My mother Karuna was born on Buddha Purnima. Having her birthday with Lord Buddha she was named Karuna meaning compassion. She could have been named Buddha Purnima like Rakhi Purnima, but there would not have been any riddle to the name.
She was born in a sleepy railway cantonment, Adra. A sleepy hamlet in the border of Bengal and Bihar. It is a railway colony in Purulia district of West Bengal. It is the seat of an important railway division. My maternal grandfather worked for the divisional headquarters of the South Eastern Railway.
Being a railway colony, like all others it had a huge Anglo Indian populace contributing to her education and upbringing. She studied in Ushagram Girls' High School. She later became a teacher in this school.
However her education was much large with her friends from the Anglo India community. She listened to Western Classical, had mastery over the English language, rode the bicycle, knew typing, was a part of the Girl Guides and was well versed in continental dishes.
Her marriage to my father, Nirmal Chandra Kumar in Calcutta was more due to my father’s love for books, as a bibliophile and an antiquarian The match most probably took place as both house thought that they would make a good pair as books and teaching go together.
In Calcutta she got herself enrolled in Lady Brabourne College and continued her education to latter become a teacher in the same college. In fact many times she reached us to our school at Don Bosco, Park Circus and joined her own class some yards away. She even took me and my younger brother, once to her college annual to be reprimanded by the principal as the college door was strictly out of bounds for males.
My mother took interest in our education and it was she who was there in all parents meeting, sports day and all school function without fail.
We had no knowledge of her wide education and once when I was listening to Barun Halder’s Sunday fare of Western Classical in All India Radio, confused on the composer, my mother pointed out that it was the 9th.Symphony of Beethoven. I was aghast and quite brashly told her that she had no knowledge of the composition to be corrected by the Compare that she was right. This not only notched up my respect for her several times but kept my mouth shut for the rest of her life.
Another time when my friend Chandrachur Sarkar, staying at our home, having completed his Masters in Economics was struggling with the Remington to type an application, my mother who was cooking, poured some water on the boiling dish, rinsed her hand under the kitchen tap, wiped her hand in her saree, came over and opened the latch of the type writer to the astonishment of my friend. She then helped him to create his first application for job.
All the Boy Scout Proficiency Badges I earned when I was in Scouts were mainly due to her: Cooking, Book Binding, House Keeping, Hospitality, First Aids and a whole host of others.
She helped my father with his library and was a perfect host to the many friends my father invited over home. Satyajit Ray was fond of Fried Fish, Radha Prasad Gupta: Kosha Mutton with Luchi, Vasanta Chowdhury was a connoisseur of good tea and she served it in a Chinese cup with a lid with a tiny hole to let the vapour escape keeping the tea in the right temperature. Not only that my mother knew about it but never failed to serve it when they came visiting. Jean Riboud, the late Chairman of Schlumberger, who was married to Krishna Tagore came to my house and was fond of my mother's preparation of 'Shukto', which he compared with the bitter-sweet taste of Campari.
When the son of a distant relative was afflicted with a rare disease of a tumour in the eye she insisted that I take charge and bear all medical expense. I was then into my first job in Rediffussion, but was not that well off. This did not deter my mother who went on saying the proverbial Bengali line: we can suffice on rice and dal, but not to come forward in this hour of need is criminal.
Whenever I see Satyajit Ray's Apu triology and Sarbojaya comes to the screen I am reminded of my mother.
We lost her early in 1984, soon after my father’s death. She said that on the death of her husband she has lost much interest in life.
After her death I discovered her diary with her journal entries and poetry.
A poet she was. An unpublished poet.