. That cupboard held gin and vodka too, stuff that had been taken away from Mr. Chakraborthy's cupboard without their parents noticing, but Onu wouldn't dare. Not yet anyway.

Which was just as well, because Benoy - who was going to be twenty one only the next summer - was too guilty about drinking underage to let Onu do it so easily. Unlike what most people back home thought of the States, he said, this place didn't do drinks in excess. We do what a lot of teens back home do too, he'd say.

"It's funny," he'd say often, "The way our families look at the US, you'd think we'd have nothing better to do besides drink, smoke and screw away whatever money we get. The same way folks over here think India's this humungously back-of-the-boonies place that doesn't even have electricity. Bullcrap, man, people just don't like to think that other countries out there are normal, wherever they're living."

He took another gulp of the orange juice that he'd occasionally lace ever so slightly with some vodka, and shook his head vigourously. "Everywhere you stay, Gol-Matol Ganguly, you're bound to find a few normal guys and a few of the crazies. The crazies are the only ones you'll really remember, so they become the country for you."

Onu didn't understand half of what he said, but Benoy said it with such conviction that he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.

It wasn't long before the Chakraborthys decided that the new entrant in the Basu household was too stuck to the Queens area, and needed to see more of New York. Mrs. Chakraborthy had suggested going to the Niagra Falls over the weekend, but the family (Nupur included) had quickly vetoed that idea as something that was better off being seen in summer. Veena wanted to see the Grand Canyon (Again? Nupur had wailed) but having gone there too often the place had started to lose its appeal. Benoy's idea of visiting Walden Pond was brushed aside too; Mrs. Chakraborthy and Veena weren't exactly very fond of going to New England.

It took them half that week to finally settle on downtown Manhattan, though no one would tell Onu exactly why they'd decided to go there. He'd regretted asking the moment Nupur and Veena started to sing "forget all your troubles, forget all your cares and go downtown" in an awfully screechy chorus that would have done Ananya Di proud.

They were right. Lower Manhattan was a slice of the world his father was in awe of, almost revered. It was the businessman's paradise. These are skyscrapers in the truest sense, Onu thought, they touch the sky and you could almost believe if you went all the way up there that you could reach out and take a piece of cloud back home with you.

This, this was the identity his Baba wanted him to have, and he knew he'd need to work towards getting it if he ever wanted to return home.

The family had settled on a ferry ride from the Battery Park City Ferry Terminal, and it was all he could do to not shiver in recognition as Benoy helped him into the ferry.

How different these ferries were from the old nouka at home, the one that would carry estatic lovers, little children and fisherman's songs across the Hoogly river, beyond the Howrah bridge. For a moment America had disappeared and Howrah rose into view, and the ferry was no more a motorboat with no way of really seeing the man who would ferry you across. He was lost. So lost over here.

It took the sight of a little girl bumping into his legs and crashing to the ground for him to wake up from his stupor. She got up, turned her back to him and dusted her dress before looking across the Hudson river to gaze at the sight ahead.

"Look over there, Di!" the girl squealed, her voice sounding eerily familiar, "I saw the Twin Towers!"

"Gee, I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't told me, Gigi!" the slightly older girl laughed behind her, "Go on, point them out to your poor Di, I bet I've never seen them before."

He knew exactly what the child was trying to show; it was a sight he had seen over and over, even in newspapers in Calcutta. But seeing it right in front of you, barely a few miles away and so nearly in reach...the Twin Towers, at such a short distance, seemed to touch the sky, seemed able to pierce the clouds and move beyond...

Mishti, he wrote in his head, I want to take you to the Twin Towers and show you the world below...

Stop. Think about Mishti when you return. For God's sake stop.

The girl named Gigi was now nattering away all she'd known about the Twin Towers, and he wished she'd take her conversation with her sister somewhere else. And then he'd turned.

God in Heaven ' it was...it was the Window-Seat Girl!

"Hey!" the child shouted out, his shock mirrored on her face, "You're the Gol-Mattol Ganguly whose tummy blocked my window-seat view at Pan Am!"

"Shh, Gigi," the teenager holding her said, "Not a nice thing to say to someone you barely know!"

On any other day in New York Onu would have sent a biting reply her way. That it was his window seat and only he had the right to sit there and watch the view, and that he could easily make her his replacement dholak if he'd so wished. But he didn't. Her reaction was so sudden, and her memory of him so hilariously clear, that he couldn't help but laugh.

Her sister shook her head and turned to apologize. "Look, I'm really sorry...she's like this with practically everyone and it embarrasses the life out of me..."

"Oh no way," Onu replied, grinning at the abnormally fair girl he'd spotted once or twice at school, but not often enough, "She's right actually. I met her on board Pan Am sometime in September. How did you now my name though, Gigi?"

Gigi's nose wrinkled in confusion before she answered: "You wrote it on some form in the plane."

"It's Anurag Ganguly. Onu for short," he said, bending on one knee to speak to her, because she was just that short, "What's yours?"

"Gigi! And she's Mini Di!"

Her sister rolled her eyes, "It's Gargi, actually. And mine's Mrinalini...Mrinalini Sengupta, sometimes I wish they hadn't made it so long, everytime my name gets called out during roll call I feel like digging a grave and burying myself there. Gigs, it wouldn't kill you to tell people your bhalonaam once in a while, would it? It's way shorter than mine, so at least you don't have my excuse."

Onu opened his mouth to ask Mrinalini which school she went to, but a voice behind him stopped him from speaking, "Mini?"

"Nupur! Long time girl!"

Onu started to wonder whether the hug that ensued would last till the ferry ride got over, but it didn't seem like today would be his lucky day. Even before they broke apart Nupur started bombarding Mrinalini with the latest developments since September.

"Besides," Nupur now turned to him, "you two know each other?"

"He knows my sister a lot better than he knows me," Mrinalini said, smiling, "Gigi wouldn't stop talking about you the whole ride home."

"She was alone?" Onu didn't quite like the idea, especially for someone as young as Gargi was.

"Not really. They'd allotted me a seat somewhere at the back for some reason. We'd been returning from a summer trip to Jalpaiguri."

"Phew...just as well. On the plane I'd thought probably she was too much of a package for anyone to take home!"

Nupur giggled, "You think?"

Years later when all that would be between them was cold indifference, Onu and Nupur would wonder at the ease with which they were able to speak to each other in Mrinalini's presence. Somehow all the walls that they'd erected between them seemed to disappear the moment she entered the picture. Was it her familiarity with both of them? Was it her simple ease for talking and making people feel comfortable? Onu never knew, and at that point he hardly cared either.

For now the faint spray of water landing on their cheeks and chins were all that mattered. The way the river stretched out, a vast sparkling blue. The way all these buildings seemed to rise out of the Hudson, their solid glass structures emerging like water crystals in the sun.

"Hey Rags," Nupur tugged at his sleeve, too caught up in the excitement of showing a newcomer a slice of the land she'd loved all her life, "Over there, look. The Statue of Liberty!"

Seeing Liberty this close, the way we he never would have done looking at stills and TV, was nothing short of a revelation. Her face seemed devoid of emotion at first sight, but if he looked close enough he knew he could see the fire in her eye, the determination written in the planes of her jaw, the length of her fluid, strong arms. Her right arm bore a torch, and its flames licked the clouds in the distance.

To see Liberty up so close, to realise the freedom her form seemed to yearn for, was to realise what brought so many dreamers who came here of their own free will, who hadn't had their freedom curtailed by their fathers, or who had at least possessed the guts to fight them.

Freedom was this sun, this sea, this vast blue sky. It was believing that when you had nothing else left, you would find joy in these. Freedom was...believing that the sky was yours to touch if only you dared.

Nupur gazed at Liberty, her appraisal bordering almost on worship. "This is home, Rags. This sense of freedom, the feeling that no matter what colour skin you are you can still have a chance as equal as the next person, that they'll know you for what you can do and who you can be rather than who you once were..."

Who I once was...it occurred to Onu that he knew very little about himself, and wouldn't probably never know more...

Mrinal's voice emerged as if from a trance, "It's this feeling that we can keep pushing boundaries till we know who we are...and no one will keep judging us..."

How much judgement had ruined his family and Taani's?

"I'm not sure what life outside of here would be like," Nupur said, her voice turning husky for the first time, "All I knew is that here I feel safe, I feel I can be who I want to be and not have fingers pointing at me for doing that."

Mrinalini smiled and touched her shoulder, then look directly at him. "I don't think there's another place in the world we'd belong to so much."

Across the bay, the Twin Towers now looked tiny, a hundredth of their actual size. In the real scheme of things, Onu realised, this was only part of the intricate tapestry that was America for these girls. They belonged here and this was their home, and somehow instead of feeling jealous he could only be happy that no one here felt as homeless as he did.

It must be wonderful, he thought, being part of something you could be sure would remain a constant for you all your life.

None of them uttered a word, not even when the ferry had stopped at the harbour.

Mrinalini left with little Gargi, skipping all through Manhattan as if she'd owned the place.

The girls left, leaving behind a newly-formed friendship in their wake: a friendship Onu and Nupur knew would need work before they could actually give it a proper footing. Now all he had to decide was whether he wanted to give it that proper footing at all.

This wasn't their first meeting with the Sengupta sisters, and Onu was sure it wouldn't be their last.

February 16, 2001.

Mishti,

The Twin Towers are beautiful. They're like icicles shooting up to the sky, but even the sun can't burn them.

Motu.

P.S. Remember that irritating kid on the plane I'd told you about? We saw her in Manhattan today. Her name's Gargi and she talks non-stop just like Laboni Ma does. Her sister Mrinal is with us at school, small world eh?

P.P.S. I swear, if Nupur and I wind up being friends after all, I'll appoint Mrinal to become our school's unofficial fortune teller.

P.P.S. I miss being Geela Ganguly...over here it's only barf se bhara hua Ganguly.

P.P.P.S. I really wonder how painful that crown the Liberty Statue wears is. Pointy as hell. I'm glad she's not alive enough to take it off, poor thing.