You cannot write if you do not read.

- That explains why I am always out of ideas when trying to post.

The random lines that hovered inside the head and somehow managed to make sense every time on the screen have all disappeared. And to live without your thoughts is living in loneliness.
A terrible feeling that.

2009 and Me

Its 11:30 now according to my computer and before I am through with this post it will be 2009.While people are bursting crackers, thronging "happening" places around the city, partying, dancing and getting sloshed - all in the merriment of welcoming the new year I wonder what "change" the new year will actually bring in for me. Oh yes, I know I sound like Ebenezer Scrooge, miserably wringing hands at the utter waste of human enthusiasm in celebrating something which is as obvious as the passing of another year but the type of mood that I am in these days, I sincerely admit, " I can't help it".

So, if this seems to be too morbid a post for 'you' ( yes, you - the person at the other end of this cyberspace staring with disgust at this 'depressing' rant) pray do 'redirect' your attentions to someplace rosier or less gloomy to ring in the new year.
It will only get downhill from here.


People say that one becomes philosophical only when one has all the time in the world to do so and not a thing to care for in life, or, when unknowingly one attempts to take refuge in it to stave off stark and unpleasant realities. Realities which are in a state of flux before they settle down, consolidate and then invariably stagnate in the hope of attaining permanence someday. But, I have never ran away from reality, of that I am sure. Yes, I have never jumped out of my way to invite "innovation" into my life but then, I never thought it was necessary. To me, the word 'permanence' bears an inexplicably pleasant consonance with meanings as disparate as stability and strength and I was always afraid that a little tugging and pulling, a little experimentation with its form and format would snap that delicate balance. Forever. I have always abhorred the thought that one day I would come back to a place, a person I so loved once and find it/him morphed into something or someone completely unrecognizable. I can almost sense how it must feel for a man with eyes to reach out for something he expects at a familiar place and end up groping in thin air, with the lights all on and glaring; to feel the cruel joke of "sight" and its attendant ironies. When people around you change, one by one, you start to question if you are the same person that you have been all these years or who you thought you were. It's a strange feeling to look at your own shadow sideways and see it moving farther away from you. It's almost what people call an 'out of the body' experience.
You start asking questions to yourself :

Shouldn't you have changed for "convenience's" sake too ?
Why isn't it that easy to be pleasing yet indifferent?
Why couldn't you have had that smile of tacit approval even if you were incensed inside?
Why did you "always" have to act yourself?

These are some of the questions with hundreds of others that I intend to find answers to this new year.

I know that this could have easily been the text of a letter to my best friend and not a midnight rant with pretensions of being a meaningful discourse published in the true traditions of shameless exhibitionism. But, I want to look back at this post whenever in the coming year I find answers to any of my questions and reflect on " What else..." rather than " What if..."

I had never made a new year resolution in my life before this.
I intend to start this year.


For the patient and the kindred:

Wish You All A Very ENLIGHTENING New Year - 2009 with all that's Lovely and Precious.

May all that you wish for long for you instead.

Peace.

The Oshtomi Post

Oshtomi brings a certain feel of religiosity to many and I am no exception in this regard. I remember how pushpanjali made for my quota of annual prayers for easy question papers ( and good marks). But now its only the "sobaike bhalo rakho" routine that the elderly follow. One's perspective widens with age, perhaps.


This Oshtomi morning was the usual panjabi-pajama routine in the parar pandal. For the last 7-8 years it has been the only day when I go there for the maiden dorshon of the Debi and that's it. No more ties before or after with the parar pujo. I feel too guilty at times, thinking of those good old days of childhood when the para pujo meant the world and I would not budge an inch from it. The lines, " chhera dhuti apnar dher beshi daam tar

bhikkey kora shartin-er cheye"

rings loud inside my mind sometimes when I weigh if its only the grandeur of the mega-pujos which keeps me hopping from one end of Kolkata to another or is it the simple fact that I hardly have any somoboyeshi bondhu (same age-group friends) in the para. The only ones I have, I only meet rarely on my way, going in or coming out of the para and that isn't much to hold me back during pujo.


Anyways, luchi-torkaari is another ritual at home on Oshtomi mornings and as soon as it was done away with I was off. Off with friends to cover the Central parts of Kolkata, the traditionally big-crowd pullers and by Heavens didn't we get to see some crowd! The entire Ganesh Chandra Avenue was swarming with people. Subodh Mullick Square looked more like Brigade Parade Ground on rally-day and once we joined the serpentine queue that seemed to go on forever we felt like microscopic cogs in the giant wheel of human enthusiasm that was so visibly ubiquitous. We joked that when pandal hopping in Central Kolkata all you have to do is join a queue and the queue guides you,there's hardly any effort required from your end.


First stop was Md. Ali Park. They have over the past years attempted the unconventional and come out with the outrageous but this time the theme was clear at least. It was a medley - a mixture of pollution awareness and deforestation that seemed inspired from the Pachauri Nobel initiative. But, the double chinned Shiv overlooking the Goddess was a hilarious hit. We could instantly draw parallels from our circle of knowns. Also the sundered head looked more like Barack Obama's for some inexplicable reason. Some political overtures there.


Next was College Square which figures on every ardent pandal hopper's list due to the sheer visual spectacle it offers after nightfall. Between our slow progress within the sea of humanity I noticed that the tuni-bulb lighting had made way for the power efficient LEDs. Inside, the dazzling sight of the mammoth Jhaarlonthon was breathtaking. Ekdalia Evergreen can't hold a lamp to such an imposing collection of....ummm......lamps. One could just sprain one's neck looking up and getting lost in its splendour.


Santosh Mitra Square was next on the list. It was a 20 minutes walk away which ultimately took more than half an hour because of people getting lost midway. Couple of old friends joined in on our crusade there. The 'Nata Mano' theme based on the Singur fiasco had attracted people by hundreds of thousands and we were now one of them. A locked-out factory does not make for a pleasant sight in times of festivity but reality finds favor with many and no one's complaining. After all its just a theme. The awareness part is just an appendage, a sure-shot crowd-puller.

What followed afterwards was a harrowing walk through the very characteristic narrow lanes of Central Kolkata to the Chandni Chowk Metro Station which took us 20 more minutes. Then there was this Big Debate. The topic 'To be or not be in Maddox Square'. I was very much against it but public opinion ( which started as a whimper and ended as a roar) sealed it for Maddox. My point was, " Why Maddox?" They said, " What else ?". How was I to reply to that without breaking into a discourse which would end up as futile as the Singur initiative, and I for one did not want to end up looking like a statesman Governor with no takers or backers. So we were now at Maddox Square ( yes, again!). The melting pot of pandemonium is always at its manic best on the Oshtomi evening and today was no exception. Newspapers, which are rarely ( if ever) given a first look were being bought from vendors at 2 rupees per double-page (i.e the 1.5 rupee Hindustan Times I did not find time to read in the morning was being sold back to me for 14 rupees in the evening) so that people could spread it out on the ground and sit on them. Silver sand looks bad on branded clothes, I guess. And hence the little precaution.

Anyway, the 8 of us managed to get hold of a good spot and took possession hurriedly. Life would be tolerable with some promise of adda emanating, I thought. Two hours later, when it was time to leave we found to our disappointment every semblance of an eatery struggling to keep order in the wake of imminent riots. We managed to push into a dhaba and got ourselves a reasonable dinner considering the situation. With full stomachs and aching legs we headed home, only to meet tomorrow. To celebrate the beginning of the end of the pujo.


Nobomi can be painful.
Thinking of all those lights, banners and barricades evaporating in just two more days.
All the multitudes of people suddenly vanishing into their secret burrows not to surface for another year.
It can be very painful.
Rather, it is.


I guess one has to be in Kolkata to feel that.
One has to be a Bangali.

The Shoptomi Post

Shoptomi was already half over when I crept out of bed. I was supposed to meet friends at Tollygunj Metro at 4:30 and I was already running late. To top it I also had to prepare 50 Quiz questions which quiz master-Harry would try his neighbors with the next day. It was not before 5:30 that I reached Tolly and saw our usual thek occupied. Though the numbers were mere microscopic as compared to any other day still the chaa-er nesha sorbonasha had attracted quite a handful. My plan to go pandal hopping in Central Kolkata was promptly pulled down almost unanimously. No one wants to end up at the wrong end of a stampede, I guess.


As an alternative Khiddirpore was given serious consideration before it was decided to first visit Maddox - that abiding emblem of the enterprising youth, that annual edifice of 'continual search', that vibrant epicenter of bizarre bedlams. Maddox Square holds a special place in each and every body's memory who has ever lived in Kolkata during the Pujo. In all the 7 years that I have religiously visited this ''shrine of tempting illusions" I have noticed many consistent traits that identify the place. The culture-cauldron where mere 'birdwatching' meets Martian dress-sense, long lost loves find new found likings, old foes meet and hug like friends - it defines in essence what pujo with all its attendant revelries really mean to the Bangaali youth. I have also noticed the gradual change in the crowd composition which with every year becomes more telling. The necklines plunge and the hemlines rise, the outre amaze and the bold inspire awe(and sighs). No wonder the boys are left all excited and edgy, especially the singles who like captive Gauls looking at an elaborate banquet can only drool and curse their luck but never taste the 'boar'. The intellectual adda that once defined Maddox Square has long gone fishing for better suitors and quieter provinces and sadly, it hasn't reported back till date. Instead banners and hoardings advertising mustard oil and vodka crowd the place while the attention-starved Goddess stares in mock surprise (from her centrally 'cornered' scaffold) at her altar, the entry to which has slowly been reduced to an initiation rite into adulthood for the urban youth.

For me it was mostly meeting old friends who always seem to get pulled out of hats on a regular basis when I am at Maddox Square. School, college, tuition. Sometimes, I might find it embarrassing that even after an hour of conversation which merely struggles past the beats of the dhak by a millionth of a decibel you cannot put a name to the face. Now that many of our classmates/batchmates have flown out in search of greener pastures Maddox holds little if any charms for us.


Coming back to Shoptomi, half an hour inside Maddox and a few familiar faces afterwards it was time for a snack. When 10 people ask for kochuri followed by kaalakand and paatisaptaa you don't expect the unexpected. But before we were through the moiraa and all his assistants looked more than hassled. That is what we do to eateries and sweet-shops.We get under their skins.




We then got into two taxis and headed for Khiddirpore. 25 Pally and 74 Pally are the traditional crowd-pullers over there. Guest Passes made for an easy passage into the former. We weren't so lucky on the other front. I reckon 74 Pally has never seen such a long drawn queue in years and we were half tempted to join in but, at the very last moment decided against it. The Soshti pangs were still fresh with us and any excess stress tonight would mean missing Oshtomi Anjali the next morning which no one wanted. The group then got divided into two before dinner. Most opted for Biriyani ( Khidirpore being the heartland of that delicacy) while the three of us went for South Indian fare - Dosa and Uthapams. Amidst vague frameworks for the Oshtomi night-out surfacing among us we boarded taxis and headed home.

Today again promises to be a hectic affair. I have cajoled, hoodwinked, threatened people to go Central-wards tonight. How can pandal hopping be complete without visiting Md. Ali Park and College Square? Also, I have a curious premonition that I might have to give the Behala pujos a miss this year. What a shame!

Why can't the pujos stay for a few days more ?

Damn!

Arriving at the End

A 'Grand Viva' is supposed to span all 42 subjects taught in the past 4 years.
A panel of 4 or more Professors from one's Dept. is supposed to supervise this process of covert humiliation with a considerable amount of pleasure, trying to impress upon you every moment how you have wasted their (and your own of course) 4 long years by just being 'there'.

Our seniors had defined Grand Viva for us in exactly those terms. It is
'The Ultimate Ordeal' known to any final year Engineering student.

Expectedly, I handled the prospect of facing such an 'encounter' with the attitude that characterizes the 'Spirit of Denial'. (One cannot possibly attempt to do anything otherwise due to the sheer bulk of the task. Even the mention of it is pure intimidation)

"Duck at every fiery bouncer and pretend that it never was".

- And it worked.

All questions were negotiated with logically interpreted 'attempts' and as a result there were not invectives or assaults aimed at us but pleasantries which were exchanged while leaving the room.

With that college had come to an end for us. For me.

Four years, which at the start of the 1st semester had looked like a lifetime were now complete. 4 years which were spent in making friends and keeping friendships, meeting people and greeting lessons, clearing stances and fearing supplementaries were now over. Life will never be the same for any of us. Workplace has its own set of values and own pace of proceedings. The easygoing life of college which was only partially disturbed by the advent of the Semesters will forever be missed. Everyone now feels "time just flew". But in retrospect it glided in its own sweet pace, ferrying life, colliding with every little hindrance in the way, disturbed at every little curb where momentum of languor was broken to the need for change and instilling in its own ancient language of silence the lesson of evolution, if only to the observant.


I, characteristically, am not the sort of person who wears his heart on his sleeves. Emoting is not my forte. I believe somethings are just too private. Yet, I cannot help but wonder at how life with all its uncertainties unleashes itself once in a while and everything around you transforms. The people who you grow to be so familiar with and fond of disappear, the backdrop of events shift and again you are just a character, just a number or just a name suspended in the turbulent waters of uncertainty sculpting the face of future. Then again you start afresh, with new tools and zeal. To build a new family of familiars around you and lose yourself in handling present pressures while the contours of the past is slowly washed away into a bleak semblance of forgotten intimacies.

Life will be a prolonged lull for most of us now, before again the spark of vitality enthuses us to action. But then this fallow too is a necessary requisite, I feel. To sit down and ponder once in a while where life's heading is not such a fruitless exercise after all. It won't make philosophers out of us or change the course of our lives or anything. But if it serves the basic purpose of inspiring introspection and answering the 'Why-s' that have till date fashioned our choices it would be a brief session of enlightenment not many would be averse to.



p.s - With an indefinite period of joblessness staring starkly at me at this moment of time I am of the intention of populating my blogspace with more such random posts. I am also deliberating on a different blog for all the poems. A poem a day might just keep the vacuum away.

Kanha - VIII

Compared to the long winding sessions of frenzied packing and book-keeping went to the details of the last penny spent the proceedings of our last morning inside Kanha could be safely termed as smooth sailing. Also, there was this crank-call in the lodge office the previous night which sparked off a 'wrong name-wrong number-wrong information' fiasco and made us a little jumpy and break some sweat pacing up and down in consternation. A few calls to our homes and all confusion was put to rest. There had been a mistake and our nerves were sinking back to their slothful-modes again.

But now, rows of big, heavy, intimidating looking luggages stayed lined up on the veranda of the hostel as the six of us kept checking and re-checking if anything was being left behind. Having ensured the intactness of our belongings as on the day of our arrival ( save the cumulative tonnage of biscuits and snacks which were devoured during the course of our stay) we moved towards the tourist-canteen. The plan was to have our breakfasts there and wait for the 12-noon bus to Jabalpur right there. The bus would take us to Jabalpur by 6 in the evening and then after checking in to a 'reasonable' hotel we would make our leisurely survey of the city. As Michael Corleone would put it, " Everything was arranged."

While sipping at our tea, standing in front of the canteen premises, we were made audience to an array of exhilarating acrobatic stunts by a group of animated langurs. They gathered in small bands of 3 to 4 in front of the canteen and while the others waited their turn, one amongst them would make a mad dash for the nearest peepal tree, climbing as high as it could in a single breath and then in one flash, with a sweeping motion, banged its hand at one traffic-board while jumping down to the ground. Then this 'performer' would quietly come back and sit with the other cheering spectators. Soon, there were many contestants and the stands were full of eager audience egging their favorite to pull down that sign-board. As to what offense that seemingly innocuous sign-board posed to their pride we couldn't fathom. What was the most amazing aspect of this entire episode of Langur-limpics was the degree of discipline in their ranks. A recording of the event would have, I thought, considerably bolstered the repeated attempts of our junior-school teachers in inculcating Order into us in a most novel way.
I reckon it would have worked much better with us, 'hooligans'. Alas! We were too early, maybe.



The bus was punctual, both in its arrival and departure, and we were looking through the windows at the shifting scenery of fantastic boulevards, easing the mind to the approaching adventures that lay in store for us in the next leg of our tour.
A ride in a M.P Tourism bus is a revelation for any Kolkata commuter, and that we found to our delight and dismay. Diametrically opposed in nature to the Govt. buses that ply on Kolkata ours looked resolute in keeping every nook and cranny inside the bus occupied, all the time. And for this the conductor would jump out at places and call out the mausis and the taus out of their huts, inquiring if they needed a ride to the sheher or not. Some complied, some declined. Yet, the bus was making good time. Villagers thronged the bus with their produce ( matarfallis and food-plates made out of sal leaves) and we were soon thanking our lucky stars that one of them didn't have a mind this morning to bring along his bachhra or bakra for a bus-ride. The women wore sarees which ranged from graphic greens to revolting reds in colour, but they sat on their skin as naturally as any fabric, blending with their beings. I was instinctively reminded of 'Palamou-er Pothey' , a piece we all read in secondary school chronicling the rural life of the Chhota Nagpur region. And here, in the midst of a personal rendezvous with 'men and women of the soil' I couldn't agree more with the author.

Now came the 'dismay' part. Overcrowding has its own share of discomforts and Dudu faced one unusual variety from amongst them. Harry was safe to the window-side leaving Dudu to endure the rigors of a teeming bus. Amongst all the good natured shoving and pushing one infant took the opportunity of dusting his little feet on Dudu's generous mop of hair, all the while hanging from his mother's grip. Miffed yet helpless, he could only hope that the ordeal would last till the nearest stop. When we arrived at Russel Chowk, which Baeka told us was the Esplanade of Jabalpur, the Sun was dipping fast in the horizon and the streetlights were taking over. Having counted all 14 bags into the safety of our custody it was decided that Baeka and Avik go scouting for the hotel as we four, myself, Dudu, Harry and Alu, stay behind with the luggage. Always the one to break into a conversation, I found a good garrulous company in a auto-driver and soon Shivraj Chauhan's Industrial policy in Madhya Pradesh was being discussed. Also, now having the luxury of being able to avail the cell-phone we were making short-work of Alu's balance. A good two hours were now past and still there were no sign of our emissaries. Avik and Baeka had committed the singularly idiotic mistake of not carrying their cell phones and that put us into a tizzy. The four of us were now growing restless from our long standing vigil and for a moment it was considered if the two of them had fallen in some form of distress or the other. At last the two of them arrived and quickly narrated the difficulty with which two rooms had been arranged. The hotel was expensive but keeping in mind our personal reservations regarding cleanliness and also the over-booked status in most hotels due to the Industrialists' meet this was our best bet. We quickly locked our luggage in the three rooms and after a much deserved breather went out in search of dinner. Just round the corner we met our gastronomic paradise. Saheb's.
The display of chicken kebabs just outside the Dhaba brought water to our mouths and the order was put in all promptness. Believe me, we are the most ravenous yet refined of foodies that we know of within our far-flung circle of friends and acquaintances yet it is our collective vote of assent that Saheb's serves THE best Fried Tawa Chicken. The daily diet of vegetarian food though highly delicious had unknowingly frustrated the flesh-eating demons inside us. And thier wrath was in full view when the chicken was served. Within a flash the plates were empty and more were being ordered. When we were finished with giving the waiters a scare with our relentless orders it was ascertained that each one of us had devoured a bit more than one whole chicken. But, none of us were complaining. We left to plunder the nearest sweet-shop with a promise that Saheb's would be our dinner-joint the next day and any day that we decide to come to Jabalpur again.


The night was lost to 'little revelries' that are so integral to my friends' sense of well being as I slipped off to sleep owing to the exploits of the day.

The next morning had more in store for us. One had to be fresh for its challenges.

Kanha-VII

Next morning we headed early for some place known as Sarhi. It was the third gateway, the other two being Kisli and Mukki, which led to the forest of Kanha and we were informed that it was a completely new, unexplored territory which had been opened only one month back. Few tourists even knew of its existence. The morning brought with it biting cold and none felt the snug security of sweaters enough to ward off the fierce freeze. It was literally chilly, jaw-rattlingly at that. Another jacket put on the already clumsy looking piles of woolen-wear that were us, we tip-toed out to the veranda outside our dormitory. It was still dark outside. We had to press the torches into action to navigate our way to the canteen to have our morning tea. That put in more vigor into us instantly ( this Central-Indian tea is markedly different from the variety we have here in Kolkata. Its actually all milk, and practically no-water stuff). We had our breakfast packed from the kitchen and as the other gypsies started to line-up at the gate, we jumped onto ours, waiting for the gate-lifting ceremony patiently. Every one looked raring to go. After all it was our last morning trip in the jungle. Every one wanted to make it a memorable one. As the gate opened gypsies started to move in and onto our car jumped in a familiar figure. He was the same person who had prescribed the efficacious 'jadi-booti' for Baeka the previous afternoon. And today he had come mentally prepared to handle 'the situation'. He insisted strongly that he sit alone, beside the driver, pre-empting any proximity to Baeka which could trigger another rapid-fire round of questions. Four of us were uncomfortably packed into the rear row of seats. But then, Raju guide (that was his name) looked determined this morning and we had to 'adjust'.

Easing into the meadows we could not believe our eyes. The familiarity of their faded green had vanished from them and a sea of mist had settled most condescendingly on top of the grass. It was as if we were inside a completely different forest in a completely different time. Raju was narrating to us how 27 villages, including his, had to be rehabilitated outside the forest margins to set up this Park. Lots of fertile tracts went waste and people suffered. Then, of course, the Govt. came to their aid and nowadays all was well with the villagers. In between sympathising for their plight we were discussing, in hushed tones, how the forest held back so many of its appearances just for the 'effect', so it seemed. And yet, it never failed to inspire awe with recurring novelty. Grand!

The roads familiar to us through the previous trips were now fast replacing some uncharted paths. The colours of the trees were different. The leaves a profusion of hues, some autumn red, some fresh green, at places deep-green left us fascinated. And yet, the marvel of the forest would not end. As we moved deeper into the forest and the Sun yawned in its first rays of light into the setting, everything seemed to have come to a stand-still just to witness this spectacle. Wherever we looked we saw an ocean of mist, far-stretched and imposing, rippling forward riding the waves of sunlight which had just recently invaded its slumber. And then what met our eyes made me think 'Heaven is here' and nowhere else could it be. Lodged on top of a small pool, we could not decide as to which side held a better view as both made us feel deprived, even for a second's delay in noticing them.

On our left, perched on a rock were two Adjutant Storks, spreading their wings to emulate flight and showing us in this process its complete wing-span. Black and beautiful. On the right the sight of a single long tree, dead and leafless, lodged against the backdrop of the faraway ranges covered in a cloud of mist and fog met our eyes. All along our way grandeur of the morning-forest had captivated us so much that we had been completely unaware of the killing-cold accompanying us. Running noses and frozen palms became the topic of discussion now and speculation was rife regarding the temperature. We had no way of knowing that. The chill was near complete. It breached every piece of clothing we had assiduously put on and pierced our very marrows. There was hardly any difference between Kanha and Kanchenjunga here, we felt.

The Sun was starting to reclaim its territory now, its rays pervading space and diffusing warmth. We saw a herd of cheetals stand up in alarm, their ears pointed in one single direction, feeling the air for danger. Kudai Dadar, as this place was called, had all the makings of a Topobon (meditation ground), where saints must have come in quest for salvation and truth. Moreover, I personally felt that this place could surely make saints out of ordinary men, even rogues. It had that quality of overwhelming purity in it. It had a sense of compelling divinity that was captivating and yet was so powerful that it could subjugate hearts and minds with a sensual persuasion, both subtle and alluring. We saw a tree resplendent with bright red fruits, hanging in bunches. Raju told us it was the Sinduri tree, used by tribal women as vermilion. The opulent crimson of the flowers was further magnified by the generosity of the sun shining on them.

When the Sun looked in complete control of the morning, we went back to Center-point for tea and snacks. Many foreigners were spreading out their elaborate breakfast outdoors. It looked as if there was a banquet of sorts commencing in the jungle. And most unfortunately, we were the only spectators to it. Our guide found out from others that the mercury had dipped to touch 0-degrees in the morning. Again ignorance had saved us the panic that this little information could have caused, if known earlier during the trip. Now, we could appreciate why it had been so bone-chillingly cold in the open. That gave us the shivers afresh. After having some samosas and bread-pakoras the six of us went in to see the museum as Chetan looked out for some of his work-related information in the vicinity. Inside the museum, we saw a documentary on Kanha and another one which showed a forest guard who escaped an attack by two young tigers. Another showed how one of the ranger's skull was almost ripped open by a sloth-bear. Both had made narrow escapes and were still very much alive and serving the forest. After lazing around and having a second round of tea from our now famous 'common-fund' we decided it was time we headed for Sarhi, our original destination.

The road to Sarhi was pristine, appealing and almost unexplored as promised. The long grass on the road was ample proof of its untrodden status till now. It was a long journey, but without the climb or turns of the road to Bahmni Dadar. Instead, on both sides were forest-brooks lined with boulders and little mounds on which grew a thin variety of wild-bamboo. Some were dried white and were in stark contrast to the otherwise rich green scenery. After an hour or so we ascertained that we were at a considerable altitude as the foothills of Vindhyas were visible. The hills were covered with greenery and housed Neelgais, the biggest of the Indian antelopes, we were told. We finally got a glimpse of a big herd of Neelgais but, the tall grass hindered our view. The guide told us that as they were totally unaccustomed to human presence they were extremely shy and ran away from our gypsy. Finally out of the Sarhi-gate we could come down from the car. Then, we headed for Bichhiya, a small suburb where we would have our lunch in some local Dhaba. They were dime a dozen according to Raju. We rode through a village from where Raju hailed. He came back in a while from his home and next stop was a Dhaba. While the food was being ordered, one by one everyone of us made a routine call back home as others explored the adventure of sitting on a charpoy. The anda-curry was all red-hot inflammable but, with no other option at hand, the curry was 'managed' with some lemon garnishing. An hour or so and we were heading back into the forest for the evening-trip. Life was becoming hectic but this was our last tryst with the forest and we braced ourself with the hope of seeing a tiger. Rajenbhai, as efficient as he is, quickly took us through the villages to Sarhi . Only once did we stop at Raju's field from where he picked some pea-plants and thrust onto our laps. We were half-way making a 'neat job' out of it when Avik started complaining that the shrub had started causing 'serious irritation' on his arms and legs. Quickly they were disposed off. I, Harry and Baeka, the ever curious ones in the group utilised this delay to explore further and asked for some water at Raju's place which was at a stone's throw. As hospitable as one could be, he made us sit inside his hut and rushed inside to bring some water. It was a nicely made up place. Neat and homely. He brought us water which was as cool as the ones we drink out of the water-cooler in our college. Soon we were inside the forest and anticipation was running high inside us.

On our return-trip we first came face to face with a gigantic bison. It stared at us for a while and then moved away nonchalantly. At one place we waited for while, Raju all ears to the monkeys calling at a distance. A gypsy came from the front and reported alarm calls. We moved forward and Raju inferred that we were very close to the tiger. It must be looking to cross the road to go to the water-hole on the other side, he said. For the next 20 minutes we were ricocheting back and forth in search of the elusive tiger. Then, suddenly, Raju called out, "Tiger, tiger!...... yehi pe thhaa..... uss taraf chala gaya....gaari pichhe lo..". Alu and Dudu approved of this claim as they too had seen a young one coming out of the thickets to cross the road. Startled by the sound of our gypsy approaching, it had gone right back to the safety of its familiar surroundings, thus, robbing us of a 'priceless sighting'.

Though we missed the tiger, we saw a rare sight sometime later, a Barasingha, true to its name i.e The Indian Swamp Deer, was chomping on aquatic weeds in knee-deep water. We also saw a herd of bison crossing the road. They are an imposing emblem of strength and and just their sight can set one's pulse racing. But, to our good fortune we found all of them in good humor and they went about chomping on their quota of grass without any fuss. Finally as the sun was setting behind the Vindhyas, we spotted a wild-cat walking by the road. Baeka informed us that it was quite a rare sight. The tour till date had been great and undoubtedly something to cherish for the rest of our lives. The forest, in its multifarious colours and forms had presented itself before our eyes and fashioned the canvas of our minds with relentless vigor and subliminal finesse at every step. It had inspired and intimidated us, enthralled and enamored us. Though now the time had come to bid the forest a somber goodbye and look back at its chained gate with little regret and complete contentment we were all looking for an 'encore' in the near future.


Next Stop - Jabalpur.

to be continued...................................

Kanha - VI

It was decided that we skip the morning tour. Avik was having a bout of terrible indigestion and acidity, and the rest of us were feeling 'simply too tired'. Taking out one hectic morning trip out of the itinerary would do a world of good to rejuvenate our minds and replenish our vigor which was not lost at all but starting to sag a bit. After all we haven't had a good long sleep from the time we stepped off the train. The night brought in sleep which was made more sweeter by the knowledge that the morning held no rigors. People could just be in bed till they felt hunger rumbling inside them and that's exactly what they did. It was well past 11 when everyone finally seemed to have taken leave of their respective sleep-hang-overs. The morning was spent soaking in the sight and light of the forest, in the green sofa on the big veranda outside the dormitory. One by one a variety of snacks and cream-biscuits made their way to the cane-table. And as swiftly as they came in, they vanished. Lazing around the adjoining areas, looking out for birds and deers, myself, Baeka and Dudu ventured out onto the road for more. A five-minutes walk down it and there we found a place which looked custom-made for hosting a filmi 'dancing around trees' routine. Yet, it had a order of serenity to it. I egged Baeka into the woods for a closer look-in. The shade of the imposing sals lent a sense of eerie solemnity to the surroundings. Everything was so quiet, so still. The silence was punctuated at unequal intervals by the melodious calls of an Indian roller, a variety of bird found in these parts Baeka would tell me. Then the thought of having our baths and lunch occurred and promptly our secret tryst with the forest interrupted. We made for our hostel and from a distance saw cheetals crossing the road to reach a water-hole. A Jackal was also visible from a distance on our way back. Suddenly, we were reminded that we weren't allowed to roam about in the forest on foot by a passing motorcyclist who waved his hand at us with visible consternation. He was pointing to us the way to our lodge.


Inside the hostel, not yet satisfied with his nocturnal exploits from exploring the magic of using a western toilet the Indian way Avik was betting that he could finish his bath within 8 minutes. The last person to put up his money on a proposition which had even the slightest hint of 'loss', Dudu was the epitome of confidence at such a proposal propping up. He was all for the bet. And like in most cases which concern cash or convenience he won. Avik had taken just over 16 minutes to have his kaak-snaan ( crow-dip) of a shower and he still looked drenched. Towelling would account for another 10 minutes at the least. The rest of us being 'average guys' took our average times under the shower and headed for the canteen. It was lunch-time again. That much awaited hour when we would again take pleasure in startling our audience and bamboozling our hosts, the M.P tourism people who had the courage of thinking of the idea of 'having your fill' and implement it. We were teaching them an unpleasant lesson. Bowls made a bee-line for our table and were left marauded in no time. Rice, chapati, sabji, rajmaa, raytaa. Nothing was spared. Nothing was left. Not even the inconspicuous salad. Strolling back to the hostel in all our rotund glory we stopped to 'smell the roses' a little. A little hour of purposeless wandering refreshing the mind, helping us unwind.

At our door-step was waiting a boy of our age. He was to share the dormitory with us for the coming two days. Getting a little conversation underway we learnt that his name was Chetan and he was a final year student of Architecture and had come here for doing some research on the Forest Dept. structures. Gradually as the eager hindi-speakers amongst us ( that would be myself, Baeka and Harry) made headway in befriending Chetan, clearing a bed off our luggage for him and inquiring about his academic course the reluctant Hindi-bhashis in Avik and Dudu made slow yet steady progress. It was so arranged that Chetan would accompany us on our evening-trip.

Work could wait for the next morning. We could already feel the positive vibes.

The evening trip was not too different from the previous evening trips owing to the fact that the gypsies were not allowed to travel far within the forest during the evening. Returning in time was a security issue in the jungle after sunset. The hazards of traveling inside the forest in total darkness was an avoidable anathema to us, considering the images ( or the lack of them) from our first night in the forest still fresh in our memories. The tiger-trail was quickly latched onto by the well co-ordinated guides and soon we were silent in anticipation of a tiger sighting. After waiting for quite some time with no reward we headed forward. I spotted a white vulture, perched atop a tree, looking contemplative with its gray feathers making for a royal gown. Surprisingly, our guide told us it was indeed called the 'King Vultute' and that it was extremely rare in these parts, battling extinction. Making a detour we came back to a spot where we could see a couple of gypsies eagerly awaiting the advent of a tiger. Suddenly, Avik and Dudu shouted out "sher, sher" in unison, the excitement in their voices rendered genuine by their volumes. Then as reason dawned, Avik whispered a husky, " Haa, haa..... wahaan pe sher thaa. Sher thaa. Chala gaya uss taraf." Dudu lent his voice of support to this assertion. Our guide and Baeka looked skeptical of the veracity of such a claim. Now, our car followed with another in tow in 'that' direction. Avik's blue-eyed 'English' beauty was on another car behind us, perhaps wary of her previous experience one would imagine. The tiger, as said by D & A combine, was heading towards the road when the sound of our approaching gypsy startled it and it made a prompt U-turn, only to disappear into the dense woods. I could not track it too.
Recovering from such a miss as a tiger-sighting the mood was a bit on the side of somberness for the rest of us. Avik had made good for his previous day's miss and was happy for it. Dudu was busy counting the exactitude of extracting 'value for money' from the two sightings 'only' he had had and glowing in its obvious sense of gain. Baeka peppered the guide with questions as to how life for them was inside the forest. What training they had received before getting inducted. What type of qualification was required for such a job. Etc etc and etc. The rest of us, especially Alu, worried that such queries were potential precursors to a voluntary van-vaas of a dear friend, were left speculating on the chances of such an unfortunate eventuality. Then as we were approaching the gate at the end of our trip, a single male Bison showed up in all its brute virility. It looked every bit the one-tonne demolition unit it is said to weigh, a fierce fighter and a symbol of massive strength and violence. While all of us were leaning over to have one glimpse of this shy monster, a piece of conversation stole into my ears and made our day. I could only clench my lips with my teeth to not let out a howl of a guffaw at that very moment. As I later narrated the 'little incident' to others people were rolling over the place with laughter, even the one at its receiving end, Baeka.

When everyone was busy accommodating the Bison within their camera frames, Alu had nimbly put a coupe de grace to all of Baeka's queries with a little chat with our guide ( Raju Yadav). He had said, "Iska sawaalon ka buraa mat maniyega, Bhaisaab......... picchli baar jab yeh Kanha ayaa thha...........tab tiger dekhtey waqt gypsy se girke isko dimaag mein chot ayaa thaa. tab se yeh har saal kanha ataa hain aur..........."

The guide had precluded all further narration with a wave of a hand and a sympathetic, " Haan, maalum chal raha hain. Magar, koi baat nahin, Sirji....... thoda jadi-booti de denge inke liye. roj pelaiyegaa..........bilkuul theek ho jayenge."


The rest, as they say, was history. A hilarious one at that.




to be continued...................................

Kanha-V

We raided the bowls and trays like starving tramps and soon the dishes were made to look washing a completely redundant exercise. Veg or non-veg did not matter now, not even to the most fervent followers of flesh-eating amongst us. The attendant at the canteen was amazed at the speed of our intake. If he was ever afraid of the Tiger's appetite we were surely giving him afterthoughts at this moment. All done and devoured it was time for some afternoon reflection. Lounging in the afternoon sun people around me were having their favorite pastime of choking me to death with 'that obnoxious smoke-machine' they call cigarette. Dodging this way and that I was trying to have a conversation with the troupe, but with little success. Plans and possibilities for the evening-trip into the forest were being discussed. All seemed eager to have another rendezvous with the Striped Beast. Soon it was 3 and now familiar with the system of affairs a little more we were less wide-eyed on entry. Two owls stayed perched inside the hole drilled into a old banyan tree, indifferent to the approaching cars. They had indeed adjusted well it seemed.

There is one thing amongst others which is remarkable about a forest. Feeling the forest is a completely different experience from under the shade than under the sun. Not only is the temperature drop stark and realizable it also provides a kaleidoscopic variety to a single frame of vision when viewed from different angles, at different times. The most absorbing aspect of this trip was becoming the sudden forays of evening radiance interleaved with climbing shadows of the sal. At one bend we saw a family of elephants, three adults and one infant. They seemed to be in a bit of hurry and our guide told us that they belonged to the forest department. Elephants were used to track and monitor the animals ( especially the tiger population) during the monsoon season when navigating the kuchha roads would become impossible.

A word of mention for our present guide here. A fair, strapping individual who seemed every bit the army-jawan type, dedicated to the cause of the forest, devoted to the contentment of the tourists under his charge. But, alas, our discovery was a total contradiction to such expectations.
He stopped our car and went all-ears for fifteen minutes at a stretch, perching on his seat, straining his ear muscles in anticipation of some otherwise humanly imperceptible signal, forbidding us to make any murmuring noise or even less. A tiger was on the prowl nearby, he would have us believe. Then, as if on a cue the monkeys on top of the trees bordering the dense thicket around us started calling out. This call was very different from their normal ones. These were the alarm-calls. Distinct, unmistakable and unfailing in their ability to inspire dread in any animal, even humans. The monkeys gave out such screeching alarm-calls when they would sight a tiger. And we were, if the instincts and calculations of the guide were to believed, some ten hands away from it. But then, nothing happened. Twenty minutes into the wait already and our guide and Rajenbhai seemed stuck on the issue if to move forward or stay waiting for the tiger to make an appearance. The alarm-calls had since long stopped. Helping the course of decision I suggested we move forward. "Agar naseeb mein hain to dikh jayegaa", were my exact wordings. This proposal met with nods of approval and we moved away, to a new location. Little did I know then that this innocuous statement of mine would come back to haunt me later. On our way we intercepted a bunch of wild-boars crossing the road. Shy yet every bit enthusiastic to show us their wares, some even came out of the bushes. They were very short and dark, but looked stocky and ferocious. One wild-boar in its natural surroundings could give even a tiger a tough time, we were told.
Half-an-hour or so passed. Coming to a crossroad we could see one gypsy waiting in anticipation of a tiger. The foreigners in that car were as laconic as their guide was garrulous. Avik, not the one to curb his communication skills even in this haunting wilderness, seemed to have found the perfect audience to his antics in them, a blue-eyed girl. "From which country?" was his inaugural query. "England" being the polite succinctness in her tongue it failed miserably to curb further inquests from the other direction. "First time in India? On vacation? Enjoying your trip to ?" were next in store for the unsuspecting soul. She mumbled and nodded to show that she approved of our country very much, but the swiftness of her departure/escape showed that her belief in the semi-literate desi was amply shaken. Whether she recovered or not we will never know. In the mean-time gypsies arriving from the spot we left after waiting for twenty minutes reported that they had spotted a tiger there. And quick to sense the danger in the air as had been taught to him from his childhood perhaps ( though there weren't any that we were posing him) our army-jawan did a volte face. And believe me, he was quite good at it. He squarely put the blame on me for having missed the tiger. That I had allayed his confused state with my philosophical one-liner was lost on him now. He even rued having left that spot at all. My amazement making way for mild amusement could not garner a suitable response from within. Perhaps we were too tired for it. I even complied with him that we had "missed the tiger. Blame be on me."


Tired we were. After the evening-tea was arranged to be delivered to our door-step ( thanks to the immaculate theatrics of Alekhya feigning someone amongst us was 'really beemar' and hence room-service a necessity) life comprised mainly of waiting for the dinner. A little bolder after the previous night, Baeka showed us groups of tens of cheetals thronging the adjoining field under the cover of the night on our way to the canteen. As the torch-light met them in their eyes, some ran away, some stayed on, petrified. Another sumptuous dinner purged off the plates we couldn't wait to watch the stars today. A pity i.e. Everyone was dog-tired. Back in the dormitory, Avik was complaining of an upset tummy, deprived of rest or any time to acclimatize. In the current light of things ( the upset tummy of course ) the feasibility of conducting a morning-trip next day was being discussed. One could gauge all was not right with his war-hog-like digesting capabilities which seldom failed to deliver. Then suddenly, when everyone thought Avik was reclined to relieve himself of his 'present worries', he came rushing out from the toilet. He seemed excited about something, something he had never believed he could do and yet had finally accomplished with much effort and pain. A cherubic smile complicit with a look of astonishment told us of its 'novelty-quotient'. And believe me, we were not at all off-mark on this.




This is what greeted our eyes and revulsed our senses:
.
.
.
.




Avik had done it.






to be continued.................................

Kanha- IV

I sleep for six to seven hours a day on an average. Sleep eludes me when its every other person's pastime. I envy people who have the services of this comforting mistress at their beck and call. They can just lie down, close their eyes and sleep settles over them like a warm blanket in no time. But, no. That does not happen to me. I do not pass out unless and until I am dead tired or it has been at least half an hour that I have tussled with sleep in my bed. Sometimes, I feel, I tire Sleep to sleep with me.
The first night inside Kanha was no exception. But with a reassurance of an old habit relapsing sleep diffused into my system within half an hour after the lights were put out.


I woke up to see Baeka covered from head to toe in winter-gear. Three to four layers of clothing to be topped by a fine jacket made me feel warm from inside somehow. Empathy, maybe. His monkey-cap lay ready beside him, resting like a weathered shield awaiting its call to duty. I wondered if it was really that cold outside. Reluctantly leaving the comfort of my blanket, I stepped out to realize Baeka was doing the least he could to keep off the biting cold. It was freezing outside and coupled with the advent of a steady breeze things felt even worse. Dudu, the ever vigilant and the unnecessarily anxious soul that he is thought it better to keep to the warmth of the blanket for a bit longer. Alu was next out of bed after me. Dudu followed, never the one to be left behind last at anything. Harry was looking every bit 'the baby boy in a dreamy daze' that is so typical of him after he wakes up in the morning, sitting up on the bed, not letting off the blanket, staring at people on their move, waiting for that opportune moment to step out and get to work. Avik, was still somewhere lost in his blissful slumber that refused to part with his company even at this hour of morning exigency. The 'daily chores' were swiftly done away with and then started a session which saw 'the great unraveling episode' with our respective baggages playing the lead roles. Every kind of warm clothing, woolen or otherwise, known to human kind found their way out into the open and everyone made the other feel 'ill-equipped' for facing the morning chill with their cache.
There is something magical about the weather in Madhya Pradesh we were told. The days can be pleasant and warm in the winter but, sweltering in the summer whereas nights, irrespective of the season remain a soothing refuge by being cool and comfortable. However cold or chilly, it was a happy haven for us; panting souls roaming the roads in the midst of May with the full blast of the Kolkata Sun and the inexorable humidity we couldn't have asked for a better clime for a outing.


All in readiness, our gypsy arrived with Rajenbhai at the wheel and soon we were all waiting in a queue of cars raring to get in first and have the first glimpse of the forest under the wrap of mist and fog. Baeka, slave to his temperamental tummy, got one of his normally numerous calls of nature as the gates were just about to be opened. Panic set into the herd. "Were we going to be marooned in this island of desolation and come last in the race we should have won otherwise ?", "Was this the first of sign of things to come? Was this an ill-omen for us?" were the questions troubling the weak at heart. The stolid preferred to think on the lines of, " How late would Baeka render us?" and "Why us, always ?". One doubts if even Rajenbhai was all praise for Nature's timing at this crucial a juncture. All queries, frivolous or frightened, were answered at the sight of Baeka approaching us, a 'liberated bliss' sketched clear on his features, a gratified smile diffusing in all its human effortlessness. We were left aghast at this 'miracle' of sorts as to how one could ease ones' self in just under 60 seconds. As the gypsy kicked up dirt and pierced into the open meadows one more was added to the number of 'The Biggest Unsolved Mysteries of the World' with the likes of Bermuda Triangle and Riemann Hypothesis.

'The Curious Clean-up Act', we would call it later.


The forest shrouded in the mystery of the morning mist looked breathtakingly beautiful, as if waking up in all its childish reluctance to the nudge of nascent rays the headmaster like Sun lavished on it with an eye towards inculcating the lesson of seeking Truth in Beauty. The meadow was covered with a thick blanket of mist, which looked more like rising from it than setting on it. Two bamboo thickets converged overhead, in the middle of the road, looking every bit a 'Welcome' sign. Our destination was 'Bahmni Dadar', the highest point of Kanha. By the sound of it we knew it would be a longish journey and had collected our breakfast wrapped in aluminium foils from the tourist canteen. There was a thin sense of urgency, not too pressing though, in reaching there as quickly as possible considering that the view from the top was most beautiful during the early hours, gradually decaying to the tyranny of the sun as the day progressed. We had to hurry to be on time. But, we were lucky that hardly anyone had made plans to be there this morning. So it seemed by the silence that greeted us as our gypsy took hairpin bends and tumultuous turns like on hilly roads. Life for the next one hour was a roller-coaster ride. At places the beauty of the forest fascinated with unfailing regularity. Peacocks made way for us and cheetals looked cautious. After a heady climb, which our guide told us was about 850 odd meters above the sea-level, a sight met our eyes which captivated our senses for the last-leg of our journey. This was it! Bahmni Dadar!

The place belied all our expectations as to how a vantage point should look like. Unlike places of high altitude, this was really a plateau, a completely flat piece of land nestling at a reasonable altitude. The vegetation was the surprise-package. It was as green as green could be. Every shade of it. Faded, fresh, fertile. The sprawling meadows reminded me of Discovery channel documentaries on Africa once more. Sunlight was filtering in through a shadow of clouds, the sort of thing we know heralds a doibo-baani ( divine message) in our mythological serials.

We were streaming past the tall grasses which hindered clear sight and it seemed as if somewhere deep inside them was in ambush a tiger for its prey. The very thought was thrilling and going by our surroundings my supposition seemed every bit possible. Enthused, I stood up on my seat ( which was beside the driver's) to soak in the sight and the sounds. The breeze was strong now, now that we were at a reasonable height it was becoming more pronounced. A few meters ahead and we were face to face with a small herd of samvars. They were really close and two of them seemed far from shy. Actually two posed for the cameras, folding a foreleg in true emulation of the alert-deer pose. "What business, Mister? So early in the morning, eh ? Jobless humans!", it seemed to be saying.


At last we were at Bahmni Dadar. All jumped out to touch land at last. It had been quite a long journey. We rushed off to the edge to have a glimpse of the entirety of Kanha from there. It was truly a beautiful view. A natural spectacle riveting to every detail by the sheer power of its size and extent. I accepted the fact that sighting one of 131 tigers in this vast expanse of blinding greenery was but a little short of zealous optimism. Not a subscriber to such 'brightness and light' that often drives an element of wishfulness in the name of Hope into humans, I took solace in the fact that one night inside the forest and already 'one tiger sighting' was good enough for us, starters. In that way we were fortunate, judging by the sheer probability perspective of another sighting in the offing.

A prolonged photo-session later when everyone clicked everyone else, clutching and holding onto anything in sight ( e.g a rock with a notice engraved on it) we jumped into the car to head home.
The breakfast-foil forayed out and was quickly emptied to the cry of our aching tummies.
Baeka pointed out at a strange white bird, the Changeable Hawk-Eagle, on our way back. But, it promptly flew away precluding any possibility of taking a picture for future research. The rest of the journey was spent on an argument raised by Avik as to why the changeable hawk-eagle was so queerly named ? Was it hawk by the day and eagle by the night thereby justifying the 'changeable' part? Aren't hawks and eagles the same thing indeed? Not finding suitable answers to buttress his otherwise suspicious inclination towards the wild Avik concluded with his trademark callous indifference (bordering on restlessness at not having found a satisfying answer) that, "such hawks were dime a dozen in Kolkata too. The average Chil it was.". All this while Alu was giving constant company to more such hilarious theories on 'Apt Nomenclature'. There were comparisons being drawn between the Deer Park in Shantiniketan and Kanha and how it too housed a variety of deers. The animal lover in Baeka was aghast at such a horrendous proclamation ridden with falsity and ignorance. Some comparisons just never fail to blow your lid off. As battle-lines were being drawn we again offloaded for a while to see the place where it is believed Sravan's ( the character who carried his blind parents around in Ramayana) parents were cremated. Our guide pointed out to us that not a single blade of grass grew on the two mounds till date.

In serious need of a cup of tea or two to rejuvenate our senses from the overdose of an exhilarating optical extravaganza we stationed ourselves at the Center-point inside Kanha. It had a spacious canteen which served piping hot tea, samosas and bread-pakoras, had a parking space, green benches and to the delight of Bekaa and Aka ( i.e Harry) a set of 'spectacular' toilets.
Next we headed for our hostel. Adequate rest would be of essence considering we also had an evening-trip coming up shortly. But it would be a post-lunch affair and how much we were looking forward to that!

Food came first. Everything could just follow. Like always, no exceptions. No exemptions.




to be continued ..........................................................

Kanha- III

The adda session slowly drowning in intermittent cries of hunger, we decided it was time for dinner. The door of the dormitory was being locked when something of a spectacle struck us down cold.

Darkness!
Believe me, if you haven't been to a forest before, take it from me, "There are few things as supremely intimidating as a walk inside a forest in the night". It was literally 'pitch black' outside. The six of us were left looking askance at each other. Alu had suddenly become oblivious of any sensation known hitherto to mankind as 'hunger'. Dudu looked visibly shaken. With a resolve that ravenous men have when danger separates them from their food we moved forward in a battle formation that would make a retreat look more honorable. Small torches made their best attempt at lighting up the road for us but, what they really did was magnify the sheer completeness of the darkness. And that at all didn't serve the purpose!
We inched to the canteen where promptly the tables were set. The good food ( albeit completely vegetarian) assuaged to some extent the rigors of our recent 'adventure' and at the same time galvanizing strength and courage for a rerun on our way back to the hostel. Post-dinner I called out everybody to look up at the sky which was littered with countless constellations we knew no name of. The clarity of the sky coupled with the sheer presence of the dark forest, waiting almost in an endless anticipation made me feel dizzy by its sheer import. The stars were so real yet so distant. One feels too very lonely at times like these. The endless extent of Creation belittles you and you feel insignificant and small. Yet, there is an empowering satisfaction, a sense of absolute liberation in accepting that smallness, that insignificance. I don't know if it's normal or not but, at times like this I feel like dying. It makes me feel it would be the most wonderful moment to leave this world, when I am at complete peace with everything around me.


Digressions! Digressions!

So, after our rendezvous with the stars was left incomplete, we headed for the hostel with measured steps. We would be making an early start tomorrow. "Have to get up at 5. Get ready by 5:45. Gypsy arrives at 6"- made a mental note. The morning trip would be to a place called 'Bahmni Dadar' ( entirely Baekaa's idea considering he was the pro amongst us).
The chill was setting into the air and I suspected it was something around 5 or 6 degree Celsius. Thank God we had no way of being certain of the temperature!! That was one way of keeping warm. Ignorance.




to be continued.........................................

A Memorable Retreat - Kanha - I

9^th of February, 2-p.m, Howrah Station and all was in readiness for the much awaited ‘flight-off’. 6 out of a group of 8 ‘very close friends’ had decided after months of tedious planning, programming, budgeting and re-budgeting that ‘enough was enough’! And it was time we gave in to the will of the ‘more adventurous person’ inside us.

Destination – Kanha National Park, Madhya Pradesh.

Geetanjali Express was doing its reputation no harm by slicing through the night at great speed and before we even realized it was dinner-time. Having to make up with an inconvenient arrangement of 2 berths in S-8 and rest 4 in S-11 coach we took turns having our dinner in S-11. A profusion of home-made food emerged from our bags but only a few tiffin-boxes were emptied. The ‘morbid fear’ of train-toilets prompted such a judicious but otherwise unheard-of decision. ‘To avoid gorging on whatever goes by the name of FOOD’ ??? Unbelievable!

The light-sleeper that I am I find train journeys unfailing in robbing me off my share of six-seven hours of sleep. So, I decided instead to burn the midnight bulbs (coinage anyone?) along with Dudu, who though a ‘sleep aficionado’ of sorts had already started worrying about a timely touch-down at Gondia. (It’s pertinent to add here that we were to get off at Gondia in Maharashtra, a station where the train stops for only 2 minutes at 5:30 in the morning.) Gazing out into the dark hollow of the night, only to be interrupted once by a spectacle of hundreds of bulbs on what looked like a power-plant, I was enjoying the chilly air leaking into the compartment through my almost-shut glass-window. Dudu was visibly a bundle of nerves, anxious if 2 minutes could ever be enough time to let 6 humans and 16 luggage-items to offload. Leaving him to worry for the rest of the night I stole a few winks. Stations kept appearing and disappearing in front of us. Amongst few which Geetanjali regarded worthy of stopping at to take note of were Raigarh, Raipur, Bilaspur and penultimately (for us i.e) Rajnandgaon. The train was 30 odd minutes late and finally at 6:10 we got off at Gondia. The ‘Super 6’ was safely gracing the platform, commenting on the chill in the air and the puny size of the platform and the availability of hot piping tea somewhere nearby when Bedo was seen approaching us (hair slicked back in true mafia style). My childhood friend, Bedo, was asked to meet up with us, if possible, considering we were arriving at an unearthy hour by hostel-standards. He studies Engineering at Gondia and had taken the pain of riding his bike with that freezing morning-breeze boring into him so that he could intercept us on our way to Kanha. While I rode pillion to take a guided tour of his college and hostel premises and in the process keeping my morning correspondence with nature uninterrupted, the rest 5 sipped at cups of ‘re-energizing Central-Indian tea’. Bedo’s hostel was like a picturesque resort with a manicured football field which still bore the empty disappointment of having missed the august presence of the Honorable Prime Minister the previous day. Mr P.M was scheduled to visit their college on their Foundation Day, but due to the sad demise of Baba Amte the entire thing got canceled. 40 thousand brand new plastic chairs, a colossal steel canopy, and fresh coats of paint bore the testimony of a wasteful wait.

We (myself and Bedo) were now hurrying to go back to the station where a red Tata-Sumo would be waiting for me along with the other 5. Then we would be leaving for Kanha by road. A 165 kilometer long journey. All by the road.

To be continued.............................

2008 - 2007 = 1

It's a little late perhaps, but, as we Bangalis are of the habit of prolonging our Bijoyaa greetings till Kaali pujo, I hereby take the opportunity to wish you all

A Very Happy and Prosperous New Year

in the truest Bangaali spirit and the attendant languorous bliss.

Well, it has already been three full days into the new year and it's still the 'same old story' with my life. Nothing seems to have moved an inch.

Complaining and complaining profusely is not in my nature. So, I hereby preclude all such aspersions which are on the verge of being cast on me, of being a 'hopeless sulker'.
I am actually content that nothing seems to be changing that much with me or my life. Some how, I have grown to become fond of stagnation which, I guess, I take for stability.

So, here's hoping for an Indian batting collapse in Adelaide, a drowning monsoon in Kolkata, a glut of bandhs and hartals to provide lazy afternoon siestas to middle-aged Sorkaari clerks, numerous ways to celebrate my infinite unemployment, a new set of 'gulp-downable' gyaans on a multiplicity of issues, a final adieu to my college, 'spreading sweetness and light' everywhere (i.e being true to my name) and helping at least one person realize the goal of his being and in the process exploring the same probing question for my own sake.

Christmas Mass at St. Paul's

Today I had a religious encounter of a different kind.
I visited the St. Paul's Cathedral with four of my friends and it was a truly novel experience.
Had to get up at 7:30 in the morning to get ready as a big crowd was expected at the premier Roman Catholic Church of Kolkata on Christmas morning and we didn't want to be late for the mass. Arriving on time and full of enthusiasm that winter mornings unfailingly inject into unemployed minds in this city we were pleasantly surprised to get a seat in the last row made up of make-shift plastic chairs when inside the Cathedral. Already the gathering was sizable and by the look of the continuous stream of people that trickled in I knew it wouldn't be long before the Cathedral would be full.

As the choir gathered momentum and the carols got fervent there pervaded a sense of measured solemnity that was too palpable to be missed by anyone present. Though none of us were Christians by faith (inherited i.e) we too were part of the ongoing ritual and it was a
thoroughly enriching feeling. After the gathering was addressed by the Bishop people were asked to queue up to pray at the altar. When our turn came, we prayed. On bent knees and with folded palms there wasn't any distinction that we felt while praying alongside people who wore crosses around their necks. After all prayer to the Supreme Being isn't constricted by barriers of faith, colour or creed. And Christmas was just a celebration of that universal truth. The Bishop then blessed us and we headed for the lofted gallery of varnished wooden chairs. There was a
sense of grandeur in them. A feeling of dignified antiquity. The final address by the Bishop and a few carols later we got up to leave.
Wherever we looked there was only the sight of jolly people wishing each other a "Merry Christmas'. There was that unmistakable mirth in their features which we, Bengali Hindus have during savoring our Nabami bhog or when my Muslim friends greet us during Eid. I presume this mirth is exuded from the inner goodness innate to human beings. And there's no religion for a smile to elicit a smile. It's that simple.

Merry Christmas, everybody!!




photo: flickr.com

The New Airtel ad

The new AIRTEL ad really moved me. The idea that communication can dissolve boundaries between States and join people has that sort of an effect on me. Always. It gives me goosebumps.

The people behind making this ad really deserve praise. In times when everything from soap bars to sedans are marketed using the attention holding abilities of the unclad female body or star-power of film personalities, the idea of portraying a simple human story woven into the framework of an eternally relevant message is undeniably brave and positively reassuring.

The simple story where two little boys from two sides of a barbed wire fence decide to play football on what is understandably a 'no man's land' (LOC) conveys a simple message, but that which has a universal appeal. There is a certain sense of defiance in the way the two kids cross their borders to engage in a sport, ironic with a blissful disregard for human boundaries, consumed by their juvenile frivolity and characteristic innocence.
A swarm of thoughts flooded my mind on catching the ad for the first time on TV today.
It reminded me of Frost's 'Mending Wall'. It reminded me of the futility of divisions among humans. And how we all are a party to it.


I congratulate the team behind the concept of the ad. AIRTEL has been a leader in the way they market their product in a responsible manner and some of their previous advertisements bear ample testimony to that.

Here's another from their stable that touched me. Long back.




Video: Courtesy: Youtube.com
Logo: Google.com