Tintin seems to have grown old! The curved hair on his forehead is gone, replaced by a few strands of partially gray hair. A small belly has formed. The quick pace at which he used towalk is no longer there; now he walks a little slower. The little guy walks with his hands in his pockets. It looks like he’s gone somewhere for a walk, and now he’s walking alone, deep in thought.
After passing the Paradise Four-way, I turned toward the City Center, and as soon as I looked up, our eyes met. Instantly, a big smile appeared on his face. The expression seemed to say, “It feels like I saw you just yesterday!”
But Tintin returned to Agartala after almost thirty years. While Tintin’s appearance hadn’t changed much, mine had changed quite a lot. When he was in Agartala, we used to ride around on his blue bicycle. Sometimes we would cross the stable bridge and go to the litchi garden, or cross Chandrapur and visit the silk garden, or cross the Jawhar Bridge and go to Bhattapukur. My messy hair has long fallen out, leaving my head completely bare. Back then, I didn’t want to leave the mirror; whenever I got the chance, I would shampoo and comb my rebellious hair. But nowadays, I rarely stand in front of the mirror. However, Tintin didn’t make a single mistake in recognizing me after so many years.
I also decided to join him. I nudged him in the stomach and asked, “Hey, Tintin! How’s it going?”
He gave me that clueless look. In a whisper, he said, “Shantu, don’t call me by that name anymore. The girl is coming behind us. If she finds out my nickname, my life will be ruined. She’s a real pain.”
Tintin’s real name was Tarun. Looking behind, I saw the girl wearing jeans and a kurti, and it was clear that she carried a trace of his influence. I wasn’t sure whether the girl would feel happy hearing his nickname or get upset.
“When did you come to Agartala? You didn’t let me know!” I could feel the suppressed sense of disappointment in my chest.
“You don’t live in Agartala anymore, right? I heard you settled in Mumbai,” Tarun asked.
“No, Pune. I lost contact with you,” my voice grew a bit hoarse.
“Come over to my house. I’ll be leaving soon.”
“Hey, let’s all have a meal together one day,” I said, but I stopped myself mid-sentence.
As Tintin waved his hand, he turned to leave, only to come back and say, “But don’t call me Tintin at home, okay?”
I had given Tarun the nickname Tintin. It would have been nice to mention it in our conversation today, but I didn’t even take his phone number. After recharging my mobile near the fairground Kalibari and returning to the front of the City Center, I checked the time. It was six in the evening. My friends still hadn’t arrived. I, too, had come to hang out after many years. For everyone's convenience, this spot in front of the City Center was chosen.
Now, there was a crowd of young people in front of the City Center. Teenagers, their bags hanging from their shoulders, were holding hands as they walked. Such vibrant, lively youth. When we were their age, we didn’t have that kind of freedom!
I stood there, staring absent-mindedly. Everyone was supposed to wait by the western gate.
About thirty years ago, our hangouts were full of life. It feels like it was just yesterday. Eighteen- or nineteen-year-old boys have a different vibe when they hang out. That was the last time we all ate together. Tintin, after storming off in anger, never joined us for the meal, even though he came to the hangout. No matter what happened, he just couldn’t bear hunger.
“While eating at a memorial, you can still see rice and yogurt at the last bite!” Bishu’s voice was as loud as a microphone. Since that morning, he had been grumbling about food.
I couldn’t find Jagur’s tea stall near Chaumathar. The tea stall used to be near where we hung out. Bishu had named it Hutash Chaumuhuni.
“Why that name?” I asked Bishu, and he looked at me as if I were a fool.
“Hutash is for those who walk aimlessly, like those boys who act like they’ve lost their way. So, we named it Hutash Chaumuhuni. What else could we call it, seeing how you all jump around at the mention of funeral processions!” Bishu had said, showing his teeth like a spade.
Gautam was different from all of us. His sense of morality was strong. He had said, “Being with someone on their last journey is a matter of great merit. So many people don’t have someone with them on their last journey. If we hadn’t gone, at least fifty people would have had to struggle through a funeral.”
What he said was a hundred percent true. Nantu Rabidas, who lived in Rabidaspara, used to work as a shoemaker like his father and grandfather. He drove a rickshaw. He got tuberculosis at a young age and had to drive while coughing and gasping for air. One day, after a full day of work, he collapsed at the front door of his house and died.
There was no money, no funds. Who would cover the cost of the funeral? When we found out, we rushed to help. We, the members of Hutash Chaumuhuni, became the companions on his last journey. We even covered the funeral expenses ourselves.
And so, it went on. Eventually, our faces became familiar at funeral homes. People began to recognize us as companions on the last journey. We started receiving extra care and hospitality at these places. We no longer had an appetite for the meals served at the memorials; it didn’t taste the same.
But not everyone can be a funeral companion. However, there’s nothing stopping us from going to a memorial. In this group, Titu is the one with the most mischievous ideas. Whenever he saw a white tent at a memorial, he would sneak in and fill his stomach. A memorial isn’t as strict as a wedding. The grieving people don’t pay attention to who comes or who eats. Our confidence grew so much that we would walk into unfamiliar homes in groups. One time, I dragged Tarun, also known as Tintin, into one of these homes. We didn’t even know who had died. We entered the house in Bhattapukur, oblivious to whose memorial it was.
We were hanging out together that afternoon. The mood of the chat was lively and energetic. Raju quickly joined us, and that lifted the spirits even more.
In every hangout, there is always one person who can be called the life of the conversation. Raju plays that exact role in our group. He has an unmatched talent for making up stories on the spot. His way of talking isn’t just storytelling; it's more like gossip.
As soon as he came, he said, “I’m not hungry today. I’ve eaten so much since morning! Don’t even ask.”
In the middle of the afternoon, while our stomachs were growling, Raju started talking about food. I was grinding my teeth in frustration at that moment.
Titu is always exaggerating everything. He teased Raju, “Is it your birthday today?”
“No, why would it be my birthday? Just because it’s not my birthday doesn’t mean I can’t have good food! Anyway, we’ve got Nanasima at our house today.”
Raju’s Nanasima. The number of aunts she has, from A to Z, is beyond counting!
Seeing us look confused, Raju explained, “My mother’s grandfather was a landlord in Tahirpur, Sylhet. His eldest son’s second daughter is Nanasima. Since childhood, Nanasima used to drink milk from Begalpur cows and bathe in donkey’s milk. She’s as fair as snow, like a princess. My grandfather loved Nanasima very much. She’s a great cook, and she loves food. This morning, she made fluffy luchis fried in pure ghee. My mother made lentils with coconut and a rich side of raisins and other dried fruits. Then there were fried eggplants. Oh, it was divine.”
It felt like we could smell all the food in the air. It was as if luchis, fried eggplants, and lentils were all around us.
If the King of Ghosts were to bless us, we would bring such tasty food to this hangout, just like Gupi and Bagha would, clapping our hands in delight.
Bishu, with his lazy expression, was sitting quietly. All our minds were preoccupied with thoughts of food. Just then, Dhirendra spoke up, “I smell food.”
Dhirendra is the kind of guy who can smell food from a mile away!
As soon as Dhirendra mentioned food, we all sat up straight. Maybe there was a celebration nearby!
“Where? Got any information?” Bishu asked Dhirendra, as if he had the answers hidden in his pocket!
Dhirendra did indeed have the information. His brother runs a decoration business. So, he always knows about weddings, memorials, and other events.
Bishu, eager as always, asked again, “Is there any celebration nearby?”
Dhirendra thought for a moment and said, “Yesterday, my brother’s workers took white cloth for a memorial in Bhattapukur. But I don’t know which house it is.”
“Do you know the owner’s name?” Bishu asked.
“No.” Dhirendra replied with a perplexed face.
All the hope we had quickly faded.
Just then, we spotted Shambhu, the rickshaw driver from Dhirendra’s brother’s decoration business, heading towards Bat Tala with some goods.
Dhirendra called out to him, and Shambhu stopped. Finally, we got the location and details of the house.
We set off on foot. Bhattapukur wasn’t far. At first, Tintu didn’t want to come along. He said, “I’m really hungry, I haven’t eaten all day. I’ll eat at home first.”
We convinced Tintu with the promise of good food, and all of us headed out together.
The house wasn’t far, so we walked. Bishu and Tintu had bicycles, but not everyone could fit on them. These days, it’s strange not to see someone with a bike or scooter, even if their family isn’t wealthy.
It wasn’t hard to find the house. At the memorial, there were plenty of people. Some were shaving their heads like Gaur-Nitai brothers. When they saw us, they folded their hands and invited us inside. As we entered, we saw that the meal had just begun. We were too late for the first round.
We waited outside, eagerly anticipating the food. Just then, a man came and sat close to us. He didn’t need to know us to start talking. If you could talk, he was happy to engage.
My stomach was growling, and the conversation made me feel even hungrier. I didn’t recognize this man. His face had a sly, fox-like smile.
The conversation went on, and he said, “When you have companions like you for the last journey, there’s no worry.”
Bishu, always eager to join in, flashed his trademark awkward smile, as if to say, “No worries, I’m fine.”
I didn’t realize the man was so crafty. There was no change in his face, even though he was talking about serious matters. He casually continued, “When my uncle passed away, it was in the middle of the night. There were hardly any people around. But when you all came, it saved us. Otherwise, who would have taken him to the cremation ground that night?”
I couldn’t understand who this uncle was. Tintu, with a serious face, asked, “What was his name?”
“Ashit Sen.”
“Wasn’t he the one who owned the pharmacy in Kaman Chowmuhani?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
I remembered now. Ashit Sen had passed away around midnight. These days, people stay up late, but back then, midnight was considered the dead of night.
We went to the cremation ground around one in the morning.
This man was Ashit Sen’s nephew! Looking at us, he said, “When you feed someone who’s helped in a memorial, it’s a blessing.”
The man didn’t seem like he was going to stop talking.
“Uncle’s face was something! Just by looking at it, Meso decided on the spot to make him his son’s wife. She was the wife of such a big house, but she never had any pride,” the man continued.
Bishu’s habit of talking too much got the better of him. There was no need to say so much! Excessive talking always leads to unnecessary comments, and sure enough, Bishu said, “Yes, after he died, it felt like light came from his face. Everyone at the cremation ground said that.”
The man’s sly eyes gleamed. Looking around, he said, “But Nanasima died in Kolkata. Her cremation was at Keoratala. You must have been there with your group!”
What could we say?
My hunger was clouding my mind. Just then, Tintu stood up and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” Before leaving, he shot Bishu a glance that could have burned him alive.
We all got up one by one.
Seeing Tintu again after so many years brought back memories of the old days.
One by one, everyone was gathering: Dhirendra, Titu, Raju, Bishu, all of them. I could still recognize all of them. Everything else had changed—the roads, the people, the culture—but the friends hadn’t changed much. Dhirendra, seeing me, said, “I have a surprise for you. Wait and see.”
What could the surprise be?
“Nothing to worry about. Look there,” Dhirendra said, pointing.
It was Tintu! He was coming! What a surprise!
Dhirendra said, “I spotted him just now near Bat Tala.”
Tintu, seeing everyone, said enthusiastically, “What’s up! You all together! I can’t believe it!”
Dhirendra said seriously, “You’re invited!”
Tintu looked shocked, like he had seen a ghost. He would have run away if he could.
Dhirendra grabbed his hand and, laughing, said, “Don’t worry. I’ll treat you to that famous chop from Gajur’s shop. After so many years, let’s have tea and snacks together. Not anywhere else, but at my place. Let’s go!” Tintu’s surprised face broke into a smile.