In search of Ajoy - my long lost friend

My first pay cheque was of Rs 75/- as recompense for a short program I did at All India Radio, Guwahati. In 1991, Seventy Five was no mean sum for a sixteen year old college student. With that amount, I could get 37 boiled eggs in “Hotel California” and still a rupee to spare at the nearby Bandhu’s shop. I remember how lowly I felt when my mother informed me of the cheque bouncing back due to insufficient fund at the AIR’s account.  Allahabad Bank, the lone bank branch at my village, merrily deducted fifteen odd rupees from my already dwindling first deposit. Huffing and puffing, next day, I arrived at AIR office much before the concerned official, could get a fresh cheque issued and encashed without any further hassle.

In those days, I used to write poems, articles, stories in the Assamese dailies and magazines barring “Prantik” which twice refused to acknowledge the literary genius in me. The shadow name – Ajoy Kashyap, which I adopted to write them, was in sync with the two distinct yet diverging persons residing inside me. While Ajoy was tender, emotional, impulsive, melancholic and lonely with traits of a vagabond, the other one was in the contrary quite hands on with life. So, while the yawning creative spasm induced Ajoy to the realms of literature, the practical guy in me pressed harder to rush to the office of the magazines which found Ajoy’s writings fit to publish   to claim the writer’s small remuneration with impeccable proofs to   convince that Ajoy and I was indeed the same person. (Some magazines refused under the pretext that remuneration was the exclusive right for the articles on request only)  

By the time I finished my Engineering, the lure of moving out to the enchanting world outside often made me restless. For quite sometime, thoughts of politics as a chosen profession kept me captivated. I speak well to the public and carry the same family surname of an honest ex Chief Minister of Assam which were told to be assets for a budding career in politics. My self -appointed mentor saw a great future in me and fixed an appointment with the most powerful man of the political arena of that time in Assam. That wily politician was morbidly sick and his voice was barely audible from across the table. Yet the spark of intelligence was conspicuous even in that short meeting as he advised me to join the student wing of his party. Today both that mentor and the powerful man are no more. Happy that better sense prevailed and I didn’t join any political party. The kind of deceitful and swindling acts a politician is required to do to climb the ladder of success, it would have become quite wearisome, hurting my soul and conscience every day.

As told earlier, Ajoy had a natural flair in many fields other than Chemical Engineering. He often used to utilize some of the cut and dried classes to write poetry or get lost in his thoughts. Each day, he reminded me of the heavenly joy of doing something dearer  to one’s heart. He wanted to see me to go close to the masses cladding a pair of kurta-pyjama, chappal, a bag with pen and poetry. By that time, I had an offer from a leading steel PSU after engineering with promise of almost a five figure salary. I was the eldest amongst five siblings and we had enough for to buy books, eat good foods but not enough to meet the increasing materialistic desires. The youngest one, a small kid of 5 or 6 then, proudly used to tell his friends that I was doing a “ big job” in Guwahati. The flicker of his eyes, when I used to give him the coins, is still a pleasant memory and I feel the resemblance of that in the eyes of my two sons. The responsibilities were far more forceful that the thoughts of such adventure inspired by Ajoy. So, for the first time in my life, I boarded into an AC-II compartment,  travelled through the arid landscape of black soil filled with smoke of coal and finally reached my destination.

I arrived at Bokaro to join as Junior Manager (Grade-E1) at Bokaro Steels Plant. In those days, Bokaro was quite in contrast to what I saw in Bihar with dusty roads and small clay huts in that short journey from Jamshedpur to Bokaro by road. It had all the amenities of a modern life, a fully equipped officer’s club, sports & shopping complex with wide roads. We were around 300 newly recruited engineers, who stayed together, dined together, travelled together and eyed on the roads and in club together. The best thing that happened to me at Steel Authority was to meet so many people with such varied background. But amongst all I met, Rajat Pradhan stood out from the rest.

The last time, I danced wildly on any street was way back in 2002 at Sambalpur, Orissa as a “baraati”. It was Rajatda’s wedding and my joy knew no bounds. To me, Rajat da was a friend, philosopher cum guide, all rolled into one at Durgapur. He is an outstanding human being besides being good engineer and an event manager. Unknowingly, Rajat da’s personality had an indelible clout on me too. He is one of those few who made me indebted for life. Loneliness, abstract thinking, romanticism are not pragmatic in the corporate life. As the influence of Ajoy Kashyap was making things complicated for me each day, I decided to part ways with him for good.

Each day, I noted my encounter with Ajoy in my diary and its fallout. Each night before going to bed, I reviewed all the cases. I was determined to be no-nonsense with life, go out from the cocoon, mingling with the crowd, wanted to learn the tricks to smile while I wished to alter the facial geography of the person in front. The more I tried, further went Ajoy from me. With him, he took away my words, my poems, emotion and instead instilled the sense of responsibility deeper in me . I often falter today to apprehend the thin line between love and responsibility.  

At 40, I have almost reached the midway of my journey. Each day at my job, I meet different people right from the Chief Executive to the lowly paid casual ditch cleaner. The PSU Oil major, for which I work now, doesn’t pay well as compared to its private peers but enough to have a house of own, social security for the rest of me and my wife’s life, good education for the children and family trips twice a year. It gives exposure too to the willing ones to work and gather skill well enough to leave the company for greener avenues. I believe, I am doing reasonably well at my job and from time to time invitations make me feel I am still saleable even after 18 years of working at PSU. With a loving and caring wife and two kids promising to become two fine gentlemen in future, surrounded by a doting family and close friends, my life seems to be full and happening. Yet, I am unable to fathom with the kind of feeling of incompleteness and the void inside which often haunts me. I am a loner even in the midst of a crazy crowd.

As the sky becomes sombre after a hot August Sunday morning in Guwahati, I am sitting still at the front of my company provided residence. A few drops of rain have kissed my unruly hair and lips. A poignant symphony, heard long back, is coming alive from a far distance. I know it must be Ajoy coming back to meet his old pal after a long time. Once more, I feel like running to the rain to drench my thirst, go wild dancing in the streets, shed off all the inhibitions and let the rain drops trickle through my bare soul.

Once more, I feel like falling in love with life again. (written on 2^nd Aug,2015)

  

- Hotel California – A dhaba near Cotton College PG hostel which I frequented during Cotton days

- Bandhu’s shop – The person named “Bandhu” was friendly to all and ran a stationary shop near our hostel 

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Chance meeting with two "Doctors"

I was sitting in a Doctor's chamber, patiently waiting for my turn to be called inside. After quickly going through the old magazines, I had not much to do either apart from being patient as the BSNL 3G connection failed yet again to activate the Facebook page. So I turned to the nearest person for a casual chat. Both of us were having the  same symptom- bloated tummy, heartburn, acid reflux and so on. I found him to be an avid speaker and he rightly didn't give me much of an opportunity to speak. His punishing work schedule  had a toll on his health. He told, often, he had late lunches as he had to attend a lot of "Patients" in his "Chamber".

Please don't draw your conclusion as this person at the  doctor's chamber to be himself a doctor. He was an astrologer. He used to treat those "patients" who believed in changing fortune by wearing few stones.

I felt like telling him " You are indeed a doctor for those   with signs of  mental weakness. "

Unfortunately, I too have some close family members with the same ailment who run to the astrologer at the drop of a hat.

That time, I was travelling from Kolkata to Kanpur by Rajdhani Express. My co passenger seemed to be a religious man from the script of the  book he was reading and his immaculate white attire. He had a bout of cold and air conditioning further worsened his  condition.

"Do you have a Dispirin ?" he asked me.

At Kanpur station he too dropped down and I was amazed to witness two scenes. One was the unmindful paintings created at the bottom of each pillars in the railway station by the City's habitual paan chewers and the other was the reception the old gentleman received. A large group had gathered at the station to have his darshan.  People kissed and bowed to him while few took care of his belongings. One middle aged man who was accompanied by his teenage daughter ( The girl was his daughter's age and I couldn't listen to their conversation) was crying for mercy with folded hands.  He wanted the holy man to bless his daughter. The wise man closed his eyes, murmured something and blew away the evil spirits from her.

As my Dispirin tablet worked overtime, the divine person moved forward with hands raised showering blessings  and healing people on the way.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

In India, Rape is a Reality- Let's face it

Last night I had once more a bout of Gas and indigestion, robbing off my precious sleep. A bloated tummy often makes me nostalgic, poignant and at times depressive. So, rather than engaging in futile attempt to get some sleep, I started thinking about the BBC film produced on the gruesome rape committed in the streets of Delhi on 16th December,2012. The incident rocked the Nation's conscience and there was widespread outpour of anguish. For the first time in my life, I was also a part of a silent Candle March protest.  

I asked my inner self the same question which each and every Indian male should be asking to himself – Kamaljit, Have you ever come across any thought of violating a lady’s modesty? I am no saint to overcome earthly desires. But thought of committing a heinous crime like rape has never come to my mind even in the wildest dreams. If I am never a rapist even in thought what makes some people to become rapist? Immediately, three incidents came to my mind.

The first incident goes back to the Assam Engineering College days when one of my friends Vinod Kumar fell sick and two senior girls came to visit him whom with respect and love we used to call as “Ba” in short, meaning elder sister. I was buying banana  when both of them approached me to enquire about Vinod's room. As they entered into the room and  the door got closed, the banana seller, who was looking them from behind with lustful eyes, was left thunderstruck. His eyes were a heady mix of lust, excitement, disbelief and envy.

The second incident also goes back to the Engineering days. The bus I got into was sparsely occupied and only few people including me were standing in the aisle. One elderly gentleman was reading a newspaper with a young girl sitting in the adjacent seat. Somehow it felt awkward to me to see him reading the newspaper spreading the entire page while the girl , sitting by him looked flustered  . After some minutes of close observation, my young blood raged over seeing the perverted activity of the man. He got down in the next stoppage covering his bloody face while no one ever enquired what prompted an young man to punch on the elderly gentleman’s face.

The third incident which I am quoting was during a trip to Puri with my friends. We were four boys and one girl (Beena- not real name) who made some adjustment in-between a training program to visit the Puri beach. In those days as Engineer trainee, we could hardly afford  posh hotels. As our friend, Beena, was a pure vegetarian, she invited me to accompany her to a nearby vegetarian restaurant.  Out of courtesy, I went with her though I was never a fan of vegetarian food.  Next day morning, I was surprised to see a chair in my bathroom  when the other occupant (Anil- not the real name) with a mischievous smile told that he was unlucky not to find any hole in the wall to peep through at the bathroom of the other room where our lady friend was staying.

In the evening, after few pints of beer, my friend was high when the telephone rang up. It was Beena  at the other end and asked me whether I would like to accompany her for dinner like the previous evening. This time, Anil snatched the phone from me and to my horror yelled something unspeakable vulgar words before I managed to do any damage control. That evening, I didn't have courage to face Beena and went to sleep without food. More than hungry, I was hurt and felt so low to be in the company of such a person who happened to be from a reputed College and high social status.

To me, those three persons are three potential rapists with three different states of mind. The first one represents that part of  India where a major chunk of our population lives. They grow up in a purely male dominated society, ignorant and full of prejudices where freedom to girl attracts pre-conceived questions on her morality. They include people right from the poor Banana seller to the Chief Minister. They find excuses on the dress code, free movement of the girls and her companions as the cause of  all the crimes. Fortunately, with time and development, this group will be marginalized. The second category are like the old crook in the city bus in Guwahati. They are the demons in the guise of gentlemen who always look for an opportunity but sensitive about their stature in the society and so timid if the victim is bold enough. The third category is like that Engineer in a Puri Hotel, who suffers from psychological disorders and need proper counseling.

So how do we eradicate this menace when the type of perpetrators of this crime are of diverse breed ! Impact of fit all measures like  imposition of a strict law will only be minimal. If you travel by road from Delhi to Dehradun or through the jam-packed roads of western UP, a customary look on the dilapidated buildings and structures and you will never miss an advertisement of a “Hekim” who possesses the magic formula of enhancing male sexual potential. I don’t know whether any NGO or researcher has ever carried any study on this sexual obsession and whether it has something to do with the mental and sexual life a large population leading to rape crimes. In India discussing about sex is a social taboo and no one will ever advise them that more than the "Hekim", they need to learn some control over the mind . Our children grow up to adulthood with flawed ideas.   

Many words of wisdom told to us during childhood and teenage have become part and parcel of our lives  in latter part. Can’t we do something with the school curriculum to teach our children to be respectful to the ladies ? Why don't we have a swatch Bharat like Abhiyan (mission) against rape ?

Corruption has ruined most of our institutions including Judiciary. People including the criminals have lost faith on the delivery of Judiciary. Use of technology in all spheres can reduce avenues of corruption. I am looking forward from the present Government to bring out not only economic reforms but also Judiciary and Police reforms.

 

While BBC was prompt to make a film on India's Nirbhaya case, they may also look at the figures of other western countries with considerably low population. As per the information of www.globalpost.com , India is ranked second in such crimes after USA. The cause of worry is that in India many such crimes go unreported due to fear of social stigma on the woman and only a tiny portion of our womenfolk go out of their homes to work. Hypocrisy is the root cause of many Indian evils. Faced with a problem, we tend to overlook and look for weaker targets to vent off out egos and frustration. We call others racists while living in one of the most caste and class conscious society where a person’s worth is often measured by the skin color.

Finally, the best prevention is to be mindful. The ladies need to understand that even if they are entitled to a free world, as long as predators are lurking outside for an opportunity, be little  watchful. India is a land of 1.3 billion people unlike the European countries  and even if  10% are crooks, it comes out to be 130 million and one amongst those 130 million can be everywhere.

Rape will survive till human race survives in this planet. That doesn't mean, we will not think something different other than candle marches, protests and observing Women's Day. 

 

 You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

How it feels to be forty tonight

As the clock strikes 12 midnight today, I will enter into the exclusive club of "40+" . The diametrically opposite progress of the hair and the waistline have already been ringing the welcome bell for quite some time. The wiser lot tells in squatness lies the beauty of life. I am no wise and given a choice, I will love to live thousand years in this beautiful world.

Life has been a great leveler. While my profession took me to places meeting people of diverse stratum, all along deep in my heart, I have been a loner. I have a world of my own and each day, I live few precious moments in my place, unnoticed and unseen by the world outside.

When I became a father, for the first time, I realized the true values of my own parents.  While bosses have been a favorite punching bag during discussion, I have been lucky  to get superiors who nurtured me as a professional and a great part of what I am today, it is for those mentoring done at the right time and place. After I got married, I have innumerable number of squabbles with my wife Arpana in the last 12 years for her ever readiness to forfeit her own comfort for others. I didn’t expect the excitement of being together to last this long without much of an extra effort.

During the days of early youth, all I wanted to be a great author. The promise I showed tapered off with time. Yet, there are not many people as sensible to the outside world as writers are. Though third rated, I am blessed to be one amongst the few to feel the divine pleasure which every writer experiences in his life time.

All along, I have relished life, good food, good place and above all company of intelligent people. I have learnt to be happy seeing others achieve high. The greatest thing to happen in my life over the last ten years is to overcome envies to a large extent.

At 40, the desire and fire inside still burns, still feel like capable to move around like someone in early youth. Yet, even the greatest athlete slows down by 40. Youth  is such an amazing joy, the mere thought of disintegrating over the next twenty years hurts very hard.

I have carried all along the modest beginning as one of the five siblings of a teacher’s family. Life has been a constant battle to be in the right side of conscience. The temptations are too strong at times.

Though wish to live thousand years,  when I finish the next forty years, I will better leave this beautiful world than living life as a liability. Living with pride is all I wish to do in life.

 

 You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Narendra Modi, visit of the American President and others

(1)

Unlike many of my friends, I don't dislike Narendra Modi though I don’t have any leaning towards the political party he heads. All along, I have been non- political except for a brief period in Engineering College when thoughts of becoming a future politician flashed in my mind. Let me tell you, in the last few elections, I have voted for different parties like Congress in Assam, CPM in Bengal and also once for AGP for a change.

Like millions of voters, I too voted for Narendra Modi in the last Loksabha Election who promised to bring perceptible change to the otherwise stagnant country. In the last nine months, the NDA government has stabilized the rot and reversed the policy paralysis in some areas. However, like many of the sycophants, I am writing this post neither to glorify Mr Modi nor it is my intent to behave like his avowed critics.

When Mr. Modi became the Prime Minister, I was delighted seeing a former “Chaiwalla” as  the Prime Minister true to the mood of an aspiring, resurgent and vibrant young country like India where still 70% people live sans the most basic amenities of life. But, I was thoroughly disappointed seeing Mr. Modi wearing a suit with his name printed all over during the last visit of the American President. Modi’s strength should be his closeness to the real India. The country does n’t need another style icon to give some Michelle Obama or Bollywood fake heroes run for money but the able administrator which he has been all throughout.

Power often  charms people like the flowers to the bees. History says that too much of self glorification and arrogance led to the fall of many heroes. I really don’t understand what made Mr. Modi call the American President by the first name while Mr Obama himself was addressing our PM as Mr. Prime Minister. And then telling Mr Obama about his heroics in childhood to fight with a crocodile was not cutting any ice either.

Mr. Modi is undoubtedly the most popular Prime Minister after Pandit Nehru. He simply mesmerises the crowd when he speaks. The entire power in Delhi seems to concentrate around him as he has almost made the cabinet powerless. Till now, he has not faced any major electoral jolt. It will be interesting to see how he acts and handles when such situation actually arise.   

As a professional person, I am aware that  even a project worth few hundred crores requires about three to four years time to get installed and commissioned. So, expecting the moon so soon from Mr. Modi is not at all rational. I will be rather patient and give him time. There's no denying he started very well.  All I expect him to build the platform in the next five years on which India can excel in the next ten to twenty years to become a superpower . If that happens, Narendra Modi will remain a cult figure in India irrespective of his murky past. The fringe elements will cause hindrance here and there. All he needs to remain firmly rooted. Let his actions speak louder than the electoral rhetoric.  

(2)

If any country, I love and hate at the same time, it is America. I love its attitude and the unbound energy of its people. Many of my personal heroes belong to that country. Yet, this country played a pivotal role in creating the evils which has threatened to disrupt the world today-the Islamic terrorism. America will never apologize to the world for abetting the Talibans and its other offshoots. The creation of a fanatical force in Afghanistan must have been done with a larger goal to destabilize Russia, India and China in the near future. With the Europe already waning, that provides America the brawny leverage to remain the supreme power for a long period.

I was shocked why no Indian journalist ever dared to ask Mr Obama why his country warned Pakistan not to indulge in  any misadventure only during the time of his visit ? Can we decipher that warning as America's tacit approval to Pakistan to carry out any dastardly acts of terrorism in India after Mr Obama leaves the country ! Such double speak from the land of Martin Luther King will continue in future too. I don't understand what made the entire country go into the spell of feverish frenzy during Mr Obama's visit.

(3)

If the exit polls go right this time, AAP will surely form the Government in Delhi tomorrow. It will be a loss for Delhi as I believe Kiran Bedi is a better CM candidate any day than Mr Kejriwal. It was heartening to note that Arvind ,the person who came to politics to change its course has himself become a part of the system. AAP has adopted well to the creepy political culture and there is hardly any difference to distinguish it from the other parties. For BJP, you can’t help much, where even the Party Vision Document goes to the public without any proof reading.

The real losers are the people of Delhi. You are truly into fire from the frying pan now.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

We all will be loners someday

My mother's life revolved around 6 of us, Father and five children. All of us were demanding and she took enormous pain to manage time to carry out all the household jobs, help us with home work and read books. As her education stopped right after matriculation for marriage, she wanted all the children to be equally good at studies. At school, she won Government scholarship while myself failed to get any till school. 

One by one, we left home after school. First to Cotton College followed by either university or Engineering College. One by one went further away for jobs and marriage leaving our parents to remain alone at home. When we were not around, our empty beds reminded them about us. 

This time in Bihu, all of us were together at home after quite some time. Parents were so happy, they became children again. Once again, all of us left them one by one . Yesterday, somehow she missed the step, fell down and had multiple fracture at her leg. 

So while , her fractured bone is being fixed in Guwahati, I am far away in Delhi and she says I don't need to rush leaving my jobs. Feeling so terrible !

While searching for some documents, my brother found a poem in her diary which he shared over WhatsApp family group. I am once again sharing it with my friends.
Another facet of mother none of us knew earlier.

(Written on Facebook wall on  21 Jan,2015)

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

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