KRISHNA

A steel grey SUV roared past as I stepped out of my car, almost knocking an old woman down. I glared at the car and if looks could kill, the car would have probably gone up in smoke. Anyway, as that was not to be, I went about my work. Like Arjuna, my goal was pin-pointed and I barely had but a few seconds to ogle at the latest electronic gadgets on display. It was a Saturday and the book-shop was obviously crammed with book-lovers. “Sigmund Freud?” The man gave me one look and fished out the book I wanted. I hugged the newspaper wrapped “Interpretation of Dreams” close to me and walked back to my car.

It was a warm humid summer morning of 2005. I woke up from a deep slumber with a feeling of elation, confusion and satisfaction. I just had the most wonderful dream of my life. Wonderful because I saw someone whom many would love to see in their dreams.
I was walking in a courtyard, which had a two storied building built on all the three sides, similar to a digital C. There was an open space in front with some trees further ahead. The walls of the building were a pale blue colour and bore no ornamentation. There was a darker shade of blue which ran all around the rim of the walls. All the doors and windows of the building were shut and there was not a person to be seen in sight. I was not doing anything in particular but just looking around to see if I could find somebody.
Just then, in one of the verandahs of the first floor, I spied the cutest looking baby I had ever come across.
He had chubby cheeks, pink lips and eyes that sparked brightly, emanating a strange strength and power which I could feel even in my dreams. What captivated me was the colour of his skin. It was pale blue and glowed like the full moon on a dark night sky. While keeping his left arm folded on the edge of the verandah, he rested his chin on the palm of the other. He wore intricately designed gold bracelets and armlets. And of course how could I forget to mention the one ornament that impressed me the most; the peacock feather stuck to the decorative headband. I was past recognizing who he was more so because I was simply fascinated by the smile he flashed at me. From the distance that I was standing below him, I could feel a sense of warmth pleasantly radiating from this little baby. I simply basked in this feeling till I woke up to realize that I had just dreamt of baby Lord Krishna.
It was an ecstatic feeling, an elation that I could describe as an all time high. How could the Lord come to the dreams of a person who hardly even thought of him? But does it really matter that I had enacted the baby Lord as a child of nursery class? Maybe yes, maybe not. For me, what mattered was that my entire day went off in peace; no anger, no trouble, just plain blissful contentment. I even smiled at the person who honked incessantly for him to pass.
Both my Satriya Gurus became emotional when I related the exotic dream to them. With tears streaming down their eyes, they gathered that I was the chosen one by the Lord. But chosen one, for what? I asked. I was told to look for signs whence the Lord would gift me with a surprise. I was more than thoroughly excited!
A year passed since I dreamt of the Lord. Nothing actually happened but I secretly hoped that He would gift me the one thing that I craved for. Soon, my dream took a backseat and I got down to serious work. I toiled day and night on projects related to my profession. I had to move in and out of the city, visiting metros and meeting people. The hills of Arunachal and the rapids of Subhansiri too beckoned me for an escapade. Life was exciting.
On one occasion, while I was on stage speaking to a crowd of two thousand people, I had this strange feeling that something was just not right. With me? Yes. I could feel darkness enveloping me and I broke into a cold sweat. Beads of perspiration flowed like rivulets down my forehead, cheeks, back and my feet turned icy cold. My muga mekhela-sador felt drenched and I was on the verge of collapsing at the lectern. That night, I called home only to be told that I had had a ‘tiny’ angina of the heart. An angina? I was shell shocked!
Dejection took the better of me for the next two days. After the business sessions, I would be perpetually holed up in my room, taking care not to exert myself. I scolded myself for being so gluttonous during lunch and wished hard I didn’t take that extra piece of meat. I lived virtually on low cal fruit salads for the next few days of the conference, moped around and ate frugally reminding myself constantly that I was now a patient with a heart ailment. My friends were surprised. I, who was raving about going to the disc preferred to watch some baloney on television while I propped myself with fluffy pillows all around. Well, I had my reasons. However, Raki, a friend had a different explanation altogether.
On returning home, I was told to go for a Treadmill ECG. What the heck? I didn’t do it. But went about my work as usual. Not to be stupefied by anything, I even did a ‘war dance’ during one of the family get-togethers, only to be chided by my mother who thought I was going overboard with the whole thing and that I needed to be careful. Careful? For what?
And then, one day, I was all dressed and ready for a business trip to Shillong when I heard Mubin call out to me loudly, which could be said to be a concoction of a wail, a moan and a single guffaw. I rushed to the study room only to see him hold onto a small white instrument with somewhat of jubilation and concern writ large over his face. What now? This time, I definitely must be needing some serious treatment, I thought. Looking over his reading glasses, he said, “It’s positive. I need to talk to Dad.”
There was a lot of discussion downstairs and after some time, hubby walked upstairs only to tell me that the trip was off and I needed total bed rest. The rest as we all say is history.
Tirus, now one year and five months, wants to listen to ‘Gaang’ on the FM channels, his favourite singer being Zubeen. He loves to shake a leg to Bryan Adams and knows how to start the computer. He blows kisses at everyone and loves to sit on my lap and hold onto the steering when I am driving. And he simply loves to sip tea from his Dad’s cup in the morning.
When I look at his face, I wonder if the dream of 2005 has any reflection to Tirus. You may call it an incarnation, a Sigmund Freud explanation, a coincidence or simply a blessing. Tirus, my Krishna!

SUCH A LONG JOURNEY....BUT STILL STANDING TALL

“When I find myself in trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom; let it be, let it be……” This line is no longer an aficionado with the present generation who now know that they cannot be fooled by backmasking. Incidentally, backmasking is a way of putting secret messages on the song tracks by some experimental musicians. This song by the Beatles actually doesn’t mean Mother Mary in the true sense; they use it as slang for ‘Marijuana comes to me’. Then punch lines like ‘With a cigarette in my hand, I feel like a man’ no longer impress the matured young people.
Today’s youth has a mind of its own. Not likely to get caught up by fads, they are more health conscious, knowing the benefits of staying fit till the end. Likewise, the health pundits would rather recommend a steaming cup of tea for its antioxidant effects on the body than any other brew in hand. Tea is the new health mantra amongst the elitist and the fashionable, who can choose from a wide variety of tea recipes. Tea is here to stay for a long long time.
I often meet youngsters who opt for black, green or organic tea, cause they have probably read about their benefits in some way or the other. But very few, say around two out of ten persons know the history of tea in Assam, the pride of northeastern India and how it has been put on the global map.

Tea trade was an integral aspect of the East India Company. But tea trade was in barter of British silver, which became a vital concern. The political turmoil in China coupled with growing incidences of conflict between Chinese authorities and British traders aggravated the need of colonial tea pastures. The vast tracts of Assam’s tropical forest lie nearly in the same line of Chinese tea growing provinces. This drew the attention of the imperial scanner.
“The real purpose of the British was to turn Assam into an agricultural estate of tea drinking Britons and to transform local traditional institutions in such a manner as to suit the colonial pattern of economy.” Amalendu Guha (Planter Raj to Swaraj).
The endeavor started as early as 1819 by posting David Scott in Coochbehar and the saga began with planting Chinese seeds to the discovery of wild tea plants that grew in eastward Assam. In 1823, Robert Bruce met Maniram Dutta Barua in Rangpur, present day Sivsagar district of Assam, who appraised the tea drinking (Phalap in Singpho dialect) habit of the Singpho tribe and put Bruce in touch with the Singpho chief, Beesa Gram. After the death of Robert Bruce in 1824, his younger brother Charles Alexander Bruce took over the legacy of tea venture and became the government superintendent of tea culture.
In 1838, Bruce dispatched eight chests of Assam Tea to London which was auctioned on January 10, 1839 and fetched an exorbitant 21$ per pound. Prior to this, Europe knew only Chinese tea. The strong liquor and flavour of Assam’s black tea was unparalleled and created a furore in the whole of Europe. The wild variety got an official name, “Camellia Assamica”.
With the approval of private enterprise in 1841, there resulted a rush of British pioneer planters and a new era of tea in Assam. By 1862, 160 tea gardens consolidated their business.
Today, 750 large tea gardens and 43000 small tea growers of Assam have 17% of global tea production share. The present day tea industry reflects the legacy of the toilsome venture of the pioneer British planters and the painful sweated labour of the tea workers.
The perpetual green tea gardens along both sides of the mighty river, Brahmaputra, in the foothills and ever salubrious tea air envisages a unique socio-cultural niche that gives Assam its true identity.

MESSIAH IN DISGUISE

“Girls in blue ribbons and babies in soft diapers – these are some of my favourite things”.
It was almost two years and a half since we have been trying for a baby. I was keen on having one straight after my marriage but hubby dear was of the opinion that we need some time to ourselves. I of course thought that the difference in age between the child and the parents should be such that they are more like friends rather than having the conventional relationship. However, that was not to be with me.
So, I started where I had left off with my career before I was married. In the meantime, I had completed a full-length tele-serial in Assamese, a documentary in Hindi, and scores of smaller assignments. I always as a kid, had a fetish for acting or rather creating a niche in the media world. Back in school, I was always selected to enact some role or the other in the school annual day functions, which I enjoyed like anything. I remember Sister Rita from school, who would search and chase me down to join in the elocution competitions. It was a lot of fun, though I remember I would be shaking like a leaf when on stage. Now, looking back at those days, I laugh at myself for suffering from such bouts of stage fright.
School concerts were great too. Being from a convent, we were taught the proper intonations and modulations before we finally went onto the stage. Once, when I had to do the role of Fuji Yama, a character from the play, Cherry Blossom, I forgot my dialogues at the eleventh hour. Sister Rita was so sour with me that I was only a little short of being spanked. All said and done, I enjoyed each and every annual concert. The smell of powder, rouge and lipstick; the subdued voices and soft patter of feet as we got ready backstage, the touch of our satin and net frocks against our delicate fingers. And our little hearts pounding so hard that we were scared lest the microphones caught the beat. Everything was magical. We were like cute princesses on stage, making our parents look on proudly as their daughters made each calculated move, step by step to make the concert a great success, year after year.
College was great as I flew past with the Best Actress Award as a French gentleman. My career in acting, compering, and anchoring major shows took off with a lot of support from the home front. The yearning to get onto the stage once again made me take on important roles in plays, one after the other. It was one big mad rush to get to the top.
In the course of this ongoing commitment to acting, anchoring et al, I still felt the terrible urge to become a mother. Both hubby and I ran from pillar to post, doing all sorts of tests on me as well as him. If someone told us that one doctor was good, there was someone to tell us that there was someone even better. “It’s been seven years that they have been childless, now they have one because of Dr.X. You must consult him at once.” I got a little tired listening to all this jargon. Why I am saying it is because nothing was coming of use to us. We even tried some ‘famous’ god men in and around the city, thinking maybe the flowers and the holy water they gave us would work on us but to no avail.
Frustration, depression, hatred, meanness was all getting the better of me. I wanted a baby and I wanted it bad. I even started having dreams at night of having my baby, cuddling it to my chest and putting it to sleep. I would be so happy in my dreams that I always woke up with tears on my pillow.
I even spoke of adoption but then it has its constraints, hubby had told me. I kept quiet and finally accepted that if God wants that I should be childless, then that’s the way it will be. Some of my friends and aunts consoled me, telling me to be patient and have faith in God. I will have a baby one day.
One afternoon, as usual, I was out window shopping but returned with a load of packets. I had to drag my feet to keep my balance. It was pretty warm too and I could feel a long trail of sweat trickling down my back. As I left the shopping arcade and made for my car, lost in thoughts, a man suddenly jumped in front of me and caught hold of my bags. I almost screamed and pulled back my hands.
Before I took time to realize what was happening, I heard a loud guffaw and a friendly voice said, “Baidew, bhale ase (Sister, how are you?)”. I looked, squinting against the bright afternoon sun only to see the most unassuming face smiling back at me. It took me some time before I could recognize Nripen.
He used to drive our office car and wash mine once in a while. In return, I would send small gifts like a saree to his wife or shirts for him. He would take them as if they were some sort of treasure. I was the only person who actually treated him like a human being. The rest of my colleagues would behave as if he was some sort of an animal, more so because of his appearance – dry, unkempt hair and dry chapped skin to go with it, a disheveled pair of shirt and trousers and a toothless smile that made everyone avoid meeting his eyes, which of course had the sparkle of a clear mountain stream.
Nripen would keep me posted about his wife’s condition. They were trying very hard for a baby but she was having some serious problems. I would listen to him at length and suggest some names of doctors he can take her to. More than anything else, I saw my problem in them.
Incidentally, Nripen had to leave his job in our office and since then, I lost all contact with him. It was per chance that I met him again that afternoon. I was elated and also a wee bit embarrassed as he pulled at my heavy packets to drop them in my car. I am usually not used to anyone doing chores for me. I finally gave in to Nripen’s persistence. As we walked towards the car, he asked me how my hubby was keeping, if everything was fine in my work front and if my parents were well. Then he asked me, “Baidew, I remember you were trying for a baby. Have you had one yet?” I was shocked, taken aback and feeling dismal, all at the same time. “Not yet, Nripen. I am trying,” I replied, saddened at my own answer. He seemed apprehensive when he tried to convince me that his wife was being treated by some village quack and they were successful in having a baby.
When he was finally sure that I was not one person to go down to the village for the medicines, he suggested something that absolutely floored me. “Baidew, why don’t you do one thing? Take my baby. Guess what, he looks just like you. Nobody will say that it is not your baby.”
I was dumbstruck. Did I hear him correctly? Did he say he wanted to give me his baby? But why would he? It's his child.
Thank you Nripen. But I cannot take your baby. Your wife and you have had it after so much of patience and prayers. You are indeed my messiah in disguise. So, I will need all your prayers and blessings for me to become a mother.

A TALE OF LOVE

Hasna left us, rather unceremoniously, dressed in a fluorescent green salwar kameez embroidered in multi-coloured threads and my mother-in-law’s gold earrings and finger ring. While my mother-in-law cried silently and we went right up to the gate to see her off, she smiled brightly and even waved to her friend next door, as she sped off in the home jeep. Not a tear. Even her father who had come all the way from his village looked as if he would break down. We stood near the gate and pondered on what is to befall her. That was not the last we saw of her.
I remember coming back from work one day in the winter of 1997 to find a six year old girl, in an almost clean black polka dotted white frock and with the largest and brightest eyes I had ever seen, sitting on a low stool in the living room. She was to stay with us, help with the odd jobs around the house and also go to school. One look at her told me that she was partially petrified seeing so many people and then again this was her first visit out of her village.
Her father told us that he was too poor to sustain so many children, so he implored if Hasna could stay at our place. “Let her do everything, ma’am….the dishes, the dusting…she can even cook if you want her to. But please send her to school. I will never be able to afford it.” And he left, leaving a silently sniffing Hasna standing at our front door, while she wistfully looked at her father walk out of the gate, who visibly had a lump in his throat as he bade his daughter goodbye.
Hasna became a part of the family, more of a friend for me. She would hold onto my salwar like a kitten clawing its nails into a curtain or more still put her arms around me when I am reading a book in my favourite armchair. She endeared us with her actions, sometimes making us guffaw with her little village tales.
Soon, Hasna became the centre of all our activities at home. She would know exactly where to hunt for my father-in-law’s spectacles when he misplaced them. Even though she was lazy to the bones and woke up way after everyone had had their first cuppa, yet, she didn’t have to be told about what she had to do. Even when mahi, my mother-in-law’s sister made her regular visits to our home, Hasna knew that her milk tea had to be laced with a thick layer of butter milk. She knew that I loved milk tea only in the afternoon with an assortment of biscuits and she knew that I loved my egg curry cooked hot with a lot of chillies. She would be sure it was my car apart from the other cars when I honked at the gate. Hasna knew everyone by heart.
Soon Hasna grew up to be a fine young girl. It wasn’t only us who liked her but the neighbours too talked of her commendable work. My friends almost enviously commented on how lucky we were to have a girl like Hasna around the house.
Hasna started going to school from the very beginning. She fared pretty well in her class, with a lot of help from one of us or the other. I would make sure she worked at her English while someone would look after her maths. She was more of a family member than someone who had come to stay at our place a decade ago. We were all very happy, till one day Hasna fell in love! And headlong at it.
We couldn’t believe our ears when she told us that she has someone in the village who she really cared for and she would get married to him as soon as she completes (or doesn’t) her school leaving exams. Suddenly all of us became very concerned about her.
“Isn’t she just a little girl? How can she get married?” my concerned husband asked when I broke the news the next morning over a cup of bed tea.
What was the boy like? What is his family background? How much does he earn? More importantly, will he be able to look after her and shower her with the ‘undying love’ he now professes? To top it all, we were worried if she would be able to deliver a baby at all, which was most likely to happen soon, taking into account her frail body. We were all at our wits end.
I talked to her at length one evening about how important it was for her to complete her studies and earn on her own. God forbid, I told her, but if something was to befall her, she could at least be able to take care of herself, instead of being a burden on her already debt ridden father. But Hasna was adamant! She scowled at me and if looks could kill, then surely I would have turned to ashes where I was seated in my study room. I suddenly realized that there was no point in hammering on a nail which refused to budge into the wood. I left Hasna to fight the perilous sea of life!
One morning, she resolutely announced that she was not going to school anymore and that we were to call the ‘boy’ and get her married. This was the moment when we put our foot down and said that enough is enough. Hasna just cannot go on telling us what to do, as she had been after she had met her ‘one and only love’. And we were not going to partake in a marriage where both the persons were not even eighteen.
I again coaxed Hasna that she would have to face dire consequences of law if she were to get married now. I couldn’t believe my ears when she told me that the ‘boy’ had someone in the court who was capable of many things ‘at a price’. So be it, we said, but we will not partake of such a crime.
Soon Hasna’s father was called. He didn’t speak a word but gave his consent as he was made to understand by the ‘boy’ that he will not be taking any ‘gifts’ (dowry??) from him during the marriage. But he will get married only after a year, what with his financial constraint. Till then, Hasna was to stay with us.
My mother-in-law was in a fix. Hasna refused to go to school, stayed in her room, moping, didn’t answer when called, talked endlessly on the phone with her ‘love’ and tearfully sniffed when asked to help around the house. What was to be done? We just waited for a messiah to save us from this dire situation.
But wait! It was Hasna who fished us out of the trouble she had created herself. After all the moping around, the endless calls, she said that she has had enough. She could smell a rat! And the rat was dead and reeking!
Hasna could feel a ‘change’ in the version of the boy. He now ‘desired’ to marry after five years. Five years? Then where was the ‘desire’ gone?
One evening, she came home tearfully from her usual chat with her ‘love’ at the phone booth. No one dared ask her what had happened. She plopped herself on the bed and refused to move, talk or do anything for that matter. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she silently wiped, sniffing loudly now and then. We were scared lest the worst had befallen. Has the ‘boy’ deserted her?
Soon enough, she told us that her ‘love’ now wants fifteen thousand rupees in cash or he was not going to get married to her or else we have to arrange for some sort of a decent ‘job’ for him. The audacity of the boy, we thought. But who was going to tell Hasna that the boy had a devious mind and ‘other’ plans? None of us dared as we could well see the desperation in her eyes. She wanted to get married to him at any cost and that too immediately lest he changed his mind again.
So it was a fateful evening when we had to send Hasna off while we bade her goodbye with a heavy heart. It was a pity that Hasna was not able to decipher between the love and care we had showered on her for a decade and the falsity of the man who swore to ‘love’ her forever.
So the old adage that love is blind held true for Hasna. A couple of months back, Hasna called us to tell us that she was pregnant. With that frail body? Worry took the better of us. And who was going to take care of her? We heard from her mother that the ‘boy’ will not allow Hasna to go home until she gets the ‘fifteen thousand rupees’ or a befitting job from our end.
Quite like us, Hasna’s hapless parents are at their wits end, calling us occasionally on what is to be done. But we hardly have anything to say at a juncture where we know that anything we say or do might go a long way in hurting Hasna.
So, the least we can do now is to pray for her, hoping against hope that nothing goes wrong and that she remains happy. We will always love you Hasna.

COME AWAY WITH ME

The last time I was there, it was drizzling. It was getting dark and I, tired, huddled closer to Mom in the left hand side of the back seat of the sea blue Ambassador car while my uncle drove, fast, swerving carefully at the curves, commenting every now and then about how we should have got home earlier. My aunt, sitting next to him in the front seat kept repeating that ‘but the children ennjoyed, right?’ The car windows were rolled up tight and there was a light film of mist on them. Oblivious of everything, my cousin bounced up and down in the far right hand corner of the back seat and sang, “Rain, rain go away, little Johnny wants to play….hmm…hmm…!!!” I dozed off to the hum of my cousin and the rhythmic drone of the car engine while a slightly heavier downpour lashed the car windows.

A couple of years ago, in October, a couple of friends decided to just let down our hair. We left Guwahati at 8.30 of a warmer than usual morning. Kyan was at the wheels of our car and drove as smoothly as possibly, while I reclined in the front seat and listened to Boyzone.

A small prayer at the Ganesh Temple and we were on our way. A little ahead of us, was the other car. Ankita would roll down her glasses and wave at us. And Rishi as usual was up to his antics of slowing down, letting us go and then whizzing past us at break-neck speed.

It was a beautiful morning. I had probably travelled more than a hundred times on that same road but every time seemed like the first.The trees lining the highway were turning sienna brown with fading streaks of green peeping through, swaying to the breeze.

As usual, on entering Shillong, we could see little girls, colourfully dressed in chequered skirts, a jacket slung over the shoulders, dainty strappy sandals, with their pink faces fresh as the morning dew. Even the wrinkled old woman selling kwai(Betel nut) at the corner of the road exudes a strange sort of mystic romanticism.

We reached Shillong at 11.30am and decided on a quick lunch at Police Bazar or Khyndailad as the Khasis call it, after which we spiralled up the steep road to Cherrapunji, around 58 kms from Shillong. I so hoped it would rain. The weather was just right and I was in the mood to write poems. “Stay here!” the green hills echoed.

We were already at 4500 feet at Cherrapunji. With a Guinness record of having the highest rainfall in the world, Cherrapunji was transformed to a literal valley of rivers and rivulets when in 1861, it was lashed with a stunning rainfall of 22, 987 mm of rainfall. The annual average rainfall of Cherrapunji today stands at 10,871 millimeters. Now, it’s Mysynram, barely 10 km from Cherrapunji with a record 12,163 mm of rainfall!

The heaviest showers come in May through September. The tin roofed houses dotting the hills and the dales are literally whipped by the heavy downpour, drumming to a harmonic crescendo. This definitely reminds me of my all time favourite singer, Norah Jones as she hums in her atypical voice,

“Come away with me……

In the night…”

We were tired when we reached Sa-ya-mika Park Resort and I hit the bed immediately.

It was 5am and a soft rap on the ventilator woke me up. It was a small bird with a long beak before I could see it, it was gone. Ankita was already up and sipping tea with the boys in the verandah, which overlooked a small swimming pool and a basketball court.

A spirited young lad, Knew was to be our guide that morning. He took us through the road, where atop a small hillock we saw the Ramkrishna Mission Higher Secondary School. We crossed a basti, Khlisnong and noticed monoliths. Knew  rambled out quite a story about the stones. “These are Syiemlihs or graves in memory of our ancestors. Since they were heavy, every time they were required to stand erect, a human or an animal was sacrificed.” Our jaws fell open!

Next stop, the Nokalikai Falls. Knew this time started narrating about the falls; the spine-chilling story of the husband who fed his wife her baby when she wanted to eat meat. She jumped to her death in the falls. The water that goes down the hills is actually her hair!

Sohra market was brimming with exotic fruits and vegetables. Ankita and I went searching for honey and chanced on P. Parameswaran Elayath, the man who makes the best honey in Sohra. Unfortunately, he had sold out everything!

The Mawsmai caves close by are a fascinating labyrinth of underground passages, beneath age-old hills-an absolute dream for amateur explorers. The sights inside were breathtaking!

Once the clouds disappear, one can see as far as Bangladesh. And at the same spot, we chanced upon the Seven Sister Falls. Ankita squealed as she called us to see the rainbow over the gushing waters of the falls.

The mist was slowly coming in and we decided to get to the Elephant Falls as soon as we could. I went there as a kid. The cascade of waters was simply breath-taking. Even better were some young brave-hearts; girls who walked bare-feet across the slippery stones of the falls. Kyan was dumb-struck and Rishi’s jaw fell open!

We all sang “Hotel California” while we sped up the gently undulating road towards the Laitkor Peak. Shillong looked romantic from where we stood at the railing with the fog just setting the mood for a picture perfect scene.

This time I was at the wheels. Ankit was half asleep. Okay! It’s now a race between me and the boys. And I sped off to the tune of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car”.

IT’S RAINING LOVE

All is not dead and gone in this world…. I mean the humane stuff. When you start thinking that, suddenly a bright spot appears in the sky and makes the day.
Two years back. A different kind of a workshop. People from all walks of life, yet diverse communities poured into the seminar hall. A murmur, though all in hushed tones. The lights came onto the proscenium where the lectern stood and the secretary made his imperative announcement. This marked the beginning of a six-day meeting, where we were to interact with persons representing different communities of Asom and learn about their customary laws, their forests, soil and what not. It was a meet on documentation of community-wise customary laws organized by the Indira Gandhi National Centre for Arts, Delhi in coordination with the Srimanta Shankardev Kalakshetra.
For the next six days, there was no question of torpor. Our pens literally flew over paper. We worked on a war footing, documenting and collecting invaluable data from these very important people, who were imbued with a sense of purpose; to impart with as much information as possible. The ease with which they talked with us made me wonder if at any point of time my approach towards other people was impudent. Someone was a pastor; smiling and talking gently, another gentleman was the head of his community; he blessed us profusely, a seventy-two year old village elder did what was told to him; he read from the manuscript in Tai and subsequently gave us its Assamese translation.
In the course of this highly interactive session, acquaintance with my team grew from just associates to friends.
If I say impression, then it would probably be belittling Parinita’s enormous impact on my stream of thoughts thereafter. Perhaps, I would have never talked with her had it not been for this IGNCA seminar ‘cause I had met her countless number of times at the Kalakshetra but hadn’t felt it necessary to even say hello. And I thought I was the friendliest person around town. Anyway, I always had the idea that she was just not my type. She had this look on her face, which I just couldn’t relate to. I was so wrong.
Parinita exudes calmness in the face of adversity and that’s what I saw during those six long days. As cool as a cucumber, you could say! Parinita wears her hair short, yet often she would tie a small pony tail and clip it tight. She had large closely set dark eyes and a not so sharp but smart nose and a pair of lips that ‘spake naught’ nonsense. She knew her work well and actually completed it to a point of maddening precision. My mother would have been a lot happier if I was like Parinita. But that is not to happen. I am sanguine about who I am.
My behavioural pattern took a complete u-turn after meeting Tanushree, the other lady working with us on the project. She probably had a world of problems up her not so slender sleeves but she, uncannily has the habit of smiling and thwarting all tribulations with a scoff. I have never really stopped learning from her and wished hard that I have the opportunity to work again on parallel grounds. She is one lady who goes all out to be of assistance to everyone in spite of the odds.
And then, who would believe that I was to lose my way in one of the many lanes of Guwahati. But I did. I was at a crossroad in Gandhibasti when I didn’t know which way to turn. There were cars on all sides, some doing the usual u-turn on the wrong side. I obviously looked hapless and helpless for an on looker. But I kept my calm. I steered my car to the side of the road and tried hard to look for a person who could give me directions to the main road because everyone was just whizzing past. Suddenly, in this conundrum, an all-familiar sound made me turn around. It was a uniformed middle-aged person on a cycle, peddling and ringing his bell to get past my car parked in a tricky corner of the already overcrowded rundown lane.
“Excuse me, dada…. Olop Xunibone?” The man stopped a little ahead of my car and got off his cycle. He walked back and in the dim lights of the lane, I could barely see the red embroidered initials over the flap of his left pocket, which became visible only when he stopped near my door. “DTDC”. There were around four brown packets strung to the carrier of his slightly tarnished cycle. Jaded though he seemed, probably with the days work, concern was writ large over his face when he asked me, “Baidew, kiba Xudhisile?”
I couldn’t hide my embarrassment while confessing that I had actually lost my way. Without any hesitation, he glided onto his cycle seat and asked me to follow him. I was wondering if he thought I was mad. He peddled as fast as he could, looking back over his shoulder once at every turn to see if I was following him. At a familiar crossing, he told me to go straight to reach the main road, before vanishing into a dark tiny lane, his bell ringing incessantly to get the alley dogs out of the way. That evening, Pulok Kalita was my knight in shining armour.
Well, talk about being nice and this one took the trophy. It was one of those days in June when it was pouring cats, dogs and hogs. People were running helter-skelter to get to a safer destination. Oblivious about the fact of how the city looked like after two and a half hours of the summer downpour, my eleven-month-old baby and I started out from my mother’s when I realized that we were in for a stall. All the cars had slowed down to a halt, which I was sure, was not going to budge for a few hours. My panic got the better of me with my baby crying for his 7 o’ clock meal. I drove into the NRL Petrol pump on Zoo Road and that is when, to my horror, it dawned on me that though I had got his formula, I had forgotten the flask of boiled water. I picked up my baby, walked up to this grave looking gentleman sitting on a chair just outside the Quick Shoppe and asked him, “Dada, olop boiled pani paam niki?” (Dada, can I get some boiled water?) His serious countenance changed and his lips cracked into a friendly smile. “So, you want it for the baby?” He asked me in Assamese. I nodded earnestly, concern writ large on my face. He walked us to an office room and tried to make us as comfortable in all possible ways, while he asked one of his boys to get the water. Soon, after baby was fed, I thanked the gentleman and that is when he introduced himself as Robin Barua, the owner of the station. While driving back home after an hour, I thanked God I had met this gentleman on that fateful night. I wonder where I would have found boiled water on a road, which had transformed in to a swirling river. A true angel in disguise.
And then there is Raja, who appeared out of nowhere when my car broke down in front of my radio station on G S Road and that too at an unearthly hour of the night and got my car fixed. And how can I forget the auto drivers in Lakhtokia who revved up my car when it refused to budge an inch. And Zakir, the taxi driver in Itanagar, who took me all around town and called it a day only after he had safely packed me in the Guwahati bound Volvo bus. And lest I forget, Ritu, my friend from the Gauhati Stock Exchange, who stood by me and vouched that the discontentment expressed by the Assistant Director was totally unjustified, knowing perfectly well that he could lose his job in the process. Thank God for these people, I am where I am, contented, happy and more importantly humane.

A SOJOURN

“………Mahabahu Brahmaputra,
Mahamilanar tirtha,
Kato joog dhori ahise prokakhi
Homonnoyor ortho………Mahabahu………”(Dr. Bhupen Hazarika)


Awe wouldn’t be the right word if I tried to describe my passion when I behold the mighty river, meandering lazily in some places and eddying fast in some, past the bustling colourful city of Guwahati, as if it hardly cared for what was happening around its banks. More often than naught, I would suck in my breath involuntarily whenever I spied the red river in the evening sun. Even while driving, I would make sure to slow down near the banks, more so to salute the magnanimity of the overflowing river. People often chide me saying that I sound like a lover pining in unrequited love whenever I talk of the river. But only I can feel the intensity of my thirst for the Borluit, a name more apt and meaningful than any other in the Universe.
So, when we received an invitation to spend a night on the river, I almost jumped overboard. It would be an experience of a lifetime, I thought, and no place at that moment sounded more exotic than a ‘cruise’ in the bosom of the river I loved so much – the Brahmaputra.
It was the beginning of June and the fiery sun scorched everything (and everyone!) in its stead. The air was dry and acrid, withering leaves and flowers, the roads were dusty and almost empty. Stray dogs, panting, tried to lap up drops of warm water from the half leaking municipal taps. Though people wanted to escape from the heat, the traffic snarl wouldn’t let them, every car edging forward only an inch at a time. Everyone thirsted for a good summer downpour. But alas, that was not to happen. In spite of all the odds, I was not one to be discouraged easily, my spirits soaring, anticipating the excitement of sleeping in the bunks with the river gently lapping the sides of the ship.
We packed small overnight bags, not forgetting to put in an extra change lest we all decided to take a plunge in the river. I of course for one, do not have the faintest idea of swimming. The least I can do is wiggle my toes slowly into the soft sand on the banks and let the water lap up only to my ankles. Even then, the whole idea of spending most of the afternoon and also the night on the river reminded me of the exciting adventures of “The Famous Five”, by Enid Blyton. It was at that very moment that I missed my friends back in school!
Our friend, Arun Da, was another gentleman who was in high spirits, making sure we reached the Pandu Port sharp at 4 p.m. Royally would probably be the right word to describe the way the crew members escorted us right from the bank of the river to board the huge cargo ship, Rajagopalachari. As Arun Da took us around the ship, I was tripping at almost all the doorsteps, with my eyes popping at the sight of the latest gadgets and equipments inside it. I felt fortunate to have made it for the river cruise.
After a brief round of introductions, the Master or the ‘Captain’ of Rajagopalachari asked if I would like to take over the wheel of the ship. I was only too eager and soon I was steering the vessel full speed up stream. I felt totally in control, grinning at everyone around as they applauded my endeavour – only the Captain’s cap was missing! The only thing I had to be careful was about the high-tension wires across the river. I was helped while maneuvering the boat to the right and avoiding the tall masts getting tangled in the high tension wires.
As soon as we approached Umananda, I felt the ship pulling and tugging because of the strong current near the island. It was getting a lot rockier than before, with more whirlpools closer to the island than in the middle of the Luit. I decided to hand over the wheels to the master. We all felt that we needed a cup of coffee and a bite. And lo, before we had even reached the deck and made ourselves comfortable on the chairs, steaming cups of coffee and my favourite chocolate cream biscuits were served. This is magic, I thought!
The sky turned a pale gray-blue and tufts of sullen looking clouds slowly appeared in the darkening western sky. We decided to turn around from Umananda, as the propeller of the boat was giving trouble due to the sharp and strong river current. On the way back, I peered through the binoculars and looked at the banks. What beauty, I spoke out loud. We needn’t go to some place else for sightseeing. God has bestowed everything to us in a single palate. But I am sure we were blind not to have seen all this all along. I was ashamed of myself. Northeast has such breathtaking landscapes but this is the only region in the entire map of India, which gets the least importance when it comes to development of tourism.
We talked about how the banks and the entire river could be used for developing tourism; also how this is the only viable sector, which can help, uplift the dwindling state exchequer. But we were sure that everyone is blind not to see the treasure trove.
As the sun slowly set behind the Saraighat Bridge, we all looked on, mesmerized by the beauty of the Luit glowing gold and red, reminding us of a passionate, yet shy newly wed bride. At that very moment, I wished that time would stand still and we could be held prisoners forever.
As dusk slowly set over the red river, we were told to shift to another smaller vessel – Subhansiri. As we bade the crew of Rajagopalachari ‘goodbye’, we held our breath as the majestic boat steadily steered towards the Pandu Port and as quickly, disappeared into the fading orange-grey horizon.
Once again, there was a round of introductions of the crewmembers of Subhansiri. This time, we were treated to some fresh juice and fruits.
What a difference, I thought. The river looked so much calmer at that moment, as if anticipating a night full of dreams. A light breeze blew over our faces, a welcome after the day’s heat. Our boat carefully docked at an island, small in size yet spacious enough for all of us to explore around. In the fading lights, we could see the white sands stretching right up to the looming hills, now turning dark in the shadows.
We were at the foothills of the Kamakhya Temple, Arun Da told us. I was over excitement. Even before he proposed we go trekking the next morning, I voiced his thoughts. If we walked up the path, we would reach the temple. What an adventure, I thought to myself. I almost started to think I was Nancy Drew. Wow, this was an experience of a lifetime!
As the moon slowly rose in the horizon and the stars appeared one by one, the lights of the Guwahati city too sparkled like the diamonds in a necklace, in the distance. Arun Da decided we had to have the traditional bonfire, to get the feel of the ‘cruise’. So we had one. Imagine, in that stifling June summer, we had a happy fire crackling to the rhythm of the Luit’s water, while we sat around in our red moulded chairs and sipped on our ‘fizzies’. Someone told us that we shouldn’t venture out too far across the island, as a leopard was on the prowl. Though the thought did send shivers up our spines, yet we preferred to laugh it off by saying that we probably would offer the leopard some of the tasty dinner from the chef’s kitchen. What if he decides to eat one of us, we laughed!
It was 9.30p.m and ‘Apa’, our man Friday, after considerable coaxing for the umpteenth time by the chef, Jiten, politely asked if we could be served dinner. The last time around, we were more than eager to oblige. We had an early start the next morning and plus the crew on board needed their rest after a hot, grueling day. We left the dying embers and made our way back to Subhansiri. We walked down the steep ladder, to the quaintly set-up dining room below the masters wheel cabin.
Dinner was sumptuous, with delicately spiced prawns, a steaming ‘dal’ fry, mixed vegetables, salad and piping hot ‘chappattis’. Just the meal for a hungry bunch of adventurers, like us. Dinner over, I decided to take a walk on the deck. It was refreshing!
It was a warm night but we had to make do without a fan or an air-conditioner, as the generators of the boat had to be switched off. Anyway, we were so tired that we fell asleep the minute we hit the bed.
Next morning, I woke up first. I peeped through the porthole to catch a glimpse of the first rays of the sun glistening on the surface of the placid waters. Everything was so calm. It was a pleasant welcome to hear the sound of the Brahmaputra lapping the sides of the boat. In the distance, a bunch of colourful wild ducks flew past, flapping their wings as if to acknowledge my presence. This is paradise, I thought to myself.
We quickly changed into our tracks and sneakers, gulped a cup of tea, with a dash of lemon; we skirted a small distance to reach the foot of the small hillock going up to the Kamakhya Temple. It was a strenuous walk up, made more so because of the gradually rising mid-summer temperature. But what a walk! As we tread the small briar surrounded path, which had unevenly cut out steps, we saw all kinds of birds amidst the tall trees and shrubs, from wagtails, woodpeckers, colourful kingfishers to bushy-tailed squirrels and impish looking monkeys. Halfway through, I also caught the whiff of a canine. Maybe it’s the one from last night, I was starting to think. Beetles, ladybirds and insects of the widest variety were everywhere. We stopped now and then to observe and understand what Arun Da had to show us. Medicinal plants were abundant in that area, he told us. Really, the man has tremendous knowledge about almost anything!
Most of the time, I looked through the binoculars and was awestruck at the beauty of the surroundings. Greenery all around, with the gently flowing Bor Luit, spreading out like the wings of a giant bird, trying to protect all in its stead. We climbed onto a small rock, big enough to have ten people standing on it, and looked around at the amazing bounty of nature. Which other place can boast of such a beautiful natural ambience in the heart of the city? There will be, I am sure, but not as beautiful as the one we have in our very own Asom.
A little ahead was a temple dedicated to Shiva. The priests had got down to work really early, painstakingly arranging small wild white and yellow flowers on a stone semblance of the deity. A few other priests chanted incantations of the Supreme, while a young boy, clad in a saffron dhoti cleaned up the courtyard with a half-broken bamboo broom. We bowed our heads for a few seconds and then again made our way up. This time, surprisingly, we walked up some roughly constructed cement steps. Probably, some worshippers do come down to this temple to offer prayers, we thought.
After walking for a few more minutes, I was really tired. The steps got steeper and in spite of it being only 6.30 in the morning, the sun simply scorched our skin through our clothes. I told the others to go ahead, while I sat on the steps and waited for their return. Nothing doing, they said. They didn’t want to go back and report that the leopard had eaten me! That made me jump and start once again on my journey up the hill!
Finally, we reached a point, where there was another temple. This temple looked ancient. The best part of it was a pond, surrounded by walls and steps leading down to the water. Though the water was green with algae, yet it had a mysterious and eerie look about it that really kept me spellbound for sometime. It was so cool and quiet in the shades of the huge trees that I simply wanted to lie down on the cool steps and take a nap.
Sadly, that was not to happen. Everyone vouched we go back early, as they had some chore or the other. This time, we quickly walked down, as we already knew the road back.
We arrived at the boat a little exhausted but a lot happier and wiser for having taken the trek up the foothills of the Kamakhya. If we hadn’t, we probably would have never known there existed such an enchanting place right in the middle of the city.
That day, after breakfast, when we went home to the city, I decided to tell others about this exciting adventure. I was sure everyone would love to be in my place. But more than anything else, I feel that some versatile lover of nature should join hands with some organization to transform this beautiful area into a tourists’ paradise. There will be others to follow. After that, what else does the state exchequer need! And the Brahmaputra has always been a giver. It only needs the takers!

DEAR LOVE

I have always loved you since the time I came to my senses. You are so beautiful that you colour my life like the many hues of the rainbow. I have loved your earthy smell. I have always wanted to dance while you watched my every move. And believe me, I did. Hope you noticed it. Remember, that day, when someone appreciated you, I danced in glee. I was so elated.
Do you know to what extent I love you? If you haven’t, then you will eventually. One day, I will whisper it in your ears. But let me tell you today. I love you to the extent of madness. It drives me insane if anyone was to speak ill of you. I almost killed one person one day. You know why? He was saying that you are not good enough; you do not have the capability to go ahead, develop and what not. Thank God I didn’t murder him for his words but then again, I wouldn’t mind being behind bars for you. I wouldn’t love you any less if you didn’t have anything to give me. I would continue to love you till death do us part.
You have this strange mesmerizing look that anyone would die for. Over the years, you have cared for me so much that I am thoroughly obliged to you. I know that you would probably say that what is it that you have given me. But then, I keep questioning myself; what have I given you. Nothing! Nothing compared to your dedicated love to me.
You have so many people who love you so much. Some don’t even want to leave your side. You can count me as one of them. I have never ever had the desire or the inclination to part from you though it is very important for you to know that people have tried to separate us in the past. Not now, no way, they cannot. No one and take that as a statement from me. No one can take the place that you have in my heart. Like I told you before, I love you to the point of insanity or lunacy or call it what you may.
Over the years, some people have helped you to grow but many have taken away what you cherished most; your happiness. You have held fort, bravely facing all adversities that have come your way. I have a lot to learn from you.
There are some who ask me what is it that you have that I die for and what I see in you. I have told them and will say it again and again. I see the world in you. I Love You ASSAM.

IT' S A BEAUTIFUL LIFE

Crazy is probably the word I would say to describe me. But then there is a certain sense of calmness in this craziness. I have been immensely mad since time immemorial and this phase is yet another madness in time. But how can I forget that this madness only brings me to yet another phase in which I really cannot recognise myself. Incognito! I wish I could understand this plain and simple madness but it is somehow beyond my comprehension… beyond my understanding…! Help me..! but who is going to do the honours now of pulling me out of this quagmire? Only I know…but how I know not. It is like a huge pit where the huge deep river flows like no tomorrow. Like a mirage on the river.. river??? What the heck? Don’t I know that there can be no mirage on the river. But who said that in the first place? Come on out here. There’s going to be a duel now. A mirage on the river or the desert. Alright, no takers for this. I win hands down….thankyou….thankyou…all…yes..yes.. Mom, Dad wish you were here…..thank you God. It’s a pleasure that you are not here for once! You have always deserted me at a time when I needed you the most. Wow! So much for God. Yes..my baby told me about destiny….that he believes in it…Destiny! What the heck is that? I wish I knew that well. For now I think I will just believe in myself and cut the crap and just get on with it. Hello.. anyone listening to this in the first place? I am and I have a little blue bird observing me in my madness…hey, Birdie. Come here and sit with me. What do you want to have? Some wine, champagne or just plain water. Okay. Don’t get irate now and stop calling me names or I will just whack your head off. My goodness. Have I become a killer or something? Looks like I have. When ‘whacking’ and ‘killing’ are words to die for, then I too can turn into a cold blooded murderer. Yes and walk in the stealth of night and kill them. I wish I could just pounce on them and scare them to death. That would be fun! Talking of fun…I wanted to ask you. What is fun? Is it running naked on the beach, climbing up the walls of the Utopia range with scorpions following closely or closer to home, just walking head over heels on the roof top while the fire brigade guys come to save you. Ouch! That hurts! But where is the pain…aha! That’s another question I wanted to ask you. What the heck is pain? There are bunches of knots inside me when I get all warped up like a witch. But what about your pain and mine? You have an answer. I don’t. I wish you would tell me. I know you will cause you love me. Hmmm…Love is another thing I have a lot of questions about. But it’s alright I guess, not to get love and to have any knowledge of it. Arey Wah! I sound very crazy saying all this but I have already told you that I am mad. So there goes my sanity down the potty. I have flushed it where no one can find it. Hurray!