A parallel everywhere

A mail was waiting in my inbox this morning that announced that Sonia Gandhi had distributed appointment letters to 14 persons at Lalganj in Rae Bareli yesterday while inaugurating a railway coach building factory there. These were the people who sold their land to the Indian Railways for setting up the coach building factory; now they are employed in the factory. That reminded me of the ironic story of Surya Bahadur Subba of Lataguri in Garumara National Park.

It was a leisurely drive from the Coronation Bridge at Sevoke to Chalsa on an excellent stretch of the National Highway No. 31 and then through the dense forest of Garumara to Lataguri on a lonely road in that October evening. As I was trying to negotiate my Scorpio at the rather narrow gate of the resort at Lataguri, Subba came to my assistance helping me to reverse my vehicle. He was in his seventies with lines of deep creases on his face, perhaps more pronounced that evening by the golden light from the setting sun. Subba was the night chowkidar at the resort.

Once I parked my vehicle and my wife and son retired to their room, I sat down to have a chat with Subba. It was just evening and there was at least two hours before Subba would take his post. The resort was almost in the middle of a tea garden and one can smell the fresh tea leaves from the windows of the rooms.
Everywhere I go, I make it a point to try and taste the local brew and visit some home of local inhabitants. There is no philosophy behind this, it's just that I find these to be the easiest way of getting a feel of the place and so far this have invariably proved to be helpful.

So, there I was, talking to Subba in an attempt to find out where would  the poison be available. It took me a bit of explaining before Subba's face light up - "ohh! Roxy you want?" Apparently, the name for the local variety of the drink made from jaggery was Roxy. Subba said it would be available in the coolie line in the tea garden but nobody would sell it to me. So, I requested him to accompany me and he agreed. It was about one-and-a-half or so kilometer inside the tea garden where the coolie line was situated and we decided to take my vehicle instead of walking. Roxy was available and waiting to entertain me for rupees twenty a bottle. I wanted to take two - one for me and the other for Subba - but he refused saying he would have to start his night shift soon.

As I was gulping away Roxy on our way back Subba opened up. He was a native of Gangtok, Sikkim. During the Indo-China war in 1962, at the age of seventeen he came to Dooars to work with the Indian Army as a coolie. The War ended but Subba decided to stay back marrying the daughter of a tea garden labourer. For almost three decades after the war, Subba build up his home and a fortune doing odd jobs and supplying materials to the Indian Army who have a strong presence in the area. He bought about five acres of land and brought up two sons and a daughter. The daughter is married off and the wife died a few years ago. Subbas fortune dwindled during the last one decade as age caught  up with him and he lost the physical ability to work. The two sons proved to be more of liabilities than assets, could not do well for themselves and now stays with him; one working at the resort as a helper.

He used to cultivate rice and some cash crops in the five acres of land till the end of the last century or till his body had that capability. The two sons lacking interest in agriculture had decided to try their hands in some odd business only to lose money. In the meantime the sons got married and the five acres of land could no longer support the family which had grown to seven by then. With the rediscovery of Dooars and Gorumara as tourist destinations, resorts started to sprang up in the region creating demand for land. It was then that Subba decided to sell major part of his land to a businessman from Maynaguri who wanted to set up a resort.

The more or less monologue of Subba was disturbed as we reached the resort and he had to get down to help me reverse my vehicle. By this time Roxy had taken over me completely and I was feeling euphoric. Before saying goodnight to Subba I wanted to know where does he live. He pointed to the small thatched house next to the resort. The resort I was staying actually stands on the plot of land that Subba had sold to the businessman from Mayanguri! I think all the Roxy in the world could not have prevented my euphoria from vanishing in realisation that the man had been relegated to a night chowkidar of the resort that sprung up on the land he once owned.

The story in Rae Bareli sound familiar. You can always find a parallel everywhere!

The Wonderful Hues of Sunset

Artists say, that the most vibrant and most diverse hues in nature are seen in the sky and on objects reflecting sunlight only at the sunset. These hues are the most difficult to capture - whether on canvas or with camera. For centuries, it has remained a challenge for artists - painters and photographers - to capture the enormous beauty of the most amazing colours of sun's ray refracting through the stratosphere. Invariably, what you get is a poor replica of what you see. The real scene often eludes you.

Thus, it is almost impossible to show others what you have seen at the sunset. It is always you, and only you, who can see it the way you see it. Is it so then, that the sunset is only yours? In a way, yes. You alone can fathom the unearthly beauty of a gorgeous sunset, see it with your eyes and store it in your mind. So, take time out to see the sunset someday. Otherwise, you will miss something which actually is only for you.

Every man is an island

How does one describe happiness? What makes us feel happy? Can the same thing that makes me happy make you happy too? Does it need efforts to be happy? Is it difficult to be happy?

I was watching a World Cup match at home a few weeks ago. Interestingly, unlike many other women my wife has interest in football. It was an exhilarating and enjoyable match…extremely thrilling football. I wanted my wife to be a company in watching the match. I did tell her to come and watch the match. But, she had other works…other priority. So, it was me alone watching the match. I could have told her how badly I wanted her company, but decided against it.

You must be wondering about my logic! Well, she is another individual. If she has other priorities, it is my responsibility to respect it. It’s not only my want that is important, her desire is equally important too. I know, when she reads this she would say I should have told her. Women are like that. They want to be conquered, vanquished; they want to be told. You will have to tell her that you love her. May be you express it every moment hundred other way, yet she needs spoken confirmation. Nevertheless, I felt happy watching the game. I would have been happier had she given me company. You see, it is not difficult to be happy.

Did you ever felt like me? Did you have ever experienced the frustration when the only desire you have is to talk your heart out, but the person you want to talk to is too busy with other issues. At some point of time every man is an island…. surrounded by a sea of people. But, gradually one learns to enjoy life alone, with himself. The actual problem starts then when all you need to be happy is yourself.

Law of attraction

"I recently read that love is entirely a matter of chemistry. That must be why my wife treats me like toxic waste." - David Bissonette

One facet of human society on which a lot have been written and spoken is the intense physical and romantic attraction between two persons. I do not want to be drawn into a controversy by qualifying whether between different sex or in the same. The attraction to each other among human being is often being romanticized by expressions like “The infallible chemistry between the two” and “One being fatally drawn to the other” etc.

That chemistry is indeed on play in the game of attraction become known to me only the other day. Apparently, when some chemicals called phenyle-ethylamines are released into our brain, the romantic love blooms. The affect of these chemicals are similar to those mind-expanding drugs which are so addictive. That’s why romantic love is often equated to an addiction. However, the romantic love always dies down as the amount of phenyle-ethylamines released to the brain goes down with age. Apparently, as people grow older this love is replaced by intimate love or nurturing love that blooms over years of proximity, caring and tolerance(?).

Linda Blair, a clinical psychologist, wrote in The Gurdian "I suspect most people would describe being in love as feeling strongly attracted to someone else, as considering another person to be overwhelmingly desirable". She goes on to say that what many of us confuse as love is actually lust driven by some other chemicals called pheromones. Huh! chemistry again.

"When we are madly attracted to someone else, it is because we sense that they would make excelent genetic match, someone who would allow us to produce the strongest and healthiest offspring. Lust is all about the survival of our DNA". What a concocted view of a clinical psychologist!

I think chemicals have their roles to play. But the dominating factor in the game of attracation is not entirely chemistry alone. It is the stimulus that forces the brain to release these chemicals that are more important than the chemicals themselves. I am sure the sunset over river Brahmaputra releases no phenyle-ethylamines, but it might stimulates my brain to release them. I feel ecstacy simply looking at rain. I feel elated watching a good movie and look around for my partner hoping that the movie would have been more enjoyable with my partner by my side. Possibly Linda could explain these in terms of lust and chemicals.

I find human brain more complex to be explained entirely in terms of chemistry!

Chasing a dream

For the last few months, may be quite a few months, I am doing some impossibly passionate, over-enthusiastic and extremely crazy things; things that I would not have done otherwise; not even had thought of doing all my life. But, I am doing them now; why I do not know. Most of the time, I am not even aware of the aberrations, only to realize them later when I get a chance to brood over.

People who know me will vouch for it that I had never been the impulsive type. I have always taken lot of pain to keep remembering that the head rests above the heart. On several occasions the heart wanted to leap above the head traveling apparently through the throat. Writers describe these moments as the heart jumping into the throat. Instances when you get butterflies in the stomach. However, every time such a moment came, till a few months ago, the head eventually ruled.

So, off and on, it occurred to me that it was probably the mid-life crisis that has caught up with me. You know, a feeling like –“Essentials are taken care of, now what?” So, when I noticed a piece on mid-life crisis by Seema Goswami in the Hindustan Times Brunch a few weeks ago, it grabbed my immediate attention. It took me not even ten minutes to finish up the piece reading and I found it interesting.

Seema has a theory on mid-life crisis. She wrote, “it is no so much panic engendered by the thought of what you haven’t achieved (and are unlikely to) halfway through your life. It’s actually angst, kicked off by envy about all that your peers have managed to accomplish in the same period.” She says, midlife crisis is not about how you failed to live the dream you had when you were young, “its about how that joker from the back of the class seems to be living it on your behalf.” Seema’s theory says that the mid-life crisis is triggered by the single vice called envy. Nice generalization, but a generalization only, that is.

It is hard to believe there can be a theory on mid-life crisis, because in its profound prevalence and multitude of manifestation it defies the boundary of a theory. In fact, it cannot be even defined or classified. The awareness of our life begins by nurturing a dream. Some ultimately realizes that dream only to pick up another dream, and a majority of us nurtures the dream throughout our lives, never ever realizing it or not even coming closer to realizing it. The essential elements of these entire dreams are three – money, fame and power. I agree with Seema on that.

You wanted to be famous writer, a famous sports person, a famous somebody. That would have given you money, power and everything else you need. By midlife you realize, the dream slipping away. You suddenly realize you have not done anything worthwhile, noteworthy and you do not have much time left. It is already late to start again. Now you try to achieve an absurd goal, try to score. In your haste you start behaving like another human being. The only thought that preoccupies you is - What to now?

Nothing! The way your life will go on till the end has pretty much being decided already. You have already put a social value system in place, entangled sufficiently with your environment, have already chosen a philosophy of life and not much of these are going to change – may be a little modification will be there, but not drastic change. Yes, you can still have the dream. In fact, you can take up another. And live the rest of your life nurturing it. Who knows, one day you may realize it.

Turning 44

I had my frequently-used and the more well-known cellphone (read official) shut down on my 44th birthday. Partly because I was on a holiday with my family and I did not wanted to be disturbed by official works; and partly because I suddenly did not know how to respond to people wishing me "Happy Birthday". My other cellphone (the older one) was, however, on.
The first reward for keeping it on came in the form of a a birthday wish from a 30+ spinster. Pleasant one! She has been a regular at wishing for past several years except probably one or two recent years when she was too preoccupied with family problems. The next one was, as always, a very old friend from my hometown. The next one was from my brother and the last one was from a recent friend. By midday I was tempted enough to put my first cell on hoping for more wishes. Immediately the phone rang; it was someone from my office asking advice on some official matter. I put the phone off the next moment. The day went on without any further wishes.
Growing older is a tricky business. Turning 44 is even trickier. The body sends in signals that the decay has set in, but the mind refuses to leave the wicket. My spinster friend (actually she is friend of my wife) says 44 year old male are the ones best avoided by women in the office. They are considered dangerous; experienced but bored by monotony and are looking for opportunities and excitements. My brother says, 44 is when the obvious question pops up - Family, house, car secured; what's next? Another journalist friend (female of course) says, turning 44 is like approaching a target, a destination - the anxiety of almost reaching it makes one nervous, the way one gets jittery while approaching a landmark, like a half-century.
It seemed the world has not much of a good opinion about 44 year olds. Does everyone thinks the same way as my brother and the friend? Does they would think the same way about a 50 year old? Well, how will it feel to be 50? Or for that matter, 60? May be 70? I did not bother much to think how did it feel to turn 44. In fact, I could not. I was more occupied with the thought how my father was feeling that day. He has turned 76 on the day because we were born on the same date 32 years apart! I wanted to ask him how does it feel but did not. I was sure he was not thinking about himself. He was looking at me and wondering how the days had gone by; the way I was looking at my five-year-old son and thinking how the days went by.

Falling in love again

The subject line of the message in the inbox released a surge of hormones in his bloodstream. The mail read, "Anonymous has left a new comment on your post". He was now trembling and breathing very fast. He hurriedly opened his blog while his hands were shaking. The comment from the anonymous reader was only two words - Love it.
Well, people do read my blog, he thought. But, who is this anonymous reader? Is it a He or a She?
Office was mundane, but he was happy. Nothing could interest him, though he was excited. His colleagues found him absorbed in his own thoughts and totally de-linked from his surroundings. He faltered many a time during the day, yet he was whistling.
Only a few days ago, he was telling his friends about the mid-life crisis, he was going through. An empty feeling inside; feeling unwanted, worthless; a life gone waste. He was depressed.
Today was different. He was imagining and creating the shape of his his reader – the anonymous one. Is she twenty-something or thirty-something? He was quite sure by now that it was a ‘she’. Or else why the comment would be so short, almost cryptic?
He was wondering if he would know her identity ever. May be she would post more comments in his blog in the coming days. May be she would reveal her identity one day. May be they would start corresponding directly through e-mail.
May be she is lonely, alone, single. And who knows she may start liking his posts so much that she would find it difficult not to read his blog even for one day. And then she may start missing him. How would she look - beautiful, average or sexy?
The long and exciting day wound its way finally to bedtime. He was collecting his thoughts lying flat on his back because he was too excited to go to sleep. He needs to calm down, relax and then try to go to sleep. It struck him suddenly like a bolt from blue.
His wife was besides him when he first opened the mail in the morning. In his excitement he had totally forgot her first reaction. She had asked naively, as if she was surprised, "Is it so that always a comment left in your blog is notified in your mail?" Why did she ask? Why was she surprised?
And then as sun slowly fills up earth with its light at the dawn, removing unknown darkness, making everything clearly visible, it became clear to him in an instant. She has been married to the man she loves for the last ten years and she knew him perfectly well to understand how happy would he be to know that people read his blog and like it. So, she left the anonymous comment on the blog and thought he would not realize it.
The racing bloods in his veins reacted to this dawn quite predictably and he became calm and sober now. However, he will not be able to sleep tonight. As a completely different set of hormones were released to his bloodstream, he realized he has fallen in love again - with the same woman with whom he had fallen in love sixteen years ago - his wife.

A child

Everyone seems to be here with a purpose; apparently least bothered about the other person in front of him yet subtly watching his surroundings. The eyes of the magnitude of people betray the anxiety and apprehensions, yet gleaming with hope. Hope of making it to their destinations, taking that trip and getting near to the people or place they long for or may be simply accomplishing something they planned for.

The old man was sitting silently looking thorough the compartment window at the busy platform teeming with people. A young man of twenty-something was sitting opposite him bursting with childish excitement. He was also looking through the window, his eyes jumping over each of the faces on the platform as if to find out someone he knows. He was hardly looking at me. Even when he glanced at me there was a faint smile on his face but the look was vague. He looked right through me as if I do not exist.

He seems to be breathing in everything through his eyes – be it the tea vendor on the extreme corner of the platform or the wheeler stall owner near the window selling magazines and newspapers. He was not reading anything, nor did he appear to be interested in buying anything. But anyone watching him can feel that he was curious and immensely excited.

As the train rolled out of the station, the young man settled down to look at the scene outside rolling behind. Against all safety precautions, he was now stretching his hands out of the window trying to grab the air brushing against his palm. Suddenly he burst out in excitement and shouted, "Papa, see all trees are going behind". The old man said nothing but was smiling - the kind of smile you find on the face of an indulgent father.

Once we were outside the periphery of the station and the train has picked up enough speed to reduce the passing scenery in to a huge cinema screen, the old man turned towards me and gave a weary smile. I nodded in acknowledgment and tried to strike up a conversation.

He was going home with his son after staying in the city for more than one month. Our initial conversation was interrupted by the young man. “Papa look at the thing there, is that a cow?” I was surprised. It was also the first hint for me that not everything was alright. The young man was behaving too young for his age.

It was also very awkward for me. The young man was constantly shooting questions at his father, oblivious of my presence or the others in the compartment. And the questions were too fundamental to be asked by a grown up young man. While I felt an immense urge to ask the father whether his son was alright or not, I was totally at loss to formulate my question. I have already started to sympathize with the old man. The young man was behaving like a child. The mental growth of the son has clearly not been commensurate with his age. Was it in-borne or the result of some accident later?

The old man was, however, perfectly at ease. He was constantly smiling and answering questions with such fondness as if it was his six-year-old son asking him why the moon can not be plucked. How much psychological burden a grown up son with the mind of a child could be for a man nearing retirement? And what about the mother? Does the old man have any other child? Are they normal?

“Papa, I can see the clouds, they are black.” I was jolted out of my brood by sudden exclamation of the young man. As if on a cue, it started raining. He was looking at the raindrops lashing his hand with the eyes of someone who has seen raindrops for the first time. “Papa, will I be able to see the moon tonight?” the lovely young man asked his father. The father did not reply, he simply nodded in affirmative. The boy did not wait for his father to say anything either. He was too engrossed with the sight outside.

Curiosity got better of me finally and I took the chance to ask the question long being formulated by me to the old man in a hushed up tone so that the boy do not hear anything. “It is sad, I mean, to see your son. Such a lovely boy he is. Did you consult any doctor?” I asked the man.

The man turned towards me with the same content smile on his face and then replied, “Yes, we did. That’s why he is seeing the world through his own eyes for the first time.”


(This is a story developed from a brief e-mail sent by my friend Ajay Solanki from Mumbai; origin not known)

Indeed! Puja is here.

It rained last night; not a heavy one though. I could here the raindrops hitting the concrete outside our bedroom as I drifted towards sleep. I woke up to a gloomy overcast early morning and realized the air has indeed become crisp. The next immediate thought was to check the Sewali tree that has grown up from a small sapling to be a six feet tall one. No, there was no sign of any flower on it. I think it will not flower this year. But, in any case, Puja is here for sure.

The Passion of Puja

As you gradually come into terms with the grueling hot and humid Indian Monsoon enduring it for more than four months, do you realize suddenly one day that the continuing rains have stopped, the night-sky has become clear, the air has become crisp laced with the smell of Sewali flower, the mornings have become cooler and you can spot little drops of dew on the grass, and above all you are somehow feeling happy? If you do, then you have perfectly sensed the advent of Durga Puja.

For Indians as a whole and for the people in the eastern part of this country in general Durga Puja has crossed all boundaries of religion, cast creed and language. It does not matter any more whether one is a Bengali Hindu worshipping Sakti or an Assamese son of soil more accustomed with worshipping traditional deities, because Durga Puja is not only associated with the ritualistic practices of worshipping of Godess Durga, but is much more associated with the fervor, the fun, the bonhomie, shopping, eating delicacies like jeelebis and much more. It is much of a huge social gathering bound by enthusiasm of festivities and the passion for welcoming the soothing Autumn.

Everything about Durga Puja is passion. Most of us raveling in the zest of Puja hardly ever have any idea about the deep philosophical thought associated with religion and its practices. However, it is the activities related to the Puja like huge decorated Pandals, learge number of people thronging the Puja Pandals and the overall festive atmosphere that draws us to this unique event. The change of season also plays a very influential role in bringing peace and happiness in the mind of the people which is much more pronounced among the children.

Like many among us, we grew up in small town in western Assam during the eighties among a crowd of lazy, crazy, and at times incredibly obsessive Bengali people. For us then, Durga Puja was like a World Cup matches between Argentina and Brazil or like the final between Mohan Bagan and East Bengal; cannot miss it at any cost. We used to prepare for it, gear up properly like dedicated fans with elaborate plans for each day of the Puja. Everyone used to try very hard to come up with the best plan – be it on the donation collection, Pandal decoration, lighting, eating out, shopping and above all the cultural programme. Later, we noticed that the gusto linked to Durga Puja is not less in any other parts of the northeastern region, be it Places like Shillong or Jorhat.

The character of the Puja has remained almost same all these years. For an average eastern Indian and thousands of people of this region settled in other places across the glob, the first individual priority during Puja is new cloths for each and every one in the family. Some of them even buy specific cloths for each of the five days of the Puja. It does hardly matter whether the cost of the cloths justifies the quality. It simply has to be new. The women in the family were much more engrossed and occupied with what to buy or what to wear. Come Puja and everyone try to spend according his means and the market is flooded with varieties – both in terms of styles and prices. Bellbottoms were the craze when we were in the schools. Next year, broad flower patterns dominated the styles of cloths that we vied for. Next year was another style, and more new ones followed. But it has to be new craze every year. I am sure, this year also the marketers will come up with new styles and develop new craze.

The preparation ranges from what to wear to what to eat. Small stalls selling jeelebis, different kinds of sweets sprung up everywhere. It is impossible to think of going without an evening among the family with hot sweets and balloons for the kids during Puja. The market would be brimming with various kinds of toys and a toy pistol was a must when we just started to learn to enjoy Puja. The happiness of looking at children blessed with heavenly pleasure playing with their toys can not be paralleled.

No preparations for Puja are complete without the Dhak and Dhaki. Nothing can announce that the Puja is here better but the monotonous beat of the Dhak. The idol is another area where every organizer try to score over others. Innovations are galore in building the idol. If one Pandal is having the idol made from grass, the other is using paper to make it. The size of the idol generally signifies the size of the budget for the Puja.

Since the day of Mahalaya, the anxious look in the face of the elders in the colony not sure whether the preparations are adequate or not, not so young people engrossed with discussions to complete the preparations, the younger folks too busy with fund collections and Pandal erections, the womenfolk gathering to complete the collections of materials for the actual Puja and finalizing the items for the cultural evening – these are the snapshots of any Puja Pandals. It is amazing to think how fluidly an event can make everyone amalgamated to a unique social identity!

Durga Puja is, however, not merely shopping, eating, group activities and wholesome fun only. For all of us, Durga Puja is an opportunity to renew the vigor and passion for life. It is a time to forget the difficulties, the torments, and the pain that we encounter in our life everyday. We relish the full five days with a kind of gusto and enthusiasm so that we can remember for the rest of the year that after all we are born free.