Shame

His son and wife could not accept the untimely death, the freak nature of the accident that resulted in his death. Shame flowed in tears, abundantly. A man who hated fame had succumbed to it. Splashed in newspapers, the death of Sujoy Ghosh, a senior accountant, working for a tea company, brought considerable disgrace to the bereaved family.

Some facts were startling and strange: Novelty cinema. Adult film. Matinee show ticket in his pocket. Sujoy Ghosh never watched films. His son, Bappa, had not seen him watch a single movie in the last ten years. He wondered whether his father’s colleagues or friends knew the other side of his personality. Who should he turn to for help? Arvind Uncle or Rabin Kaku? Bappa could not accept his father as a voyeur.

Tears welled up in Arvind Uncles eyes when Bappa urged him to recall his last words with Sujoy on that fateful afternoon. Consoling him, Arvind Uncle said, Forget all that. I know it’s difficult but you have to shoulder responsibilities and study well for your HS exams next month. You have to clear the Joint exam. Remember, it was your father’s dream.

Who would be able to say more than what the papers wrote? Bappa wondered, standing in the verandah, lost in thoughts. Was Sujoy Ghosh ordained to die this way? Around 3.15 p.m. the balcony of Novelty cinema collapsed, killing three people on the spot and leaving seven others critically injured. The manager had been arrested and the municipality had closed the hall. An enquiry had been ordered to examine the building. There should be some people knowing more than all this, he felt.

The ceremonial phase of mourning was over, but their grief persisted like a prolonged spell of drought. Too many questions had been raised, and there were no definite answers. It came to be largely accepted that he was plain unlucky to be in a dishonourable spot when the accident occurred. We spend the entire life seeking divine truths. Would this search for the truth end inconclusive as well? Was this how he would be remembered? Bappa could not reconcile himself to the idea of paying tributes to such a depraved father.

It was important to know the truth. His father had to either emerge clean or be tainted forever in his memory. He could not oscillate between these polarities. At times he felt like questioning his mother on the kind of relationship the couple shared. He stayed away from it, considering it to be a violation of her privacy. Moreover, she was already broken. His words would break her further.

With a cauldron boiling with queries he ventured one afternoon to the fateful spot to gather information. The area was fenced off. The rubble lay in a heap. Vowels in the signboard of the hall were missing. A woman was cooking rice on a stove near the entrance gate of the cinema hall. The collapsible gates were shut and a notice in red read the municipal order. Two bare-bodied men were smoking and playing cards. He walked the entire stretch, looked at the remaining portion of the balcony. This is where his father had died. It was not a case of his heart swelling with pride to examine the place where his father had been martyred. He stood near the ticket windows where some colour stills and posters of the film last screened had not been torn by urchins. Jalte Badan, with a big A in a thick black circle. His eyes fell on the deep cleavage of the full-bosomed heroine, gradually moved to her tongue seductively biting the lower lip and finally he steadied on the entire face. He stepped closer for a better view and concluded, with dilated pupils, that he was not mistaken. This face had been etched in his mind. His mother had often quarrelled with her, suspected her of having illicit affairs. She was Leela Auntie, their tenant who lived in the ground floor, who sang and danced to earn her living. He remembered the day when his mother abused Leela Auntie and accused her of trapping her husband who was being needlessly kind and considerate to her. Women like you cast a magic spell on men and then victimise them, his mother said and drove her out for not paying rent.

Instead of solving the mystery, the emerging facts made the whole issue more complex. His mother’s words had been proved prophetic. He turned around, struggling with more questions. Did my father really like Leela Auntie? Did he lust for her? Should I go home and tell my mother that Leela Auntie has finally victimised her husband, that despite throwing her out she could not save him from her charms?