Now the next person of Group A to come on stage and recite her poem is Trijeeta. I felt suddenly as if somebody had awaken me from a deep sleep. I tightly gripped my father’s arms in fear. I want to run away but don’t feel my legs anymore. Baba slowly patted my arms and took me to the steps that lead to the stage.
I was hardly 4 or 5. It was my first participation in the recitation competition held in our township on the eve of Rabindra Jayanti. My over-enthusiastic Maa had been toiling for days helping me memorize the poem with the expressions and hand movements every now and then. I had no prior experience of reciting any poem apart from the Nursery Rhymes and had always let my mother down when anybody asked me to recite any one of them.
I climb the steps and stop at the corner of the stage. Uncle lead me to the centre of the stage and made me stand in front of the mike facing the audience. Uncle, as everyone called him was the pricipal of the nursery school I went to and the organizer of that event.
Someone from nowhere came running and adjusted the mike for my height.
My hands froze, my throat dried, my voice choked looking at the audience. The panel of judges wearing heavy glasses sat behind the white-clothed tables in the first row. The children and the participants sat just behind. The parents and the rest of the audience sat behind them. All the eyes fixed on me.
I try looking for Baba among them. I saw him standing with eyes full of support, exactly at the place where he had left me. I look at him with shy full tears in my eyes and he looked at me with eyes full of reassurance and comfort.
I could hear Uncle prompting me to start.
“Nomoshkar…Kobiguru Robindranath er TaalGachh…” My voice echoed around the auditorium and scared me even more. I gulped in my saliva in order to clear my throat and took a deep breath.
“Taal gach ek paye dariye….sob gach chariye…uki mare akashe”, as taught I look up as if to visualize a distant sky above. I notice lots of mikes hanging above at the different levels all across the edge of the stage. The Disco ball which looked so pretty from far looked giant and scary above.
I close my eyes and try to concentrate.
“Mone sadh kalo megh fure jay…ekebare ure jay….kotha pabe pakha se..
Taito se thik tar mathate…goal goal patate…eccheti mele tar
Mone mone vabe bujhi dana ei…ure jete mana nei…basakhani fele tar…”
While my mother was teaching me this poem, I had asked her why the Taalgach had to stand all day long only on one leg. She said it had only one leg. I had sympathized the Taalgach and had even tried to stand on one leg.
Ohh! Uncle is prompting me again. I had stopped reciting. What are the next lines? I helplessly look at him and then guiltily at the judges. Uncle comes to my rescue prompting me the next lines.
“Saradin jhor-jhor …thor-thor….kanpe pata pottor….ure jeno jabe o…
Mone mone akashete beriye…tarader eriye…jeno kotha jabe o…”
I had seen my classmates getting punished and asked to stand on one leg infront of the pricipal’s office. They were not allowed to play during the games period. What did the Taalgach do? Did he not do his homework , was late or had forgot to bring his books to school?
“Tarpore hawa jei neme jay…pata kanpa theme jay…fere tar monti…
Jei bhabe Ma je hoy mati tar…bhalo lage aarbar…prithibir konti…
Dhanyabad”.
I ended exactly how my mother taught me bowing in front folding my arms together. I walked to the end of the stage and ran as fast as I could down the stairs, diving straight into Baba’s arms, hiding my face in his shoulders out of embarrassment, guilt and insecurity. I knew I had forgotten my lines and all the expressions in between.
Baba, usually a man of few words, patted my back and caressed my hair and said, “Bhalo hoyeche..”
he he! bhalo hoyeche, but ektu guruchondali hoye geche.
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