Past
Kushal is a lively and well-mannered young man. He plays the guitar beautifully and sings quite well too. For the past few years, college events have felt incomplete without his performances. Though he left college long ago, the college hasn't quite let go of him. He loves being among people and working for them, always running around here and there to help others. With a sling bag on his shoulder and a guitar on his back, he roams this enchanting city with confidence.
There are still no dark circles under his eyes. At this age, many boys develop them from staying up all night—usually chatting with their girlfriends. But Kushal has no such distractions yet. He loves living with music. And deep in his heart, he longs to meet his favorite poet at least once. Yes, she is a woman. Kushal could spend days and nights immersed in her poetry.
He is the only son of his parents. They belong to a well-off family in central Kolkata. His father, Shashank Basak, is a government employee, and his mother, Uma, is a homemaker. There is no real financial struggle in their lives. Kushal spends his days with his guitar, poetry, songs, and cigarettes.
There's something unique about Kushal's tall, lean figure—an unexplainable charm and a hint of wildness that not everyone possesses. Through his words, he can make a complete stranger feel like a close friend within moments. His face is covered with a thick beard, neatly styled with gel, giving it a polished glow. His dark, slightly reddish curly hair falls just above his shoulders. In short, such a captivating personality is rare even in a magical city like this.
Just as Kushal was finishing a few onion fritters, Jaya's words were suddenly drowned by a heavy downpour. Looking out the window, Kushal shouted, "See how suddenly it started raining! I would have reached home by now. Now I'll be so late. And Ma will keep nagging."
From the kitchen, Jaya replied, "Good for you! You'll stay and have the hilsa fish tonight. I've cooked it so well—you'll lick your fingers clean."
Kushal sighed, "Yes, I'll eat the hilsa, and my mother will chew my head off. What a mess I've gotten into!"
Outside, the rain poured down as if the sky had broken apart.
Rain in this city has many forms. From a twenty-five-story building, it looks romantic. From a roadside hut, it becomes a reason to worry.
Apu stood beside her mother and suddenly put a hot fritter into her mouth, exclaiming, "It's too hot, Ma!"
Blowing gently into Apu's mouth, Jaya said, "Oh dear! When will you learn? Who puts something hot straight into their mouth?"
Apu kept looking at her mother, making little sounds of discomfort.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Jaya turned off the gas and went to open the door. Pratap stood outside.
Jaya's face went pale, but she composed herself and said, "In this rain? Come in. Oh, you're completely soaked."
Pratap walked in and went straight to the washroom. From inside, he said, "Can you give me a towel and my clothes?"
Jaya replied, "Pratap, I can give you a towel. But you took all your clothes the other day. There's nothing of yours left in this house."
In a dry voice, Pratap said, "Everything I have is still in this house, Jaya."
With a hint of irritation, Jaya said, "Don't speak in riddles, Pratap. Tell me why you've come. And if there's no real reason, please go back in this condition. I don't want to become a subject of gossip again."
Pratap was about to reply when Apu quietly stepped forward, handing a kurti, a towel, and a pair of track pants through the bathroom door. She said, "Pu, take these."
Apu always calls Pratap "Pu."
Taking the clothes, Pratap said, "Thanks, Apu. Without these, I would have had to stay in wet clothes."
Apu said nothing more and walked away, avoiding Jaya's sharp gaze, and went straight to her room.
Kushal had been listening to all this but didn't come out. He understood that every family has its own private matters. The incident from that day came back to his mind once again.
That day, Kushal had just arrived to teach. Jaya hadn't returned from the office yet. Yes, Jaya works in a private company to support the household. Her salary is decent, enough for her and her daughter to live comfortably.
Apu had seemed distracted from the very beginning that day. Despite Kushal asking repeatedly, she said nothing. He kept asking, "What's wrong, Apu? You're not focused today. Did something happen between your mother and Pu?"
Apu shook her head in denial. She has always been reserved, someone who keeps her pain buried within herself. Getting her to speak is like digging for water in a desert.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang—ting tong.
Without saying anything, Apu ran and opened the door. Seeing Jaya, she hugged her tightly and burst into tears.
Jaya stepped inside, put her bag down, and closed the door with one hand. "What happened, Ma? Why are you crying?" she asked.
Apu kept crying without answering. By then, Kushal had come to the dining area.
Jaya kept asking, "What happened? Tell me something. How will I understand if you don't speak?" Looking at Kushal, she asked, "Do you know anything?"
Kushal shook his head. "I've been asking her for a long time, but she isn't saying anything."
After about five minutes, Jaya made Apu sit on the sofa and gently stroked her head. "Tell me, Ma. Won't you tell me? Keeping things inside only increases the pain. It's better to speak out than to let your heart break in silence. I've told you so many times—hiding your feelings only hurts you more and gives nothing in return. Tell me, what happened?"
Apu looked at Jaya. There was a deep pain in her eyes—something Jaya couldn't ignore.
Pulling her close, Jaya said softly, "To stay happy, you have to do what's necessary for yourself. The more you think about what others say or think, the heavier your heart will become."
Wiping her tears, Apu said, "Today at school, Aditi said that Pu is not my real father. She said I'm your illegitimate child. That you and Pu are not married. I knew this, Ma. I never told anyone. But how did they find out? Today one person said it—tomorrow five more will. I won't go to school anymore. I will never go to school again."
Tears streamed down Jaya's face. She swallowed her sobs again and again but couldn't say a word. She simply held Apu tightly to her chest.
The past does not let go easily. And this city carries countless pasts—hidden in every home, every corner, every street, and every lamppost.
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