My Grandfather My Boss Sahib

North Kolkata ke un purane se ghar mein subah ka scene almost same hota tha. Chai ki khushboo, newspaper ki khad-khad, aur dadaji ki daily “English practice.” Rishi ko lagta tha ki agar duniya mein sabse zyada irritating sound koi hai, toh woh dadaji ki fake angrezi ho sakti hai. Aur phir bhi, weirdly, usse pata tha ki bina uss angrezi ke ghar thoda khaali sa lagega.

“Rishi, come here, my little boss sahib,” dadaji bolte, newspaper fold karke. Rishi apni aankh ghumata, “Dadaji, please normal Hindi mein bolo na. Aapko kya problem hai?” Dadaji turant chest out karke bolte, “Problem? No problem. I am very proper English speaker. Very international grandfather.”

Rishi hamesha same face banata—half disgust, half helpless laughter. “Aap international nahi, totally illegal English bolte ho.” Dadaji ka response fixed hota, “That is called style, beta. Style is not for weak people.”

Mother kitchen se bas ek nazar dalti aur thak ke bolti, “Dono bas subah-subah start mat karo. Mujhe office bhi jaana hai.” Aur dadaji, jaise woh isi moment ka wait kar rahe ho, aur zyada overacting kar dete. “See, Rishi, your mother is also my fan. She cannot handle my English.”

Rishi ko gussa bhi aata, embarrassment bhi hoti, aur andar se thoda has bhi aata. Dadaji ka confidence itna absurd tha ki kabhi-kabhi usse lagta, shayad ye aadmi sach mein believe karte hain ki unki English Oscar-worthy hai. Phir woh khud ko yaad dilata—nahi, ye sab band hona chahiye. School mein koi sun lega toh uski life khatam.

Us din school se notice aaya: annual function ke saath parent-grandparent day bhi hoga. Har bachche ko family se kisi ek senior ko laana tha. Rishi ne notice dekhte hi panic mode on kar diya.

“Mother, aap chalna,” usne turant kaha. Mother bag pakadte hue boli, “Main office se leave nahi le sakti, beta.” “Phir papa?” “Unka outstation hai.” Rishi ki nazar dheere-dheere dadaji par gayi, jo verandah mein chair par baithe chai sip kar rahe the aur newspaper ke piche se drama dekh rahe the.

“Nahi,” Rishi ne almost whisper kiya. “Please no.” Dadaji ne newspaper neeche kiya. “Why no? I am best option. Most handsome grandfather on earth.” Rishi ka face instantly deadpan ho gaya. “Exactly isliye no.”

Mother ko bhi pata tha ki is discussion ka result kuch bhi ho, drama fix hai. Woh bas itna boli, “Dadaji, school mein bas normal rehna. Rishi ko embarrass mat karna.” Dadaji ne serious face banaya, jo unke case mein aur bhi suspicious lagta tha. “Of course. I will be like a silent monk.” Rishi ne under-breath bola, “Aap silent aur monk? Dono impossible hain.”

Function wale din subah se hi Rishi ke pet mein butterflies nahi, full-fledged elephants ghoom rahe the. Usne apna uniform press kiya hua tha, shoes chamak rahe the, aur man hi man ek prayer chal rahi thi—please dadaji ko mic na mile, please unko mic na mile, please unko mic na mile. Lekin dadaji ko mic milne se kaun rok sakta tha? Unhone suit pehna, jo unpe thoda zyada hi heroic lag raha tha, aur saath mein ek pocket square bhi laga liya. Rishi ne unhe dekha toh bas itna bola, “Aap function mein ja rahe ho ya shaadi attend karne?” Dadaji wink karke bole, “Both. Life is celebration.”

School hall mein lights bright thi, stage pe colourful banner laga tha, aur parents-grandparents ki seat pe already kaafi serious log baithe the. Principal ma’am front row mein thi—formal, straight-backed, aur aisi expression ke saath jaise ek smile bhi school rules tod de. Rishi ne dadaji ka haath pakda aur side mein whisper kiya, “Please. Bas normal.” Dadaji ne whisper back kiya, “I am always normal. You are the one with tension.”

Rishi ne aankh band karke deep breath liya. Event shuru hua. Bacche dance kar rahe the, poems bol rahe the, aur beech-beech mein host family members ko stage par bula raha tha. Rishi bas chair mein chipka baitha tha, hoping ki unka naam skip ho jaaye. Lekin destiny bhi kabhi-kabhi full comedy mode mein hoti hai.

“Now we request one proud grandparent to share a few words about their grandchild,” host ne mic mein announce kiya. Rishi ka soul body se almost nikal gaya. Usne dadaji ki taraf dekha. Dadaji already khade ho chuke the, as if unhi ka moment tha. “Arey baba,” Rishi ne hiss karke kaha, “aap baitho.” Dadaji ne white smile di. “No, my boy. Today I speak.”

Stage tak jaate hue dadaji ne apna suit adjust kiya, aur mic ke saamne aise khade ho gaye jaise kisi international conference mein keynote dene aaye ho. Hall mein halka murmur tha. Principal ma’am ne unhe polite nod diya. Host ne smile karke पूछा, “Aap Rishi ke baare mein kuch bolna chahenge?” Aur phir dadaji ne bina ek second ruke, full confidence ke saath bola:

“My grandson is my boss.”

Hall mein pehle ek chhoti si silence, phir halki hansi, phir smiles, aur phir teachers ki woh classic “aww” wali expression. Rishi ka face ekdum garam ho gaya. Usko laga sab uski taraf dekh rahe hain, sab soch rahe hain ki yeh kya weird family hai. “Boss” word uske kaan mein joke ki tarah baj raha tha. Usne turant aankhen neeche kar li, lips tight kar liye, aur mann hi mann dadaji ko 17 baar blame kar diya.

Dadaji ne phir continue kiya, “He is small in age, but very big in brain. He tells me what to do, what not to do, and also when my English is bad.” Kuch log aur hase. Rishi ka embarrassment aur badh gaya. Usne socha, bas, ab humiliation ka full package complete. Woh quietly chair pe aur sunker baith gaya, dadaji ko dekhna bhi band kar diya.

Lekin stage se utarte waqt dadaji ki aankhon mein ek chhota sa pause tha. Woh samajh gaye the ki shayad unka joke thoda zyada public ho gaya. Rishi ne unki taraf dekha hi nahi. Woh bas idhar-udhar dekh raha tha, jaise usse suddenly apne shoes mein koi important research karni ho. Principal ma’am ne next moment mic liya aur calmly boli, “A child who feels loved enough to call his grandparent ‘boss’ is very lucky. And a grandparent who says that proudly is even luckier.” Unki voice mein na lecture tha, na over-sentimentality—bas ek practical warmth thi. Rishi ko woh line thodi ajeeb tarah se hit karke gayi.

Function continue hua, but Rishi ka mind ab bhi ussi line pe atka hua tha. “My grandson is my boss.” Pehle usko laga tha dadaji ne uska mazaak udaya. Lekin ab woh soch raha tha—agar mazaak hi tha, toh itna proud tone kyun tha? Usne stage ke side mein dekha. Dadaji ab bhi crowd ke beech khade the, suit ke saath thoda awkward, aur uski taraf dekh kar ek chhoti si smile kar rahe the. Woh smile teasing wali nahi thi. Woh soft thi. Proud thi.

Rishi ke andar ka annoyance dheere-dheere melt hone laga. Usne notice kiya ki dadaji ne jo line boli thi, woh actually usko chhota dikhane ke liye nahi thi. Woh usko important dikhane ke liye thi. School ke itne saare adults ke beech dadaji ne sabko yeh bataya ki ghar mein Rishi ki value hai. Ki woh “little leader” hai. Ki uski baat seriously li jaati hai. Ki woh sirf ek baccha nahi, ghar ka pride bhi hai.

Rishi ko suddenly yaad aaya—subah dadaji jab usse “boss sahib” bolte the, toh unki aankhon mein wahi weird sparkle hoti thi. Woh usse tease karte the, haan. Lekin har tease ke neeche ek attention hota tha. Ek attention jo sirf dadaji de sakte the. Aur maybe, just maybe, unki fake angrezi ka sach mein purpose usko embarrass karna nahi, usko notice karwana tha. Rishi ko pehli baar laga ki dadaji ka overacting mask tha. Asli emotion uske peeche chhupa hua tha—simple, stupid, loud pyaar.

Function ke end tak Rishi ka mood kaafi soft ho chuka tha. Jab last song baj raha tha aur log uth-uth kar exit ki taraf ja rahe the, toh woh seedha dadaji ke paas gaya. Dadaji ne usko dekhte hi usual style mein bola, “So, boss sahib, how was my performance?” Rishi ne apni aankh ghumaayi, but this time without real irritation. “Aapki English abhi bhi weird hai.” Dadaji ne hand on chest rakh liya, “This is not weird. This is premium accent.”

Rishi ko pehli baar sach mein hasi aa gayi. “Premium nahi, broken premium.” Dadaji ne bag uthaya aur dramatic sigh diya. “Very rude grandson. But okay, because he is my boss.” Rishi ne bag unke haath se le liya. Bas ek chhota sa gesture tha, but dadaji usse dekh kar instantly halka sa soft ho gaye. “Chalo,” Rishi ne bol diya. “Ghar chalte hain.”

Ghar ki taraf walk karte waqt hawa thodi thandi thi. North Kolkata ki purani galiyon mein shaam ka light golden sa rang tha. Dadaji thoda chup the, jo unke liye unusual tha. Rishi ne side glance diya aur phir dheere se bola, “Aapne stage pe mujhe embarrass nahi kiya tha na?” Dadaji ne seedha aage dekhte hue kaha, “Of course not.” Phir ek beat ke baad bole, “I was showing them my boss sahib. So that everyone knows I am grandfather of very important boy.”

Rishi ne pehle kuch nahi bola. Bas andar kuch warm sa hua. Phir woh murmur karke bola, “Aapko normal tareeke se bolna nahi aata kya?” Dadaji ne turant reply kiya, “Normal is boring. And also, if I become normal, then who will make you famous?”

Rishi ne apne lips press kiye, phir finally bol hi diya, “Aapki English really terrible hai.” Dadaji ne uski taraf dekha, aankh chhoti karke, “And still you understood every word. Means my English is successful.” Is baar Rishi ne full laugh kiya. Ghar ke gate tak pahunchte-pahunchte uska embarrassment almost gayab ho chuka tha.

Mother door pe khadi thi, un dono ko dekh kar bas ek tired-but-amused smile de rahi thi. “Ho gaya drama?” Dadaji ne chest puff kiya. “No drama. Pure family pride.” Mother ne Rishi ki taraf dekha. Rishi ne bas shoulders shrug kiye, but uske face pe woh purana irritation nahi tha. Mother ne woh silent smile di jo sirf moms de sakti hain—jaise unhe sab pata ho, aur kuch bolne ki zarurat hi na ho.

Rishi andar gaya, backpack corner mein rakha, aur ek second ke liye socha. Dadaji ab bhi verandah mein chai ke liye baith chuke the, newspaper khol ke, jaise kuch hua hi na ho. Rishi ko pehli baar unki fake angrezi se sirf embarrassment nahi, ek ajeeb si warmth bhi feel hui. Woh samajh gaya tha ki dadaji ka show-off style unka pyaar tha—thoda loud, thoda embarrassing, but real. Aur shayad pyaar ka har form neat aur silent nahi hota. Kuch pyaar stage pe “My grandson is my boss” bolkar bhi aata hai.

Rishi ne kitchen ke paas jaake ek glass paani liya, phir casually verandah mein aa gaya. Dadaji ne bina dekhe bola, “Boss sahib, water for me also.” Rishi ne glass unki taraf badhate hue bola, “Lo, international grandfather.” Dadaji ne glass lete hi aankh maar di. “Thank you, my little minister.”

Rishi ko ab gussa nahi aaya. Bas hasi aayi. Aur thoda sa pride bhi. Kyuki ab usse pata tha—dadaji usko sirf tease nahi karte the. Woh uske liye loudly, unapologetically, proudly pyaar karte the. Aur kabhi-kabhi, duniya ke sabse awkward log hi sabse sincere hote hain.

Aur us din ke baad, jab bhi dadaji subah ki chai ke saath apni fake English practice shuru karte, Rishi same old cringe face toh banata, but andar se thoda muskura bhi deta. Kyuki ab woh jaanta tha: “Boss sahib” bolne ka matlab mazaak nahi, affection tha. Aur honestly, thoda embarrassing pyaar bhi pyaar hi hota hai.

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Thank you so much for reading this story on storydilse. Aapka time aur pyaar dono bahut valuable hain, aur humein ummeed hai ki Rishi aur Dadaji ki yeh thodi si awkward, thodi si funny, aur kaafi warm bonding aapke dil ko chhoo gayi hogi. Aise hi aur relatable, heartfelt Hinglish stories ke saath milte rahenge—tab tak ke liye, keep reading, keep smiling, aur storydilse ke saath bane rahiye. 💛