Sunday, 5 April 2020

LOCKDOWN SERIES: THE CUCKOO STORY

LOCKDOWN SERIES:
THE  CUCKOO STORY
She is excited!  For what??  Her partner knows it well. Every year he sees this exhilaration in her. It is not that he is indifferent to all this. But she has some extra zeal. She has been counting her days eagerly for more than a month. Today is the time for that much awaited flight. Both of them exchange gleeful glance to each other and …
THE  JOURNEY  BEGINS!!
Oh! It’s a dream flight for them for which they wait almost nine months of every year. The hilly abode is no doubt a delightful one. But this sojourn to  the lush green plains adds  some refreshment to their lives.  Perhaps it happens to everyone of their community. The coming of spring rejuvenates their body and soul. She is flying  gracefully with her consort through the vast azure sky. Yet her mind is travelling faster than her wings. All the time she is thinking about her dream destination. Memories of the last year is still alive in her mind . The big mango trees, the tender hazel leaves of banyan, the wild fragrance of keteki and nahar, the elegant beauty and sweet aroma of kopou , the virgin white tagar and alluring kharikajai. Oh, she feels restless to reach that place. The thrill of spring is  visible in humans too. The magnificent beats of dhol , the silvery tune of baanhi, pepa and gogona, the spontaneous romantic  bihu songs, the passionate graceful steps of bihu dance by gorgeous dhulia and nachani , the bright and colourful riha-mekhelas, the hand woven token of love and respect gamoshas, the henna-red palms of young ladies, the busyness in the household for making sweet pithas and larus, rush in the market place. It is a sure and certain picture that she is going to witness again after a long gap. All these specialities have made this place unique in her mind. This time they have planned to go to the same jamun tree like the last year as their first resting place. That tree gives them a 360* view of the semi urban area. She likes to see and enjoy the festivities. This time she has another reason for her earnestness. That secret attraction lies in  family of the owner of the jamun tree. Last year there was a wedding in that family. The noise and music compelled them to temporarily shift their  resting place to a nearby banyan tree. When the wedding was over and the situation became normal they came back. Then she saw that young and beautiful bride with a soft voice. Every morning the lady came to the backyard and listened passionately  to the wooing voice her male partner who is sitting at the topmost branch of the tree.  Sometime she followed the tune and came right under the jamun tree. She tried to find the source amidst the leaves . Then a young boy perhaps her husband came running with a worried look. She silenced him with the index finger on her lips. The bride let him hear the voice and both of them flowed in the tune of eternity. Oh, What a scene it was ! The birds on the tree were watching the love birds of human world. It became the habit for both the pairs. The whole season passed that way. Then it was the time to bid adieu. They left the jamun tree with a sad heart. Now those memories have cheered up her spirit. She really wants to experience those moments again. Their zeal for the plains  has made it possible for them to cross the long journey comfortably. They reach the jamun tree. But she finds the atmosphere an unusual one. The spring is already here. Every part of nature is clad with new attire. The birds, squirrels all are happy. But something is missing. She is not able to trace the mark of festivity around her. No hustle anywhere , no beats of drum, no sound of dhekis in the backyard, and most strangely no vehicle is seen on the road. Her partner suggests that there may be some boycott programme. Last year also they experienced two or three Asom Bandhs. She assumes to be so. But the condition remains unchanged . They are all at sea. She peeps at the backyard in search of the bride. Not a single shadow is there. The earth without human activity is unimaginable for them. Yes she knows silence is peaceful. But this silence has some essence of graveyard which she finds distressful.  The whole town is in a mute mode. They have flied all around the town. A very few persons are seen outside and all of them  seem to be in some special duty.  The stray dogs are roaming here and there. Their thin bellies tell how hungry they may be ! But the nahar, tagar, kopou , kharikajai all are in full bloom. She finds the air more refreshing than the last year due to the absence of smoke. Yet she has lost all the rapture of her heart in absence of that colourful lively world. Humans are also a part of nature. Then why is this seclusion?? No one is here to give the answer. They have come back to the jamun tree in the evening. But they hear some hue and cry inside the house. There is a white long car in the frontyard and some persons covering their whole body even the mouth and eyes with some unusual clothes have entered the house. They have come out after sometime with a young member of the house. Yes! He is the same boy , the husband of that young bride of last year. The car goes away. But the wailing of other family members continue  till midnight. She sees a shadow of a lady on a glass window her face in her knees. She must be that young bride whom she so keenly wished to meet this time again. Actually she had a secret hope of observing some new changes in her physique, a clear message of coming of a new member to the family. She is totally disappointed.  Next day another car comes and the whole family is taken away to somewhere. The house is being sprayed with water for some unknown reason. Both of them are looking at each other. The bright red eyeballs have become blur with tears. They have forgotten to sing their “kuu..kuu..kuu” song. It is as if they have become dumb. The tune of a bihu song and beats of dhol from inside of a distant house reach their ears. But it fails to make any impact in her heart. She looks at her consort helplessly. He can clearly read her mind. He nods. “yes, to the hills very soon.”   

Wednesday, 12 June 2019

Cry of Humanity

Cry of Humanity
It was a warm summer day of the month of June. I had a special invitation from Nazira ( the home of mama sahur) on the occasion of birthday of one of our dear cousin Suman. Recently my busy work scedule had compelled me to avoid many such social gatherings. But I can't be workaholic for long period. I need break. So I was impatient for some lively conversation with lovely kith and kin. I took a leave from my teaching profession and started my journey from Golaghat to Nazira with my family. When we reached there my aunt (mami sahu) asked me to accompany her to Jyoti Griha. I readily agreed thinking Jyoti Griha to be a nearby school. We went there by car and stopped in front of a house with a large gate. I read the well written sign board. It was a rehabilitation centre for mentally retarded women. My aunt told me that this time Suman's birthday would be celebrated among the women of this centre. We entered the campus and found that lunch
was distributing among the members in a room. About 25 women were living there of various age group from old to teenagers. I met there the chairman of the Human Welfare Society Mr. Nasser Hussain a local youth of Nazira town. He informed that these women were from different corners of Assam and their treatments were being followed properly in Tezpur Mental Hospital. They looked quite normal at that time. Sufficient number of employees were also available there. They were talking ..but their talk was as if in a distant past. I found that all of them had some fond memories and were trying to live in a dream. A woman was pleading before us that she wanted to go home to live with her children. But Mr. Hussain told us that she did not have any children and her family members denied to recognise her.
I met there former Ulfa activist Baby Moran. She was married to a hardcore Ulfa cadre Dinesh Barua who died in an encounter. Baby along with some of her comrades surrendered. But gradually her mental condition deteriorated. Her in law family refused to accept her. She came to her mother's home in Lahowal, Dibrugarh. Being mentally stranded she loitered here and there in a pitiable condition. A student leader gave a post in facebook related to it and many former ulfa activists and other organisations came forward and Baby Moran was Brought to Jyoti Griha for treatment and care. Mr. Nasser Hussain told me that he himslf took her to Tezpur mental hospital for treatment and now her condition has improved a lot. I asked her whether she remembers her days in Myanmar. She replied, "yes". I also asked her whether her former companions come to meet her.  She replied in the negative. It was really heartrending for me to see a woman who took arms in hand for a social reason now sitting hopelessly amidst shattered dreams.
In the evening it was the time for cake cutting ceremony .... but not by the birthday boy but by the eldest member of the centre. She was a beautiful Aita clad in new  white mekhela chador as if she was going to naamghar for afternoon prayers. All the members looked quite happy. Many of them sang beautifully Assamese songs, recited self-written poems. Hope was fluttering like a butterfly at that time. There was a time when no one could think of mixing up with a group of mentally retarded people. It is a good sign that gradually we are beginning to recognise them as a part of the common life. NGOs like Human Welfare Society are doing a great deal in this direction. I personally offer my gratitude to our uncle Mr. Rajen Sharma for giving us an opportunity to peep into the condition of this section of people who are mostly neglected in our society. Our birthday may be an occasion to go near to humanity.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUMAN!!!

Saturday, 30 May 2015

The Inner Voice: A Tribute to My Father

The Inner Voice: A Tribute to My Father: FOOTSTEPS IN MY HEART (On the 10th death anniversary of my dear father late Jibon Chandra Bhagawati, the man who moulded my thought a...

Wednesday, 27 May 2015

A Tribute to My Father

FOOTSTEPS IN MY HEART

(On the 10th death anniversary of my dear father late Jibon Chandra Bhagawati, the man who moulded my thought and emotion.)

                                                      Ten years have passed
                                                   When I, sitting on the ground,
                                                 Was staring at your frozen self
                                               Gatherings in the yard, consoling words and tears
                                                   All became meaningless
                                                    Time stood still before me
                                                     A defeated warrior, I felt myself
                                                     Oh! I have deep regret!
                                                   For being the one who couldn't bring
                                                     The last smile on your face
                                                      You went away freely
                                                    But I.............
                                                       That dark spotted sorrow will never fade away
                                                      We fly fast with the arrow of time
                                               But timeless memories remain alive in heart
                                              And today, standing by the shore of life
                                                 I see the blooming marigolds
                                                 They show me a different light
                                                  A tone of optimism covers my eyes
                                              Everything is not finished yet
                                                  Somewhere and somehow
                                               You are looking at me
                                                    Waiting for the last smile
                                               That I promised to bring
                                                No matter, ethereal it may be!

Sunday, 3 May 2015

Whither the school education

School days are surely the golden image in our memory. We've heard even our parents and grandparents school life which they always like to share with a smile.We always become nostalgic in case of our own school life. We feel as if we'd have a magical wand in our hand through which we could have gone to those bygone nurturing days. We know it's impossible. Those colourful winged days will remain evergreen in our memory. Perhaps each one of us at some point while observing our own school going children tends to compare own school life with that of today. We wonder and often talk with others that days are fast changing. But in which way we are? Are we developing in the real sense?