Caught napping!

I have book-marked a few blogs which includes aamirkhan.com, BigB’s blog amongst others. Aamir khan is not as regular as Amitab Bacchan when it comes to posting write-ups but topics are like his films-well chosen. Though I like Amitab Bachan’s writings personally. They inspire me at times. I had heard that Ram Gopal Barma, the famous Director also maintains a blog and out of curiosity I googled him.
And there was this website, which I thought was his blog, opened in the middle of the night with an ear-splitting scream (I didn't know my computer's volume had been cranked up).Imagine this: around midnight, alone in a flat, concentrating on the computer screen to see if there’s a blog or not and all of a sudden a lady with horrible looks, whose face is mutilated (it seems she is a “churail” in his new movie PHOONK) pops up in the screen and starts screaming/laughing. I was totally taken by surprise and was scared too(to be honest).
I suggest myself, “Forget about his blog, just go to sleep"!!!

Barcelona in fast forward


I… found myself basking in the sun on Barcelona beach this year. Finally, something which I had not seriously thought had come true! Yes I did see Barcelona football club’s match, I did see Lionel Messi, Henri and others. This was the match (8th Nov 2008) where Barcelona thrashed Valladolid 6-0, including a hatrick (or may be quadrick?) from Samuel Oto’o. Worth what we paid, I must say as goalless draw or something similar would not have been too good.
Lionel Messi is no doubt one my favorite soccer players. I took photos of him playing so many times that my host, who is a scientist in a local university bantered, “You took 500 photos of messi alone”. Yes, for his consolation I did take a few photos of Henry and Jersey No. 2 (I don’t know his name) too in the end.
Inside the stadium, the atmosphere was exhilarating and people were fantastic. I asked a middle aged person if he could take a photo of us against the backdrop of football stadium. He not just obliged kindly but also went out of the way! He climbed up the stairs, leapt over a few rows and stood up on top of a vacant chair, asked us to change the pose, adjusted the lense, took time to click and it was indeed a great sight to see someone doing so many things for a stranger. However, the photos merely turned into a shot with three stupid people standing in front of a huge bill board or something but that’s a different story altogether. May be he over-zoomed us with 55-200 mm nikkor VR lense in fit of excitement, blurring the background which I was particularly interested in. Anyway, his friendly gesture was commendable, I must say!
Thanks to Andreu and Cyndie and especially Andreu’s fast forward travel approach (Fast forward because we literally ran from place to place, even I had put camera on sports mode so that I can catch important pictures without motion blur), we could see almost everything that Barcelona is famous for in just three days. The world heritage sites like Antoni Goudi’s masterpiece the Sagrada Church, Torre agbar building, the arc de Triomf, hotel arts, statue of Christopher Columbus and cozy lanes of Barcelona city buzzing with music and entertainment, everything was worth clicking. A Trek to castle in one of the evenings and watching crimson colored sky after sun was gone from the top of Argentona flaked by blue Sea and city blinking with lights were the best things to treat these eyes with.
A short Mountain bike ride, Spanish “dahi handi” festival and local food (called as tapas) in a restaurant was also equally delightful.


Second day, Andreu and Cyndie explained to me about all the famous places I ought to see. I did listen to them carefully before going out but could not make it to most of them!
I thought I‘d better start with the beach. But as I strolled along the beach and took photos of people, sea and other things (so many things indeed), day was already over soon. No, I can’t blame my camera (with whopping 8GB memory card) alone for being glued to the sea whole day and unable to make it to other places of interest.


Magnetic beauty of Mediterranean Sea and sun playing hide and seek with the cloud was an intoxicating combination, too difficult to walk away from. Moreover, extremely short days during winters in this part of Europe are equally responsible for my “super flop” supposedly “one day-whole city-outing” which I end up spending in sea shore alone!
On the last day, we went to Andreu’s lab as he had some experiments to do. As I had ample time, I went out to a nearby metro and got into a train going towards “somewhere”. I had arrived at a station near national art museum unknowingly; I spent some time looking at children playing soccer with an empty water bottle. A group of people sitting on the stairs were busy sketching various portraits, while a few young couples were seen romancing.
After an hour or so I walked away from there and few yards away was an Olympic stadium (Spain had hosted summer Olympic 1992) which was surprisingly open. Yes it was free! I took my breakfast there, clicked photos, bought some momentos (from a surprised place that I had reached without knowing) and then left for the university again retracing the same path. You see, some times walking is important, having a fixed destination isn’t.
Anyway, by the time I reached university and took lunch with Andreu and Cyndie it was time to bid farewell to Barcelona already! Three days in Spain was surely more fun filled than any travel agent on earth could have claimed through their packages. Many thanks to my hosts: Andreu and Cyndie.

In loving memory of a wonderful friend: AGYA


He was young and funny. He was a dreamer, sunny bunny. Above all he was a wonderful friend.
Today he is no more with us. I feel extremely helpless and sad for not being able to be by his side when he needed me most, and when he was battling for life somewhere. I had no idea where he was and how he was until someone told me he was no more (30th Oct 2008). I admit, it is simply selfishness on my part that I did not have time to enquire his whereabouts. Really time doesn’t wait for anyone.

Now all I can do is to console myself telling it was an honour that I became one of his best friends in his small life where he made everyone around smile and laugh no matter what he had to conceal beneath his impish smile.
I remember the moments we cracked jokes together, he was famous for his Saharukh Khan caricature.
I was amongst a few people he shared all pangs with and poured his inside out.
It was last in 2006, two years ago I had received a couple of his mails including the last one.
These are the only relics of our wonderful friendship I have with me now, besides those timeless and priceless moments when we laughed, smiled, ate, played (badminton), sang (mantra songs), danced and fought together.

On 2nd of May 2006 he had written:

It is been so long that we are not in contact. Just felt that something is missing and mailed you right away. So how is life there? You must be enjoying! Coz you are the person of that kind, wherever u go make whole thing enjoyable right! Nothing so special about me, trying for a job hope to get within this month. I am really missing your company... specially your jokes. Now what to write more, take care do the best and achieve your goal. God bless you.

I had replied to him from Pune right away:

What a pleasant surprise I received a mail from Mr. Saharukh khan of Sikkim. I am fine, but it’s quite hot here........missing cool weather of Darjeeling. So when are you going to siliguri...How is the coordinator of mind set tutorial (not the director as he claims)? Give my remembrance to him too. And is k.k.k.k.k...........kiran alright . Ask him, if he misses me? Don’t worry you will get a great job...I will pray for you....I will ask my god.....के हाम्रो आग्या चै काट्को हो ?? (Doesn't Agya deserves something good?)

Take care and keep in touch.
Then we had a few mails in between. He would often write about his love life and and other personal pangs. The last mail I had received from him was on 26 October 2006:


I knew you are the only one who really stood in my bad and good times. Thanks for the support. You’ll be always in my mind. Hey I got job in a school (near Pakyong) and these days I am slightly busy. But I can’t get her out of my mind. She still conquers my heart, mind and soul. I don’t know why I love her this way????? Tell me my friend. Anyways I’ll try to console my heart, just take care and be a sedulous scholar.

I am not sure if he hears me anymore even if I say something. But still....Agya wherever you are, we all will miss you a lot. specially, your jokes, Saharukh Khan caricature, and your wonderful friendship.

I replied to his last mail with some positive words. After that I didn’t receive any mail from him. Then I too left India, went to UK and came to France and without notice two years had passed. Today I hear he is no more with us, what an injustice from the makers or are they reduced to just movers and shakers?


There are a few songs he aways liked me to sing. I know who he wanted it to be dedicated to. But now he's gone the song will only remind me of wonderful human being and his love tales. This is dedicated to the love of his life who he often dreamt of while alive.


सधैं सधैं आई रहन्छ तिम्रो यादहरू
यो मन एक्लै गुन्गुनाउछ अतीत का ती धुनहरु
कति तड़पे पर्खी रहे फर्की तिमी आएनौ बेदनामा गीत कोरे
सुनिढेऊ यो गीत मेरो अमर रहोस् त्यो प्रीत हाम्रो
हेर्दा हेर्दै पारी क्षितिजमाआँशु खस्छ थाहा नपाई
सक्ने भए फर्काई ल्याउथे ममेरी माया तिम्रो हाथ समाई
कति तड़पे पर्खी रहेफर्की तिमी आएनौ
बेदनामा संगीत रचे
सुनिढेऊ यो संगीत मेरो
अमर रहोस् त्यो प्रीत हाम्रो
सपना मेरो तिमी संगै जीउने
जुनी जुनी तिमी लाई नै पाउने
तर काहा पुग्थ्यो र सोचे जति सबै
सधैं सधैं आई रहन्छतिम्रो यादहरू........

SARCASM SOCIETY


Guys, I am new to this community.Neither my face is sarcastic nor do I sound like one. Now some of you may wonder "why the hell he is here?"Well, it all happened with my recent encounters with some thick heads in ‘some’ threads of orkut debating on ‘some’ issues .
I tried everything to fix them. Nothing worked. I tried facts, figures, data, history, geography, pol science even economics. Nothing worked. I joined this society because I timely realised that sarcasm is the only weapon I could possibly use to fix them.It is a pity, can’t even prove white is white at some places. But then I discovered that with Sarcasm and its mean means you throw all colours one by one from violet(V) to indigo(I) to blue(B) to green(G) to yellow(G) to orange(O) to red(R), making them spellbound with colors flying around, without letting them realise that VIBGYOR together is WHITE indeed.
white is thus white.
Nice weapon to fix arrogants!
Shall we begin?

I don't know why but I wrote a lot of sad songs in my college days. Like Ekantama, pari, sadhai sadhai MANTRA has made this song timeless and I'm always indebted to them for giving soul to my songs.



सपना...
छात्तीभित्र सानो मुटुथियो
मुटुभित्र केही रहरहरू थिए
तारा तोड़ी ल्याउछु भन्ने त्यो मुटुमा
आशाका केही लहरहरू थिए
Chorus:
तर सपनासबै झुठो हुँढो रैछ
जीवन त केवल सधंर्षनै रैछ
....................
क्षितिजपारी लक्ष्य छ भन्ढै
खोला नाला तरी हिड़े
लक्ष्य धेरै टारा छैन भन्ढै
आशाको दीप जलाउदै हिड़े
Chorus:
तर क्षितिजपारी मरूभुमि पो रैछ
जीवन त केवल सधंर्षनै रैछ
छात्तीभित्र....

This is one of the earliest songs I have ever written. I was barely 18 then. Music had been composed by Bhasker Dewan. I had not imagined that it would go on to become one of the most 'famous' songs of MANTRA band.

एकान्तमा....



एकान्तमा किन किन तिम्रैनै याढ आउछ
सम्झनामा अझैपनि आँखा यो किन रसिन्छ
थाह छ मलाई तिमी आउदैनौ तिमी कसैकी भईसकेछौ
तर किन किन फेरी सम्झन्छु नढुखेखो मुटुलाई किन ढुखाउछु
एक्लै हिड़्दा कहिलेकाही तिमी साथमा पाउछु
हिड़ढा हिड़ढै बोल्दा बोल्दै एक्लै पाँउदा झस्कन्छु
थाह छ मलाई यो भ्रमहो फेरी भेटिने आशानै छैन

तर किन किन फेरी सम्झन्छु नढुखेखो मुटुलाई किन ढुखाउछु
कति छिटो बितेछन् मिलनका ती पलहरू
सम्झना मात्ररह्यो सपना सबै ओझेल पर्यो
एकान्तमा किन किन.......

CIVILISATION

(A memoir on Singalila trek November 2007)
I woke up early without an alarm clock’s intervention for it was one of the most restlessly awaited dawns of my life. I anxiously peeped out of the balcony to see if the day is clear. It was still cloudy like a day before or two. ”Still cloudy?” I complained!
After taking a cup of tea with two slices of bread I crept out of my relative’s place like a mouse on the run. Narrow streets of Darjeeling wore a deserted look, with few men and women carrying water jerry cans. As I hurriedly walked towards the taxi stand, a gust of cool breeze lapped against my face rekindling my vigour, which had been damped by the fog moving teasingly slow and black cloud hovering high like enemy helicopters during war. The weather in the Himalayas is always unpredictable. You never know when the Snow clad mountains smile through the curtains of thick cloud and fog. All a trekker can do is HOPE.
Soon, I could see a reasonable crowd that had gathered in front of BATA showroom to read or buy newspapers. Now I could hear vehicles honking and people chatting. I gave a quick glance around but my questing eyes could not trace anyone looking like Saibal ‘daju’ around; I took out my mobile phone and rang him up. He said he would be there within a few minutes.
He is one of my school days acquaintances. I know him since heydays of St. Robert’s High School. He was a batch senior to me. An active member of WWF and true nature lover, he is well versed with flora and fauna of Darjeeling Hills. He treks to Sandakphu range, the highest part of West Bengal, probably more often than anyone else in Darjeeling and for me it would not have been any better than trekking in company of a person like him.
Soon, we slipped into a taxi going towards a place called Sukhia. Nishes, another close friend of mine joined us at Ghoom.
After an hour’s taxi drive through narrow and snaky road, we changed the vehicle at Sukhia. This one lead us to the place call Maney Bhanjyang, from where one of the famous treks of the Himalayas kicks off.
We were all set to start three days trek to Singalila range. If luck would hold and clouds subside we had a chance to see full-fledged Himalaya range from Sandakpu or else we would be left with no option but to proudly claim that the journey was more beautiful than destination.
We started tramping uphill along a small lane that took us through pine forests. Slowly the panorama of Maney Bhanjyang, a small place inhabited by a few hundred people was dwindling away in thick air as we persistently walked ahead throw the forest. We were perhaps walking away from the civilisation.
After an hours walk, we were amid a large desolate moor in close proximity to India Nepal Border. The place was startlingly muted. We were probably the only objects making noise through our breathing as it appeared even the wind was keeping calm for some unscientifically anonymous reasons. It was, undoubtedly, one of those rare moments when I was able to communicate with my own core properly. The place was clearly far and far from so-called civilised world busy making noises with horns, loudspeakers, phones and all kinds of gadgets. And now, it is immaterial for me how the standard dictionaries define the word ‘civilisation’, because that very moment has effortlessly convinced my dim-witted and capricious mind one thing: civilisation is merely the absence of tranquillity or the presence of its opposite-noise, chaos and confusion!

QUESTION

Today..when the whole India rejoiced together as 'Little Master' overtook Brian Lara's aggregate of 11,953 on the first day of the second Test against Australia at Mohali to become the highest run scorer in test cricket, a stupid question came into my mind:

If cricket is the largest religion in our country worshipped almost by everyone, why do we fight for religion?

I LOST MYSELF....SOMEWHERE!

When I was barely 14, I consciously decided to give up eating meats as I realised by doing otherwise we were merely living at the cost of innocent lives. For next 7 years or so I didn’t eat anything that moved (of course when they are alive). And I was so proud to be one, never felt myself selfish, never faced oneself in the mirror with guilt.
But then somehow as I grew up, I started taking the same thing that had been rejected by this very soul 7 years ago.
I can give any number of reasons for that to prove my innocence and defend myself but I won’t do that as it would be mere cunningness of me to give justifications for starting to live at the cost of innocent lives again.
Perhaps, I lost my true self somewhere or may be some of the sacred emotions got smeared as I grew up and entered the real temporal, materialistic world where the only truth seems to be, “SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST”.

Some times, I quietly sit by myself and ponder over these things-things we do; to survive, to be happy and to move ahead…….

FRENCH CLASS

Yes it's true, I am learning French. To be honest, I don't have much energy left to learn a language or something after getting worn and torn by education all these years. Can you imagine? I am studying for last whopping 23 years and still have not finished, they say it will take 2 more years to complete (my Ph.D and hence hopefully education too).
But I joined the course for two reasons: 1) they are paying for me. So it’s free, basically! 2) Learning is always justified in this planet as long as we don’t mentally go haywire and start walking around half naked with ruffled hair etc.
Anyways, we are four in the class: an American, a Serbian, one from Yugoslavia and me, Indian- all beginners. If there was anything below beginners, I would have been there. But there wasn't any.
But our professor has not uttered a single word in English so far which is quite scary !
I wonder if she has the evil intention to forcefully press on things into our heads, particularly making me feel like having forcefully overfed with saltless potatoes with hands tied to a pole or something. Or may be she doesn’t know English.
Whatever it is, a professor is speaking only in French in front of four hapless beginners who know nothing about Frence. I must say, really an out of the world combination!
But before jumping to any conclusions, I prefer to wait, may be they have some logic behind it who knows, as they are bonafide citizens of a developed nation!
On the first day, I felt like she was performing some kind of ‘abstract’ mono act play for our amusement. Only thing was she didn't dance. I could understand nothing except the alphabets and numbers she wrote on the white board, thanks to my normal eyes and also to what is called sixth sense. Much to my agony, the Serbian girl sitting beside me kept saying ‘oui’ (means yes). I quickly jumped to a depressing conclusion, “may be I am the most stupid here” But then my self motivation level is quite high you see. I also decided to say OUI come rain or shine…at least (to begin with)
Thus, my French course has finally kicked off with confident OUIs....even the professor seems to be leaping with joy now. Good for us. Whenever I say “OUI”, she exclaims, “Bravo”
That's quite excellent altogether; as it wouldn’t have been too nice to start with NO. Now, things are slowly improving, but I despearately want to go to next level, something better than confident looking OUIs.
Anyway, whatever hell is going on in that cosy classroom, I am so optimistic to come out and quote here in English: "well begun is half done".

CONFESSION

Well, I am a little forgetful; thankfully beloved ones are born in important dates. 25th December for instance! By far the most vulnerable items have been keys, umbrella, pens, wallet, dates, events, so on and so forth. Thanks to the noun or transitive/intransitive verb called FEAR, I really haven't forgotten anything substantial when it comes to beloved ones. Hope legacy will continue in rest of my life too. One can attribute it to my unrelenting love and care too. But personally I don’t want any credit for loving.Anyway, I am a writer. I don’t know, a born writer or not, but surely not fallen from sky or unidentified flying object (UFO).Quite regularly; I write for “peace of mind”, but critics never let it happen, you see. So, most of the time, it turns out be “pieces of mind”- then pieces of heart too. I become sad and decide not to write and publish again. I learn to live with a notion that we are often faulted in speech! But one fine day suddenly I realise we are faulted in silence too. “What the hell?” I ask myself “we are faulted in silence, faulted in speech?”But then choice is definitely ours. Then why not speech?So I have resolved to continue writing come what may-claps or hail stones!Well coming back to my nature, some people find me helpful, others self-fool (I mean selfish). But don’t worry about the latter ones. They are damn crazy! Seriously! Rest is fine. I am quite young, dreams are high, hopes are higher and determination is skyrocketing. May be altitude is in my veins. No wonder I was born in queen of hills (Darjeeling,2134 meters above sea level). No no no, don’t get me wrong now. I don’t have plans to go higher joining NASA! I need space true, but not that one!God bless all of us and our crazy little world !

P.S. I am simple! Forgot to write that.

CRITICISM

When you write something on public website or forum, there is every chance of getting criticised and even abused, especially if you are writing on politics. Only thing is, some use sophisticated language to abuse you, others blunt. The sophisticated abuse is like having a tooth uprooted with some use of local anaesthesia, while blunt is without. Quite same same, but different. Today someone plucked my tooth again, unfortunatly with no anaesthesia. I had written a "feel good" (this word was used by another critic at my article) article on unity of various communities in Darjeeling. My vision was something in the line of 'one world' while writing the article. I don’t have the slightest clue what pissed off this gentleman.
It says:
Dear Wannabe Paper Tiger, wannabe Vikram Seth, no matter how educated you are, doing Ph.D in France or statying in UK, no matter you have good IQ, plenty of cash, strong network, influential family background, have ability to register homepage, strong finance but what is your contribution to the society? Do you have any contribution in Mass education development in Darjeeling, did you support any NGO working against HIV, Drug addiction(Organising Rock Concert is Drug addiction facilating programme),have you ever made survey to remote areas of Darjeeling to get first hand information about the most common diseases our people suffering, why so many kidney damages, how mauch you paid to Dr.Bhutia of Planter’s hospital for that scanning machine, have you ever voiced against rising price of commodities, Child Labour, did you published any article about corrupted & Corruption, contractors and their dada giri? Now stop this historical crapyou’re your pondering on unity and Gorkhaland. Gorkhaland will be true one day when Central will make the resolution that smaller states should depend on their own resources and henceforth no more central fund will be provided. So there will be no special packages from the central. Niche ajao vai, nowadays my son can give you long lecture on Unity and Gorkhaland..se ya man! Atlast, great Da! Heavy da! Keep up man..cool! You are jewel of Darjeeling...please do more da! France ma ta jado cha hola hai! President ko GF lai chai akha na jhim kau hai bro badd gardela ni.

People have written harsher comments than this in the past. But I hardly replied to anyone. But somehow, I found this person is right as well as wrong. Right, because whatever issues he has talked about are genuine. Wrong, he could have conveyed the same thing in much better words like many others. I mean with use of local anaesthesia.Instead, he started off strongly addressing me as PAPER TIGER. Paper tiger? It wasn't amusing at all, so I wrote him back.
P.S. I wrote him back not because he called me paper tiger though, let me clarify quickly or somebody will criticise this blog too, bluntly I mean. There are serious issues! seriously!

So, I wrote:

Dear critic, since you seem to throw personal attack on me rather on my above article, I can’t keep quite for god sake. So, I have addressed all of your concerns here:
Thanks for calling me wanna be “Vikram Seth”, though the “paper tiger” was a little bit off bit and uncalled for. Good IQ? While writing an article or something, I depend on emotion and my attachment to this very place of mist and fog rather than IQ, unlike many of the journalists who come to Darjeeling with half of the sight blocked with monkey cap and robust wrap of mufflers and write ‘wonderful’ history or something about Darjeeling. Plenty of cash? I come from a middle class family of a remote place called Ranglee Rangli ot Tea Garden and I am proud to have seen all the colours of life including poverty. Thankfully, French Government has provided some fellowship to sustain a single life now. Quite ok for a Ph.D. student. Strong network? Well, trust me. Besides my strong will, I just used my bio data and some internet networks to reach where I am now. Influential family background? My father got job (group C) just in early 90s and he looks after two other siblings besides me. Plus he looks after his old dad too. My mother is a house wife. So where did you see a rich and influential family background? My contribution to the society: A) writing songs from last 10 years for almost all the (current) singers and bands of Darjeeling without a single penny from band members. Most of them sustain their living from whatever they earn from music. B) Whenever I come to Darjeeling, I make it a point to donate whatever little I can to beggars vying for attention at Mahakal temple and other areas. I know you will laugh at my miniature contribution to needy ones, but it is not too bad given the fact that I am still a student. C) I was personally associated with various tutorials while I was in siliguri and Darjeeling and am sure many of my students from Darjeeling, Kalimgpong, Kurseong, Siliguri and Sikkim have passed B.Sc. and MSc. with good marks and have better opportunities in their lives. Though I tried to keep the fees as low as possible, couldn’t keep it free as I was also not in very good shape financially. Moreover they say, free means bad or No. I am quite young, just 26 year old, and have some time to do something for my society without being known or heralded or appreciated for what I will do. Perhaps for my own contentment. Well, I have not been associated with any NGO till date, and have not written any article on Child labour, HIV AIDS, corruption, inflation and any of the things you mentioned. But I welcome your suggestion and will do what I can in near future. Thank you for that. Coming back to your remarks on my article, where did you manage to summon “historical crap”? in above article. Please explain to me in next comment.
P.S. Please let us also know about your contributions to society Mr. real tiger.
sincerely, the author

I AM STILL YOUNG
On being questioned if he is studying hard, one of my close friends often replied, “I am so busy with exams that I don’t have time to study”. I could never sense any sense in his amazing sense of humor though. But the way he uttered with no expression on his face, we laughed at everything he said.
He often made us laugh even during stressful moments of exams..
How can we forget the days (or rather nights) when we had more things to put into our cranium than we actually could at that given juncture. I can’t believe gone are those testing moments of life. I guess we have grown old. But when I said the same thing-yes the same thing, “I guess we have grown old” to another good close friend of mine over the phone the other day. He said , “ ke bhako?”
“mota buro bhakcchuina hai..to bhayish hola.biya garekai cchuina, naniharu bhakai cchaina, theth ke ko buro hunthyo!”
(What’s your problem? May be you have aleardy become old, but I have not. I haven’t married as yet, not yet made children. How dare you think we are old?)
It was a good reminder from him. Thanks to my optimistic friends. Times may have changed but they are still same. Never let the negativity touch me….even though there is a huge ocean of it all around.
Just celebrated 26th B‘day a few days back. Only 26, not even one third (As per my target), still long way to go…so much to see, so much to do..so much to learn..

A lady in the west

Sometimes, memories of childhood silently trespass my perforated mind, without invitation or permission: With a catapult in my hand I would wander about the village in quest of birds; play marbles with my best mates Birey and Dalsingh; get into nasty fights with them at times; watch ants working without any rest, then destroy their mound by peeing over; steal oranges from neighbours’ garden and eat them all till the body reacted vehemently with fever or diarrhoea the day after. And yet, I was a good boy- my mother always told me so, though my short-tempered father never really believed it.
I studied in Shivagram junior High School. It was about five kms from my house. Not really far if you have a car and a good road, but those days we had to make use of whatever little we have-two feet. On way to school, there were trees, a few canals and endless strech of tea bushes reaching as far as our eyes travelled.There was only one small hut made of straw and bamboo, cemented and dyed with rato mato (red soil), as a meagre sign of inhabitance. There lived an old, ugly looking woman. She lived alone and scarcely talked to anyone. Some people believed that her husband had been killed in a forward post during Second World War, others speculated he had eloped with a ‘other’ woman. Like everyone else even she was unaware of the truth. Her husband never came back home after the war, that was all she knew. The story about the man being in army was not totally unbelievable as I had once seen a khukuri and a tattered army uniform hanging from the muddy wall of the house. She already looked ugly with two big eyes, a blunt nose, and her ever aging skin made her look worse. All my friends were too frightened to talk to her for anything. Whenever we felt thirsty, on way to school, we would stop in front of her hut as it was the only one around. Somehow, it was always me who asked for water. I don’t know why but I never found her terrifying; for whenever I asked her for anything, generosity and kindness would shine in her eyes. Moreover, she never harmed us as her looks suggested. Looks can be deceiving at times!
One wintry afternoon, with catapult in hand, I crept out of my home with Birey and Dalsingh to chase birds. As we passed through her hut, I saw oranges in her small courtyard, where she would be often seen with shovel. Falling for them, I dared to ask the old lady for an orange.
She first looked at me, and said,
“Do not eat them. They are not ripe enough to eat yet, you will fall sick”
Those were the only words I heard from her ever since we first met.
Taking advantage of our friendship that had grown strong over months; I stubbornly began pleading for the orange. As I was about to cry (but would not have cried), she relented, “But…..only one”. Soon I was up on the tree amidst unripe oranges. I plucked as many as I could on the pretext that I would share with my friends waiting for me below the tree. We crossed the garden in three leaps even forgetting to thank her in a haste to relish the fruit. I ate most of them sharing only some with others.
The day was very cold. My lungs already fell congested, and the unripe oranges did the rest, I could not eat anything and slept early. I woke up shivering in that murky night. My father- a worried man-went to get a witch doctor that lived in another village, as the Hospital was too far. My mother, confused and frantic, kept vigil by my bedside while my condition worsened during the night. Eventually around three in the morning he arrived with a janda witchdoctor, who held my hand in his and started murmuring mantras with frightening attention. He threw rice grain in between verses of the incantation all around the semi dark room lit by a kerosene lamp. Later, after consuming a full bottle of local toddy, as a part of his fees, he told my anxious father that I had become victim of some powerful witchcraft and gave whereabouts of the witch. He declared, “The witch lives in the west!” Next day, having completely fallen in views of the top witchdoctor of the village my father inquired with all my friends and learnt about our encounter with the old lady that lived in segregation. Coincidentally, the muddy hut was in the ‘west’. He jumped at a conclusion that poor lady had done witchcraft on me. He thanked janda witch doctor who claimed to have freed me from her spell. Like an airborne disease the rumours spread around in no time. All the people developed an impression that the old lady was a witch. I was too afraid to tell the truth about the unripe orange to him as he could kick my back anytime. I could not protect an innocent old lady being defamed as I had to protect myself from my father’s wrath.
With every new day, rumours took different forms. Some people claimed to have seen her in disguise of a black cat while others saw her dancing at dead of the night. Whenever children, cows and goat fell sick all blames were put on her without explanation. Children were not allowed to go near her house as a result we had to change the route to go to school.
One afternoon, sometimes in the month of June, dark sky promised the rain as thunders rumbled in the distance. A small boy died in the village of an unknown disease. Unfortunately, the janda witchdoctor had suspected the same lady who lived in the ‘west’ for boy’s deteriorating condition, just a week before his demise.
All the bereaved relatives of the dead boy accompanied by young men of the village, in a fit of anger, promptly rushed to the old lady’s hut and started hurling stones at it. The poor lady did not understand what was happening. She tried to defend herself from the projectiles, but some of them hit her on the head and others on the back. Painfully hurt, she lost consciousness and shank to the ground.
That night, there was a storm with blinding sheets of rain, blowing away roofs of many houses and uprooting plum trees of our backyard. When a day dawned I could see an awful destruction the storm had wrought. Much to my curiosity, latter in the evening I heard someone telling my father about the witch breathing her last in that stormy night. All the people in the village heaved a shy of relief in a witch’s death. They cremated her body in presence of many janda witch doctors in Gatte Khola(small river)."The village is free from witch now", some one in the gathering was heard saying.Nobody cried for her. Somewhere, however, deep inside my heart, I felt a profound sense of guilt. I could do nothing except burrying by head in the hands.It took me many weeks to forget her face that blinked before my eyes during the night. It’s been years since, but I still remember her words of caution: “Do not eat them. They are not ripe enough to eat yet, you’ll fall sick”

LANGUAGE OF HEART
I am just one month old city-dweller in this wonderful place surrounded by Alps, but I have not really been lost as yet. Most of the people would not speak English, but still they would answer your queries somehow with genuine politeness-which I call language of heart. It’s wonderful gesture. Some times my fickle mind tends to compare these people with my own people back home, and arrive at sad conclusions. He would know the language you speak, he would no the answers you are looking for, but he would never care to help you.
A few days back, I went to supermarket to buy some foodstuff in the evening. As the days are long in summer here (it is not dark till 9:30 pm), I didn’t realise it was already 8:30 PM. When I came out of the shop, though it was not dark, the public transport system was already closed for the day. I tried to walk a bit, recollecting the road I had traced while coming by a bus, but it didn’t seem to be a very good idea as my place was far from the supermarket. I asked an old lady in English if she could tell me how to go back to my flat. Apparently she didn’t understand anything and replied saying something politely in French, which I didn’t understand. After, more than five minutes’ effort I could make her understand that I was looking for a bus to go to Rue Fournet (name of the place where I live) and subsequently she could tell me that it was too late for bus. But, what was impressive was she didn’t leave like that. First she gave me her mobile phone to call somebody I know, which I politely declined as I had not carried anybody’s contact no. As I was wondering what I would do next, she signed me with her hand that she would drive me home and she did. I reached home safely in her car around 10 pm. It was an exceptional display of humanity, which is sadly ever-dwindling in my own country. Besides national and international languages, it would be wonderful to learn another language-the language of heart.

February, 2006: as the winter had just begun to bid farewell to Darjeeling and back in my village schools had just started to resume, far across in the west part of the country (Pune) I was all set for my first ever visit to England.I was quite nervous as it was the first time I was flying in an aeroplane and also first time to any country overseas. It is usual for a person like me who grew up in one of the remotest places in India to feel a little perturbed when such opportunities knock at the door. My birth place is quite far from so called civilization. For many, the presence of silent mountains and hills overlooking endless stretch of tea bushes, the absence of skyrocketing buildings, the lack of ever honking vehicles speeding at life threatening 70 plus kms/ hr along the smooth and wide roads certainly signify remoteness.
When I was a kid, one of our teachers would often teach us in geography class that plains are like table. It was very difficult for me to visualise a place looking like a table! When my father took me with him for the first time to Siliguri, the nearest town looking like a table I was elated.
It is also not unusual for people like me living in a Tea Estate of Darjeeling to have not seen a city except for those lucky few whose parents served in the military forces. My family had less people serving in the army than others in the village. So, I am not sure if my great grand father did ever saw a city in his life; to the best of my knowledge even my grand father, who is in the eve of his life now, has still not seen one. Even for my parents there was a time when Kolkata was quite a distant place.
Well, I had not visited Kolkata till I was a young lad of 18 years. Thanks to my high school teacher who gave me an opportunity to be a part of an educational excursion team to Kolkata. So happy I was during my first ever Kolkata visit by bus that I was awake with alarming concentration throughout the journey lest I would miss a thing. We sang, we danced. Perhaps in a fit of excitement we had unknowlingly disturbed other travellers for whom the trip was just another visit to Kolkata.I still remember that moment as vividly as one from yesterday. How happy I was posing for the photos standing against the backdrop of tall buildings, Hoogly River and Victoria memorial. I ate/ drank (I don’t know which verb I should use for this foodstuff) “poochka” for the first time.
Slowly as I grew younger and certainly older, I came to town (Darjeeling) from village, stayed their for studies, then moved to Siliguri (the same table like place of my childhood vision). By this time, already so many first times had come to pass in my life. First time I went to school, first time I gave exams, first time I rode bicycle, first time travelled alone, first time I stayed away from my parents, first time I dated a girl, first time I saw a table like place, first time saw a city, a river and without notice I had already become independent if not experienced. Then I moved to Pune, first time out of the state. Then last month I came to France and its been already so many FIRST TIMEs for me and certainly more to come.

Perhaps, every moment in a life has something of a FIRST TIME…for those who set on a voyage without any punctuation,without looking back, without giving up in times of trials…just believing in a dream, a dream to live a life to the fullest….

I am too young (perhaps by some standards) to comment on secularism, caste, creed, color and religions, but I am open to learning from people of some competence like Mahatma Gandhi and Dalai Lama. By religion I am a Buddhist, but my mother named me Sudarshan, which is a typical word from Hindu mythology. During my formative years (In Darjeeling) I developed a notion that Jesus Christ was also one of my gods while I was doing plus two from a Christian school (St. Robert’s High School). As a consequence, by the time I completed graduation from St. Joseph’s college I had become irreversibly close to all the three religions. I still recall those moments as vividly as one from yesterday. I would go to Monastery, Church, and Temples with equal devotion. Even though the turn of the events in my life did not introduce me to Islam or Sikh, I had some close Muslim and Sikh friends with heart of gold. I still solemnly believe that a religion is not a criterion for one’s identity.A new born child has no idea of what religion, caste, creed and color are. It is perhaps the upbringing by the parents and judicious preaching by teachers that will decide whether the child will grow on to become Mahatma Gandhi or someone else with arms/power in hand waiting to use/strike innocent people of so called different caste, color, creed, religion and region. Moreover, whatever might be the translation of the word PAIN in different languages of the world, it feels the same..doesn't it?