02-04-2026, 04:24 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-04-2026, 06:27 PM by RockyKabir. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
Chapter One
My father, Arun Chatterjee, is a successful man. He serves as the MD of a multinational company. Our home is in Garia. My mother, Bidisha Chatterjee, is a homemaker. Theirs was a marriage born of love, deep bond that spanned seven years before finally culminating in a wedding. While my father came from a modest middle-class background, my mother was the pampered only daughter of a wealthy man. Despite having no lack of material comforts, she was profoundly lonely; her mother had passed away during her childhood, and her father was perpetually consumed by his business. Consequently, she had carved out a small, private world for herself.
It was my father who brought light into the darkness of her solitude. In him, she found a reason to forget all her pain. She broke out of her shell, and thus began their vibrant romance. My father loved her beyond measure and could never bear to see her in distress. To make himself worthy of her, he worked with relentless dedication. Meanwhile, my mother, praying for her lover’s prosperity, would visit temples, observe fasts like Ekadashi, and mastered the art of cooking. she used to feed him with her own hands with such affection; why am I saying "used to"? She still does.
The day my father bought her a saree with his first hard-earned paycheck, my mother’s joy knew no bounds. She felt as though she were walking on air. To this day, she keeps that saree tucked away in her wardrobe with utmost care. Though my grandfather was initially displeased when he learned of their relationship, he eventually accepted it. My father’s integrity and honesty were traits that eventually won him over.
But that is all in the past. Today, through his sheer hard work, my father is a successful man. Grandfather passed away two years ago. The bond between my parents remains unchanged, they are like the inseparable Bangama-Bangami of fables. When Father returns from work, Mother must recount every little detail of her day, and Father listens to her with unwavering patience. Our lives were sailing along smoothly, until a certain incident threw us off course.
I was a college student at the time. That year, we went to Italy on a tour. My father had a business get-together party there, and he took both Mother and me along. An African billionaire was present at that party. For the first time in my life, I saw such an imposing, rugged man in person. My father doesn't have any vices and, out of respect (or perhaps fear) of Mother, doesn't even touch alcohol. Naturally, the party wasn't particularly interesting for him. He stood in a corner discussing business with two associates, while Mother mingled with the other lady guests. Many were praising her beauty, and all the compliments made her shrink back in shy embarrassment.
Suddenly, my eyes fell upon that dark-complexioned man. With a glass of liquor in his hand, he was devouring my virtuous, dignified mother with his gaze. She was wearing a navy-blue saree and a matching sleeveless blouse. He seemed to be drinking in her lush, graceful figure. At one point, she raised her arms to adjust her hair. Seeing her smooth, manicured underarms, the man licked his lips. Finishing his drink slowly, he began walking toward my father. They exchanged words, and to my surprise, I saw Father laughing and joking with him. Then, Father led the man toward Mother.
"Mr. Bongani, this is my wife, Bidisha. Bidisha, meet Bongani, the owner of one of Africa’s largest diamond mines." Bongani extended a hand. Mother shook it.
Bongani then said, "You are all invited to my mansion in Abruzzo tomorrow. My car will arrive tomorrow evening to pick you up."
Mother and Father accepted the invitation with great delight. The man then glanced at me, ruffled my hair, and swiftly strode out of the hall.
My father, Arun Chatterjee, is a successful man. He serves as the MD of a multinational company. Our home is in Garia. My mother, Bidisha Chatterjee, is a homemaker. Theirs was a marriage born of love, deep bond that spanned seven years before finally culminating in a wedding. While my father came from a modest middle-class background, my mother was the pampered only daughter of a wealthy man. Despite having no lack of material comforts, she was profoundly lonely; her mother had passed away during her childhood, and her father was perpetually consumed by his business. Consequently, she had carved out a small, private world for herself.
It was my father who brought light into the darkness of her solitude. In him, she found a reason to forget all her pain. She broke out of her shell, and thus began their vibrant romance. My father loved her beyond measure and could never bear to see her in distress. To make himself worthy of her, he worked with relentless dedication. Meanwhile, my mother, praying for her lover’s prosperity, would visit temples, observe fasts like Ekadashi, and mastered the art of cooking. she used to feed him with her own hands with such affection; why am I saying "used to"? She still does.
The day my father bought her a saree with his first hard-earned paycheck, my mother’s joy knew no bounds. She felt as though she were walking on air. To this day, she keeps that saree tucked away in her wardrobe with utmost care. Though my grandfather was initially displeased when he learned of their relationship, he eventually accepted it. My father’s integrity and honesty were traits that eventually won him over.
But that is all in the past. Today, through his sheer hard work, my father is a successful man. Grandfather passed away two years ago. The bond between my parents remains unchanged, they are like the inseparable Bangama-Bangami of fables. When Father returns from work, Mother must recount every little detail of her day, and Father listens to her with unwavering patience. Our lives were sailing along smoothly, until a certain incident threw us off course.
I was a college student at the time. That year, we went to Italy on a tour. My father had a business get-together party there, and he took both Mother and me along. An African billionaire was present at that party. For the first time in my life, I saw such an imposing, rugged man in person. My father doesn't have any vices and, out of respect (or perhaps fear) of Mother, doesn't even touch alcohol. Naturally, the party wasn't particularly interesting for him. He stood in a corner discussing business with two associates, while Mother mingled with the other lady guests. Many were praising her beauty, and all the compliments made her shrink back in shy embarrassment.
Suddenly, my eyes fell upon that dark-complexioned man. With a glass of liquor in his hand, he was devouring my virtuous, dignified mother with his gaze. She was wearing a navy-blue saree and a matching sleeveless blouse. He seemed to be drinking in her lush, graceful figure. At one point, she raised her arms to adjust her hair. Seeing her smooth, manicured underarms, the man licked his lips. Finishing his drink slowly, he began walking toward my father. They exchanged words, and to my surprise, I saw Father laughing and joking with him. Then, Father led the man toward Mother.
"Mr. Bongani, this is my wife, Bidisha. Bidisha, meet Bongani, the owner of one of Africa’s largest diamond mines." Bongani extended a hand. Mother shook it.
Bongani then said, "You are all invited to my mansion in Abruzzo tomorrow. My car will arrive tomorrow evening to pick you up."
Mother and Father accepted the invitation with great delight. The man then glanced at me, ruffled my hair, and swiftly strode out of the hall.
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