loose trail of thoughts in sail

i sit and dream of the warm yesternight
and i wonder if it should made me cry
tears, they ebb, they do not come
and i fail to bring out what i should feel
too numb to even try
while pain hasn't hit me yet
it is the shock which keeps me still kicking

in the dead of the night.

afterthought in less detail

as an afterthought,

the day out with abhijit da at red fort last week, was a very nostalgic experience for me. i remember the last time i was there, and it was exactly 9 years ago, when i was a girl in class 9, and we had not even completed our final examinations. we were a group of 99 girls and the destination for our school excursion was delhi and agra.. of primary importance then amidst several other places on the visit list was the red fort. i wasnt as smart in those days as i am now :) and more so for the fact that i did not have a Google box right next to me..i had to depend on knowledge being imparted to us. it was fun and educational at the same time, and i remember the traffic getting held up when 99 girls in two almost straight lines scurried across the road to the lal qila... 

i remember standing at the entrance and i distinctly remember the click clacks of the 99 cameras from almost the same spot and the same speed. i mean there were almost 5 - clicks from the same camera of the same frame, in case she missed out something in the earlier ones!! what immature kids we were then... i remember a whole lot of details and i wish somebody hadn't told me that we could look at the qutub minar from the red fort, because for the love of god, even if you stood on top of the highest building from anywhere near the fort, you still will never be able to catch a glimpse of the qutub minar!!! now i can see it everyday, because it is plainly visible from my university :) 

we were never taken to the jumma masjid. maybe it wasn't a very good place to be in coming from the missionary school background, and i didn't understand it then, but i was for ever more fascinated by the place from a very young age, and i promised to myself that if i ever returned to delhi, the first place i would go to was jumma and pay my respects. it was by sheer luck that i returned and i did go to jumma. it simply took my breath away. my friend and i were walking from the red fort side along the road, when suddenly up ahead in the distance i could see the minars standing tall peeking out from behind the narrowly congested houses, and suddenly within minutes of walking, it suddenly loomed up in front of me... but some how you never get the feeling of being intimidated... 


and it is so peaceful inside, there are crazy foreigners dressed in crazy funny garbs, and there are kids bawling on the steps, and there are also pious men who do their regular ablutions to get in time for the namaz, and women cover their heads and we all have to keep the soles of our shoes together and yet... there is peace. whoever said that the muslims are anything but a peace loving people, should not only watch their tongue, but also come to the jumma once...i mean its personal preference, but this place has something about it, some sort of a mystic effect which either will wrap you up in its entirety or will repel you i think... and every time i climber up the stairs in the hope of entering the masjid again, it surpasses my expectations.. every time... thats what aashique told me when he took me to the "traditional triathlon" (thats another story as of now) we were about to enter chadni chowk - "oyndrila, you'll either like it, or you won't. there's no 3rd option about it". but this "city of djins" (name taken from another kindred spirit by the name of William Dalrymple) has a charm of its own..whether you call it being soppy and mushy about a place i'm new to and thereby am quite attached to, or whether you call it to be overt nostalgia of coming back in a full circle...

i love delhi, and its each nook and cranny i wish to explore...

most of all, i love chadni, and thanks to Aashique (the awesome), i have had the fortune of discovering what chadni is like, discovering the taste, the colours and the vibrant vibrant place it really is...

i love delhi.

fags

spiraling up like a wiry haze
the strings from the cigarette 
flew back into the lungs
and i die from cancer
without even knowing what it is
to smoke
and i wonder
lying back on squeaky white sheets 
amidst figures in white
how does it feel to inhale..
how does it feel to breathe..
everything is so clogged up now 
even imagination

today

silently the sun climbs up the sky
we forget to watch as it blazes our eye..
why do we watch the moon then or the stars
for that matter, 
i do not know, hell no, not i... 
cocooned within a mesh of ink
procrastinating, pausing to think
the night is gone through its western door
the sun begins her acrobatics once more

Winter at JNU

JNU, the much dreamt about place since class12...presidency, jnu, oxford...
but alas, does life work out the way you always want it to?
am supposed to finish off two tutorial assignments and submit them on monday, and prepare myself for a written exam on persian words ranging from eradat( devotion ) to mehmandar( hostess ), but the only disadvantage of having a 24x7 internet connection in your room is to log on to different known places and let yourself go..am taking a real 10 mins break, partly to ponder about the things going on in my head right now, and partly to check out whether i still have the speed i used to have a month ago...(many things hv happened since then whc cd tamper wth the typing speed).
am a very coldy coldy person - by which i possbly mean that am forever snuggling under blankets during the colder parts of the day and emerging out of them only in dire emergencies :) but i never knew that winter could be so delightful, so amazingly great and enjoyable...
its not that i dont miss the presi field or the afternoon chats on my terrace back home, playing a peek-a-boo amidst the shadows of the winter blankets and razais hung out in the sun, to absorb the least bit of heat they could - i miss my home, i miss my friends i used to hang out with, 3 years of presidency, i miss shakya, adi, joy, i miss amrita, i miss dwiya, agnibho, rajarshi and sagnik, i miss them all, i miss the sports practice in sjc most of all...what fun it was being both on the girls' side, and then being on the captains' side...wierdly enough , i liked the former times better. sports practice meant less number of classes, and extra basketball and throwball practice meant even another chunk of classes slashed off my routine!!! i miss school and tirtha, rajni, jennifer, and bijetri...
winter brings us oranges and mittens, but winter brings me this year lots of memories...
last winter had been brilliant too, other than roaming along almost empty corridors on our fourth floor, and haunting kingshuk chatterjee's room, ( pritha, do u disagree?! :) ) winter for me was sitting beside the eveready man of mine, watching a carry on or endlessly chatting about nonsense, and sweet nothings, i never dreamt that id be sitting in delhi, in this abnormal cold (abnormal for a girl from an "un"cold place!!!) typing away in mirth - id never dreamt that was what wd happen in a year's time... i miss those afternoons, i'd wishd theyd never end...even when i was smacked out of the house, id still wish to fist his nose and say- "dude, i bunked a class for you, dnt send me away!!" sunny afternoons spent in adda in the nest...
but life has wierd plans for you whn ur busy making plans for it (so says lennon, he's my savior in distress along wth his men)!!! and jnu this winter is the single most beautiful thing that has happened to me, (leaving aside the unexpected bangla kabyo-sangeet connection wth good ol'koustuv dwn in hyderabdh, and the sudden unexpected post that came my way...)
jnu is so beautiful in the winter, just get up a bit late in the mornings, and i'll be able to tell you how...there is no sun till 4pm, no sun.my west facing window gets the first and last rays of the sun before it disappears. within 6pm, its pitch dark, and jnu lights up in its most amazing way. the slow fog starts settling down silently with all its charm, while the yellow lamps glow, creating a mysterious aura around the hostels and the far away neglected empty streets, if one walks towards east gate, (to my belief thats spookier than he brahmaputra side) - ALONE, then somewhwere or the other, there will be a certain streetlight which will go out, and suddenly, ull feel like as if, albus dumbledore is somewhere there, using his put-outer and there'll be a chill running down your spine at the very thought of it... yesterday it had rained, and i was returning from the seminar library at the end of the ring road to my hostel, which is at one end of the godforsaken campus :) joking - i love the route! and i was on my cycle, speeding down the slope, as if racing wth the rain, provoking it to accelerate wth me... jnu is beautiful, its woodlands, its open scrubland, its cemented demented and haunted areas are complemented by the spirit of the jnu-ites who live there...i love jnu because its my home, and i wake up, i live thru it, i go back to my room thinking that the next day is going to be just another day in paradise...no doubt the chilled water might just shock me to my senses right now, :) the mysterious comes to life at night, the enigmatic beauty, the soundless silence, all but a poets imagination, and it makes you feel at one with this place, jnu, my jnu...

Protapgarh

Prithibir shob cheye shundor jaega bharotborsho. Jodi nijer desh tai na ghurey dekhte parlam, amar jonamnor sharthokota ta kothae bolte paro?! Kashmir theke konyakumari, assam theke gir, bharoter she koto roop, koto onge, koto shaaj, desh ta boroi shundor. Aj gorber cheye beshi anondo lagje khub… choto bela theke raja ranir golpo shunte shunte ek shomoy nijei thik korechilam, ami raja rani der abar khuje baar korbo, reason because, tara amar school e ashto na, sleeping period eo eshe desk er opor e “close your eyes and go to sleep” korto na… r ghumate jawar por raat bhor hoye gelei kothae j chole jeto, ma abar na daakle ashar naam i nito na. ‘ora boro byasto’ was the explanation I had been given. Desh udhdar korte hoy, oder ki r addition subtraction kinba jack and jill muchosto korte hoyechilo konodin, I wonder… joto shob baje baje education system, amader tolowar chalate shekhano uchit chilo.. eto jhamela ek kop e shob shesh hoye jeto baje baje neta gulo.

Itihash newar bindumatro ichce chilona amar college. Date mone rakhte parina, r ja hoye geche, ta money rekhe hobeta ki!!! Bhugol kopale chilo na..shhe ek onno golpo onyo din bolbo. But jai hok, gheshtate gheshtatey masters pass korey ekta chakrio peyegelam bhalo jaegae.eka thakte thekte ekta phd Jodi korte pari, r ekhon to abar amar “raja rani hunting down” er fetish ta ekta notun obotar niyeche.. oder niye joto na koutuhol, amar oder bari ghor, oder durgo kella, oder raj paat niye matha ghamatey beshi bhalo lage. Guide allocation er shomoy j bhodromohila amaye supervise korbe bole thik holo, khub gombhir hoye bollo – gv me 1 reason y I shd take u in. ami jhotajhot ekta chobi aklam, kagoj ta tar hathey diye bollam, ota indiar map. Ami ghurey ghurey shob kota fort individually study korte jachci. apatoto library jachchi, Porey dekha hobe. She was stunned but agreed to supervise me.

Mash khanek holo ami join korechi college e as assistant professor of history. Project er taka ashtei ami ekta plane dhorey chole elam shoji Pune, shekhan theke Satara bole ekta jaegaye. Destination kella Pratapgad. Amar bondhu mahabaleshor theke amaye join korbe aj shondhyaye, tarpor amra berubo first time dekhe astey jaega ta. Cheleta, maney koustuv, economics er holeo shudu onko r maakro porena, ghurey berateo khub bhalobashe. Shujog holo, ami beriye elam, r kaktaliyo bhabe, oro kisher ekta conference er kajey mahabaleswor e ashte hoyechilo, tai plan kora holo j dupurer por amaye field e accompany korbe. Goto mashe Rajastan e extensively khete eshechi. Rajasthan khub complex polity. Ektu beshi frustrating, oder lineage gulo thaor kora moha chaper. Rajastan e ekta onyo rokomer sensation hoyechilo. But ekhaner suspense ta khanikta alada...

Shomotol bhumi na, khanik pahar, khanik ebro khebro jongol e bhora, jongli jhi jhi pokar daak din dupurey shunte pawa jae chapiye jaye jeep er engine er shobdo ke.. ar majhe majhe nodir joler jhilik pachchilam. Shamne ashtei chokh chole jae jotodur, dekhte pawa jae koyna nodi..r hothat kore hurmuriye uthte thaka protapgorer kalo pathorer durgo…shurjaster shomoy e ki roop tar, ki apurbo suhndor lagje, ekta uchu tilar opor uthe ache, as if procaliaming superiority to all mankind, intimidating all the ones who even dare to caste a glance its way, enmeshed in an unspoken silence, suspense exuding from every pore…ufff….opurbo. Koustuv o spell bound hoye takiye ache. majhe majhe ki jeno bir bir kore bolche – money hoy kothata ‘byapok’. durger r beshi kichu porey nei, gota structure, countless chambers and house structures, chara prokando duto watch tower akashe uthe geche medieval dhonshabosesh er gaan shonatey shonatey…walt disney’r castle er moton, shudu, ota animated na, shomoyer dhakka kheye jirno futo futo hoye jawa pathorer. Animated bhabey ami takiye achi, thaor korar jonno j lok gulo eto massive deyal tullo ta kikorey!!! Hathte hathtey bhetorer dikey dhukte giye dekhlam purono astabol, bhanga bhanga bishal boro pathorer patro, shomboboto ghorader khaddobostu dewar jaega chilo. Gae kata diye uthlo, Shodashiber golpo gulo chokher shamne bhaste laglo…chokh bondho korlei jeno shone jachche ghorar khurer awaj. Garo hoye jawa aabcha aloyey protidhdonito hochche oronyer epranto theke opranto…jonomanush shunno durgo hothat bhorey gelo hoi hoi roi roi te… shibaji firche… wal’er raja khurdan khan ke hariye shibaji joyi hoye durgey firche. Aj mohautshob.. chotto theke briddho shobai tader bari theke beriye eshe swagoto janachche, tar naam niye takey shongbordhona dichche, ful churche taar choroney… bhobanir mondirey aj ghonta bajche, kashor bajche, r sathe chendar tale tale nachche purohit moharaj ra shibajir joyoganey protapgor aj pagoler moton jege utheche, pran firey peyeche, notun kore bachar karon firey peyeche…

Hawaye amar Benetton’r tupi ta urey gelo..ami chut tey chut te otar pechone praye bhobanir mondir er kache pouche gechi..kintu kothae ekta taal kete geche. Shob abaar chup. Durgo ta ager motoi nijum pretpurir moton dariye. mondirer dorja bhanga, but bhetorey lal shada chondoner prolepey protima pathor hoye dariye moja dekhche..shombhoboto bhabje ei oshomoye, obelae k tumi bhindeshi , ki dekhte eshecho, amra kemon chilam…ta tumi jene korbe ta ki shuni ???! ASI er ekta board jholano, shombhoboto lekha ‘private property: tresspassers will be prosecuted’.. janina, kobe theke abar ekta place of worship private property hoye thake… 

Jai hok, thanda porche, amader ebar namte hobe, circuit house e ferar pala, jongol poth onekta, jeep ta dariye ache amader jonno..chere chole gele, ekhanei raat katate hobe, jeta ekdom budhdimaner kaj hobena… koustuv ta ekhono pagoler moton chobi tulei jachche.. niche surrounding gram e survey kortey berute hobe oder porey thaka next generation er sritikotha shongroho kortey... ager generation er kaukey pele aro bhalo..oral history’r source niye kaj korar etai chap, khub bishsash korte hoy, jachai na kore bishshash koraro jo thakena. Tobey sheta kal..aj ami too full of the impact of the fort, jeno beshi korey mukhrochok shingara kheye felechi..hojom hotey shomoy lagbe.. 

Jeep e othar agey protapgorer entrance er shamney theke ekbar pichoney takalam durger bhetorey, joto ta durey nojor jae… ki oshombhob transformed hoye gelo muhurter modhdhe ..chilling.. shurjer aloe ektu onyo rokomi laglilo..surjaster gaye durger mosreen sillhoute e chok bolatey bolatey money holo watch tower e ekjon much baar korlo, for 1 split second, ami sposhto dekhte pelam ekta mukh… koustuv r driver ke daktei ora egiye elo, but mukh ta hapish.. kintu chilo, ami nijey dekhte pelam, driver bole, bhanga hindi tey j ei durgey shondhe r keu ashena, nodi de jol niteo ashena, shobai gram theke surjo dobar agey epaarer shob kaj shesh kore rakhe.. durgey naki bhoot ache. Mrito manusher pretatta ghurey berae, golar awaj pawa jae, ghorar khurer shobdo… surjer alor pore khan theke naki keu jibito beroy na…

Jotoshob baje kotha, oitihashi kra abar bhootey bishash kore naki! Nonsense..

But mukh ta ke chilo, ki chilo, keno shekhane chilo, kisher khoje eshechilo, naki shudhu amar chokher bhool, eto bhool?... tahole dekhbo keno…ar amar dikei ba takabe keno orom haa korey?...

Jodi jante partam…

Ghorar khurer shobdo… togbok… togbok… togbok…

...take me home, to the place i belong...

Aj mon khub utola, sharadiner byasto schedule e bhule thakai jae ei “I know not, why I am so sad” er abhash ta. but diner sheshe ‘jokhon pakhi ghore fere’, aar shesh hoy shob kaj er cycle, tokhon shuru hoy tomar amar kotha.. Erom na je ami miss korchi, ba ami miche senti kheye nijer mon ke console korar cheshta korchi je ‘dhyatterika, ei to ashbe, ei elo bole’…

net byapar ta khub odbhut...er oshombhob baje baje negative point gulor modhye ekta plus point hoyto je manush ke khub kacher kore dey. Ami romantic, ami ajo bishsash kori je meg ryan ar tom hanks er moton duto shompurno nishpaap pran er mil jemon chithi te chithite hoyechilo, You’ve Got Mail e, prem eromi hoye jaye, chithi te chithitey… shujog bujhe thori ashe shhe, hothat halka hawae patar moton kothar theke topkey pore… but aj thik prem prem pachchena, borong aj onyo kotha ache, pet e rakha jaena.

ami bari theke eto durey thaki, ekkaley , maney ei to du ek mash agey porjonto frustration e jorjorito hoye bhebechilam, bari theke durey kothao paliye gele hoyto nijer moton kore bacha jabe...but daat thakte manush daater mormo bojhena..aj ami admit korte pichpaa hoina, j ami khub miss kori, bari, riju, baba, ma, nanu, dada, mashi, amar kukur ta j shoddo mara gelo, nanur rannaghorer chaad, amar goli ta , jeta diye ami 17 bochor dhore dhukechi, beriyechi, daktaar dadar roj shokaley chaadey paichari, pasher barir janlar pordar pechon theke onabosshok uki dewa mohilara, amar pasher pagla mamar bari theke bheshe asha oshomoye bikrito bhashay shyama sangeet, or odd strains of demented music on his electric guitar.amar proti ta porikhkhar agey, janala diye ami matha baar kore chitkar kortam – babu mama, chup koro, porte oshubidha hochce!!!! But shopneo bhabteo parini, lok ta ke rehabilitation centre e niye jawar por, para ta ekebarey chup hoye jabe… eto chup, eto silent j sheta kirom golar opor unbearably chepe boshbe, choking us all... lokta ekkaley amari bosher chilo, ekkale oro bondhu bandhob chilo, shushto jibon japon korto, ma er kache shunechi j she naki opurbo shetaro bajato..shomoy boro cruel, kichu manush ke shob diyeche, kichu manush ke shukh diyeche, kichu manush ke shanti, ar kichu manush ke kichui deyni…

amar barir bagan tar pechone j mamar bari, tader koto aam gach r lichu gach chilo..but hothat ekdin dekhi shob kota ke kete dilo..gach to bari banatey katey..but ekhane bsnl er telephone tower bananor jnno kata holo, amar khub raag hyechilo subho mamar opor, ki dorkar chilo tower bananor.tao oto purono gach gulor pran niye niye? Khub raag hoyechilo.but amar bari na, amar gach na, amar odhikar nei… amar school er bondhu chilo na oi parae, the nearest ones stayed in bandel, ar onyo ta praye mankundu station. Choto belae bikel gulo ek ekta glorious period chilo..ami roj khelte jetam, nijer bari ta toch noch howaar por, ma bollo math e jao – jekhane khushi jao, ghorey khele cholbena! Tai hana ditam sreepally’r rima-riya der barite, majhe shaje sweety’r, mommy’r barite…porey bujhte perechilam, byapar ta khub fatalistic hoyegechilo – they were alwys sneaking off for tuitions..ami tokhon byapar ta bujhtam na, sharey 7-8 bochor boyeshe tution er concept ta bodhogommo hoyeni amar…ekta shomoy elo j amay dekhle, oder ma, dadu wd wait for me to approach their house, knock on their doors, and then theyd gv me a smirk and say – ora to ghumachce/ ba ora to porte geche, kal esho.. kal ashleo onyo kono bahanaye dekhe hoto na, ekdin eromi nirlojjer moton firey ashar shomoy shunlam ek bondhur barir bhetor theke gola pawa jachhce…Oituku oporinoto moshtiskey amar bujhte baki roilo na, kadte kadte ma er kole chue giye hath bariye boltam – r kotha bolbona oder sathe, ora baje.amar sathey khelena, amr ekta bhai chai, je amar sathe khelbe. Ma scandalized hoye gechilo mone mone immaturity dekhe nishchui heshechilo j ekta bhai ashar jukti jodi shudhu khelar karoney hoy, tahole bhogoban still has endowed some innocence to the mortal beings…but roj ami mon mora hoye bikel gulo r diye takye thakte thakte ma r baba amay dilo prithibir shob cheye mon bholano upohar..boi. golper boi.. she prothom diker pocket book gulo theke shuru kore ami aste aste ek ekta enid blyton porte arambho korlam..shhei amar boi er sathe shomporko…erom ma baba hoyna. 

Kal kei hostel e ferar pothey amar money hochcilo j bhogobaner onek oporey ma babar sthan. Bhogoban to na jane kon akashe batashe bichoron korey, protector, destroyer, savior – ja khushi hok, but dekh bhaal, bhalobasha, jonmo dewa, boro kore tola, manush korey tola – egulo key korey shuni? Amar khetre tai hoyeche..ma, baba, nanu, dada, mashi.. shobai agle rakhto amaye, aar aj ami ja, taderi jonno. Dekho koto boro hoye gechi. Nije nijei thaktei pari, shudhu roj kisher jeno komti lage jibone, kirom jeno money hoy je kheye uthey thanda jol bheja hath ta mochar jaega ta thik nei, thik jeno, nijer ghorer dike jawar shomoy baba’r ghor, chair, r ghombhir netrey computer er dikey takiye thaka nimogno hoye kaj kora baba key dekhte pachhcina..hothat kichu michu khawa baniye dewar jonno ma nei, luchi, alur dom r ilish tomar cheyeo keu bhalo kortey parena nanu…aj tomar boro obhab amar jibone..pet byathe keu gorom shake dite ashena, keu mag.phos 12x egiye dey na..keu roj mashe money koriye dey na , buntai monthly shesh hoye geche kina check kor – keu roj shokaley amaye goodmorning wish korena, ekkale riju toke khub jibh bhyangatam saat shokaley tui keno shaheb der moton gdmrng wish korish,,aj shetao chai ami..boro shunyo shob kichu, boro ekla lage , bhetor ta kha kha korey… keu kotthao nei…jantric hoye gechi ami, amra shobai…4 by 4 inch er skype er screen e ki pran bhorey? Jara oi dik theke cheye thako, jara kotha kao, bolo..pran bhorey??

… Aro kache chai, aro kache chai..majhe majhe money hoy, thik korlam ki… jed kore beriye elam bari theke…is there a return back?

firibar poth nai…door hote Jodi dekho chahi, paribena chinitey amay…he bondhu bidaye….

Robi thakur taro ek odbhut baje sense of humour, eto cruelty in words, erom baje kobita, erom baje beautiful painful shotti kotha..eto sholpey manush ke eto move kortey pare, what wd I be without him… ki theke kishe chole gelam.aj khub klanto lagje. Jokhon r kichu korar thakena, porashunoi bhalo. Tai korte jai.

Case of the missing man

For reasons that are apparently unknown, I seem to be haunted by the ghost of Pundit Hridaynath Kunzru more than me actually trying to hunt him down!!! My major work last week was to look through the many indexes in the home political department and give in requisitions for files at the archives, since heaven knows why there is such an overwhelming population at the microfilm section at Teenmurti, that booking slots to capture a machine seems to be a glorious period in the “ancient history of library loitering”. Anyhow, so after deciding not to waste time, since I managed to book a slot for Saturday, and I had the whole of Friday to devote to nai, I decided to make the most of it.

There were 3 files waiting for me, and one was pretty impressive, if I threw it at a person, he’s conk out. So it was in one word – heavy. There were loads of correspondences and government officials pleading and pleasing each other, and funnily enough, they always repeated words like, “I will be gratified - I will be mollified - it as been my pleasure - how important scouting is for india - as I had mentioned in my earlier letter to the department – my most sincere regrets - I am infallibly yours forever more – blah blah blah…” it seems that all the letters have been made out from the same kind of a mould and it is just the subject of each correspondence that differs from page to page! J the thing which is bothering me pretty much is that this fellow Hridaynath Kunzru – he is practically there in each letter, his mention is there is every one of the correspondences, he happens to have been present (and that’s on record) on each national scout meet in Delhi, he happened to be there in the breakfast and dinner of the republic and independence day celebrations at Rashtrapati Bhaban, he writes fluent English and has an extremely colourful letterhead with the flag of India and the scouts and guides emblem maneuvered together in a wholesome manner, and he is basically a nice knowledgeable man who encourages all kind of student and youth activities, and favours the “thinking out for themselves” young, more than the “sitting and lazing on their backsides” old people. But the biggest truth about him is that he is but a missing link to my work because I can neither trace his private papers, nor can I trace the reports or proceedings of the committee meetings which he had chaired!! But he’s there, absolutely omnipresent in each correspondence, and important letter which passed to and from the ministry of education, and finance, and home departments.

Such be the case of the missing man. Name’s Kunzru. Hridaynath Kunzru. Most wanted. Anybody spying the name of this elusive man in any decaying and yellowed file paper, or committee index, please report immediately. Confirmed dinner at Mezbaan.

Back to M.S word for now.

A Love Letter

8pm Saturday night – when it is time to give up work and rest you grey cells temporarily

Past few weeks have been an error of paradoxes, it is not that I have been down and depressed at not finding the seemingly important Kunzru committee report. I have been almost all over Delhi alone and its fun discovering places by yourself. And most importantly I have found out that you are most alone when you need some very good advice as to which bus stop you should get down at on a strangely numbered bus at times. My to-do list for this week had an awesome number of items I had to tick off before Wednesday, and the first was somewhere on the Barakhamba road which I have crossed and passed on my way from the Connaught place. I did go to the 7^th floor of the JNU library once to check out the thesis section to check out their lists which could possibly have a reference to the committee reports for which I am so frantically searching, but 2 very scary bats with teeth flew out and I stepped right back into the lift and calmed myself till I reached the ground floor and then out into the glorious sunlight.

The Indian council of world affairs is still housed in the Sapru house at Barakhamba road, and I was amazed to see so many people in the library together in one huge reading room. And there are bean bags strewn inside the room where the more leisurely kind of people lay down and even set their brains to rest with their books on their chest. My hunt for the report led me to the computerized book hunt room where the librarian in charge of the rare books set a girl to hunt out a book which seemed relevant to me, because it had been bar-coded and set after getting repaired, so it had to be on the racks, or tables somewhere. But the book was not to be found, and the librarian loomed up in front of the poor girl and said menacingly – you are to find this out, if it has been into our section so then it must be here. So please, search it out. They looked and looked and looked but in vain…the poor girl was near tears, and thankfully for me, as I had created the commotion in the first place, I was requested to come back on Monday. I fled.

I went off on my way to the national archives, and the moment I sat down with an index of the home political of a certain year, I saw an extremely familiar face with blue eyes, and it was too good to be true – William Dalrymple. My first brush with nonfiction was because of this man, and there he was right at the next table, bent over yellowed files aging with decay. I wanted to tell him how much I loved his books, and how much I admired his very lucid way of writing and his exciting life right from trinity college to the far off Xanadu and ultimately to the city of the Djins… mustering up courage I did so, and asked him politely about his next ventures which is now a most treasured secret between him and me. I no doubt was having a good day.  

Teenmurti has its own charm, wooden paneled book racks, and you could really wish you could lose your way in them and not want to get out ever again. It is at its best when after 6pm, the lights in the lounge are low and there’s a stealthy dim enchanting aura about the library. Sometimes when I am busy turning the wooden handles at the microfilm machine at Teenmurti, I come across various advertisements which endorse either old Cadillac cars available in showrooms at park street in my hometown, or interesting snippets about “how to have healthy hair with jaborandee hair oil”, or may be movie ads like “The Girl With The Gun; starring Sophia Loren (my dad’s once upon a time crush till my mum came along) adult film only/ and the more desi type of a film like – Ayi bahar jhoom ke, starring Asha Parekh”. One day, Souvik also brought to my attention ads like “Suri Towels”, where extremely curvaceous belles drape themselves in towelly fabrics on papers like the Statesman, and Hindustan times and we are left wondering if India has become more conservative over the years… I even learnt that there was something like “microfiche” which was similar to my father’s old slides, except for the fact that his slides contained exciting pictures from his class field trips, and a single microfiche example contained 50 different pages of the “modern review” journal carefully preserved. After I had finished about scanning through 6 months of it for 1940, my eyes started watering, and I got up and pottered all about the microfilm section peeking into what other people were studying. You see, what is the difference between a historian and a detective? Both uncover facts, and both solve mysteries. It is only that detectives (according to the stereotype set down by the baker street man smoking a curved pipe and injecting morphine), wear brown swishy-swashy coats, hats and carry magnifying lenses and rubber soled boots to tread softly upon the ground, peer into imaginary clues and say “hummm-uhaa-ahah!”. It doesn’t have to be that, isn’t history more about breaking away from stereotypes than following them?

Yesterday I was almost the last to leave the archives after Richa got up and walked off. I wanted to get the bus, the files would wait, but my dinner would not J When I finished keeping the “newly emerged onto the scene” files of mine, somebody called me from behind – “are you from d.u?” to which I said no, I am from JNU (I wanted to add, the best place to study in India but I stopped myself) and then we chatted for precisely 4 minutes and I found out that she was doing her PhD on mental asylums, and the history of madness and mad behavior in the Punjab and united provinces in pre independence period. Wishing her all the best, I went off wishing Jaya mam a very cheerful goodnight. Poor woman was sitting all alone in her room waiting for us to clear off. I knew I would be back the next day, but I overslept and that be another story.

Remember you said at the beginning of it all, to enjoy ourselves. I gathered you did not mean by basking away in the sun for hours doing no work or partying away to glory, or smoking pot and pretending to be a statue of david beckham, what you possibly meant was to enjoy working, enjoy exploring, enjoy reading, discarding, and re-reading things, because the very essence of the work is possibly in the journey of its getting completed, and though there are times when I feel suicidal and I feel that my entire thought process is not going anywhere, and I should hunt for a train ticket back home, I stop for a moment and count my blessings. This entire semester is going to be educative, and I am ready to make the most of it. I am enjoying it to the fullest. And I am thankful for your help. I am. Without you it wouldn’t have been possible.

Professor, there are people here, in this department and out of it, student like and not so student like, who constantly keep asking me what it is to be working under your supervision, and when I say this, I do not mean they are using anything else than sneering and ridiculous voices. Inspite of my vehement protests and declarations, they always come up with rude things to say. Let that be, because the only way to deal with this nonsense is possibly to keep your ears open and ignore with a capital “I”. What I meant to tell you is that I am glad you chose me to be under your care. I appreciate the way you help me to go about the work which I try to do. I know I started off on a wrong foot with you when I got my admission, as I had to go home, and did so without meeting you and sending you a funny mail by which you were very right to get offended. End of that story, but the fact that I am getting to know how to poke into primary sources myself is a very important experience, and believe me, nobody has taken so much care in their life to point out every single detail and take us to a huge unmanageable place like the archives, and make a lot of difficult things easier in every step that we are taking. Thank you wholeheartedly for your help. There was a point of time in January when I thought that “if she can work so hard so each of us, let alone me, I can work double hard for her too”. And I just hope I never let you down. Pardon the overt outburst of passion. The next mail will be strictly restricted to the work done.

Yours,

Most chatterboxingly

Oyndrila

Delhi State Archives

3^rd February, 2010

10 am - A visit to the Delhi State Archives

It looked like a torn down warehouse from inside and while I was ascending the staircase, I wondered what would happen to all that was housed so carefully within, if the building suddenly caved in. the research room was empty except for the 12 dust covered desks, and the lady librarian in charge of the room was not at her desk. After speaking to a couple of people we found out that the lady who haunted the desk had been transferred to another place, and the person who was presently in charge of matters regarding permissions to access the records was Mr. Narayan, who would arrive in a few minutes. The few minutes turned out to be 11.05 am, and Ritika got her permission signed and got down to hunt the necessary indexes. I submitted my documents and waited patiently for the verdict. He read out my case and said that documents after 1950s wasn’t really here, and the state archives would not be of much importance to me if I wanted to look up on the records and historical documents relating to youth movements. The Bharat Scouts and Guides’s Headquarters was at Indraprastha and the NCC headquarters was both at Dhaula Kuan and Ramakrishna Puram. And if I needed to search up anything for the time period before 1947, then I could requisition for them, but meanwhile it would be useful to go and visit the aforesaid headquarters. I thanked him for his help, chucked the plan that Ritika and I had made to visit the Qutub Complex late in the afternoon, and bid her goodbye and set out to the DGMCC - HQ at r.k.puram.

11.30am - A 3^RD visit to the DGNCC (Director General, National Cadet Corps)

I knew not whom to go and speak to, I entered and was sent to the reception to explain the nature and purpose of my visit, and they were not able to grasp the fact that a student could have any business at the ncc headquarters and the fact that she was very uncertain which department to go to as there was neither a board, nor directions, nor anybody with a good knowhow at the desk to explain where to go and whom to address my questions. Finally they gathered that I would have to go to the administrative department from where like a file I would be shifted to some other department if need arises. They asked me my name and when I said Oyndrila sarkar, a person said – Bengali? From Kolkata? Im a Bengali too. My name is Dilip.kr Majumdar. I found myself thanking god profusely, he called up a department and asked if there was anybody willing to speak, and I would be called. Waited till it was lunch, then he called me outside to meet another official, and I told him what I had come here for, and that I was going to research on the ncc. He said that there is a coffee table book where there is sufficient information, but that is to be bought for 800 ruppees, and I should make an application to the director general and request him for a meeting to make my queries clearer so that he can help me. Mr.majumdar went to deliver the application by hand. And I was asked to sit outside.

Suddenly, an old colonel saw me and came to ask me why I was sitting there, I wished him, and told him the reason I was there, and he said, “come with me, I will take you to the publication office, where Lt. Colonel Anupam Singh will tend to your questions, I am sure you will get a lot of help. Don’t sit outside like this, it doesn’t look good”. He called up the directorate of publications and asked him if he was busy, and that he was sending a “young lady who was researching on the ncc”, and her name was Oyndrila. I submitted my phone, signed in the registers and the kind gentleman, explained to me the way I had to go, and the number of corridors I had to cross, and exactly how many doors to come to Anupam Singh’s room. I thanked him for his generous help and went exploring, gazing at the pictures of the ncc cadets and the all our old Presidents of India till the recent one, on the walls through the hallways. I later found out that his name was Lt. Colonel Bal.

Lt. Colonel Anupam Singh shook my hand and held out the earlier application I had written, and seated me in his room, and asked me about my background academic records and was surprised to find a student interested in the history of the ncc. He asked me how I was inspired to think about this as a topic and if I was doing this for a dissertation or a thesis and if my thesis would involve taking a lot of photographs, and pictures and if an interview with the director general would help me in any case, also he would provide me with the contacts of few cadets, camps, and motivation halls so that I could meet them and gather a firsthand information about all the things I required to know. And he gave me two huge publications brought out by them and I would be returning one of them next week. They were out of stock for the present, and fresh copies were in print so it was his own copy which he lent to me. I am sure I will get a lot of help from these books. I thanked him and he wished me luck with my project and asked me to come back next week with whatever questions I had formed in mind, and also gave me his card, and said “Actually, I’m also married to a Sarkar, from Mussourie though, but you are here in Delhi from the far off Kolkata”.

2.30pm – JNU, LOHIT HOSTEL

I went home happy as could I could be, because there is a lot to be read up from here, it’s a mine of information, and have been missing lunch and writing this ever since, before I forget any detail.

Chlorophyll

i see to move
move to touch
touch to feel
feel to know
know to reassure
reassure to live
live to die
and die to love once more...


(courtesy - B.S)

Tricks of the trade

everyday it's a maze
you don't know where to go
which road to take
what the end might show..
might you be happy?
might you die?
might you be scared to leave 
life behind?
life's a maze
too many turns
too many provocations
too many heartburns...
it takes a toll on your peace den
you'd rather look away to begin again...
you are the maze
you don't go in a straight line
you twist and braid
you preserve in brine..
you stub a toe
yet on you go,
you stop at the prize
and i say - it's mine!

Roses

ashes blown away

camaraderie galore..

ashes in my eyes

till i can see no more

Bogunvillea

red carpet on the earth

a tinge of the sunset in her eyes

and my pot of gold awaits me at the

end of the rainbow...

hues of a heated day

lie still on dry twigs

setting fire to all within

somehow i crawl to the edge of the abyss

peering in

wishing i could look up

at the sky

from down under...

and i close my eyes in hope...