THE name Aleya was borrowed from the character of Serajuddoulah drama and it was the name by which my grandfather Abbasuddin Ahmed addressed his charming young wife. However, it took me a long time to decipher that it was not her real name -- Lutfunnesa Begum is what she was christened as -- but how was one to know? In all the letters that Dadu wrote to his beloved wife, the salutation was 'Sneher Aleya'. Aleya kept those letters in a wooden almirah and her letters dated back even upto May 9, 1933 when my father was born. The couple stayed parted --Abbasuddin, in search of his musical fame resided in Calcutta while Aleya was left behind with her in-laws in their ancestral village home in Coochbehar state of India.

At a very early age of fifteen she had become a mother and very soon she was a mother of not one, but four children. Aleya lived in Coochbehar town instead of her village home in Balarampur and she followed her husband's advices in rearing her children. As Calcutta became a seat of eminence for her husband, Aleya felt left out as a woman. She moaned and pined so much to her brother-in-law Abdul Karim, that he could no longer hold his pen. Verses shot off like magic bullets and stung the hearts of the elites of Calcutta who heard the pining woman through the bhawaiya songs rendered by Abbasuddin. Very few came to know that songs like

Oki ekbar ashiya shonar chand more jao dekhiya re

O more kala re kala Opare chokilam bari Kala ruilam kala shari shari re were written with the ink of natural tears flowing out of the eyes of Abbasuddin's beloved Aleya.

For a short period Aleya stayed in Calcutta getting to know eminent personalities like poet Kazi Nazrul Islam, poet Jasimuddin, poet Ghulam Mustafa, Professor Abu Hena and many others for their association with her husband. In 1947, the entire family migrated to erstwhile East Pakistan. She herself had hailed from Domar, once an obscure village in Rangpur district. She had formal schooling of only 3-5 years at the most, but she felt enlightened enough to hold the reigns of life.

After independence, her house in Purana Paltan, named Hiraman Manzil after her mother-in-law, became the seat of art and culture for the postindependence population. Aleya became the central figure hosting the future artists and litterateurs of this country. She was the driving force bringing inspiration to her husband, her two sons Mustafa Kamal and Mustafa Zaman Abbassi and daughter Ferdausi Rahman. In 1959, Aleya lost her husband and found herself amidst an ocean of loneliness.

Undaunted by the odds that life has to offer, she added her own 'twist to her tale' and became an ardent social worker engaging herself in women's organizations specially working on rekindling the glory of Begum Rokeya. Aleya, who used to sing folk songs and Nazrulgeeti and played the sitar earlier, found a new expression for her creative desires. This medium of expression

was her pen, through which was penned beautiful verses in Bangla. Sometimes she wrote about her mother, sometimes she wrote about love, sometimes she just gave life to simple and rustic images in her mind, dating back to her lost adolescence in the olive gardens of Coochbehar. The poems were published in Lolona, Begum, Bichitra, Ittefaq and others. In her stories of maharajahas and maha-ranis the scenes were glorified with flowers almost to the point of the fragrance being emitted through the very pages of the poetry book she published. It was titled Kichu phul kichu sriti (some flowers, some memories). In real life too she loved flowers and as her lonely life continued with all thirst being unquenched, her only oasis remained in speaking to the flowers, nurturing them with her green fingers. She brought flower and beauty to anyone and everyone who happened to be near her. That too was plentiful as in her own way she carved a nyche in every heart. Ranging from the erudite writers such as Sufia Kamal, Zobeda Khanam, Laila Samad, Mafruha Chowdhury -- talented singers Sohrab Hossain, Bedaruddin, Abdul Latif, Golam Mustafa, young-

sters like my friends, my younger sister's friends all had a special place for Bhabi/Dadi. Her ever-smiling face, with the naughty glow of Dadu's Aleya was forever an encouraging factor behind the success of her three children and was carried on to our generation through her careful inspiration and enthusiasm.

Dadi as she was to all of us (seven grandchildren) was always in tomorrow's generation. She never dwelled in the past, never for once carried her age-old traditional values, never stifled us, never discouraged us, only added more zeal to our adventures and escapades in life and enjoyed our achievements to the brim. After every travel, it was a joy to share photographs, experiences and memories with her. She felt as if she was there. She was way ahead of her times. She heard my interview on VOA and remembered to tell me about it. This encouragement she also gave to all other luminaries who frequented our house. Bar Ishtiaque Ahmed, Dr. Sufia Ahmed, Dr. Halima Khatun, Syed Abdul Hadi, Bar Moudud Ahmed, Hasnat Abdul Hye, Mrs Rowshan ara Rahman, Khan Ataur Rahman, actor Golam Mustafa, social worker and

friend Ayesha Zafar historian Dr Enamul Huque are only a few names amongst millions who had the privileged of eating at her ever-loving dining table.

This dining room was a source of joy to all her relatives who came from near and far to have lunch/dinner with her. Dadi cooked with her own hands till the last days of her life, sometime around four years before her death. Dadi cooked golden coloured curries which to this day remains a mystery for us-no matter how we try to season the curry it never happens to be that glittery and golden. Perhaps her beautiful mind with all its glittering qualities was reflected in the golden curry just as the water in the river reflects the inner beauty of an innocent face. She sat there in her porch cutting betel nuts, writing poems, drying orange peels, lecturing her nieces on life's crooked roads and choices made to embark upon them. She published two more books 'Shomoi kotha bole (Time speaks)' and 'Shesh bikaler alo (The light of the fading sun)

In fact that was the moment that I met Dadi last in her house on March 7, '03. As I entered the house at around 5.30 PM, all the birds were flying to their nests, all the crows had turned off their voices and the light spring winds were caressing her hair with the complete beauty of the season that it signifies. I felt extremely happy to see Dadi sitting outside in the garden, admiring the pot plants. As I entered she asked me to bring one plant as she wanted to water it. She was so alive and vibrant even when all hope had left her, she saw hope in the tender green leaves of the pot plants. I brought the plant and ajug ofwater and she watered it, with her paralyzed right hand. On March 10, night befell on the dwellers of this city and I heard the phone ring with my father's voice at the other end. My aunt was there with my Dadi, she was beckoning us to go, Dadi was ill. We rushed there and from 1 AM to 5 AM I slept next

to Dadi hoping that she would recover. My father and aunt did not sleep all night, but I lay next to her, positioning myself on her pillow as I felt very tired. Dadi hated sleeping alone, and when she left at 5.30 in the morning I just wondered how lucky I was to be able to spend the last night with her. We didn't let her go alone, we were there for her in every sense as we saw her sliding away. As I looked at the early morning sky, so vividly viewable from the south-facing jasmine porch of the house, I wondered if Dadi had become the mysterious light in the sky that was so sought after by Dadu and aptly named 'Aleya'.

Dr. Nashid Kamal is a renowned vocal artiste and also professor of Population Environment. Independent University of Bangladesh.