FRIENDSHIP

(Inspired from a real-life story)

In the quiet of their cozy living room, Amit’s wife, Priya, broke the news to him one evening over a cup of tea. “We’ve received an invitation for a wedding next Saturday,” she said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Amit took the invitation from her outstretched hand and examined it. The names of the couple, Ruhi and Niladri Srivastava, adorned the elegant card in calligraphy. As he glanced at the groom’s name, something caught his attention. “Niladri,” he mused aloud, “that’s a bit unusual for a North Indian family, isn’t it?”

Priya nodded in agreement; her curiosity piqued by her husband’s observation. A couple of days later, she shared this conversation with her friend who had extended the invitation. In response, her friend revealed a fascinating tale behind the name.

The story unfolded in the historic city of Agra, where Niladri Srivastava’s family hailed from. His father had shared a deep bond with a childhood friend named Niladri Mukherjee. Both had navigated the corridors of school together, dreaming of illustrious futures.

Their aspirations led them to apply to the Indian Army, a noble pursuit that echoed their sense of duty and patriotism. Fate, however, intervened on the day of their interviews. While Niladri Mukherjee secured a spot in the prestigious ranks of the military, his friend faced a setback.

During his journey to the interview, Amit’s wife explained, Niladri Srivastava’s father encountered a mishap. His luggage went missing along the way, and in the eyes of the selectors, this misfortune was a mark against his suitability for service. Thus, he was denied entry into the Army.

Undeterred by this twist of fate, Niladri Srivastava’s father moved towards a career in law, carving a path of success and prosperity in Agra’s legal circles. Meanwhile, Niladri Mukherjee was called to serve in the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971.

Tragically, news arrived of Niladri Mukherjee’s heroic sacrifice in the line of duty. Overwhelmed by grief yet determined to honor his dear friend’s memory, Niladri Srivastava’s father chose to name his son after the fallen hero.

As Priya recounted this poignant tale to Amit, they both felt a profound sense of connection to the upcoming wedding. Beyond the celebration of love and union, it was a tribute to friendship, sacrifice, and the enduring bonds that shape our lives.

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Taxi Driver

The winters in Delhi and adjoining areas seemed at its fiercest on this day in the first week of January. Alighting at Badhkal Metro late one evening, Moni decided to book herself an Ola/Uber to reach home instead of the usual auto rickshaw which often lacks in protective elements from the weather.

Soon an Ola arrived to pick her. Moni was relieved and was happy that she would now reach her home comfortably within the next 15-20 minutes.

The cabbie was a rather chatty guy. Soon he opened up about a recent predicament he had faced while answering a booked call.

A particular woman had booked him from Badhkal a few days back for a destination within Faridabad. However, after she had boarded the cab, the cabbie found that she had changed the destination to Gurugram.

The cabbie was now in a fix. He didn’t want to go to the Millennium city on this wintry night as he lived in Ballabhgarh and only did the night job limiting himself to driving within the geographical area of Faridabad.

What could be done? On this desolate stretch to Gurugram from Faridabad leaving a woman alone is not without its risks. What if she raises a din and calls the cops? Who would believe a cabbie like him? The law is always in favor of women. Reluctantly he continued to head towards Gurugram.

The woman passenger was engaged on her phone throughout the journey. From the conversation that ensued between the woman and the person on the other end the cabbie ended up with a gut feeling that the woman seated behind him could be debauched.

Fog dimmed visibility on the Faridabad-Gurugram road. This stretch sees a great many heavy vehicle speeding at such unearthly hours. Driving with extreme caution our cabbie managed to reach Gurugram and dropped the lady passenger at her destination. It was nearing midnight and our man was fearful about the return journey to Ballabhgarh via Faridabad. He decided to sleep in the car and informed his home that he wouldn’t be returning that night. He moved to the nearby Gurugram rail station a much safer place. A bone chilling eerie feeling gripped him as he reached the Railway station. He slept in the car for some hours that night.

He came back home at the crack of dawn, lured by the idea of trudging carefully on the deserted roads, punctuated by thick woods in the distance where wildlife roamed…the woman by then was a wisp of a memory, what remained was a gnawing uneasiness, the realisation that he was alone, a solitary driver, trying to make sense of his journey which he thought might come to an abrupt end. Only the sight of a gigantic Hanuman mandir, by the time he reached Sainik colony in Faridabad made him feel alive, all over again.

Moni too reached her home soon after the full narration of the incident. I heard about it from her. I hope this remain a solitary experience in his life. A few more such incidents can affect the psyche of the cabbie. That’s how the Travis Bickles are born.

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Loss of Inheritance

My wife wants to take a break during the Durga Pujas this year. Her boss has promised to give her a few days off during this major festival of the Bengalis. She has plans to visit Patiala for a day, pick up sonny, and visit Amritsar for a couple of days. So far, so good. The only stumbling block in the realization of her plan is yours truly.

I have a strong affinity for Durga Puja. More than four decades later, as I reminisce about the Durga Pujas spent in Shillong in a joint family with many uncles, aunts, cousins, and friends, they appear to me laden with good memories and the best times I have had in my life. What I truly miss now is something that transpires on the final day of the festival viz., Vijaya Dashami. After the immersion of the Goddess in the Umkrah River at Polo, at home followed a ritual of tying ‘Aparajita’ on our hands. All the members of the family would gather in the living room and a custom of receiving blessings from elders and touching of their feet was a permanent fixture every year. Four decades later, most of the elders now reside only in memories, and are showering their blessings on us from their heavenly abode.

My son has grown up in Faridabad. Unlike Shillong where all Hindus join in the celebration of Durga Puja and a festive atmosphere permeates the whole town, the celebration in the place where my son has spent his life is almost non-existent except for a few small pockets where Bengalis reside and have set up community pandals or they celebrate it in their Kali Mandir. Often to make it worse during his school days he had often had to write exams in his school which were scheduled on the days when Durga Puja was in its phase of importance.

As I ponder over my childhood and that of my son specifically with respect to the most important festival in the calendar of a Bengali Hindu I feel the breakup of the joint family system, the demands of survivability and aspiration inherent in humans, and a lack of slackness on the part of the family to infuse a sense of affinity towards the positive sides of their heritage are making our children drift from the values of their roots. I don’t think my son will ever experience what it means to have your family around you during the most festive of times. Therefore, it’s imperative for the family members to come together once a year and reinforce their familial ties and celebrate the joyous festival with conviviality in the center.

You may be wondering why I am averse to traveling during Durga Puja. It’s probably because I still romanticize the good days of my childhood during those festive days when we would be spoilt with gifts and pocket money by our elders and a relaxation of the discipline of returning home within a fixed time. I would rather sit at home now and watch the celebration of the Goddess across the globe on the television screen, visit a few pandals in NCR, and hopefully remember my forefathers, father, Uncle and Aunt and friends who have left their mortal existence yet are inextricably linked to my being.

May Maa Durga bring happiness in the lives of all and ward off evils that seem to have gripped human beings across the globe.

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Embers

Wake up,it’s morning!”

The familiar call greeted Ashok to begin his day. Ashok works in a multinational software company. His days remain hectic, as he holds key responsibilities in his organization. It has been a long journey for him, from being a small town boy, to becoming one of the top bosses in his company. It has been ages since he had visited the place where he grew up, Shillong, which had a bearing on his being and success.

“Wake up,it’s morning!”

The place where Ashok grew up occupied a special place in his heart.
Rani had a similar pull at his heartstrings. Ashok and Rani sat by the fireplace. In his beloved place reminiscing their life journey. They have been married for close to three decades now. Their children are well-settled in life in different corners of the globe.

“Wake up,it’s morning!”

Leaving Shillong to move towards mainland India was difficult for Ashok. He loved the place of his childhood. But his wife Rani who was from the mainland was instrumental in their shifting base from the hill town. They both worked hard in their new place and provided for their family. Their grown-up children are doing well for themselves. Ashok and Rani have called it a day in their career. Enjoying their retirement days, they have booked into the prominent hotel Cherrywood in the city. One of the final wishes of Ashok’s father who passed away in the mainland was to visit and stay for a few days in their own home in this city. But alas, that was not to be. Sitting by the fireside, Ashok and Rani recalled this fervent desire of the departed soul.

“Wake up, it’s morning!”

Ashok would have loved his children to experience the beauty of Shillong in some ways that he had enjoyed during his youth. The scenic surroundings, the bustling and happening Police Bazar, the good education that the city offered, the air-conditioned environment throughout the year, and the pitter-patter on the tin roofed houses, and so many others. Things to die for.

“Wake up, it’s morning!”

Ashok has not been successful to pass on his love for his place of belonging to his children. Their ancestral home was sold off several years back, and their trips to the place have lessened over the years. Even the state of unrest have often contributed towards their ambivalence of visiting when the opportunity arose.

The fireplace has dimmed considerably, and gradually on the way towards getting extinguished. Ashok pointed the same to Rani and said that it needed a replenishment.
The embers should not be allowed to black out the remnants of the fire that remains.

“Wake up, it’s morning!”

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Mr. Bharat

“Will the train on this track go to Kashmere Gate?”

I replied in the affirmative. The platform was quiet, and I was waiting for the metro. The man with the query sat down by my sides. He felt happy to know that I was bound for Faridabad. He informed me, in his Haryanvi dialect, that he was going to Ballabhgarh. For the uninitiated, Ballabhgarh is adjacent to Faridabad and the same metro train has to be taken to reach destination. He revealed that this was the first time he would be taking the metro.

Unlike the etiquette that chains an urban guy, this simpleton opened up about his experiences to a stranger like me rather instantly. He castigated the metro authorities and thereafter the government of the biggest Indian state for demanding Rs 10 from him for the essential act of peeing. He declared that everyone in that state is a ‘chor’, and out to fleece the common people, and that his home state Haryana is so much better in these respects. He gleefully told me that he had quarreled with the guy demanding ten rupee from him, and managed to avoid the payment. With this savings, he intends to have two ‘mirchi kachoris’ from a vendor in Ballabhgarh.

He sat at some distance from me in the train, but I kept peering at him intermittently. He was moving his palm from the shoulder down his hands. Alighting at Kashmere Gate, I lost track of him. When I descended a level, and was heading towards the platform for the next metro to Faridabad, I again caught sight of him, asking people of the way to the Ballabhgarh platform. I beckoned him to follow me. He was happy to see me again, and readily started following me. I took the escalator to go to the next lower level. Still two more levels have to be descended. After a while, when I had taken the escalator, I looked back and saw him struggling and uneasy with the downward movement of the automated device. I could not foresee it, else I would have done the handholding bit. Watching his bumbling act could have easily provided fodder to a comic actor like Jacques Tati and Mr Bean. I told him to balance himself with a hand at one of the sides and to stand still. He did as told and managed to reach the floor beneath.

Still a floor have to be descended. At this level, there was an option of use of an escalator and a flight of steps downwards. Seeing his earlier experience, I suggested he take the steps. He felt so relieved and immediately went down breaking into a jig towards the end. Some fellow commuters on the escalator who saw him go down the steps made a comment on his earlier act on the escalator. I told them that this was his first experience of using the

escalator.

I showed him the platform from which he could take the metro. I told him to skip the one for Badarpur, and take the one for Raja Nahar Singh. “Woh kaise pata chalega?” (How would I Know), he asked. As I was about to reply, I saw a train bound for Raja Nahar Singh arrive at the platform. I told him to board the same.

When I alighted at my stop, he was still sitting at a corner engrossed in his own world. I hope he could manage to get down at his destination. Such encounters are refreshing to have to experience the feelings of a section of society still untouched from the grip of modern automation.

Primal Fear

Unquestionably these are difficult times. I have never seen such a nightmare unfolding ever before in my existence of over half a century on this planet. Hope all of us return to normalcy and carefree days of pre-2020 soon.. I want to put on record something that happened yesterday that has never happened before. Lest we forget once things gets better. My sixteen years old son desperately implored to me that I should look for jobs abroad. He probably feels that his father is so good that foreign jobs are there for the asking . Okay, back now to something serious. Hearing some of his close school friend’s near and dear ones succumbing to the pandemic has instilled a deep rooted fear in him. He didn’t say this in that many words, but I could sense that he’s fearful that his country and those that governs it are incompetent to protect him and his family. Locked up for months now in their homes, these children are facing tremendous mental issues. We need to be cautious…

Flux

Srijit caught Sandhya watery-eyed during their morning walk. He implicitly understood the reason, and comforted Sandhya saying “We’ve an arduous struggle ahead!” Soon they made their way back home.

A decade back they had struggled to get their child Sushanto admitted to the ‘best school in the city’ and Sandhya had felt elation at the bright prospect of a good schooling for her son. Sushanto excelled in studies and co-curricular activities alike during his primary classes.

The boy was extrovert by nature and appeared to be popular in the neighborhood. On a few occasions, Srijit was told by some of his neighbours that they in fact knew him only as the father of Sushanto. Srijit took pride in those assertions. He worked in a Software company and generally liked keeping to himself.

Like a normal boy in the neighborhood Sushanto went out every evening to play games with his ever growing number of friends. His return to home, at times on late hours, led to much consternation and disquiet in his family. Being the sole child of a working couple, Sushanto had a reasonably cushy childhood and had access to almost everything that a normal middle class family could afford to provide their children with. At times probably even in excess to their limitations.

Unlike his parents and family, and under the influence of the prevailing societal conditions, Sushanto’s outlook towards success in life began centering on affluence, flashy cars and all the modern gizmos and amenities that life can offer in these modern times. One day, while accompanying his dad in their small car, he was found ducking the gaze of a friend by hiding himself in a low position. He later revealed to his father that he felt ashamed of their small family car. Gradually the needs and wants of Sushanto began to grow manifold leading to disharmony in the family life on a continual basis. The discomfiture of Srijit was all the more because he came from a humble background and never ever resorted to blackmailing his parents to coerce them to buy things that would fall in the category of luxury. One such outburst had led to the situation in which Srijit found Sandhya this morning during their walk.

Recently Srijit had experienced a dream. In it his deceased father, who loved his grandson immensely and vice-versa, cautioned him not to attribute ‘their failure’ on his affectionate grand-son who is NOT obstinate. The couple did ruminate on the prevailing situation and proferred counsel to mend ways to their ‘special’ one but their ‘outdated’ viewpoint had failed miserably to provide ‘course corrections.’

Srijit and Sandhya had never envisioned that ‘Parenthood’ could be this challenging …

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Shillong and its Seasons

I have spent more than three decades in ‘Scotland of the East.’ Today when I question myself “What do the seasons of the place where you grew up mean to you?” a probing inquiry is made to elicit an answer out of yours truly and the following is the outcome.
Spring- The initial days in the Academic calendar of school; new text and exercise books that had to be neatly maintained; getting acclimatized to new teachers in the new class; a shift from cricket to football (or even hockey) to be played after school hours in the field in the vicinity; the Bihu festivities for close to a week near our house in the month of April in Forest Colony with colorful Bihu dances & singing and drama programmes in the evenings; the strong winds that occasionally lashed the town during the month of March that has since disappeared in the past several years. The above are a few associations with spring.
Monsoon- Did we ever have a marked Monsoon season? It rained throughout the year; whether it was April or October. I love the rains; nothing really matches the feeling you experience when drops create a pitter-patter sound on the tin roofs of the house; of course it is a messy affair when you’re out of the house and return home drenched. And your concerned Ma would come running with towels and a fresh set of clothes. Sometimes the rains would continue unabated for days; this resulted in water entering some of the houses in the low lying areas in Polo causing much discomfort to several families. Never heard of loss to human lives though during the season when the rivers were often in spate. The exquisite sound of hails hitting the tin roofs and the feeling that aroused from touching the fallen ones later is a fond recollection.
Autumn- Some clearing of the sky, less rain; it meant we could spend time out playing games or visiting cinema halls or Polo Grounds to watch a game of soccer. Roaming aimlessly in Police Bazaar admiring everything under the sky was another option left which we availed of frequently. And if you have a rupee or two in your pocket, a treat of chai and singaras from Guptas or UP Restaurant or Indian Diary, for recharging the batteries. The cherry blossoms are a real treat for the eyes; add to that the approaching Durga Pujas, and the season can compete with all the others in the allure.
Winter- I love the winters in Shillong; immediately after Diwali there’s a nip in the air; people return to their houses early and the streets are quite deserted. We used to have a community cleaning drive of our locality once a year around this time before Christmas – from every house there would be a few representatives who would actively participate in the cleaning drive; this is not surprising because Shillong is among the cleanest city in the country. The Christmas spirit and New Year pervades during Dec-Jan. The procession of young boys and girls (and a few elders at the rear) going around in our colony singing ‘We wish you a merry Christmas’ filled the air with a touch of divinity. It was also a period when we visited places across India; no studies meant that we could read story books and comics without feeling guilty. The Oranges dangling on the trees in many houses lined along the roads of the city and the spread of white on the green grass and tin roofs in the first couple of hours in the morning owing to frost are still imprinted in memory.
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A Memorable Incident

A particular happening remains etched in memory forever. Back in the nineties, I was working in NEHU. The Center for Science Education @ Bijni Complex was running an introductory course on computers for students. I was involved in taking some of the classes in the course. The students came from different background.
After a week or two of classes, one day a particular student approached me after the class. He had a small bag with him. He handed me the bag and said “Sir, this is for you. I come from a farmer’s family. We live on the outskirts of Shillong. This is a produce from our field. Kindly accept them.”
I couldn’t refuse. I was really touched, and felt happy that I did teaching …

Open Screenings, Videos and Circus

Back in the eighties, there were several other mediums of entertainment besides the regular cinema houses in Shillong. I recall there used to be screenings of films in certain ‘open area’ where a large crowd could assemble and watch the film gratis. At Reserve Police Ground in Thana Road and Buddha Mandir ground in Polo, we had such free screenings during festivals mostly.
We used to have video parlours which screened the latest blockbusters much before it was released on the big screen in the cinema halls of shillong. One favorite haunt of us used to be the video parlour besides Payal Cinema. I remember watching video screenings of latest films like ‘Mahaan’ and ‘Swami Dada’ in the most unlikely of places – inside Jail Road Boys High School. I don’t know who used to screen/organize these shows on Sundays probably in the school.
A Circus had come to Shillong and staged shows in Polo Grounds in the winters of 1982 …
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