Like most who grew up reading Bangla, Santajit Ray, his father Shukumar Ray and grandfather Upendro-kishor Ray. I grew up reading Professor Shonku series by Satyajit Ray, Nursery rhymes by Shukumar Ray and almost all know of Gupi Gain Bagha Bain, written by grandfather Upendrokishor. This video has a bit of the family history that would otherwise have been lost to generations that know Sanyajit Ray for his own accomplishment.

As she was a government employee, she was taken into Govt. custody for protection when I was 9 months old. My father, an idealist, filed a case against Bhutto that a small child should not be separated from the mother at that age. He won the case and I was taken into custody with my mother.

Over time I’ve heard many stories of those days from various sources. Baba would send Anu, our Bua (maid, of sorts), to look for smokable cigarrette butts to the nearby rail-line. Our Nana pretty much being saved from execution by being there with us during the Intellectual Massacres (Buddhi-jibi Hotta). Baba eventually put all our valuables in a storage and paid money to have them sent over to Dhaka. Of course, right before the delivery was to be made, the storage facility mysteriously caught on fire and reportedly burnt everything inside it. We did eventually make it back is all I can say.

Nana (Qazi Motahar Hossain) was a very religious man. Prayed five times a day. Apparently I used to jump on his back during his prayers (Sijda) saying that he’s falling down! He apparently also believed in the tale of Laila and Majnu, so he never cut his beard. This is supposed to let you see their wedding in heaven. His good friend Kazi Nazrul Islam came over one day when he was sleeping and chopped it off. He then wrote the poem ‘Dari Bodh’ to commemorate the occasion.

Once in Bangladesh, we were staying with our grandparents’ (Dada-Dadi) compound in a separate house. This is where they performed my circumcision. Back in those days, the moil would come to your house, chop it off, wrap it with a cloth dipped in some kind of oil and the family would distribute sweets (Jilapi) to all who came to witness the occasion. Thank God I was too young to remember! Apparently they would sit be down in a bowl of warm water to change the wrapping. One day my Dada (Gandpa – father’s side) was passing by while I was crying while immersed in the bowl. He said to me “Don’t cry, dada, this happens to everyone.” To this I replied “Did it happen to you? Let me see!” Amma still laughs when she remembers this story.

When Ontu was born, all attention was diverted to him. I was apparently very jealous of this. I would ‘suggest’ to others that he should be tossed over the ‘Bokul’ tree to the other side of the wall. He grew up to be an honest, clever and hard-working young man. I’m very proud of him.

The ‘goda jam’ tree, guava tree, mango tree… Now everywhere you look is a new building! I miss the lazy afternoons sitting on Dadi’s lap and dozing off while listening to the rustling of winds and chirping of birds.

I remember bits and pieces from this point on, so it doesn’t belong in the beginnings any more. Maybe another time.