Brand Chintamani

He was the only English graduate in our locality (courtesy Patna University) in that era when Odisha was not an independent state. A teacher, a society person, a starter, with a big heart. The man who used to catch the fancy of most of his grandchildren through his unique folk songs.

Let me catch one of them : "Jhul re haati jhul, baa pani khai phul." Means, Have fun, my loving son, you have fun; Drink some water, take some air and be like a full blown elephant.

I vaguely remember playing hide and seek with his wooden painted half-bent stick much to the revival of a spark in him. I often used to boo him repeating his own word "henten", means etc etc with reference to various dishes prepared on a special occasion he was invited in our village. (To my query what were the dishes, he used to explain a few of them and finally say henten, which mean etc etc. in his parlance, to put an end to my sweet nonsense.)

He was a Gandhian of sort, with a khadi around his waist and another around his neck but without any speck despite being in 70s, often reciting the favourite lines (Iswar Allah Tere naam...). The people outside of our own home was his extended family. A teacher by profession, he made out to be a socio-political figure in the locality. If he had nothing to do, he would go out with a lota and knife and plant trees on the roadside. I still remember the night when he passed away. I was in Class I and was fighting with my mother to go to school next morning, little aware of the sad incoming.

Today, it is nearly three decades of his demise and I have almost forgotton him, except the fact that I don't forget to offer pranam pointing to his samadhi (resting place) at our backyard when I go home. (Thanks to my father who has taught me this since my adolescence.) Except the fact that we have been offering prayers at his photo placed along with other gods and goddesses at our home for so many years. Except the fact that people in our village often take his name when they discuss something having common interests.

But knowing the fact from my would-be mother-in-law that my linkage with this noble man who is pretty well-known in our locality even today had another reason to accept me as their bride-groom was an eye-opener. My grandfather may die, but his legacy, the Brand Chintamani (Chintamani Nayak, his true name) is still alive even after three decades of his demise. Hearing this, I felt sort of little injured, assuming my years of struggle, education, professionalism, ethics, integrity and that little bit of personal ego, all put together have little significance to create a social identity for myself. I realised it is not enough how good I am, I should display my goodness to others, by reaching out to some extent. There is hardly any difference between creating a brand for a corporate and for an individual.

Learning : My grandfather had probably knew how to create a brand from any shit you do in your life. And I have failed to understand that vital aspect of life even today!!

Tail-Piece : After so many years, we discovered some handwritten pocket books of my grandfather, indicating how he used to sharpen his English skills. My father had a quick advice for my elder brother to take a look at them as "they were so precious" and my brother had kept the Hidden Treasure for many years.