In a moment of slumber....
Of a sleepless night
In layers of dreams....
A streak of light
An endorsement
of a belief held.....
Not by logic
only felt
That all's not lost
Its never too late
To learn the trick
that'll twist the fate
We all know
Deep down inside
What all it takes
To turn the tide
Its only love
and love alone
In its purest form
If it is shown
A barrier of ice
It is bound to melt
None of your logic here
It has to be felt.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Innocence, childhood & birthday memories...
My daughter Hiya turns 5 today. We are celebrating at a nearby club, with friends and family. The motto is ~ least hassle, most enjoyment. So, Hiya in a lovely white party frock, is all set to enjoy her special day. Foods, drinks, cake, games, all ready to order. We hardly have to move a finger. The children will enjoy and so will we.
I am suddenly reminded of memories of my birthday celebrations, or rather our birthday celebration as my brother and I have our birthdays on consecutive days, and it was convenient for my mother to celebrate both our birthdays on a single day. We never grudged her that, as we were too happy with the least that we got. My mother bought each of us a packet of toffees to be distributed in school, and I used to feel on the top of the world and very special with the little bit of extra attention that I got from my friends and my teachers.
My brother on the other hand, brought 3/4th of the toffees back, every year, because, after distributing about 15-20 of them, he used to feel alarmed at their quickly dwindling numbers, and would think it wiser to stop the distribution for the day.
Back home, we each had ~ a new dress, were exempted from our daily study routine, a cake to cut, and got to play with all our 'para' friends, and cousins, who would all have been by then, invited over to our place by our PR/para savvy dadi.
After endless rounds of 'lukochuri', 'dark room'which rendered us fatigued, we would be served a fixed birthday menu (which was exactly the same, year after year) of luchi, ghugni/alurdom, and payesh. At times, ghugni/alurdom would be replaced by chicken kosha, but these instances were few and far in between.
Most of the gifts that I received were books, which I was supposed to share with my brother, and perhaps a doll, which, thankfully I did not have to.
I still remember the arrangements and preparations and planning, being done by my ma and dadi, leaning over the stove, their faces red owing to the proximity to the heat and perhaps with a bit of excitement added to it. They had very little resources, but tons of enthusiasm.
That is perhaps the factor, that I lack. Enthusiasm.....I perhaps try to make up with glitz and abundance, and end up giving a 'plastic' birthday to my children.
The question, that arises today in my mind, is that, will my children remember their childhood birthday memories, 30 years hence?? the way that I am doing now??
Am I giving them a childhood that they would like to fondly return to in memories, when life pressurizes them too much.
Perhaps, they will. Perhaps, for each individual, their childhood is unique and precious to him/her, in their own way and perhaps, I have forgotten to identify the simple pleasures and innocence of life.
I really hope that the fault lies in the way, that I am seeing things, in my comparision between two vastly different generations. I really do, both for my sake and for theirs.
I am suddenly reminded of memories of my birthday celebrations, or rather our birthday celebration as my brother and I have our birthdays on consecutive days, and it was convenient for my mother to celebrate both our birthdays on a single day. We never grudged her that, as we were too happy with the least that we got. My mother bought each of us a packet of toffees to be distributed in school, and I used to feel on the top of the world and very special with the little bit of extra attention that I got from my friends and my teachers.
My brother on the other hand, brought 3/4th of the toffees back, every year, because, after distributing about 15-20 of them, he used to feel alarmed at their quickly dwindling numbers, and would think it wiser to stop the distribution for the day.
Back home, we each had ~ a new dress, were exempted from our daily study routine, a cake to cut, and got to play with all our 'para' friends, and cousins, who would all have been by then, invited over to our place by our PR/para savvy dadi.
After endless rounds of 'lukochuri', 'dark room'which rendered us fatigued, we would be served a fixed birthday menu (which was exactly the same, year after year) of luchi, ghugni/alurdom, and payesh. At times, ghugni/alurdom would be replaced by chicken kosha, but these instances were few and far in between.
Most of the gifts that I received were books, which I was supposed to share with my brother, and perhaps a doll, which, thankfully I did not have to.
I still remember the arrangements and preparations and planning, being done by my ma and dadi, leaning over the stove, their faces red owing to the proximity to the heat and perhaps with a bit of excitement added to it. They had very little resources, but tons of enthusiasm.
That is perhaps the factor, that I lack. Enthusiasm.....I perhaps try to make up with glitz and abundance, and end up giving a 'plastic' birthday to my children.
The question, that arises today in my mind, is that, will my children remember their childhood birthday memories, 30 years hence?? the way that I am doing now??
Am I giving them a childhood that they would like to fondly return to in memories, when life pressurizes them too much.
Perhaps, they will. Perhaps, for each individual, their childhood is unique and precious to him/her, in their own way and perhaps, I have forgotten to identify the simple pleasures and innocence of life.
I really hope that the fault lies in the way, that I am seeing things, in my comparision between two vastly different generations. I really do, both for my sake and for theirs.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Gems covered in moss!
There are so many instances/moments in one's lifetime, which seem interesting perhaps at that point of time, but loses its shine, amidst the exuberance of youth, eventually...It so happens that some sort of a triggering factor, brings that memory back to the surface after ages and it is then that one starts evaluating the real value of that long forgotten particular incident...
Way back in 1992, just after my marriage. I was traveling alone by train to Satna, going there to meet my husband, who was in midst of his MD course in APS University, Rewa. I was booked into a first class compartment, with another elderly lady, and her companion, who assured my worried parents repeatedly, that I would be looked after and taken care of.
When the train left the station, and I cared to observe my companion, I noticed that she was a lady endowed with exceptional beauty, grace and poise. Throughout the 20 hours journey, true to her word, she cared for me as my mother would have. Feeding me with food that she had brought from home, slicing apples, peeling oranges for me, putting my blanket in place, when it slipped off during the night.
I got to understand that she was knowledgeable in music, from the way, she was drawing references to music, on and off during our conversations.
When the train had crossed Allahabad, and my destination was drawing close, her companion, taking the advantage of her temporary absence, asked me, if I knew, who she was. When I admitted total ignorance, she told me that I was traveling with the wife of Ustaad Ali Akbar Khan Sahaab of Maihar, of the famed Maihar gharana, and that she did not wish to be recognized. As far as I can recall, she had said that her name was Padmavati Devi.
Unfortunately, at that age, I failed to recognize the significance of that incident, as I was more eager about seeing my husband, after a few months time, and the only thing that I retained in my memory was her motherly care. However, I respected her wish of not being recognized as a celebrity/personality and disembarked at Satna, after touching her feet, with real reverence. It was at this point of time that she asked me to visit her in Maihar, which was quite close to Rewa.
I visited Maihar in a few months time, subsequently, to pray at the temple of Ma Sharada, and the thought of visiting her, did cross my mind. However, my hesitation, about whether she would recognize me at all, won over and I did not venture. Slowly with the passage of time, this particular memory, went into oblivion.
A few days back, during the course of my music lesson, My mentor, Abhirup Guhathakurta, was mentioning something about Baba Alauddin Khan, and I related this incident to him and to the rest of our group. He told me that I am blessed, and that I should pen down this incident as one of the noteworthy incidents in my life. This post is a result of his advice.
Way back in 1992, just after my marriage. I was traveling alone by train to Satna, going there to meet my husband, who was in midst of his MD course in APS University, Rewa. I was booked into a first class compartment, with another elderly lady, and her companion, who assured my worried parents repeatedly, that I would be looked after and taken care of.
When the train left the station, and I cared to observe my companion, I noticed that she was a lady endowed with exceptional beauty, grace and poise. Throughout the 20 hours journey, true to her word, she cared for me as my mother would have. Feeding me with food that she had brought from home, slicing apples, peeling oranges for me, putting my blanket in place, when it slipped off during the night.
I got to understand that she was knowledgeable in music, from the way, she was drawing references to music, on and off during our conversations.
When the train had crossed Allahabad, and my destination was drawing close, her companion, taking the advantage of her temporary absence, asked me, if I knew, who she was. When I admitted total ignorance, she told me that I was traveling with the wife of Ustaad Ali Akbar Khan Sahaab of Maihar, of the famed Maihar gharana, and that she did not wish to be recognized. As far as I can recall, she had said that her name was Padmavati Devi.
Unfortunately, at that age, I failed to recognize the significance of that incident, as I was more eager about seeing my husband, after a few months time, and the only thing that I retained in my memory was her motherly care. However, I respected her wish of not being recognized as a celebrity/personality and disembarked at Satna, after touching her feet, with real reverence. It was at this point of time that she asked me to visit her in Maihar, which was quite close to Rewa.
I visited Maihar in a few months time, subsequently, to pray at the temple of Ma Sharada, and the thought of visiting her, did cross my mind. However, my hesitation, about whether she would recognize me at all, won over and I did not venture. Slowly with the passage of time, this particular memory, went into oblivion.
A few days back, during the course of my music lesson, My mentor, Abhirup Guhathakurta, was mentioning something about Baba Alauddin Khan, and I related this incident to him and to the rest of our group. He told me that I am blessed, and that I should pen down this incident as one of the noteworthy incidents in my life. This post is a result of his advice.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Madarihat-Totopara
Barodabri is a small locality within Madarihaat subdivision of Jalpaiguri in North Bengal. Madarihaat is the gateway to the Jaldapara Wild Life Reserve, home to about 50 one-horned rhinos, and this is the place, where the West Bengal forest department has built a forest bungalow.I visited this area around the first week of August, But I think that the best time to visit this place, is late September till February, as on other times as the rains hinder the wildlife sightings, and the reserve is closed from 15th June to 14th September.
There are a sprinkling of forest dept and tourism dept bungalows in the upper Dooars region, spreading across the Coochbehar and Alipurduar districts. Another attraction of this place is the showcase of the lifestyle of the indigeneous Indo-Bhutanese tribe called the totos, found in a small enclave called Totopara, about 22 kms from Madarihaat. Anthropologists are all agreed on the view that the culture and the lifestyle as well as the language of the Totos are absolutely unique to them. They are distinctly different from the other tribes, of that area, namely the rajbanshis, which is the largest and the koch, which is of tibeto burmese origin and is presently scattered around Assam and Tripura, or the mech.
The entire Toto population is spread across 6 villages, known as Mitragaon, Subbagaon, Pujagaon, Dhumchigaon, Mandalgaon and Panchayatline(gaon). The main source of income for these people is agriculture. Pineapple, betelnut and ginger is grown in abundance. They are mainly animistic, they worship nature.Mawa or wine and roti is their staple diet.
However, the Toto tribe is severely endangered now owing to their marriage practice. They are endogamous, meaning that they marry within their tribe. This has led to genetic defects in children born out of these marriages, mainly thallasemia. The elders in the tribe are slowly becoming aware of the pitfalls of this endogamous system of marriage, and hopefully will bring about a change in their norms inorder to save the tribe from extiction. The Totos generally do not believe in divorce and live together during their engaged period to find out whether they are compatible or not as partners. If not, they go their separate ways, without much hue or cry.
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| The village School |
The entire Toto population is spread across 6 villages, known as Mitragaon, Subbagaon, Pujagaon, Dhumchigaon, Mandalgaon and Panchayatline(gaon). The main source of income for these people is agriculture. Pineapple, betelnut and ginger is grown in abundance. They are mainly animistic, they worship nature.Mawa or wine and roti is their staple diet.
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| Dry bed of the river Torsha |
Author: Jayeeta Sen Roy
22nd Sravan - Kobipronaam
Rabindranath Thakur....What can we term him??
An Icon.....Who has inspired generations......An Inspiration, that has charted a path for bengali-ism......A thought, that has penetrated the bengali psyche to such depth that we seem to carry him in our genes.....or perhaps, our soul mate........someone, who seems to understand each situation that we face and offers a solution.......someone with whom, each of us can identify.
He is so much....that it is difficult to read him, know him, understand him, fathom him, in one lifetime......He has been a Short story writer ~ Novelist ~ Poet ~ Lyricist ~ Composer ~ Painter ~ Essayist.......
But above all he has been a philosopher of the highest order.. My deepest gratitude to the man, who has held my hand in my darkest hour...and shown me the way to light......
" Noyon Chere gele choley.....
Ele Shokol majhey.....
Tomai ami harai jodi....
Tumi Harao na je....."
An Icon.....Who has inspired generations......An Inspiration, that has charted a path for bengali-ism......A thought, that has penetrated the bengali psyche to such depth that we seem to carry him in our genes.....or perhaps, our soul mate........someone, who seems to understand each situation that we face and offers a solution.......someone with whom, each of us can identify.
He is so much....that it is difficult to read him, know him, understand him, fathom him, in one lifetime......He has been a Short story writer ~ Novelist ~ Poet ~ Lyricist ~ Composer ~ Painter ~ Essayist.......
But above all he has been a philosopher of the highest order.. My deepest gratitude to the man, who has held my hand in my darkest hour...and shown me the way to light......
" Noyon Chere gele choley.....
Ele Shokol majhey.....
Tomai ami harai jodi....
Tumi Harao na je....."
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Incurable Loner.
Sharp Lights stab my eyes...blinding my vision,
I can barely feel my presence.
The music is unending, monotonous,
Lapping up the last niche of silence.
Voices of thousands form an uniform crescendo,
Defeaning me, jolting me out of my reverie.
I want to hide from myself,
I need to feel free.
Smiling, at masks, at random,
I join in the extravagance.
I reach out, towards togetherness,
Each heart, each hand, seems at an unfathomable distance.
Lack of warmth...blurred faces,
Hover on the fringe of darkness.
They fail to light up my soul....touch my heart,
Or cure my loneliness.
I can barely feel my presence.
The music is unending, monotonous,
Lapping up the last niche of silence.
Voices of thousands form an uniform crescendo,
Defeaning me, jolting me out of my reverie.
I want to hide from myself,
I need to feel free.
Smiling, at masks, at random,
I join in the extravagance.
I reach out, towards togetherness,
Each heart, each hand, seems at an unfathomable distance.
Lack of warmth...blurred faces,
Hover on the fringe of darkness.
They fail to light up my soul....touch my heart,
Or cure my loneliness.
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Loneliness Celebrated
The lonely day is now my friend a lonely sigh, gasping for sound a lonely tear to cool my face as the wheels of time, come a round. ...
