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.

Adding Angles!

Well, This is to start a new phase in my blog... Apart from my life history and the lessons which I have learnt in life, I would like to make my blog more informative. This week there will be posts on the Health sector as well as some of my stories.

Age 8 - Class III

1995.

The memory associated with that year is perhaps not among the happy lot.

I loved leading the class - and was good at minding the class. Mind you, keeping the class quiet was not an easy job. But over the last few years - I became the trusted one for the teachers. I was friends' with everyone making things easier. I wanted to become the captain of the class. But it wasn't going to be an easy task this time.

The year started with the arrival of a new guy - Satyabrata. We immediately became friends. He also had a natural flair for leadership and had many of the qualities you would want your friend to have. He was good in sports and in academics too. His influence grew in the class - he was loved by the teachers and was made my deputy as vice-captain soon after.

One day, our teacher announced that the captain of the class had to be chosen. I was sure that I would, as usual, be the uncontested winner of the post. To my surprise, Satyabrata came forward and said he wanted to handle the class. He had his supporters in the class who backed him up. But even I had my friends - my loyal friends- who came forward to tell the teacher that they wanted me to be their leader.

The teacher announced "ELECTION" next day!

That night, I couldn't sleep. For the first time, I felt someone challenging my position in the class. Over the years, I had developed an image of a "Leader" and thought Satyabrata had done very wrong in challenging me. From then on, my thinking changed direction. A feud was born - he wasn't a friend for me anymore.

I wish I could explain how ashamed I am, to think of it now.

The voting started... I won by a landslide margin. Satyabrata remained my deputy. After the victory, I took it as a challenge to mind the class. Things became different. I started complaining every students' doings to the teacher. I was starting to lose the charm, the authority I used to have before. I didn't realize one thing - that more you try to hold back someone, the more he tries to free himself. What was leadership before, was slowly becoming tyranny.

That was when God intervened.

It was a very hot day when it happened. There was no teacher in the class. I had ordered the class - "Heads down"! My friend Pranab was sitting in the last bench - at a distance from the fan. He lifted his head and started fanning himself with a copy. He was my best friend and thought he could enjoy some priviledges - but I was normal no more. I told him to get back to head down position - he smiled back at me - thinking it to be a joke from my side. I used to be strict within rational limits - but not anymore. I did the unthinkable. I threw the hard wooden duster straight on his face.

It struck him in the lips. He didn't even try to move out of the way. He never even thought I could do such a thing. There was a general murmur of dissent but quitened everyone by saying that anyone who would talk would meet the same consequences. I was blinded by the power that was given to me. Pranab didn't say anything. Wiping his tears, he looked at me in the eyes.

The message got home.

The next day I was back to my old form. I was lively and showed the characteristics which had made me their leader. Life returned to normal. I never said sorry to Pranab but I think he knows I am. I began to love and be loved by everyone in the class.

Now that I think of it, I realize God has amazing ways of making us learn. He showed up in Pranab's eyes that day. I don't know how the message was transferred to my brain. Why I wept in shame the whole of that night.

There are times in life when you are at a certain "UP". Things go your way and everything becomes easier. I think that is the time you got to be the most careful. That is time when you start to relax your ideals and your spirit. Sailing in high winds needs guts but keeping the ship in the right direction in calm seas is also important.

Don't get carried away in any situation - I was lucky that God showed me the way that day.

Dad says "Never be over confident".

What do you think?

Age 7- Class II

Cricket.

I love to play cricket. Everybody does. There is so much magic in this game that you just can't help falling in love with it. Being the youngest in a group of good cricketers- cricket was no more a game for me... It was a challenge.

Just besides my residence, we have a nice field- it wasn't very big but I believe it was always enough to play cricket on. Though I never told anyone, I would always be internally upset with Ramen Da and Jethai for using a part of the field for farming purposes!! But, I realized cricket is best played under space-constraints for it makes you fight for every single run.

Our stumps were the small pillars of the garage in my cousin's place. A line in brilliant red was drawn with a broken piece of brick- it marked the bails on the stumps. We had space on the leg side while the off side was blocked by a wire-mesh. To hit a boundary we had to hit the ball hard - straight down the ground - oh! even Sachin would be proud to see the upright elbows while we played the on-drives to perfection at times!

But life wasn't very easy on the cricket field for me. I was the youngest one in a group consisting of Rishi (my bro), Dabs (my cousin), Ramen Da, Uttam and yea, Mintu Da. Mintu Da is my neighbour and by relation, he is my uncle though his age defied the normal "oldness" we associate with uncles!

Mintu Da had the "nakhra" about him- he would always create a fuss before coming to play. I could never really understand why. We all had to call him so many times before he showed up- You could think we were calling a Glen McGrath!

Anyway, our bright cosco ball got lost when Uttam hit a rash shot over the top which ofcourse meant one thing - OUT. "Blinder"- we used to call him. We were left with a hard tennis ball, the one which kinda really hurt when it hit the body. I came in to bat.

I can still remember Mintu Da standing like a tower in the bowlers' crease. For a moment or two, I was nervous. He was much taller than me - I knew where he was going to aim at : my skull.
The fielders were brought closer. I could feel the heat. Everyone was waiting to pick up a catch. Mintu Da ran hard and banged the ball in the middle of the pitch.

WHish! I could almost hear the ball zoom by the side of my ear as I ducked. Next ball : Fast. Same place. Same result. The ball was aimed at my head- I couldn't do anything. The fielders were all clapping, waiting for me to play a awkward jumping shot and get out. The next ball was over pitched. I didn't lose a breath and smashed it hard. The effort I put in the shot was a sort of denial to be bounced out- a mixture of cricket and anger!... It hit the middle of the bat, the cover drive was played to near perfection!

CLack: my jethai's flower pot were reduced to smithreens!!!

After a mini break (consisting of trying to hide earth from the broken pot!), we resumed. I had to face Dabs next. He also tried his best to throw his bouncers, I somehow managed to play the overs out. Smashed two boundaries, a "three" and took a few runs too! Rishi was a trickster with his wily off breaks, I lolled up an easy catch back to the bowler while trying to flick it down the legside. But I wasn't out as yet - being the youngest allowed me the priviledge of playing for two wickets.. I hated to get out, really. I guess I still have the same "problem".

Being an "elle-belle", which meant I was too young to play - made me furious at times. I wanted to prove myself, that I was old enough to play with everyone, that I could fend off the bouncers, that I didn't have to "mercied" upon. That day, I did it. I stood up and did it that day.

It is also mentionable here that I picked up my first wicket in the following days. It was that of Uttam. He gave a leading edge back to me - I took a clean catch under the watchful eyes of every player. The wonderful feeling of grabbing that catch followed by a loud cheer from everyone still lingers on my mind. Uttam created a ruckus - he couldn't believe getting out in an "elle-belle" bowler's delivery!

After so many years, Sitting in the verandah of my home when I go back from hostel, these memories seem to take me back to those times. When we would all be together. Now, time and space have created distances between all of us, the great players... I wonder when we will be playing again, if ever... will I ever get that feeling of nostalgia after successfully fending off the bouncers....I wonder.

The cricket in our "campus" was a teacher for me. In life, you remember an event when it teaches you something - there is a lesson hidden in every event we face in our life. That is what we call experience, isnt it?

Cricket in our gully taught me too. I didn't realize it then, though now that I think of it, it taught me to - Fight. Fighting against the odds. Facing the bouncers.

Dad says "Life is not a bed of roses... You have to fight it out..."

what do you think?

Age 6- for Koka (Grandpa)

September, 1993.

There was a hustle in our home. Grandpa(Koka) was not well. All my uncles and aunts and my cousins were tense and worried. I was just six years old - nobody told me what was wrong. I just knew Koka was sick. I was in oblivion of the magnitude of his illness.

September 13.

I was with my brother in school waiting for Dad to come and pick us up. We waited for quite sometime before we saw "Mintu" Aita coming towards us. Aita is how we refer to grandma. As for the "Mintu" part - I shall be explaining in the upcoming blogs.

I knew something was wrong seeing the grim expression on her face. Rishi (my elder bro) was already losing his grip on himself. He was asking Aita whether Koka was allright, I remember Aita just remaining mum and telling us to be patient.

The sight of Ranjit peha (my uncle) trying hard to fight back tears as we got down from the rickety rickshaw was shocking. I had never experienced something like that before. We were guided in to a mass of mourning people. People who I loved, who loved me - I couldn't register in my mind about what had gone wrong. Ma took me to Koka's room - He was covered with a white cloth upto his neck. Aita was crying. Some people were hysterical, others trying to lessen the sorrow by weeping quitely. I was not quite sure about what to do. Ma told me to pray for Koka, so I prayed.

After sometime, I saw Rishi crying and crying in Ma's shoulders. I wondered why. I still remember asking with curiousity - "Why is everyone crying, Rishi.....???" He told me Koka was no more. I asked him what that meant. He said Koka was going to a place from where He couldn't come back. I didn't ask anything more. I wandered about in the house not knowing what to think. To tell you the truth, I actually did not feel bad because I thought ...." Whats the matter if Koka doesnt come back...we can always go there...isnt it...???"..Koka used to tease me for being very thin - I thought I would show him my muscles whenever I go to the place where He had gone to...

The following days saw everyone coming together like never before. There were a flurry of guests. School was forgotten much to my happiness. I felt as if it was a party going on.

Now, when I think of it, I feel guilty at times for not feeling sad at the time when I should have. I really love Koka. He likes to read report cards and is very enthusiastic about sports. You must be thinking why I am using present tense. This is because I still prefer to think of him as gone to someplace far, a place where I will meet him oneday for sure. And mind it, the fact that I love my Grandpa will never be in past tense.

Some years later, Dad put a name plate on our verandah. Koka's name plate still remains. I wonder when I will be qualified enough to put my name plate too. But I know one thing for sure- no matter how many degrees I get in future, Koka -Mr. RamPrasanna Das, MA, LLB will still be heading our Japorigog home.

Last november, my Aita also left to where Koka had gone 14 years before. I wept in my hostel room for the whole night. In the morning, there were no more tears - because I decided to change the perception of the whole matter. It was still so comforting to think of Aita gone to some place far away. It is as if she is in Australia or maybe somewhere in Venus. And I and all our relatives, will go there one day and there will be a big celebration when we all reach!

Dad explains it- short and simple... The show must go on.

What do you think?

Age 6 - Class I

The year 1993 marked an important phase in my life. I had reached a "numbered" class after all- and also, I was allowed to wear full pants to school!

Class I. March. I was supposed to be a big boy now. After a normal day in class, the sound of the bell was welcomed by all the students with a loud cheer. Packing our bags to go back home after a tiring days' class would make unseen energy rip out in our veins- we were fast, excited and most importantly, HAPPY! That day was no different. I was ready with my heavy bag to go home and waited in the front porch for Ramen Da. Ramen Da used to work in our place and was assigned to the duty of bringing me back from school.

But something went horribly wrong that day. One by one, all the students left the porch with their parents and guardians. There was no sign of Ramen Da. What had initially been an anger over Ramen Da for being late, turned to despair. I thought about the darkness that was going to engulf the building, the unseen terrors that would be eating me up. I waited and waited - in vain.

Then impulsively, I made a decision I would go back home by myself. It was better than waiting in the darkness, I thought. The teachers also left. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I started on my adventure. First, I had to think of the road - first I would be crossing the AIDC building and had to turn left after I crossed the bridge.

But Dad had warned me about kidnappers. They were supposed to be innocent looking men offering choclates. What if they caught me? I was worried. I decided to load my pockets with two big stones, just in case. With heavy pockets, a heavy bag and a heavier mind, I left the school building. Outside, there were lots of people. I was wondering which one of them would now kidnap me off. Tension, fear gripped me while trying to keep the tears away. I didn't want anyone to think I was weak. After travelling alone for about 5 minutes, a hand gripped on my shoulder.

My breath went out. My heart seemed to stop. I couldn't bear to look. I felt someone lift me up. I cried out. "Rohit...What are you doing here...Why are you alone..." I opened my eyes - my teacher was there. I wept. And wept. She showered me with kisses and carried me to the nearest shop to give a cadburys'! She took me back to the school building- only to find a red-faced flustered Ramen Da! Ramen Da as usual had forgotten his ID card and had to return home to get it.

The adventure ended in the right spirit... I now realize there is more to it than a childish experience. That was the first time I found how much I loved to be home.

I believe HOME is all there is in life, isnt it? If I am right, We all work, do whatever we do, just to have a HOME for ourselves. A location where we don't feel lost in a place where there is just a crowd of lonely people.

Think about it.

Age 5 - KG

KG. Kilogram. Thats what I thought it to be when I got into Class KG. It took me lots and lots of time to realize it was kindergarden not kilogram!

The teacher had written with red ink in my nursery report card - "He is a talkative boy..." Talkative. It was a matter of interest at home with grandpa and dad teased me about it. KG was the first class where I really made friends. Friends who I remember even today. There was Pranab Barua, the shy joking fella, who was in my "Gang" apart from Sabhyasachi and Haimanta Dawar. We were the big bosses in the class- the "good" gang while there was a team of "bad" gang lead by a guy called Biswajit.

Just a bit of interesting trivia for you.... Sabhyasachi is another name for Arjuna from the MAHABHARAT legend... the name sabhyasachi was conferred upon Arjuna because of his ability to shoot arrows with both his hands.. But my friend did not have such luck- he didnt have a bow nor was he ambidextrous!

I dont remember much of Class KG. There was however one incident which has stuck in my mind.

One day, the teacher did not come to class. There was a huge ruckus. every one was shouting and playing and causing a big tantrum. I was the captain of the class. Being "captain" was a matter of honour and I felt responsible for the whole class. Maybe there was a part of me which loved to lead, which loved to be responsible for everything.
The noise in the classroom was like a bone in my throat. I tried to keep everything in control but in vain. Biswajit and his gang were doing their best to amplify the noise....

All of a sudden the teacher came in from nowhere.

There was pin-drop silence in the class. No one moved a muscle. The teacher gave everyone a good hearing and told us that she was not feeling well. She moved out of the class.

5 Seconds passed.

The tantrum started again. Biswajit was in top form trying to re-create the havoc. I jumped into action. I shouted out loud, as loud as i could "Madam LOOK AT BISWAJIT..."

The teacher came back. A bamboo cane was in her hand. I looked at Biswajit and then towards my teacher.

"Rohit, come here" - the teacher shouted. I was astonished to hear my name being called. " I could hear your voice shouting... You are the main culprit...she banged. I pleaded my innocence. My heart beat stopped for a moment. This couldn't be true. I was trying to do good...

The stick came down hard about 5 times. I could only hold back tears and really not understanding why God was unfair....

This incident had a big impact in my life. It signified that everytime you do right, you don't get your returns immediately. Speaking the truth could lead to trouble at times. But that trouble is worth taking. n yes, truth makes everthing very simple - telling a lie could mean telling a hundred more lies in support of the first one, leading to unnecessary complications.

I am proud to remember that I tried to do good that day.

What do you say?

Age 4- First School

It was back in the year 1990 when I was first sent to school. The previous years of my life basically consisted of running about in my home nourished by cerelac and ofcourse lots of love! Then at last, I was thought to be old enough to visit school in that tender age by my parents.

I was very proud when the announcement of "He's going to go to SCHOOL" was made in my home. Pride blossomed in my heart and with chest held high - i told everyone around -" Look, i am not a baby anymore, see...i am going to school!"

Atlast the fateful day arrived. The uniform of Disneyland High School was neatly pressed and ready. With the happiness of becoming a "Big Boy" and the wonder of making friends, I took the lead when dad led me through the gates of the school. School was a nice place. Lots of children were crying on the first day. Some were busy chatting. Some sang, others danced! I sat in the first bench watching other kids with awe. I had never seen so many people of my age! The teachers after the initial warmth and showers of love, then took out the rhymes book....it was Humpty Dumpty from then on....

The important thing was that i didnt shed a single tear on the first day. School had seemed like a party.

the next morning, it was different.

The thing that made me cause a tantrum and cry bucketful of tears till the teacher had to lift me in her lap and console me was that "I had to come to school DAILY"...the "Daily" thing was that which hurt most! No more of running around the house, no more chasing the ducks in the campus, no more freedom... Lots of precious tears were wasted in vain that day trying to persuade ma and dad that I din't want to come everyday. I am not ready, i tried to make them understand. They din't tell me anything- just smiled, and with a peck on my cheeks, sent me to school again. Well, I couldnt do a thing- n yea, u guessed it rite, Life changed after that.

After 16 years now, I wonder sometimes the innocence of that young heart which was so free of worries, so tension free.

I would give anything to have happiness like those days again. Would you?

What this blog is all about!

uWell, this blog will take you through a tour of my life- all the ups and downs- and ofcourse the plains too, when nothing was up or down!!! Happy reading! and your comments will be most welcome!