In the remote village of Wapher under Samator Block of Tuensang District of Nagaland, 75 plus Torephkiu, Head Gaon Bura, was basking in the eco-friendly compound of his house. 2nd of August, 2010 was a warm day in this high altitude village. It had rained the whole of previous night leaving a severe impact on electric supply. After a long interval, a senior Civil Servant was visiting his forgotten and neglected village. He had extended his helping hand to the Village Council Chairman, Shuhven, an ex-serviceman as also a Pastor in making hectic preparations for the visit. The slushy foot path leading to a meeting hall constructed under BADP had been cleaned, pot-holes were filled up and a fixed sum was ear marked for tea, refreshments and lunch.
Though news had been spread a few days in advance to call the working SHG members of the village, half of them had not understood the purpose behind the meeting. This much was sure that some announcement was going to be made in respect of a new scheme or two.
Torepkiu, proud owner of six Mithuns was leading a contented life with lukewarm backup of his second wife, 20 years junior to him in age. While most of his five children from the deceased first wife had settled in life, three of the off springs from his latest bride were attending a dilapidated Government Junior High School,closeby. While giving coins to them liberally as an incentive to concentrate on studies, he would not hesitate to extend this facility to all the neighborhood tiny tots on almost regular basis. Some of them would also get financial assistance for buying school uniforms and paying monthly fees. They would avail of a self declared holiday whenever the footpath leading to school would get submerged / become slippery as a result of heavy downpour. They would be also ‘eligible’ for a holiday, each time the teachers decided to have a gala time in Tuensang or Mokokchung.
When the entourage led by a senior officer of Union of India arrived at the village gate, Torepkiu’s joy knew no bounds. Though the Council Chairman, and the Pastor took lead in welcoming him, Torepkiu did not want to lag behind. A nagging pain in his left calf muscles did not deter his spirits. Rather, wearing a half-sleeved orange coloured vest and non-ironed black shorts, he attempted to walk fast with the help of a stick.
After exchange of pleasantries, the convoy slowly moved through the flat grassy land. Some of the women and children witnessed the whole development with interest. Otherwise also, the day had turned bright and sunny after almost a week. The brightness ensured quick drying up of wet and smelly warm cloths apart from organizing a sort of ‘sunning and airing ceremony’ for the household items of daily use.
Subsequent to a round of the village, including youth dormitory, the formal meeting was called to order in the modest, wooden meeting hall. The guest was welcomed with a traditional woolen shawl bearing the symbol/logo of the dominant tribe of Wapher. The speakers included the Council Chairman, the Pastor and Shuhven.The last named became an Interpreter due to his command over Hindi language. In the normal course, Torepkiu’s turn would not have come. When the guest evinced keen interest in his background and experience, he not only became vocal, he also threw sufficient light on the constraints and development prospects of the remote village. Like a seasoned leader, he would crack jokes in between while making submissions. Despite the dismal record of poverty alleviation schemes, he expressed a ray of hope for the toiling masses, without following a bit about the emerging group oriented approach of the Government.
Useful notes were exchanged, experiences shared and vital information was gathered, both in respect of functional and defunct SHGs during the course of interaction. Also on being asked, a fervent desire was expressed for coming under the umbrella of new SHGs depending upon the promotion prospects of a particular trade or activity.
It appeared that the villagers in general were miles away from the ambit of modern markets, what to talk of transporting the surplus products or adding value to them. The thrift habit was yet to pick up, though there was an urge for same, more so, among women in a society otherwise fully dominated by hefty and tall men. Credit link with the banks was also ruled out, as the nearest branch was located at a distance of 35 kms, requiring an irritating journey time of minimum six to seven hours.
As per prevailing tradition, the women were kept out of the meeting. Their role was limited to serving ethnic snacks, cold drink and tea. They could, nevertheless, be contacted near the gate when the GOI functionary expressed a desire to meet them. In his opinion, they were going to be main beneficiaries of the scheme, he had come to explain and advocate. This interaction made possible with the help of Torepkiu and the village Pastor could invite useful insights into the overall potential of the community. Within no time, the present villagers could regroup themselves into five to six new self help groups. They appeared more interested if not motivated.
The delayed lunch at Chairman’s traditional villa turned out to be a more relaxed affair. Varieties of ethnic non-vegetarian dishes were served with care and smile by four daughters of Chairman. Fortunately, three of them were studying and one of them had a plan to go to Kohima for higher studies. Torepkiu, despite being requested, refused to eat, for, in his scheme of things, meals were to be taken only twice- 9:30 AM and 5.30PM.
Sharp at 5pm, it began getting dark. It was time for the guest from Guwahati to leave. Accompanied by the District and Block officials, he summed up the nuts and bolts of the project to the eager villagers. Getting into his fur jacket, he did not forget to thank one and all, apart from showing them some semblance of optimism. He got an opportunity to shake hands with everyone except Torepkiu.
When the convoy of four Jeeps passed by the high and impressive traditional gate of the village, the uniformed Village Guard gave a smart salute. A few children ran from behind to bid good bye. Away from the gate, near an unused bus stop, a man hiding under an old thick blanket was also seen waving at the Jeeps. He uttered to himself-“whether they do something for the village or not, I have done my duty, to the best of my ability”. Can you guess, who was he?
The emerging, crystal clear rainbow from the nearby Myanmar border at dusk attempted to narrate a story with a tinge of hope and optimism. Without noticing this rare spectacle, the Govt. Jeeps picked up momentum to reach Tuensang.
Within a few months, the Civil Servant in question was transferred, leading to a situation when no dent could be made in the fragile socio-economic structure of the village, despite dedicated efforts.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Reminiscences of Ankoor
• It is one the most difficult write ups for me. Penning down thoughts about sudden demise of your only offspring requires indomitable courage, especially on the day of demition of office in the land of Goddess Kamakhya. One has to gather sufficient strength to come out with correct expressions. Piecing together scattered memories takes a good deal of time. But it is worth it.
• One knows that death is sure and certain but if it happens to near or dear ones, it is unbelievable.
• Our dear Ankoor passed away for his heavenly abode at 16.35 hours on 22/5/11 (Sunday) at a young age of 22 years and six weeks. He was suffering from epilepsy and mild depression. He was under regular medication and counseling. His desired needs, to the best of our knowledge were being attended to. We never knew, however, that he was extending, at the same time, a warm welcome to Yamraj.
• The mere fact that his body was lying in a morgue of a prominent hospital at New Delhi, without being identified for 21.5 hrs, gave us considerable pain. We cursed ourselves. Bringing him home after embalming, two hours later was also one of the most difficult operations one has ever undertaken in life.
• Two of us brought him to this Kalyug at 10.48 hours on 8/4/89. We rightly decided (much against social norms) to light his pyre together at platform number 27 at Lodhi Road Crematorium, around 11.20 hours on 24/5/11.His ashes were immersed in River Swarnarekha at Ghagra near Ranchi in the morning of the following day. His Shradh (last rites) was performed on 5/6/11.
• A self-satisfied loner, he always stood out from the crowd. He was inclined towards writing, both, poetry & prose. Laurels for his work came when he was crowned ‘Mr. Political Science’ in Sri Venkateshwar College even when his percentage of marks had registered a fall due to continued indisposition. Like a true soul he uttered-“I do not deserve it”.
• His straightforwardness & simplicity was loved by one & all. He was brimming with enthusiasm and energy till second week of September 2010.
• His hard work, sincerity & sharp intellect inspired many of his juniors in both colleges-Sahid Bhagat Singh and Sri Venkateswara, who are determined to bring pride & glory to their families. Though his innings ended abruptly in Law Centre-I, he was praised by his teachers for his grasp of the subject and his overall helpful nature towards classmates.
• His poems & prose, one is showing to relatives, friends & well wishers but very soon, it may be confined to the dustbin of history, unless documented well.
• Even when he was in Clsss IX/ Xth, he would say-“Brothers fight for toys in childhood & for property in adulthood”. Further, some of his impressions on Gujarat Riots (2002) were very realistic and touching:
Land of Peace has been broken into pieces,
Riots were regional but its effect was national,
God is one but people lack oneness, etc.
• The World was a stage for him and God wrote dramas for everyone. Acting well will ensure award while failing to act will invite punishment.
• He would expect everyone to forget the ‘vast’ past, never regret about. The present was not only to be remembered, but to be enjoyed.
• I wanted to write “Letters from Father to Son” through E-mail to Ankoor on the lines of letters from “Father to daughter “ by Jawaharlal Nehru. But I kept planning………….Time and tide wait for none. I was no exception.
• One knows that death is sure and certain but if it happens to near or dear ones, it is unbelievable.
• Our dear Ankoor passed away for his heavenly abode at 16.35 hours on 22/5/11 (Sunday) at a young age of 22 years and six weeks. He was suffering from epilepsy and mild depression. He was under regular medication and counseling. His desired needs, to the best of our knowledge were being attended to. We never knew, however, that he was extending, at the same time, a warm welcome to Yamraj.
• The mere fact that his body was lying in a morgue of a prominent hospital at New Delhi, without being identified for 21.5 hrs, gave us considerable pain. We cursed ourselves. Bringing him home after embalming, two hours later was also one of the most difficult operations one has ever undertaken in life.
• Two of us brought him to this Kalyug at 10.48 hours on 8/4/89. We rightly decided (much against social norms) to light his pyre together at platform number 27 at Lodhi Road Crematorium, around 11.20 hours on 24/5/11.His ashes were immersed in River Swarnarekha at Ghagra near Ranchi in the morning of the following day. His Shradh (last rites) was performed on 5/6/11.
• A self-satisfied loner, he always stood out from the crowd. He was inclined towards writing, both, poetry & prose. Laurels for his work came when he was crowned ‘Mr. Political Science’ in Sri Venkateshwar College even when his percentage of marks had registered a fall due to continued indisposition. Like a true soul he uttered-“I do not deserve it”.
• His straightforwardness & simplicity was loved by one & all. He was brimming with enthusiasm and energy till second week of September 2010.
• His hard work, sincerity & sharp intellect inspired many of his juniors in both colleges-Sahid Bhagat Singh and Sri Venkateswara, who are determined to bring pride & glory to their families. Though his innings ended abruptly in Law Centre-I, he was praised by his teachers for his grasp of the subject and his overall helpful nature towards classmates.
• His poems & prose, one is showing to relatives, friends & well wishers but very soon, it may be confined to the dustbin of history, unless documented well.
• Even when he was in Clsss IX/ Xth, he would say-“Brothers fight for toys in childhood & for property in adulthood”. Further, some of his impressions on Gujarat Riots (2002) were very realistic and touching:
Land of Peace has been broken into pieces,
Riots were regional but its effect was national,
God is one but people lack oneness, etc.
• The World was a stage for him and God wrote dramas for everyone. Acting well will ensure award while failing to act will invite punishment.
• He would expect everyone to forget the ‘vast’ past, never regret about. The present was not only to be remembered, but to be enjoyed.
• I wanted to write “Letters from Father to Son” through E-mail to Ankoor on the lines of letters from “Father to daughter “ by Jawaharlal Nehru. But I kept planning………….Time and tide wait for none. I was no exception.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Getting Mesmerized at 35,000 Feet
Normally flights at dusk offer very little in terms of natural beauty. These further become gloomy affairs when thin occupancy rules the roost. After initial setback in form of gradual rise in altitude, a silver lining comes by way of sight of twinkling lights down below. These, nevertheless, disappear from view in no time.
The experience gained in Flight No. SG 894(Guwahati- Delhi) on 12th May 2011, however, came as a breath of fresh air. The half empty aircraft gained its expected altitude within 15 minutes. Though sky was clear at take off and one was craving to see the panoramic view of the gigantic Brahmaputra, it was the rugged beauty of thick black and white cloud formations that actually stole the show. The view in the fading orange light was not only eye catching, it was also awesome. The horizon was at its best, with five prominent colours - orange, yellow, green, blue and black making a candid statement. It was a rare opportunity to see nature in its absolute glory. It restored my mind, body and spirit after a hectic day. Despite a ban on in-flight photography, I cannot resist the temptation to take half a dozen shots of this incredible scenario.
My romance with the wonderful sight gets a temporary setback when a tall, slim and smart hostess offers a non-vegetarian dinner packet upon struggling a bit to pronounce my surname. I am impressed once again with Rekip, whose alert and sincere acumen ensured delivery of this hot packet, of course on payment. My request for a vegetarian meal in place of a non-vegetarian one is quickly acceded to. When asked to divulge the reason, a streak of smile is visible on the face of the teenaged hostess. She is informed that the vegetarian packet was being ‘saved’ for D.T. who loves hogging the plane food even if it is at the dead of the night. One of such ‘savings’ figured prominently under the title “Caught in thin air” in one of the national dailies in October 1999. The direction of the flight was opposite this time. The view outside gave an impression that the air craft was now plying through thick clouds. It prompted occasional announcements from the pilot and crew -“Please fasten your seat belts; please do not walk down the aisle; please do not use the rest-room”, etc.
By the time we complete sixty minutes, it is pitch dark. Couple of snow peaks, including Mount Kanchenjunga, that were visible in the beginning, are not to be seen. All of a sudden, the aircraft takes a sharp turn. We go up, somewhat lose balance and are placed far away from the colourful horizon. Within a few minutes, we have a reverse experience, while we go down. The feeling was worth remembering. The scenario was worth a watch. The swing reminded me of Sky Diving or Bungee Jumping that one has always admired on T.V. but, perhaps, never experienced. The exposure was bound to inspire an artist or a painter. It was a full blown visual fantasy. I indulge in serenity that the sky offers and sit comfortably without any company on seat no. 6 F to soak in overall freshness. The occasional air bumps do not deter my elated spirits.
When I feel a bit hungry, two crisp round cookies, a bar of Perk chocolate and a glass of piping hot coffee are offered by a smiling steward. Having such a tasty beverage at 35,000 feet has its own advantages. Soon after struggling with a prominent daily and a non-descript magazine, I pretend to sleep, to be woken up in time with the sight of neighbourhood of Delhi, bathed in the glow of innumerable but artificial sodium vapour lights. This means that I am finally cut off from the natural, colourful horizon. The announcement regarding Delhi temperature being 390C at night (?) as opposed to 180C at Guwahati dampens my spirits. As if this was not enough, the approach to the earmarked runway takes longer than expected.
At 8.42 PM, when air craft was barely 500 feet above ground and that its stationary sisters were distinctly visible, our air craft, in a spur of moment, began gaining height once again and got diverted to dark sky in no time. Sharp at 8.52 PM, the Commander informs that the instruction of Air Control to move to runway no. 3 was given at the last moment. But for the expert handling by him, you could not possibly have read this brush with nature and adventure.
We had a miraculous escape, though most of the passengers were immune or oblivious to the gravity of the situation. It was strange, yet true. On reaching ground at 9.30 PM, I thank the Almighty. Fourteen years down the line, I witness some change when I enter my Delhi home. On the last occasion my people did not know the contents and intricacies of the story “Caught in thin air”, when I had dashed to Delhi, braving a dusty sky from the west. Coming out of thick clouds, on the contrary, I had entered the national capital from the east this time. In 1997, my little son was sleeping to glory. Now being an adult, he was deeply engrossed in studies. DT, who had instantly grabbed the ‘saved’ dinner packet once, gleefully accepts the Spice Jet packet but does not show any inclination to consume. Perhaps the mobile phone message had made all the difference. They were already aware of tense moments of a flight which had more fun than fantasy. In the changed circumstances, praying to God was collective and more passionate. One can write and write but sharing some exciting and memorable moments in a concise way is a good food for thought for posterity. I suppose, that keeps one kicking and away from complacency. (20/05/2011)
The experience gained in Flight No. SG 894(Guwahati- Delhi) on 12th May 2011, however, came as a breath of fresh air. The half empty aircraft gained its expected altitude within 15 minutes. Though sky was clear at take off and one was craving to see the panoramic view of the gigantic Brahmaputra, it was the rugged beauty of thick black and white cloud formations that actually stole the show. The view in the fading orange light was not only eye catching, it was also awesome. The horizon was at its best, with five prominent colours - orange, yellow, green, blue and black making a candid statement. It was a rare opportunity to see nature in its absolute glory. It restored my mind, body and spirit after a hectic day. Despite a ban on in-flight photography, I cannot resist the temptation to take half a dozen shots of this incredible scenario.
My romance with the wonderful sight gets a temporary setback when a tall, slim and smart hostess offers a non-vegetarian dinner packet upon struggling a bit to pronounce my surname. I am impressed once again with Rekip, whose alert and sincere acumen ensured delivery of this hot packet, of course on payment. My request for a vegetarian meal in place of a non-vegetarian one is quickly acceded to. When asked to divulge the reason, a streak of smile is visible on the face of the teenaged hostess. She is informed that the vegetarian packet was being ‘saved’ for D.T. who loves hogging the plane food even if it is at the dead of the night. One of such ‘savings’ figured prominently under the title “Caught in thin air” in one of the national dailies in October 1999. The direction of the flight was opposite this time. The view outside gave an impression that the air craft was now plying through thick clouds. It prompted occasional announcements from the pilot and crew -“Please fasten your seat belts; please do not walk down the aisle; please do not use the rest-room”, etc.
By the time we complete sixty minutes, it is pitch dark. Couple of snow peaks, including Mount Kanchenjunga, that were visible in the beginning, are not to be seen. All of a sudden, the aircraft takes a sharp turn. We go up, somewhat lose balance and are placed far away from the colourful horizon. Within a few minutes, we have a reverse experience, while we go down. The feeling was worth remembering. The scenario was worth a watch. The swing reminded me of Sky Diving or Bungee Jumping that one has always admired on T.V. but, perhaps, never experienced. The exposure was bound to inspire an artist or a painter. It was a full blown visual fantasy. I indulge in serenity that the sky offers and sit comfortably without any company on seat no. 6 F to soak in overall freshness. The occasional air bumps do not deter my elated spirits.
When I feel a bit hungry, two crisp round cookies, a bar of Perk chocolate and a glass of piping hot coffee are offered by a smiling steward. Having such a tasty beverage at 35,000 feet has its own advantages. Soon after struggling with a prominent daily and a non-descript magazine, I pretend to sleep, to be woken up in time with the sight of neighbourhood of Delhi, bathed in the glow of innumerable but artificial sodium vapour lights. This means that I am finally cut off from the natural, colourful horizon. The announcement regarding Delhi temperature being 390C at night (?) as opposed to 180C at Guwahati dampens my spirits. As if this was not enough, the approach to the earmarked runway takes longer than expected.
At 8.42 PM, when air craft was barely 500 feet above ground and that its stationary sisters were distinctly visible, our air craft, in a spur of moment, began gaining height once again and got diverted to dark sky in no time. Sharp at 8.52 PM, the Commander informs that the instruction of Air Control to move to runway no. 3 was given at the last moment. But for the expert handling by him, you could not possibly have read this brush with nature and adventure.
We had a miraculous escape, though most of the passengers were immune or oblivious to the gravity of the situation. It was strange, yet true. On reaching ground at 9.30 PM, I thank the Almighty. Fourteen years down the line, I witness some change when I enter my Delhi home. On the last occasion my people did not know the contents and intricacies of the story “Caught in thin air”, when I had dashed to Delhi, braving a dusty sky from the west. Coming out of thick clouds, on the contrary, I had entered the national capital from the east this time. In 1997, my little son was sleeping to glory. Now being an adult, he was deeply engrossed in studies. DT, who had instantly grabbed the ‘saved’ dinner packet once, gleefully accepts the Spice Jet packet but does not show any inclination to consume. Perhaps the mobile phone message had made all the difference. They were already aware of tense moments of a flight which had more fun than fantasy. In the changed circumstances, praying to God was collective and more passionate. One can write and write but sharing some exciting and memorable moments in a concise way is a good food for thought for posterity. I suppose, that keeps one kicking and away from complacency. (20/05/2011)
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Shake, Rattle & Roll: Spirit of Rongali Bihu
Rongali Bihu marks the beginning of Assamese New Year. It is a festival of joy, coinciding with similar celebrations in West Bengal, Punjab, Manipur, Orissa, Kerala, Tamil Nadu etc. During the festival, everyone is in a jovial mood, singing and dancing with peer group or family. Mostly people throng their native places, leaving the cities deserted. It is the right moment to catch up with joint family and re strengthen the age-old bond. R.B. is the most popular and important among three Bihus celebrated. Other two being Bhogali Bihu (during Makar Sankranti) and Kongali Bihu (immediately after Diwali).
First day, known as Goru Bihu happens to be the last day of the previous year. On this day, cows are washed and worshipped. The second day, known as Manuh (human) Bihu, falls on the first day of the New Year.
Suddenly the whole environment changes together with the change in weather. Dresses of ‘other’ cultures give way to ethnic, yet expensive attire, both for women and men. People in general are so meticulously dressed that they give an impression as if marriages are taking place every day at the drop of hat.
Having made up my mind to enjoy the festivities from a close angle, I venture into the compound of Ganesh Mandir Community Centre at Khanapara. 11 pm was purposely chosen to get best out of it. As the arena was jam packed, settling down process took almost six hundred seconds. The first offering came in the form of a group song sung beautifully by a dozen little girls, wearing shocking yellow saris with tomato red borders. All of them were seated in a line. For a moment, it was silence in an otherwise noisy setting. They took time but could sing with confidence and poise for full 15 minutes. And, enthralled one and all. It set the ball rolling. Festive fervour was evident all over.
Next followed a dancing and singing troupe of young boys wearing cotton dhotis and muga silk kurtas. They were holding on to their Dhuls, flute, Gaganas, Toka, Pepas etc. In the close vicinity were pretty teenaged girls in heavy ethnic muga silk saris with long sleeve red blouses to give a contrasting effect. Their hair was neatly tied in a khupa. In such dance forms, the boys or men take the lead with hard beating of Dhuls and dancing in a circle. They set the stage literally on ‘fire’, for girls to take over, with their enigmatic smile, attractive facial expressions, graceful steps and ultimate circular movements. The dance comes to an end with vociferous beating of Dhuls and blowing of Pepas. A few selected girls twist and bend close to Pepa and strike a pose to reach the climax. Since the competitive spirit is all pervasive, they are often subjected to a variety of questions by the judges.
Upon conclusion of dance number, it was the time for vocal chord. One expected the usual stuff telecast on T.V. For a change, it was the turn of Goalpara folk songs. An eight member group led by a middle aged tall lady, wearing a chocolate coloured ethnic sari, duly supported by accompanying artists on Ghila, flute, Dhul, three Dotoras (Guitar kind of instruments) and a Sarangi simply mesmerized the audience for next hour. I could not follow the wordings of any of the seven songs but was more than convinced that she was singing straight from heart and that months or years of rehearsal were behind her deep voice. It had originality. It reflected a vibrant culture. She depicted a loud voice, while singing in a ‘Pancham Swar’. The number- Santa Re………….., probably is going to stir my imagination for a long time. A short, unassuming male companion was equally good, whenever he got a chance to sing a duet or indulge decisively into a chorus. The last song was a duet remarkably padded up with a slow, yet graceful dance movements by a dozen toddlers. They performed with care and confidence. They did not belie our expectations. But it was the ‘chocolate’ lady, who rightly occupied the centre stage.
All good things come to an end. This musical evening, being no exception. Two hours of uninterrupted entertainment gave me the needed healing and refreshment at a time when ‘Mission’ fever was at its peak. It may take some time before I lose the effect of the singer from Goalpara. She was too good to be forgotten instantly.
After soaking adequately in the festive spirit, I offer an ice-cream at the dead of the night to Jagannath, my faithful companion. He is half asleep. I return to the so-called modern world along the VIP Road. Over speeding mobikes and automobiles moving in wrong direction, semi-dark avenues, bumpy footpaths, homeless sleeping on pavements and dogs barking in the solitude of the night greet us. But I suppose, my haggard batteries are recharged to face a ‘Mission’ which will only mean business and no fun or frolic.
First day, known as Goru Bihu happens to be the last day of the previous year. On this day, cows are washed and worshipped. The second day, known as Manuh (human) Bihu, falls on the first day of the New Year.
Suddenly the whole environment changes together with the change in weather. Dresses of ‘other’ cultures give way to ethnic, yet expensive attire, both for women and men. People in general are so meticulously dressed that they give an impression as if marriages are taking place every day at the drop of hat.
Having made up my mind to enjoy the festivities from a close angle, I venture into the compound of Ganesh Mandir Community Centre at Khanapara. 11 pm was purposely chosen to get best out of it. As the arena was jam packed, settling down process took almost six hundred seconds. The first offering came in the form of a group song sung beautifully by a dozen little girls, wearing shocking yellow saris with tomato red borders. All of them were seated in a line. For a moment, it was silence in an otherwise noisy setting. They took time but could sing with confidence and poise for full 15 minutes. And, enthralled one and all. It set the ball rolling. Festive fervour was evident all over.
Next followed a dancing and singing troupe of young boys wearing cotton dhotis and muga silk kurtas. They were holding on to their Dhuls, flute, Gaganas, Toka, Pepas etc. In the close vicinity were pretty teenaged girls in heavy ethnic muga silk saris with long sleeve red blouses to give a contrasting effect. Their hair was neatly tied in a khupa. In such dance forms, the boys or men take the lead with hard beating of Dhuls and dancing in a circle. They set the stage literally on ‘fire’, for girls to take over, with their enigmatic smile, attractive facial expressions, graceful steps and ultimate circular movements. The dance comes to an end with vociferous beating of Dhuls and blowing of Pepas. A few selected girls twist and bend close to Pepa and strike a pose to reach the climax. Since the competitive spirit is all pervasive, they are often subjected to a variety of questions by the judges.
Upon conclusion of dance number, it was the time for vocal chord. One expected the usual stuff telecast on T.V. For a change, it was the turn of Goalpara folk songs. An eight member group led by a middle aged tall lady, wearing a chocolate coloured ethnic sari, duly supported by accompanying artists on Ghila, flute, Dhul, three Dotoras (Guitar kind of instruments) and a Sarangi simply mesmerized the audience for next hour. I could not follow the wordings of any of the seven songs but was more than convinced that she was singing straight from heart and that months or years of rehearsal were behind her deep voice. It had originality. It reflected a vibrant culture. She depicted a loud voice, while singing in a ‘Pancham Swar’. The number- Santa Re………….., probably is going to stir my imagination for a long time. A short, unassuming male companion was equally good, whenever he got a chance to sing a duet or indulge decisively into a chorus. The last song was a duet remarkably padded up with a slow, yet graceful dance movements by a dozen toddlers. They performed with care and confidence. They did not belie our expectations. But it was the ‘chocolate’ lady, who rightly occupied the centre stage.
All good things come to an end. This musical evening, being no exception. Two hours of uninterrupted entertainment gave me the needed healing and refreshment at a time when ‘Mission’ fever was at its peak. It may take some time before I lose the effect of the singer from Goalpara. She was too good to be forgotten instantly.
After soaking adequately in the festive spirit, I offer an ice-cream at the dead of the night to Jagannath, my faithful companion. He is half asleep. I return to the so-called modern world along the VIP Road. Over speeding mobikes and automobiles moving in wrong direction, semi-dark avenues, bumpy footpaths, homeless sleeping on pavements and dogs barking in the solitude of the night greet us. But I suppose, my haggard batteries are recharged to face a ‘Mission’ which will only mean business and no fun or frolic.
Reviving Happy Moments of 1983
1983 was the year when India won the World Cricket Cup for the first time. 1983 was also the year that became a turning point of my career. I heard, did not ‘see’ the final match between West Indies and India over radio in the rented accommodation of C.B. at Patna. I happened to be there to take a competitive examination. Not everyone would be glued to radio those days even if India was on the verge of becoming a World Champion. Justifiably, C.B. preferred to attend office on this momentous day. It was hearing and believing. And only a few could afford a TV set.
With this backdrop, I would confess that I have vivid memories of brilliant team work of Mohinder Amarnath, Kapil Dev, Madan Lal, Srikant , Sandhu, Sandeep Patil, Kirti Azad and not to be forgotten, Sunil Gavaskar. Sunny, despite his overall command over game, could not come out with flying colours either in semi-final or final, both low scoring events unlike the stupendous scoring pattern at present. It was Amarnath, who managed to get Man of the Match award with his remarkable all round abilities both in semi-final and final. Thus, a low profile Indian outfit without having a player of the stature of Sachin Tendulkar had not only arrived on the scene but was going to have a decisive say in the years to come.
Scenario was different on 2ndApril 2011 when the coin itself had to be tossed twice, presumably to give a momentary setback to India, tipped as one of the hot favourites. Life came to a standstill at Guwahati at 14.30 hours. There were no radios, however. Part silence was attributed to Bandh call given by ULFA. It was the tenth World Cup final and only the third time when a ‘chasing’ team was expected to register a win. Sentiments and emotions were not only charged. They ran high. Occasional applause was accompanied by beating of drums. Crackers too were being kept ready for the ultimate moment. Telephonic contact confirmed that C.B., who had ignored the importance of 1983 final, had bunked off his office to witness Dhoni’s men in action.
As the time passed by, performances proved simply awesome from both the sides. After initial hiccup, India swung back, slowly and gradually, primarily due to patience and perseverance displayed by Gambhir and Dhoni. The defining moment came at 2300 hrs when Dhoni hit a six to wind up the game in style. It was a stunning finish by the Captain, ensuring a glorious win. Consistent play resulted into fabulous performance. After the narrow miss in the final of 2003 and nightmare of 2007, India came back systematically, grabbing the Cup for the second time in a resounding manner. While Dhoni was adjudged Man of the Match, Yuvraj Singh, having scored 362 runs and taken 15 wickets was rightly declared Man of the Tournament. Both Tendulkar and Zaheer excelled with bat and ball respectively to come close to top their tables.
History was made at Wankhede Stadium. For the first time, a host country won the cup. It was also for the first time that a team chased a high score of 275 with success. India too became only the third country after West Indies and Australia to win the coveted cup more than once.
It was the celebration time for young and old alike. Expression of joy and bonhomie witnessed within the stadium got multiplied along the main throughfares not only within the country but the Indians all over the world were seen in buoyant mood defying the darkness of night. Rather, the TV channels kept the interest alive throughout the night. Tumultuous expressions of neibours of Dhoni, Kohli’s brother, Sehwag’s tiny tot and instant Bhangra act of Harbhajan’s mother were understandable. The cream of celebration, however, was expressed through the elated mood of Gambhir’s grandmother, who was up and kicking even after midnight.
1983 and 2011 are two different eras, according to K.Srikant, a member of 1983 team and current Chairman of selectors. When Cricket has become so dominating and penetrating, it may perhaps be appropriate or sensible to draw a line of comparison with what was in store in the early eighties.
The concept of one day game itself was introduced with a degree of caution. For, the ‘gentlemen’ would not prefer a ‘hurried’ affair. In the old era, it was radio that provided the ball to ball commentary. Ears, and not the eyes had to be alert. Colour TV was yet to make an impact, having been introduced in the country as late as November 1982 with the hosting of ASIAD. Rapid commercialization, which became a foregone conclusion, was yet to begin. There would be no painting of flags on faces or parts of body, leave aside Poonam Pandays, who declared in 2011 to bare all if India was to win. This unusual legacy of South America invariably connected to Soccer was still a far cry.
There would be no ‘yagna’ or mass worship sessions to clinch the cup. Pomp and show was on a low scale. There would be less hype and euphoria and no hysteria guided by naked materialistic considerations. Thunderous applause would be seen but no scantly clad cheer girls or bohemian drummers would appear to entertain the spectators. Tickets were difficult to get even in good old days and may be, black marketing was also resorted to. But these won’t be sold at an unbelievable price of Rs. 35,000 as at Mohali or Rs. 1.5 lakhs at Mumbai. The difference rightly highlights the level of investment both in Cricket and emotions. The Presidents and Prime Ministers would hardly sit in stands to watch a high profile match in the past. Their involvement was confined to sending routine congratulatory messages through their Secretaries.
In the bygone era, cricketers would occasionally get film roles. On the contrary, now, they sell premium fashion products and earn more than the film stars in endorsements. No wonder, emotional attachment with the game is sometimes replaced by emotional fatigue. Coming to degree of response, mainly the youth would go to airport and follow the winners in procession. Nowadays, you have almost whole night of celebrations cutting across all age groups and barriers. In the changed situation the tri-colour flutters around the world in one go. Shall we believe that thanks to the craze for Cricket we are inching towards building a national character?
All said and done, be it 1983 or 2011, one had to lose. And, it was Sri Lanka, despite their better track record in World Cup. In the words of Imran Khan, if India had the advantage of playing at home, it had to also cope up with tremendous pressure. Well done India. Keep up the spirit. Don’t be carried away by the tempting bonanzas. Play the game in the spirit of game. You win or lose for the nation, not for yourself.
With this backdrop, I would confess that I have vivid memories of brilliant team work of Mohinder Amarnath, Kapil Dev, Madan Lal, Srikant , Sandhu, Sandeep Patil, Kirti Azad and not to be forgotten, Sunil Gavaskar. Sunny, despite his overall command over game, could not come out with flying colours either in semi-final or final, both low scoring events unlike the stupendous scoring pattern at present. It was Amarnath, who managed to get Man of the Match award with his remarkable all round abilities both in semi-final and final. Thus, a low profile Indian outfit without having a player of the stature of Sachin Tendulkar had not only arrived on the scene but was going to have a decisive say in the years to come.
Scenario was different on 2ndApril 2011 when the coin itself had to be tossed twice, presumably to give a momentary setback to India, tipped as one of the hot favourites. Life came to a standstill at Guwahati at 14.30 hours. There were no radios, however. Part silence was attributed to Bandh call given by ULFA. It was the tenth World Cup final and only the third time when a ‘chasing’ team was expected to register a win. Sentiments and emotions were not only charged. They ran high. Occasional applause was accompanied by beating of drums. Crackers too were being kept ready for the ultimate moment. Telephonic contact confirmed that C.B., who had ignored the importance of 1983 final, had bunked off his office to witness Dhoni’s men in action.
As the time passed by, performances proved simply awesome from both the sides. After initial hiccup, India swung back, slowly and gradually, primarily due to patience and perseverance displayed by Gambhir and Dhoni. The defining moment came at 2300 hrs when Dhoni hit a six to wind up the game in style. It was a stunning finish by the Captain, ensuring a glorious win. Consistent play resulted into fabulous performance. After the narrow miss in the final of 2003 and nightmare of 2007, India came back systematically, grabbing the Cup for the second time in a resounding manner. While Dhoni was adjudged Man of the Match, Yuvraj Singh, having scored 362 runs and taken 15 wickets was rightly declared Man of the Tournament. Both Tendulkar and Zaheer excelled with bat and ball respectively to come close to top their tables.
History was made at Wankhede Stadium. For the first time, a host country won the cup. It was also for the first time that a team chased a high score of 275 with success. India too became only the third country after West Indies and Australia to win the coveted cup more than once.
It was the celebration time for young and old alike. Expression of joy and bonhomie witnessed within the stadium got multiplied along the main throughfares not only within the country but the Indians all over the world were seen in buoyant mood defying the darkness of night. Rather, the TV channels kept the interest alive throughout the night. Tumultuous expressions of neibours of Dhoni, Kohli’s brother, Sehwag’s tiny tot and instant Bhangra act of Harbhajan’s mother were understandable. The cream of celebration, however, was expressed through the elated mood of Gambhir’s grandmother, who was up and kicking even after midnight.
1983 and 2011 are two different eras, according to K.Srikant, a member of 1983 team and current Chairman of selectors. When Cricket has become so dominating and penetrating, it may perhaps be appropriate or sensible to draw a line of comparison with what was in store in the early eighties.
The concept of one day game itself was introduced with a degree of caution. For, the ‘gentlemen’ would not prefer a ‘hurried’ affair. In the old era, it was radio that provided the ball to ball commentary. Ears, and not the eyes had to be alert. Colour TV was yet to make an impact, having been introduced in the country as late as November 1982 with the hosting of ASIAD. Rapid commercialization, which became a foregone conclusion, was yet to begin. There would be no painting of flags on faces or parts of body, leave aside Poonam Pandays, who declared in 2011 to bare all if India was to win. This unusual legacy of South America invariably connected to Soccer was still a far cry.
There would be no ‘yagna’ or mass worship sessions to clinch the cup. Pomp and show was on a low scale. There would be less hype and euphoria and no hysteria guided by naked materialistic considerations. Thunderous applause would be seen but no scantly clad cheer girls or bohemian drummers would appear to entertain the spectators. Tickets were difficult to get even in good old days and may be, black marketing was also resorted to. But these won’t be sold at an unbelievable price of Rs. 35,000 as at Mohali or Rs. 1.5 lakhs at Mumbai. The difference rightly highlights the level of investment both in Cricket and emotions. The Presidents and Prime Ministers would hardly sit in stands to watch a high profile match in the past. Their involvement was confined to sending routine congratulatory messages through their Secretaries.
In the bygone era, cricketers would occasionally get film roles. On the contrary, now, they sell premium fashion products and earn more than the film stars in endorsements. No wonder, emotional attachment with the game is sometimes replaced by emotional fatigue. Coming to degree of response, mainly the youth would go to airport and follow the winners in procession. Nowadays, you have almost whole night of celebrations cutting across all age groups and barriers. In the changed situation the tri-colour flutters around the world in one go. Shall we believe that thanks to the craze for Cricket we are inching towards building a national character?
All said and done, be it 1983 or 2011, one had to lose. And, it was Sri Lanka, despite their better track record in World Cup. In the words of Imran Khan, if India had the advantage of playing at home, it had to also cope up with tremendous pressure. Well done India. Keep up the spirit. Don’t be carried away by the tempting bonanzas. Play the game in the spirit of game. You win or lose for the nation, not for yourself.
Bird Watching
The phenomenon of season is one of the marvellous, enchanting and incredible free gifts of nature. In a normal parlance, one comes across three seasons. A deeper analysis will reveal six. Summer comes as a welcome relief to the pangs of severe winter. Reverse is also true. In between occurs the rainy season which not only balances but also cleans, refreshes and provides necessary succour. Like human beings, the animals and birds like and dislike, hate and relish, detest and enjoy a season or the other. Very few of us during our lifetime, however, take note of or are sensitive to the causes, needs, wishes and aspirations of a wonder called fauna.
Growing realization in this area will be beneficial both to the world and life, that is mild as also wild. Shall we give, therefore, some thought to an activity or a process of development that is sustainable?
To get rid of vagaries of nature, a good deal of inventions and discoveries have gradually become handy for the human beings. One can escape, therefore, the wrath of extreme nature by pressing a tiny and simple button. Why only human beings who can afford? Some of the privileged pets too lead a comfortable and sometimes, luxurious lives. Both in the West and East.
Right from beginning, shooting temperatures and dipping mercuries have propelled movement of thousands of birds from a place of extreme weather to the relatively milder pastures. They quickly learn from each other the habit of locating and then flocking around a water body thousands of miles away. Coming from a far away place, such as, Siberia, China and Afghanistan, these birds of paradise travel in a systematic way for several weeks. Popular destinations are- Bharatpur in Rajasthan, Sukhna in Chandigarh, Bhadkal Lake in Haryana, Mandwi river bank in Goa, Lake in the vicinity of Agartala and several other known and non-descript water bodies across the length and breadth of the country. Their migration period generally is noticed to be from early November to the middle of March.
While doing so, not only they experience much needed relief from the harsh and cold conditions of their habitat, they also feel at home in the company of local birds. It is a pleasure to see them grow and blossom in a new setting. Like any other 'guest,' they possess a sensitive nature. They, do not, however, have a desire to be pampered.
Bird watching during a particular time of the day is an amazingly peaceful and quiet feeling. It elevates mood. It teaches unity and understanding. Chirping of birds resonates. It has tremendous tourism potential apart from ensuring a deep healing touch. It can help in understanding and appreciating nature better. If you soak yourself in its mesmerizing beauty, it can leave a long lasting impact. It can, at the same time, free us from several misconceived notions. It has the capacity and the strength to enable us to move away from the element of artificiality.
For a change, let us attempt to peep into their innocent world whenever and wherever we get a chance. Rather, a bit of our quality time deserves to be devoted to them. They truly live and will facilitate our living. It can be a great learning experience, for, it can teach us the art of caring and sharing.
Shall we, therefore, strengthen our resolve in the dictum- unlike human beings, the birds and animals only give, do not take?
Growing realization in this area will be beneficial both to the world and life, that is mild as also wild. Shall we give, therefore, some thought to an activity or a process of development that is sustainable?
To get rid of vagaries of nature, a good deal of inventions and discoveries have gradually become handy for the human beings. One can escape, therefore, the wrath of extreme nature by pressing a tiny and simple button. Why only human beings who can afford? Some of the privileged pets too lead a comfortable and sometimes, luxurious lives. Both in the West and East.
Right from beginning, shooting temperatures and dipping mercuries have propelled movement of thousands of birds from a place of extreme weather to the relatively milder pastures. They quickly learn from each other the habit of locating and then flocking around a water body thousands of miles away. Coming from a far away place, such as, Siberia, China and Afghanistan, these birds of paradise travel in a systematic way for several weeks. Popular destinations are- Bharatpur in Rajasthan, Sukhna in Chandigarh, Bhadkal Lake in Haryana, Mandwi river bank in Goa, Lake in the vicinity of Agartala and several other known and non-descript water bodies across the length and breadth of the country. Their migration period generally is noticed to be from early November to the middle of March.
While doing so, not only they experience much needed relief from the harsh and cold conditions of their habitat, they also feel at home in the company of local birds. It is a pleasure to see them grow and blossom in a new setting. Like any other 'guest,' they possess a sensitive nature. They, do not, however, have a desire to be pampered.
Bird watching during a particular time of the day is an amazingly peaceful and quiet feeling. It elevates mood. It teaches unity and understanding. Chirping of birds resonates. It has tremendous tourism potential apart from ensuring a deep healing touch. It can help in understanding and appreciating nature better. If you soak yourself in its mesmerizing beauty, it can leave a long lasting impact. It can, at the same time, free us from several misconceived notions. It has the capacity and the strength to enable us to move away from the element of artificiality.
For a change, let us attempt to peep into their innocent world whenever and wherever we get a chance. Rather, a bit of our quality time deserves to be devoted to them. They truly live and will facilitate our living. It can be a great learning experience, for, it can teach us the art of caring and sharing.
Shall we, therefore, strengthen our resolve in the dictum- unlike human beings, the birds and animals only give, do not take?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Tuesday Thoughts
Thoughts of 16 November 2010
I am Ankoor. I love myself and my parents. I am over obsessed with studies and feel that some conference is going on in my head. Sometimes I get an impression that a super power tries to control our mind through a satellite. As such, lakhs of emails are intercepted during the course of a day. OCD maybe is the name of my problem. But I am not sure.I have faith in God and myself. One day I may get cured. This faith is atoot (unbreakable).
I am feeling relieved after a good night’s sleep. Sleep had eluded me for a few days and for a week before the D.P. Though I am losing interest in studies, I have faith that I shall overcome some day. I have to keep trying. Someone has said- Failures are stepping stone to success.
One of my loves is typing on the computer. I was attracted to it instantly in Class-1 just like fish takes to water. It has made our lives easier. Internet is also a nice time pass, apart from being a wealth of information. While in school, I would search on net for any topic or theme that was given by the teacher to write on or to make an assignment. I would download photos and sketches also to make my home task attractive. But gradually one has realized that too much reliance on computer or net is bad. It may kill original thoughts. It also enables one to take a short cut.
Earlier I had this enjoyable experience of watching videos on You Tube. Now I guess it would not be great to watch videos on you tube. My age is 21 and a half. I have stopped talking to many friends. GOD knows why?
Law is a heavy subject for me as of now. I must fight with the thoughts that I have in my mind. God make me brave. I have sudden mood swings. Reverse counting and straight forward counting is what one doctor told me would cure me. I am experiencing the problem of short term memory. I also have difficulty in remembering places and having overall concentration. I see GODs in elders. My parents always tell me that I will get cured, get a good and reasonable job.
THUMBS UP TASTE THE THUNDER. HAVE IMMENSE FEELING OF MYTHOLOGY INSIDE ME.REGULAR WALKS AND YOGA WOULD HELP.
I am Ankoor. I love myself and my parents. I am over obsessed with studies and feel that some conference is going on in my head. Sometimes I get an impression that a super power tries to control our mind through a satellite. As such, lakhs of emails are intercepted during the course of a day. OCD maybe is the name of my problem. But I am not sure.I have faith in God and myself. One day I may get cured. This faith is atoot (unbreakable).
I am feeling relieved after a good night’s sleep. Sleep had eluded me for a few days and for a week before the D.P. Though I am losing interest in studies, I have faith that I shall overcome some day. I have to keep trying. Someone has said- Failures are stepping stone to success.
One of my loves is typing on the computer. I was attracted to it instantly in Class-1 just like fish takes to water. It has made our lives easier. Internet is also a nice time pass, apart from being a wealth of information. While in school, I would search on net for any topic or theme that was given by the teacher to write on or to make an assignment. I would download photos and sketches also to make my home task attractive. But gradually one has realized that too much reliance on computer or net is bad. It may kill original thoughts. It also enables one to take a short cut.
Earlier I had this enjoyable experience of watching videos on You Tube. Now I guess it would not be great to watch videos on you tube. My age is 21 and a half. I have stopped talking to many friends. GOD knows why?
Law is a heavy subject for me as of now. I must fight with the thoughts that I have in my mind. God make me brave. I have sudden mood swings. Reverse counting and straight forward counting is what one doctor told me would cure me. I am experiencing the problem of short term memory. I also have difficulty in remembering places and having overall concentration. I see GODs in elders. My parents always tell me that I will get cured, get a good and reasonable job.
THUMBS UP TASTE THE THUNDER. HAVE IMMENSE FEELING OF MYTHOLOGY INSIDE ME.REGULAR WALKS AND YOGA WOULD HELP.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
AN EVENING AT MACHAN
Evening means different things to different people.Some enjoy the solitude, some prefer a brisk walk, still others spend it in the company of near and dear ones. Atmosphere, aura, ambience-these make difference to a dull,drab and sultry place.Boredom is conquered.Even non-appetising meals become sumptuous, delicious, easy to remember. The decoration, frills and a particular way of presentation attract and delight. These help in relaxing, conversing,refreshing and healing. One tends to chill out without a hard drink AND post meal, sink into a bed of mink. Have a sweet dream and what not...........?
An October evening spent at Machan on the top floor of Dona Plaza,Guwahati will be memorable in ways, more than one. They were on time and absolutely prim and proper. While he impressed with his height, purse, physique and overall sense of humour, she sizzled and giggled to a temporary glory. Her curvaceous figure made prominent by a tight red and white dress earned her gazers if not fans during the semi-dark evening. Poses for photo session with a natural smile and grace against the background of animals, antique pieces and look-alikes of natural jungle were extempore and amazing. Same was noticed not once. But several times.......,before the soup, afterwards, before the '7Up' and in course of 'gup-shup'.
The topics and themes were so tantalizing that hunger or lust for food was almost set aside till a gentle reminder came from well dressed waiters and a haggard banquet manager. While waiting for compliance of order, it was observed that a 50 plus crowd was immersed deeply in the semi-dark, light musical backdrop. Like any other place, tiny tots in sufficient numbers were jumping all over. They would occasionally show their tantrums. While their parents relished their own talks and whispers, the kids appeared flavergasted at the sight of electric powered squirrel, birds, python,monkey and elephant.
Lighting was perfect, so were the cutlery and upholstery. Arrangement of chairs and tables was upto mark but food left much to be desired. It was in random but stylish order. There was nothing special about the typical delicasies, the management had promised to serve...........compared to the exorbitant prices shown in block capital letters in a menu card, weighing at least 20 grams.
When the crowd began thinning close to mid-night, we religiously rearrange chairs and tables to facilitate privacy, better relaxation and another bout of fruitful photo session. Soon the incredible view became a setting or nursery for instant creativity. While focusing, adjusting and clicking, we were not paranoid as such, but the very idea of creating something with a fair dose of joy had simply struck in our heads. We were speechless and spell bound with every shot. Two and a half hours spent drinking, sipping, eating and photographing is going to be deep in our thoughts. Afterall, the clock too had come to a stand still.
Towards the end, like a shrewd businessman, the manager promised to improve and add-on till we make another appearance. He displayed an infectious smile while offering us some appetiser. We did not fail in capturing him and his faithful waiters on camera. The grand finale turned out to be a memorable shot of an African tribesman.
Overall it was cozy, not noisy. It was fun and frolic. Not fantasy. In a world, full of ecstasy. The 'couple' added to the charm of the evening by their unusual appearance, conduct, manners and presence of mind.
Walking carefully down the stairs from the fifth floor, I whisper-"Good luck Machan. May you celebrate your second birthday soon. AND I take a plunge together with footfalls of compatriots of the 'couple' from Delhi.
An October evening spent at Machan on the top floor of Dona Plaza,Guwahati will be memorable in ways, more than one. They were on time and absolutely prim and proper. While he impressed with his height, purse, physique and overall sense of humour, she sizzled and giggled to a temporary glory. Her curvaceous figure made prominent by a tight red and white dress earned her gazers if not fans during the semi-dark evening. Poses for photo session with a natural smile and grace against the background of animals, antique pieces and look-alikes of natural jungle were extempore and amazing. Same was noticed not once. But several times.......,before the soup, afterwards, before the '7Up' and in course of 'gup-shup'.
The topics and themes were so tantalizing that hunger or lust for food was almost set aside till a gentle reminder came from well dressed waiters and a haggard banquet manager. While waiting for compliance of order, it was observed that a 50 plus crowd was immersed deeply in the semi-dark, light musical backdrop. Like any other place, tiny tots in sufficient numbers were jumping all over. They would occasionally show their tantrums. While their parents relished their own talks and whispers, the kids appeared flavergasted at the sight of electric powered squirrel, birds, python,monkey and elephant.
Lighting was perfect, so were the cutlery and upholstery. Arrangement of chairs and tables was upto mark but food left much to be desired. It was in random but stylish order. There was nothing special about the typical delicasies, the management had promised to serve...........compared to the exorbitant prices shown in block capital letters in a menu card, weighing at least 20 grams.
When the crowd began thinning close to mid-night, we religiously rearrange chairs and tables to facilitate privacy, better relaxation and another bout of fruitful photo session. Soon the incredible view became a setting or nursery for instant creativity. While focusing, adjusting and clicking, we were not paranoid as such, but the very idea of creating something with a fair dose of joy had simply struck in our heads. We were speechless and spell bound with every shot. Two and a half hours spent drinking, sipping, eating and photographing is going to be deep in our thoughts. Afterall, the clock too had come to a stand still.
Towards the end, like a shrewd businessman, the manager promised to improve and add-on till we make another appearance. He displayed an infectious smile while offering us some appetiser. We did not fail in capturing him and his faithful waiters on camera. The grand finale turned out to be a memorable shot of an African tribesman.
Overall it was cozy, not noisy. It was fun and frolic. Not fantasy. In a world, full of ecstasy. The 'couple' added to the charm of the evening by their unusual appearance, conduct, manners and presence of mind.
Walking carefully down the stairs from the fifth floor, I whisper-"Good luck Machan. May you celebrate your second birthday soon. AND I take a plunge together with footfalls of compatriots of the 'couple' from Delhi.
Sunday's Sentiments
Today is Sunday, the Children's Day. Yesterday it rained beautifully. For more than an hour. Day temperature came down by a few degrees. All of us liked. As reported on TV and morning newspapers, even the 'exalted' children- Rahul and Priyanka got wet. They seemed to have enjoyed every bit of the experience.
Rain is always a refreshing feeling. Nevertheless, too much of anything is not only bad, it may be also counter-productive. Did not we see it on the eve of CWG?
While going to Law Centre-1 in the afternoon, I felt the chill. Mummy made no mistake in pulling out an attractive pullover. Initially I thought, on a cool day (not a cold day), I was going to be an odd man out. But, I discovered soon to my pleasant surprise that I was a part and parcel of the bubbling mainstream.
Even though, no classes were held on a a casual day, such as, Saturday, the whole experience was exhilerating. Not only I did some 'Om Chanting', I tried also speaking to birds of the green campus. For the sake of friends, I got a glimpse of some from a distance. Of all the places, they got a refuse in our dirty toilet. However, the sight of ever helpful and reliable Netram made me happy.
Having waited for 1 hour and 30 minutes for the class, it was really nice to meet him. We exchanged useful notes about our first semester examination starting on First December 2010. Time was really short. And I was badly prepared. Therefore, on his advice and Mummy's instructions, I purchased a 'Duky' (D.U.Key), for the Criminal Law paper for Rs.75/-. My feeble bargaining skills ensured me a measurly 'saving' of only Rs. 5/-.
A vegetable pattie and a cup of tea with Netram during the dusk at SPIC-MCKEY became enjoyable. So was the Rick ride for 20 bucks.
When I felt the hustle & bustle and heat of the evening at VV Metro Station, I uttered the following while entering the swanky coach:
"Rain rain, come again
I may be in bus, or train
OR flying over a hilly terrain
I need healing and liberation
From the bouts of...........
Agony, stress and pain. "
AM I NOT ALIVE AND KICKING ?
Today is Sunday, the Children's Day. Yesterday it rained beautifully. For more than an hour. Day temperature came down by a few degrees. All of us liked. As reported on TV and morning newspapers, even the 'exalted' children- Rahul and Priyanka got wet. They seemed to have enjoyed every bit of the experience.
Rain is always a refreshing feeling. Nevertheless, too much of anything is not only bad, it may be also counter-productive. Did not we see it on the eve of CWG?
While going to Law Centre-1 in the afternoon, I felt the chill. Mummy made no mistake in pulling out an attractive pullover. Initially I thought, on a cool day (not a cold day), I was going to be an odd man out. But, I discovered soon to my pleasant surprise that I was a part and parcel of the bubbling mainstream.
Even though, no classes were held on a a casual day, such as, Saturday, the whole experience was exhilerating. Not only I did some 'Om Chanting', I tried also speaking to birds of the green campus. For the sake of friends, I got a glimpse of some from a distance. Of all the places, they got a refuse in our dirty toilet. However, the sight of ever helpful and reliable Netram made me happy.
Having waited for 1 hour and 30 minutes for the class, it was really nice to meet him. We exchanged useful notes about our first semester examination starting on First December 2010. Time was really short. And I was badly prepared. Therefore, on his advice and Mummy's instructions, I purchased a 'Duky' (D.U.Key), for the Criminal Law paper for Rs.75/-. My feeble bargaining skills ensured me a measurly 'saving' of only Rs. 5/-.
A vegetable pattie and a cup of tea with Netram during the dusk at SPIC-MCKEY became enjoyable. So was the Rick ride for 20 bucks.
When I felt the hustle & bustle and heat of the evening at VV Metro Station, I uttered the following while entering the swanky coach:
"Rain rain, come again
I may be in bus, or train
OR flying over a hilly terrain
I need healing and liberation
From the bouts of...........
Agony, stress and pain. "
AM I NOT ALIVE AND KICKING ?
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Over the Red River & the Blue hills
It is an early morning scene in the outskirts of growing city of Guwahati. I am rushing to catch IC-7751 flight to Dimapur and Imphal. Low volume of traffic on the way ensures early arrival at the airport. Tempted, I try my hand at the wheels in the North East for the first time. A lady staffer of Indian Airlines is walking very fast to report for duty. She gets a healthy competition from a male colleague. In view of the fact that there is no other flight, I presume that I am not late. At the entry point, one is subjected to checking of identity twice. It is irritating but can’t be helped. Next, one has to confront a long que at the X-ray baggage machine. Getting past that, one moves to check-in counter. The process is very slow not only for me but also for a family accompanying an old man on a wheel chair. Papers and envelopes held tightly by him give an indication that Iobi Singh has just been discharged by Dispur Hospitals. Soon I notice that display board is showing yesterdays date (31st July 2010). Till 6.12 a.m., no security check is announced. Two policemen, therefore, refuse entry. Finally, we cross the security barrier. Though the departure lounge looks deserted, my joy knows no bounds. After all, this is my maiden visit to Nagaland, the ‘Switzerland of the East’, a land blessed with lush green forests and immense natural beauty.
At 6.15 a.m. two pilots report for duty. The co-pilot happens to be an overweight woman. They are followed by two young and tall air hostesses. Even though the scheduled departure time is 6.30 a.m., the dilapidated and fit for ‘denting and painting’ kind of bus of Indian Airlines arrives late to pick up the passengers. Within five minutes we manage to enter the ATR craft. In no time, the air hostesses see to it that the passengers, including a fat “Sardarji” (making maximum noise) and a hassled housewife(running all over the place), settle down. At 6.42 taxing begins and the mini plane is airborne with a rapid speed, something akin to a Maruti Car, say about 25 years ago. I am fortunate not to have a co-passenger. This particular opportunity and overall solitude is befitting to enable scribbling a few lines for posterity.
The routine welcome announcement indicates that weather is fine and soothing at Dimapur. The hills around Guwahati and the mammoth Brahmaputra look gorgeous. It is water water all over. A few islands and a long river bridge catch attention. As we move up, thin layers of white clouds move like smoke. GCI sheets over roof tops sparkle magnificently in bright sunshine. Dense portions of the largest city of NER are now visible. One cannot see any landmark, however. Green, low hillocks do make a statement. Some of them abound in typical folds, last seen by me during a heli-ride in Tripura. My irresistible visible romance with nature gets a setback on hearing an un welcome announcement pertaining to unfastening of seat belt. Soon my confidence is restored on hearing another announcement commencing serving of breakfast.
When I resume looking through the window, large areas appear inundated. The mighty Brahmaputra gives the appearance of a sea. A few meandering streams give Him company. It appears as if the flying machine is destined to go gently along its course. I have noticed that whenever I am in a mood to write something in plane, I am invariably seated on the left side, an indication, perhaps of my left-tilted, if not left oriented thinking.
When I look further, patterns formed by the paddy fields and tiled huts look beautiful. Not only I am enjoying the beauty outside but get a fair dose inside as well, off and on. While boarding, the plane gave a God for shaken look from outside. Inside now, it looks cool, cosy and comfortable.
At 6.55 a.m., descent begins without any announcement. But there is no trace of the break-fast announced ten minutes ago. I need it badly to gulp four of my tablets to contain blood pressure and regulate heart beat. At last, a pair of tall air hostesses donning new Laheria Sari patterns of red, white and black colours makes an appearance with their trolleys. I look simultaneously at the white clouds with streaks of blue, far behind and the sumptuous looking snack packets. All said and done, Indian Airlines continues to be far better in hospitality than all ‘cheap’ private airlines put together. The breakfast, however, came in installments. First of all water bottles were served. Thereafter, came, a closed tray having three items – a vegetable patty, a twisted biscuit and a thick slice of brown cake with a pouch of sauce. Tea was conspicuous by its absence. The menu was same as I got while taking IC-7756 flight (Agartala - Guwahati) on 8th of July. Even though it is early in the day, I eat nicely and to my heart’s content.
The time is 7.10 hours. The descent is more prominent now. Large water bodies are no longer visible, rather serpentine roads amidst green patches keep appearing. Clouds also hover every now and then. Suddenly my attention is drawn to a coughing passenger behind my row. It came from Iobi Singh, the wheel chair bound old man. Now that Dimapur was not far behind, he must be waiting desperately to get off and immerse himself in his sweet home. When the plane further loses height, one can see small hillocks, a river, a stadium in construction and probably the railway station of Dimapur. The ‘S’ formation of another river attracts. From the colour of its water, one can make out that it has rained heavily up in hills. Oh no, the plane, instead of touching the aerodrome, gains height. Sunrays touch my face. They provide warm, soothing comfort. After five minutes or so descent begins again. One can feel the difference this time, both through eyes and ears. A patch of dense forest is seen. Landing is taking longer than expected. The view on my side of the window gives an impression as if we are gaining height. A look through the right window, on the other hand, brings us closer to the ground. At last at 7.20 hours, the landing announcement is made. For a moment, however, the plane almost stops in the mid air. Flying so low over a green patch has its own advantages. We are fortunate to be in the lap of an eco-friendly zone.
Soon Dimapur having a ground temperature of 28 degree is visible. The scenario described earlier is being repeated. Sharp at 7.25 we have a smooth landing. I presume that Iobi Singh is happier than me. I request for an extra bottle of water. The air hostess obliges with a smile. When I get closer to the terminal building, I notice a thick growth of grass on both sides of pathway. Instead of an airport official guiding me correctly to arrival lounge, it is a security man who does the duty. Again, instead of Airport Authority of India welcoming the passengers, it is a hoarding of SBI which has been allowed to do the honours. Exactly four passengers assemble in the conveyer belt zone. What a waste of aviation fuel and manpower, I think, while trying to locate Takum and Showuba. Soon I find them. While I experience joy, Iobi, perhaps, is still undergoing a bout of sorrow. Getting into a white Bolero (NL-01/C/7082), I see that Captain B.P. Shah is taking him and others to Imphal.
At 6.15 a.m. two pilots report for duty. The co-pilot happens to be an overweight woman. They are followed by two young and tall air hostesses. Even though the scheduled departure time is 6.30 a.m., the dilapidated and fit for ‘denting and painting’ kind of bus of Indian Airlines arrives late to pick up the passengers. Within five minutes we manage to enter the ATR craft. In no time, the air hostesses see to it that the passengers, including a fat “Sardarji” (making maximum noise) and a hassled housewife(running all over the place), settle down. At 6.42 taxing begins and the mini plane is airborne with a rapid speed, something akin to a Maruti Car, say about 25 years ago. I am fortunate not to have a co-passenger. This particular opportunity and overall solitude is befitting to enable scribbling a few lines for posterity.
The routine welcome announcement indicates that weather is fine and soothing at Dimapur. The hills around Guwahati and the mammoth Brahmaputra look gorgeous. It is water water all over. A few islands and a long river bridge catch attention. As we move up, thin layers of white clouds move like smoke. GCI sheets over roof tops sparkle magnificently in bright sunshine. Dense portions of the largest city of NER are now visible. One cannot see any landmark, however. Green, low hillocks do make a statement. Some of them abound in typical folds, last seen by me during a heli-ride in Tripura. My irresistible visible romance with nature gets a setback on hearing an un welcome announcement pertaining to unfastening of seat belt. Soon my confidence is restored on hearing another announcement commencing serving of breakfast.
When I resume looking through the window, large areas appear inundated. The mighty Brahmaputra gives the appearance of a sea. A few meandering streams give Him company. It appears as if the flying machine is destined to go gently along its course. I have noticed that whenever I am in a mood to write something in plane, I am invariably seated on the left side, an indication, perhaps of my left-tilted, if not left oriented thinking.
When I look further, patterns formed by the paddy fields and tiled huts look beautiful. Not only I am enjoying the beauty outside but get a fair dose inside as well, off and on. While boarding, the plane gave a God for shaken look from outside. Inside now, it looks cool, cosy and comfortable.
At 6.55 a.m., descent begins without any announcement. But there is no trace of the break-fast announced ten minutes ago. I need it badly to gulp four of my tablets to contain blood pressure and regulate heart beat. At last, a pair of tall air hostesses donning new Laheria Sari patterns of red, white and black colours makes an appearance with their trolleys. I look simultaneously at the white clouds with streaks of blue, far behind and the sumptuous looking snack packets. All said and done, Indian Airlines continues to be far better in hospitality than all ‘cheap’ private airlines put together. The breakfast, however, came in installments. First of all water bottles were served. Thereafter, came, a closed tray having three items – a vegetable patty, a twisted biscuit and a thick slice of brown cake with a pouch of sauce. Tea was conspicuous by its absence. The menu was same as I got while taking IC-7756 flight (Agartala - Guwahati) on 8th of July. Even though it is early in the day, I eat nicely and to my heart’s content.
The time is 7.10 hours. The descent is more prominent now. Large water bodies are no longer visible, rather serpentine roads amidst green patches keep appearing. Clouds also hover every now and then. Suddenly my attention is drawn to a coughing passenger behind my row. It came from Iobi Singh, the wheel chair bound old man. Now that Dimapur was not far behind, he must be waiting desperately to get off and immerse himself in his sweet home. When the plane further loses height, one can see small hillocks, a river, a stadium in construction and probably the railway station of Dimapur. The ‘S’ formation of another river attracts. From the colour of its water, one can make out that it has rained heavily up in hills. Oh no, the plane, instead of touching the aerodrome, gains height. Sunrays touch my face. They provide warm, soothing comfort. After five minutes or so descent begins again. One can feel the difference this time, both through eyes and ears. A patch of dense forest is seen. Landing is taking longer than expected. The view on my side of the window gives an impression as if we are gaining height. A look through the right window, on the other hand, brings us closer to the ground. At last at 7.20 hours, the landing announcement is made. For a moment, however, the plane almost stops in the mid air. Flying so low over a green patch has its own advantages. We are fortunate to be in the lap of an eco-friendly zone.
Soon Dimapur having a ground temperature of 28 degree is visible. The scenario described earlier is being repeated. Sharp at 7.25 we have a smooth landing. I presume that Iobi Singh is happier than me. I request for an extra bottle of water. The air hostess obliges with a smile. When I get closer to the terminal building, I notice a thick growth of grass on both sides of pathway. Instead of an airport official guiding me correctly to arrival lounge, it is a security man who does the duty. Again, instead of Airport Authority of India welcoming the passengers, it is a hoarding of SBI which has been allowed to do the honours. Exactly four passengers assemble in the conveyer belt zone. What a waste of aviation fuel and manpower, I think, while trying to locate Takum and Showuba. Soon I find them. While I experience joy, Iobi, perhaps, is still undergoing a bout of sorrow. Getting into a white Bolero (NL-01/C/7082), I see that Captain B.P. Shah is taking him and others to Imphal.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
MYSTERY CALLED MIND
It is good to be blessed with an intelligent bent of mind. For creativity, however, high level of intelligence may not be a prerequisite. Nek Chand, the creator of Rock Garden, Chandigarh is a burning example. In the same way, for invention or discovery, one need not have a stereo typed normal brain. Great scientists of the order of Einstein or Newton were not normal children by traditional standards, to start with. Nevertheless, they succeeded in not only impressing the World but they also left a long felt impact on day to day life by their inventions.
At the other extreme, there are scientists, such as, Stephen Hawking who continues to excel despite being inflicted with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) in his thirties. Still at another extreme, we have some bright minds, who complete a course at a relatively younger age, but not all of them taste success in tune with their initial prowess. Also many unsung heroes changing the lot of oppressed masses by their silent, yet determined actions do not get noticed.
All said and done, human mind has been always curious to know the background & making of a genius. Such a curiosity has led to long gestation research on cloning, (outcome of which may not have found acceptance). But to ‘programme’ a genius child is rarest of the rare phenomenon. It means initiating the conception process at the right time of the day or night and to have right diet beforehand and mental state (mood).
Prof. Tulsi Narayan Prasad, a Supreme Court Advocate and a serious practitioner of Astro-genetics, whose 20 year old son Dr. Tathagat Avatar Tulsi has become country’s youngest Professor ( of Physics) at IIT, Mumbai, claims to have ‘planned’ for his child well before he was actually born. Soon after his birth, Prof. Prasad had declared that the sex of to be born child could be manipulated. He goes on to add that through the science of eugenics one can ensure that a child will achieve the desired traits.
Tathagat, named among the World’s seven most gifted youngsters in 2003 and hailed widely as a child prodigy, finished high school at the age of nine, B.Sc at the age of ten and M.Sc before experiencing his twelfth spring. His super-intelligence apart, he was confronted with adjustment problems with his peer group. Nevertheless, he was destined to learn the art of pretending to be normal. How he copes up with his bright students now, remains to be observed and researched. An ardent follower of Albert Einstein, his dream is to win a Nobel Prize. Needless to say, his future research has to be keenly followed.
More than anything else, it is the spirit of getting things done with right intentions which matters in the ultimate analysis. Honesty and sincerity have the potential to produce vital and influential force to perform arduous tasks. With proper guidance and impetus even ordinary people can produce extraordinary results. They should not compromise on their zeal and commitment.
At the other extreme, there are scientists, such as, Stephen Hawking who continues to excel despite being inflicted with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) in his thirties. Still at another extreme, we have some bright minds, who complete a course at a relatively younger age, but not all of them taste success in tune with their initial prowess. Also many unsung heroes changing the lot of oppressed masses by their silent, yet determined actions do not get noticed.
All said and done, human mind has been always curious to know the background & making of a genius. Such a curiosity has led to long gestation research on cloning, (outcome of which may not have found acceptance). But to ‘programme’ a genius child is rarest of the rare phenomenon. It means initiating the conception process at the right time of the day or night and to have right diet beforehand and mental state (mood).
Prof. Tulsi Narayan Prasad, a Supreme Court Advocate and a serious practitioner of Astro-genetics, whose 20 year old son Dr. Tathagat Avatar Tulsi has become country’s youngest Professor ( of Physics) at IIT, Mumbai, claims to have ‘planned’ for his child well before he was actually born. Soon after his birth, Prof. Prasad had declared that the sex of to be born child could be manipulated. He goes on to add that through the science of eugenics one can ensure that a child will achieve the desired traits.
Tathagat, named among the World’s seven most gifted youngsters in 2003 and hailed widely as a child prodigy, finished high school at the age of nine, B.Sc at the age of ten and M.Sc before experiencing his twelfth spring. His super-intelligence apart, he was confronted with adjustment problems with his peer group. Nevertheless, he was destined to learn the art of pretending to be normal. How he copes up with his bright students now, remains to be observed and researched. An ardent follower of Albert Einstein, his dream is to win a Nobel Prize. Needless to say, his future research has to be keenly followed.
More than anything else, it is the spirit of getting things done with right intentions which matters in the ultimate analysis. Honesty and sincerity have the potential to produce vital and influential force to perform arduous tasks. With proper guidance and impetus even ordinary people can produce extraordinary results. They should not compromise on their zeal and commitment.
MYSTERY CALLED MIND
It is good to be blessed with an intelligent bent of mind. For creativity, however, high level of intelligence may not be a prerequisite. Nek Chand, the creator of Rock Garden, Chandigarh is a burning example. In the same way, for invention or discovery, one need not have a stereo typed normal brain. Great scientists of the order of Einstein or Newton were not normal children by traditional standards, to start with. Nevertheless, they succeeded in not only impressing the World but they also left a long felt impact on day to day life by their inventions.
At the other extreme, there are scientists, such as, Stephen Hawking who continues to excel despite being inflicted with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) in his thirties. Still at another extreme, we have some bright minds, who complete a course at a relatively younger age, but not all of them taste success in tune with their initial prowess. Also many unsung heroes changing the lot of oppressed masses by their silent, yet determined actions do not get noticed.
All said and done, human mind has been always curious to know the background & making of a genius. Such a curiosity has led to long gestation research on cloning, (outcome of which may not have found acceptance). But to ‘programme’ a genius child is rarest of the rare phenomenon. It means initiating the conception process at the right time of the day or night and to have right diet beforehand and mental state (mood).
Prof. Tulsi Narayan Prasad, a Supreme Court Advocate and a serious practitioner of Astro-genetics, whose 20 year old son Dr. Tathagat Avatar Tulsi has become country’s youngest Professor ( of Physics) at IIT, Mumbai, claims to have ‘planned’ for his child well before he was actually born. Soon after his birth, Prof. Prasad had declared that the sex of to be born child could be manipulated. He goes on to add that through the science of eugenics one can ensure that a child will achieve the desired traits.
Tathagat, named among the World’s seven most gifted youngsters in 2003 and hailed widely as a child prodigy, finished high school at the age of nine, B.Sc at the age of ten and M.Sc before experiencing his twelfth spring. His super-intelligence apart, he was confronted with adjustment problems with his peer group. Nevertheless, he was destined to learn the art of pretending to be normal. How he copes up with his bright students now, remains to be observed and researched. An ardent follower of Albert Einstein, his dream is to win a Nobel Prize. Needless to say, his future research has to be keenly followed.
More than anything else, it is the spirit of getting things done with right intentions which matters in the ultimate analysis. Honesty and sincerity have the potential to produce vital and influential force to perform arduous tasks. With proper guidance and impetus even ordinary people can produce extraordinary results. They should not compromise on their zeal and commitment.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
BLIND JEWEL
A few days ago, I happened to be in the eco-friendly colony of Oil India at Narengi in the outskirts of Guwahati. While I visited this beautiful colony after a gap of 19 years, I was meeting my old buddy and son of soil-Bhasker after exactly eight years. The setting was, therefore, congenial, for a walk down the memory lane. While I was trying to recall as to what I did walking, 19 years ago, what did I eat and who all did I talk to, a heart touching song “Yeh Dunia Ye Mehfil,Mere Kaam Ki Nahin” began being telecast. I was immediately attracted to the T.V. set. While I attempted to adjust the picture quality and increase the volume, Bhasker smiled in unision. He seemed to have liked the tune if not followed the words. Given the fact that I had heard it on innumerable occasions and was fortunate to have watched the movie Heer Ranjha, I remembered the song by heart. Two more popular songs from the movies Kajal and Neelkamal followed in quick succession.
Rajkumar and Mohammed Rafi made a formidable combination. While the former was famous for his restrained acting and inimitable dialogue delivery skills, latter was undisputed king of male singers of his time.
When we were children, it would be impossible to have a ‘darshan’ of your favourite star or singer apart from seeing the former in the latest releases. There was no T.V. or Internet. Accordingly, if permitted by parents or even by one of them (a risky situation altogether), we would simply grab an opportunity to listen to the local singers imitating the famous ones of Bombay(Mumbai since 1995) in the ‘lighted’ darkness of night.
Moti Vinayak, a blind singer with a deep voice was a force to reckon with in Ranchi. He had undisputed mastery over the Rafi songs especially the ones mentioned above. Due to his obvious marketing handicaps he would not command a high price but once he emerged on the illuminated stage, there will be a complete silence, followed by a wide applause. He would churn out old melodies of Rafi in a comfortable way till the moment came for singing according to request of the audience. He will please all who liked, loved and worshipped Md.Rafi.
With the passage of time, I shifted to Delhi for higher studies. My feeble interest in music waned over time. I tried to rekindle it while undergoing training at Mussoorie. But nothing substantial of this revival can be talked about.
In Feb 1986,came the occasion to distribute blankets to the poor and the destitudes. As a young BDO of Kanke Block, I made all preparations meticulously for this social service even though it was funded by the Government. The short function began in time. I had given strict instructions for distribution only to the needy. By the time we finished seventy percent of the beneficiaries, one could notice a commotion a few metres away. It was reported that an old man was unable to move forward to the dias due to pain in his legs.
I decided spontaneously to get closer to him to hand over a blanket. Tears rolled down my cheeks when his name was read out. It was none other than Moti Vinayak, the carbon copy of Md.Rafi and my favourite for many years. When I gave an inkling of my liking of him, he could not show any reaction. He could neither say yes nor no to my desire to hear a Rafi song from him. I gathered enough courage to hand over two blankets(against one permitted) to Motiji as I felt for him from core of my heart. It was indeed unfortunate that such a gifted and talented singer had been relegated to the status of a beggar. He must have ‘gone with the winds’ soon. Had he been alive, he would have sparkled in this age of reality shows.
Rajkumar and Mohammed Rafi made a formidable combination. While the former was famous for his restrained acting and inimitable dialogue delivery skills, latter was undisputed king of male singers of his time.
When we were children, it would be impossible to have a ‘darshan’ of your favourite star or singer apart from seeing the former in the latest releases. There was no T.V. or Internet. Accordingly, if permitted by parents or even by one of them (a risky situation altogether), we would simply grab an opportunity to listen to the local singers imitating the famous ones of Bombay(Mumbai since 1995) in the ‘lighted’ darkness of night.
Moti Vinayak, a blind singer with a deep voice was a force to reckon with in Ranchi. He had undisputed mastery over the Rafi songs especially the ones mentioned above. Due to his obvious marketing handicaps he would not command a high price but once he emerged on the illuminated stage, there will be a complete silence, followed by a wide applause. He would churn out old melodies of Rafi in a comfortable way till the moment came for singing according to request of the audience. He will please all who liked, loved and worshipped Md.Rafi.
With the passage of time, I shifted to Delhi for higher studies. My feeble interest in music waned over time. I tried to rekindle it while undergoing training at Mussoorie. But nothing substantial of this revival can be talked about.
In Feb 1986,came the occasion to distribute blankets to the poor and the destitudes. As a young BDO of Kanke Block, I made all preparations meticulously for this social service even though it was funded by the Government. The short function began in time. I had given strict instructions for distribution only to the needy. By the time we finished seventy percent of the beneficiaries, one could notice a commotion a few metres away. It was reported that an old man was unable to move forward to the dias due to pain in his legs.
I decided spontaneously to get closer to him to hand over a blanket. Tears rolled down my cheeks when his name was read out. It was none other than Moti Vinayak, the carbon copy of Md.Rafi and my favourite for many years. When I gave an inkling of my liking of him, he could not show any reaction. He could neither say yes nor no to my desire to hear a Rafi song from him. I gathered enough courage to hand over two blankets(against one permitted) to Motiji as I felt for him from core of my heart. It was indeed unfortunate that such a gifted and talented singer had been relegated to the status of a beggar. He must have ‘gone with the winds’ soon. Had he been alive, he would have sparkled in this age of reality shows.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
An Egyptian Holiday
One had heard and read a great deal about Egypt and its 5000 year-old civilization in the History and G.K. books. There was always a desire to experience the same. When an opportunity came my way in November, 1997, there was no rethinking. I simply grabbed it. On confirmation of air ticket for the Delhi-Dubai circuit, I was prepared to briefly feel the glory of this important ancient country. I was on the verge of setting my feet on the continent of Africa for the first time.
There is nothing of significance to remember about the Emirates flight to Dubai except that the generous air hostesses took photos of all the passengers and handed over a copy to each one of us. Another redeeming feature was, perhaps, the provision of individual T.V. even in the Economy Class. On arrival, it was a pleasant surprise to avail of the famous Lounge at the swanky arrival terminal of Dubai airport. Owing to the friendly atmosphere and excellent hospitality, we never knew that a good four hours had elapsed before we were airborne again. Not much of activity and interaction followed during the five hour second leg of the journey between Dubai and Cairo, located in two separate continents and time-zones.
By the time we made it to Cairo, it was already dark. My desire to have a look at the famous Pyramids and the Mediterranean Sea from sky, therefore, could not materialize. The airport building of the only mega city of Egypt looked organized. The presence of a large number of security men, however, did convey that all of us had to take care while moving from one place to another. It was, nevertheless, nice to meet an officer of Indian Embassy who came to receive our four member delegation. Not only the drive to Hotel El Gezirah Sheraton was smooth, the over all weather appeared pleasant. Layers of fly-overs on the way spoke of the volume of traffic. The round shape of the hotel, located on the banks of River Nile was well-lit and the structure stood out from the buildings in the neighbourhood, when I had a solo stroll following not so cumbersome check-in.
Around 23.00 hours, when I reached my allotted room on the 10th floor, the view of the river and the city was simply awesome. Before I hit the cosy bed, it was a surprise to see an armed guard in the corridor. While using a shoe shining machine, he greeted me with a smile. When I wished to interact, his poor English, unfortunately, became a stumbling block. The next morning, he showed me a safe area for walk and jogging. As if this was not sufficient, he did extend a helping hand in the evening when two of us decided to negotiate a Tonga-ride to the nearest market, purely for fun. Such a behaviour even after his normal duty hours could confirm his noble intentions. He also asked us, nonetheless, not to roam alone in the city.
The day one, as expected, was consumed in official deliberations with our counterparts and the connected offices located all over the sprawling city. One could manage, however, a glimpse of the dressing and behaviour patterns of local people, whenever we passed through a congested area. A visit to Pyramids at Giza in the evening could not be planned due to a logistic snag. To help us overcome our latent dissatisfaction, our hosts arranged a visit to the Cairo Tower and Egyptian Museum. Latter had an imposing façade. We were exposed to the varied facets of once vibrant Nile River civilization. It was amazing to hear the interesting deeds of the Pharaohs (Kings) and the importance given to the birds and animals. The art or the practice which, sounded most impressive was that of the ‘Mummification’, the meticulous preservation of the dead bodies. Shrunken and embalmed, many of them were lying in the Museum. Apart from the durable chemicals of that era, it was the resolve to preserve the body of a king or a queen or an aristocrat, which deserved to be taken note of. The funeral processions were also reported to be very elaborate affairs. Equally interesting was to learn about the country’s French connection.
Before we called it a day, we did not forget to try some spicy local snacks and purchase a few mementoes, such as, miniature stone and metal pyramids, Papyrus paintings and bust of kings and queens of ancient Egypt. The narrow lanes of the curio market were akin to similar settings in old Delhi or Bazars of Calcutta. It was same kind of noise as well as bonhomie. A black stone bust of Queen Nephratus, bought on the occasion, still sparkles in my living room. She was reported to have sacrificed her life for the cause of emancipation of women.
With a view to devote focussed attention to the pyramids, we drove to Gizeh (Giza) archeological site in the outskirts of the city fairly early, the following day. One of the seven wonders of the ancient world was visible from a distance of approximately two kms. Cheops, Chephren and Micerinus, the three great pyramids were found arranged diagonally in such a way that none of them hides the sun from the other two. Cheops, the largest one, originally had a height of 146 metre with a ten metre square shaped platform on top.
It was learnt that a pyramid was constructed in tiers or steps. When the square shaped base (length of each side being equal to the height) was completed, the polished stone blocks would be lifted by a kind of crane made of short timbers onto the first tier. The cranes would be shifted up from stage to stage. When we got closer, we came across several of such triangular structures. After a round of three great pyramids, we were dropped at the entrance of Cheops. We could immediately notice the huge blocks of stones plastered nicely over each other. Subsequent to minute observation, it was the time to photograph the wonder from different angles. Soon, some of us managed to climb up the steep steps leading to the top of the pyramid. The inside view was simply fascinating. Before we make it to the summit, we are shown a large locked room that contained a ‘Mummy’ of an important king and his priceless belongings. The view of Cairo from the top was panoramic.
Next in our schedule, were a camel ride at the base of pyramids and a close look at the Sphinx, a seventy three metre long gigantic statue having face of a human being and body of a lion. Some portions of this mythical man-animal were found defaced, presumably by wind erosion. Needless to say, these also provided a good photographic opportunity.
We returned to Giza by dusk to witness a marvellous Light and Sound Show. It presented the glory of the vibrant and developed civilization of Egypt in a powerful way, something which could not be understood or visualized well by the hectic visits to the pyramids or the Egyptian Museum. The description about great human effort involved in getting huge boulders through the Nile river route for building the pyramids and surrounding structures over a period of eighty years was both convincing and incredible. The stones were brought without any mechanical support from hundreds of miles. At the end of the show I could notice some similarities between the Indus Valley and the Egyptian civilizations.
The next evening we availed of a cruise over the Nile river. A large boat managed and catered to by the Oberoi Group of India was beautifully lit. One after another, lovely performances followed-Spanish and English songs sung by a short, chubby Egyptian girl and an ethnic dance showing elaborate use of oversized colourful gowns and revolving umbrella kind of object. The performance which, however, left a mark in the true sense was the famous Belly dance enacted by a local slim artist. Her swift movements in the background of traditional music were simply amazing. Even after a fast half an hour session, she had all the energy and charm. The sumptuous dinner dominated by the Indian cuisine served on the deck of the boat did remind us that we had to herald our return journey at the end of the fourth day.
A relaxed breakfast session on the day of departure touched my heart. An old Egyptian Chef, a tall bearer and an alert front-desk boy, all spoke positively about the heritage and hospitality of India, they were exposed to, once. Not only I gave them a patient hearing, I also added to their information by mentioning something additional about my country which , perhaps, they did not know. They evinced adequate interest. As a parting gesture, I divulged that if I ever get a chance to visit a country again, it will be none other than Egypt.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Reminiscences of the Barren Island
A break or a holiday not merely leads to relaxation. It may also enhance understanding and bonding between the participating friends and family members. Andaman & Nicobar Islands, the Emerald Necklace of India, comprising of 572 islands, should be the destination, if one is looking for recharging one’s over stretched batteries in the setting of a ‘warm’ & cosmopolitan hill station. Having said so, I am reminded of 10th of October 2005.
Within an hour of our arrival at Port Blair, a pleasant surprise awaited us. Our host, the dynamic Tourism Secretary of the pollution-free U.T. informed that a steamer specially chartered for the Barren Island (located 135 kms northeast of the territory’s capital) was ready for departure. We were given five minutes for conveying a positive nod and another thirty minutes for arranging required things and eatables. S. Velu, our ever-smiling and pro-active guide helped us in buying some tasty snacks and biscuits. Later, on account of a long journey of eleven hours, we realised that what ever we had, proved insufficient, and that we had to virtually beg before the cabin crew for four meals at exorbitant rates. During the return journey, we almost starved for no fault of ours. But the following lines would reveal that starving was worth it.
The departure from the Phoenix-Bay jetty was a smooth affair. Nine to ten families together with a few bachelors boarded the steamer. The first fifteen minutes we had a good view of the sprawling port city followed by a look at the enchanting Ross Island. In no time we were on the main sea. Not only the seats were comfortable in the basement, the overall atmosphere too appeared congenial. Practically everyone was visiting the wonderful Barren Island for the first time. We were determined to enjoy every bit of journey spread over five and a half hours, one way.
The first two hours passed of easily. It was a pleasure to go up to the top deck and enjoy the memorable view of deep blue sea. Occasionally boats, steamers and ships would pass by. A few islands too would be visible on the horizon. The helpers to the crew, guides and liaison assistants would describe the charm of Jolly Buoy, Red Skin, Havelock, Neil and Barren Islands (B.I.) very well. Off and on, some local folklore in respect of the tribes endemic to the region and vivid description of multicoloured fish and mesmerizing corals would be also heard.
Though the famous active volcano of South Asia at B.I. was reported erupting from 1787 onwards, for nearly one and a half century, between 1852 and 1991, it had remained dormant. It was learnt that the volcano would be generally active for four to six months at a stretch. Following the eruption, a fresh layer of cliff, commonly referred to as caldera wall, would be formed around the island. Tourist arrival, would simply multiply during the period of ‘activity’.
A number of scientific teams would visit the island subsequent to cooling-off but no one ever dared to stay on the island, due to harsh and inclement conditions, therein. In view thereof, our steamer too was also going to be anchored at least half a kilometre away.
When the boredom of a long sea journey got on to our nerves, most of us exercised the option of a good afternoon nap. A couple of tourists did watch T.V. as well. To break the monotony, some one from the deck shouted that our cherished destination was soon going to be visible. Every one ran to the ‘terrace’ and parked him self/herself suitably. It was getting dark but the island was barely visible. Some fog over the vast ocean too obstructed the view initially.
Patience and perseverance ultimately pays. Around 19.00 hours, we got the first glimpse of the rare spectacle. It was once in a lifetime scenario. The speed of the craft was gradually reduced as we moved closer. Those of us having video or digital cameras, were fortunate in capturing the view well for posterity. I cursed myself to have carried an ordinary non-digital camera. In a way, it was a blessing in disguise. I could not only admire the beauty and ferocity of the volcano deep from my heart but could also instantly feel the sudden change in weather. S. Velu confirmed that sea water had warmed up due to our close proximity to the active volcano.
After keeping the steamer dormant for nearly half an hour, the captain took us to two different ends of the island. Its total surface area of ten kms.(3 kms in diameter) looked all ablaze. An otherwise dark sky was well-lit by this super natural phenomenon. Not only we saw gigantic flames from atop a 354 meters high peak but we were also blessed with the sight of lava falling and swiftly spreading in the surroundings. The flora on the island, in the process, would not only catch fire. The whole area, rather, would burn instantly.
It was once in a blue moon phenomenon. It was something which could not be elaborated in a few routine phrases. On seeing the eruption and bright red lava, my heart missed a beat. It was nothing but a rare sight, truly a miracle of mother nature. It had a humbling impact. The unusual spectacle honed my power of observation and concentration.
Within an hour of our arrival at Port Blair, a pleasant surprise awaited us. Our host, the dynamic Tourism Secretary of the pollution-free U.T. informed that a steamer specially chartered for the Barren Island (located 135 kms northeast of the territory’s capital) was ready for departure. We were given five minutes for conveying a positive nod and another thirty minutes for arranging required things and eatables. S. Velu, our ever-smiling and pro-active guide helped us in buying some tasty snacks and biscuits. Later, on account of a long journey of eleven hours, we realised that what ever we had, proved insufficient, and that we had to virtually beg before the cabin crew for four meals at exorbitant rates. During the return journey, we almost starved for no fault of ours. But the following lines would reveal that starving was worth it.
The departure from the Phoenix-Bay jetty was a smooth affair. Nine to ten families together with a few bachelors boarded the steamer. The first fifteen minutes we had a good view of the sprawling port city followed by a look at the enchanting Ross Island. In no time we were on the main sea. Not only the seats were comfortable in the basement, the overall atmosphere too appeared congenial. Practically everyone was visiting the wonderful Barren Island for the first time. We were determined to enjoy every bit of journey spread over five and a half hours, one way.
The first two hours passed of easily. It was a pleasure to go up to the top deck and enjoy the memorable view of deep blue sea. Occasionally boats, steamers and ships would pass by. A few islands too would be visible on the horizon. The helpers to the crew, guides and liaison assistants would describe the charm of Jolly Buoy, Red Skin, Havelock, Neil and Barren Islands (B.I.) very well. Off and on, some local folklore in respect of the tribes endemic to the region and vivid description of multicoloured fish and mesmerizing corals would be also heard.
Though the famous active volcano of South Asia at B.I. was reported erupting from 1787 onwards, for nearly one and a half century, between 1852 and 1991, it had remained dormant. It was learnt that the volcano would be generally active for four to six months at a stretch. Following the eruption, a fresh layer of cliff, commonly referred to as caldera wall, would be formed around the island. Tourist arrival, would simply multiply during the period of ‘activity’.
A number of scientific teams would visit the island subsequent to cooling-off but no one ever dared to stay on the island, due to harsh and inclement conditions, therein. In view thereof, our steamer too was also going to be anchored at least half a kilometre away.
When the boredom of a long sea journey got on to our nerves, most of us exercised the option of a good afternoon nap. A couple of tourists did watch T.V. as well. To break the monotony, some one from the deck shouted that our cherished destination was soon going to be visible. Every one ran to the ‘terrace’ and parked him self/herself suitably. It was getting dark but the island was barely visible. Some fog over the vast ocean too obstructed the view initially.
Patience and perseverance ultimately pays. Around 19.00 hours, we got the first glimpse of the rare spectacle. It was once in a lifetime scenario. The speed of the craft was gradually reduced as we moved closer. Those of us having video or digital cameras, were fortunate in capturing the view well for posterity. I cursed myself to have carried an ordinary non-digital camera. In a way, it was a blessing in disguise. I could not only admire the beauty and ferocity of the volcano deep from my heart but could also instantly feel the sudden change in weather. S. Velu confirmed that sea water had warmed up due to our close proximity to the active volcano.
After keeping the steamer dormant for nearly half an hour, the captain took us to two different ends of the island. Its total surface area of ten kms.(3 kms in diameter) looked all ablaze. An otherwise dark sky was well-lit by this super natural phenomenon. Not only we saw gigantic flames from atop a 354 meters high peak but we were also blessed with the sight of lava falling and swiftly spreading in the surroundings. The flora on the island, in the process, would not only catch fire. The whole area, rather, would burn instantly.
It was once in a blue moon phenomenon. It was something which could not be elaborated in a few routine phrases. On seeing the eruption and bright red lava, my heart missed a beat. It was nothing but a rare sight, truly a miracle of mother nature. It had a humbling impact. The unusual spectacle honed my power of observation and concentration.
Monday, October 26, 2009
THREAT TO BRAHAMPUTRA
I am happy to be in the quiet setting of the Circuit House, Guwahati after a gap of three years. The sight of Brahamputra, however, depresses me. The water content is much less than what I had seen earlier. Thinking of it, I spend a disturbed night. At the break of dawn, I rush to the river bank presuming that I do not have to trek much. But by the time I make it, I discover that the river originating from Mansarovar Lake located on the slopes of Mount Kailash, has shifted back by at least six hundred feet. Fresh growth of green Mayurpankhi plant welcomes me at a place which was once a wide, roaring and vibrant river. My interaction with the C.H. staff and the town–dwellers hints at two probable causes for the unimaginable setback-substantial reduction in the quantum of rainfall over the last few years and efforts of China to build dams over what they call Tsangpo River.
As I move closer, I notice hectic preparations by the youth and the old alike for the Chhath Puja. Their devoted work prompts me to walk down memory lane. I am vividly reminded of similar efforts by us as kids in the early seventies at the Hatania Talab in the vicinity of C.C.L. campus of Ranchi. Compared to that cramped up setting, the spacious bank of Brahamputra was offering a better choice to pay annual obeisance to the Sun God. As I move further, I see many more groups deeply engrossed in the said activity. After making steps to facilitate easy access of the Parvaitins, the Ghats were being meticulously decorated with the Banana trees & leaves, multi-coloured buntings and red flowers, real as well as artificial. Seeing the enthusiasm and the level of festivity, I could not believe that a regional festival once confined to Bihar and UP had spread to far flung corners of H.P, Delhi, Rajasthan, Gujarat, Maharastra, West Bengal, Sikkim, Meghalaya and Assam in two to three decades. The overall interest and popularity was amplified by introduction of Chhat Specials by the Railways and the dedicated programmes over T.V.
Being in a religious mode, I notice a glorious sunrise over the 3000 kms long river. I am tempted to meditate in a standing posture. Chanting of Hanuman Chalisa and Bajrang Ban turn out to be relaxing and refreshing experiences. I also try a few asnas of Yoga. When I ‘return’ to the mystical world, I find a few walkers and joggers struggling through the dirty sands. Soon I confront the stench of drain water and garbage generated by the lot expected to protect the mighty river figuring in the folk tales of the region.
As the Sun further ascends, the movement of boats too registers a rise. Very few of them are engaged in fishing. Rather, they seem to have become the only means of communication between the capital city and the neighbouring islands. I was shocked to know that a popular fish variety-Silver cap (Rs.40/-a kg) was being transported from the city ponds to nearby areas by boat, instead of being fished out from the gigantic river.
While an absorbing talk pertaining to the plan of action for the day between a father and his teen-aged son has the requisite potential to cheer up my mind, I get upset on seeing the patches of stool and cow-dung over a large area. The next sight of the noisy and bubbling fish market on the banks reminds me of the mess we seem to have created in the name of rapid urbanisation. On being exposed to such horrible sights and the impending time constraints, I turn back and begin returning to my temporary abode.
I take a note of the rise in the number of Ghats for the evening Chhath Puja, together with acts of collection of river water in the glistening copper vessels by the Assamese women adorning ethnic dresses. Presumably, it is for another religious ceremony. I also come across the stagnant steamers of the Inland Water Transport Department by the names of T.F. Ganesh, Janardan and Tamreswari. A Rhino painted afresh over the water tank of the last named craft attempts to interact with me in the following manner-‘PLEASE SAVE ME AND MY REVERED BROTHER BRAHAMPUTRA FROM FURTHER ONSLAUGHT’.
Within an hour I reach L.G.N.B. International Airport to fly back to Delhi to witness another act of sacrilege by the mankind, already facing insurmountable global warming. It is none other than the Yamuna River now being exploited in the name of an inter-country Games. It may not perhaps be possible to stop such acts of harming the free gifts of nature. But nature lovers can surely make a passionate plea for minimizing their impact in the interest of future generations.
As I move closer, I notice hectic preparations by the youth and the old alike for the Chhath Puja. Their devoted work prompts me to walk down memory lane. I am vividly reminded of similar efforts by us as kids in the early seventies at the Hatania Talab in the vicinity of C.C.L. campus of Ranchi. Compared to that cramped up setting, the spacious bank of Brahamputra was offering a better choice to pay annual obeisance to the Sun God. As I move further, I see many more groups deeply engrossed in the said activity. After making steps to facilitate easy access of the Parvaitins, the Ghats were being meticulously decorated with the Banana trees & leaves, multi-coloured buntings and red flowers, real as well as artificial. Seeing the enthusiasm and the level of festivity, I could not believe that a regional festival once confined to Bihar and UP had spread to far flung corners of H.P, Delhi, Rajasthan, Gujarat, Maharastra, West Bengal, Sikkim, Meghalaya and Assam in two to three decades. The overall interest and popularity was amplified by introduction of Chhat Specials by the Railways and the dedicated programmes over T.V.
Being in a religious mode, I notice a glorious sunrise over the 3000 kms long river. I am tempted to meditate in a standing posture. Chanting of Hanuman Chalisa and Bajrang Ban turn out to be relaxing and refreshing experiences. I also try a few asnas of Yoga. When I ‘return’ to the mystical world, I find a few walkers and joggers struggling through the dirty sands. Soon I confront the stench of drain water and garbage generated by the lot expected to protect the mighty river figuring in the folk tales of the region.
As the Sun further ascends, the movement of boats too registers a rise. Very few of them are engaged in fishing. Rather, they seem to have become the only means of communication between the capital city and the neighbouring islands. I was shocked to know that a popular fish variety-Silver cap (Rs.40/-a kg) was being transported from the city ponds to nearby areas by boat, instead of being fished out from the gigantic river.
While an absorbing talk pertaining to the plan of action for the day between a father and his teen-aged son has the requisite potential to cheer up my mind, I get upset on seeing the patches of stool and cow-dung over a large area. The next sight of the noisy and bubbling fish market on the banks reminds me of the mess we seem to have created in the name of rapid urbanisation. On being exposed to such horrible sights and the impending time constraints, I turn back and begin returning to my temporary abode.
I take a note of the rise in the number of Ghats for the evening Chhath Puja, together with acts of collection of river water in the glistening copper vessels by the Assamese women adorning ethnic dresses. Presumably, it is for another religious ceremony. I also come across the stagnant steamers of the Inland Water Transport Department by the names of T.F. Ganesh, Janardan and Tamreswari. A Rhino painted afresh over the water tank of the last named craft attempts to interact with me in the following manner-‘PLEASE SAVE ME AND MY REVERED BROTHER BRAHAMPUTRA FROM FURTHER ONSLAUGHT’.
Within an hour I reach L.G.N.B. International Airport to fly back to Delhi to witness another act of sacrilege by the mankind, already facing insurmountable global warming. It is none other than the Yamuna River now being exploited in the name of an inter-country Games. It may not perhaps be possible to stop such acts of harming the free gifts of nature. But nature lovers can surely make a passionate plea for minimizing their impact in the interest of future generations.
AB-6/18,Hafdarjung Enclave
11th of October was like any other Sunday. A feeling of relief and relaxation replaced his, otherwise ruffled feathers. Having disposed off a large chunk of relevant and nonsensical files and papers late last night in his plush office at Nehru Place, he took the liberty of leaving his princely bed, later than expected. Soon, he had a casual thinking session in his outlandish 1oo. A close look into the large mirror revealed his prominent pouch, despite his sincere work-outs almost every day. He vowed to control it for the inth time. He also promised to do something fruitful and consequential and decided to live up to some mundane promises.
On getting ready, he was reminded of his glorious past subsequent to the formation of ‘the’ Markhand state and the crucial role played by him as a close confidant of its Head of state. While going down the memory lane, he, at the same time, did not wish to forget his formative years as a young and dashing Federal Police Officer in West Hengol, followed by his crucial sub-divisional, District and Corporation level postings in the tough yet challenging state of ‘the’ Barihar.
With an inkling of the past, he was all set to undertake a brisk walk in the closeby Deer Park. An emotional call from a dear old colleague soon came as a soothing surprise. Before he could begin conversation over his latest Blackberry, Lugnu was drawn towards an unscheduled interaction with a female relative over her Nokia 6070. Talking and listening, in their flashy Nike shoes and designers casuals, they venture into the cool and secure confines of the adjacent eco-friendly park. It was gradually being filled with the joggers, slow walkers, genuine health conscious lots as also those having a fetish for occasionally responding to the demand of changing body contours.
Subsequent to a bout of long conversation, it appeared business as usual. While Kabindra desired to take a sharp right turn near the historic Hauz Khas, Lugnu, true to her love for birds and animals, was adamant in having a close look at the lovely ducks from an opposite direction. With an agreement being a distant possibility and more so, in view of variance in their respective abilities to stroll, both mutually decided to ‘break’ away, to meet again at an agreed point, close to the exit, say, after fifteen to twenty minutes. Apart from giving an opportunity to admire nature rather more intimately, such a break up provided them also a chance to indulge in gossips of their liking with some regular health conscious acquaintances.
The pleasant or a bit of cool October morning appeared warming up with their rising body temperature. The autocratic and all pervading Monarch of the day, too, was changing colours in addition to increasing slowly his generous heat content.
Half an hour instead of the agreed time of twenty minutes frittered away but worried Lugnu noticed no trace of ‘her’ Kabindra. There was no response, either over his cell despite her fervent attempts. She was compelled to jog, in the process, instead of a brisk walk. Though many more familiar faces passed by, she preferred concentrating on relocating her prized life partner of twenty five years standing.
At last, he was found in one non-descript corner. He won’t even acknowledge her presence. For, he was deeply engrossed in speaking to Mals over cell after a gap of good five to six years. He was not aware that latter had returned to Delhi earlier than him and was thus eager to have an interface in the evening. An interruption to indicate the convenient time of 19.15 hours with the express approval of the better half, takes place. Remainder of the time is spent in describing the guest for the evening hailing from the far eastern corner of India who, invariably preferred to swim against the tide.
A leisurely lunch follows in honour of Prachand, the elder child of the family. When they are half way through, the call bell rings, followed by an unusual banging on the door. While the mother is busy in giving some useful tips to her darling son to readjust in the Indian situation to play his changed role of an engineer of an M.N.C. to perfection, the father is greeted with a pleasant surprise in seeing Apeksha. She looked bubbly, childish and vibrant. She also possessed the power to draw everyone’s attention on her return after three months, on completion of her second year M.B.B.S. examination. While she had the option and the means to give an advance intimation, she had made up her mind to spring a surprise.
Whatever extra was available in the kitchen, was dutifully brought to the dining table by Kabindra in honour of his ‘little princess’. Same was supplemented by heating up and boiling some stuff from the family’s gigantic freeze. While he was a novice, as far as cooking and serving food were concerned, Lugnu would draw thrills of adventure, whenever Apeksha’s Daddy attempted to try his hand in their large modular kitchen. He would, however, muster full support of Dhania, the trusted and active maid from his cadre state. The overall soothing feeling of a family reunion proved a harbinger for a good nap in the afternoon.
Mals with Maulshree in toe in an attractive Kanjeevaram arrived eight minutes behind schedule in the evening. Delay was pardonable as it was attributed to the traffic restrictions owing to the hectic visit by the members of the Commonwealth Games Committee. The couple looked fresh and frank. The two families were meeting in a ‘family’ situation, almost after a decade. There was, therefore, plenty to talk and share. The only notable absentee was Tankoor, the only child of M&M, pursuing his final year of B.A. Hons. in Political Science at the rapidly improving Senky College.
Lots of notes about the bygone era were exchanged over the next one hour. The R.O. water, Sprite, Pakoras, Sweets and good leaf tea were graciously served by Lugnu. Her due care and attention brought back sweet memories of her being an excellent hostess. While the male members indulged in career related and office oriented talks, the non-stop conversation between the females was clearly dominated by the rising prices of vegetables and dals, latest bargains & discounts, some common friends and Emporio, the latest Mall to open at the upmarket Vasant Kunj.
The icing of the cake, however, came in the form of the unusual blog of Mals. While he took immense pleasure in logging on to the site with the help of Prachand, it was time for everyone to draw a chair to get closer to the Dell Lap top, kept prominently at a place, earlier earmarked for a desk top. One by one, lovely photos and the text of the mesmerising state from the Far East captivated the audience. Whenever needed, a short verbal commentary would fill the void. While the eager hostess and the attentive and disciplined children were glued to the screen, the less talkative host spoke fondly of his only visit to the place, more than two decades ago. Things had not merely changed, a certain degree of transformation appeared to have been recorded, according to him in the demographic, living and the overall infrastructural patterns.
No one noticed that two hours had passed off peacefully, duly providing not only a link between the past and the present but in also renewing the contacts and laying a road map for future interactions. The bond of two families was perhaps rewoven with a positive tinge.
It was twenty past twenty one hours, when the ultimate send-off materialised. Bidding good bye for an extremely rewarding evening, M&M drove swiftly in their Swift car to their abode in Kautilyapuri. K&L, on the other hand, had no option but to pack up bags for the former’s early morning flight to Chennai, a news not welcomed by Apeksha. “The life had to come to full circle, whether guests came or the Daddy proceeded on tour”, counselled the brilliant hostess of the memorable evening to the bright sleeping ‘kid’ of AB6/18, Hafdarjung Enclave.
On getting ready, he was reminded of his glorious past subsequent to the formation of ‘the’ Markhand state and the crucial role played by him as a close confidant of its Head of state. While going down the memory lane, he, at the same time, did not wish to forget his formative years as a young and dashing Federal Police Officer in West Hengol, followed by his crucial sub-divisional, District and Corporation level postings in the tough yet challenging state of ‘the’ Barihar.
With an inkling of the past, he was all set to undertake a brisk walk in the closeby Deer Park. An emotional call from a dear old colleague soon came as a soothing surprise. Before he could begin conversation over his latest Blackberry, Lugnu was drawn towards an unscheduled interaction with a female relative over her Nokia 6070. Talking and listening, in their flashy Nike shoes and designers casuals, they venture into the cool and secure confines of the adjacent eco-friendly park. It was gradually being filled with the joggers, slow walkers, genuine health conscious lots as also those having a fetish for occasionally responding to the demand of changing body contours.
Subsequent to a bout of long conversation, it appeared business as usual. While Kabindra desired to take a sharp right turn near the historic Hauz Khas, Lugnu, true to her love for birds and animals, was adamant in having a close look at the lovely ducks from an opposite direction. With an agreement being a distant possibility and more so, in view of variance in their respective abilities to stroll, both mutually decided to ‘break’ away, to meet again at an agreed point, close to the exit, say, after fifteen to twenty minutes. Apart from giving an opportunity to admire nature rather more intimately, such a break up provided them also a chance to indulge in gossips of their liking with some regular health conscious acquaintances.
The pleasant or a bit of cool October morning appeared warming up with their rising body temperature. The autocratic and all pervading Monarch of the day, too, was changing colours in addition to increasing slowly his generous heat content.
Half an hour instead of the agreed time of twenty minutes frittered away but worried Lugnu noticed no trace of ‘her’ Kabindra. There was no response, either over his cell despite her fervent attempts. She was compelled to jog, in the process, instead of a brisk walk. Though many more familiar faces passed by, she preferred concentrating on relocating her prized life partner of twenty five years standing.
At last, he was found in one non-descript corner. He won’t even acknowledge her presence. For, he was deeply engrossed in speaking to Mals over cell after a gap of good five to six years. He was not aware that latter had returned to Delhi earlier than him and was thus eager to have an interface in the evening. An interruption to indicate the convenient time of 19.15 hours with the express approval of the better half, takes place. Remainder of the time is spent in describing the guest for the evening hailing from the far eastern corner of India who, invariably preferred to swim against the tide.
A leisurely lunch follows in honour of Prachand, the elder child of the family. When they are half way through, the call bell rings, followed by an unusual banging on the door. While the mother is busy in giving some useful tips to her darling son to readjust in the Indian situation to play his changed role of an engineer of an M.N.C. to perfection, the father is greeted with a pleasant surprise in seeing Apeksha. She looked bubbly, childish and vibrant. She also possessed the power to draw everyone’s attention on her return after three months, on completion of her second year M.B.B.S. examination. While she had the option and the means to give an advance intimation, she had made up her mind to spring a surprise.
Whatever extra was available in the kitchen, was dutifully brought to the dining table by Kabindra in honour of his ‘little princess’. Same was supplemented by heating up and boiling some stuff from the family’s gigantic freeze. While he was a novice, as far as cooking and serving food were concerned, Lugnu would draw thrills of adventure, whenever Apeksha’s Daddy attempted to try his hand in their large modular kitchen. He would, however, muster full support of Dhania, the trusted and active maid from his cadre state. The overall soothing feeling of a family reunion proved a harbinger for a good nap in the afternoon.
Mals with Maulshree in toe in an attractive Kanjeevaram arrived eight minutes behind schedule in the evening. Delay was pardonable as it was attributed to the traffic restrictions owing to the hectic visit by the members of the Commonwealth Games Committee. The couple looked fresh and frank. The two families were meeting in a ‘family’ situation, almost after a decade. There was, therefore, plenty to talk and share. The only notable absentee was Tankoor, the only child of M&M, pursuing his final year of B.A. Hons. in Political Science at the rapidly improving Senky College.
Lots of notes about the bygone era were exchanged over the next one hour. The R.O. water, Sprite, Pakoras, Sweets and good leaf tea were graciously served by Lugnu. Her due care and attention brought back sweet memories of her being an excellent hostess. While the male members indulged in career related and office oriented talks, the non-stop conversation between the females was clearly dominated by the rising prices of vegetables and dals, latest bargains & discounts, some common friends and Emporio, the latest Mall to open at the upmarket Vasant Kunj.
The icing of the cake, however, came in the form of the unusual blog of Mals. While he took immense pleasure in logging on to the site with the help of Prachand, it was time for everyone to draw a chair to get closer to the Dell Lap top, kept prominently at a place, earlier earmarked for a desk top. One by one, lovely photos and the text of the mesmerising state from the Far East captivated the audience. Whenever needed, a short verbal commentary would fill the void. While the eager hostess and the attentive and disciplined children were glued to the screen, the less talkative host spoke fondly of his only visit to the place, more than two decades ago. Things had not merely changed, a certain degree of transformation appeared to have been recorded, according to him in the demographic, living and the overall infrastructural patterns.
No one noticed that two hours had passed off peacefully, duly providing not only a link between the past and the present but in also renewing the contacts and laying a road map for future interactions. The bond of two families was perhaps rewoven with a positive tinge.
It was twenty past twenty one hours, when the ultimate send-off materialised. Bidding good bye for an extremely rewarding evening, M&M drove swiftly in their Swift car to their abode in Kautilyapuri. K&L, on the other hand, had no option but to pack up bags for the former’s early morning flight to Chennai, a news not welcomed by Apeksha. “The life had to come to full circle, whether guests came or the Daddy proceeded on tour”, counselled the brilliant hostess of the memorable evening to the bright sleeping ‘kid’ of AB6/18, Hafdarjung Enclave.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Arrival to Witness Departure
Contrary to the assumption that Asansol would be a lifeless and a non-descript station, one was privileged to be placed amidst its soothing and lively setting. After a quick bath in the open bathing enclosure, I feel refreshed and energised. While beginning my wait for the beleagured Burdwan-Hatia Passenger, I can not resist the temptation to try the famous Jhal Murhi of Bengal. Before the JM(ingredients being soaked gram, hara moong, boiled potato pieces, green chillies, lemon juice, coriander leaves and liberal sprinkling of dalmot) takes its toll, I grab a bottle of ‘authentic’ mineral water.
2. Even though the train is reported late by almost an hour, not even an iota of stress is visible on the faces of the prospective passengers-daily wage earners, Govt.servants, happy go lucky kind of students, power showing cops and responsible looking old couples. They appear enjoying this state of affairs in their own unique ways.
3. When the arrival of train became imminent, hectic pace of activity gets generated. As it came to a screeching halt, ‘rush-ins’ and ‘push-ups’ materialise on the expected lines. Once inside the crowded compartment, my instinct for survival is clearly spelt out. Afterall, I was in a journey mode for good fourteen hours. I was fortunate in grabbing a portion of an empty upper berth. Unlike my fellow passengers in the previous train, the ‘neighbours’ over here look to be spoit brats of the big shots or shall we call them Noveau rich ?.Needless to say, each one was fiddling with the latest Nokia mobile.
Within a few minutes I could confirm their fast, flexible and furious I.T. connections.
4. While the behaviour pattern of a middle aged and a young couple could be termed fairly decent and tolerable, the third ‘live-in’ kind of couple began displaying rather shamelessly, bold, beautiful and mischievous “fit for Bedroom” type of antiques at the drop of hat. They were lost, apparently, in their own fairy world, totally oblivious to the presence of the self-proclaimed conscience keepers like me. While some noble and tradition-bound soul attempted to smile, if not frown upon such an open display of emotions, the passengers in general decided to ignore the activity. Who does not relish this type of free bout of entertainment in a slow moving train? When a kissing and tight-hugging scene(straight from New York or Love Aaj Kal) was on the anvil, the unwelcome appearance of a fat and perspiring TTE took place. The bold show soon got transformed into a cold show. Matters became really worse when scores of passengers were found either ticketless or having exceeded the prescribed limits of a particular length of journey.
5. Having shown my ticket with a confident and beaming look, I look forward to ease myself. I do not have courage to undertake any discharge on seeing the filthy state of affairs of the Loo. Absence of water at the wash-basin adds to my woes. Nevertheless, sipping cups of tea and quietly breathing fresh air from the lush green jungles, in a standing posture near the gate, I ultimately manage to reach Gomoh.
6. Thanks to the misguidance of one of the irresponsible railway employees, I am compelled to go up and come down twice at this historic station, rechristened recently ‘Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Junction.’
7. Finally, one of the Paan-eating mischievous characters shows me the correct way to the make-shift taxi cum bus stand. No sooner than I realize that I was the lone passenger to be ‘catered to’ after the departure of the last train, I am surrounded by a gang of middlemen and drivers. Even though it was fairly early in the July afternoon, I was impelled to think that I had no option but to act according to their dictates pertaining to the high fare of taxi as the only bus plying in this ‘route’ had left for the day. A running non-stop commentary regarding the prevailing Naxal threat in the area further perpetuates the crisis.
8. A timely intervention by the Manager and his helpful colleague of Bank of India, Gomoh saw me in some safe and secure hands. I was left with no alternative but to consent to pay an exorbitant sum of Rs.950/-for a ride to Hazaribagh against the alleged ‘prevailing’ rate of Rs.1100/-.Once inside the comfortable, brand new Ambassador Diesel car, I begin dozing-off. When the car begins zooming off the beautiful highway, a man in his twenties makes an attempt to occupy the front seat. Mohd. Harry, the stylish driver introduces him as his ‘cousin’. I firmly resist and see to it that the fellow does not get entitled to travel with us.
9. The smooth and fast drive through the thick teak forest turns out to be very pleasant. We hardly feel the impact of summer or the humidity of Monsoon in the vicinity of a place called Bagodar, more so, on hearing some nice old hits from the bygone era.
10. The very opening song – ‘Tu Meri Janu hai, Main Tera Dilwar Hoon……………………………..’ from the superhit ‘Hero’ of 1980 reminded me of the innocent and cute charm of Meenakshi Sheshadri and tough and robust look of Jackie Shroff. A few other soothing numbers from the same film and some other chart-busters of that period keep me occupied for the next half an hour.
11. The lunch break at Tatijharia, 35kms short of Hazaribagh was an eye-opener. Before having a sumptuous and appetising lunch at a Brahmin Dhaba, I did not mind responding to the short call of nature in the open ‘bathroom’. As per local customs, cool water was poured over my hands from a sparkling Lota, followed by the free service of a cotton gamcha to enable me to wipe my face. I was simply amazed on being offered five types of green vegetables, a katori of dal, unlimited numbers of chapatis and a handful of rice for just Rs.18/-. More than low rates, it was the warmth of the bearer and his Dhoti clad master, which won my heart. While departing, I was advised to purchase some hot gulab jamuns. I had to politely decline, as the sweetmeat may not have survived for another week or so.
12. Back on the road, a few more pleasant songs from ‘box-office hits’ prevented me from taking a nap. The villages of Daru,Meru,Amritnagar,Singhani,Lakhe and Korrah look truly transformed and modern. The first view of the outskirts of Hazaribagh is possible as soon as the historic Canery Hill appears on to my right. It was the place that had witnessed the honeymoon of P.M. and S.M. in the early sixties of the twentieth century. Time and tide wait for none.They did not wait for him. They simply flew. Flew with a supersonic speed. P.M., after tasting considerable success, faded with the passage of time. His friends and well-wishers forgot him, sooner than expected. He was destined to confront economic hardships following his decision to give up a government job to explore the ‘green pastures’ of the then booming coal mine industry. He was misled by his own ‘firm’ calculations.
13. Instead of being a leader of his charming family, he soon became a disgruntled follower of his innocent, teenaged off springs. A decision of not giving up smoking and drinks led to the gradual loss of his strength and youth. It ultimately was instrumental in his withdrawal from the main team events. Instead of seeing the budding football talents (including his youngest child) to sprout and grow, he became a sort of vegetable. Frequent trips to Ranchi to seek specialized medical treatment could not also prevent him from further onslaughts.
14. His ‘D’ day came on 29th June 2009, when doctors advised his family members to take him back to his place, wherein not only he had learnt the A B C of football, but he also went on to play at the state level championships. Purely by grace of God, he survived for another three days. The miracle of Homeopathic medicine too contributed positively. A real life drama akin to the closing sequence of the popular Hindi film-‘Anand’ was enacted. He was in a position to regain some strength, gulp liquid food and speak to near and dear ones. I was lucky too to converse with him for a while on phone in the evening of 30th June.
15. On 1st July, the morning and afternoon gave him a ray of hope. The onset of darkness, however, proved fatal. He seemed to have slipped into a kind of ‘end approaching silence’. Though his eating improved, he could hardly utter a word. He left for his heavenly abode at 2.45 P.M. in the afternoon of 2nd July. While every available relative offered him spoons of water as an end heralding gesture, he surrendered, and rightly so, in the most comfortable and secure lap of his life companion. While some new P.M’s and S.M’s were thronging the cool confines of the Canery Hill, the end came slowly but painfully for P.M. Death is a harsh but hard reality. Everyone has to, or is compelled to believe it.
16. Thinking of all this, I gather enough courage to enter the abode of now “late” Phat Mama. His last few incomprehensible words spoken in the evening of 30th June still echo distinctly into my ears. True to my nature, I do not break nor do I lose heart. I meet Guria, Sonia, Nitin and Jeetu first. Thereafter, I spot Shiela Mami in a semi-dark corner of the house. Expectedly, tears begin rolling down her cheeks. I bow and hold her affectionately. Console her profusely. What else could I do in this hour of grief? Her cheerful and once vibrant life had come to a standstill. She was perhaps destined not to move on the main line any longer. Rather, she was to drift towards the side lines of life as per our wretched Hindu customs.
17. We should see to it that such fine persons are not ignored and confined to the dustbins of history. They were not to be loose-shunted. However, thanks to the possible preference and tantrums of her immediate relatives, life as a low profile person in a slow motion should be a safer course of action for her.
18. I whisper all this into my own tired ears while hitting the pillow in the erstwhile drawing room of Chotka Mama. Before closing my eye-lids, I stare at his garlanded portrait. Thereafter, I fold my hands to seek his blessings to take note of the hard fact that two more of his brothers and a sister-in-law had bid farewell to the mystical world in quick succession to qualify to give him company in heaven.
19. The next morning, snow-white Seine greets me through his wagging tail. Behind him is Babli, the epitome of selfless service. As expected, she is gracefully holding a glass of fresh, sparkling water for me. One person has departed, others have to carry forward the journey of life. Perhaps, she reminds me of that. While looking at the rising Sun, I see a glimmer of HOPE.
2. Even though the train is reported late by almost an hour, not even an iota of stress is visible on the faces of the prospective passengers-daily wage earners, Govt.servants, happy go lucky kind of students, power showing cops and responsible looking old couples. They appear enjoying this state of affairs in their own unique ways.
3. When the arrival of train became imminent, hectic pace of activity gets generated. As it came to a screeching halt, ‘rush-ins’ and ‘push-ups’ materialise on the expected lines. Once inside the crowded compartment, my instinct for survival is clearly spelt out. Afterall, I was in a journey mode for good fourteen hours. I was fortunate in grabbing a portion of an empty upper berth. Unlike my fellow passengers in the previous train, the ‘neighbours’ over here look to be spoit brats of the big shots or shall we call them Noveau rich ?.Needless to say, each one was fiddling with the latest Nokia mobile.
Within a few minutes I could confirm their fast, flexible and furious I.T. connections.
4. While the behaviour pattern of a middle aged and a young couple could be termed fairly decent and tolerable, the third ‘live-in’ kind of couple began displaying rather shamelessly, bold, beautiful and mischievous “fit for Bedroom” type of antiques at the drop of hat. They were lost, apparently, in their own fairy world, totally oblivious to the presence of the self-proclaimed conscience keepers like me. While some noble and tradition-bound soul attempted to smile, if not frown upon such an open display of emotions, the passengers in general decided to ignore the activity. Who does not relish this type of free bout of entertainment in a slow moving train? When a kissing and tight-hugging scene(straight from New York or Love Aaj Kal) was on the anvil, the unwelcome appearance of a fat and perspiring TTE took place. The bold show soon got transformed into a cold show. Matters became really worse when scores of passengers were found either ticketless or having exceeded the prescribed limits of a particular length of journey.
5. Having shown my ticket with a confident and beaming look, I look forward to ease myself. I do not have courage to undertake any discharge on seeing the filthy state of affairs of the Loo. Absence of water at the wash-basin adds to my woes. Nevertheless, sipping cups of tea and quietly breathing fresh air from the lush green jungles, in a standing posture near the gate, I ultimately manage to reach Gomoh.
6. Thanks to the misguidance of one of the irresponsible railway employees, I am compelled to go up and come down twice at this historic station, rechristened recently ‘Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Junction.’
7. Finally, one of the Paan-eating mischievous characters shows me the correct way to the make-shift taxi cum bus stand. No sooner than I realize that I was the lone passenger to be ‘catered to’ after the departure of the last train, I am surrounded by a gang of middlemen and drivers. Even though it was fairly early in the July afternoon, I was impelled to think that I had no option but to act according to their dictates pertaining to the high fare of taxi as the only bus plying in this ‘route’ had left for the day. A running non-stop commentary regarding the prevailing Naxal threat in the area further perpetuates the crisis.
8. A timely intervention by the Manager and his helpful colleague of Bank of India, Gomoh saw me in some safe and secure hands. I was left with no alternative but to consent to pay an exorbitant sum of Rs.950/-for a ride to Hazaribagh against the alleged ‘prevailing’ rate of Rs.1100/-.Once inside the comfortable, brand new Ambassador Diesel car, I begin dozing-off. When the car begins zooming off the beautiful highway, a man in his twenties makes an attempt to occupy the front seat. Mohd. Harry, the stylish driver introduces him as his ‘cousin’. I firmly resist and see to it that the fellow does not get entitled to travel with us.
9. The smooth and fast drive through the thick teak forest turns out to be very pleasant. We hardly feel the impact of summer or the humidity of Monsoon in the vicinity of a place called Bagodar, more so, on hearing some nice old hits from the bygone era.
10. The very opening song – ‘Tu Meri Janu hai, Main Tera Dilwar Hoon……………………………..’ from the superhit ‘Hero’ of 1980 reminded me of the innocent and cute charm of Meenakshi Sheshadri and tough and robust look of Jackie Shroff. A few other soothing numbers from the same film and some other chart-busters of that period keep me occupied for the next half an hour.
11. The lunch break at Tatijharia, 35kms short of Hazaribagh was an eye-opener. Before having a sumptuous and appetising lunch at a Brahmin Dhaba, I did not mind responding to the short call of nature in the open ‘bathroom’. As per local customs, cool water was poured over my hands from a sparkling Lota, followed by the free service of a cotton gamcha to enable me to wipe my face. I was simply amazed on being offered five types of green vegetables, a katori of dal, unlimited numbers of chapatis and a handful of rice for just Rs.18/-. More than low rates, it was the warmth of the bearer and his Dhoti clad master, which won my heart. While departing, I was advised to purchase some hot gulab jamuns. I had to politely decline, as the sweetmeat may not have survived for another week or so.
12. Back on the road, a few more pleasant songs from ‘box-office hits’ prevented me from taking a nap. The villages of Daru,Meru,Amritnagar,Singhani,Lakhe and Korrah look truly transformed and modern. The first view of the outskirts of Hazaribagh is possible as soon as the historic Canery Hill appears on to my right. It was the place that had witnessed the honeymoon of P.M. and S.M. in the early sixties of the twentieth century. Time and tide wait for none.They did not wait for him. They simply flew. Flew with a supersonic speed. P.M., after tasting considerable success, faded with the passage of time. His friends and well-wishers forgot him, sooner than expected. He was destined to confront economic hardships following his decision to give up a government job to explore the ‘green pastures’ of the then booming coal mine industry. He was misled by his own ‘firm’ calculations.
13. Instead of being a leader of his charming family, he soon became a disgruntled follower of his innocent, teenaged off springs. A decision of not giving up smoking and drinks led to the gradual loss of his strength and youth. It ultimately was instrumental in his withdrawal from the main team events. Instead of seeing the budding football talents (including his youngest child) to sprout and grow, he became a sort of vegetable. Frequent trips to Ranchi to seek specialized medical treatment could not also prevent him from further onslaughts.
14. His ‘D’ day came on 29th June 2009, when doctors advised his family members to take him back to his place, wherein not only he had learnt the A B C of football, but he also went on to play at the state level championships. Purely by grace of God, he survived for another three days. The miracle of Homeopathic medicine too contributed positively. A real life drama akin to the closing sequence of the popular Hindi film-‘Anand’ was enacted. He was in a position to regain some strength, gulp liquid food and speak to near and dear ones. I was lucky too to converse with him for a while on phone in the evening of 30th June.
15. On 1st July, the morning and afternoon gave him a ray of hope. The onset of darkness, however, proved fatal. He seemed to have slipped into a kind of ‘end approaching silence’. Though his eating improved, he could hardly utter a word. He left for his heavenly abode at 2.45 P.M. in the afternoon of 2nd July. While every available relative offered him spoons of water as an end heralding gesture, he surrendered, and rightly so, in the most comfortable and secure lap of his life companion. While some new P.M’s and S.M’s were thronging the cool confines of the Canery Hill, the end came slowly but painfully for P.M. Death is a harsh but hard reality. Everyone has to, or is compelled to believe it.
16. Thinking of all this, I gather enough courage to enter the abode of now “late” Phat Mama. His last few incomprehensible words spoken in the evening of 30th June still echo distinctly into my ears. True to my nature, I do not break nor do I lose heart. I meet Guria, Sonia, Nitin and Jeetu first. Thereafter, I spot Shiela Mami in a semi-dark corner of the house. Expectedly, tears begin rolling down her cheeks. I bow and hold her affectionately. Console her profusely. What else could I do in this hour of grief? Her cheerful and once vibrant life had come to a standstill. She was perhaps destined not to move on the main line any longer. Rather, she was to drift towards the side lines of life as per our wretched Hindu customs.
17. We should see to it that such fine persons are not ignored and confined to the dustbins of history. They were not to be loose-shunted. However, thanks to the possible preference and tantrums of her immediate relatives, life as a low profile person in a slow motion should be a safer course of action for her.
18. I whisper all this into my own tired ears while hitting the pillow in the erstwhile drawing room of Chotka Mama. Before closing my eye-lids, I stare at his garlanded portrait. Thereafter, I fold my hands to seek his blessings to take note of the hard fact that two more of his brothers and a sister-in-law had bid farewell to the mystical world in quick succession to qualify to give him company in heaven.
19. The next morning, snow-white Seine greets me through his wagging tail. Behind him is Babli, the epitome of selfless service. As expected, she is gracefully holding a glass of fresh, sparkling water for me. One person has departed, others have to carry forward the journey of life. Perhaps, she reminds me of that. While looking at the rising Sun, I see a glimmer of HOPE.
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