Beloved Buddhi Pishi

On the 8th of October in the year 1932, a baby girl was born. A princess. A Rajkumari.

Born to Raja Bhairabendra Narayan Bhup Bahadur and Rani Saheba Sabita Debi of the State of Bijni. She was named 'Uma'. After the Goddess Uma, the divine consort of Lord Shiva, the eternal and powerful embodiment of feminine energy, symbol of motherly compassion and a spiritual warrior.

But, for me and my generation of her nieces and nephews, she was simply our 'Buddhi Pishi'.

In appearance, she was petite, but sturdy in structure and she had a gentle gait. She was always elegantly turned out. Dressed in her simple but luxurious three piece silk mekhela chador set. Her striking, colourful 'riha' making brief appearances in rhythm with her gait.

Her gait was never hurried. Bhaiti Baba, her youngest, affectionately described it this way:

Just like her gait, unhurried seemed to be her way of being. She was contained in her speech and movements. She was charming and dignified. Most of all she will be remembered for her ever- ready signature chuckling gay laughter.

She was simply lovely.

She chuckled with amusement hearing Sunder's Deshi rhyme which he made up for our boys when they were very young:

Pishi was an attentive listener. A rare quality. If asked for a comment, she would always be genuine in her response.

For instance, I noticed that she was always very camera savvy. Meaning she always looked beautiful in photos. The reason she said was, because of their position as the ruling royalty, she and her family were all trained to pose 'properly' for formal photographs. Since her father, our Thakurbaba was a keen photographer himself, there were always opportunities to practice on showing one's 'better side'.

Then, she gave me a sobering and amusing explanation for why one feels at times disappointed at the outcome of our own images. She thought it was because, we always like to think we are prettier than we actually are!

A younger relation recently asked me a very interesting question. The question was how well did I really know Pishi.

We can choose our friends, but never can choose one's relations.

They are what is given to us. Just like the colour of our skin or the broadness of our noses!

We just have to learn to accept it.

As children, quite naturally we negotiate this aspect of our life by simply spending more time with the ones whose company and warmth we enjoy, while giving a wide berth to those, who are inclined to criticise more than our small, vulnerable being can endure.

Then, there are those, like Buddhi Pishi, due to their occasional visits and our occasional meetings we hardly get to make a connection.

And so it came to pass, let's say, due to some plans that went awry. It was decided by Thakurbaba, that Buddhi Pishi would have to have me live with her in Beltola and continue my schooling there in Gauhati, till I was to be re-united with Ma and Moinati who were then in Mount Abu.

The year was 1977. I was nine years old then, while Hampli, a year younger was 8.

There were adjustments to be made on both sides. Fortunately, I have never ever got any hint of any discordant note from any of Pishi's family members. Which only showed how large hearted and accomodating they all were. However on my side, in the beginning, I felt insecure without Pishi's presence. Apart from the new surroundings, it was also the language. Everyone spoke Assamese. Only Pishi spoke Deshi. The Assamese that everyone spoke felt alien, the tone felt cold compared to the warm tones of Deshi I grew up with.

It was once planned that we would all go on a day trip to Shillong. Bapa Pisha would drive us all up there. There were also other people who would be joining us. But, at the last minute for some reason Pishi wanted to opt out of it. However excited I felt at the plan, the prospect of being without Pishi even for a short trip as that, alarmed me. I too decided not to go and instead stay back home with her. Pishi felt so moved by my decision that, in the end we all went together to Shillong.

Around the same time,there was yet another troubling moment for me. It was, when the news reached us that Thakurbaba had suffered a stroke. It was decided that Pishi was to travel alone by car to Abhayapuri to see him. I asked Pishi if I could also come along. It would mean I would be missing school. But, Pishi took me along with her. When we reached Abhayapuri both of us were so relieved to find that Thakurbaba was out of danger and that he looked fine.

Looking back, I'm amazed and impressed that she could pay attention and was able to value the feelings of a 9year old child. A niece.

Very soon, I began feeling at home in Beltola.

At that time, in Beltola House, it was mainly, Bapa Pisha, Pishi, Hampli, Bhaiti baba, and myself who lived there, while Baba dada and Pulpuli didi visited on and off.

Baba dada was the sweetest of dadas. Whenever we met, he always spoke gently in halting deshi with an affectionate pat on the head. He still does.

As for Pulpuli didi, as long as we didn't make a racket while she practised on her guitar, she was always ready to encourage us and compliment us on our art work etc.

Bhaiti baba was the baby of the house, who Hampli and I took care of, and enjoyed going fishing together in their canal/stream.

Beltola House was one of the loveliest of houses. A modern, concrete, metal and glass affair yet very tastefully designed. The house was full of light with clean simple lines and the upholstery and curtains were in soothing pastel shades. The house was surrounded by tall trees, flowering bushes and carefully tended beds of flowering annuals like petunias, pansies and poppies.

It was also a house filled with music. Our favourite room was the 'Radio Room'. Which had an eclectic collection of records and the record player. It also had a twin study desk where Hampli and I did our school work. Beyond which was a small library, and then the garden outside.

Bapa Pisha affectionately called Hampli and me together as 'Non-sena'. He'd say, ' Non-senas come here and listen to this', and would make us sit in a particular spot on the Radio Room chaise longue, while we listened attentively as instructed by him, to different Western classical music, I remember they were pieces mainly by Mozart, Beethoven and Johann Strauss.

With Pishi, we listened to Bengali and Hindi songs. Some of our favourites then were: Toofan Mail sung by the legendary Kananbala Devi and Hindi film numbers like: Chanda he tu Mera Suraj he tu and Sun Munni mere.

Hampli had by then become an expert in handling the record player, so, by ourselves we could listen to our choice of music. We loved listening to 'Sound of Music' and also to sing, while admiring the pictures on the jacket cover.

Pishi regularly gave us lessons in Hindustani classical.She would bring out her harmonium and we'd all sing.

She could also play other different musical instruments like the tabla, the sitar, dotora and the piano.

After I became part of Pishi's family, as part of the new arrangement, Hampli and I were allotted twin beds joined together to sleep on. She taught us to make our beds, to fold our clothes and keep our belongings neatly. She even gave us a small stool each to use as our own puja shrines! We offered flowers everyday to our respective deities and sang whatever classical bhajans or hymns in English we knew. The hymns were contributions from my side, having learnt them in Sophia School in Mt. Abu.

Now, what I've just described may sound very ordinary and not much to think about. Yet, I feel this practice of taking care of small every day routine details—which Pishi drew our attention to then—later made so much sense in living my own life, and while bringing up children (of others when I taught in schools and my own).

William Blake wrote:

As I'd mentioned earlier about Pishi's unhurried ways, it is not to be assumed that she had a lot of time on her hands. For she not only took care of the running of her large household, but she also looked after aging Aieta, Pisha's mother in Panbazar. Therefore periodically, we'd feel her absence from home.

At some point, we noticed that she began to get into a habit of shunting us to 'go and study' the moment she spotted us away from our study desks. She may have felt at some point that, she was somehow losing touch with our doings, due to her various other resposibilities.

Which explains why she began making random noises about our 'studies', without really finding out.

Anyway, I once mentioned to Hampli that old saying; 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy'. To my surprise, Hampli, no doubt delighted with this gem, decided to use it to counter Pishi's habitual 'go and study'. She argued," Ma, do you know?(after quoting the saying) we will become 'dull' if we keep studying all the time". Typically, Pishi without hesitation shot back, saying,"Toi 'daaley' hou na 'bhaatey' hou, tuk porhiboye lagibo!"

That was quintessentially Pishi.

Her comments made all of us including herself laugh, they were never hurtful but, were always difficult to counter argue!

In another incident:

Hampli always attended her college classes in a saree . Pishi always favoured the idea of us girls wearing sarees. Even though, she must have seen her own mother, our Thakurma wearing trousers, salwar kameezes and even riding breeches. In any case, Hampli desiring a change of dress like her friends in college, put forth her case to Pishi.

She started by saying, how wearing a saree made it difficult for her to travel by bus, in fact it even makes her miss the bus because it restricts swiftness of movement, and that, at this rate she was sure to miss classes and do badly. The last point about doing badly in class was going to be the most effective point, or so, Hampli thought.

Only, Pishi turned it completely upside down and inside out by saying, that she simply didn't see any reason for her(Hampli) to rush about like that. In fact, her advocating wearing a saree was aimed precisely at slowing her(Hampli) down and to help her in 'not rushing about'.

In the end, in turns out that it was not the point of wearing sarees at all as we had all earlier believed , but it was that of the point of 'not rushing about'. Maybe, that was one of her own ways of being subversive. Refusing to be pushed into conforming to the current systems and trends in society, which daily, relentlessly pushes us all towards living life in the fast track.

It is common knowledge that in our lives we encounter challenging as well as joyful situations. How we respond to that shapes us and our lives, and the lives of others. I've often wondered at times and admired how Pishi remained so resilient and poised despite it all, all through her 92 years.

Could it be the result of her deep interest in spirituality and the practice of it? After all, she was a disciple of Thakurbaba's own personal Guru, our Sona dadu, Shri Mihir Kiran Bhattacharya. The most wonderful of human beings. Who Thakurbaba first saw in his dream before actually meeting him in person. An occurence like that is rarely heard or witnessed in one lifetime.

Could it be also, together with her meditative practice, her early training in music and the arts like Manipuri Dance which also helped her? It is known that she didn't continue her dance in the formal way after her marriage. But it is apparent that her interest and the inspiration she got from that experience never wavered. She learnt Manipuri dance from the legendary Manipuri dance Guru, Haobam Atomba Singh (10Dec.1885-21Feb 1975)

We, some of her nieces, from the Lakhipur side of the family and the Abhayapuri side of the family and of course Hampli, should consider ourselves quite lucky to have learnt some of these beautiful dance songs. Pishi's generosity will always be remembered.

One of these songs, it turns out was also a favourite of Thakurma's:

Pishi, along with all her brothers shared a deep love for the natural world. She was interested in plants and trees. She knew not only their common names but also their botanical ones.

Speaking of Pishi's generosity, she was also someone who appreciated another person's generosity as well. The last time Sunder's parents visited Abhayapuri with me and my two boys, Pishi, despite her weak back, drove all the way from Gauhati to Abhayapuri just to meet them. When Bhaiti baba was studying in Bombay, Amma and Appa had became his unofficial local guardians and friend! Amma and Appa have always remained touched by her gesture and felt very happy meeting her.

The last time Pishi and I met, was at her youngest brother Elgin Kaku's Shraddho in 2019. 'Khude' she affectionately called him.

Even though it was an occasion of sadness and loss, somehow I felt delighted to have all the people I loved in one room. It was in one of Majuma's large rooms in Abhayapuri. Baba and Pishi were seated close to each other side by side in their respective reclining armchairs. On an impulse, fully aware that I was never ever going to get a chance like this, I took their hands and put them together and then put mine over theirs. Perhaps, it was their last handholding moment as well. It fills me with warmth and happiness, remembering it. Like the fleeting memory of holding a moonbeam in my hand.

I will miss hearing the conversations between Pishi and her brothers. They would speak to each other in a language which was an amusing mix of Deshi and Khasi- Hindi.

When I asked Pishi over phone, how she was coping with the flooding around her house. She laughed her chuckling gay laugh and said in a very zen like fashion:

Before I end, I would like to share this short piece which was put to music by the famous group 'Shakti':

Rest in Peace, Beloved Pishi.