They go to sleep hungry

In the wake of the present tension between India and Pakistan, the pacifists are demanding our Government to look after the hungry millions instead of waging a war. Their statements prompted me to do a research on the situation. As I browsed for more data, fragmented newspaper images of long kisaan marches, protests of farmers with dead rats on their mouth, even suicides of farmers hovered round my mind. I felt uncomfortable. For a few moments, the IAF attacks retaliating the Pulwama tragedy faded away from my mind. The guilt in me taunted my unawareness for not questioning our Government about taking effective steps to eradicate the plight of the hungry poor Indians who die silent deaths every single day.

According to International Food Policy Research Institute, India ranks 100th among 119 nations on the Global Hunger Index Report prepared by the Institute. The parameters of this report are, - undernourishment, child wasting, child stunting, and child mortality. Though India has done better over the past 25 years in fighting hunger, but so has every other country. The picture does not remain rosy anymore.

India stepped on economic reforms in 1991, yet, the reforms have done less for development compared to other countries in South Asia. India's poor neighbours, Nepal and Bangladesh, have still managed to beat India in fighting the most basic challenge of development - hunger.

In 2017, 21% of Indian children suffer from wasting, that is, have a weight lower than normal for their height. Nearly 40% of Indian children are stunted due to hunger and about 4.8% infants under the age of 5 die every year.

Why such an abysmal performance from India when the country has implemented two large-scale national programmes on nutrition, namely, the Integrated Child Development Services and the National Health Mission? May be because of the lack of proper coverage. But, isn't that awkward in the status of digital boom in India continuously claimed by our present Government? Why the hunger tragedy is failing to shake the juggernaut of the Government? Why is the Government trying to wash our eyes with the death of 50 soldiers when there are million civilians dying due to the faulty food policies of the Government? Is the Government trying to shut up the ever-inquisitive educated citizens with the soft spot of 'soldiers saving our borders' gimmick?

The questions will haunt me until I get apt answers.Till then, I will keep on questioning our Government, because, questioning the Government is my fundamental right as an Indian. 

Confessions #1

I met Sreetama at a turning point of my life. I was in my early adulthood then, living in Kolkata, studying Geography in a college. At that point of time, I considered myself inferior to my peers so much so that I had only a handful of friends. Why? I have no answer now. In such a state, when she found me interesting enough to become her friend, I was left to be highly obliged.

She was quite an extrovert and a confident person. For an introvert and ever hesitant me, she took no time to become an ideal. Moreover, she influenced me a lot with her thoughts, her opinions and her way of life. I was in awe of her happy-go-lucky persona caring less about the world around her.

After completing five years of co-studying, we went on to become co-workers too, as interns in a digital mapping company. As we worked together, I slowly got to know a different side of her. She seemed to be overtly ambitious to me. As our remunerations were directly proportional to the number of maps we digitised, she started slogging more than the stipulated eight hours to earn more. This was the first time our differences came into the forefront. Apart from the internship, I had other hobbies and interests, but she forced me to consider the work front seriously. Most of the times, she would start comparing the volume of work both of us completed at a given time. Though she never showed, but, deep inside I could feel her satisfaction in having an edge over me, work wise, every single time.

After almost an year of internship, we stepped out together. A company hired both of us as contractual employees. After a few months, Sreetama's ambitious avatar appeared with shining armour, yet again. Not only she started working for extra hours, she also befriended a few seniors to learn more about how things get done. In the process, she started losing her true self, the very happy-go-lucky self. She had no time for her friends, especially me, whom she considered to be her best friend. I started feeling like a lost soul. Since she had a strong influence on me, I felt as if my ship is left without an anchor.

But, somewhere inside me, I started to feel a strong urge to stand for myself, realise who I really am and cast out myself from influences of others. I slowly learned how to say a 'No' when I did not feel what she did was right. It's painful when you are slowly losing a friend who means a life for you, but then, life moves on, isn't it? In that phase of detachment, I gradually begun to understand myself, my choices and my values. I learnt to respect my wishes other than doing what others wished for me. This self transformation was needed then. Now, when I look back, the entire phase gives me pain as well as strength to go on.

I know that Sreetama will get hurt if she ever read this piece. I did not mean to hurt her, but, on the contrary, thank her for being there, for indirectly making me realise my true worth, my uniqueness. Thank you, my friend, for everything!!

The Durga Puja at the Datta Household - A reflection

About two years ago, we self invited ourselves to be a part of the Durga Puja celebrations of the Datta Household of Mathmalaypur, located in the Hooghly District of West Bengal. One of our close friends happen to be a member of this household and it was on his insistence, we, two non-religious persons, decided to spend two days observing the core rituals practiced to venerate Goddess Durga. There was, however, another factor which propelled me. My mother's one of the last wishes was to observe a family Durga Puja in her lifetime. Since she couldn't before she died, I had to.

It was an Ashtami afternoon. As we got down from a local train, a cab was waiting for us at the station. The autumn heat begun to fade out as we advanced to the house on a red gravelly road in between the swaying green paddy fields.

The cab parked infront of a non descript house. Our friend welcomed us inside. The house, partially made of mud and partially of concrete, seemed as if it has come out from the pages of Bengali folklores or quintessentially Bengali stories which had a village in its backdrop. Straw roofs, an open space in the middle housing an indigenous paddy storage made of straw termed locally as a morai or dhaaner gola, a pond in the backyard, and a Thakurdalan or the designated space where Goddess Durga is worshipped every year by the household members.

Gradually, we started meeting the other members of the household. Each of them, be them the older members or the younger generation, were very warm. It was their warm gesture which made us feel at home, almost instantly. Our adda sessions continued till all of us were alerted about the Evening Arati time. The lady brigade of the house took me with them to the Thakurdalan, where they were preparing the nitty-gritty of the Arati, as well as the Sandhi Puja which was to follow later in the evening. I couldn't say a hurting 'No' to their excitement when they made me a part in their preparations. I might not believe in the concept of deities and their invocations, but, at the end of the day, I am a human being and I have no right to disrespect the feelings of the people who put their faith in religions and rituals. While helping them, I began to jitter initially. Images of my mother worshipping in our house flashed my mind several times when I lined up the unlit earthen lamps to be lit during the Sandhi Puja. However, my clumsiness, when got an encouragement from the brigade, became a sigh of relief to me.

With the dimming of the Sun, the Arati started. Our friend and a few other family members took turns in dancing with the earthen incense burners or Dhunuchis. The remaining, non-dancing members, rang the kanshor-ghontas, along with the drum beats by the dhakis who came from a nearby village. The in-house priest danced with the panchapradip, meanwhile. The Arati rituals transported me to a state of trance, for a short time. It is said that the high pitched songs sung or sounds made in any religious place, can briefly bring upon a state of trance in the people visiting these places. This state of trance can turn one's mind blank for a few seconds, and that's the time when the one comes near to God. I don't know whether I could go near to someone called God, whom I don't believe, during the brief state trance felt by me then, but my mind weary from thoughts of my late parents felt more relaxed thereafter. After the Arati, the members along with us, sat together on the floor of the mud house for the evening muri-alur torkari. The food was filling, nevertheless, but, what filled our hearts was the inherent humility in the household. One can achieve great feats in life, but, to remain grounded with humility, is what makes the person a Man, on the real sense of the term. Its difficult to stay humble when you start possessing material wealth, but, the Datta household members, carried this attribute on their sleeves with elan. They didn't have to pretend, they truly showed us, how to be.

 

Chitchats followed after we had done with the light evening meal. We began to gather again near the Thakurdalan, for the Sandhi Puja rituals. The Sandhi Puja happens to be a significant ritual invoking the mythological moment when Goddess Durga won over Mahisasura. My mother used to say that if the Sandhi Puja rituals are done with great respect then the clay idol of Goddess Durga appears to be alive, albeit for a minuscule time. I recalled these words when the priest began chanting the hymns. The drums started beating a different rhythm, the kanshor-ghontas followed, marking the end of the Sandhi Puja ritual and the 108 lamps were lit. The face of the idol shone in the lamp lights. It appeared as if the Goddess had come alive. Was it? Or, maybe, I was briefly hallucinated by the drum beats, the constant ringings of the kanshor-ghonta, and the profound Sanskrit chants of the priest which literally meant to invoke Goddess Durga to arrive and fight the evils. Whatever it was, I found myself to be quiet, rest of the night. "Faith can move mountains", they say, and here, I could feel it, truly.

On the next day, Navami, my eyes opened when a whiff of fragrant Shiuli or Night Jasmine, blew across my face. The intoxicating fragrance made me ran to its source and oh! what did I see there?! A flowery rangoli depicting Rose made from the Shiuli flowers, upon the brown mud floor. The Shiuli trees, the ponds and the lush greenery beckoned us to explore around the area. We could spot a few local birds here and there. One of our friend's family members showed us around their premises. The paddy fields they own and the cowshed which housed cows many years ago. After the brief tour, we gathered in the Thakurdalan again. The Navami puja had started by that time. The same place looked so different that morning. The illuminations from the Ashtami evening had culminated to a vibrant Navami morning.

Many visitors like us had come from far and wide. We chatted, they chatted, and the chatters never stopped. To me, the Durga Puja had always been a festival which brought us together from different walks of life and that day the entire household became the same milieu which we long for, every Autumn. Our never ending chatters would have continued if not we were called for the lunch, at the same place where we had ate in the evening, all of us together, sitting on the mud floor. The menu was not special. Who among us cannot have a platter of mutton and rice whenever we want, generally speaking? But the food served on that afternoon was made special by the people there, our hosts, the batch-eating on the same floor and the overall ambience.

We left the place, after lunch, with a heavy heart. Our mundane lives, our artificially glittering Kolkata was beckoning us. As we sped past the green paddy fields again, I knew I had to go back again, there, maybe during the next Autumn again, just to feel the same, twice.



P.S:

Sometimes, it is not easy to explain some events with mere words. This event was of that kind. It was foolish of me to even try, but I could not stop myself to write about that one and a half day spent in the Datta household, during an Autumn Durga Puja. 

#Snippets 6 (Scattered Thoughts)

I never thought that my life would take an unpredictable turn after March 23rd. I am happy, confused, sad, disturbed, worried, anxious......basically feeling every emotions at the same time.

I feel that I am on cloud nine whenever my baby smiles at me, babbles and express the desire to be with me.
I feel anxious when she cries due to colic pain, stuffed nose, hunger or sleep issues. I feel worried when she cries when she cannot see me for an hour....separation anxiety.

I am suffering from inferiority complex too. I am feeling that I am judged by basically everyone around me including the Nanny. What's a joke for them, becomes a serious issue for me. I have begun to hate the people when they joke even about my minuscule incapability..."Ohh! How she holds her baby when she feeds her or makes her sleep? She basically embrace like a bear. Won't the baby feel uncomfortable?"
Now, how am I supposed to hold a growing baby when I am a tiny person? What can I do if I am a shorty? What can I do if my hands tremble due to eight years of hypothyroidism?

I feel confused about my job status too. I have been told that I am going to work as a freelancer until some projects arrive to make me a full-time worthy employee. I badly need this job. I want my job to pay my baby's nanny, to pay for the books which I want to buy, to pay for the essential things my baby needs now, and also for the vacations we are planning to do with her. My job will be a big support for my husband too.

I started writing to bring myself at peace. I even wrote a few articles, but the thoughts which I need to pen down seem to have gone absconding. I am feeling worthless and hopeless.
How long am I going to slog like this? I simply can't bear to slog anymore. I feel a financial stability can drag me out from this mess, but, where can I find that? When shall I return to my mainstream life, for once and for all?

ঢেউ আসে ঢেউ যায়

নতুন বাবা মায়েদের বোধহয় হুজুগ একটু বেশি মাত্রাতেই বিরাজমান। সেই হুজুগের পালে হাওয়া দিয়ে আমরা ছ' জন নতুন বাবা মা, প্রায় সদ্যজাত, কয়েক মাসের বাচ্চাদেরকে ট্যাঁকে গুঁজে চলে গেছিলাম তাজপুরে, সপ্তাহান্তের ভ্রমণের উদ্দেশ্যে।

ট্রেনে দীঘা, তারপরে গাড়িতে তাজপুর। এই পুরো রাস্তায় খাওয়ানো ও ঘুমোনোর সময়টুকু ছাড়া, বাচ্চাগুলো অবাক চোখে ট্রেনের জানালা দিয়ে পারিপার্শ্বিক ধাবমান দৃশ্যাবলি ও ট্রেনের ভেতরের সহযাত্রীদের শুধু দেখেই গেছে। মাঝে মাঝে তারা এতটাই অবাক হয়ে যাচ্ছিল যে খাওয়া ও ঘুমের জন্য যে কান্নাকাটি না করলে তাদের চলে না সেটাও ভুলে যাচ্ছিল। যাইহোক, এই অবাক যাত্রা যখন রিসর্টের সামনে গাড়ি থেকে নেমে শেষ হল, তারা তখন শ্রান্তিতে ঢুলে পড়েছে আমাদের কোলে।

ঘর বুঝে নিয়ে, মালপত্র কোনমতে রেখে, আমরা বাচ্চাদেরকে কোলে করে নিয়ে ছুটলাম সমুদ্রদর্শনে, রিসর্টের সবচেয়ে কাছের বালুকাবেলায়। মেঠো পথে কিছু নাম না জানা ফুলের গাছে কিছু নাম না জানা পাখির ডাক শুনতে শুনতে এগোচ্ছি, এমন সময়, সামনে দেখি একটা শীর্ণ নালা। শীর্ণ হলেও শুষ্ক নয়, তিরতির করে লোনা জল বয়ে চলেছে সেখান দিয়ে। একটা ছোট্ট লাফে নালা পার করার সময় মনে হল যেন ছোটবেলার বৃষ্টির জলে ঝাঁপানোর মুহুর্তটাকে একটুখানি ছুঁয়ে এলাম। এগিয়ে যেতেই ঢেউয়ের মৃদু গর্জন কানে এল। আরও এগোতেই বিশাল পারাবার। ঘোলাটে জলের মস্ত ঢেউগুলো একের পর এক আছড়ে পড়ছিল বালিতে এসে। সাধারণত, তাজপুরে অথবা দীঘায় ঢেউয়েরা খুব একটা বড় থাকে না, কিন্তু এবারে গিয়ে দেখলাম ঢেউদের আকার প্রকার বেশ বৃদ্ধি পেয়েছে। হয়ত পুর্ণিমার দিন জোয়ার আসার সময় গেছিলাম বলে। নির্জন সৈকতটিতে সেই পড়ন্ত বিকেলে ছয়জন পূর্ণ ও তিনজন সাড়ে মানুষ ঢেউদের সাক্ষাতে নিজেদেরকে কিছুক্ষণের জন্য হারিয়ে ফেলেছিল বললেও খুব একটা ভূল বলা হবে না। এবার ছোট্ট সাক্ষাতের পর রিসর্টে ফেরার পালা। আবার সেই মেঠো পথ। এবার অবশ্য কিছু গরু বাছুরদেরকে ঘাস খেতে দেখা গেল। সেই সাড়ে তিনজন মানুষদের এই সু্যোগে 'হাম্বা'দের চিনিয়ে দেওয়া গেল। রিসর্টে ফিরে চা ও চিকেন পকোড়া সহযোগে আড্ডা মারতে বসলাম আমরা। এই আড্ডা যে একেবারে নিরবিচ্ছিন্ন ভাবে চলেছে, তা বলতে পারি না। মাঝেমধ্যেই বাচ্চাদের খাওয়ানো, ঘোরানো ও প্রাকৃতিক কৃত্য পরিষ্কার করা এসব কাজও চলেছে পাশাপাশি। তা সত্ত্বেও কোথাও আড্ডার সুরতাল কেটে যায়নি কারণ আমরা যে যেখানে আড্ডা ছেড়ে চলে যাচ্ছিলাম, ফিরে এসে আবার সেখান থেকেই শুরু করছিলাম আড্ডা দেওয়া। আড্ডা দিতে দিতেই বাচ্চাদের প্রয়োজনীয় খাবার জল ফুটিয়ে যার যার ফ্লাস্কে ভরে নিলাম। এরপর ভাত, ডাল, আলুভাজা, রুটি, পম্ফ্রেট মাছ ভাজা ও পারশের ঝাল দিয়ে নৈশাহারের পালা সাঙ্গ করে যে যার রুমে ফিরে এলাম। সারাদিনের ক্লান্তিতে চোখ বুজে এল, ঘুমিয়ে পড়লাম।

পরদিন, চা ও জলখাবার পর্ব মিটিয়েই চললাম সাগর অভিমুখে। অপেক্ষাকৃত ভীড় যেই সৈকতে, সেইদিকেই টোটো করে চললাম। গতকাল শুধু চোখের দেখা হয়েছে, আজ সেই সাড়ে তিনজনের সাগর ছুঁয়ে দেখার পালা। দুজন সাড়ে টুকটুক করে হাঁটি হাঁটি পা পা করে এগোলো তাদের বাবা মায়েদের হাত ধরে, আরেকজন সাড়ে অবশ্য বাবার কোলে চড়ে পা ডুবিয়েই তার মায়ের কোলে ফিরে এল। যখন ঢেউ এসে তাদের পা ভিজিয়ে দিয়েই আবার ফিরে যাচ্ছিল, সেই ঢেউ হয়ত ফিরে যাবার সময় সেই সাড়ে তিনজনের তিন জোড়া চোখের বিস্ময় দেখে যেতে পারছিল না। বাকিরা দেখছিলাম, মন ভরে। পা ছোঁয়ানো পর্ব শেষ করে ডাবে চুমুক দিলাম আমরা বড়রা আর কুট্টিরা তাদের দুধের বোতলে। ঢেউদের আসা যাওয়া দেখতে দেখতে পানীয়য় চুমুক দেওয়া যে বড় মনোরম একটি অভিজ্ঞতা, সেই সাড়ে তিনজন এই বয়সেই তা বুঝে ফেলেছে! ডাবে শেষ চুমুক দিয়েই বাবারা সমুদ্রস্নান সমাপনে গেল। আমরা মায়েরা সন্তানদের কোলে করে নিয়ে সেই সাগরস্নান দেখতে বসলাম। আমরাও অবশ্য যেতে পারতাম, কেউ মানা করেনি, কিন্তু, নিজের উত্তরাধিকারদের কোলে বসিয়ে সমুদ্রশোভা দেখার মধ্যে যে অপরিসীম আনন্দ আছে, যে স্বর্গীয় প্রাপ্তি আছে তা একমাত্র মা ছাড়া কেউ বোঝে না, কোনদিন বুঝবেও না। স্নানপর্ব সাড়া হলে আমরা আবার ফিরলাম, রিসর্টে। সেখানে আমাদের জন্য কাঁকড়া অপেক্ষা করছিল, মধ্যাহ্নভোজনে। দুপুরটা বিশ্রাম নিয়ে আবার যখন সাগরের কাছে ফিরলাম তখন অন্ধকার হয়ে আসছে, হাওয়া একদমই নেই তার ফলে বেশ গরম। এরকম একটা আবহাওয়া কোন সমুদ্রসৈকতে একেবারেই বেমানান। কিছুক্ষণ অপেক্ষা করছিলাম আমরা, আশায় ছিলাম যে হাওয়া দেবে, একটু অস্বস্তিটা কমবে, কিন্তু তা হল না। বিফল মনোরথে আবার রিসর্টের দিকে ফিরলাম। হালকা খাবার খেয়ে যে যার ঘরে শুতে চলে গেলাম।

তার পরেরদিন উঠেই মহাশোরগোলে শুরু করে দেওয়া হল ফেরার ব্যবস্থা, গোছগাছ, জল ফোটানো, বোতল ফোটানো ইত্যাদি। বাচ্চারাও হয়ত বুঝতে পারছিল যে তারা আর এখানে থাকবে না, ফলে, দফায় দফায় কান্নাকাটি, বায়না, করতে শুরু করেছিল। ওদের ভোলানোর জন্য আমরা নানারকম চেষ্টা করে যাচ্ছিলাম, কিন্তু, আমাদের, নিজেদের কি মন ভুলছিল? ভ্রমণশেষের বিষাদ কি আমাদের মনকে একবারের জন্যেও ভারাক্রান্ত করছিল না? কিন্তু, সেটাই যে নিয়ম, কালের নিয়মে আমাদেরও বাড়ি ফিরে যেতে হবে, নিজ নিজ কর্মক্ষেত্রে যোগদান করতে হবে ও অপেক্ষা করতে হবে পরেরবারের ভ্রমণের জন্য। ফেরার পথেও আবার বিস্ময়ের পালা। অবাক করা ধাবমান দৃশ্যপট দেখতে দেখতে শ্রান্তিতে চোখ বুজে আসছিল সেই সাড়ে তিনজনের সাথে বাকি সবারই। আমাদের পরবর্তী প্রজন্ম হয়ত গোধুলীবেলার মন কেমন করা আলোর মানে বুঝতে পারেনি এত ছোট বয়সে কিন্তু আমরা যে ওদের জন্য একটা অচেনা দিগন্তের উন্মোচন করে দিলাম ভ্রমণের মাধ্যমে তা হয়ত ওদের দেখার চোখ পালটে দিতে পারে, ভবিষ্যতে, কে বলতে পারে?

পুনশ্চঃ
১) আমরা শেষবেলায় যেই রিসর্টে রুম ফাঁকা পেয়েছি সেটাতেই বুকিং করেছি। তাজপুরে সব রিসর্টই মোটের উপর ভাল, তাই যেটা পছন্দ, সেটাই বুক করতে পারেন।
 ২) ছোট বাচ্চাদের সাথে নিয়ে গেলে অবশ্যই ইলেক্ট্রিক কেটলি নিয়ে যাবেন সাথে করে।
৩) ঘুরতে গিয়ে বাচ্চাদের খাওয়ানোর সময় জোর একেবারেই করবেন না। যেহেতু ওরা নতুন জিনিস দেখছে, ওদের কিন্তু ওইদিকেই আগ্রহ থাকছে, তার ফলে, তাদের খাবার ইচ্ছে নাও থাকতে পারে। মনে রাখবেন, ঘুরতে গিয়ে ওজন কমুক চাই বাড়ুক, ওদের অভিজ্ঞতা তো বাড়ছে, তাই আমাদেরও উচিৎ ওদের পাশে থাকা।
৪) অনেকেই ছোট বাচ্চাদের নিয়ে ঘুরতে যেতে চান না, ভাবেন যে মুশকিলে পড়বেন। এই ধারণা কিন্তু একেবারেই ভূল। বাচ্চারা ঘুরতে ভালবাসে ও তারা সব পরিস্থিতিতেই কিন্তু মানিয়ে নিতে পারে, হয়ত, কোন কোন ক্ষেত্রে আমাদের বড়দের চেয়েও বেশি ভালভাবে পারে।

Momspresso Check out this interesting blog post "The Calling Of The Soil" by Parna Das Basu. Read Here: https://www.momspresso.com/parenting/parenthood-ramblings/article/the-calling-of-the-soil

CES Days - The workplace I dearly miss.

CES Technologies was my first workplace as an employee, before that I had worked as an intern for a year or so. Coincidentally, the office where I worked as an intern was a vendor company which worked for a digitization project of the CES Technologies. Ohh! Before, I forget to mention what were my job profiles in these two companies, let me tell you that I worked here as a CAD Mapper. My work was to digitize the maps and attach data with them. Well, I won't bore the readers with the details of my job profile for that would take away the essence of my retrospection here. On the contrary, I would like to talk about my co workers of CES Technologies and the amiable work environment which prevailed there.

We used to work in two shifts, - morning and evening. The morning shift employees, mostly girls including me, started off working from 7 AM sharp and went on till 2 PM when the evening shift employees barged in and took over the work stations from us. Working was a great fun there. Sometimes, I hardly remembered that we were actually working on a tight deadline and we, too, had targets. The friendly banters continued while the mouses clicked away. Our faces smirked on the harmless bullying while our eyes were fixed on the screens to assure precision and perfection. There were friendly competitions too. When a coworker shouted out, "I have finished the pending three maps. Give me two more", rest of us would refocus on finishing ours too. Some of the workaholic ones would stay for the evening shifts too in order to make their cases strong for yearly salary increments. No, I was not among them. I was a laid back employee then as well as now. Working more than eight hours for mere money is still not in my constitution.

The office was set in a cozy location with food stalls all around. One such food stall was fondly named, 'Mesho r Dokan' rechristened in the google map as 'Mesho's Shop'. The Bengali word 'Mesho' is widely used to address 'Mashi's or mother's sister's husband. Now, which Mashi's husband was this 'Mesho' of 'Mesho's shop' remained unknown to us. We only concentrated on the delicious 'Kochuri - Chholar Daal' and occasional tea breaks here. Life seemed to come to a standstill when the steaming hot 'Kochuris' were served in front of us on a plate where the 'Chholar Daal' already swam in.

Talking about food, I must not forget to mention about the endless treats my coworkers, management and me gave to celebrate special occasions, personal as well as official achievements. The treats ranged from the humble 'Shingaras' to the elegant 'Special Mutton Biriyanis' accompanied with juicy 'Kebabs'. More than the food items or the share of food we had together, there was an environment of sheer happiness effervescent with the simple joys of life.

My last day in this company was a gloomy one. My coworkers looked sad as I announced my resignation. They were happy too as I got an opportunity to teach in a school as they knew teaching was my first love. When I left the office premises, I did not look back. I couldn't. Tears welled up and I quickly took a shuttle cab home. A few months ago, I heard that CES has become non functional. I never bothered to ask the reason. The good things always come to an end, so did CES. 

The Bard's Day

My acquaintance with the bard, kobiguru, as most people call him, dates back to my toddlerhood when my mother used to sit with 'Sanchayita' (An anthology of Tagore's well known poems) and recite one poem after the other. I enjoyed the rhyme 'Khantoburir Didishashuri' a lot. Gradually, I learnt most of the children's poems written by him thanks to my mother's persuasion and the elocution tests in my school.

As I embarked upon the journey of teenhood, I felt his poems seeping into me slowly. We had 'Sankalita' volumes as one of our Bengali textbooks. The best part of the 'Sankalita' volumes was that the poems were selected according to the age of the students. The poems like 'Samanyo Khoti', 'Poroshmoni', 'Nirjhorer Shopnobhongo' had an immense impact on me. Thereafter, I was introduced to his plays and novels, not to mention his songs which were the quintessential part of the mornings in our house. Frankly  speaking, I didn't find his songs as interesting as his novels and plays (excluding dance dramas), at first. They were no better than the opulent lullabys to me, the ones which the so called cultured people listen to. When people swore by the 'Rabindrasangeets' I was pretty content with revising and re-revising 'Chirokumar Sabha' and 'Tasher Desh', the plays which were filled with sarcasm and dark humour.

How I was taken by the 'opulent lullabys', I don't know. Maybe during a stage of infatuation when coincidentally somebody sang 'Pran chaay chokkhu na chaay' or maybe when I was spending a restless night after my mother's death and my mobile's playlist offered me 'Jete jete akla pothey'.

When people go overboard with the Rabindrajayanti celebrations every year, I quietly remember him, my quintessential guardian, through his songs, poems and those long lost evenings which resonated with my mother's consecutive recitations of Tagore's poems.

Happy Birthday in advance, my Bard! Your literary works are like an ocean to me, where every wave seems new, every single day.

#Snippets 5

As I recline and write in my room now, the sun outside is in its full might. The summer heat's trailer show promises an uncomfortable season ahead again and made me go back to my childhood swimming days. My father used to take me to the township's swimming club every summer evening since the time I didn't even knew how to swim. The first object there which attracted me was the water fountain. Invariably, after reaching the club I would run straight to the fountain and sit close to it. The water would gush out falling over me and I would be jumping with joy. All these childish trysts with the fountain and pool water underwent a massive evolution one day when my brother accompanied me to the swimming club. He took me to the mid of the 25 m pool and forcibly separated my hands from the supporting side rods designed for kids like me to perfect their leg strokes. For a few seconds I could see nothing. My only focus was to breathe properly. By the time I thrusted myself back to the surface of the pool, my brother swam towards me  smiling. I was angry. I refused to talk to him but then he quipped, 'Hey, you now know how to swim.' I beamed with a newly acquired confidence and swam the entire length of the pool with my brother before heading back to home together. For the remaining 10 years of my stay in Durgapur, I had been a regular in the pool. The joy of plunging into the pool waters in the scorching summer months then couldn't ever get matched to the calm days spent interiors with a super efficient AC machines now.

#Snippets 4 - The quintessential conversation of the May evenings just before the Report Card Day

The setting: Baba reading a book on his table and I fidgeting here and there composing my dialogues. Finally the impatience gets the better of me.

Me (making a goody and coyish face): Baba, Please tell me.
Baba (without looking at me): What?
Me: Baba, pleeaaaase, you know very well what I am going to ask you.
Baba (fake expression of displeasure): No.....What do you want to know now? I need to complete reading the book today. Don't you have any other work? Did you do your music riwaz today?
Me: Baba......I am tensed.
Baba (looking serious): So you wanted to ask me how you will fare in your annual result?
Me: Yes. Shall I pass and get promoted to the next class? What do you think?
Baba: Do I look like Nostradamus? How can I say?
Me: Baba, but whatever you say, that happens.....please say whether I will fail or pass?
Baba: What...how ridiculous! That's just a wishful thought..it might or might not be true....so did you write your exams well?
Me: Yes....but...
Baba: Which subject is the 'but' dear?
Me: Baba...I wrote well....but I am doubtful in Maths and Chemistry...I don't know whether I will pass in those.
Baba: Huh....those 2 problem makers...eh...aren't they?
Me (on the verge of breaking down): Yes.......I don't know whether I will manage the pass marks in these 2.
Baba (suppressing his laughter): I am also doubtful. Ask me tomorrow...I will predict then...
Me: No...no...I want to know today.......
Baba: What's the big deal....fail once..then you will know how many rice grains are there in how many paddy bundles..
Me: No, I don't want to fail.......
Baba (fake expression of anger and the voice tone pseudo-serious): You should have thought about this day before when you were whiling away your time reading storybooks during exams.
Me: Baba...I wasn't just reading storybooks..I was building up vocabularies....there's a difference...isn't it Baba? I hate these 2 subjects.....
Baba (laughing heartily over the honest confession): Ha ha ha ha...Don't worry, you might pass this time...
Me: Baba...why 'might'? Please tell me with full confidence, Baba.
Baba: Ok...mone hochhe you will pass...
Me: mone hochhe? thikthak mone hochhe to? 
Baba (suppressing another laughter): That I can tell you tomorrow...

Next morning, just in front of the school gate...
Me: Baba...you promised me that you will tell me what your mind is telling you about my result.
Baba: Just go in.....tenetune ebare utre jabe....(laughing again)

So, every year, I managed to pass somehow and Baba would award me by buying my favourite 'Nikhunti' sweets. I would carry the report card in one hand and would make tall promises again on studying well, preparing hard and so on. Baba would hear them, laugh again in his own distinct style as he could already foresee me whiling away my time with storybooks in the next session and say in his usual style, "Hey..did you complete the second volume of Rabindra Rachanabali? Look forward to finish the novels this summer." And I would nod affirmatively pacing down towards home together.

#Snippets 3

In the moments of anxiety and apprehensions, my mind tends to retrace back to the Durgapur evenings when my parents used to sit together to have tea and 'muri makha', their friendly banters, beaming faces and the Durgapur mornings when my mother used to roam around the garden watering the plants and my father would be busy mixing manures and soils.........those mornings and evenings reassure me of their omnipresence in my life..they reassure me that nothing has lost and brace me up for the new beginnings. My soul puts the faith back in me that my parents as well as guardian angels continue to shower their love and blessings on me, every single time....

The Lone Warrior

I can still remember the 10th of March three years ago. It was early in the morning, I woke up to go to my school but hesitantly sat near the kitchen table with a big mug of tea thinking about my ailing father who was still in coma. My mind was not allowing me to carry on the usual chores which I did before going to my workplace. Somehow, I gathered up myself and went to school only to prepare myself for another long, lone journey back to my hometown. My father had left us by the time I could even start my journey. As the train I boarded on ran passed the uneven plateaus dotted with blooming Palash trees, I remembered that how dear the red colour was to him, my Baba, as we called him. He remained a leftist throughout his life, in his mind as well as in his deeds. He lead a simple life untarnished by the capitalistic glitters we occasionally indulged ourselves to.

My thoughts were interrupted by a lame beggar dragging himself through the train floor and then a few moments from another black year came rushing to my mind. It was 1992, my father suffered a compound fracture in one of his legs and could not join his work for 17 long months. During his entire recovery period, he used to drag himself all the way to the toilet for his daily ablutions as he refused to wash himself in his bedroom. Such was his will power and sense of self respect. In those long 17 months, I had observed a different Baba, helping Maa in daily household chores, helping us with our studies while Maa went away to work. It was unusual for us to see Baba cooking and doing the dishes, but he remained undaunted. Infact, it was our nightmare to find raw papayas in every dish he cooked and we waited eagerly for our Maa to save us from the daily doses of raw papayas.

As I sat alone in the train compartment, I suddenly realised that I have grown old enough ever since Baba went into coma. While my brother kept a positive outlook about Baba recovering miraculously, I could sense the impending death quickening its steps towards Baba. The phone rang, my brother sounded apprehensive about my reaching time. I mechanically told him to start the last rituals as I won't be able to reach before evening. No, I didn't wanted to see him lying lifeless for he was so lively in his entire lifespan. I cannot remember a day when I haven't seen him joking around, yes during his plastered days too. It was really difficult for an active person like him to remain bed bound for about one and a half year, but he went through the ordeal by maintaining his usual jovial self.

I don't know whether he could accept my marriage and going away to another house, but he remained strong as he did the 'sampradaan' ritual. I could realise his immense love for his son-in-law, my husband, on the day he suffered the fatal stroke. As he was slipping into coma, slowly, he vigorously kept patting his son-in-law's back. Did he wanted to express how happy he felt meeting him after months? I don't know. I regret that I couldn't learn much from him. He had a sea of experiences to share but I became busy with my life and now, when I want to talk to him, spend time with him, he is no more. Though its a difficult journey ahead without a friendly guide like him, but, I have started along, with the memories of the instances of his strong will power and grit.

"চিরসখা, ছেড়ো না মোরে, ছেড়ো না।
সংসারগহনে নির্ভয়নির্ভর,
নির্জনসজনে সঙ্গে রহো ॥
অধনের হও ধন, অনাথের নাথ
হও হে, অবলের বল।
জরাভারাতুরে নবীন করো
ওহো সুধাসাগর ॥" -

https://youtu.be/yiea7YbyVuU

Snippets #2: Recollections

There are days such as today, when the floodgates of the old memories open up, reminding me of the the times when life tested my family members. These surging memories do not let me forget the 17 months when my father was recovering from a fracture and could not join his work resulting in this 17 month long period of 'without pay'. This was the time when my mother single handedly managed the house, our expensive studies and her workplace. Now, I shudder to think of the possibilities which could have happened if my mother did not have her job. Maybe we could not boast of our rich educational background then as we do now...................

Throughout their life as parents, my father and my mother, have always thought about investing on us, their children, rather than investing for their future lives. Whatever money they could manage to save at the end of their job lives (they could not serve till their usual retirement ages because they worked in a sick industry which closed down before they could complete their tenure) were chosen to spend on our higher education and better future prospects. No, they never complained. They only tried to make us realise the value of their hard earned money.

There was a time when we used to think about returning the money they spent for us. We used to calculate how much we had made them spent......now I realise how foolish were we. Though, both of us, my brother and I, manage to earn much more than they spent on our education, we can never return the time, the knowledge, the unconditional love they invested on us. How can we return the scorching heat or rainy evenings they had spend on sourcing second hand books from college street? How can we return the exhausting train journeys from Durgapur to Kolkata and back? How can we return the pain they took to carry the heavy loads of second hand books back to us? How can we return the smiles which radiated on their faces with our smallest of achievements? How can we return the days when they walked more and ate less to save every hard earned penny?

The only savings they have, are us. They did not judge us while investing diligently on us so that we turn into perfect human beings in the true sense of the term 'human'. I don't know whether their investments are successful. The sole regret I will be taking back with me to my grave is that by the time we could gift them some happy moments as a token of gratitude for all that they have done for us, they chose to leave us all alone to travel to the land of no return.

Guiding Light

Today, when I look back to my growing up days, I re-visualize some not-so-happy incidents which wrecked a havoc on my soul then.

My father helped me with my school homework till the day he met with a serious accident. He had to be hospitalized and underwent a surgery for compound fracture in one of his legs. Though the surgery went on to be successful, the recovery period was long, precisely 3 years. I was in class 2 then. In the midst of all other uncertainties about our household and my father's career, I decided to help myself with my school homework.

The results of this decision was not rosy. I started failing to cope up with the school lessons. Though I managed to see through classes 2 and 3 without anyone's help in my studies, I started giving up in class 4. I couldn't understand most of the lessons and started to avoid the tougher chapters. A few of my benevolent classmates gave their notebooks to me so that I could copy the daily homework. This arrangement failed to work during the terminal examinations and I started failing miserably. I remember, once, I couldn't submit homework notebooks for a week. My class teacher took me straight to our then principal. She called my mother and sternly told her that if I fail to cope up with the backlog in the coming months I would be thrown out of the school. The principal also remarked that I wasn't a 'Carmel' material. I can only imagine now how my mother must have felt then with an ailing husband recovering slowly in the hospital, a son studying his +2 and an obstinate daughter on the other hand.

On the other hand, the teachers who taught in my class started to judge me. I was punished most of the time without any substantial reason. I had no friends to support me. I felt myself drowning in a patch of quicksand. When a person drowns, he/she starts fighting back for life. I started to do that. I could barely breathe inside the school but my injured soul was determined to win. I managed to get promoted to the next class, class 5.

Class 5 was a happy start for me. My father came back home with a huge plaster. He joined work and walked with a pair of wooden crutches. His daily struggles inspired me somewhere deep inside my heart to go on against all the adversities. Though, I had a happy home then, my school environment did not improve. All my subject teachers except the ones who taught Bengali and English, continued to be judgemental. To them, I was a blacklisted student who have already travelled to the Principal's room. To them, I was not worthy enough to be taught by them. I was so scared about them that I often visualized myself walking through a dark tunnel without any torch to guide me.

It is said that when you experience the darkest hours of your life, you are bound to see the rays of hope just after. This was same for me. I could sense that my class teacher, one who also taught English treated me differently. Her name was Veena Jaya. Each of her lectures was inspiring. With her way of teaching I started to love what I studied. She could successfully instill the love for studying in me. In one occasion, when she had to choose and send a few students from her classroom to visit the school library (the junior sections weren't allowed then), she chose me too. It was a moment of honour for me. This incident made me realize that she could see some hope in me too. The incident was an unimportant one but it helped me to catapult back.

I started studying harder. My sole goal was to become a worthy student to all my teachers. The scores didn't improve much, though. The poor marks on my answer scripts made me strong every time I saw them. My determination saw me through and I got promoted to class 6. As Veena miss handed out the report card to me on the Result Day, she quietly remarked, "well done, Parna!" I looked up to her. She was smiling.

I won't forget that smile on her face, ever. It was the fitting answer to all the teachers who found me unworthy of the school's name and fame. As I look back, I still visualize the smile and thank her to be my guiding light. The light which gave me hope and reassurance of my capabilities. When I feel down at times, I re-visualize these days back in school. I quietly say to myself,"You had proved yourself. You will prove, every time."

পৌষ - পার্ব্বণের পালা

খুব ছোটবেলায় মনে আছে চুষি বা চষি পিঠে খুব ভাল লাগত খেতে। আমাদের দোতলার কোয়ার্টারের কাকিমা বানিয়ে খাওয়াতেন। আসলে তখন নিজের বাড়ি ছাড়া অন্য সবার রান্না খেতে বেশি ভাল লাগত, বুঝতে পারতাম না কেন অন্য সবাই আমার মায়ের রান্নার সুখ্যাতি করত। বাবা অবিশ্যি মজা করে বলতেন, "ভাত রোচে না, রোচে 'ম', চিড়ে রোচে 'প' 'প'" অর্থাৎ নিজের বাড়ির দুধ পুলি, সেদ্ধ পুলি - এসব ভাল জিনিস ভাল লাগছে না, উনি যাচ্ছেন 'চষি পিঠে' খেতে!!

যারা 'চষি পিঠে' কোনদিনও খাওনি, তাদের বলি 'চষি পিঠে' হল চালের গুঁড়ি গরম জলে মেখে, প্রদীপের সলতে পাকানোর মত লেই পাকিয়ে দুধে ফোটানো। না আছে নারকোলের ব্যবহার, না আছে ক্ষীর করার ঝঞ্ঝাট। খেতে দুধ পুলি বা সেদ্ধ পুলির তুলনায় একেবারেই নস্যি।

আরও মনে পড়ে, বাড়িতে প্রায় তিনদিন ধরে পিঠে খাওয়া হত। একদিন গরম গরম সেদ্ধ পিঠে পয়রা গুড় দিয়ে, সাথে মুগ সামালি, পাটিসাপ্টা, পরের দিন গোকুল পিঠে ও রস বড়া, আর তার পরের দিন আমাদের রাঙালু খাওয়ানোর জন্য রাঙালুর পিঠে ও পায়েস, সরু চাকলি ও 'মৌ-ঝোলানি গুড়'। নারকোল নিয়ে আসা হত সু্দূর চব্বিশ পরগণার দাদুর বাড়ি অথবা মাসিদের বাড়ি থেকে, তখন দুর্গাপুরে নারকোল গাছ পাওয়া খুবই দুষ্কর ছিল আর বাজারে নারকোল ধরা-ছোঁয়ার বাইরে ছিল। গুড় অবশ্য বাবা কোথা থেকে আনতেন, উনিই জানতেন, তবে সেই গুড় নানা ভাবে বহুদিন খাওয়া হত। এমন ভাবেই খাওয়া হত যাতে অনেকদিন পর্য্যন্ত খাওয়া যেত। প্রথম দিকে পয়রা গুড় যাকে জলীয় অবস্থার নলেন গুড় বলা হয়, সেটা সেদ্ধ পিঠে দিয়ে খাওয়া হত, সেই গুড়ই বাবা পরের দিকে জল দিয়ে ফুটিয়ে ফুটিয়ে খাওয়াতেন 'মৌ-ঝোলানি' গুড় বলে চালিয়ে। তখন এই কাণ্ড-কারখানায় হাসতাম, এখন বুঝতে পারি নিম্ন মধ্যবিত্ত পরিবারে সখ ও সাধ্যের মেলবন্ধন ঘটানো হত এই কর্মকাণ্ডের মধ্যে দিয়ে। বাবা হয়ত নিজের ছোটবেলায় যা পাননি, পারেননি,  সেটাই পেতে চাইতেন, পারতে চাইতেন।

বাবার এই পৌষ-সঙ্ক্রান্তি নিয়ে ছেলেমানুষিটাকে যোগ্য সঙ্গত করতেন আমার মা। ওপর ওপর রাগ দেখালেও, বাবা যা যা পিঠে খেতে চাইতেন, তাই  তৈরি করে খাওয়াতেন উনি। বাবা আসকে পিঠে খাওয়ারও ফরমায়েশ করতেন মাঝে মধ্যে, কিন্তু বাড়িতে মাটির সরা না থাকার দরুন মা ইডলি বানিয়ে খাওয়াতেন, মনে আছে। বাবার এই আসকে পিঠে খাওয়ার বাড়াবাড়ি নিয়ে আমরা বাবার অনুপস্থিতিতে কোনসময় হেসে উঠলে মা বলতেন বাবার ছোটবেলার পিঠে খেতে না পাওয়ার কাহিনী। অভাবের সংসারে তখন এই বচ্ছরকার দিনে ঠাকুমা আসকে পিঠেই তৈরি করতে সক্ষম ছিলেন, গুড়-নারকোল ছিল সত্যি সত্যি মহার্ঘ্য। তাই জন্যই হয়ত বাবা, সঙ্ক্রান্তির দিনে উচ্চস্তরের পিঠেদের সাথে নিজের ছোটবেলার সেই যত্ন নিয়ে স্বল্পাড়ম্বরে গড়া আসকে পিঠেকেও চেখে দেখতে চাইতেন। সেই মাটির বাড়িতে বেড়ে ওঠার সাধারণ দুঃখ দুর্দশার দিনগুলোকে তুলনামূলক সচ্ছলতার দিনগুলোর সাথে একাসনে বসাতে চাইতেন, হয়ত বা।

সেই বেড়ে ওঠার দিনগুলোয়, কেন জানিনা, এই সম্বৎসরের পিঠে - উৎসব আমার কোনমতেই ভাল লাগত না। মানুষ বোধহয় সহজে যা পায়, তাকেই হেলাফেলা করে। আমারও ছিল তাই অবস্থা। বাংলার পৌষ-পার্ব্বণের অভাব প্রথম বোধ করতে শুরু করি যখন চাকরিসুত্রে ঝাড়খণ্ডে থাকতে শুরু করি। মনে আছে, সেবার, যখন পৌষ-সঙ্ক্রান্তির পর কোন এক দীর্ঘ ছুটিতে কলকাতায় এসেছিলাম, মাকে বলেছিলাম পিঠে করে খাওয়াতে। পরম মমতায় স্পর্শ করেছিলাম উষ্ণ সেদ্ধ পিঠেগুলোকে, খেতে খেতে এক লহমায় যেন পৌঁছে গেছিলাম দুর্গাপুরের কোন এক পৌষের সন্ধেতে।

না ফেরার দেশে পারি দেওয়ার আগেও মা খাইয়েছিলেন রাঙালুর ভাজা পুলির পায়েস ও নতুন গুড়ের পায়েস। পিঠে গড়ার পাঠও দিতে চেয়েছিলেন তিনি। কিন্তু, নিতান্ত আলসেমি ও স্বল্প ধৈর্য্যের জন্য আমি কোনদিনও শিখে নেবার চেষ্টাই করিনি। মন ভেবেছিল, মা তো আছেই, আর শেখার কি দরকার? তখন যদি মন জানত যে মায়ের যাবার সময় হয়ে গেছে, তাহলে হয়ত শিখে নিতাম, নিশ্চই শিখে নিতাম।

স্মৃতির বাগান

দূর্গাপুরের এম এ এম সি টাউনশিপের অন্তর্গত বি-ওয়ান ১০৭/২ কোয়ার্টারের ছড়ানো বাগানে তখন অবাধ বিচরণ করা যেত। আম, কাঁঠাল, পেঁপে, পেয়ারার গাছেরা ছিল বন্ধু গাছ। শত্রু গাছ ও ছিল, - বাসক পাতার গাছ - ঘনঘন ঠাণ্ডা লাগার কারণে গিলতে হত তেতো পাঁচন। উপরোনোর চেষ্টা চলেছিল পুরোদমে - কিন্তু ছোট ছোট হাতের জোর কে সে অবজ্ঞা করে বেড়ে চলছিল।শীতকালে কিছু মরশুমি ফুলের দল আসত পরিযায়ী পাখিদের মত। আর পাখী - নাঃ শালিখ ছাড়া আর কিছু মন দিয়ে খোঁজা হয়নি তখন।

একদিন সেই বাগানে এক অশীতিপর বৃদ্ধ মালী - সন্তোষ কাকুর আবির্ভাব হল। বাগানটাই বেবাক বদলে গেল। সজনে গাছের ওই পারে আলু, পালং শাক, মেথি শাক বোনা শুরু হল, বেগুন, টমেটো ও কাঁচালঙ্কাও লাগানো হল। কিন্তু সেই ক্ষেতের আলের ওপর দিয়ে হাঁটতে ভয় করত - কি জানি কোন শাকটার ব্যাথা লেগে যায়। বাগান টা ছিল সন্তোষ কাকুর প্রাণ। সারাদিন খাটতে পারতেন আর বেলা পড়ে এলে দিতেন গাছের সারের হদিশ। বাবা মা যখন ওঁর সাথে একসাথে চা খেতে খেতে ওঁর সাথে গাছ নিয়ে আড্ডা মারতেন আর সময় পেলেই ওঁর সাথে গাছের পরিচর্যা করতে লেগে যেতেন, খুব মজা হত - শ্রেণীসমতার সেই প্রথম পাঠ - হাতেকলমে। ...

বাবা মায়ের ষ্টীলের চায়ের কাপের ধূমায়িত চায়ের কোন ভাগ ছিল না, ভাগ ছিল টায়ের চানাচুর ও মুড়িমাখায়। আর, আর ভাগ ছিল গল্পের, আলোচনায়। অধিকার ছিল মতামত দেওয়ার ও শোনার। আধ ঘণ্টার চা পানে হঠাৎ বড় হয়ে যাবার একটা আকর্ষন।

চা পানেরও অধিকার যখন পাওয়া গেল, তখন বদলে গেল বাসস্থান। আরেকটা কোয়ার্টার, - সি ডি ১১১/১। মা চেয়েছিল বাগান করার বিস্তর যায়গা আর আলো হাওয়ার অবাধ যাতায়াত, তাই বাছা হল এই কোয়ার্টার। তাও পুরোনো কোয়ার্টারের মায়া কাটানো গেল না। নতুন বাসস্থানের বাগানে ছিল কাঁকর, বালি ও সিমেন্টের অবশেষ। কেউ বা কারা যেন বেছে বেছে এই যায়গাটাতেই সিমেণ্টের মশলা তৈরি করত, তারা আসার আগে। অশীতিপর সন্তোষ কাকু তখন নবতিপর। হাতের জোর কমে গেলেও মনে কঠিন সঙ্কল্প, - বাগানটিকে আবার মনের মত করে তুলবেন। মনের মত বাগানে যখন ফুল ও সবজি ফলতে শুরু করলো, তিনি বাগানের মায়া কাটিয়ে পাড়ি দিলেন না ফেরার দেশে।

আরও আরও পরে সেই বাগান আর বাগান থাকে না। অনেককাল পরে যখন যাওয়া হল তখন সেই বাগানে আগাছার বন। গবাদি পশুদের নন্দনকানন। সেই বাড়ির বাসিন্দারা সেই ছোট্ট শহরের স্মৃতি বুকে জমিয়ে রেখে বড় শহরে পাড়ি দিয়েছিল অনেকবছর আগে - আরও বড় হওয়ার তাগিদে। তারা বড় হয়েও শিকড় জমিয়ে রাখল সেই  ১০৭/২ তেই। আরও বড় বাগান, আরও বড় বপুর ১১১/১ তাদের মন জয় করতে পারেনি, পারবেও না কোনদিন। তবে ১১১/১ রেখে দেবে তাদের বড় হবার স্বপ্নদের, আশাদের, আকাঙ্খাদের।

Decembers in Durgapur

December is indeed a special month to me since my childhood days. Being a student of a catholic convent school, I grew up singing Christmas carols and participating in the school fests celebrating the birth of Christ. The December fest in school used to begin with the quintessential play on the birth of Lord Jesus and then went on with each class presenting their thoughts on Christmas with songs, skits and dances. The selections for the participants used to begin from November though we knew beforehand who would play Jesus's parents, angels, three kings and so on. I always got selected in the song crew and felt safe because the singers did not have to look for fancy clothes as they did not had to perform on stage. We would huddle beside the piano with our music teacher.

Only once there was a break from this routine. I was chosen as a participant in group dance with the song 'Saviour's day'. How on earth did my teachers chose me, the person with two left feet as a dancer makes me wonder till date. But I enjoyed the rehearsals and the performance nevertheless.

Apart from the stage performances, there were the soft boards and cork boards to decorate for the Christmas theme. There were 'Cribs' or the models representing birthplace of Christ. On my last year in school, we were asked to think about innovative themes on 'Crib Making'. The group with which I worked on making crib thought about a globe frame with the usual Christmas scene. Now, how much we were dedicated in Christ devotion and how much we craved for roaming around and bunking classes, we only knew. Everyday, we used to plan an excuse and bunked the subject period we did not liked to study. Our frantic runnings here and there to arrange for equipments even carved soft corners in the teachers' hearts, including the teachers and sisters we were scared of.

All these hullaballoo on Christmas ended by 20th December every year and our winter vacations commenced.  The garden in my quarter's backyard would be in full bloom with seasonal flowering plants by then. There were white 'December Beauties', red Poppies and Gerberas, multicoloured Zinnias, Marigolds, Chrysanthemums, Dahlias and Roses. The wintry holidays would start with observing my parents watering the plants in the garden. Occasionally, they would point the waterpipes towards me in jest making me running around the garden to save myself from the cold water droplets. There would be the fragrance of brewing coffees and bakings of cakes and nan khatais all over the household. There would be me and my brother lazing with the storybooks under the warm blankets amidst the sweet whiffs of baked goodies. There would be my mother knitting sweaters with multi-coloured wools while father would be pulling a joke or two on the structures of the knitted sweaters. The orange peels would be out in the garden for sun-drying. The sun-dried ones would be sorted for making a grounded powder essence for the orange cakes we would be carrying in our lunch boxes for the next few months. The evenings would be reserved for family tea time, the only time of the year when we were allowed to taste the specially blended black tea made by father or a mug of coffee to beat the chills.

As the days passed, the fragrances weakened signalling the reopening of school after the vacation. My mother would start to check our notebooks to find out whether we had been completing the vacation homework. A spurt of scolding would continue to resonate the air instead of the baking fragrances. The last days of December would go in frenzy yet we would be scribbling my homeworks till the very morning the school started again.

Reminiscing the Giridih Winters

I love this nip around the air when the winter begins to announce its arrival. I also miss the winters spent in Giridih and Durgapur. When I think about the winters in Durgapur, I become nostalgic about my childhood and my mother's cooking. The very dishes which she cooked then made us frown and cut sorry faces but now we can only imagine the aromas and stay elated the rest of the day. I will reminisce the Durgapur winters some other day as today my heart is going back to Giridih.
The city...maybe we should better call it a small town became a sleepy head by 9 PM every winter day with the chilly air and the evening azaans ruling over. The mornings would begin from 4 AM with the early morning azaan. I loved to wake up to hear this particular azaan and had set up my clock alarm accordingly. Neither I am a religious person nor I am an expert in Arabic but I could relate to the mesmerizing voice of the person who called out the azaan during this time every day. I felt that the person was actually calling out to the God he believed, in the same way we told our dear ones to come and stay with us. By the time the azaan finished, I would be holding my tea mug and thinking about the day that lay ahead.
The days when I was a student in a B.Ed college in Giridih and spending study leaves, my winter days would often go experimenting different dishes on my new induction oven. The winter lunches which I made only for myself were mostly risottos and stews to be eaten while I watched the Jeremy Brett's Sherlock Holmes series. The dinners would be lavish, very north Indian or very Chinese. We had everything ranging from Rajma Chawal to the Chholes to the Mixed Chowmeins to the Chilly Chickens. The sundays would be strictly reserved for Pulaos and Chicken. The chicken which I detest now was a delicacy then as the assorted vegetables which were available in the winter months gave us less opportunity to become non vegetarians with chickens and eggs. Fishes were a rare visitor in our Giridih house as the fresh ones were not easily available.
The winter evenings were spent on coffee mugs, the hand made, indigenous espressos and the seasons of 'The Big Bang Theory'. When the lights went out, we would play around with the waxes of the thick candles discussing on philosphies, life, travels, perspectives and the people of Giridih. Yes, we discussed on Giridih people because their compositions were very new to us. They appeared unwelcoming and welcoming at the same time. We tried to match our exposures and education with them, but gave away eventually and embraced the proverbial saying 'Ignorance is bliss'.
I have forgotten the people who appeared unwelcoming. What I remember now are the winters, the food experiments, the colourful vegetable markets where the tribal people would come to sell their crops, some friendships we made with some unforgettable, humble and gentle people and the morning azaan. I have seen ridiculous caste discriminations and heard about the dowry categories there in Giridih, but what I still carry in my mind is an imaginary image of the chilly Giridih mornings, the person calling out a welcome to his God and I standing still in my balcony with a piping hot tea mug in my hands.

Far from the Madding Beach

For a person smitten by wanderlust, even a minuscule opportunity of packing the knapsack and hitting off the roads would not go ungrabbed. So, this time, during a long weekend, we went to very humble Puri beach. All we wanted was to spend some moments of rendezvous with the rains, mildewed weather and the gay sea breeze.

On reaching Puri, we were quite taken aback to see the rowdy crowd there, not that we didn't know that no person would sit at home and waste the opportunity of not going to the nearby sea beach, but never expected the heavily populated and madding sea beach. There the ocean roared during high tides, and here the people jostled with selfie sticks as if they haven't been to a sea beach and they need to capture each and every moment of their community bathing! We, too, swayed  around and swept with the waves, as if the time had stopped, felt the sea breeze and the towing under currents sweeping the soil under our feet and had 'daaber jol' afterwards.

Our next stop was the 'Wild Grass Restaurant'. We were quite hungry and excited to taste local cuisine and made it a point that we should go somewhere offering different from the ubiquitous 'Bengali Food Available' flashed restaurants. As we seated ourselves in the quaint table, the menu book whetted our appetite with the coastal cuisines. The food was absolutely delicious, very local, very different. Yes! That's what we had wanted. I was just flipping through the menu book to find out any other hidden treasure in the form of food and caught hold of the advertisement of the cycle tours around the city. In the midst of having the crab curry, we contacted the concerned person and the next moment we knew that we are going on a cycling trip the next evening.

I spent the night quite anxiously, to be true. I had cycled about 15 years ago. I know every nuances of cycling but I was out of practice. There was a also a scare of heavy rainfall and storms the next evening. Amidst the scare, we got ready and went to the 'Wild Grass' again to meet our guide and the cycles which were arranged for us. After a short wait, the cycles were ready and my fellow companions started practicing with them. As I started, my legs began to tremble. Just when I was thinking of giving up the try, I found the balance and happily pedalled away ahead of my other friends. The road was smooth with the sides enshrouded with the wet, green trees till we reached the entrance of the Balukhand Sanctuary. As the name Balukhand suggests, we were greeted by a small tract of 'balu' or 'sand just on our way and we had to get down from our cycles. After we crossed the tract on foot with the cycles on our sides, there was a red gravel laden path ahead of us tearing away a wood of cashewnut and casuarina trees. Our guide explained us about the social forestry programme taking place here and how the Odisha government is trying to bring the tribal people on its fold by assigning them responsibilities to take care of the sanctuary and the short stretch of an enclosed beach skirting the sanctuary.

The gravelly path can be called 'a green mile' for the sheets of greenery spreading on both the sides. The sheets looked greener in the month of August for the bounty of rainfall blessing them intermittently. There was a scare of rainfall too, as we cycled away towards the enclosed beach, but the rain gods decided to take a break that evening and spare the novice-out of practice-bicycle riders. The path was steep on a few stretches and my legs started to show signs of tiredness. I continued with a determination to not stop and then after a few metres I noticed that I was losing balance. I didn't know how I fell, but I found myself smeared with red dust. Brushing away the dust, I rode the cycle once again and did not stop till I reached the beach. And what a landscape it was!

The beach had no crowd, it was full of natural sand dunes and the sand looked blandly golden with the rays of the setting sun. Bland, because, the sky was still cloudy. We sat for a while, stretched our legs and saw the sea ahead of us. The waves had started to lose the blue hue. The roar had started to calm down. The surging waves had started to subside and waved us goodbye as we rode back on our cycles and headed back.

A surprise awaited us as we rode on our way back through the National Highway. Our guide told us to stop in front of a roadside eatery for a tea break. Fresh cottage cheese and 'dal pakouri' or lentil fritters were served to us along with the tea. Our guide apologized to us as he could not arrange 'chhana pora' or a type of local cheesecake. He looked sorry, but we assured him that we were overwhelmed to taste the fresh cottage cheese and the spicy dal pakouris and we can ride a few more kilometres with a new zeal.

The return journey was eventless save the fact that I fell down again trying to save a street dog. As we returned to our hotel, our bodies ached but our minds returned rejuvenated. Sometimes, simple joys can feel you with childlike exuberance and breathe in new oxygen to you to tide on over the mundane life until you can venture out again to satiate your wanderlust.

P.S:
Name of our guide: Mr. Yugabrata Kar.
He is a member of Puri Cycling Club and conduct cycling tours through different trails in Puri.
We took part in Nature trail. The other trails are namely Village trails and Puri Heritage Trails.
Contact Details:
Mobile Number: +91 9437023656
Email id: bubu@heritagetoursorissa.com
Or,
Visit Wild Grass Restaurant, Puri and they will contact you to the person.

Photography Courtesy: Avik Das, Sudip Basak.
Disclaimer: Please do not copy any of the information without giving due credit to the photo owners and the blog owner.

বয়স তখন চার পেরিয়েছে কি পেরোয়নি। একদিন সকালে যোগীন্দ্রনাথ সরকার এর 'হাসিখুশি' পড়ছি, হঠাৎ মা এসে আমাকে 'আনন্দমেলা' পত্রিকাটি হাতে দিয়ে বললেন "পড় দেখি। পড়তে অসুবিধে হলে বলিস।" আমার মনে তখন যুদ্ধজয়ের আনন্দ। মনে হচ্ছিল যেন আচমকা বড় হয়ে গেলাম। মনে হওয়ার কারণ ও ছিল। 'আনন্দমেলা' বাড়িতে এলেই প্রথমে দাদা পড়ত, তারপর মা ও বাবা, আর আমি শুধু প্রচ্ছদ এর ছবি দেখতাম পড়তে পারতাম না বলে। স্বরবর্ণ ও ব্যাঞ্জনবর্ণ পরিচয় সম্পুর্ণ হতেই 'হাসিখুসি' ও 'আনন্দমেলা' য় উত্তরণ যখন ঘটল তখনও কিন্তু আমি যুক্তাক্ষর পড়তে পারি না, যেখানে আটকায়, বাবা, মা বা দাদা কে দেখিয়ে নি। গল্প পড়ার আকর্ষণে তখন কোন বাধাই বাধা নয়। ইংরেজি মাধ্যম স্কুলে পড়াশুনো শুরু করি। সব বই ইংরেজি তে লেখা। মন টা হাঁফিয়ে উঠত। বাংলা বিষয়ের পাঠ্যবই টা নিয়ে পড়ে যেতাম টানা। বাড়িতে ইংরেজি বলা নিষিদ্ধ ছিল মায়ের আদেশে। বাবা যদিও বা নিজে ইংরেজি বই পড়তেন, আমাদের খুব একটা উৎসাহ দিতেন না ইংরেজি পড়তে, বলতেন, "সেই ত পড়বি ই, বাংলা গল্পের বই গুলো আরো মজার।" ক্রমে বড় হলাম। বাংলার শিশুসাহিত্য ও কিশোরসাহিত্যের সব বই ই মোটামুটি পড়া হয়ে গেছে এরকম অবস্থায় পড়তে শুরু করলাম বঙ্কিমচন্দ্র চট্টোপাধ্যায় এর 'দূর্গেশনন্দিনী'। সত্যি বলতে কি, কোন রসাস্বাদন করতে পারলাম না। হয়ত, আমার ই বিফলতা। ফিরে গেলাম রবীন্দ্রনাথের গল্পগুচ্ছে, নাটকে, ও উপন্যাসে। পড়লাম আরও অনেক প্রথিতযশা সাহিত্যিকদের অবিস্মরণীয় সব সৃষ্টি। ইংরেজি গল্পের বইও হাতে এল, পড়লাম। পড়তে পড়তে বুঝলাম কেন এতদিন ইংরেজি বই আমাদের কাছে ব্রাত্য করে রাখা হয়েছিল। আমাদের অভিভাবকরা ভেবেছিলেন যে আমাদের সাহিত্যানুরাগী করে তুলতে গেলে মাতৃভাষাকে সম্মান করতে শেখাতে হবে। নিজের ভাষাকে ভাল না বাসলে অন্য ভাষাকে ভালবাসা যায় না। বলা বাহুল্য, তাঁরা তাঁদের ভাবনায় সঠিক ছিলেন।
ইদানিং, আমি ইংরেজিতে লিখি। ইংরেজি তে লিখতে স্বাচ্ছন্দ্য বোধ করি। কিন্তু বাংলা না জানলে আমি ইংরেজিকেও ভালবাসতে পারতাম না। তবে আজও, বাংলা ও ইংরেজি তে লেখা পাশাপাশি দুটো বই থাকলে বেছে নি বাংলায় লেখা বইটিই। বাংলা ভাষায় লেখা গল্প, উপন্যাস ও রম্যরচনায় পাই মাতৃস্নেহের পরশ।