Of Fat Lies and Half Truths

‘জীবনের নানা ওঠাপডা যেন সহজে গায় না লাগে…..’
(closest can be probably, ‘Let the small falls of life pass with ease’)

Rituparno knew how to capture his market be it movies or jingles, but Boroline and even Margo to me was like full of lies. The thick white cream which smelled equally sticky, stuffed in the sap-green tube or the ugly soap bar of Margo, morbidly olive, was a pain in the line of toiletries. The jingle was half true too, ‘দেখতে খারাপ, মাখতে ভালো।’ (some what like ‘Not how it looks when under the shower’)

Just like many things of our childhood, half truth concocted with full lies and yet darkly colorful. Like those fake menthol sweet cigarettes, rising the obnoxious pleasure of puffing menthol, something that the body doesn’t look forward to and neither to their line of real, branded-brothers, the tobacco stuffed white hells.

Like this letter as well, which will never stay a day or two in those round red drop-boxes at the junctions of the busy crossings. And even though, it will be ‘posted’ at one fine Saturday, it will never reach to ‘One’. The melancholy of the open letters!

‘মাথার ঘন চুল যখন , মরূভূমি ছুঁয়ে যায়….’
(Let’s try this one as well! ‘When your dark tresses shades the sand’)

I have seen ‘pishemoshai’, (dad’s brother-in-law who I assumed must be close to my grand pa’s age) using the same hair oil of my mom’s, days after days during his long stays at our Kolkata home to ‘fix’ his ulcer.

‘ওয়েসিশ নিয়ে আসে মররূদ্যান, মেঘের ছায়ায়, ছায়ায়।’
(‘The promise of ‘Oasis’ is floating nearby)

Another jingle of Keo Karpin and even though Sravanti Mazumdar’s voice was almost sur’real’ sweet, but the jingle, like all jingles, is a fat lie altogether!! Neither the ulcer nor the ‘মরূভূমী’ (the receded hairline reaching to the point of no return) moved an inch from him.

But then, jingles are not meant to be taken seriously, just like life!

Letter to Myself During the Days of Corona – LnC Series by Piu Mahapatra

‘আমিতো এমনি এমনি খাই।’
(I eat just like that!)

Is not what my mother found wise to follow either and naturally the wheat-cream powder shake of Horlicks was carefully kept away from kid’s reach till they were mixed in heap fulls with warm milk, stirred and stirred till the poison potion was just right and ready to kill the childhood almost every morning. I wondered what I hated most, the false promise that the brand boasted or how the choices in life was prescribed to me.

Distasted ‘Boroline’ which made my chapped lips stick to each other through out winters.

And that warm glass of liquid Horlicks that somehow could always made it’s way between those lips.
Dull and stubborn Margo soap bars which never used to wear out even though secretly left in the plastic mugs half filled with water.

Just like our childhood, studded with stubborn restrictions and yet like Sravanti’s candy sweet voice, it’s blue nostalgia keeps on haunting and never wears off…never fades!!

(Artwork: Piu Mahapatra)
(The views expressed are personal.)

Click here to read more Letters to Myself During the Days of Corona every Saturday.😊

Sent from my iPhone

About the Author

Piu Mahapatra ( 42 Posts)

A painter, facilitator, and art consultant by profession, Piu never let go the opportunity to work around and along with the ‘Curious little George’ of different schools in India and abroad. Her articles on art education and awareness have been published in different contemporary art journals of India and Virginia for more than a decade. She loves to let her hair go down and often makes pathetic attempts to write poetry and short stories for children. The only thing she has ever done good is letting her son soar high and low with his wings open wide and fear-free.
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