AMBARI AITA

AITA

I sit on my desk trying to recollect about my dear Aita. Images come in my head. Flashes of memories. It is as if, a wonderful tale of success, nurtured with love, unfolds in front of my eyes.
My earliest recollection goes back to the time when I was a small kid eagerly waiting to hear Aita’s bed-time stories. She puts powder on my back and begins her lullaby-cum-story of Lord Krishna coupled with rhythmic patting. I drift off to sleep, thinking of horses, maces and the whirling Sudarshan Chakra.
Right from childhood till her last days, Ambari Aita, as I used to call her, used to tell us stories from the Bhagwad Gita and teachings of Sankardeva. The depth of her knowledge of the sacred texts, topped with the art of story-telling created a rare blend which stretched my imagination and understanding to infinite horizons.
As time went by, I listened to tales of the old Ambari household from my mother. I was, and still am, overwhelmed to know about the wisdom and brilliance of Ambari Koka in all spheres of activity and the perpetual love of Ambari Aita. I came to know about her sacrifices for everyone in the family and appreciate her success in nurturing small kids into distinguished and respectable persons. It is worthwhile to mention that not only my mamas’ and my mother but also many others, who are now top-notch executives, must attribute an important part of their success as a result of the care and love they received from Aita.

There are certain things which tend to grow with age. Aita’s love for all of us is one such thing. Each time you go up those stairs to Aita;s room in the Ambari home, you’ll always be greeted with a smile – a smile that came right from her heart. She would fumble with the remote to turn off the tv and the happiness on her face would reflect back on you. She would always make you feel welcome. This quality of hers, the ability to love one and all, the ability to honestly care for others, is the one I appreciate the most. You may be a vegetable vendor or a CEO, she would treat you with so much affection, that deep-down you’ll realize that you cherish knowing such a lady.

An article on Aita would be very incomplete if I failed to mention her culinary skills. I remember the times when she would sit in a chair in the kitchen and provide direction to the cooking. She is a terrific cook and I bet, that everyone who knows her, has been treated to a sumptuous meal. I guess my mother and my mamis’ and also some others have learned some important tips of her craft as they are excellent cooks in their own right too.

Achar or pickle was Aita’s specialty. Starting from the common mango pickle to the yummy fish pickle, she had amazing range of recipes for a variety of pickles. Rice, dal and her pickle would make an excellent combination at any meal, any day. Sometimes I wonder whether there is any special ingredient which she puts in her achars to make them so delicious. Then it clicked. She did add a special something - love. The love, with which she offered it to us, was what made it extra special.

Her inclination towards Naam is also known to everyone. When she used to sing, it was a prayer to some, music to others and a lullaby for herself. Every Friday she holds a Naam, along with Parama Atoi, and she would always have prasad waiting for us every time we go to her.

It is also worthwhile to mention that she was always well dressed and had supreme devotion to Lord Krishna. She loved going to the Dol-Gobindo temple. She always had inspiring stories from the Mahabharat and Ramayana and Sankardeva’s teachings, for all of us. She would always give me pocket-money whenever I met her. On our birthdays, she would always give us the best gift of all.


This December, I guess God got lonely. Aita got seriously ill after my brothers wedding. It seemed as if she was waiting to see her grand daughter-in-law. After I came back from Bhopal on 26th December, I saw everyone trying to keep her with us.
I thought that when my mamas’ and my mother were kids, Aita would have feared to let go of their hands when they first tried to walk but at last she had to let go and now, everyone was trying hard not to let go but after all, had to. So, on 31st December night, God took her to the heavens where she actually belongs. Up there too, I guess she must be singing lullabies and naam for God to enjoy, engulfing Him in her endless sea of love as she did all of us here.

At this juncture, let me tell you that I have used present tense in many of the sentences on purpose. It is because Aita is very much with us because she is within us.


Today, on her Adya Shraddha, I pray for her eternal peace.

May God bless us all to be able to continue her legacy of unconditional love and affection.

Pather Panchali - Experience it!

It is very cold today in Bhopal. A cool chilly breeze flows in our corridors.

We were doing what is expected of us - Sleeping under the comfort of our blankets. Basu, my roomie, brought a movie to watch. Pather Panchali. 2 hour long. At first I wondered whether it would be endurable for the full time - after all, its a 2 hour long film of the 1950's, that too in bengali. After watching so many movies in the hostel room, we had lost one thing for sure - patience. We just couldn't watch something boring for long.

The movie started and we were lost in it. The emotions and the life of the village was so well captured, you just didn't want the film to end. It was a mesmerizing experience.

Last year I had read Pather Panchali - Song of the Little Road in english. Bibhutibhushan had an amazing power of flowering hope where there seems to be the dryness of despair. Let me brief you a bit of history behind the movie as well as its legendary director, Satyajit Ray.

Pather Panchali - the movie- was directed by Satyajit Ray. Ray had no prior experience of film making. He began collecting technicians and finally managed to coax Subrata Mitra into becoming the cinematographer and Bansi chandra gupta as art director.

The story deals with the life of Harihar Roy and the tragedies which befall him in his life. It was easy for Ray or maybe Bibhutibhushan to tell this as a tale of woe. What they do, in fact, is the opposite - They project it as a tale of hope- independent of the tragedies that befall them.

I think it is impossible to write or describe the emotions that envelop the each character - Apu, Durga, Thakurani, Sorbojoya and Harihar with their neighbours - a gem of a movie.

Make sure you dont miss this one.

Age 9 - New School.

1996.

Class IV.
It introduced a new phase in my life. I was to join a new school - Kendriya Vidyalaya Maligaon. And my dear Ma was a teacher of that school.

When the announcement was made that I was to change school, I wasn't exactly sure whether I should be happy or sad... Leaving Disneyland High would be leaving all the friends I had, but it was, and is, always a good experience to explore new stuff. But all choices are not mine - I went to KVM anyhow.

I took full advantage of the fact I was going to the new school - I took a long break- a big holiday... because I stopped going to school after giving the admission test of KVM!

First day at KVM.

I was sitting in a small bench besides the Principal's chamber. There was a healthy (read fat!) guy near me - Little did I realize, we would be friends' of the first order.. ie.. forever. We had a chat - His name was Siddhartha. His mom was a teacher in KVM, just like mine. I had to join Class IV A... We both entered the class. There was a look of curiousity in everyone's eyes. I was surprised to see twins for the first time - Raktim and Pratim. I felt like a stranger.

There is a small incident I remember from that day. I wasn't sure how to put on the badge - the badge of Disneyland High was of a different mechanism. Some guys laughed at my clumsiness. I felt very odd. Then a guy, Biswajit Bhadra, came forward to help me out. I still remember the "grateful-ness" I had felt for him. The next day, I was transferred to Section B.

KVM brought a new angle to life. It was the first time I sang the National Anthem with so many students. After all these years, I realize that maybe the power behind that chorus of young voices booming in my ears sowed a small seed of love for my country.

What happened in class IV B - well, that is for my next post.

My brother told me something important when I first went to KVM. "Rohit, when you go inside this new school- u'll be known as 'madam ka beta'...I asked.."So ?"... He replied "Make sure that when you come out of school, Mom should be known as 'Rohit's Ma'.. The gravity and depth of what he said still rings in my heart.

Those words were the inspiration for me throughout my school days. It gave me an aim, a direction. When I think of it now, I realize that those words were diamonds for me. Inspiration, after all, are like diamonds - They are forever.

As I write these lines, I feel overwhelmed about how much I can derive from writing about my past.

My best friend reminds me that when we learn from our past, future takes care of itself.

What do you think?

Age 8 - Ghosts

Ghosts.

I believe, there is a thin line between the normal and the paranormal. From my young days, I have been always intrigued by the subject of ghosts and spirits. My uncle is partly responsible for lighting that little lamp in my heart - of the uncertainty that surrounds this mysterious topic.

Let me begin with what is considered to be the shortest ghost story. Whether it is fact or fiction - its just for you to decide.

Two men were talking to each other sitting on either side of a bench during a break from the morning walk in a park. Being on the opposite sides of the bench, they couldn't see each other. What started as a general conversation of the weather turned its course towards the paranormal. One of them asked the other "Do You Believe in Ghosts"?? The other guffawed - "No". He turned around to see there was no one in the bench.

I was very afraid of Ghosts. I wasn't sure about why I was afraid but still....

It was a dark night. The lights were gone and the moon was out of sight. I took up the challenge to bring bread from a nearby shop. This was to prove that I was big now - I wasn't afraid of ghosts. I got out of home muttering prayers under my breath. I decided to go quickly to the shop and get back as soon as possible. The shop was a mere 200 metres from my home still it seemed like miles away. On the way, I looked behind - on hearing footsteps. I could see a tall figure following me. I gathered up my courage and moved on. It must be a normal person - I decided.

I bought the bread and started on my way back. Halfway down the track, I could hear footsteps once again. I turned around. The same fellow was still behind me. A shiver ran down my spine - It was all over I thought.... And ran. Ran like hell. My footsteps stumbled on a pebble and I fell - flat of my face. Blood gushed out from the lips and palms. The "thing" moved nearer. Suddenly the power came back on. Light showed on the face of the man.

It was my brother.

Ma had sent him behind me just to see if I could manage on my own or not. My brother carried me back.... I silently wept, not because my hands were cut - but because I had failed. Miserably. I had become afraid.

Though I laugh at myself when I remember this incident, still the fear that groped my heart during that "olympics" run, still tintillates me.

Fear is due to ignorance, due to the unseen.

I will be posting paranormal stuff once in a while in this blog.

If you have any incident like this, do share it with me through comments and email.

Voodoo

VOODOO
It was one of those days when one could afford to brave the powerful mid-May heat of the Delhi sun. In the hustle-bustle of Lajpat Nagar, there was scramble of the pedestrians as they tried to cross the busy road. My sister-in-law held my hand tight as we crossed the road amidst an ocean of other people.
My eyes fell on some cute little pots that lay by the sides of the road. As I asked her about them, she warned - "Careful about those small pots. Don't overturn them by mistake. Some people here put bad luck in them....!"
I had once tried to go to a voodoo master in Lajpat Nagar. My mind wandered - back to those days, those times....

Voodoo has been an ancient powerful magical practice over the ages, which still held its position firm though now people have begun to doubt its powers. It has been partly due to hypocrites pretending to be voodoo-masters and possessing magical powers.
Dinabandhu Das was a scholar who had studied about ancient African practices for his PhD degree. He was a typical 50-year old Bengali. He once had a bad scooter accident in his younger days that resulted in the amputation of his left foot - A wooden Jaipur-foot had taken its place. His dress was almost always the same - the black baggy trousers, white kurta with shiny black shoes that he wore over his blend of natural and artificial feet. A Wills Filter was between his lips most of the time.

Dinabandhu had an Ahom typist working under him by the name of Clarence Gogoi. Clarence, though officially a typist, shared a passion for ancient occult practices and was quite erudite on the subject. These two were always seen by people, having long discussions, poring over old books and occasionally smoking the odd cigarette together. They hardly cared for anyone - that was partly because both of them were not tied by the ropes of marital life.
Dinabandhu, along with Clarence, had gone to Delhi to attend a month-long seminar. Accommodation was hard to come by. However, after roaming about, Dinabandhu got two rooms in a dreary old hotel in Lajpat Nagar. There, by chance, he met a Negro in the reception area, who claimed to be a Voodoo Master - one who could teach the art of Voodoo. Dinabandhu soon realized that the Negro was indeed a scholar on the subject of Voodoo practice. Nature had amazing ways to bring like-minded people together. Within a few seconds of discussion, it became clear to Clarence - Dina Da, as Clarence called him, had forgotten all about the seminar. After all, he was going to learn Voodoo from this master of African Voodoo.
After the brief, rapid discussion between the two scholars, Dinabandhu ushered Clarence back to their hotel room.
"Clarence!"
"Yes, Dina Da?"
"I am going to learn the art of Voodoo. The man I talked too is very learned on the subject. Within a short period of 3 months, if everything goes smoothly, I shall become a master of Voodoo."
"That's great, Dina da. Maybe I can keep a record of your trail of learning how to practice Voodoo?"
"I would be grateful. Only let's keep this business of tracking my developments clandestine, ok?"
"As you wish, Dina Da!"
The practice started from the next morning. Dinabandhu went to his master's room right at 7. A placard saying "No shoes inside" made him uncomfortable. He didn't like to open his shoes for then his wooden feet made a certain kind of 'thuk-thuk' sound. But still he opened his shoes and sounded a resounding knock on the door. Eagerness is a virtue every teacher wants in his students - Dinabandhu was more than eager to learn Voodoo. He was excited as a child. After all, his venture was about to start.
"Ah, you have come on time. Good!"
The room was quite dark. It was painted in maroon. A small bulb glowed in a different room from which a faint glimmer came in the room. A small fan was keeping up the circulation in the room. There was a single window, which was covered with black paper. A huge picture of a many-handed Dancing Heihitan God had been hung in the wall. Its eyes had a certain kind of glow that spoke of untold stories. The fangs in the oral cavity of the deity were quite frightening.
Dinabandhu was inside the room staring at his Master.
"Yes, Master. Can we begin?"
The master sounded out a hoarse laughter. Then gazing straight into the eyes of his student, he said, “My friend, I am not a lunatic. Nor am I a hypocrite" - His face had come near to Dinabandhu's face, his voice down to a whisper now, - "What I am going to teach you is an ancient practice. You will ruin your life if anything goes wrong. You may turn into a lunatic - even a murderer. Voodoo speaks of energy- a negative one. There will be risks at every stage of learning. Voodoo can kill...anyone, anywhere. Are you sure you want to continue?"
"Master, I am ready to face the consequences if there are any. Can we now begin?"
In the dim light, the ancient Master slowly unraveled the mysterious facts and formulation of the Voodoo cult. Dinabandhu hung onto every word. 'Concentration is the base of voodoo' - he learned. The Master told him to increase his concentration powers. He told him to start by looking hard into the eyes of the huge picture of the Heihitan God and concentrating.
In the following weeks, Dinabandhu became a master of concentration. His meals started becoming irregular and sometimes he could even survive a day without water. The Master was pleased at the progress of his student.
Meanwhile, Clarence was keeping track of the developments of his teacher.
'Dina Da is progressing wonderfully. He has now mastered the art of concentration. His meals have become irregular but I suppose I shouldn't disturb him when he is busy. But he is busy most of the time. He has become like a saint - distractions are worthless in front of him. He can even go into a trance with his eyes open these days.' He wrote in his account.
As weeks rolled into months, Dinabandhu himself was unaware that he was making rapid progress in the art of voodoo. The Master was surprised at the pace at which student was grasping the harder facts and had begun practicing them at ease. Dinabandhu could now even blow out a candle placed at quite a distance just through the power of the mind. His course was almost finished. Only the last chapters were left, which determined the actual power of the mind of the learner of the ancient cult.

That was when things began to go wrong.

It started one night when Clarence heard noises from inside the Master's room. Curious to know what had happened, he went into the room. In the dim light, he could see that a verbal argument was on the way between the two scholars. The Voodoo-Master seemed mad with fury. He was shouting out certain illegible words. Dinabandhu also was muttering certain words and was waving his hands like a madman. Suddenly, Dinabandhu was out of his trance - and was about to go out of the room when he suddenly saw Clarence peeking through the curtain.
Dinabandhu could hardly move. He could not believe that Clarence was in the same room as he. The Master's eyes had gone fiery red was he saw the intruder. Before Clarence realized, he had blacked out.
Next morning, when Clarence woke up, he remembered the previous night's happenings. He had a dim memory of a huge demon-like figure engulfing him with its many hands. Dinabandhu was awake and was smoking his Wills cigarette when Clarence walked into his room.
"Dina Da, What happened yesterday?"
"Why had you gone inside the room?"
"I heard noises. I thought you might be in trouble. So I ...."
"It was really very bad of you. The Master was transferring some powers into my mind. We weren't having a fight. What you saw inside is the energy, which incorporates evil in mind. As you disrupted this last ritual, which had to be performed to become a voodoo master, I don't know what the effects will be. Even the Master is worried. Anyone of us maybe adversely affected because of your stupid blunder."
"I am sorry, Dina Da. I promise it won't happen next time."
"If only there is a next time Clarence, if only..." He walked out letting his last sentence hang in the air.

Next morning, a man was found dead in the hotel's staircase. It was a pathetic looking scene. It seemed that all the blood of the man had been sucked out of him. He looked absolutely terrified at the time of death. It seemed he was frightened to death. Police had decided to put restriction in moving out of the hotel. They ordered his post-mortem, which showed that the man had died due to some immense pain and discomfort, the cause for which was still to be determined. A few marks of fangs were seen over his temple. Some people said they had heard a kind of thumping sound on the previous night.
Clarence tried to go and meet the Voodoo Master, but he refused to cooperate. Dinabandhu also refused to talk with him. He just kept smoking his Wills cigarette. Fear was rampant in the atmosphere of the hotel.
'There has been a Murder in the hotel. Some people have said that they had heard a thumping sound. Dina Da is not in his usual self. He is behaving strangely. He doesn't talk with me anymore. Something is terribly wrong. The Voodoo Master also looks uncomfortable. I don't know whom to blame. I also feel different at times. I don’t know what to think.’ Clarence wrote in his account.
The next night, Clarence was sleeping in his room when suddenly he heard a distinct sound of a 'thuk-thuk'. He looked out. In the dim moonlight, he saw the outline of a figure moving across the corridor. The figure was smoking a cigarette. The figure was moving right towards his room.
Clarence was trembling with excitement and fear. He jumped back to his bed and pretended to be asleep. The door of his room opened and the figure drew closer to his bed. More closer. The 'thuk-thuk' sound was prominent now. The figure leaned over him and touched his temple and Clarence felt a shiver pass through his body as if a lighting bolt had passed through him. He heard the figure muttering, “I thought so…..Yes…..”Then slowly, the figure started to go back the same way he had come. Clarence was mesmerized by the actions.
Next morning, the scholar Dinabandhu Das was found murdered in his bed. A haunting look of recognition was spread over his face. The marks of a snake's fangs were seen all over his body. He seemed to have been sucked out of his soul.
However, much to the amazement of Police, the autopsy made it clear that Dinabandhu was not a victim of snake poison. It was something else.
‘Something is very wrong. Dina Da is no more. I can’t believe it. There were fang-marks all over his body. He had come to my room yesterday night. What happened after that? My head also doesn’t feel right. I have started to think about evil things all of a sudden- I think that day something bad happened to me! Or maybe…maybe the Heihitan deity is doing this…. Maybe the Voodoo Master is responsible… Or is it I??… I will go mad soon it seems!’
The next victim was a Negro who was found dead outside his room. The Negro’s had been killed mercilessly. It seemed he had tried to resist whatever had attacked him. The room of the Negro was in tatters. Everything was thrown about. The people whose rooms were near his said that they had seen a huge picture in his room that was missing. One man said, “ He had told me that he was a voodoo master”.
After a thorough search, Police had to agree to let the occupants leave the hotel. The picture of the Heihitan God was not found.
Searching for a Voodoo-Master in one of the lesser-known streets of Lajpat Nagar, I saw a dimly lit room in the ground floor of a dirty old building.
I peeked in. A huge picture of a Heihitan deity was hanging from the wall. Curious, I went in. A bearded man with a scar of a fang in his temple was sitting behind a desk with many small pots on it.
"What do you want, child?" he asked. His canine teeth were longer than normal men, I realized.
I fled away.
I had fled not because I was afraid of Voodoo practitioners.
I fled away for I recognized the elongated canines of the man who sat behind which resembled the fangs of a snake. I had recognized the eyes, which were hauntingly the same as in the picture of the Heihitan deity.
I had fled because I had met Clarence Gogoi.