Paradise Unexplored – Guide, Driver and the fellow wanderers!!

The Air India flight was a stuffy one. I was sweating profusely. When I turned to complain to the air-hostess, she was sweating too. I did not want to irk her more. The journey was a turbulent one. The walk on the clouds did not go as expected for the flight. I landed in Guwahati at around 8.30 PM.

Mr. Mirza Rahman was waiting for me in the lounge. He was a plump guy who I would come to know as a person of good heart, great planner with strong opinions about politics and North-East India in particular and a very nice guy to spend time with. He is a student of Political science at Delhi University. He was my guide for the trip. After confirming that we are talking to the right people, we went to the Scorpio which was going to be with us for the entire 2 weeks. Rashid, the driver was waiting for us. He was an interesting guy who was interested in taking pictures of him in various standing positions at different heights. It is Mirza with an Umbrella and Rashid on the plains for a change.

On the way to the hotel, I was peeping out of the window to see what Guwahati looks like. It was not different. That disappointed me to an extent. After some time, I saw lot of army vans and army men stationed at various places. Now this is different. I will come to realize the greatness of free existence in South India. Freedom! Only when there is sun, we think of shadow.

I met my fellow travelers at the hotel. Neha and New Mar were having their dinner. Neha was from Bombay. New Mar was from Germany. They were        people of great fun and enthusiasm. New Mar impressed me with her curiosity, taking happiness in little things and energy. Neha knew the lyrics of most of the Hindi songs and she could croon well as well.

Mirza, Neha, New Mar and I went for a walk to have momos for dinner. Mirza took us to a place. The momos were served hot and it was delicious. On the way, we did not see many people apart from the random army men and passers-by. The place becomes deserted after 8 PM.

There was another family at the hotel. Mirza was pointing to that family and explaining to us a strange tradition in Meghalaya. Meghalaya has a tribe ‘Kona’ where girls are groomed to take care of children of the families they work for. They would know nothing else. They grow to take care of other kids. Was it Child labor or a haven for kids who have no other means? But it was interesting. I was able to correlate it with women in villages of Tamil Nadu who are adept at handling home medicine and pregnancy.

I would come to understand that North-East is a mix of several tribes and each have their own language, culture and flavor of life.

Paradise Unexplored – My trip to the North-east!! First day n kolkata.

There were hopes for great stories and anecdotes till the first ink was plotted.  I was harboring the same hope for a long time to explore the North-East India. Without much planning, all the things fell in place all of a sudden and I was packing things for the trip on a Friday morning. (26/June/2009). I had planned for a one-way of rail route to optimize the cost for the trip. My first leg of journey was to be in train to Kolkata.

I was amazed to see that my ticket to Kolkata had been a waitlisted one which I had thought was a confirmed one while booking. This reminded me another incident that happened during college. My good friend Sandeep asked me to book a ticket to Chennai to leave for semester exam preparations. We were all set with books and all. We boarded the bus annoyed to see the seats occupied by two other gentlemen. We tried explaining that the seat belonged to us. Unfortunately the seat numbers on both the tickets were the same which was rare. Our anger now turned towards the bus company. We went down and reached the supervisor and asked him for an explanation. He was baffled. Finally we were embarrassed to know that the tickets were booked for the next day. It was a disaster.

Upon reaching Hyderabad station, I was happy to see the ticket confirmed. The family who was sharing the cabin was friendly. The 24-hours journey was not as difficult as I had expected.  There was a surprise waiting for us in one of the Orissa stations. The compartments were cleaned with lot more dedication which I rarely see in the railways. The cleaning generally happens as a ritual at the start and end of a journey to mark something for a train. That day was different. There were efforts put in to make the journey pleasurable, ledgers filled in stations, repellants and refreshers sprayed at an optimum amount not to knock you off and feedbacks sought. Was it the magical spell of the newly sworn in Railways minister or was some minister travelling with us? God knows.

But the joy was short-lived one. The train halted at Jaleshwar due to an engine failure, which was expected in a long journey. Ok. Now things are on course. The train would be delayed by 3 hours. People got out and sat on parallel tracks. Tea cups flew and crows too.

The train was delayed by two hours. I had a special place for Kolkata. This was the first capital of British India. It is known for its richness in art, literature and literacy. Most of the Indian English writers are of the Bengali origin. My room-mate and few close friends are from Bengal.

I took a taxi to Mayukhda’s place where                 I was to spend the night. I caught a taxi. After few pleasantries, the taxi driver was talking about the meaning of life, social equality and lot of other complex equations which I usually indulge in when I don’t get sleep. Was it in the air of Bengal? I was surprised.

I wanted to absorb the Kolkatan thing as much as I can before I leave for Guwahati. Apart from Hilsa, football game in a market place, old building and the kali statue getting readied for Durga Puja, Kolkata was not ready to reveal her.

The White Tiger – it is more of a Black and White Picture

‘The White Tiger’  is a great, blunt, and scathing novel. It tries to give a true account of India.  As the cover rightly puts it, the book tries to talk about the lives of the rich and poor in India through the tale of the protagonist  Balram Halwai, who hails from Darkness.  ‘Darkness’ – the metaphor for rural, backward India comprising more than 60% of its population who are not fed amply or who die of diseases, which are extinct in several countries. The lack of electricity, education, primary healthcare fits the metaphor ‘Darkness’.

“Wherever the river flows, there is darkness. And the places near the ocean are rich and affluent’ – starts the novel. Balram Halwai wants to break the tradition of working in fields and dying of tuberculosis.

This book talks about the protagonist’s life through a series of letters written to the Chinese Premiere, Head of the Communist Headquaters of China, written over a period of seven days. The protagonist’s life starts in a village shared/divided among three landlords, moves to Delhi, and ends in Bangalore with its fair share of twists and turns.

Balram Halwai, a relatively intelligent person from a remote village, always holds the dream of doing something. When his dare wins over the fear to reach into the dark rooms of a destitute fortress, he wins over the tradition of working in one of the, one of the landlord’s field. He moves to the city – the light.

It depicts the role of caste-system even in the mundane actions. Halwai, meaning Sweet-Maker, proves a hindrance for Balram’s wish to learn car driving. Another driver hides his identity of Muslim. Corruption has an important role in this novel. True account of India cannot do away with corruption and it has to be given its due part. Corruption and greed drives Balram to murder his master and run away with the money to the IT HUB of India.  Balram becomes a social entrepreneur.

The simplicity of language makes it a light read. ‘The Family Syndrome of Indians has earned a new title ‘The Rooster Coop’. Liked it.  It makes the great Indian story woven by the elite and esoteric lot of India farcical and tries to unveil the honest nerve within. A great read.

Cross-roads and a story

                   In India, every red light at traffic signals is a green signal for those small petty (size and quality) toy or cloth-sellers, unfortunately the toy or the cloth is not their selling point but the poverty.  Similarly it gives ample time for those unfortunate souls, circumstantially or physically or morally (those who are not ready to work hard).   A child, a bandage soaked in blood and eyes anxious to see something coming out of the Indian Mint, are a common sight in India. There is always a discussion or a concern whether to show or show off one’s magnanimity. This reminds me of a story by a tamil playwright Mr. Sujatha. The story was narrated in first person. 

          Mr. Sujatha and his wife are indulged in their afternoon general banter. Their mundane conversation is muddled by a man, in his mid-thirties and soiled dhoti. His eyes starts welling. And he tells that his wife died this morning and he wants to give her a good farewell at the least as he was not able to provide a good life. Sujatha turns a blind-eye and ask him to leave the place. He starts crying and tries with earnest, but to no avail. Mrs. Sujatha is moved by this incident and tries to cajole her husband into giving something to this poor guy.  The stranger leaves the place with wet eyes.

          Mrs. Sujatha is shocked to see her husband’s behavior. She asks him whether his actions were right. Sujatha, in his usual thoughtful heavy tone, explains that there are thousands of hawkers on the street who try to exploit the vulnerability or the emotional sensitivity of the people. He declares that this stranger has to be one such guy. He needs money and most of them are shameless to kill their father, mother, wife or children, even when alive and are ready to earn something without hard work. He tells that she should not be fooled by such tricks.

         After some time, Mr. Sujatha takes his scooter for his usual evening ride. On his way through a narrow street,  he sees this stranger, whom he met in the morning, crying loud and hard. He sees a Khafan (white cloth) covered body nearby. He is jolted. He goes into a pensive mood and tries to find a reason for his actions in the afternoon.

          He returns to his home. Mrs. Sujatha, still sitting on the veranda, tells that the wail of the stranger has affected her for some unknown reasons and she is feeling sorry for that guy. Mr. Sujatha, after letting a sigh, tells his wife that she is still innocent and ignorant about this world and walks fast into the house.

Few Un-Common People!!

    Last year, we employed a cook for our batchelor’s den occupied by three. Her name was Vasantha. She used to laugh at my hindi as I was speaking it with a tilted south indian accent which she was doing too. She was really not a great cook but I learnt from her that she was undergoing a typical telugu film-like family life. She was twenty-one, already a mother of two, eldest being eight years old (mathematics failed me here), married to a drunkard and an old haggard as mother-in-law. But she always entered the house with a warm smile. For woman mostly in India, their world revolves around Pathi-dev and children. Here I am seeing a woman who has seen it all (in Indian context) before she was even eligible for marriage.

      This woman, when she comes a little late to cook, she used to bring in another girl Saritha, a bihari and a young woman too. Saritha is an epitome of innocence. The way she speaks and she wonders about things make me smile or laugh in general. Vasantha and Saritha used to chat while cooking. Saritha used to promptly announce us the things which Vasantha has asked her not to tell anyone. She talks in a kiddish way. But it was shocking to know that she was a mother of another kid and happily married.

      One fine day, Vasantha came. She was late. She informed me about the death of the husband of Saritha. I was really sad. A you girl, a kid and there should be someone to take care of them financially and otherwise.

       Few days went by. Vasantha came in for her usual routine. Saritha came in after some time. She was her usual happy self. She was smiling and she ran into the kitchen to share a joke with Vasantha. She was laughing loud. I know that the sorrow cannot occupy you through out. But I was worried about whether this lady knew the impact of that loss. Life moves on!!

      After few days, I learnt that Saritha re-married.

Few common people and uncommon incidents through Epilepsy!!

      Sarcar and I was going on my bike to my office not to break the mundane routine. The road curves into another main road with large buildings, erected in the name of IT/ITES in our country, in view. I am used to watching people lying by the roads after one or two pegs of morning indulgences. But this morning, I crossed a man who was lying in a similar fashion but something peculiar was happening. He was shaking, not so vigorously, but was shaking fast and he was salivating. (foam around his mouth). But there was none around.

      After going down further a 100 metres, I came back. I saw the man was actually down with/due to epilepsy. I did not know what to do. Immediately, few people turned out for help. One guy sat down and started reassuring the person who was down. One guy took a key and pressed it in his hand. (People here generally believe that Iron can cure the epilepsy attack. I know that it isa myth. And any strong hold would do to reassure him.) Now the affected guy was getting back to normal. In India, it is a common sight that the people injured in accidents or people who fall conscious are left as it is unless someone makes the first move to save them. Then people would start clamouring and help them out. This is misplaced fear born out of the irresponsible hospital and police function in the country. The private hospital would not attend a road side accident or case for the following reasons -  Private hospitals may not be able to bill him heavy without knowing whether he can pay or not. They may not be willing to risk their reputation by getting involved with Police.  Government hospitals require a ‘First Information Report’ filed in the local police station before accepting the case. And Police Station may accuse you of inflicting the pain (accident) on the injured. It has happened.

      The law mandates that any person who is caught in an accident to be given first aid and immediate attention without any FIRs or Police intervention. After all, world is not an ideal place.

      By this time, our man was completely up and was sitting down. He told that he did not have his breakfast nor the medicine prescribed to him for the same issue. One of the other person, immediately took the prescription and rushed to the nearby pharmacy. (Many a wishes for his altruistic nature.)

      Another guy and I took this man to a shadow. We wanted to give him some water. But the shop people around refused to give him water and rebuked us for planning to do so. One guy remarked that he was born and brought up in village. And he told that water should not be given as it might aggravate the condition. He was sitting with an iron rod in his hand. (Courtesy : A nearby mechanic shop).

      I was confused whether to laugh or cry!!

Greatness! Gladiator!

            

           Gladiator, a movie that struck me hard. The visuals and the effects created a lasting effect on me. The rise and fall and rise of a man. In this film, I liked this particular dialogue by Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix).

 

               Commodus: Yes…the greatness of Rome. And what is that?
            Lucilla: It’s an idea.  Greatness…greatness is a vision.
            Commodus: Exactly, a vision.  Do you not see, Lucilla? I will give the people a vision and they will love me for it. They will soon be tired of the sermonizing of a few, dry, old men. I will give them the    greatest vision of their lives.

     

     Greatness is a vision. The problem arises when people fight between illusion and vision.

Chowringee by Mani Sankar Mukherji

 

“The interpreter of maladies” by Jhumpa Lahiri marked my entrance into the world of bengali literature. After few pages of Kunal Basu, Satyajit Ray and Amitav Ghosh, I stumbled upon this book.

 There was an orange stamp saying “Winner of the Vodafone-Crossword book award” on this book. ‘Set in 1950 Calcutta’ aroused my interest.

This book is the story of a young man (set in first person) who looks at the world from the eyes of a hotel. Employed in a hotel, he comes across several interesting characters. A slice of the world.  Even the statues of Sri Hariram Goenka, Sri Ashutosh and Curzon Park are part of this story. They stand audience to the incidents and events that unfold. The debonair Sata-Da, the tragic beauty Karabie Guha, the misplaced Mr. Gomez, the manager Marco Polo, investigator Byron, nervous Nithyahari, the Doctor J.P. Sutherland, Mrs Prakashi and Rosie. And there was a Connie and a half-man Lambretta. There are quite a few English characters in this story.

        Set in 1950s, Shankar happens to take the place of Rosie - the assistant ,who had run away, to Marco Polo, the man who orchestrates Shahjahan. The beautiful relationship between Sata Bose-da, the receptionist at Shahjahan and Shankar starts the day he joins. In his work as a receptionist, he comes across myriad characters like Dr. Sutherland, who reveals that he was born to a Bar Dancer brought in from the kingdom and Robbie, a clerk working on the Clive Street. It was different to come to know about the existence of bar dancers in 1900s and how they were kept or chained in cages to maintain their chastity.  

             The story flows like a river with twirls caused by the infidel and otherwise a renowned social worker Mrs. Prakashi. Karabie Guha, who works as a secretary to Mr. Agarwalla and who fulfills few whims of the eccentric clients or partners of Mr. Agarwalla. She reminds me of a saying “Prisoners of the situation”. She finds true love in the son of Mrs. Prakashi, Anindo, who is pristine pure soaked in poetry and idyllic world. But things turn out as always against the favor of lovers and Karabi decides for the extreme. Her end is just a beginning of the tragic dip that intersperses throughout the story. As someone said that the true meanings lies in those sorrows of life, and it leaves a person perturbed.

                           The passionate musician of Shahjahan who breathes the octets of Mozart and Beethoven is disturbed by the irate half-man Lambretta and the bar dancer diva Connie. Connie and Lambretta, though do not appeal to the eyes of the spectators as a great pair, helps as a fodder for the grind of hotel employees. Rumors spread which ends in a twist not really expected.

And comes Sunita-Di into the life of Sata-Da.

         “The first symptom of love in a young man is timidity; in a girl it is boldness. The two sexes have a tendency to approach and each assumes the quality of the other” – Victor Hugo

             Though this book is not a great one but it offers few points to ponder. This book reminded me of all the bygone history of many low-lying individuals. We may not know how much treasure may be lying buried in those dead minds of this countries many a men.  

        

 

 

A November sunrise!!

 

As I am listening to the notes flowing out of the Piano from the November Rain, a song that fits well this occassion, I start writing my first post for my blog.

 

 

                                       

Few things happen in life. They just happen. I decided one dark night that I want to capture all those random gibberish that cross my mind occasionally. I am seeing a drop on those numbers of occasions in the recent days. May be I have become insolent or insensitive to the things around owing to the number of years of existence which has crossed the number of fingers on all my limbs. So I thought – the sooner the better. So here we go, please join the journey!!