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Nostalgia Dairies, the Reminiscences...

The sentimental crooner

Harmonium slung over the neck, he would hum old Bengali devotional lines,Pataki bole ki go eto asha bhalo hoy, tobe keno papi eto asha kore roy walking meditatively along the serene, cold evenings of the locality of Shillong, lazily entering the household to a warm welcome, especially the pious lady of the house. Elders and young alike would gather around him as he would sit on a bed cross legged comfortably on a sukhasana pose, all along singing without a pause till that number hit it’s final notes. Some break, steaming cups of tea and snacks later, he would sing along,’Tumi nirmolo koro, mongolo koro molino mormo muchaye‘ eyes half shut,fully engrossed with the emotion of the song, elders humming together, especially the pious lady, who would pick up the notes with ease and sing in high octaves………..

………..The house that he would visit often was a medium sized Assam Type house, perched neatly on the flowery slopes of a large compound, a stepped pathway leading to the frontal veranda from the serpentine hilly road shaded with tall pine trees, and a burbling wide rocky stream flowing with pride far below the compound on the other side, another hilly path separating the stream. Verdant thickly growing pine trees cascading through a chain of hills lay beyond the stream, an invitation to an eye full feast of greenery as far as the far horizon. The locality was almost entirely inhabited by Employees of the then Assam Government which, as a mark of honor, was named after the then Chief Minister of Assam, Late Bishnu Ram Medhi, who, during his tenure, had been instrumental in allotting land to these employees in this part of Shillong Town. ……

……….He would visit most frequently, summer or winter, even during rainy season, a large umbrella protecting his slung instrument, covered with oilcloth, and hum along meditatively, pitter patter on his umbrella accentuating the melody in his tune. Incessant rain on the tin roof, the rat-a-tat, the humid shadows hovering, the melancholy darkness, the weeping rainy tears! Oh! what a bliss it was to let go the voice in soulful abandon.

He was a man in his late thirties, a bachelor, a civil engineer by profession employed with Central Public Works Department at Shillong. Always clad in a spotlessly white dhoti and kurta, warm coat and a muffler, a dark complexioned man, his face always wore a deeply meditative expression as if engrossed with the sublime lyrics of some devotional song his mind would be humming silently.His employment was only a means for his upkeep, had no inclination at all in mundane matters like career growth, was fully at peace with the job at hand! His only passion was deep spiritual fulfillment, devotional singing being his pathway towards attainment of that nirvana. He would be awake before the small hours of dawn, take a cold bath after morning rituals and practice rewaj with his harmonium for hours together, oblivious to the hours ticking by, his reverie often to be broken with knocks on his door by the house owner, to remind him that he would be late for office.

The lady of the house, the crooner, would often visit, was a pious women, in her late forties, somewhat bent from her waist upwards, effect of daily cooking for her large family, on a earthen chullah, fumes rising from burning wood, often wet. In the midst of such drudgery, her very young sons, mostly the youngest two among her many children, would often pester her for meals, oblivious to their mother’s suffering. The lady would try to ignore her nagging acute back pain, hurrying to prepare her childrens’ favorite dishes, hungry that her sons were! Not that back pain was her only ailment, arthritic symptoms had also developed causing frequent pain in her knee joints, not to speak of the prominent goitre in her ivory neck.

The lady was not an early riser, every night she would be the last to go to bed, having taken care of her religious husband and children, the eldest among whom would often return home very late, after office, passing time among his huge friend circle. The lady would wait patiently till his return late at night, even after everyone else in the household had had their supper, herself remaining unfed. Her elder daughters would very often help their mother, but they had their academic studies to cope up. Even among so many household works, the lady would make out some spare time, after an afternoon nap, to practice and sing soulfully her favorite songs in her age old harmonium, an instrument that accompanied her with her Stree dhan. That besides, she would also weave on her hand loom colorful traditional fabrics, would be knitting with a woolen ball during whatever little time she could manage. The lady was a store house of many a talents, would often concoct medicinal herbs, collecting from plants and outgrowth that grew abundantly in the spacious compound of her household. At times, she would be preparing ‘Tikki’s and “Tamak” ( a fire aid for use in hookahs prepared by mixing and drying small rounded pastes of burnt wooden charcoal and cow dung! “tamak’, a fermented mixture of finely cut tobacco leaves with juice of molasses ) for her husband who was a Hookah addict. The lady was a pious woman, would often remain in meditation, eyes closed, tears rolling down her cheeks, as she prayed in her Puja, oblivious to her surroundings, an everyday inevitable regimen. As time passed by, her practice of singing gradually grew erratic, the daily rigor added with deteriorating health, especially the goiter in her throat often posing difficulties.

Her husband too was a devout person, would be awake very early, and while still in bed, invoke hymns of Sanskrit slokas and sing prayers every morning as a ritual. He was a dark complexioned man, lean and thin and was in his late fifties. An overused small edition of the Gita was his constant companion, in the pocket of his old coat, the pocket being home to an assortment of paper pieces, some very old that had long lost their utility, others of recent necessity. The other pocket carried a bazaar bag, folded over sized to somehow fit into the bulging pocket which was already half full with other utilities. Almost every evening, after office hours, it was his habit to visit Burra Bazaar (Iwduh), and would walk long way home with a bag full.

Saturday evenings were evenings of musical soiree. Saturdays were half holidays, office would be closed by early afternoon, and some enthusiastic employees would also prepone their own closing hours suitably, but the sentimental crooner was a disciplinarian too, he would leave his workplace only after the working hours were over for the day. And would hurry towards his quarters to sling his harmonium over his neck, humming all along the winding narrow roads, oblivious to the bemused curious onlookers. Late afternoon Sun would hover over the horizon, mischievous clouds playing hide and seek, the chill gusts of wind causing him to tighten up his muffler and coat, as he would saunter into the expectant household, with evening darkness thickening. He would be emotional and would let go his voice with sublime delight!! Khela je phuraiye jai and then ora chahite jane na dayamoi! He would continue one after the other,khelicho e biswa loye. Chandraboli sone kusuma shoyone. Late afternoon would pass over to evening and then early night, wooden logs would crackle in the fire place, freezing wind whistling outside, creating a heady environ for a pristine musical pot potpourri. Content and free from next day’s hectic office schedule, the musical session would continue thus. The lady would intone Ekbar broje cholo brojeswara din ek duer moto.…..and continue with tumi madhur onge nachago ronge nupuro bhonge hridoye……..devotion and ardent soulful appeal to lord vibrant in her magical voice, she would sing along Ami ki aar bolibo orere badhua ki aar bolibo tore, and so on…. Aamra moloy batashe bhese jabo …..

Bomdila

The telegram arrived with the message, Havildar Bangshi Singh is under treatment at Tezpur Military Hospital for bullet wounds, desires your presence. Delivered to his elder brother, an employee of the Government of Assam, at Shillong…………..

The long standing tension between India and China over the demarcation of the Himalayan frontier came to a head on October 20, 1962 with a massive offensive by Chinese forces both in the Ladakh area of North eastern Kashmir and across the McMahon line in the North East Frontier Agency (NEFA)………….

Che Dong was no prominent land mark, or a feature of tactical importance. It was merely a cluster of herder’s huts built by Monpa tribesmen of the region. The huts lay a short distance from the spot where the boundaries of Tibet, Bhutan and India met,on the western most tip of the McMahon line, where the 33rd corps commanded by the respected Lt General Umrao Singh,on February 24, 1962, had ordered setting up of a post at the tri junction itself, among nine other posts. The Assam Rifles detachment that went to set up the post found the site unsuitable owing to its altitude and inaccessibility and instead selected Che Dong that lay on the lower slopes of a mountain range (called Tsangdhor), lying eastwards from the series of mountains that formed the tri-junction. It faced another mountain ridge (Thag La ridge) which was on a higher altitude, both ridges separated by a mountain stream, called Namka Chu, the source of which lay in north west of Che Dong among a cluster of lakes, ran a length of about 26 Kilometres in deep boulder strewn bed and dropped sharply by the time it neared another post, the Khinjemane post. The river valley was thickly wooded, movement was difficult, which was to become the theatre of a fierce battle as the conflict grew. Positioned thus on a lower altitude, the post was most vulnerable and served no tactical purpose for the Army. The post became erroneously famous as Dhola Post, established by Captain Mahabir Prasad of 1 SIKH on June 4th, 1962. …….

While this post was being set up, Major General Niranjan Prasad, the General Officer Commanding, 4th Infantry Division, questioned the officer entrusted with the task of setting up the post as to why a site shown on the north of the McMahon line was selected.

Major General Prasad was unhappy about it and made several representations from the middle of July 1962 emphasizing that it should either be withdrawn or moved forward to a tactically sound position atop Thag La Ridge, if indeed it was Indian territory. The delayed response from the Defense Ministry via Army Headquarters came on 12 September, conveying that Thag La ridge was indeed Indian territory and the Army must exercise the Country’s rights over it. The decision came too late, by then, the Chinese were already atop Thag La Ridge in strengh, with regular Peoples Liberation Army front line troops. The Indian post at Che Dong, the Dhola post, lying at a lower plane was now most vulnerable to the Chinese attack.

As it was, Thag La was important to the Chinese too. A large Tibetan village lay on its northern slopes which was an obvious site for a Chinese forward base for any operations against India in this sector. Besides, there had been trouble over the ridge earlier.

On the North- East frontier, fierce fighting ensued lasting over 24 hours.The attack on the Namka Chu positions commenced in the early hours of 20th October at 05.45 hours, which was preceded by heavy bombardment. The Chinese had infiltrated through huge gaps in the Indian defenses, thus rendering it vulnerable and were attacking downhill from higher ground behind Indian defenses. The Indian defenders were thus forced to turn around and face the attack. The telephone lines which ran along the Namka Chu were also disabled during the night. Thus the Brigade HQ was rendered incommunicado with any of its Battalions. The main thrust of the attack was faced by 2nd Rajput which was already weakened by the Chinese infiltration. The casualties suffered bear testimony to the heroic fight put up by them against overwhelming odds. Against their overall strength of 513 inclusive of all ranks deployed on Namka Chu, 282 jawans laid down their lives in supreme sacrifice, 171 soldiers were taken prisoner, among whom 81 were wounded. The fierce battle left with a meager number of 60 survivors. The Chinese too suffered heavily, their casualties being manifold compared to the Indian losses, indicating the tough fight put up by the Indian soldiers. The battle had lasted for about three hours. Thus the much smaller Indian force belonging to the 7th infantry Brigade, commanded by Brigedier John P Dalvi was overwhelmed by the better equipped and much larger Chinese forces, who had attacked in at least Divisional strength( one division comprising about 10000 troops), and the two outposts of the Indian army, namely Dhola and near by Khinzemane post were overrun. ( Brigedier J P Dalvi was taken prisoner during the assault and saw the elaborate arrangements the Chinese had already made for keeping about 3000 prisoners, indicating their sinister designs on a full scale assault much before the conflict had actually taken place).

The diamond ring

Governor house, Shillong

It was a cold December evening, Governor’s house, Shillong. Almost all the ‘who is who’ of the capital of undivided Assam were in attendance. The list includes the cabinet ministers, top bureaucrats, senior police officials, highest military, para military brass stationed in and around the capital, prominent Syiems of the Khasi Jaintia tribe ( a kind of ruler of a particular clan ) renowned citizens of Shillong, educationists and businessmen, accompanied by their spouse and special invitees of the Governor’s household coming for this exclusive occasion. Everyone maintained an appropriate dress code as was politely intimated in the invitation card itself. Soft classical music echoed in the background, the orchestra band specially invited from Calcutta were busy tuning their assortment of instruments. The Durbar hall, refurbished and adorned aesthetically in keeping with the occasion, was laid out with choicest cuisine conveniently, the bar, strategically positioned, boasted of the most exotic brands and some age old vintage wine specially imported from abroad. Turbaned spotlessly white uniformed attendants, exclusive to the kitchen of the Governor’s house, moved unobtrusively and silently among the distinguished guests serving wine. liquor, soft drinks and other choice appetizers.

The auspicious occasion was the ring ceremony of Nidhi (name changed), the only daughter of the Governor, the Pakki Misri ceremony as is called among the Sindhi community.

The Emcee( master of ceremonies) announced in her lilting voice that the proceedings of the ceremony was to begin now and that the bride and groom to be would soon be adorning the auspicious occasion. As if in queue, the bride to be, adorned in priceless jewellery and a fitting bridal attire walked down the hall gracefully, accompanied by her doting parents and all the near and dear ones. An exceptionally beautiful, tall, milky fair lady, she dazzled in her beautiful attire, almost blinding the enraptured admiring elegant guests! She was preceded by the groom to be, the son of a wealthy Sindhi family of diamond merchants from far western India, a matchingly handsome fellow, tall and elegant, walking slowly down the red carpet towards the flamboyantly decorated Mandop, accompanied by his family members, friends and dear ones. Senior ladies and young ones alike sang gaily traditional wedding songs, accompanied by dholoks and cymbals.

Seated on the raised, lavishly designed platform of the mondop, the groom and bride to be faced each other, she lowering her gaze demurely, surrounded by gaily singing aged ladies, parents and all the near and dear ones, all the invited guests gathered around the outer circle. As the groom held her left third finger to put the special diamond ring, the entire hall reverberated with thunderous applause. Nidhi instantly fell in love with the ring, a rare two carat round brilliant red diamond fitted exquisitely in shining pure gold, that caressed the milky white soft base of her finger, as if it finally found its long lost home. The ring sparkled in myriad hues, decorative chandelier illuminating the hall bouncing of the ring in rainbow dazzle! The gaiety would not stop, wedding songs reached a crescendo, everyone’s fascinated gaze riveted on the couple, the blossoming love of the magnificent duo radiated with a glow that could almost be touched!

with the ring ceremony in progress, every guest was served with choicest exquisite sindhi sweets, specially imported for the occasion.

The Emcee announced in her bewitching voice that the orchestra and the dance troupe would now be enthralling the august gathering with exotic dance numbers and that the guests were most welcome to join. And so the orchestra played along, the vocalist duo singing most popular dance numbers………

The dance troupe, with a mix of Anglo Indians, both male and female gyrated with gusto, the vibe now seeping among the thrilled milieu, impulsively prompting them to shake a few limbs!

The ladies crowding around the bride and groom to be, tapping to the beats of the music till now, could restrain themselves no longer, and compulsively whisked the gorgeous duo towards the dance floor along with them. Nidhi, an accomplished classical dancer, was equally adept at ballroom dancing and also her fiancee, who frequently moved in such circles, gracefully and flawlessly glided among the dancing milieu, pirouetting with an ease as a duck to water.

And the gaiety continued, with dinner served in between, till the wee hours of that chilling December night.

Dara singh and the school bell

‘Come one come all, Rustam-e-Hind and the great great King Kong, a never before wrestling spectacle…. come one come all, the pride of India, the great Dara singh, Randhawa versus the giant King kong…. State Library auditorium, come one come all……’

Early nineteen sixties. Shillong, the hill station capital of then undivided Assam. We were agog with excitement,wrestling bout will be organised at the State Library auditorium, renowned wrestlers of India and abroad will be taking part, among whom were the names of stalwarts like Dara Singh, Randhawa, king kong, The Mighty Mongol,Tiger Joginder Singh, the masked Firpo Zyzbsko ( Goerge Gordienko,Flash Gordon), Danny Lynch, Ski Hi Lee,Lou Thesz etc. Loudspeakers would blare through the narrow streets, ‘come one come all, Rustam-e-Hind Dara Singh and great King Kong………..’

The hailstorm

I returned home early that day. Home means my rented quarters. It was very unusual for us bankers to return early, early means there was still daylight, dusk was about to set in. Normal time to close shop was beyond evening hours, when the evening was no longer young. There was always tasks to perform, a never ending list of returns to fill, chain of queries from head quarters to answer to, other accounting works that demanded hard labor of summations of long columns of numerical figures, not to mention continuous persuasion of persons who preferred to forget repaying installments unless poked. Add to that the ever increasing demand of targets for implementation of welfare schemes that the banks were burdened with. There were other compulsions too, what with daunting targets of a milieu of abracadabra that were never achieved, only to be berated in a future meeting that the people at the helms so loved! It was a time when there was no computer, everything needed to be done manually, no SMS alert or message or whatsapp group.

The googly eyes

She was now middle aged, early sixties,I assume. She was quite charming, bordering on the beautiful in her younger days, it was evident even at this late age, A bit squat, burly and reasonably fair complexioned, she would appear quite a friendly lady to anyone who was fortunate enough to get acquainted with her. her ample curly hair, graying a bit at the temples, fell up to her waist if allowed to fall free. But her eyes, oh!! they were big, big as if covering her entire face. On first encounter, one would notice her eyes only, utterly surprised to have found you,as if! Being an incorrigible flirter, I would not miss any chance encounter to play prangs with her to see her eyes go wild.

She had another quality about her, she would not take a prank or a joke as a joke,but would rather take it seriously on face value, thus making it more enjoyable to see her anger grow in her eyes, getting wider and wider, not to mention the volley of choice expletives that would accompany her ever bigger eyes.

She was young but not so young when she got married. The groom she got married to was way older, possibly not less than 16/17 years older than her. A bit dark complexioned, he was an amiable person, already balding, of average height, twin legs shorter than the upper body giving a dwarf like impression to any one meeting him for the first time. He was also unique, unique in the sense that he had an ever smiling face, a rather bald face with snub nose, sparkling smiley eyes with a large mouth and big lips.

In the Lushai hills

It was a long, long time ago. He was fresh in a central Govt service, requiring frequent tours throughout North Eastern region. He had arrived at Aizawl in the evening, the hilly District headquarters of Lushai hills(now Mizoram), then within the State of Assam. He was assigned a survey task in a rather remote township far from Aizawl. Early the next morning, he boarded the only transport bus that would take him to his unknown destination. Almost all the co-passengers were local Lushai people, adorned in their customary costumes! snub nosed,expressionless hooded eyed that seemed stern and ferocious to his unaccustomed eyes.The bus seemed to have no fixed departure time, though it was to leave early as he was told. After a long wait, the rickety bus finally snaked its way through the zig zag pebble covered road. After a short journey, the bus was now passing through literally a nondescript road with thick forests on either side, rolling verdant hills kissing the horizon, tall ancient trees almost touching the cloudy skyline. The bus rolled along topsy-turvy, winding through the hilly terrain, picking up a reasonable speed. After covering a considerable distance, the bus slowed down, moving at a snail’s pace, as if apprehensive of some unknown danger. As the bus moved on, forests on either side appeared to grow thicker and thicker, the jungle agog with a symphony of mingled sounds of nature.Though it was day time,sunshine played hide and seek through the thick foliage, sometimes totally dark with sunlight completely blocked. The bus suddenly picked up speed, passengers abruptly jolted almost out of their seats, a matronly lady sitting a few seats behind opened her inside out, hurriedly trying to open the glass window. She belched out whatever she had inside, littering the floor below, unable to open the window in time. The bus conductor hurriedly came down, shouting some choice expletives in native dialect, shutting the window firmly, instead of opening for her convenience. Sitting in front seat, he apprehensively looked ahead, sensing that the driver seemed to be in a hurry to cross a particular stretch of the dilapidated road. The bus stopped, as suddenly as it had picked up speed, driver killing the engine completely, all passengers sitting immobile, a sense of foreboding almost palpable. looking ahead, he suddenly saw a group of wild boars dashing across the road, grunting and wailing, as if holding on to dear life. A few moments later, he fleetingly saw a big black shape blaze past in hot pursuit. Moments passed, suddenly a blood-curdling death wail reverberated through the jungle, hovering in the air for some nondescript time, then an eerie silence! A hitherto unknown primordial fear gripped him.

The passengers and driver alike continued to sit immobile, as if anticipating something more the jungle was about to unfold. A herd of elephants, led by a big one with long tasks, came into view, walking slowly and majestically across the road. They seemed to linger on, the small cub appeared to saunter towards the bus playfully. He felt his heart skip a beat, terrified lest the elephants decide to play with the bus! The mother elephant appeared to slowly nudge the cub, the herd continued walking majestically towards the jungle, then disappeared as they came.

Sadiya beckons

A  Bizarre Trip

 It was in the first part of October,on a Monday. The year was probably 2007. There was a heavy downpour the night before. As I lay in the bed listening to the sound of rainfall, I was caught up in two minds whether to undertake the journey the following morning that I had arranged earlier. As I got up in the wee hours the next morning, I found the weather bright and clean and cool. I hurriedly got ready to catch the 5.30 AM passenger train and occupied a comfortable seat by the window. Though it was early morning, the platform was abuzz with passengers, many of whom seemed to be office goers. I was told that the train generally ran on time, a favored means of communication for small traders, vendors, wage earners and office goers alike. The train started more or less in time, it was 5.40 AM. Once it started moving, I closed my eyes hoping to catch the leftover quota of sleep. I had dozed off for quite some time, when suddenly I woke up, possibly due to the absence of rhythmic movement and honk and howl of engine. The train was standing stationary in the middle of nowhere. Vendors and traders with bundles of all types of items on their heads were jumping in and out of the train. After about quarter of an hour, which seemed to be a very long interval, the behemoth slowly chugged along. The ritual continued off and on and by the time the train left Naharkatiya station, it was already 10 AM which was actually past the right time for the train to arrive at Tinsukia. I was to catch the 10:45AM scheduled ASTC bus from Tinsukia onwards further east. Now that was not possible. Why should the train which prides itself of running on time be an exception today? I asked myself. I remained blissfully ignorant of the further pitfalls that awaited me!

Mayong Magic

I was young, very young. How much? May be 9 or 10 years old. It was the month of April. though the biting cold of December, January was more than two months past, its shivering ripples spilled beyond winter. Drizzle and rain accompanied by very cold wind whistling through tall pine trees made it very gloomy with nightfall.The houses were located far apart, spacious compounds with extensive areas, separated each household. As dusk fell, the entire locality looked deserted, winding roads between far apart street lights semi dark, an aberration of long shadowy pine trees lining both sides at random accentuating the gloom. Very few souls walking, mostly people returning from office, bloated or half filled bags in one hand, umbrella in the other. Majority of the residents were government officials, with a few exceptions here and there. Vehicles a very rare site. Faint glimmer of light emanating from distant houses indicated households were still awake. But for us boys, it was an evening to get ready for another adrenaline pumping pastime, after a hard days labor! a labor of playing cricket, playing hide and seek. We played cricket often in the frontal courtyards of neighbor’s house, including ours, breaking a window pane or two now and then, the volley of invective immediately following! The next shot hit straight, avoiding the windows, expert fielders unable to catch it, the rubber ball bouncing, jumping, rolling down the slopes, far below into the adjoining drain separating the other neighbor’s vast compound. We would run down the slopes en masse, trampling on well manicured growths of brinjal, cabbage, cauliflower etc, searching in the filth and squalor of the running drain. Someone would hold out the ball shouting, palu palu( got it got it). A perfunctory rub on the grassy outgrowth, the game would resume.

On a rainy day…..

It was a day in the month of July. The year was probably 2011. The sky was overcast with dark clouds, a heavy downpour was imminent. Me and wife were on our way to the airport. Our daughter was arriving around 2.30 pm from New Delhi. Summer vacation!

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