FB errupts over a Poet and a poem

It’s been like a volcanic eruption with outburst directed at full throttle. I was not able to get head or tail what was going wrong until I went through a post by my FB friend Zakir. I came to know that the outpour was caused by a mere post on poetry by Sri Nilim Kumar, the noted or controversial Assamese Poet.

In a way, I felt happy that we have still some serious and enthusiastic followers of Assamese Poetry .  We were in Engineering College (92-96)  when Sri Kumar first started writing poems with unfamiliar themes. I remember Sadin (Weekly Magazine) publishing my article on contemporary Assamese Poetry where I wrote for gracious use of symbolism in modern poetry. While I was suave on Sri Kumar, Ismail Hossein’s article was head on and hard hitting.

If my memory doesn't fail me, Bireswar Barua, in an article in an issue of Asam Bani in 1996, compared Nilim Kumar to the American Beat generation. Those who are not familiar with the Beat generation of American Poetry, It was a group of Poets who became extremely popular post World War-II. The generation rode of publicity rage with their work on obscure sexism and bisexual themes.  

I still can’t accept few of the Nilim Kumar’s Poems as decent and digestible. Certainly some Gupta's inner garments has nothing to do to create unprecedented trouble  if it doesn't get dry. (One of the controversial poems of Nilim Kumar). But when he says expressing oneself is not poetry, I am not  totally averse to what he says. Rather, I would like to reshape his words to fit to my belief as- expressing oneself in the form of poetry may not always translate to good poetry.

Of late, we have a large pool of poets and their works hardly measure up to the expectation of the serious readers. To  a reader, bad Poetry is much worse than a bad novel  or a short story.

To me, there is a thin line that distinguishes good poetry from the bad one. First and foremost, it must be simple and vibrate the inner chord of the reader. Simplicity here doesn’t mean staleness. But reading and understanding poetry require some intellect to crack the outer hard shell which the poet creates purposefully to elevate the joy of the reader while relishing on the softer core.

The important matter is expressing oneself gives the divine high to the author and helps relive the relentless creative pain.  So why to worry what Mr. Nilim Kumar thinks about your poem. Let the words flow unhindered.

Coming back to Beat Generation, Sri Nilim Kumar should remember that some people like me still spontaneously quote  few lines from T S Elliot , the harbinger of modernism into English Poetry,  inspite of being unconventional at his time while   Allen Ginsberg,  from the Beat generation, rests peacefully in Google search.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Sleepless Night

Once more, a bout of acidity robbed my sleep off till morning. The only awful part of such long night is the call of office in the next morning with the siren about to be wailing at 7: 15 sharp.

My two sons were sleeping peacefully by my side. I kissed their soft cheeks and felt the warmth. The younger one slept with the toy car I had brought for him in the afternoon. The elder must have been dreaming on the book he went through in his kindle, a gift I gave him in his last B’day.

Suddenly, some part of my heart ached and shuddered wishing not to see a day when these two will not see eye to eye, forget about sharing a bed. Have seen many brothers turning bitter foes.

At 41, I can feel the feel of fleeting youth with tinges of white growing all the time in the hair, when the days of playing cricket all day in the scorching sun seems like a dream and of course when I am called a dear uncle so many times.

When I hum few lines of Borgeet in the morning, my wife says I am growing old. But its true, sometimes I feel  many dreams I am chasing everyday, have no real purpose in life.

Death is a truth and no one can defy it. Every pound of our heart  and we are closer to the grave.  Billions of people, higher and mightier had to bite the dust. “Grass covered them all”.

The more I read of Alexander, Napoleon or Adolph Hitler, I feel the helplessness to see them falter at the twist of destiny.

Perhaps I am an escapist! I am too weak to look around and see the reality.

I wished - let this moment, the feel be eternal and time stop for ever ! This life and the world around and our children  are so beautiful, I will not be tired of living a million years too.

Let the morning herald and sunshine drench my mind and body. Let the weakling thoughts go off.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Sow the seed of love and peace

The Dhaka incident has shocked the entire world. Its sad but not surprising.

Going to a reputed school doesn't make  a person secular. Seeds of secularism is sowed in an individual  at home by the  parents and the surrounding . Acceptance of diversity doesn't come on its own when  people grow up from childhood on religious overdose and hatred for others.

My faith and my belief , when I look back, has the roots on what I was taught at home. I  rarely observe the rituals and like father, do it sometimes not out of belief but as a couteous gesture. Does that make me a bad element for our society ? Acceptance on what I am is a sign of a matured society. Yes, with my parents, I learned to share sorrow with people irrespective of religion and caste. I didn't enjoy the firecrackers at my place as well the day Indira Gandhi was shot fatally ! I mourned with my family in silence.

People say no religion teaches you hatred. It is entirely wrong. The core of every religion is "follow me or else you go to hell". Religion never accepts pluralism. It teaches its superiority over others. Simply it can't be democratic and thats why too much of religion in every sphere  of our life is what causes fanaticism.

 

Mao Tse Tung said - religion is the poison for the masses. Yes, if not poison, it is certainly the opium for the masses. Opium may have medicinal values when taken in small doses for selective use; but  Overindulgence leads to intoxication and debars people becoming rational.   

That's the reason  You need to be selective with what you pick from your religion.  It happened in Bangladesh and may happen anywhere.

Terrorism is a Frankenstein. We lost two of our Prime Ministers to this dreaded virus. It  destroys  the very hands which nourished it once. It destroys its own people. Examples are all around.

People have circulated the story of a 20 year old brave heart who refused to leave his friends during the Dhaka mayhem. The minute detail of his encounter with the perpetrators of violence is surely imaginary. But the very fact that people are circulating it, shows, people desire number of such noble souls to grow. There lies the hope.

The irony is such incidents break trust and faith. There are many Bangladeshi people who are saddened as much as we are. Read many of their posts expressing shock, disbelief and sometimes helplessness.

The crux of my post is sow the seed of love and peace in your child. Teach him that only diversity and coexistence have made this planet beautiful and you are the chosen one to hold this spirit and pass to the future.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Meeting a hero on the streets of Guwahati

I was driving home from office in a pensive mood and failed to timely notice the iron post at one sharp turn. As I whizzed past, the perpetual lover planted a kiss on the cheek of my car leaving behind marks of hard  love bite. While my car was out for touch up, I had to commute at the kindness of my neighbor and local autos.
 

That evening, I boarded into an auto with my wife from the market.  The driver was an elderly gentleman, neatly dressed, burly in stature with trimmed hair in commando fashion. On the way , he hardly talked and so did we as both us soon got engrossed to our smart phones. Reaching home,  he was courteous to immediately pick up the heavy bag my wife was carrying.

After he dropped the bag at its designated place, I thanked him and handed over the fare. He presumed us to be non-Assamese and seeing my nameplate at the gate, asked -

“ So you are Medhi….. where do you come from?

“ I am a native of Hajo. My parents are still staying there” I replied

He enquired if I was related to Late Bishnuram Medhi’s family. His last trip to Hajo for pilgrimage was wonderful.  As the conversation continued, I came to know that he was Singha from Chapar of Goalpara District.

I enquired whether he knew Bhaskar Medhi.

“ Bhaskar Medhi….. ha.. ha.. his father was a teacher too,  I suppose. Much younger to me, Bhaskar was a brilliant chap  and got into IIT” he replied.

Bhaskar Medhi is presently working as Dy General Manager at Indian Oil Refinery HQ. I was now sure that Mr. Singha was from Chapar.

As I complimented him for maintaining good health, I came to know that he retired from BSF as an Inspector. He had nothing much to do at home rather than killing time and so purchased the auto.

“ What about your children ?” I was now curious about Singha.

“ I have one son and a daughter . The boy passed out from NIT, Silchar in Civil Engineering and working for the State Government."
 
" What about your daughter?"

"Oh.. The girl is interested in going to academics. Did her BE in Electrical Engineering from Assam Engineering College. This year she has enrolled for  MTech”

Here is a man, who rides an auto after getting retired from BSF as an Inspector and both his children are Engineers from two reputed Government Engineering Colleges. When we are surrounded with so much of pessimism and crumbling work ethics,   Singha was indeed a ray of hope.

Finally before saying Good Bye, I asked if ever his children said him anything for the auto. Of course, I got the right answer from him for a wrong & irrelevant question

“ My children knows the dignity of labour and honesty”

Perhaps Singha drew inspiration from another Singha, a great son of Assam and his relation -  Sarat Chandra Singha. Once I met this ex Chief Minister of Assam on a crowded city bus and he refused to take the seat I was offering. It was not easy for me to remain seated  by the side of a standing Sarat Singha for long. Late Singha only agreed to occupy my seat as I got down in the next stoppage to avoid further discomfiture. And who can forget seeing Late Lakhyadhar Choudhury  , sporting a big smile, walking with his trademark umbrella !

Life of an aspiring middle class is not easy as aspiration often supersedes the achievements. Yet, if we have time to look around outside our periphery, there are innumerable inspiring, unsung heroes who make life livable.

Perhaps, people need frequent breakdown of their cars, to discover many more Singhas on the streets.

 

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Kolaguru Bishnu Prasad Rabha - the undying spirit

I am too small to assess a legend of the caliber of Kolaguru Bishnu Prasad Rabha. These are some of my unfussy thoughts and no way intended to demean the great man when I write, the most beautiful bud didn't blosom to its full promises.

My first introduction to  Kolaguru was at my maternal uncle’s house where three portraits used to adore the mud wall beside the uncle’s reading table. One amongst them was of Bishnu Prasad Rabha with Rupkonwar Jyotiprasad and Pandit Nehru being the other two. I was not more than 3 or 4 years old, as I still remember being sometimes in uncle’s short, hanging around my waist like a long skirt!  By the time, a compilation of Rabha’s works was brought home, many esoteric facets of life had started tingling my teenage wits. It was the age of innocent thoughts, mischief and fantasies. I was too young for Rabha’a compilation.

During the turbulent days of late nineties, celebration of Rabha Divas gained momentum in Assam. The Assamese are fond of action, fickle in attitude and their wish at times defies any logic. The idea of curving a sovereign Assam by armed struggle caught the fancy of some and Perhaps, celebration of Rabha Divas without understanding much of Rabha, was another way to show solidarity with the movement. Rabha was a revolutionary and a torchbearer of armed communist movement in Assam. Yet that was only a part of Rabha though and not Rabha in totality.

It is not irreverent to Rabha and his legacy when I say I don’t pursue Rabha’s ideology to uplift the downtroden, as I strongly believe the tenets of communism defies nature. In the history of world, many greats and fallen heroes from Che Guevara to Hugo Chevez, Fiedel Castro to Nicolae Ceaușescu, Stalin to Ho-Chi Minh rose like the glittering sun in the midst of adversities, yet their cherished goal remained a far cry leaving their people poorer, deprived and disadvantaged.

Standing at the end of the half circle of my life’s journey, once more I am going through the compilation of Rabha’s work. My mind has been inundated with the thoughts of two Russian authors and poet- Mayakovsky and Alexander Pushkin. Vladimirovich Mayakovsky was an extremely popular author during the Bolshevik days in Russia and his works proclaimed unstinted support to the Communist movement. Popularity of his books were astounding and during those days, not reading Mayakovsky was regarded as unpatriotic. It is another matter that latter on Mayakovsky became critical of Soviet Russia’s censorship on freedom of speech and many point fingers to this love hate relationship with communism to be the cause of his untimely demise.  Mayakovsky committed suicide in 1930 at the age of only 37.

Once, a group of young Russian students visited Lenin. Vladimir Lenin, himself , was a great statesman and wanted to know about the books and authors the students were fond of. The choice was obvious and It was Mayakovsky all the way. When asked why the students were not reading Alexander Pushkin, treated as one of the greatest romantic era authors from Russia, pat came the reply-

“Pushkin is a bourgeois”  

The greatness of Vladimir Lenin was to advise the students to read Pushkin and others as well. To him, knowledge was never to be masked by meanness of ideology.

Does anybody remember Vladimirovich Mayakovsky today even in Russia! Perhaps a few. But Alexander Pushkin has survived many generations and I was thrilled to see my son going through the Captain’s Daughter. One of Pushkin’s  poems I still remember -

And in the idle darkness comes the bite

Of all the burning serpents of remorse;

Dreams seethe; and fretful infelicities

Are swarming in my over-burdened soul,

And Memory before my wakeful eyes

With noiseless hand unwinds her lengthy scroll

 (Remembrance, Pushkin)

Bishnu Rabha’s songs are few but priceless gems.  Perhaps it will not be an overstatement if I write after Shankar Dev, Rabha was the most gifted personality to have ever born in Assam- a great musician, lyricist, composer, writer, dramatist, actor, dancer, painter, academician, mass leader, researcher and linguist all rolled into one.  It is easy to fall in love with equality when you don’t have anything to lose. But Rabha was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, yet his life had been always a constant wrestle for the exploited mass. He lived life on what he preached.

But Rabha could have become much more than what he became and left behind. He could have become another Van Gogh, a Ludwig van Beethoven or a William Shakespeare. No one knew Assam and genesis of Assamese language better than Rabha.  

Once again remembering Mayakovsky and Pushkin, all I can say is “Biswar Chande Chande” or “ Xuror deulore” will pass the taste of time,  but  can’t foretell on the ones like “ bhang bhang bhang” 

Rabha’s revolutionary trait and impatience did come on the way of his creative pursuits. He had never someone to pacify, someone to mentor him through. Many of his valuable works got lost during his nomadic days. Bihnu Prasad Rabha, the noblest son of Assam, would have been far better off for Assam minus his days as an armed revolutionary. 

It’s a great loss to Assam and Assamese people that the most beautiful bud didn’t blossom to its promises.Yet whatever Rabha achieved, he will remain the lifeline of Assam till the Burha Luit flows.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Tango with Dant and Kesh Kanti

As the popular advertisement goes, these days, if you want to meet any of those sizzling Bollywood beauties, all you need to do is to have toothache. She will simply sneak in to your room or appear out of nowhere like an elf to ask you –  Do you have salt in your toothpaste(Kya aapke toothpaste me Namak hain) and hand you over a tube of the latest toothpaste with Salt, Neem, Charcoal and what not.

Colgate Palmolive opened its shop in India way back in 1937 and taught us Indians how dirty and disarray was our oral health without its products. As usual, a country reeling under colonial rule and its hangover post 1947, modern toothpastes gained instant popularity amongst the western educated neo elites. Our ancestors did elaborate research on dental health thousands of years ago at the time when the entire western population was anything but civilized.  The Egyptians used herbal twigs around 5000BC and the inquisitive Chinese produced the first toothbrush around 1500 Century. After 200 years of British rule, it was no wonder that Indians grew slavish attitude and presumed anything from the west to be superior and refined . Even the Americans underwent similar social phase post 1776.   

Is it not weird on the part of the MNCs like Colgates & Levers doing volte-face and  ask  us - Kya aapke toothpaste me Charcoal hain after ridiculing  us for decades  for using traditional Neem, Charcoal or  Salt !

My own Grandmother (Father’s Mother) never used modern toothpaste. All she used was twigs of Neem or other herbs. Every day she would gulp two cloves of raw garlic which kept her heart pumping without any hitch. Before she died at the age of 90 plus, she had still a pair of shining teeth with all 32 intact, excellent hearing and eyesight. Unlike us, she didn’t consume Pepsis and Colas in her lifetime and firmly believed there was someone up there in the heaven to take care of all.

Once, the hallmark of the Yoga centers at different places was the nameplates with photographs of boys and girls doing Yoga in complex posture as if more weird the posture looked, higher was the Center's efficacy. Those photographs were enough for common people like me to keep safe distance from yoga.  It was Baba Ramdev, who used the electronic media to awaken Indians  from deep slumber and popularize Yoga - one of the finest gifts  of ancient India to mankind. He may have been the cynosure of media attention for issues extending from east to west, but it was Baba who taught the nation that simple Anulom Vilom, Bhamree and Sabasana can do wonders to the human body.

A few days back, I was suffering from sensitive tooth syndrome. My dentist informed that old habit of reading newspaper with the toothbrush was the reason for shearing the enamel of few of my wisdom teeth. I am a compulsive net surfer and zeroed on a chemical named Sodium Lauryl Sulfate (SLS) ,  used widely in the modern toothpastes and other body care products from soap to Shampoos. Some of the side effects of this chemical are

·         Irritation of the skin and eyes

·         Organ toxicity

·         Developmental/reproductive toxicity

·         Neurotoxicity, endocrine disruption, ecotoxicology, and biochemical or cellular changes

·         Possible mutations and cancer

I don’t know whether SLS impact on health is a rumor or real. But infertility has been almost an epidemic with the urban population. After having two sons, though I am least bothered about this scourge,  I have bought today two products manufactured by the Patanjali Trust where Baba Ramdev is the driving force - a tube of Dant Kanti and a bottle of Kesh Kanti to replace my Colgate toothpaste and a myriad of Shampoos off from the shelf. First, the price of Patanjali Product is almost one third less than the ones from Colgate and HLL and second, the smell is simply great and refreshing. Even though, I am using Colgate since childhood, I am having nagging problems with my tooth and all the shampoos failed to prevent me from going bald.

So, this time will do Tango with Dant and Kesh Kanti at the cost of Colgate, Pepsodent, L'real and others. Will keep you posted about the outcome of this new alliance.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

Let's rise above religion

During lunch time, my wife informed  that the boy who topped this year in SEBA's Class 10 comes from a very poor economic background. While both of us were happy at the result of Sarfaraz, as usual, my wife became suddenly worried for the future of our two sons who, she complained, inspite of getting all the facilities, have never been serious at studies. I knew Sarfaraz would bring bad news for Hrishi, the elder one,  after he was back from School.

While we rejoiced with the result of Sarfaraz, the news that followed thereafter were shocking and appalling. Some people will always twist anything and everything in the name of religion.

For the national media, a Muslim boy becoming a state topper from a RSS backed school may be a news, but it's not certainly a surprise in a society where we grew up.

During school days, I used to go for morning walk with an elderly person from our nearby Moriapatty. I called him Borta ( Father's elder brother). Whenever  the dome of Hajo's Hayagreeba Madhav Temple was visible from the road, he asked me to offer sewa (prayer). Abbas Sir used to teach us Hindi . In class, he used to tell me - I studied with your Grand Father, taught your both parents and now I will be teaching you. I still remember his emotional eyes the day he found me in his class in my first day at School.  And how do I forget the advices  of Late Habibur Rahman sir, who taught us in Primary School, before I left home for my first job !

Needless to say, my father too taught many at home and he never considered the religion of his students who came to take lessons from him. Tajnoor and Amjat da are still remembered by parents fondly.

With time, the society where we didn't know the difference of religion has become murkier. The experiences which taught me to be aware of my religion, I will not write here. Those moments, I would love to forget as a bad dream. But still some rational thinking prevails in the Assamese society. Caste and religion still  don't come on the way on choosing our friends.

And that's why , the news of Sarfaraz to me is all about how a bright student fought against all odds to come out with flying colors. Nothing more than that.

Wish Sarfaraz a bright future above religion and May he become an inspiration for many.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

The Hills are transforming

Having born and spent most of the last forty years in places without the usual  hustle bustle associated with City life, I often get peeved in the midst of a raucous large crowd. Often, I long to be in the midst of tranquility, sunken into deep conversation with my own self. To me, understanding myself is like to long flight to spirituality. 

Last year on 3^rd of July, being our wedding Anniversary,  I was looking for a place to hide from the maddening crowd and also the technologies which never allows you these days to go inaccessible. Our old neighbor at Indian Oil Township, Mahaveer suggested us to stay at a resort in Cherrapunjee in the West Khasi Hills in Laitkynsiew village.  After driving for about 3 hours through the Hills and Valleys, steering the ever playful clouds, finally we reached our destination. It was a small resort with modest amenities, run by a Khasi Lady and her South Indian husband. The place was perfect to celebrate the journey both of us treaded in the last 12 years with a glass of favorite wine. 

Readers may not assume to read a traveler’s diary alone here with a vivid account of the beauties of the Khasi Hills, mist and the clouds though all of them were in plenty in Chohra. By 10 PM, lights are switched off as heavy downpour with thunder is frequent in this area. The famous root bridge is nearby and in the morning, when the clouds moved away, we could see innumerable fountains flowing from the hills. 

So in the morning, my wife and I went out for a long hunt to explore the village keeping the children in the safe custody of their Mahi (Aunt). The ambience reminded us to the evergreen song of  Shree 420 with Raj kapoor and Nargis as Arpana broke into humming – Pyar hua Ikrar Hua... 

Laitkynsiew is a quiet village with all the basic amenities. What keeps the village apart from other Indian Villages was the cleanliness. Every house was painted with beautiful color and those who couldn’t afford, did at least touch up jobs in the walls facing the road. Flowers were blooming in each household and wherever, the kitchen door was open, we could see the spark in the utensils. It seemed the Swach   Bharat Mission had a unique implementation here in Khasi Hills. All of us have heard about Asia’s cleanest village in Mawlynnong which has now turned into a popular tourist spot. But at a distance of 45 KM from Mawlynnong , we could see the same level of cleanliness at Laitkynsiew. 

While coming back, a Maruti Car was waiting at a side of the narrow lane. My wife informed we didn’t need a car. The driver smiled back at us and told – Sister, I am waiting so that my car doesn’t splash rain water and make you dirty.

Last year, I had visited St Anthony’s College, Shillong to deliver a speech on Petroleum Refining. The kind of respect, discipline and hospitality I saw in the students,  I am quite hopeful, that tourism in Meghalaya will blossom with little assistance from the Government in the days to come.  

Back in the resort, I was told that Church has played a major role in enlightening people to preserve nature and cleanliness in Meghalaya. If cleanliness is God, Church has indeed taught people of Khasi Hills to go closer to God. 

Compare this with many Hindu Temples. Lines of beggars and physically challenged persons outside our temples do remind us the hell waiting for of us after death, where Yama’s rule prevails supreme with absolute intolerance. After navigating the feces of birds and animals, when you reach the deity, the feeling of spirituality vanishes into thin air. Needless to talk about the hooliganism of pandas (priest), taste of which I had experienced a number of times.  

If discipline is the essence of life, Hinduism seriously fails to bring it into the lives of millions of its followers though many virtues propagated by Hinduism are unique and universal. 

The NDA Government has completed two years and is in celebration mood. The speed at which the direct cash transfer on LPG was implemented; it is praiseworthy and unparalleled in India’s History. The economy, particularly the banking sector, was in the doldrums and some spikes of development have been visible in both micro and macro economy of the country. But I am also disappointed with the Government and in two major issues. First is its failure to curb the fringe elements which make more noise than what they possess to keep themselves relevant. The other is the failure of Swach Bharat mission. The kind of impetus, the Swach Bharat Mission should have got, has not been assigned so far. This mission can transform the very outlook of India, reducing expenditure on curbing many diseases and bring out sense of discipline to our society.   

Religious institutions play an important role in the lives of the people. We have experienced their reach in our fight to make India Polio free. Being engaged to contribute towards society in a meaningful way, irrespective of religion, caste and creed will only push the broader objective of each religion. Seeing the impact of Church on the cleanliness drive at Laitkynsiew village, it seems, there is every potential of such institutions in propagating the mission and objective of Swach Bharat to every nook and corner of our country.

The same kind of missionary zeal which saw India become Polio free is required to transform India into  a Swach Bharat. The way things are progressing, as of now, it seems a distant reality.

Hrishi’s Test paper, Engineering College and recollections of my Teachers

Hrishi, our   elder son, comes home quite pooped out  from School and somehow drags himself with the heavy bag at his back. He meets his mother right at the entrance waiting for him. Apple doesn’t fall far from tree and like his Papa, he enquires about the menu . If it’s any of his favorite NonVeg items, his eyes outshine the   setting sun. On some days, only “grass” on the plate makes his weariness quadruple and in abhorrence, he lets his body drop on the bed like a log.

So seeing him come hopping on one foot, My wife Arpana knew he had some exciting news to break. His face was blushing with the concealed excitement and eyes shining bright like stars. From his bag, he brought out his Mathematics test paper and displayed to his mother with all pride. It was a rare feat to score perfect twenty for the first time in life !

Making Hrishi understand the concept of Multiplication and Division was a herculean task for me. Whenever I needed to explain him, I used the example of a cow. One cow has 4 legs so how many for three cows…blah..blah. For fraction, I used the example of a rotten Potato. The other day, he was complaining to his mother about me frequently using only those two examples. His mother told him both were just apt exemplar for his kind of student. Of course, now I need to be careful not to misuse with the word “cow” under the changed social dynamics in India !

Hrishi’s excitement lasted till I arrived at home from Office in the evening. At Dinner table, he asked – Papa, What do you think about our Ma’am’s response in getting me perfect 20 ?

How do I know ? You didn’t tell for once – I replied.

After getting the test Paper, Hrishi asked his Ma’am about the other students scoring  20. Ma’am replied – Can you see any student jumping like a monkey other than you ?

Hrishi’s joy reminded my own days, not in School but in Engineering College when I presumed myself as quite grown up. I was in the Fifth semester and Bandana Madam used to take classes on Fluid Flow Operation (FFO). In one of the Class Tests, I got 19 out of 20 and I immediately enquired with Madam about the highest mark in the test. For a moment, she kept on looking at me, smiled and told, it was 19.

Many incidents of my College days, I don’t remember today. But I still remember Bandana Madam’s affectionate stare on that day. Perhaps, to her, the 19 year old boy appeared like a kindergarten kid with that innocent query.  

In Engineering Final Semester, we had to choose an optional subject between Operational Research(OR)  and Environmental Engineering. While the entire Chemical Batch of 1996 went for Environmental Engineering,  I and my close buddy Mahato opted for Operational Research. Environmental was a pet subject for Dr Raghabendra Choudhury , HOD of Chemical Engineering Department. So while Sir entered for the Environmental class,  we two moved out.

“Where are you going ?” Sir asked

“Sir, we have opted for Operational Research” – I said

“Go….oh…”  Displeasure was perceptible in his voice.

Next day we two were called by Late Biswajit Choudhury to his chamber. He gave us an earful for going after OR instead of Environmental Engineering which to him was more essential for a Chemical Engineering Graduate. We knew, our HOD had asked Biswajit Sir for counseling both of us.

So next day, we two were sitting in the class when Dr Raghabendra Choudhury entered. He looked at us and enquired why we had not gone for the OR class. We told him, he had changed to Environmental Engineering.

In a moment, his face turned into an embodiment of  happiness and contentment which I will never forget in my life. Perhaps, that was one of the best gifts which as a student we could offer to him. And latter working in a Refinery, I understand, Raghabendra Choudhury Sir was absolutely spot on to force Environmental Engineering on me.

Dr Mrinal Baruah Sir was another person who can be best described by the coconut - hard at the outside and soft inside. Once I forgot to get the answer sheets in Graph Papers of Mass Transfer Operation (MTO) Final Exam papers signed by the invigilator. I was worried whether my answers in the Graphs will be accepted. When I approached Sir, he stared sternly and asked whether I have finished everything for the next exam paper asked to get out from his chamber immediately.

I got 89 out of 100 in that Mass Transfer Paper.

There’s another teacher I can’t afford to forget. She was Kamala Baideu who used to take me from our home to the Primary school at Hajo, lifted by bag on the steep slopes, arranged special examination when I missed a few. Even today, whenever she meets me, I can see the affection and kindness which I received in abundance  as a four year kid have not changed anything.

 (2)

Dr Balindra Kumar Sarma was our Hostel Superintendent in New Hostel, Cotton College. Our Hostel was just below one of the most sought Colleges of our time - Handique Girls College. Once, few of our friends including me bunked classes and were befriending with our neighbors exchanging pleasantries. While the Girls were  safe at top, the most vulnerable was our Romeo group at the ground from the  “fringe elements” like our Superintendent Sir ! As usual I soon got engrossed at my job and all of a sudden, found my friends vanishing into thin air. Instead  a hand of Sarma Sir was coming in the direction of my cheek. It would have landed at the right spot if I were not athletic in those days.

After the first year, I came to Block-1 near Superintendent Sir’s residential. I loved singing in those days  as sweetly as the Jian of the Doraemon cartoon. In one of the election campaigns, students of DS Hostel even demanded Himanta Da (Himanta Biswa Sarma ) to silence my singing if he was voted as Secretary.

“Do you know PG Final Exam of Baideu is underway” – One day Sir enquired with me very quietly. His daughter was appearing for PG Final Exam.

I was happy that Sir was so fond of me to share this news. I told him I already knew about that and in fact a few days ago,  I called  a  rickshaw for her.

All of a sudden, to my surprise, he shouted - if you are aware, why don’t you stop singing. Next time, if you sing, I will see you out from the hostel.

There were frequent complaints against me. Intimidation of deducting fines from  caution money for eating three Parathas instead of allotted two, Night Show in the nearby movie hall, Sitting at the Gate while army motorcades moved on during the start of Operation Rhino and many more continued in the two years of stay in new Hostel. So, when I was told at College Office to collect my HS Final year certificate from Superintendent Sir, I thought, some of the previous good acts might have prompted Sir to seize my certificate.

Instead, surprise was waiting for me as I was given a warm welcome. He asked me what I intended to do. I told him about doing Engineering in Guwahati only as my father was firm in choosing the place where he could keep an eye on me.

As I touched his feet, he blessed and murmured – “ Do well in life “ and I could see his eyes moistening at some corner and so did mine. That was the last time, I saw Balindra Kumar Sarma Sir as I never went back to new Hostel thereafter.  Neither I ever visited Assam Engineering College Chemical Building since May 1997.  Wish Sir is still going strong and guiding students like he did to us.

 

 

 

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

The joy of being elder

When we were young, Dinner was great fun for us , five brothers and sisters. Topics at dinner table were innumerable , energy was endless  and the food was delicious without much of oil and spice.  That habit of childhood is still going strong with me . As we all the brothers and sisters are settled in life in different places with each one now rearing  a small part of the bigger family,  my wife and the elder  kid has taken the roles of my siblings at the dinner table, while the younger kid finds the cartoon channels more tempting.

Today evening, we went back almost 13 years. We got married on 3rd July of 2003 and  went to Nainital for honeymoon  via Kolkata on 10th July. I still remember our parents, brothers,sisters, in laws all coming to see us off at Guwahati Airport. The same repeated while we came back after about 10 days. When their own moment arrived, there were fewer people to see them off as the eler ones moved on with life and hardly had time to come to spare to come to the airport in two crowed cars. Perhaps more than time, enthusiasm was missing.  When we called from Nainital, each one wanted.to have their share with the long distance call, repeating almost the same words in excitement  while the STD bill was merrily smiling at us.

Another funny incident I still remember, when my wife Arpana was about to get into the car after the marriage was over. My sis - in- law was in tears. Crying is infectious and soon I found my sister Anju and cousin Mainu too joining her.  I needed to remind them that they were from  the groom side and should not cry  which they refused to oblige.

At Kolkata, we stayed for a day at our Tolly  company Guest House. The entire staff  came out to receive us as if the company chairman had arrived. They found the best fish in the market to offer to the newly married couple. When we left for Dehradoon the next day,  the entire staff was there at the gate too to see us off. It was  vintage Assam Oil   and reminiscent of the old Digboi at Kolkata before  the golden etiquette, culture, camaraderie and trust got replaced to large extent by  the so called PSU Professionalism.

We found, being the eldest Son and Daughter in law of a big family was much more fun than the responsibilities.

After Dinner today, I and Arpana, my wife,  were remembering the days with you today - Atul - Boby, Naba, Rituraj, Kailash- Anju, Chintu, Mainu and Munni. In the wedding of the only unmarried member of this group, it will be hard to stop my tears too when its time to see her getting into the car to leave.

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