In the time of turmoil...and the chimes of freedom

Daybreak stranded on Calcutta pavement. Calcutta could not become Berkley. We could not force ourselves to land in the 1960s. Therefore there were diamonds in glossy windows and rust over the bookshelves. They could not become a song anymore. We forced our words to gt stuck in a notebook, freedom for speech cafes remained a mere chayer dokan. Silent speeches moved towards a colder rainy path. There is no need for anger and no need for shame. Because, everything remained just the same. Confinement of a soul into cages or silencing oneself inside a locked room does not really prove anything. The sell of poster colours will never be a topic of a Ford funded research project. Revolutionary ideas will play cricket at the Sunday campus..and the chimes of freedom will continue to shine in the neverland... Because cacophony is another name of silent music. And we continue to sing that music everyday.

Waiting at Varanasi station

I am waiting at Varanasi railway station for last seven hours. I am coming from Kolkata, I need to take another train to Gorakhpur, as I will be spending some time for a research project near Gorakhpur. For the past seven hours I am so closely located near the Ganges, I am closely located near the Vishwanath gali, wooden toy shops, rabri shops and our old house. But I could not move out of the station as the announcements of the train are following short leaps, ‘the train is expected in next one hour.’ I am at Varanasi for the first time after my grandmother’s death. The city was very special to her, as my father was born here in the year 1948. She is the person who spread the urge to touch the city as many times as I can. Last time I had visited the city in April, 2014, I gifter a photo post card of the Malavya bridge located on the Varanasi Ganges. She visited Varanasi nine times, and I was having a feeling that I am completing her 10th visit with the current stepping on Varanasi. But I could just touch the soil of Varanasi. Seven hours of waiting in a ladies waiting hall of platform no. 5 of the Varanasi railway station brought new observations. I found that women students from different corners of UP come to study at various colleges of Benaras and at BHU. Though I have visited BHU a number of times, but encountering students from different corners of the state was totally new experience. I found that students come from Lucknow-Raibarrilley –Benaras rail track, and also from Benaras-Mughalsarai-Patna rail track. A number of women students are friends with the old lady ticket checker woman of the ladies waiting room who speaks a variety of Bhojpuri. I shared a cup of tea with the lady and found that these women students regularly sit at the waiting room and study for a few hours. They also charge their mobile phones and eat their lunch at the waiting hall. Just beside the waiting room, there is a new bhojanalay. The menu include veg and non-veg thalis, north and south Indian snacks and dinner. They pack food and supply order for on-board passengers. They also have a snacks and tea corner. The shop owner was quite surprised to see me for both lunch and dinner at his restaurant. Like Mughalsarai, Varanasi is also a station where many routes are crisscrossed. Trains from different parts of India pass through this station. So, it was also a traveller’s joy to find new routes and googling about them. I came to know that trains from Mumbai to North and East India pass through Varanasi. Trains from Secundrabad also stops here to take a turn for Darbhanga, Patna or Bhagalpur. I noticed a number of known trains from Howrah passing by and tried to track their routes thoroughly, which were partially known by me in spite of my regular Kolkata Delhi journeys. I read story books in between, wrote something, called up home a number of times, had early lunch and dinner, two rounds of tea. Spending from morning to night at the station of a known place was still unknown and refreshing. Though I felt a bit restless in the evening, the feeling that I am at a wonderful city was peaceful. I may exclude this travel from my visit list, but it became a very special travel. I will be back at Benaras very soon, I promised myself.

The Life of Pi and my stories..

The first tears appeared when the young boy was shouting in joy experiencing a terrible thunderstorm..I was feeling like shouting in joy by myself..the joy in danger, walks along with the journey.. The apparently unknown boy lost everything at the Pacific ocean.. And it was a beginning of the unknown world.When groups a fishes attacked him,my eyes saw the shadow of a door which she tried to open in order to find an escape route at the midnight city. When the son of the same master, a man eater roared in full energy, my ears heard a deafening sound, with thousand flashes.. The red carpet movie theater had some exit doors..but can the doors take me there, where I want to go? where i need to go.. I want to shout..yes, I want to cry..because I want my life back..once more, I want to live..

a 'Bangal' conversation and beyond

Two popular Bangla T.V. serials are now using bangal (The speech of East Bengal, traditionally)variety of speech in the script and thus attracting two major chunks of viewers.Firstly, people from Bangladesh who are extremely fond of Calcutta-based serials, and secondly, the 'once upon a time refugee bangals' who are now well settled in West Bengal and cherish the bangal speech varieties. 'They are not using bangal speech properly', says my father, while watching the serial 'Chirosathi' in Star Jalsha. The serial, based on Muktijuddho kaleen Bangladesh is using bangal speech, which resembles the speech variety of Barisal.I tried to convince my father that the variety spoken in Barisal today is quite different from what we speak at home. A family who had left Bangladesh during partition and still using bangal speech for daily conversation is, in fact, archiving the Barisal variety of Bangla which was spoken in 1940s in undivided Bengal.But, today Barisal variety is influenced by the Dhaka Standard Bangla, which is, again influenced by Kolkata Bangla. So, my family does not know how the Barisal-based bangal variety spoken today is different from what we speak at home! An unique example of language maintenance can be heard in the speech of my granduncle, my father and my uncle. They have left everything behind, but they still own their language, which is their valuable possession form their ancestral place. The usual waves of language change has not touched these people of my family. So, we are carrying the old forms, and simultaneously it is really difficult for them to believe that what we speak today is not spoken at Barisal now. Boundaries and distances can do so much for our language,and some of us have never thought about it,perhaps..

tomake chai

'tomake chai' kuri bochore pa dilo. bangla ganer ekti onyotomo biplob, amra jara tar shakkhi thekechi tader aj ek rongeen din. aj sei shoroter sokaler kotha mone porche, jedin bhorbela moshari khulei dekhlam pujor jonyo notun cassette esheche, denimer shirt pore ek bhodrolok hate ekta guitar niye boshe achen. sumanke chinlam, sumaner gan ke chinlam. ar sumaner gan chenate shekhalo onyo ek jogot. suman inspiration dilen somor sen porbar, suman shekhalen biplob ar premer obichchedyo songya. tomake chai shunei bodhoy shoishob theke koishore uttoron hoyechilo ekti projonmer.solil chowdhury-ke notun kore chiniye dilen suman, himanshu dutter nam notun kore anka holo tnar-i sure. notun projonmo tnar ganer line diye poster likhlo,prempotro likhlo ar likhlo jiboner onyo ek bhasha. samyobader gan ghume jagorone tochnoch kore dilo kolkatar nobin akash. mone ache sumaner lekha prothom boita kinte boimelay line deoya,'tomake chai' -er srostar hoye otha ganer golpo, prokasher din i copy-ta songroho kore jotno kore molat lagano hoyechilo. 'tomake chai' bolechilo premer sathe guitar-er ekta kothay jano dibbi sundor somporko ache.je sumaner gan bhalobashe na, ami konodin tar preme pori ni. koishore onek class-er fnake bondhuder geye shuniyechi 'boishakhi jhore ami tomake chai'.onek asharer megh-ke soriye diyeche tomake chai.'tomake chai' hoye uthechilo amar prothom cell phone-er welcome note. aj, ekti ganer jonmodine ei lekhata likhte boshe mone holo, e ganer jonmo amader jobonkei ekta notun jonmo diyeche.ekta gan palte dite pare etokichu? aj arekbar fire dekha, shune neoya sei gan-ke.ar socchar hoye eksathe bole otha-sesh porjonto tomake chai.

My journey with myself..

One little girl traveled these roads years ago, holding the hands of her parents. Today she is traveling alone, but her memories are indicating her ways. The building with a big garden is known to her, which she had drawn in her drawing book, using the new wood pencil from mussoorie. And the balcony of the ashrama, which was her drawing studio once upon a time, is almost unchanged!

My journey to Rishikesh-Mussoorie-Haridwar was a very special journey for me, because I traveled here with the shadow of a little girl. My childhood roadmap was showing my ways.

The journey began from Anand Vihar ISBT at almost midnight, when I boarded a roadways bus for Haridwar.I had to change the bus at Haridwar early in the morning and reached Rishikesh at around 7 a.m. I found myself among the crowd of Bengali and Tamil pilgrims. The old Bengali lady, who perhaps has come for the pilgrimage with a very little money which she has saved was crossing the Shivananda Ram Jhula-the hanging bridge over the Ganges with me. The familiar language was heard at almost every corner of the small town, which was making me very nostalgic. The woman who has come a long way to travel this pilgrimage is perhaps of my age. But it is probably very difficult for her to accept that one Bengali woman is traveling alone. And when you are wearing a bindi and a dupatta, you are never alone in a north Indian road travel.

I wanted to stay at the 'Banprastha Ashram' where I had stayed years ago. But the ashrama does not allow single persons. So I booked a cheap room at the Paramarth Niketan Ashram. I spotted a fantastically located restaurant on the Ganges which has a spectacular view of the river.spending hours there.A sudden storm changed the colour of the river and the whole frame of picture. A took a long walk through the bank of Ganges at reached Laxmanjhula. On the way I met a nun who is actively involved with the Save Ganges Campaign. The primary target at Laxmanjhula was the German Bakery where I had an amazing apple famble.Came back to Rishikesh by an auto and spent some more time with the calmness of the river.

Rishikesh to Mussoorie was a journey of almost 3 hours.I took a local bus from Rishikesh and changed another bus from Dehradun-the capital of Uttarakhand. The old British-styled buildings are a typical feature of Dehradun city, though the city now has a number of branded shops. Woodlands, Cafe Coffee Day and Spykar Jeans showrooms have changed the cityscape.

Our bus moved through the hilly roads, and the cold breeze brought the news that the 'queen of the hill' is not far. I had booked a room at the Youth Hostel which is 6 k.m distant from the Mussoorie town.But the area is not crowded like the Mussoorie bazar area and has a nice view of green mountains. I dumped my luggage at the hostel and rushed to the main Mussoorie bazar by a roadways bus. I was terribly hungry, so I reached my favourite Tibetan food joint Kalsung and ordered a plate of fried momo and a bowl of thukpa. Reached hostel around 6 p.m.and spent a silent evening with green and black mountains.

The next morning, I had planned a wonderful trek. Trek route of course destined Landour, which is my favourite part of mussoorie.I walked through Landour bazar,I entered a few of my favourite old antique shops. I walked to the famous 'char dukan' (the four shops and the Landour church. While walking down, I stopped for linch at the Chhaya Cafe-chicken pot pie and the chocolate cake was absolutely mouthwatering.I walked down till Mussoorie bazar and took a rope way ride. When the rope way reached the view point at gun hill, it started raining heavily. Rain at the hill top, and the dark green pine and devdar trees. It was amazing.

I was supposed to take a night bus for Delhi, but I suddenly changed my plans. Took a bus to Haridwar.Already booked a hotel over phone, but I was amazed to see the wonderful location of the hotel.

The last morning of the trip was taking a walk at the bank of Ganges near the Har ki Pauri ghat.I have written some part of it sitting at a ghat, from where I have also floated a flower and lamp boat.Early lunch at the famous 'Dada Boudir hotel' reminded me again of my childhood.

The roadways bus for Delhi left Haridwar at 12 noon. I got a front seat at the bus. The return journey brought many thoughts.My journey with the shadow of the little girl never brought a feeling of loneliness. My footsteps followed the mental map of my childhood journey. I tried to recall my journey on the rope way, my sharing of lunch from my mother's plate.

The journey was like a pink page fairy tale, the clouds, the stream of the river and the lush green mountains never allowed me to feel alone. And the little girl did not wave her hands to me when I started my return journey. She started nesting inside me after the journey...to my surprise..

Feeling Blue..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7AGyNPkXF4