Thursday, Fifteen Past Seven

With the country and the world in the grasp of a pandemic, with news of new cases every day and night, with guidelines and advisories being issued by all government and health authorities and with the genuine fear of Swiggy swinging and switching off, I too decided to get the essentials to last a week or two. At least I can make Maggi and khichdi, I thought. My other two flat-mates can definitely make better stuff to eat, I'll pick up for the three of us.

Having got my hands on an N95 a couple of days back, and with the OT getting over early today, I decided to go to Qmart- the supermarket nearby. By the time I finished payment, I had three big, heavy bags of essentials with me! Used the sanitizer in my bag and took out my phone to book an Uber. Just then I got a message from work, so I booked it for the hospital. 

1 minute away...

Hmm, but I can't carry all this stuff to the hospital. So I quickly cancelled the cab and booked again for home. Ok, I’ll make a quick stop there and head back.

Ah, it's the same cab coming, cool, 1 minute...

I somehow managed to lug everything down the stairs and the cab was waiting.

I opened the door with the only two free fingers, but the driver quickly got off and took the bags from me...

Dijiye, main rakh deta hun.

Bald guy, middle aged.

Maine abhi aapka hi cab cancel kiya tha na?

Haan haan, he smiled

Accha, kya main isi mein ek stop add kar dun? Mujhe yeh drop karke kahin aur bhi jaana hai.

Haan, zaroor.

So I added my hospital to the ride.

We reached my home.

Main do minute mein aa rahi hun, aap yehin wait kijiye.

Aap kaise lekar jayengi, rukiye main help kar deta hun.

Nahi it's ok, I can manage, I protested.

Dijiye madam, koi baat nahi… he took the packets from me.

Arre, accha, chhote wale mujhe de dijiye, I went after him.

He carried them till the steps.

First floor hi hai, I can carry, I said, about to take the packets from him.

Chaliye madam, he started climbing.

I reached the door and rang the bell. As I waited for my roommate to open, he put the packets on the floor-

Aap andar rakh dijiyega, main neechey wait kar raha hun, aaram se aayiye, and left.

I kept the stuff quickly and left immediately, came back again to grab my charger as my phone was dying and got into the cab again.

Thank you bhaiyya, chaliye.

Thank you kis liye. Mujhe accha lagta hai, main yehi sochta hun ki agar main koi acchi cheez karta hun, kisi ki madad karta hun, toh mere family ke saath bhi accha hoga. Agar meri beti aise jaa rahi hoti, aur agar koi uski madad kar deta, toh mujhe bhi sunkar accha lagta.

Aapne bahut acchi baat kahi. 

Aaj kal ladkiyan ladkon se bahut acchi hain, he continued. Job karti hain, ghar ka kaam bhi dekhti hain. Main yeh nahi keh raha ki sab aise hote hain, but zyadatar ladke, ek job mil gaya, bass, aur kuch nahi karenge, bahut teer maar liya, he grinned. Kuch saman lane bolo toh nahi, maharaj game khel rahen hain ya kaam se thak gaye hain.

Nahi nahi, sab aise nahi hote, I laughed.

Meri aadat hai baat karne ki. Kal hi ek aunty mere cab mein baithi, chup chap thi, destination neurology centre tha, toh maine kuchh der baad puchha, aap neuro centre kisse milne jaa rahe hain. Unhone bataya khud ke liye. Husband paralyzed kuch saal pehle, dono betiyon ki shaadi ho gayi, well settled, I retired a year ago. Pehle toh I could afford all treatment. Now have to depend on my daughters to give me. Their husbands don't say anything, but ultimately it's their money.

Betiyan de rahi hain, lekin unse lena accha toh nahi lagta, maine kaha unse. Ab woh doosre ghar jaa chuki hain. But dekhiye, phir bhi de rahin hain, he said. 

Isiliye betiyon ko independent bhi hona chahiye. And why won't they give, of course they should give and take care of their parents. Yeh duty thode hi hai, I said. Yeh toh obviously karenge.

Ji, sahi baat hai. But shaadi ke baad toh unse lene mein accha nahi lagta.

Yeh koi baat nahi, meri bhi shaadi ho gayi hai, main do baar bhi nahi sochungi unki dekhbaal karne ke liye, and woh bhi nahi sochenge mujhe batane se pehle. If they have taken care of me for so many years, I can also do it. It's not a matter of duty or farz or obligation. They are my parents.

Aapne sahi kaha...meri bhi do betiyan hain, aur do bete. Bete toh bade shaitaan hain.

Mere taxi mein subah subah ladkiyan baithke ghar mein phone kartin hain- ma tabiyat kaisi hai, papa ne tablet liya kya, aaj Chhotu ne yeh kiya, kal kaam pe yeh hua, aaj maine breakfast mein yeh khaya, kal din bhar kya hua...

Ha ha! Ji meri bhi yehi story hai!

Par ek ladke ko kabhi nahi dekha hai, saalon ko ek baar bhi nahi suna maine ghar pe baat karte!

Ha ha!

Ma baap chinta mein rehte hain, jab bacche doosre shaher mein kaam pe jaate hain. Unki baate sunkar mujhe bhi lagta hai, ki bass mere bacche bhi mujhe aise hi call kiya kare. Itna hi chahiye! Kaafi hai…Ladke toh pata nahi, chhota wala saatvi class mein hai par bahut shaitan hai! Betiyaan shayad karengi!

And we reached.

Thank you bhaiyya!

Ok madam, take care, good night!

MS

SAYAN-ARA

Long, long, long time ago in Nauti village of Chamoli district of Uttarakhand, a beautiful girl Devi was married to a grand lord. As per tradition she had to leave her father’s abode for the husband’s home in the upper regions of the hills. As they were on their way home, Devi felt thirsty and the powerful lord with his immense powers created a lake with cold clean water to drink. Later Devi wanted to freshen up and the good lord created another beautiful lake. And then the couple reached home.

The beautiful girl was Goddess Parvati also known as Nanda Devi , the grand lord was the Lord of Lords, Shiva, their home was at Homkund, the first lake he created with his powerful Trishul was Benikund and the next to freshen up was Roopkund.

ROOPKUND

The story next unveils around 800 AD when Rani Balampa, who was the queen of King Jasdhaval of Kanauj, was expecting a child. The priest of Kanauj recommended a pilgrimage to Homkund to pay homage to Nanda Devi. The raja with a huge entourage of servants and dancers along with the royal family and most of his kingdom started on the pilgrimage. It is said that the Goddess Nanda Devi was not impressed with the king coming for a pilgrimage with dancers and entertainers. The Goddess appeared and cursed the advancing party with a hailstorm and most of the people were vanquished. And this mayhem happened near the Roopkund Lake. The king and the queen sought for the forgiveness from the angry Goddess who calmed down and ordered them to do a pilgrimage every twelve years. This is called the Raj Jat Yatra and is undertaken till date.

THE REMAINS

In 1942 Nanda Devi Park Ranger, Hari Kishan Madhwal, found skeletons floating in Roopkund 16000 feet above sea level. These were initially thought to be Japanese soldiers, part of a hidden invasion force of World War II, but later scientists and teams from National Geographic worked on the skeletons which were visible in clear water of the shallow lake during one month when the ice melts. Along with the skeletons, wooden artefacts, iron spearheads, slippers and rings were also found. Radio carbon dating proved that the skeletons were of two periods- one of 8^th century AD and the other of 19^th century AD. The studies of the skeletons revealed a common cause of death: blows to the back of the head, caused by round objects falling from above. The researchers concluded that the victims had been caught in a sudden hailstorm, just as described in the local legends and songs. Added to this coincidence is a campsite on way to Roopkund named Pathar Nachuni or the ‘stone dancer’…the place the Goddess is said to have cursed the dancers of King Jasdhaval  almost eleven hundred years ago!

The second set of more recent skeletons are said to be belonging to either people from the Mediterranean and or Konkanastha Brahmins (Chitpavans) from Maharashtra. What were these people doing up there so long ago? One theory states that these skeletons belonged to people who were in the region to collect ‘Keeda Jadi’ (insect plant) or the medicinal mushroom that grows in the region. Every spring hordes of people flock brave the inclement conditions and high altitudes to the regions where the caterpillar fungus is found. This magical mutant is believed to have medicinal properties to be used as aphrodisiac. And how did this group meet its end, in all probability, is a sudden hailstorm again…hail some as big as cricket balls and some the size of TT balls.

NANDA DEVI

After reading the myths, magic and mystery, you must be wondering why I chose the name for the blog which sounds like Sayonara which in Japanese means good bye. Bengali weddings have been a hotbed of PNPC which in vernacular reads Para Ninda Para Charcha…in short the folks at the gathering enjoy gossiping and talking ill about others. Fortunately for us, when we had wedding at our home recently, the guests who came in were either too old or too diverse to really keep this wonderful Bong tradition alive. Among the guests was a young man who had travelled afar including many a trek to the high mountains. Once the ceremonies got over, he started chatting and one such fascinating tale was about Roopkund. His name was Sayan and so his tale is what I share with you today. Among the other myths associated with the Lake of Skeletons shared by the traveller were:

Bedni Bughiyal is the alpine meadows from where people generally start the Nanda Devi trek. It is said that the four Vedas were written here. There is a lake there called Bednikund and it is said that Ma Durga killed the demon Mahisasur here. A little distance away from Pathar Nachuni is Kalu Vinayak Pass. It is said that Lord Vinayak stood guard as Goddess Parvati took bath in Roopkund. Further down the path is Bhaguabhasa which translates to ‘abode of the tiger.’ It is here that Goddess Parvati left her tiger to go for her bath in the lake.

THE RAM

The most fascinating of all the tales is about the four horned ram.  A year before the Raj Jat Yatra that takes place every twelve years, the priests from Nauti assemble to pray for the birth of a four horned ram and if the ram is not born, the yatra does not take place. The ram should be preferably black and should be born around Basant Panchami. The ram is Goddess Nanda Devi’s escort as she returns to her husband Lord Shiva’s abode after a brief visit to her parental home. The ram, bedecked with garlands and jewellery, leads the procession through the hilly terrain for nineteen days and it is said that the two extra horns, like our modern day GPS, help the ram to choose the right and ideal path as it carries the Goddess back home. At the end of the pilgrimage, the ram is left to walk off in wilderness as the procession returns after its last stop at Homkund. This four horned creature is never seen again.

Incredible India and you need many more Sayans to walk the paths and tell the tales.

Sayonara.

SS

PS. source and pictures from the internet, myths, folk tales and travelogues.

The Scroll Opened

A day before the wedding, the bride's father handed a letter to his future son-in-law.

Dear S,

I am so happy my daughter has chosen you as her life partner. In you she has always found someone who gives her space and time and shares the common love for Potternama and Comicathon. So, as I hand  her over to you tomorrow, let me tell you that she is not perfect.

She is not perfect. For when it comes to her work, she is almost fanatical and neither a lollipop here nor a stick there will ever be of any use. If she has to do it, she will do it. Just because there are friends over at home, that will never deter her from going to attend a patient in need. She has given up all the joys of youth to follow the path she has chosen and even though she loves the company of friends, going shopping and movie hopping, her commitment to her work may not seem normal to most. I will not blame you to find this strange but would want you to give her the understanding and show respect for the work she is doing.

She is not perfect for she will never hide her true feelings. She will never fake it. She will always be real and that could at times be a point of disagreement. At times she will appear disinterested and bored and then, at other times, she will seem over enthusiastic and excited. The good thing is that what she likes and who she loves, she will give anything and go to any extreme to make them matter and make them happy. You will have to live with these extremities of a real person by your side for years to come.

Another imperfection is that my darling cannot cook and somehow all my wife’s efforts to inculcate in her the love for cooking has not been very successful, to put it very mildly. She just does not show any desire to step into the ‘sanctum sanctorum’ and do what most girls do. Her culinary skills go to baking cakes, making rice and khichadi and eggs sunny side up. For everything else she has the Apps like Swiggy, Zomato on her fingertips and funnily she never orders dal chawal or roti...it is always exotic dishes like Hawaiian Salad and Boo Phat Pong Karee.

For twenty eight years my L’ll Angel has been the centre of our constellation. From the time she opened her eyes she brought in joy and more joy into our lives. She made us proud, not just in academics, but much more. While the mother has preserved her mark sheets, certificates, medals and trophies from nursery to post-doctoral days, I have with me so many of her craft work and summer project workbooks which never stop to amaze me with the breadth of her creativity. She will never tell anyone of her achievements and gets upset when we start rattling as I am doing today. She will make you and your family proud and I will be so happy to see the joy on your faces.

M was always very different from a lot of children for she would never throw any tantrums. We have seen many kids screaming and ranting whenever parents said no to their demands of a balloon or a toy. She has never asked us for anything. During her school days, all she ever lost was one pencil box and nothing else. To add to it, we never had to pay for her studies post her school. She will never tell you to go out and buy her a dress or an expensive piece of jewellery. She did not demand anything special for her wedding too. Her mom and I made all the lists of things to buy and do for the shaadi and she made no fuss about accepting the same.…except of course her desire to wear a gown, which thankfully, is fulfilled today. So her ‘maintenance cost’ will be either self-funded or what you give her out of love, never will she demand an ounce more.

She has a heart of gold where there is an abundance of compassion. At times we are worried, for in the profession she is in, heartbreaks of death and failures are not uncommon. She gets close to patients, especially when it comes to children and, at times, gets sad when things do not turn out the way they ought to. She, however, goes back the very next moment to the next case and makes sure she gives everything to make it right. She handles kids very well so if you also act like one, you are in luck…you’re in the best possible hands.

M loves her friends and defends them stoutly, for her friends can do no wrong. She craves to be with friends and goes crazy in their company. So, your friends will always be welcome with her around and if she were to get time off from work, she would love to go out in the open singing Pagla Hawar Badol Diney, Pagol Amar Mon Jegey Othey…Movies, music, magic, masti are a few of her favourite things.

My loving daughter will take good care and show utmost respect for your parents and your extended family. That’s the way we have brought her up and that is how she shall remain forever. She is human after all. The good and the bad live together in all of us. So when she falters, you can scold her and be tough and she will come around. Fight, you must, for that is quite normal, but get back together fast. Please don’t make her cry for long for that will make us sad. Like all parents we want the best for our child and happiness at her new home is one such desire.

So Son, please take good care of my Precious Imperfectly Perfect Girl.

Stay Blessed Son. Stay Happy Son.

Keep My Darling Baby Happy.

Love & Blessings,

S

Mumbai

15^th February 2020

Drink Love Pray

Ashfaq had a small tea stall outside the dargah. There were many such tea stalls around but there was something special about Ashfaq’s tea that attracted the locals over and over again. Balbir, the police sub-inspector, one day asked, “Ashfaq Mian what do you add that makes your tea so special?” “There is nothing special about my tea. It is the same what my father would make and sell and I just continue the tradition. I remember my father telling me of a Bengali babu who had visited the stall and had shown him how to mix two varieties of tea leaves. Since then we have been buying two types of tea leaves and then of course we always serve it in earthen pots. The masala we add is nothing unique. It is the same ginger paste with some herbs we add to give our tea the flavor that possibly the people love. My father would always tell me to make tea with love and care and never worry about the everyday collections. If your tea is good, Allah will be kind. And when kindness showers on you, you need to spread it to those who need it more than you. So, every day, no matter how much I earn from selling my tea, I make sure to buy a simple meal for at least ten people outside the dargah. My Allah has always been kind to me and on some days I am able to give food to many more people.”

Lately, the town had slowly been converted into a fortress with police cordons everywhere and people being frisked at regular intervals. Ashfaq would hardly spend money on newspaper or keep a television set in his home or stall but the people who visited the tea shop would talk in hushed voices and he understood the real cause for concern. However, Ashfaq himself was not too bothered about things political and religious for his customers were not from any particular community. Both mullah and pandit were always welcome and he served both with the same love and affection.

It was 9^th of November 2019. Ashfaq was wondering why the regulars and first timers to his stall were all missing that day. The city seemed to have come to a dead halt. He had, as usual, made a tumbler full of tea and kept on the choolha on low and simmering heat. After a while, Kazi Obaidullah came and Ashfaq handed him a cup of tea. In a hushed voice, Kazi Sahab said, “ Ashfaq Mian, you may need to move your stall away from here. We have lost the case in the highest court and now this whole area belongs to Ram Lalla. We will go some distance away and have a new masjid built there.”

Ashfaq was visibly irritated and said, “ When the time came seventy years ago, my Abba was asked a similar question to which he said no and stayed behind when most of his brethren had moved westward to a new and promised land. Today, my answer to your proposal still remains the same…NO! This is my land and I shall stay here till the very end.”

Wah ri zindagi,

Aaj tu kuchh naya hi sikha gayi;

Chai ki kal tak koi mazhab na thi,

Aaj ek patti Hindu, toh dooji Musalmaan ho gayi!

Ashfaq refused to go to a new place to meet his Maker, however, chai took my mind to the lush tea gardens of Assam.

The other day a friend in Guwahati lost his Mummy and instead of sending him a WhatsApp condolence message, picked up the phone to say a few kind words to console. My friend said that there was no reason to feel sorry at the loss for she was old and suffering. The mother, some years, ago had made a will, which was properly registered, wherein she had asked her children that her body should be given to the medical college where all the sound body parts could be given to patients in need and her skeletal structure to the medical students. There should be no rituals and a simple ceremony at a nearby Arya Samaj Mandir. I was completely speechless and remembered another great son of India, Nani Palkiwala, who had a similar vision for his afterlife.

When I die

Give my sight to the man who has never seen a sunrise

Give my heart to one who has known the agony of the heart

Give my blood to a youth pulled away from the wreckage of a car so that he might be able to see his grandchildren play

Let my kidneys drain the poison from another’s body

Let my bones be used to make a crippled child walk

Burn what is left of me and scatter the ashes to the wind to let the flowers grow

If you must bury something, let it be my faults and my prejudices against my fellowmen

Give my sins to the Devil

Give my soul to the God

If you wish to remember me, do it with a kind deed or word to someone who needs you.

If you do all I’ve asked, I’ll live forever.

They don’t make ‘em like Nani and Mummy anymore. God selfishly likes to keep such good godly souls in his entourage and calls them away. While my friend’s mother went away to meet her God, there were others like my friend Debu for whom such meetings with the Maker are of a different kind.

Debu, my friend of old, had never been the religious kind and one small incident happened when he was about seven years old. One Saturday morning, at around 8am, he discovered a pair of tiny footprints near the kitchen where his Ma was making breakfast. Who can it be? He just could not zoom in on anyone in the house so asked Ma if anyone had come to their house since morning. She looked blank and said no. He called her and showed her the faded footprints that could be seen on the dark floor. Do not remember whether it was Debu or his Ma who immediately concluded God must have come to their abode. They were blessed! He quickly went to the puja enclosure and lit two incense sticks, put them on a stand and went down on his knees before the footprints and did a quick arti. His sister came in from another room and was pretty amused at what was happening between the mother and the son. She caught hold of Debu’s hair from behind and said, “Stop this nonsense.  The dhobi had come with his little daughter in his arms and while taking the clothes he put the kid down. These are the foot marks of the kid.” All his aastha and devotion was lost in no time and he started laughing aloud at the foolishness in search of his God.

Today things have changed. Debu is now in his fifties. Every morning whenever he is at home, he does a thirty second routine of standing before an image of Durga on the wall and some brass idols of Krishna, Ganesh, Saraswati, Lakshmi and Shiva on a glass shelf. Next to this shelf is another smaller shelf where a picture of his late parents is kept. Debu says his little prayers here.

Debu confessed to me that whenever he stands there and closes his eyes to say the only prayer he knew, “My mind imagines as if Ma Durga is piercing her spear into my heart. On some days she chops off a limb here and there and in others my skull is flung afar with the kharga (sword) or the Chakra. She uses one of her many weapons in her possession every day. Each day she punishes me for all the ills and wrongs I have done in the past. The blood that comes out is the pain I have to suffer and she tries to cleanse me but then I repeat my mistakes and so she never stops punishing me. It is here that I stand before God who is all good and my frailties and shortcomings get exposed. My mask is pulled off my face and I stand naked and exposed and I don’t mind this punishment, actually my mind accepts this divinity before me. And while all this is happening, my parents in the frame are also looking at their son in all his weakness. Whether I place them at par with punishing divinity is something I have not thought of but this is my daily penance. I die a new death every day. In most cases it is Ma’s spear that digs deep into my heart and then twists it as well…that is me and My God.”

That’s Debu who has found his benevolent God in a malevolent state…angry and non-forgiving yet the man goes before image daily possibly in search of his true self.

Ab Tak Chappan

29^th December 2019

It is 10.30pm I let myself sink into slumber knowing well that tomorrow would be a long day of never ending budget meetings, heated debates and haggling of give and take. Suddenly, I felt my nose being squeezed and woke up in an almost asphyxiated state, expecting my partner of thirty years trying to wake me up as my snoring would have reached a crescendo. No, it wasn’t her but a strange looking fellow in white, the way they showed Casper, the friendly ghost.

Who are you, Bhai?

I am no Bhai to you but your Bhoi (Fear).

If you are what I should be afraid of then who is this sleeping next to me…I thought that place was reserved for her.

Stop your cheeky one liners. In an hour from now the gong will strike 12 midnight and the date changes to 30^th December. Why is the day so important to you?

Sir, it is my birthday…I was born fifty six years ago on this day in 1963.

Prove it! Prove you were born on this date in which place and to whom! Birth certificate hai?

Kya Bhoot Bhai…I have my PAN, my Aadhaar, my passport, my thirty years of tax papers, service records, MTNL bills and all.

Birth Certificate hai?

My mother said that it was a cold winter’s night and it was raining when she was rushed to Safdarjung Hospital where I came into this beautiful world.

Every year in winter in Delhi you have cold and rainy days. So that is no evidence. That is like reading Amar Chitra Katha about birth of heroes and gods. Hospital ki chitthi hai? Birth certificate hai? Nahin na!

Bhoot Bhai I do have my Class X mark sheet which, for the lowly scores, I, generally, do not show to people but that is where my date of birth is written and so far has been accepted. I remember my father pleading with me to make it 1964 instead of 1963. He knew my abilities and could foresee how an extra year would have helped his nikammah son to appear in the examinations one extra time keeping in mind the cut off age the government services demanded. But I, for once in life, became a champion of Satyameva Jayate…No Baba, all my life you have taught me to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, and so it will be to give the right date and year of my birth when we fill up the school form now. And my honesty prevailed and so, till date, have had just this one day as my birthday.

I know you are a blogger and have the ability to weave a tale but this does not prove anything. You could have put any date and place in the school application form and they would have accepted it. In short, it was not based on any evidence. Therefore, I cannot accept the same fable of lies. Any other proof you have? Let me extend the logic…where were your parents born?

Chittagong, Sir.

And that happens to be in Bangladesh. You’ve got trouble, son.

No, sir, my parents came to India long ago. My father was a freedom fighter and I have a government pension book in his favour.

Nationality is what matters today and you have nothing conclusive. It is better you do not talk about the origin of your parents.

As both the arms of the clock touched twelve, like Cinderella, Bhoot Bhai vanished and so did my sleep…to celebrate or not to celebrate my birthday was the big question. With the roots of my parents chopped off from my time-line and no birth certificate it was going to be a long night awake.

The words Nationality Certificate took me back in history by a decade. I was in a government medical college in Maharashtra trying to get my daughter’s admission into the world of medical education. She had got this seat through an open all India entrance examination conducted by a central government authority. My wife made sure we had all original papers and adequate number of attested photo copies and passport size photographs. So when our turn came, after standing in a long queue, the record clerk checked every paper carefully and then looked up…do you have Nationality Certificate?

What is a Nationality Certificate? I have her birth certificate and passport.

Since your daughter does not have a domicile certificate, she needs to submit a Nationality Certificate. Only then can we admit her into the college.

There were many other hapless parents in the same predicament.We rushed to the Dean of the Medical College requesting why an Indian citizen should require such an archaic document. We showed him the newspaper clippings of almost all major dailies including some Marathi newspapers with my daughter’s picture as the all India CBSE science stream topper. If this girl has to prove her nationality with all her records in place, then I do not know who a real Indian is?

No means No. I cannot do anything in this matter. If the documents require a Nationality Certificate, then you must get it.

I came to know that this dreaded certificate, after sixty years of independence, could be obtained from the local court. So I went to Borivali Court a number of times and used all contacts to get a good helpful lawyer to get me this strange document. But here my efforts came to a dead end as I did not have a Ration Card.

I do not want subsidised grains or oil so I never thought of making a ration card.

You will have to get a Ration Card made with your daughter’s name in it. After that we can work on your Nationality Certificate.

So I was given the contact of a Mahesh Bhai who would get me a ration card for my family made in quick time. I approached my savior, paid a hefty sum of money and it took five days, including a police verification, before I got a white coloured ration card which I was told could not be used to avail the ration facilities. This is just an identity card.

Finally, my daughter became an Indian national. So now I have Bangladesh born parents and an Indian daughter and me, a man without a country.

About a fortnight ago, on the day Assam erupted over a bill on citizenship passed in the parliament, I landed in Guwahati late in the evening. By then the protestors had gone home, the ATMs were all empty and a few shops had re-opened. With a hotel room overlooking the famed Kamakhya Temple, flew to Silchar and then drove down to Karimgunj as part of the office CSR team to evaluate a school project. The village school at Lamajuar we went to was established in 1912. It had two small rooms and hundred and fifty children from class one to six were packed there. We were given a warm welcome and after the work got over, was invited to Abdul’s house where we were treated to a royal feast of Ilish and Pabda fish, mutton and chicken curries, chholar dal and paneer….of course, no meal in this part gets over without an excellent mishti. 

Kamakhya

We walked a little over five hundred metres when we saw a BSF check post and barbed wire fence. Across the wire was Bangladesh. Abdul’s uncle said in the good old days we used to swim across the moat and play with friends there. Against the backdrop of the evening sun, I saw Amar Sonar Bangla for the very first time and could picture my parents smiling at me from the other side of the fence.

 

We finally drove down to Sutarkandi which is the final check post on India- Bangladesh border. With us was Salim, whose house is the last inhabited place on the Indian side of the border.

Imagine there’s no countries

It isn’t hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion, too

Imagine all the people

Living life in peace...

SS

Temple Run

It is 5.30 am, early December morning in the City of Joy and two separate alarms on two Apple phones with different tones go off together. The man of the house is quick to get up but falters to press the stop sign and the alarms keep buzzing aloud. The woman of the house shouts, “Are you trying to save electricity by not putting on the light? The whole city is illuminated round the clock in colours of blue and white and here you are saving a moment’s electricity!” The man is now fully woken up by this lady alarm more than the two Jobs’ ones and, finally, manages to  turn them off. Yeah, men sometimes need a good yelling to get the work done.

In no time the two are dressed in summer casuals, hastily stuffing some cash from the wallet into the pocket, before slipping into their footwear for the day, made famous by the First Lady of the State, who never tires of wearing the bathroom slippers, which we call Hawai chappals. The man takes out his mobile and calls for an Uber…mmm the car is ten minutes away so let me try again…now the waiting time goes up to 12 minutes….the lady tells him to wait for the cab patiently and not try again lest the waiting time goes beyond 15 minutes.

It is 6.00 am and the two are waiting for the cab to arrive. The temperature in Kolkata at that moment is not less than 18 degrees and the couple is highly amused to see the locals sitting around a bonfire with their arms outstretched to feel the heat. With jackets and pullovers on their bodies and the famous monkey caps to protect their so called precious heads, the bongs are ready to face the winter chill.

It is 6.18 am and the cab comes to a halt at a barricade ten metres away from a white and blue building named Kalighat Police Station. The two passengers are confused and the man takes courage to ask, Dada, Mondir ta kothai? (Where is the temple?). Just walk straight on this road and you will reach the temple in no time, said the man at the wheels, wondering perhaps where these people have come from. Ok…Paytm achhe…ok…

Phone koro, prompts the lady. The man diligently dials and as the person on the other side responds he gushes excitedly, Bablu da we have come. Ok, choley aashoon stall number 82 teh. The two meander through the host of pandas or the pujaris waiting to hijack you at the site and, finally, reach stall number 82 where Bablu, a good looking fellow in saffron half kurta and dhoti, welcomes them with a broad smile. The two have got some fruits but add some pedas and jobar mala (hibiscus garland) to their cane basket. Keep your slippers inside the shop and come with me, adds Bablu.

It is 6.30 am and Bablu takes them to the main Kali Temple but asks them to follow him as he takes the steps up while other pilgrims are coming down the same steps. The man wonders aloud if they are taking the wrong path. Bablu smiles and calmly responds, All roads lead to the same place and they continue climbing the steps. Inside the sanctum sanctorum it seems quite a maddening place with people falling over others, pushing and jostling their way through, just to get close to the goddess. There are a few other pandas like Bablu and then a toughie at the gate suddenly stops  the main set of devotees and asks us to walk in to the  inner most place. They can feel the wet  floor and the trampled flowers and other things with their bare feet but keep  their eyes glued to the canopy for a good darshan of Ma Kali. As they close their eyes to say a short prayer, the man hears someone talking in perfect English, I am the Head Priest of this temple. Hearing this, the man forgets his prayers and cranes his head to see the Pope himself. He sees a man in white dhoti, very impressive looking , talking to a VIP devotee. The head priest puts a shinning chaddar over the shoulders of the VIP and says something that he could not catch in the din. The VIP takes out a hundred rupee note and the head priest quickly takes off the chaddar and says, I will not accept anything less. By now our man has forgotten his prayers to the imposing deity with her huge gold tongue while the lady of the house in all devotion, oblivious of the happenings around, bends down to touch the feet of the goddess. As told by Bablu, they put two hundred rupees in the donation box, pay twenty bucks each to the toughie at the gate and another person managing the crowd near the steps. Bablu too is thanked and rewarded. Overwhelmed by such a close darshan of Ma, the two come out of the temple precincts with the flowers and prasad.

It is 6.46 am and the man asks the lady, Let us go to Victoria Memorial, it is very nice in the morning there. She nods and he tries to book an Uber but, as luck would have it, the money in the Paytm is short on balance and the credit card has been left in the wallet at home. The man changes the payment mode to cash and books another Uber. After having paid the driver in cash, the man is now left with one fifty rupee and two five hundred rupee notes. He tries his level best to get the change at the ticket window outside the entrance but fails and now only a tenner and two five hundreds remain in his pocket. The walk is very pleasant but surprisingly they do not find a single bong walking…only Marwari men who are busy doing their good deed of the day by throwing grains to the pigeons and their wives who are wobbling rather than walking.

It is 7.25 am and the two now complete their parikrama of this modern day temple built for the Queen who once ruled the waves, no less than a goddess, with her power stretching across continents. How do we go back home now? No Uber driver will give us change at this hour so we should try walking to Rabindra Sadan, take a metro which will be ten bucks for both of us, and then walk down home from Rabindra Sarobar. Just then they see the imposing St.Paul’s Cathedral which neither of them has ever seen from inside. As they walk in, they notice a board at the entrance which says the visitor timings are from 10 am onwards and it is only 7.30 am. The man takes courage and tells the wife not to even look at the sentry at the gate but confidently walk in with folded hands as if in prayer mode. Surprisingly, the guard at the gate does not say anything to them while he turns away three youngsters who want to go inside too. Our early bird couple smile at each other and walk into the cathedral where they see a priest. They wish him Good Morning Father and get a warm smile in response. The helper inside says, Quickly see the Church and come out from another gate. It was such a peaceful place and the only prayer they had learnt in school …Our father in heaven… is silently said and they walk out as if they have won a brilliant, unexpected victory in a battlefield.

It is 7.45 am and the two now feel emboldened to try some more adventure. Let us go to Sharma Tea Stall and taste their famous tea. It cannot be too far from here. Google map shows it is about 2.5 kms away and so the two begin their long walk again in their flip flops. As they pass the Academy of Fine Arts and Nandan, they are greeted with innumerable posters of Didi. There is a musical festival going on in the city and instead of any artiste being shown, the CM’s smiling face is there on every poster in pink. The lady quips, Forget the general people, does she herself not get tired of seeing herself everywhere? She has shown her skills in writing poetry and painting but about her musical talents the two have not much heard of. So much for megalomania!

It is pretty early in the day, as the two walk past  the Institute of Post Graduate Medical Education and Research, yet they see big quantities of rice being cooked for the patients and their relatives who have spent the night sleeping on the pavements or in nearby places and are now queuing up in front of the OPD gates. Next they cross Gokhale Memorial  School and College. Till today, neither the students studying in this institute nor the teachers teaching there will ever pronounce the name as Go-Kha-ley but prefer to call it as Go-khael.…Bongs will be Bongs, and they smile to themselves as they near their destination.

It is 8.05 am and the two are standing in front of a pretty small and worn out place but already a large number of people are standing and enjoying puri sabji and tea in tiny earthen pots or khuris . The man, always the greedy sort, instead of ordering a plate of small puris, places order for two jumbo sized onion kachoris and piping hot jalebis with garma-garam special chai. The boy, taking the order, asks if they wanted tea with saffron…Na na they say…enough saffronisation is already happening, let us leave the tea out of it. The food is so delicious but the lady stops the man from ordering any more. She reminds him, You are still on Norflox TZ.

It is 8.25 am and the two are now ready to book an Uber with the change available after having paid Sharma ji. Their eyes fall on a nice small Gurudwara right across the street and the two glance at each other. After thirty years of having lived together, they know immediately that for both the next temple hop is before their eyes. The Uber ride is cancelled and they cross the street, put the chunni and handkerchief over their heads, and enter the Gurudwara. Again, it is such a peaceful and clean place like the cathedral as compared to the Kali temple. Here prayers are offered once again…never possibly in their lives have they offered so many prayers in a single day. The visit ends with a handful of kada parshaad or garam halwa , cooked in loads of ghee, being given generously and they savouring every bit of this delicious prasaad.

It is 8.46 am and now they finally book an Uber to go home. As they near their home they ask the cab to stop at a point to see a small temple where Lord Shiva and Kali stood. This is Buro Shib Tola or Old Shiva’s Place. They have gone past this temple innumerable times but for the first time they notice the supreme deity wrapped up in a green shawl like an old man…Oh now they understand why he is called buro or old man who is finding it difficult to bear Kolkata’s winter even though his abode is at Kailasa, atop the frozen mountains!

It is almost 9.00 am when the two reach home while the other local bhadraloks reach the fish market for the fresh catch. Phew…God Puja, Goddess Puja, Raja Rani Puja, Pet Puja…all in a couple of hours…truly the best temple run anyone could have imagined. After a short rest the duo go out to buy sarees, a must in this city, and, as luck would have it, the first shop they enter, the man at the counter says, Boudi aap ke liye ek badhiya temple border dikhata hoon….Phir se temple...Nahiiiiin!

SS

Tuffy Tales- At the Park

Come Tia, let us go to the park to play.

No Tuffy, I don’t want to go anywhere. I am the happiest in the house.

No Tia, park is the place of happiness where you can run and chase, hide and jump…it is all fun there.

Tuffy, you know I don’t like and I don’t want to go out. So just leave me alone. You go if you wish to.

I am not going anywhere without Tia…whoof.. whoof…and that’s final.

Tia was sitting on the sofa, so I jumped and went close to her. She put her hand on my back, rubbed it gently…first up and then down and slowly repeated it. I loved it when she did this to me. I then put my head on her lap with my tongue hanging out, the saliva dripping on her nice flowery pink dress.

Tuffy please don’t blackmail me.

What’s blackmail? I have heard of mail, email and female but never blackmail!

Tuffy leave me alone. I am not going anywhere.

With sad eyes I looked at her and then jumped down. Darted straight out of the room and returned with the leash in my mouth. I walked to Tia and placed it on her lap and with my hairy head started gently banging my head on her knee.

Tuffy, you are a pain. Why are you so pushy and always want to have it your way?

Wham!!

Before I realized, she crashed the thick book in her hand on my head….it hurt pretty bad but I did not cry. I turned around and walked away to a corner in the room and sat down with my head over the front paws. I was not angry nor was I sad. I realized she just was in no mood today.

In some time, Tia came and sat down on the floor, caught my collar and dragged my face close to hers.

Hey Tuffy, chorry baba…I should not have hit you, my best friend.

And then she put the leash on my collar, stood up and said, Chal park chalein.

I quickly got up and stood on my back legs with my front legs on her chest, gave her a watery licky of love as my tail wagged wildly.

Our house was on the ground floor and the park was across a busy street. As Tia and I walked out, I made sure my body was always in touch with her right leg, never to miss the touch even for a moment. Tia’s father had taught me that I should cross the road from a place where there were white lines and a lamp post which had three colours. I waited for the light to move from red to amber and then to green…

Whoof..whoof…I asked Tia who understood my signal and started walking. We were still midway when I saw a person on a bike with one hand on the phone, the other on the handle. I knew this idiot would not bother to see and heed the street lights so I stopped, quickly moved from Tia’s right to her left side and started shouting at the top of my voice….whoof… whoof…while facing the fool on the bike. The idiot panicked and pressed the brake so hard that he skidded and fell….his bike stopped just a metre away from where we stood. I smiled and said, achcha hua as the fallen biker said,  paagal kutta!

Tia asked, Tuffy what happened?

Nothing darling, someone just fell down.

 And we crossed over to the other side, safe and sound. Felt like a hero.

We went inside the park and pulled Tia towards the bench under a huge tree. She sat down and removed my leash from the collar.

I loved coming to the park. I had many friends here. As I announced my entry with my trade mark bark, in no time Boy, Goru and Kalu came running to me.

Tia knew my friends well. They did not have collars but were always very friendly. They walked with me to Tia and announced their entry. Tia opened up her pouch and took out her packet of biscuits. No, she never offered my friends any ordinary biscuits. She always got for them Nice biscuits. My friends loved the coconut flavoured stuff with sprinkling of sugar coating. Tia would never throw the biscuits down. She held each piece in her hand as my friends went close to her, took the biscuit in their mouth and got a loving hug from Tia.

As Tia sat on the bench like a princess, the four of us would make a semi-circle around her. This was our regular routine and we knew what was coming after this.

Are you ready?

Whoof whoof…yes yes!!

Tia would bring out a ball from her pouch and throw it as hard as she could and then the fun began for us as we raced each other to fetch it.  Whoever got the ball back to Tia, got a prize…two cubes of chocolate.

Boy

Boy was really the strong one. He was much bigger than all of us. Goru was quite like me and Kalu was the weak looking one. But when it came to running, Kalu was the fastest. There was never a day when Kalu was not the first to fetch the ball to Tia when she threw it for the first time.

Tia was a bright girl. She realized, there has to be a rule or else the other gladiators would feel cheated and Kalu would become the chocolate king monopolizing the cubes every day multiple times. Tia devised a simple rule…whoever got the chocolate would get disqualified for the next chase. She made sure we all got our chocolates equally every day.

The park had a pathway and many people would walk there as we played. Tia’s bench was close to the pathway and most people would just see us, feel amused and walked away. Then there were a few who tried to get friendly and would get their biscuits and make some strange sound with their pouted mouth much…smuch..smuch. Some would call us, aaja Tommy aaja.

Must be mad, I thought. Who told them any of us was Tommy? Must all dogs be called by this strange name? Why did not any of them call us Amitabh Bachchan or Salmaan Khan…why Tommy? Strange breed are these humans. We never went to them, we never had their biscuits. We were happy with what Tia gave us and never asked for more. Only once did Kalu go close to one of them one day and ate the biscuit he gave. After a while Kalu felt sick and threw up…they would have given the poor fellow rotten stuff, things they would not eat themselves. After this, all my friends stayed away from the day walkers.

Two old ladies stood behind Tia and started talking.

Yeh laadki paagal hai kya? Kutton ke saath khel rahi hai…said one.

The other said, andhi hai bechari.

Hai…yeh toh bahut dukh ki baat hai.

Tia heard the conversation and went limp. She hung her head low and pulled out a piece of cloth that she rubbed against her eyes.

I knew it. My friends also knew it and we angrily went towards these women baring our teeth.

Bhaag…jaldi bhaag…pagal kuttey hain…kaat lengey….as they started running away. One of them almost fell off the pathway.

We returned to where Tia was sitting.

This is why I do not like coming out of the house Tuffy but you never listen.

She put my leash back as we stood up to walk out of the park. I turned around once and told my pals, …see ya tomorrow mates.

Whoof…Whoof...