A poem and some random thoughts

Last time, I felt this irresistible urge was fifteen years ago when I  penned down a poem with the title “The trees will grow in Dehra ”. I dedicated the poem to Ruskin Bond, the famous author whose stories captivated our childhood days with a magical spell, the vibes of which are still palpable.

Finally I could complete a poem  after fifteen long years!


                     ঠিকনা

                                                                              কমলজিত মেধি

আজীৱন কঢ়িয়াই ফুৰিছো এখন ঘৰৰ ঠিকনা

চাপৰিৰ বালি গচকি বাঁহৰ জপনা খুলি গৈ পোৱা

মোৰ সৰু ঘৰ য'ত

আইৰ আচলৰ এটা বনৰীয়া সপোন আছিলো মই

তন্ময় চাইছিলো অন্ধকাৰ খেদা জোনাকীৰ জাক

সোনোৱালী পথাৰৰ অবুজ টান 

"ববচা  বনত বকুল” বাগৰে

জাকি মাৰি উৰি যায় “বহলাই বহা” বগলীৰ জাক

আৰু কৈশোৰ যৌৱনৰ আলিদোমোজাত সেই

লিহিৰি আঙুলিৰ স্পৰ্শৰ মধুময় অনুভৱ

ৰেলৰ দূৰণিবতীয়া যাত্ৰাৰ যাত্ৰী মই

সম্ভৱনাৰে মোহনীয়া যাত্ৰা  মোৰ

চুমি চালো কত মহানগৰীৰ হেঙুলীয়া সন্ধিয়াৰ বোল

আজিৰ সহচৰ একালৰ বহ অচিন যাত্ৰী

বহদূৰৰ নামনিত আজি মোৰ ঘৰৰ ঠিকনা

তথাপি বুকুৰ গভীৰত আজিও অনুৰণিত

কাহানিও উভতিব নোৱাৰা

এখন ঘৰৰ চিনাকি সুৰ                                                                                    

The house was small but it had the space for all as some space had to be shared always for the commitment to the extended family. The evening saw the flurry of guests. The discussions over many cups of tea and snacks were endless and diverse from History to Literature, from Poetry to Religion, from Agriculture to natural disasters. I was a passionate listener to all of them sitting by the side of my father. I still can’t believe how my mother managed all the domestic chores alone and yet found time to look after us, those guests, read books for us and herself as well.

Nothing is static in this world and my place and home, I left in my fifteenth spring to join college, has also undergone changes over the years. The hands of my grandparents that showered boundless blessings have long turned into ashes. Going for an evening walk in the gravel road of once, where two buses plied in a day, is a dicey proposition now as unruly vehicles move fanatically with little concern for the pedestrian. The bamboo gate of our home gave way for an iron one and as we, the children, grew, the small house too grew in all directions.

Before I got married, my parents arranged a trip to Shillong with my then Fiancée and now wife as they thought would help us to open up unmindful of the fact that the long telephone conversations had already accomplished that feat. As me and Arpana ran to a hilltop, I saw my parents slowly walking up to the top. For the first time, I felt the pain of seeing them growing old.

A home is not merely a house but it encompasses the people we meet and the ambience of the surrounding, the innumerable chirping birds in the mornings, pristine greeneries with the hills as the backdrop from where the sun rises every morning, the recital of the holy scriptures at the "Namghor" and many more. Each part one got intertwined with the others to make a home of childhood. I can never go back to that home where everything has changed except my parents’ love for me. Be it by the side of the majestic Himalayas or  in an evening of raw exuberance by the river Seine or in those long drives through the hills and valleys , everywhere, I carry my childhood home and this poem is dedicated to it.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

A day in the life a Father

Every year, my wife goes for a long break from me with the kids in the month of March-April after the exam is over. The raucous home suddenly becomes silent. The long skype hours just can’t surrogate the sweet cuddle of my wife after a tiresome day or the fragrance of the two kids at the bed which fills me with joy untold.

Slowly as the silence pervades deeper into the heart, I know it’s time to get submerged in deep conversation with the person hiding in me. Once more I fall in love with myself, my books and days of the yesteryear. I begin to enjoy the seclusion. It doesn’t anyway demean my love and concern for the family. Perhaps my loving wife and kids will appreciate and forgive me for yearning some time for myself without them around.

With the two sons in deep sleep, silence has befallen once again at our home at Digboi. Wherever life takes us to, the four walls of this old B’low, built sometime in 1938, will always remind us of the beautiful time we had here seeing our kids growing up.

I switched on the laptop to write something about Sachin Tendulkar and late Rajesh Khanna.  Sachin and Rajesh both can wait for another day as I decided to write something about my day with my kids. Someday, when our sons grow up and become parents themselves and complain about our grandchildren, I can shield them like my parents and show this piece to remind exactly what they were once.

 (1)

The morning started with a frenzied search for our elder son, Hrishi’s school sweater and the blazer only to realize that he left it somewhere in the school yesterday and didn’t remember where he kept them off. At office, my wife informed that Ricky (Younger one- one year and eight month old pocket dynamo) had broken the Tata Sky set up box and how dearly she missed her favourite serials. By lunch time, chhotu has also added the land phone in the list of broken items and wife enquired whether BSNL would replace the set free of cost. Normally, I always get a warm welcome from the young one right at the entrance. Curious to know what kept him busy to forget my welcome, found him playing with the switch board standing on a stool he placed atop the dressing and a possible accident was averted at the nick of time. In the evening, another phone call from wife informed that Ricky managed to damage some part of a hand pump use to inflate the cycles of my neighbour he visits frequently.

My wife hurriedly left for club after my return for the rehearsal of the coming “Husbands’ Dinner” leaving the two demons at my care (Don’t know why these ladies take such long rehearsal for a simple cultural show). In between, she also informed me to quickly buy a new blazer for Hrishi as his lost blazer couldn’t be traced at school.

Fresh after a hot water bath, I was thinking about the case study presentation I would be making to the visiting Japanese delegates to our plant. I entered my room with a cup of green tea only to find the younger one already knocking the TV monitor with his plastic cricket bat as if I have fixed in at the wall to have knocking practice for him.

I wasn’t angry at all except feeling like pulling out whatever little remaining over my skull.

(2)

After the maid left, I played cricket with chhotu while the elder one made countless visits from his study to the kitchen followed by toilet breaks after I stared at him for his frequent kitchen visits. Hrishi is eight and half year old and a nice gentleman. He no more breaks the crockery or bangs the TV remote on the wall like his younger brother.

Hrishi is out and out an extrovert and never hesitates to speak out his mind. He gets irked at our habit of congratulating everyone after he or she performs in the so called cultural extravaganza by the in-house talents. So, once after such a program, he went straight to the singer and told “Auntie, Why do you always sing? You know, your song sucks”

Imagine the plight of us and the singer in the public and that too amongst the crowd of ladies! This is only one amongst many such embarrassing moments with Hrishi which often evoked spontaneous fun latter.

I had once a miraculous escape too from being thrashed by a lady. Hrishi was small and in those days used to tweak whoever and whatever he could reach. I was standing in a queue in the bank behind   a smart lady. Suddenly the lady turned back at me with a furious look only to realise that the offender was not me but my three year old son who was of the right height for the wrong place! I felt relieved to see her scowl turning to a smile instead of a “cheek handshake” for me. 

Today was a great day for Hrishi at school as he mastered the art of whistling. Very happy, he kept on practicing and my stern warning further made his zeal doubled and quadrupled. This evening, he accompanied me to the market. In the midst of continuous babbling, he once more enquired why it was bad mannerism to whistle in public and then after a second, he did exactly that ….phew…phew…...

A lady with her two teenage daughters was walking at our front. Her daughters felt the pinch of late November cold of Digboi except in their legs. Their mother immediately turned back to find out the mischief monger and couldn’t believe that a grey haired man attired in formal suit and tie could actually did that. With goose bumps, I smiled at her to explain that it was my son and not me.

But after Hrishi’s “phew”, the mother started gazing continuously at the bare legs of her young daughters.  I pulled Hrishi’s finger hard as a gesture to walk faster so that we were no more behind the lady with her two daughters.

                                                         ( Digboi, 20 Nov,23:45 hrs)

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com