The last time I spoke those filthy words

Miles Bronson, the American Baptist Missionary, published a rudimentary Assamese dictionary way back in 1867. It took another 33 years for Hemchandra Baruah to compile and publish  the first comprehensive etymological Assamese Dictionary called “Hemkosh” in 1900. That was a far-fetched accomplishment of Late Hemchandra to collect and compile total 22346 words ( as per Wikipedia) to put the tentative Assamese Language on a firm footing, long subdued and battered by the aggressive incursion of Bengali in Assam as its official language.

While compiling the dictionary, Hemchandra was to include some of the common Assamese abuses. One particular fish selling lady was renowned for her caustic tongue and she yelled at anyone who perturbed her temper with the choicest collections from her armoury. So, Hemchandra went straight to the lady, played a few tricks to see her go off and came back with a rich harvest for "Hemkosh".

Near our childhood home, people of a particular ward were equally infamous for abusing words. Particularly, their women folk could quarrel for any trivial issues. After sometime, the issue for which the fight commenced became irrelevant to them and they kept on shouting at each other as if reciting the holy Mantras. It seemed, this was a way to vent off the hardship and agonies which they endured throughout the time they existed as living beings.

One of the reasons for our father to move out from his parental house was to insulate us-the children, from such nearby environment. We didn’t pick up any dirt either and even today, I am too conservative even with close friends to get involved in any loose talks. Perhaps, it was the good upbringing at our home that helped all the brothers and sisters to become good mannered, to excel to some extent in studies and above all learnt the virtues of trying to remain honest in life. We were made to study in candle light and kerosene lamps as the electricity connection to our home got delayed by more than 6 months for my father’s refusal to pay bribe to the state electricity board. Whenever, our skin touched the hot glass surface of the lamp, it burnt off the skin and I , particularly, had many such prized round marks all over my body and more at the two arms. At times, my parents’ daily sermons at the dinner table irked us, but today, do realize how priceless and practical those words were.

I was sipping hot tea, basking in the late afternoon Sunday sun at Durgapur. Suddenly the heated arguments of two shopkeeper gentlemen got transformed into an extravaganza of verbal overdose. In those days, I was trying to familiarize with the Bengali language and thought it was no harm to get used to some less civilized words. Though, I had no intention to compile another Bengali Dictionary, I kept on hearing them while finishing my tea and the Cigarette. ( I left smoking years ago and left it for good instantly one day unlike Mark Twain, who left smoking hundreds of time). As I murmured the words silently in my mind without knowing the proper meaning, suddenly I found the foul words to be extremely powerful and  rhythmic, but  never thought that someday, I would be using them myself !

That evening, I was returning late to Assam Bhavan, at Kolkatta’s Russel Street after attending a party with friends. As, Russel Street was close by, I thought, I would rather walk  to assist my intestine to deal better with the food I had. On my way after some distance , one seemingly innocuous person approached me with a strange offer.

He was a pimp and seeing me, might have thought to be his prospective client. I vehemently rejected his offer and walked along. Hardly few steps ahead, another man blocked my way and I knew both of them were partners in the world’s oldest profession and knew each other. That moment, I really panicked as there was no one nearby to seek help. The two gentlemen grew bolder and one of them held my shoulder from behind.

“Where are you going so fast, Dada “ He smiled and I must tell you that was the ugliest smile  ever I had seen at someone’s face. He knew, I was a stranger to the City of Joy.

Out of fear, I sternly removed his hand and unknowingly shouted with the same words( I am still not aware what those words exactly mean) heard in that Sunday afternoon at Durgapur, but volleyed them with such ferocity, it fizzled the confidence of the two seasoned professionals and made them retreat as I hurried off to the safety of Assam Bhavan.

That was the last time, I used such horrendous words at someone. But those words saved the night of embarrassment for me.

 

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

An inspiring life story of a common man

Last time I met Dr. Chatterjee  almost 12 years ago, in Durgapur, during the Rath Yatra Festival where he was one of the organizers of the Book Fare, hosted as part of the festival. Dr Chatterjee had just come back from US after attending an International Seminar on Development of Metallurgical Engineering. I purchased a few books including one anthology of essays by the  great Bengali author -Sarat Chandra. The other Bengali book was “Amader Meyebela.” (My childhood) by controversial Bangladeshi writer Taslima Nasreen. Nasreen used the word “Meyebela” instead of the original Bengali word “chelebela” (childhood) to highlight the discrimination of the  girl child in the male dominated society.

“Tui Bengali Boi porsis” Dr. Chatterjee was exalted seeing me buying Bengali Books.

Dr. Chatterjee was the first person I met after getting off from the Shatabdi Express at Durgapur.  He was waiting at the platform to receive our group of young and energetic Management Trainees, fresh from the Engineering College. For the next one year, I had to visit Dr. Chatterjee from time to time as he was our Training Manager. As a Training Manager, he never enthused us to go any extra mile and often we took advantage of his leniency to bunk training to relish life outside during office hours.

Somehow Dr. Chatterjee grew fondness towards me and he had always a lot of spare time for me for discourse on diverse subjects but never on steel business. In those days, the financial might of SAIL was crumbling in the midst of global economic slump but many employees still used to work like the Government Babus. Dr. Chaterjee’s area of interest was Ancient Indian Metallurgy. As History was my  subject of choice, perhaps  Dr. Chatterjee found it easier to correlate with me more than my other friends. Though my closeness with him made some of my batch-mates little envious, it had little to do for me in getting the highest rank in the one year of Management Trainee program. Years later, I heard that the rank helped me getting a timely promotion inspite of my absence from office for almost two years on extraordinary medical leave.

Dr. Chatterjee’s story of ascendance in life was inspiring. Hailing from a very poor family,  Chatterjee joined Steel Authority as a lowly paid contract labour after passing out from school. In my last seventeen years of professional life, I have worked in various roles in Steel industry, seen lives in Crude Oil drilling and then the jobs in a refinery. For those unfamiliar with the steel making process, it will be appropriate to tell that steel making is by far the hardest and at times the heat inside the shop floor is unbearable. Working as a contract labour in such inhospitable condition, it requires incredible drive to think beyond.  But he was a man with a dream. So after a hard day’s work, Chatterjee used to attend classes for Engineering Diploma course in a college in nearby Asansol which hosted classes in the evening for the working students. After passing out, Chatterjee  soon got absorbed as a permanent employee as a Diploma Engineer in SAIL. Thereafter, he completed AMIE ,  equivalent to B.Tech Engineering and soon joined the executive cadre of SAIL.

After Engineering, Dr. Chatterjee didn’t stop and completed  BSC and Post-Graduation followed by Doctorate in Ancient Indian Metallurgy. He often used to tell me about his struggling days. As a training Manager, his biggest contribution to me in that one year was his own life story.

He he told me once “ Choose a subject and start gathering information and knowledge on it every day. After twenty years, you will find, you are one of the most acknowledged persons in that field”.

After seventeen years, I realise how true were his words !

Dr. Chattejee advised me to do one such research project on Chilarai- the Koch general. To him, India has seen many great generals but never in the league of multifaceted Chilarai, a Great General, scholar with impeccable knowledge and wisdom . Yet history has not been kind to him and forgotten his contribution to the Vashnavite Cultural Revolution in Assam as well as his military pursuits to create a vast Koch empire.

“Kamaljit, start your research on Chilarai and bring him to the limelight of Indian History over the next 20 years.”

I listened and forgot his words quickly. In the last seventeen years, I haven’t turned a page on Chilarai- the legendary figure and History continues to miss him.

Perhaps I make good Chemistry with the “Chatterjees”. There is another Chatterjee, a  retired General Manager of Indian Oil . An immensely knowledgeable technocrat, he was also disliked by some for his habit of throwing probing technical questions to others. Before he left Digboi, he wished to give me his copy of the “Parry’s Hand Book” - a classic handbook of Chemical Engineering which he was awarded in IIT Kharagpur for his academic excellence. Being fully aware of my limitations, I politely refused to accept it. In an official trip to Paris, he gave me 100 US Dollar as a loving elder to spend on some French food( he knew my weakness for good food) which  I returned after coming back saying that I couldn’t spend the money and it brought immediate smiles to his face. He refused to take back  and asked to arrange a small get-together   instead by volunteering to bear the additional expenditure.

May both the Chatterjees live  long healthy lives and continue to bless me and my family.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Tribute to my teachers on the eve of “Guru Utsav”

15th August has been the true Independence Day for me. The day marks my own independence as I joined Cotton College SNBC Hostel (Formerly New Hostel) on 15^th Aug, 1990, as a HS 1^st year (Sc) student. It was once said “What Cotton thinks today, Assam will think tomorrow”. By the time I joined Cotton, the College had lost much of its earlier sheen, but the adage still held true.  The drifting Cotton of 1990 , void of any great thinking, typified the next two decades of murkiness in the History of Assam.

Before joining the College, my family decided that there were very few doctors in our extended family and really required one in me. So it was no wonder that I was to take Biology as one of my subjects.

The first class was of Physics by a dreary professor who came and straightway started writing the Coulomb’s law of electricity at the board.  Till then, I didn’t have an iota of information what and how electrons work. Somehow, I could endure the 45 odd minutes and decided never to attend his classes in future. To my utter disbelief, I found most of the teachers in the other subjects were also to be quite mediocre contrary to my expectation. Worst were the Professors in Assamese Department as we sometimes had to invite them to class and many of them adopted innovative technique to kill the time on irrelevant discussions. The glorious past of the dream of Sir Henry Cotton and Manik Chandra Baruah had started decaying thick and fast. Having said that, I must also mention that there were few extremely good professors in Cotton in 1990. But the wholesome degradation of the state was perceptible as  the college administration had to bow at times to the whims of few powerful students and some of them became powerful political heavyweights latter on.

However, my hope of becoming a Doctor met stiff resistance from the Biology class. The subject was not at all palatable to me as I had to mug too much without understanding head or tail. We were made to make drawings from various specimens in the laboratory  and as usual I was found to be the one most wanting. One Botany Madam was very particular with the drawing quality and separate sitting plan for boys and girls. But her advisories could hardly stop me in whispering to my friend in the next bench, who kept on fascinating me in those days and I could hardly keep my eyes off . It didn’t escape Madam’s attention and wrath. She immediately ordered me to move out from her class. Thus nipped in the bud , the hope of my family seeing me donning the white uniform with a stethoscope over it.   

Today, when I read articles related to Medical Science, I wonder why I missed the same excitement of reading my Biology books in Higher Secondary.  Perhaps,I thoroughly missed a teacher in Botany & Zoology who could inspire me to love the subject, the challenge which distinguishes great teachers  from the middling.

Like the Biology, the Chemistry was also no different for me as I got totally puzzled by the concept of Valency and others till I met Dr. Satyendra K Choudhury Sir.A very good Violinist and even better human being, the three months, that he taught us Chemistry at his home, was good enough for me to fall in love with the subject. Perhaps I will carry the elementary mole concept, the gas laws, Inorganic and Organic Chemistry which Sir taught us in those days to my death bed. The basic concepts of Chemistry still helps me as an Energy professional to understand how the intricate molecules behave and make life difficult at times.

When I am writing this blog as a tribute to my past teachers, the foremost name that I can recollect like a wink of light is Late Dinesh Sarma. He was my teacher cum friend cum philosopher in my childhood. I remember the first day, he didn’t ask me to open books . As I asked him relentless questions, he kept on answering those with such patience & interest that I felt myself to be immensely important. He couldn’t come everyday to our house, as he was suffering from body ache and other ailments which were latter found to be prelude to the deadly irreversible disease which took his life prematurely. But, I grew as a person under him who inspired to think that life goes beyond the textbooks.

I was once the honored guest at lunch of Sarma Sir’s house. Sitting atop a “Pira” ( a low wooden platform) in the kitchen, I savored the Pigeon and Fish curry. My taste buds still feel the tingling of the fish curry with tomato which Sir’s mother served with a big brass spoon.

On the eve of teacher’s day, I wish Dr. Satyendra K Choudhury a long and healthy life and peace for the heavenly soul of Late Dinesh Sarma. Whatever I am today, its all because of many teachers I encountered in my past 39 years of journey.      


(You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com)  

 

 

 

Dr. Sarita’s death and an unexpected message

These days, News Papers hardly carry news of hope and life in the morning to your living room. As I opened the front page of the paper in anticipation of another  appalling information, I stumbled upon the news of bail being granted by the High Court to the killer of a young lady doctor at Assam Medical College, Dibrugarh. The gruesome murder rocked Assam for quite some time and the  killer happened to be  a disgruntled colleague whose marriage proposal she turned down.  
 

While the news of Dr. Sarita’s death kept me dismayed,  I had a  message least expected. The sender of the message informed me of being a regular reader of whatever mundane staff I write in my blog with the sole complaint that in the last two years I have missed  something important. 
 

“I too was an important part of your life at some point of time which your blog continues to miss”, She wrote with her usual effervescence.
 

The message brought back memories of those days when I was just past the age of 21 and joined Steel Authority of India Limited at Durgapur as a Management Trainee. We met literally on the road in one of those boisterous evenings at Durgapur, the evenings which we could spare in abundance over a cup of hot coffee and kebab or a chicken roll at Durgapur Steel Market.  We were not bold enough like today’s young couples. Some phone calls, short meetings here and there and sharing of Archies Cards and chocolates kept the relationship going. Was it love or something else I didn’t know as I kept on asking myself? But I enjoyed talking to her and her simplicity, sensitivity and intelligence kept her spaced out from the others. 
 

One evening to scare her, I rang her up in to inform that I was coming to her home .  Till then, she didn’t have the courage to tell her parents about me. While she laughed away my words as prank, I rode straight to her home and knocked at the door pretending to enquire about some “ Mr.Bagchi”. Scared to death, she prayed the moments to pass on safely as I had water and chatted comfortably with her mother . I was from Assam and Auntie was pleased to hear that I belonged to the land of Ma Kamakhya.
 

While I was recuperating at the Hospital and fighting one of the toughest battles of my life, she often managed time to come from Jadavpur to the hospital skipping classes, with a bag full of drawing sheets, T-Square and what not at her back. She prayed for my recovery and holding my hand, showed her unstinted support. Yet, when my father met her in my Hospital chamber, a so called good boy from a middle class family, I couldn’t muster over enough courage to introduce her as my friend. I knew, my timidity did hurt her, but she never vented her feelings for once to unsettle me at the hospital bed.
 

As it normally happens in most such stories of youth, we too broke up rather in an unconventional way. There was guilt, self inflicted pain and many sleepless nights pondering at both sides. Years latter, I think, the parting was mutually beneficial and even better for her. While we parted and moved along, my friend has done well in life as a professional and a loving wife. Today, she manages works for a large MNC and more importantly lives life with dignity. These days, we don’t have much correspondence except exchanging birthday greetings. Perhaps like me, today she laughs, remembering those days of naïve immaturity, yet, with no hard feelings, I know I have a well wisher in her and so she has one in me.    
 

When my two sons grow up to read this blog, they should know that their father was a normal human being like them , prone to slip-up. As he trudged along, like them, he did all the mischievous acts as a child, wanted to desperately fall in love in his early youth and was as dreamy as them as a young man. Like others, their father erred too, not once but many times, but he was no hypocrite either to hush them up under the veil of fake righteousness.
 

The murderer of Dr. Sarita had a brilliant academic career too. But, perhaps more than the human anatomy and fat mark sheets, which he was regular at getting, someone needed to tell him that it is important to achieve whatever you desire in life, but more important is to learn to respect the time you were at relationship with someone, even if it was one way traffic.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Rail fare hike, inside a train toilet and a Lady co-passenger

The recent hike in Rail fare had brought wide condemnation to the Narendra Modi Government from many  “patriotic” news channels and political parties. Those, who travel by Rail frequently, know the plight of the Indian Railway passengers. A rail journey, right from ticketing to travel, is an endurance test to your physique, mind and body’s immunity system as you have to amend with the filth, unhygienic food, cockroaches apart from the fear of getting robbed and humiliated, more so if you happen to be a lady passenger.

In the month of March to May, this year, I had to visit frequently with my family from Digboi to Guwahati. I have been recently transferred to Guwahati and still trying to get used to the messy city with its inherent problem of water logging and ever increasing mercury. My two year old son however liked the overnight rail journeys and whenever he spots a train passing through near our place at Noonmati, he points out “bhanga train…bhanga train.. jam…jamm” (See the broken train… broken train …Will go…will go). Indeed Indian rail is now full of those “bhanga” (broken) trains.

I was travelling from Kolkata to Guwahati with a middle aged couple in a 2^nd class sleeper compartment. The year was 1998 and I could hardly afford a flight or a higher class travel then. Those days, I used to talk a lot and make immediate friendship with the co-passengers so that I could bombard them with endless chatting. The wife of the middle aged gentleman was quite a dominating personality and it was she, who used to do the most of the talking while the poor husband had to remain contended being the passive listener. Whenever he occasionally tried to raise his voice to correct or to add  to some of her statements, she  retorted “ chup thaka.. tumi eko najana” ( Shut up… You don’t know anything) which was enough to remind the meek husband the limit beyond which his trespass was not expected.

In the next morning, the train entered the Assam boarder and my biological clock ticked me to hurry off to the toilet.  After the foremost job was over, I was shocked to find the lone water tap in the toilet absolutely running dry. I waited for about 20 odd minutes, heard at least 5 agitated knocks at the door of other passengers and finally with no hope of getting water in the hindsight, I made the best use of the handkerchief I was carrying in my pocket and came out.

After about 20 minutes, it was the turn of my lady co-passenger and she entered into the same toilet. I wondered whether she carried a handkerchief like me and I believe she didn’t. She stayed inside the loo for more than half an hour. When she came out, her beautiful face uttered nothing, but looked like an absolute embodiment of discomfort.

In the entire journey for the next 5-6 hours to Guwahati, neither me nor the lady co-passenger talked while the submissive husband basked in the glory of new found freedom and kept the chattering continue.

With the increase in Rail fare, if Mr. Modi is able to turnaround the Rail infrastructure, no one will be able to write a story like mine sans such colourful experiences inside  an Indian train. That’s one more reason for some people to fight tooth and nail against any fare hike and let the system rot.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Mark the Face Behind the Mask

The other day, I was watching the news of the Indians entrapped in the mayhem of sectarian violence of Iraq. These days, the unscrupulous elements seem to be in competition to outdo others in their monstrous pursuits and Iraq has fast turned out to be another Afghanistan, a thorn to the rosy beds of world peacekeepers! Next moment, the TV screen displayed a displaced Iraqi family, living in a UN erected tent and what caught my attention was a small Iraqi boy happily playing a ball near the tent unmindful of the so much of uncertainties around him.

I felt utterly sorry for the poor boy and his family. That little boy represents many more such oppressed childhood by the spiteful consequences. His presence is everywhere; right from Iraq, Sudan, Nigeria to our very own Assam, where in parts, life is still a very cheap commodity.

While the entire world has deplored the massacre of the 1500 odd Iraqi air force recruits, the rebels, armed with AK-47 and AK-56s, RPGs and Rocket launchers, are quite happy to showcase their military might. These are all sophisticated weaponries and require high skill to manufacture. So where from they have obtained them? Are not those suppliers of weapons more responsible for all those senseless killings? When the new Government of India wish to allow 100 % FDI in Defence sector, what becomes even more important is to protect the destination of those manufactured arms.

Till 1990, late Saddam Hussein ruled Iraq with an iron hand. Under him, Iraq was prosperous and liberal even after years of fighting with its neighbor Iran. The autocrat ruler committed a number of crimes against humanity, yet the allied forces, when left Iraq, armed the Kurds to the teeth to fight one of the dreadful sectarian fights in Iraq and still not at all responsible for getting thousands of innocents killed in the process. For what is happening in Iraq and Afghanistan today, why not the rulers of the countries including US are not tried by an International court! Perhaps, Mr. Bush and his friends alongwith their predecessors deserve even harsher punishment than meted to Saddam and German Nazi Militias for inflicting such pain on humanity.

When you drive through the wide boulevards with rows of charming palatial buildings and structures, our eyes moisten in appreciation of the civilization and economic might of those countries while forgetting that the foundation on where stands the economic extravaganza is sheer plunder from many countries like ours. The greed of the Spanish saw the Aztec crumbling down with thousands dying from mercury vapor in the forced working ghettos to satiate the Spanish thrust for silver. David Scot, when entered Assam, behaved meaner than a pretty burglar to loot the Ahom King’s treasury. And what about Robert Clive …Instances are countless.

Needless to say that even our country played with fire in the state of Punjab and Lanka. The country burned its fingers too as it lost two Prime Ministers at the hands of the demon called “Frankenstein”.

I am not writing this piece as a hate mongering rhetoric towards west. We do need to have good relation with the west. However, the new Government in Delhi is required to be cautious while dealing with the United States. US has never been anybody’s friend and their offer of friendship is full of opportunism and threats. Nobody becomes your friend without an ulterior motive behind. Strength alone charms people and countries towards friendship. By creating the Islamic terrorism, US and its allies had committed irreparable harms to India’s security than a solitary breach of boarders by our eastern Neighbor.

In the years to come, both India and China will have no more option but to come closer for peaceful existence. While the west remains insular from the turmoil of its own creation due to geographical advantages, India and China can’t shy away from the close happenings at its next door. China’s thinktank needs to review its policy too. No need to encircle each other as time is ripe enough to embrace and become stronger and safer.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

What makes me happy about Narendra Modi

I am very happy to see Narendra Modi as the Prime Minister of India. 

My happiness is not for the party or ideology to which Mr. Modi owes his trust or allegiance. India’s problems are mounting and it will require considerable time to build the altar and we can’t expect Mr Modi to deliver so quickly. 

What makes me happy about Narendra Modi is the very fact that a person who sold tea in childhood to provide economic respite to his family and come up to become the Prime Minister of India fighting all odds can be worth encouraging to the millions of Indians.

We have Dr. Kalam as a role model of the emerging India. Whether Modi can be equally encouraging and become a role model for the future generation, only time will reveal. But he has the right kind of attitude.

It required a Haryana hurricane with rustic English and a Ranchi boy without any background to rejuvenate Indian cricket and achieve something unthinkable for the Metro grown cricketers with all the facilities and backing at their doorstep. Longer the list of such achievers, better it is for our country.
In one of my posts at my blog, http://kamaljitmedhi.blogspot.com/, I wrote “ It is not the top 30% but the bottom 70% of the economic and social strata of our countrymen will decide the future of this nation in the twenty first century". Mr. Modi certainly belonged to the 70% “mango” category whose story should inspire many more to aim and achieve the unthinkable. If that happens, It will be even more amazing that Mr. Modi’s ascendance to Prime Ministership.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Meeting one of the greatest Assamese

I have come across many of them in the airport if not personally- famous musicians, cine stars particularly Bollywood heroines, cricketers, writers, politicians or big corporate honchos. I have seen many chasing them for an autograph or a rare photograph to make others envious. Somehow, I never felt the hunger  for such treasure moments.  But this man was quite different. He was sitting in the same row with me in a flight from Dibrugarh to Guwahati and I felt the irresistible urge to wish him .

He is none other than  Homen Borgohain. About, 18 years back, I met him at his chamber for an interview for our College Magazine “AECIAN” with Ismail Hossein and my friend Sanjib. That afternoon indeed turned out to be a special one with Borgohain Sir  after we received a good verbal dose for being late by 15 minutes from the appointed time. Borgohain talked for about three odd hours on various issues raised by us.

Sri Borgohain has been a poet, novelist, essayist, editor of many leading Assamese newspapers. There are far more accomplished writers, novelists and editors than him in Assam. At times, his name did get entangled in controversies too. Yet, to me, Sri Borgohain remains one of the few revered personalities in my life, who has left an indelible mark on me.

For many people like me, who grew up in the countryside in a pre-Google era, Borgohain Sir’s books exposed us to the Literary Greats, Thinkers and Philosophers. It was Sri Borgohain, who introduced me to Samuel Smiles as a teenager and I remain indebted to him.  Those who witnessed the great social turmoil in the form of Assam Agitation as a child, teenager or youth, his books made us fall in love with life. While passing through some traumatic time of my life, I remembered of Reynold Price I knew as a teenager through his writing in Asam Bani to draw inspiration to say for myself “In the last but worst few months, mine has been a happy life”

As we were waiting to collect our baggage from the belt, I gathered enough courage to make an honest confession to him that I was one of those innumerable persons who got benefited from his books. With all humility, he said “ there can’t be anything more satisfying for a reader than hearing such words”.

May his health continue to support to inspire many young generations in future like he did to me as a teenager and youth.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

1 Katha Land and Siddhant's "Fiiz"

The other day I was very upset at the family of our maid. They have been staying at our Company B’low maid’s quarter for some generations.  I was angry that in spite of volunteering to bear all the education expenses, their both children have stopped going to school. The only profession they will take up is either B’low gardener or maid and the continue to live in the quarters of B’low servants followed by untimely death out of heavy drinking and smoking.

This morning, read Akhil Gogoi has vowed to stop Rahul from entering Guwahati as long as land allotment to the landless people is not done. I have been a fan of Akhil all along as with self less devotion, he has exposed corruption and limitation of Administration. But allotting land to the landless people in the wasteland and Hills, an issue I couldn’t support. Will not this result in more of encroachment  and ring the death knell of a city already suffocating?

Millions of hectares of Land, you kept unused for the people from Bangladesh to occupy. If you look at those land and its inhabitant today, you will be amazed by the prosperity those people have achieved -be it agriculture, pisciculture or education. In contrast, look at the plight of the so called indigenous people - shouting for one Katha land allotment at the Dispur Last gate.

All I can say- you deserve to be landless, weak and get trampled.

      

******************

I have been “Papu”, “papla”, “Paputa” or even “ puppy” to our two year old younger son  Siddhant. Now he has a new word in his vocabulary as I heard him calling me “Paputa .. fiiz, fiiz.... ahana”. Needed some time to beak the code of “fiiz”. It was “please”.

With the addition of this new word in his armory, it  will be even more difficult for me not to allow  him ti indulge all the forbidden activities by his Mama. 

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

On Valentine’s Day, to all the Moral Police with love

Finally Valentine’s Day, 2014 has arrived, a much revered day for the couples in love. Equally enthusiastic will be the hordes of morale police who remind me to our days in Hostel at Engineering College when almost all the discussions with friends somehow got deviated towards the girls. Hours of precious time were spent on discussing various juicy subjects of little value. Then all of a sudden, we find one of our regular members starts skipping the adda on account of his new found status of being “engaged” leaving us, the singles, high and dry. Out of sheer envy, we started discussing on foolishness on the part of our friend to be engaged with such a girl who would totally ruin him. This followed by our  honest attempts to save our friend from the likely spoil.

While the puritans scoff, perhaps, more than any other festivals, Indians should celebrate V-day in the true spirit. Though, the divorce rate in Indian society is still far less than the western compatriot, yet love remains far cry amongst many Indian couples. They simply carry on the relationship for years and in most cases, it is the lady who suffers the most. So increasing divorce rate in India to me is not a mere concern but also reflection of women empowerment and a maturing society. Once they are away from the probing gaze of wives and society, Indian males are equally flirty with piercing eyes.  

If you love someone, there’s no harm on expressing that by holding someone’s hand as long as you maintain decency. Those soft murmuring and loving touch of the loved one  can do wonders to life. If someone wants to re-ignite the long dormant passion and love in this Valentine’s Day, why the morale police should worry much!

And still if you can’t re-ignite, go for a mutually agreed separation, start afresh and go out in search of love. We all live only one single life.

In the Evening Garage Meeting

I got a call from Naba Da, my neighbor at about 8:00 pm last night. He proposed for a standing meeting in the open space in front of our garages to review the preparedness of V-day celebration. Many important decisions of our locality are finalized at this spot like the venue and menu of the next party, script of the Durga Puja drama etc.etc.

Someone cracked a hilarious real life incident on V-day.

One Engineering trainee was undergoing her vocational training in the Refinery. A smart and convent educated girl, she was a little bit more attentive to one particular young and dashing Engineer who happened to be her mentor. We are not sure whether he too enjoyed such special attention.

Those days, V-day celebration was not so common like today. One day, the girl asked her mentor to break the ice – “What do you do in Valentine’s Day ?”

Till then, the young Engineer didn’t hear about St. Valentine. He thought it to be some new Holiday’s declared and so replied

 “ Oh.. Valentine’s Day…We..We go home.”

While his friends preserved this statement for posterity, the girl could realize the futility in pinning her future with  the young engineer.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Racial discrimination- some random thoughts

The other day, I stumbled upon a Facebook Update of one of my colleagues cum friends. The friend has asked the people of North East to rise against the “mainstream Indian” or “mainstream Assamese” with tit for tat attitude for their continued apathy towards the indigenous people of North East (read as “Non-Mainstream Assamese). My friend, who is prone to such emotional outbreaks, made me ponder over the “Mainstream Assamese” and how do I fit myself into this community. 

My friend’s update reminded me to my Father’s Maternal Uncle, an unknown and unsung face, who met a violent end during the movement for separate statehood for Bodoland . Cladded in a pair of immaculate white Dhoti and Kurta, Father’s Uncle (We called him “Aata” meaning Koka in lower Assam) was a true “Bhadralok” (Gentleman). My earliest memories of him are Aata sitting long hours by the side of Grand Mother and both submerged in family discussion. I never heard him ever expressing displeasure or being angry. Aata used to stay in an area marred badly by communal violence. While most of the other people fled the place, Aata (Grandfather) stayed back believing no one would do him  any harm when he had himself not committed anything against anyone. His belief was utterly wrong. His title “Biswasi” was enough to justify some heinous minds to commit the unthinkable.

I was very young at that time and as usual I was burning with rage at the anonymous killer of Aata. Passing years have soothed my rage and perhaps I will spare the killer if I come face to face someday. I learnt to believe that more than the killer, the system that produced the killer is required to be nailed first. For that reason only , I become panicky, when I see educated people fail to ooze out wisdom out of their education and fall into the trap of mob psyche. We had many who once saw rays of hope with the armed struggle of Assam. Many of them today are obsessed with a new Political party in India whose USP is sheer anarchism and gimmickry.

The racial attack against the people of North East is not new. The cause is not lack of policing which some Kejriwal wants us to believe. You can’t depute one policeman after each and every citizen. The large Mongoloid population of North East doesn’t share a common History and culture with the mainstream India. The successive governments missed the important steps of national integration by keeping people of India unaware about North East. That’s the reason Lachit or Chilarai is not an Indian hero though their military pursuits can far outshine many great historical warriors and household names in other parts of India. Not many outside Assam are perhaps aware about the mighty Ahoms, who stopped the Moghul’s reach to China through Assam. But I see a silver lining when Delhi Minister Manish Sisodia states that North east must be included in the syllabus of our future generation. There is no better way to make North East acceptable to the rest of India that teaching the children about the diversity of our country. The onus of National integration lies more on the rest of India than the people of North East.

The University of Banglore has come out with an idea against racism which is nothing but short of rational thinking . The University wants to build a dedicated hostel for the students of North East to protect them from racial abuses. Don’t know how such fertile idea crop up in people’s mind ! North East must go outside the periphery of North East the way rest of India should come to North East unlike the yearly rituals of  Republic Day parade. Efforts to keep  its people isolated, will cause more harm than any good for sure.

When my sons Hrishikesh and Siddhant grow up, I wish them to grow up as a good Indian Citizen in the midst of other Indian students but never in a place exclusively reserved for the people of North East.
 

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Three snapshots of Anarchism- Student Agitation, Engineering College and Aam Aadmi Party etc

 (1)

If you are in late thirties or in the early forties and spent your childhood in Assam, you will have a similar experience to mine. We were small kids during those murky days of the Student Agitation, aftershock tremors of which are still palpable in Assam. The movement for foreigner deportation met an ignominious end. Yet it is a fine example of how a movement initiated for a just cause can veer off in the midst of frenzied public sentient driving the destiny of Assam into anarchism in the next few decades.

I have many memories of those turbulent days. The long marches chanting “Inqilaab Zindabad” stimulated our young minds and we the kids imitated the same words with our friends. The uncontrolled outpour of emotion splitted my own family too and I missed the company of my Maternal Grand Parents for a long time. For many years, I didn’t understand what made my Grandmother weep profusely with my mother holding me tightly to her chest when they saw each other in a marriage party.  

A mere whistle of the village defence party volunteers was enough to raise a hue and cry and the elders rushed to the street with the traditional weapons to protect their families against the “Razakars” who never turned up at our hometown. But some houses did burn at my home place, Hajo. Perhaps, those were the outcome of some smart resolution of long neighbourly feuds.  In 1983, I was eight years old and the nauseatingly stories of communal violence, I used to hear in the discussions of the elders, imprinted a fear psychosis in my mind and continue to haunt me.

After so much of violence, loss of lives and property, Assam finally got a paper accord which propelled the leaders of the Students movement to the throne. Not many asked a question on what the leaders achieved for Assam with the accord and those who raised voices were far outnumbered by the hysteric mob. But the biggest impact of the movement was the extensive degeneration of the character of the nation as a whole and left the Assamese society further fragmented.

(2)

A messenger delivered a small note to me which read like this

 “You are advised to come back to hostel immediately after receiving this letter or else appropriate action will be taken against you. Regards, Boarders of Hostel-7”

This was twenty years back and I was pursuing my Engineering at Assam Engineering College, Guwahati. By then, my friends had successfully stopped all the activities of the College in protest against the Principal for his removal. Principal Mr. Choudhury instead of rusticating a student for committing ragging on new boarders, gave an alternative to the student to stand outside the College building with his fingers in the ear lobes. The student readily accepted the offer.  But the other students got enraged by the immature act of the Principal. Some smart students suddenly sniffed the possibility of postponing the examination and also settle old scores against Mr. Choudhury. So a massive student protest followed for removal of the Principal. Students held long meetings in the Union Hall discussing strategy which only bore the lone outcome– finalization of the time for the next meeting.

Some students had a novel idea. They forced the Principal to put his thumb impression on his resignation letter one day. The thumb impression was the idea of a fertile mind so that Principal can’t deny his signature latter on. Armed with the resignation letter, student thought that resignation of the Principal was in their pocket and met the Vice Chancellor to submit the letter. But as expected, VC ticked them off with a stern warning.

So the students decided as another self inflicting move to boycott the examination. In this mess, feeble voices of protest and reasoning like mine got subdued. Aghast, I decided not to be a part of the tamasha and left college hostel for home. My friends fumed at my audacity of not being a part of a noble cause and sent me a warning letter to call me back.I had no option but to return back.

If you are still reading my blog and you didn’t study at Assam Engineering College in those days, you will be curious to know the end result of the student unrest. The college was handed over to Police and we all missed one entire semester. The Principal ruled like a king for the remaining part of his tenure. The plight of the leaders in our hostel who almost burned my books and mattresses was miserable after the college reopened.   

(3)

Of late some of my friends have suddenly become avid Aam Aadmi activists. They fill the Facebook pages with scraps, supports each and every action of the party workers. Even if that means breaking laws by the law makers, they believe it is required as the man heralded in the Political scene of India is the messiah to eradicate all evils. If you ask them what is his Economic vision, Foreign Policy, past achievement and experience, those wise men immediately turn their guns at you and brand you as supporter of Rahul or NaMo. One of my friend staying abroad proudly proclaims that all great movements were fought in the street and so Mr. Kejriwal’s dharna is justified. Moreover, the concerned Minister has an IIT background. What the AAP supporters should note that IIT background doesn’t warrant anyone a free ticket to the heaven. Our own APJ Kalam never studied in IIT.

With Europe already almost reaching saturation, Africa is going to be the next hot bed of economic activities along with Asia. The continent is Oil rich and already many Indian Oil PSUs have started business with countries like Nigeria. We also should not forget that the father of the nation, Gandhi initiated the concept of non- violence in the land of South Africa and we have long fought against racial discrimination together. With one stroke of irresponsible act of midnight raid against the African people, the AAP Minister Mr. Bharti had done enough damage to dent the India Africa relationship. I will not be surprised if a large scale anti India feeling in the African countries sprouts up making billions of future Indian investment in Africa in jeopardy.

I am not at all cross with my friends and AAP supporters nor I am a supporter of Congress or BJP. My only support is with a strong and prosperous, unified India. People of this country have long suffered at the hands of corrupt politicians and system overwhelmingly hopeless. Anna Hazare’s arrival as a crusader is the reason enough to typify the mood the nation. I had personally imposed great hope on AAP and Arvind Kejriwal, but if the last twenty days at office is any indication of the days to come, AAP slowly and steadily disintegrating for its course.

The irony of mankind is that every man is a law breaker in his sub-conscious mind. Beneath every man, lies the desire to control things in his own way even if that turns society plunge into anarchy. Perhaps that’s the reason; leaders of every successful struggle had the distinctive traits not to be swayed by mob psychology. In the history of mankind, people have fought countless issues in the streets but a very few could see the light of the day.

More than NaMo or Rahul, Arvind Kejriwal should guard himself from his own cronies to keep himself firmly grounded. He doesn’t need to be the Noah’s Arc for everyone but selective and consistent in choosing his friends. More than freebies, he should promise of Industry for job generation. The movement against corruption shouldn’t be frittered away by the winds of Political opportunism just like the Student Agitation or in a smaller scale the student protest to remove the Principal.

I am sorry to all AAP supporters. Till now AAP fails to get my vote in 2014.

 You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com