Some gossip a day keeps the doctor awake

There’s something very nostalgic about sisters staying up late at night, giggling and gossiping, that brings back memories of growing up. I think it’s a sister-sister thing; only sisters with sisters will get it. The last many nights have seen us indulging in decadent gossip, from the whereabouts of the paara’r jethima-pishimas to eccentric friends and relatives we are better off not knowing (in life) but knowing (on social media).

 

There’s little Maya trying to sleep, flanked by two gossip mongers incessantly chatting. Our chats are occasionally punctuated by a restless group of birds outside, or Maya’s shrill cries when her chomping spree has been prematurely interrupted because the overworked teat has unceremoniously slipped out of her mouth since her mom and aunt were giggling uncontrollably. This is usually followed by our mom’s sharp rebuke from the other room for being the careless Ma and mashi that we are, up and chatting in the middle of the night. “Tora ghumo ebaar! Bachcha jege jachche!” I sometimes wonder if she says these things out of decades of habit of disciplining us, or simply because she is experiencing FOMO.

 

Maya goes back to sleep peacefully once she has found her chomping device again, hanging like a half-monkey, half-kangaroo from her mom’s pouch, occasionally getting restless, turning on the other side to punch my chest with her little fist. She sidles up to her mom, a tiny human with simple, non-gossipy needs.

 

We go back to looking at social media profiles of people we consider as “odd.” Kamalika from Keshtopur who is Kami(nee) from Kansas now. I am looking at people and I have no idea who they are, what they do, or how did they come to occupy my attention. The nyaka boudi from Gurugram with baggy arms, Mampi and Tampi posing in front of the temples of Hampi, the new mom posting a dozen baby pics everyday with an emoji stuck on the baby’s face (why show when you don’t want to show?), the ex of the ex’s ex whose spouse is currently friends with some other ex (it’s a small world!), the crush from school who is a bald-headed, pot-bellied catch (me not) from New Jersey, Ranga mashima’r meye being married to Poltu kaku’r bou er bhaipo, and the more recent scary Halloween costumes of more Putanas from Durga pujo.

 

“Ei dekh Ei chobi ta. The caption says, ‘Dressed to kill!’”— my sister remarks.

 

I look at a woman I do not know, dressed in tight hunting clothes, her hair making her look like a cross between Sheeba and Kimi Katkar.

 

“Dressed to kill what? Mosquitoes?” I observed wryly.

 

We giggled in spasms. The baby got startled again. This time, she rightly turned around to kick my lower abdomen. I gasped audibly. The voice from the other room with the impending threat was back!

 

Ghumoshna tora. Oshobhyota kor. Bachcha ta keo ghumote dish na!! Kalke dekhchi toder!

 

sunshine