I believe I was born with some literary knack which faded away without flourishing to perfection. Poetry was the ardour of my early youth and many of my poems, published in the leading magazines, received good commendation. One of the most illustrious Assamese writers, Sri Homen Borgohain Sir even once predicted a bright future for me after reading my poem in “Assam Bani”, an Assamese weekly, he used to edit in those days. My friends may enquire about Bogohain’s comment with Ismail Hossein, the noted and controversial Assamese writer and critic who was also present that day in the chamber. We were there for an interview with Sri Borgohain for our Engineering College magazine “AECIAN”.
However as time went by and I happened to read more of the masterpieces of the yesteryear Greats, I became more concerned about the my limited rather appalling literary ability. I have stopped becoming a writer by compassion. Life has blessed me with so many wonderful moments and each one of them had the potential of becoming an eternal literary harvest of magnum opus stature. Whenever I read great works of great authors, I feel a pinch of envy at them, as I struggle in my own quest for shaping my feelings into incredible words…..and then, when I finish off, it is not what I intended to write. This is the sheer travesty of a writer with limited ability.
This morning, through the open window of my bedroom at Digboi, I can see the Autumn sky with a vast stretch of never ending blue and my mind is drifting down the memory lane. The grand autumn ambience makes me reminiscent of the time wrapped into memory…. the themes of my three unfinished poems.
(1)
It was a hot summer evening of June. I was resting on a couch at the backyard enjoying the cool evening breeze. Silence was all pervading in the entire campus and I closed my eyes in deep gratification. We were expecting our first child within a few days and excitement of imminent parenthood was palpable. Suddenly I could hear the sweet voice calling me as Papa..papa. I turned back and could see a tiny beautiful angel with two petite wings, smiling mischievously at me. Seeing him, I was choked with emotions never felt before.. As I rushed to embrace, the angel broke into a playful laughter and flew away here and there cheering me to carry on the chase for him. My heart almost stopped whenever he narrowly missed hitting something in the room while flying around. And then suddenly I found myself resting on the couch only to recognize that it was a mere beautiful dream. On July 7th, 2005, my wife gave birth to our son Hrishi. In the last six years, every moment of our lives have encircled around Hrishi. His mischievous sparkling eyes, his endearing ways of showing displeasure and demands are so similar to what I saw in that angel I met in my dream.
I simply don’t have words to captivate that enormous feeling I had in my wild dream six years ago.
(2)
I have never been religious in observing the ceremonial part of religion, though the seed of spirituality which I inherit from my family is still intact. Our forefathers migrated from the western side and came to our present hometown, Hajo, perhaps to visit the famous Hayagreeva Madhav Temple. In later years, they were engaged to work for the temple and contributed immensely to the growth of the area. I grew up listening to the recitation of the holy scriptures in every morning and evening. Yet, whenever I visit the holy places, I am more enthralled by the history, architecture and tranquillity of the surrounding and pay my reverence in my own way rather than bowing and listening to something which I hardly correlate.
With some of friends, we were enjoying the enchanting views of the Himalayas. Wherever dusk befalls, we stop for the night. That evening, we were yet to reach Shimla and the darkness had already started encompassing the Hills. Suddenly, some of my friends spotted a small Temple some distance away from the road. They immediately stopped the car and got down to seek blessings inspite of my disapproving notes. I had no option but to move out from the comfort of the car and accompany my friends to the temple. A cold wind was blowing across which is so typical of the evenings of the Himalayas. As we approached the temple, I could hear the melodies of some nearby water streams. I sat on the cold floor as my friends entered inside the temple. I closed my eyes. Suddenly I could feel the thousands of music ringing, emanating from somewhere deep inside me and filled me with a divine pleasure hitherto unknown. I kept on enjoying the bliss till my friends awakened me from the deep slumber.
I met God that evening in that temple, a mystical feeling which I can’t express with words.
(3)
As the retreating sunshine played merrily with the afternoon sky with all the shades of colour in its kitty, the couple sat silently by the side of the river. Their meeting was by destiny’s wily intention which they could never comprehend. Yet, in the few months of togetherness, they lived life like never before, when oft dreams dared to spread its wings beyond the unforgiving reality. Slowly, the might of those undaunted wings waned and it was time to depart. They don’t know where life will take them to. All those long and anxious wait turning into frenzied joy at the glimpse of each other in the distant corner of the road , those soft and tender whispers, moments of loving arguments over trivial issues, all those will be memory from tomorrow. After many years when Life will be hard for them, with a frail body and mind, will they remember the last evening they spent by this river side!
I don’t have words for those moments except deep silence in appreciation and gratitude to Him for blessing me with the compassion.
You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com
