An unusual experience
Dipika Chakrabarty
Once we went to Trambakeswar. There is a famous Shiva temple. On some
serious business we went to Maharastra .Then we visited that place.
On our bus we met a person who was going to Nasik, he suggested that
we must visit Trambakeswar. There people used to perform Rudravisheka,
a puja to appease the planet Rahu. Sir, Dr. Ramesh Mukhopadhyaya, was
interested to that. At Trambakeswar we first visited the Shiva temple.
Then Sir talked to the pundits there about Rudravisheka . But it was
very expensive. So Sir did not perform that. Then we went to visit the
cave of Gorokshanathji.This was on the top of a hill. One has to walk
at least 2/3 kilometers from the Trambakeswar main town to the feet
of the hillock. Then one has to scale the height of the hill. Of
course there were steps that lead to the mountain top. But at least
300-350 steps are there. We took the steps. These are very steep
steps. Now and then I had to take rest. I took nimbu-pani (fresh lemon
water) that the vendors at the side of the steps were selling. Sir for
this reason could not scale it quickly. However at last we reached
the mountain top and there was the cave of the Gorokshanath , the
founder of the Nath sampradaya, a sect in Hindu religion. Reaching
the mandir/temple I sat outside for a while and took rest. Sir went
inside.He began to talk with the sanyasi (belonging to Nath cult and
staying in that temple to perform puja to the picture of
Gorokshonathji). Within that short time Sir could build a rapport with
that sanyasi with his outlandish Hindi-speaking. (In this context I
cannot deter myself to tell you that Sir claims that he speaks perfect
Hindi!) Be that as it may, Sir convinced that Sanyasi that he would
stay with him (the sanyasi) the whole night there in that cave. And
then I entered there. Sir then asked the sanyasi whether I would also
be allowed to stay there along with them. The sanyasi looked at me and
nodded in the affirmative sense. But we were supposed to leave on
that day. Hence we again came down through all those steps and went to
that place where we stayed in the town and informed others of our
changed travel plan. Then we took some food in a restaurant. There we
met another sanyasi who used to perform puja in another temple on the
hill top of that same mountain range- a little lower height. When Sir
told that sanyasi about our plan, he seemed to be very much surprised.
He said that generally none used to stay there at night in the cave of
Gorokshonath, not even the pujari sayasi. And in the different caves
there on different hill-tops as a whole pujaris had to come down at
night. But as the sanyasi of Gorokshanath allowed sir and me to stay
there,he himself would stay in the night at his guha turned into a
temple. This sanyasi also assured us if situation became queer we
might come to his cave.
However we started early much ahead of Sun set because there was no
light on the hill. The ladies who were vending lemon water became
quite surprised to see us to go upstairs again. And when they heard
our plan they tried to deter us and said-Don’t go for such risky
venture as because there are ferocious animals to harm you. None of us
used to stay here after sun set in the night. But sir did not pay any
heed and I had no other alternative but to follow him.
At last we reached the cave of Gorokshanathji. I was dogged tired.
Hence as soon as I reached the temple I could not but lie there
straight on the stone slab just in front of the temple. Sir went
inside and started discussion with the sanyasi. I within some time
began to start snoring surely. ( I am famous for that!). Suddenly I
in my trance like situation heard the sanyasi to say sir that he
would be visiting someone but let us wait there. We should be cautious
of only one thing that the diya or the lamp in front of the picture of
the idol should always remain a-burning and we should not cover the
temple door/entrance ( there was only once entrance of the guha turned
into a small temple with two separated portions) as because the chitas
used to come there to pay their homage or to do the namaskara every
day to the deity from a distance. If they did not find it they would
be anxious and might come nearer. Think of the situation! There was no
light visible on that mountain. I was sleeping alone or in a half
recling posture totally shrouded in the darkness. Below the entire
Trambakeswar town was visible with its streets along with the
different type of vehicles with their head- lights on. The Godavari
river was shining here and there with the reflection of the
neon/electric lights coming from the houses, shops and street lights.
And then the sanyasi went off the sight and vanished within that
engulfing visible darkness. His words rang within my ears but with no
tangible effect. Because I did not have the strength to move an inch.
Sir was inside the cave and I remained there outside .Come what may I
should not move an inch rather I did not have the strength to do so.
Silence pervaded everywhere. I could not chant God’s name even
silently. Simply in a vacant mood I was looking at the moving and
enlightened Trambakeswar city below.
After some time the Sanyasi came back. Both Sir and the sanyasi lay
outside on the other side of the slab. In between myself and them
there was the door of the cave. And the light of the cave that was
always burning within the cave came out faintly. I again fell fast
asleep.
It was perhaps midnight. Suddenly I got up. And I heard a sound. A
buzzing sound as if some ferocious type of bees was moving around. I
was scared of that but I could not have the power to call either Sir
or the sanyasi. I began to chant god’s name in that dire need. After
some time it went away and I again started sleeping.
The next day early in the morning I got up. What a sight was there! It
seemed as if we were in Kailasha, the abode of Lord Shiva! My senses
fail to describe it. However much I felt like staying there and
enjoying the sight we have to go back to the humdrum of the city life
with all its paltry getting and spending ,so we started. After coming
down some 100 steps perhaps we met the other sanyasi at his temple. In
fact he was waiting for us. He asked us that surely we had any unusual
experience that night. Because the cave of Gorokshanathji is a holy
place and that night the other sanyasi visited him after we reached
there. And he expressed his feelings to this sanyasi. In fact when sir
requested him for such unusual thing he could not but allowed him.
There was no tangible reason behind it. Might be it was god’s or
Gorokshanathji’s desire that sir should remain there. To me it was
simply the Bengali saying -Sat sange swarga bas-that is in a good
company you will be benefited.
However then I said him my experience about the sound of bees or bee
like insect he said that it was impossible for any such insect to go
that height. But I am sure that I heard that sound clearly and was
horrified. Did Gorokhonathji not like my presence? I do not know. But
I had an unique experience that night. About Sir’s experience? I am
sure that he is the right person to dwell it on. I restrict myself to
do that.
As per sanyasiji’s request I then cooked food there in his guha and
happily we three had enjoyed the hot khichri along with pure ghee like
amrita/ necter.
After long 7/8 years we again visited that sacred guha of
Gorokshanathji during the Kumbha mela ( the Kumbha mela bathing along
with the procession of the sanyasis and all elaborate rituals used to
be there both in Nasik and Trambakeswar). Interestingly that very
sanyasi was there and among so many people he cold easily recognized
us(sir and myself). Might be that was an unusual experience to him
also.
Friday, 18 June 2010
The Muse on the Run
The Muse on the Run
Indrojit Roy
Like I told you, this is just a series of gritty writings from the diaries of the CC (common conscious) man who I run into often: they give me a peek into their uncut diaries from which I tell you these words dripping of lust for breath, and more breath; but the fact remains that many of the present poof generation, by this I mean those boys and girls who have suddenly become aware of their sexualities a decade back.
It is them I wish to read out these dusty diaries of people who have long gone away to another plane, presumably to where God has taken them. It is not that people growing up in idyllic countrysides fare any better than their urban counterparts because in a few years, give or take, they shall be exposed to the same menu of porn and prawn, and broom or brawn, whichever way we twist the narrative. This group of poofs I see growing up cannot be pulled away. And why do we need to pull them away? say some very accomplished teachers - let them decide what is wrong or right :}
Even without being judgmental, I have seen my local CD-seller man go plump and oily from selling lewd stuff for 15 years… You think 15 yeas is okay for people to decide? But they seem to have decided. For example today morning I woke up to decide that I must speak to Somaly Ma’am, the lion-hearted Cambodian girl, who endured sexual abuse for several years to finally become an activist for those God’s children. She set up rehab centres where she receives abused girls as young as five years. The moment she arrives, they scream, mummy, mummy has come… Her name spells hope and light for kid-girls sold to sick people who believe that having physical interaction (read rape...) with kids will rejuvenate them. Afterwards, there are equally helpless doctors who sew them up in a surgery called hymenoplasty.
And they are again sold to some other punk. As virgins.
So much for our civilization of coffee-shops and strong deo-collections. Is there any party, leader or organization which really sweats over these people? Do we really spare a breath? The world gets smaller for the CC each day: not smaller in terms of size or internet reach, but in terms of people they can talk to or make them heard. Each day as the CC puts it is like wading through waist-high slime as well you do not know what could be under. As a matter of fact, it could be your muse floating like Venus underwater. It is getting dark outside as I sit here playing with these keys. See you soon. Amen )(
Indrojit Roy
Like I told you, this is just a series of gritty writings from the diaries of the CC (common conscious) man who I run into often: they give me a peek into their uncut diaries from which I tell you these words dripping of lust for breath, and more breath; but the fact remains that many of the present poof generation, by this I mean those boys and girls who have suddenly become aware of their sexualities a decade back.
It is them I wish to read out these dusty diaries of people who have long gone away to another plane, presumably to where God has taken them. It is not that people growing up in idyllic countrysides fare any better than their urban counterparts because in a few years, give or take, they shall be exposed to the same menu of porn and prawn, and broom or brawn, whichever way we twist the narrative. This group of poofs I see growing up cannot be pulled away. And why do we need to pull them away? say some very accomplished teachers - let them decide what is wrong or right :}
Even without being judgmental, I have seen my local CD-seller man go plump and oily from selling lewd stuff for 15 years… You think 15 yeas is okay for people to decide? But they seem to have decided. For example today morning I woke up to decide that I must speak to Somaly Ma’am, the lion-hearted Cambodian girl, who endured sexual abuse for several years to finally become an activist for those God’s children. She set up rehab centres where she receives abused girls as young as five years. The moment she arrives, they scream, mummy, mummy has come… Her name spells hope and light for kid-girls sold to sick people who believe that having physical interaction (read rape...) with kids will rejuvenate them. Afterwards, there are equally helpless doctors who sew them up in a surgery called hymenoplasty.
And they are again sold to some other punk. As virgins.
So much for our civilization of coffee-shops and strong deo-collections. Is there any party, leader or organization which really sweats over these people? Do we really spare a breath? The world gets smaller for the CC each day: not smaller in terms of size or internet reach, but in terms of people they can talk to or make them heard. Each day as the CC puts it is like wading through waist-high slime as well you do not know what could be under. As a matter of fact, it could be your muse floating like Venus underwater. It is getting dark outside as I sit here playing with these keys. See you soon. Amen )(
Laladyad
Laladyad
Rajannya Lahiri
Laladyad, the local favourite in Kashmiri language, was a saint of a
poetess born on 1320 AD in Simpura village of Paampora, Kashmir.
Proofs about her life and living are not available today. She is also
known by the names of Lalleshvaree, Lalaa, Lalayogeshvaree, and
Laalaarifaa, et cetera. She is supposed to have died around 1391 AD.
The form of poetry that she worked in is called Vaakha. Her Vaakhas
count among Kabeera's Dohaas, Meeraa's Padas, Tulsi's Chaopaaees, and
Rasakhaana's Savaeyes. In her creations, Laladyada rises from the
societal hypocrisies of creed and religion to stressing to adopt that
path of faith which is umbilical to life. She protested against the
double standards of religion, and held up love to be the foremost
value or ideal.
Influenced by the elements of pop-ordinary living, her writings boast
of purely local, simple language. Which is why her creations still
remain in the memories and tongues of Kashmir today. She is widely
accepted to be the supportive pillar of the contemporary language of
Kashmir.
Rajannya Lahiri
Laladyad, the local favourite in Kashmiri language, was a saint of a
poetess born on 1320 AD in Simpura village of Paampora, Kashmir.
Proofs about her life and living are not available today. She is also
known by the names of Lalleshvaree, Lalaa, Lalayogeshvaree, and
Laalaarifaa, et cetera. She is supposed to have died around 1391 AD.
The form of poetry that she worked in is called Vaakha. Her Vaakhas
count among Kabeera's Dohaas, Meeraa's Padas, Tulsi's Chaopaaees, and
Rasakhaana's Savaeyes. In her creations, Laladyada rises from the
societal hypocrisies of creed and religion to stressing to adopt that
path of faith which is umbilical to life. She protested against the
double standards of religion, and held up love to be the foremost
value or ideal.
Influenced by the elements of pop-ordinary living, her writings boast
of purely local, simple language. Which is why her creations still
remain in the memories and tongues of Kashmir today. She is widely
accepted to be the supportive pillar of the contemporary language of
Kashmir.
Saturday, 12 June 2010
An unusual Experience
Nandita Bhattacharya
There is a place called Handol in Paschim Medinipur, a district of West
Bengal. To reach Handol one has to take a bus towards Mayna. Mayna is a
block of Purba Midnapore. Earlier there was only one district called
Midnapore and it had 54 blocks. Just imagine of a district which was so big…
the biggest district (in count of blocks, otherwise Bastar was the biggest
one) in India having 54 blocks. The district has been divided into two
districts in Paschim Medinipur and Purba Medinipur for the sake of better as
well as effective administration.
However, Handal is a place located on the way to Mayna from Midnapore town.
The bus stoppage is called Handol Katpul. A morum road enters the village
living behind the main road or bus road here in this stoppage. One can go
through the morum by cab or van rickshaw but after that, s/he has to walk
through a kaacha road as that road is under construction.
One of my friends Swapan Maity took me to that temple on his byke. In fact I
heard of this temple from Bijoy Maity a teacher of English. He lives
in Rampura
village of Pingla block of Paschim Medinipur. The Handol also falls under
the same block in Pingla. Bijoy Babu wrote his experience of Handol in the
bulletin of Writers Forum also.
Handol is very much like other ordinary villages of Paschim Medinipur. Like
many other villages of WB it has a Kali temple also. But unlike other Kali
temple here stays a person who is the real attraction of the temple side by
side with Ma Kali. In fact Ma enters his soul every evening. And he speaks
to the devotees of the holy Mother from the Kali temple. He is not a
fortuneteller. The not so rich people go to the temple with their different
kind of problems. And that particular person or Ma Herself gives solutions
to the problems of the people who come to her/ him. It is a small temple but
very neat and clean. There is no pomp and show in and around the temple. It
is like other village temples. When one enters the area of the temple s/he
feels different. There are big trees in and around the temple. As soon as
one enters the temple, s/he feels her/his body gets cool. He will have a
soothing feeling. The air immediately takes away one’s anxiety, which always
hangs heavy upon him/her. One feels the touch of his/her own mother.
Swapan Babu a social activist of the area told me *Didi wash your feet hands
and face*. He pointed at a tube well . It was half past six then. The sun
god was just set. The glow of the setting sun was still lingering on the
temple. I tried to pump the tube well. Seeing me not handling the tube well
properly, Swapan Babu came forward and pumped the tube well for me. The
villagers I found always very generous and they do not have any ego as such
if s/he is associated with politics, panchayets, and any govt. office. I
washed my hands, feet and face and saw a gathering in the varandha of the
temple. This varavda is in fact at the backside of the temple. I joined the
crowd. Men women young boys and girls and children together form the crowd.
I saw most of them were trying to peep through a gate made of grill. I was
quite curious to know what was there inside that closed gate. I stood on the
tip of my toes and tried to find out what was there inside but I could not
see anything. I did not see any image of Kali even.
One small child who is hardly 4years old was shouting and playing around.
His mother happily was sharing with others that her son became so happy
after coming to the temple. It appeared from his face that the boy was sick.
Suddenly I heard Swapan Babu calling me. I looked out of the varandha.
Swapan Babu waved his hand and I followed him. We reached to the other side
of the temple. He introduced me with a gentle man whose look was quite
ordinary. A lanky person age group between 33-36 wished me *Namaskar*. I
reciprocated the same. Swapan Babu said to me that he is the person who
gives remedies to everybody. *He is my friend…*Swapan Babu added proudly.
The man smiled and nodded his head to affirm Swapan Babu’s claim. He then
said to me *Its time to enter the temple. You please wait and we must
interact.* He was not at all impressive. But there was a simplicity in him
which I believe touches everybody. He was clad in a white coarse dhoti and
he covered his body with the other end of the same dhoti. I can remember his
head was covered but I cannot remember whether it was with the same cloth or
not. The place was not very illuminated rather it was shaddy. I came back to
the same varanda where I stood before. After 10/15 minutes, Swapan Babu
called me again. He took me to the same place where I met that divine
person. It was the varanda of the front side of the temple. There was no
light in the varanda. The lights cast from the other side of the temple
added a light and shade to the place. I saw some people sitting there inside
the varanda. I also entered in the varanda and sat in a corner. In that
light and shade, I heard a female voice talking something. I looked around
once again. My eyes were accustomed with the light and shade in the mean
time. Now I could see that some people were sitting in a queue. Most of them
though were women but males were also there in the queue. One after another,
they dragged themselves in a sitting posture near the closed door of the
temple. They prostrated before the closed door. A voice from the temple
asked *Bosechis? *(have you sat) the person from the outside replied *Yes
Ma. *The Ma or Mr. Prabir Samamnta (name of that divine person) started
talking. The male speaks in a female voice. The devotees believe that Ma
Herself speaks through Prabir Babu. Yes I also believe very much Ma speaks.
Ma wants to give solace to the distressed souls like us who visited Her. I
sat before the closed door of the temple following the same procedure of the
other devotees. Now I understood that the image of Ma Kali is there inside
the closed door. By the time, I reached the place the daily evening worship
was complete. And they close the door of the temple after the daily worship.
Then Mr. Samantha or Ma Herself interacted to her devotees through Mr.
Samantha.
The voice inside however asked me as usual *Bosechis* ? I said *yes Ma. *The
voice from inside started speaking. And to my utter dismay I found whatever
the voice told me were all true.
Surprisingly enough they do not have any charge for all this things . If one
feels like S/he can offer whatever S/he likes to offer. While waiting in
that varanda I heard the people keeping coins in the ground before
prostrating in front of that closed door. It must be maximum a five rupees
coin. It can not be more than that. When I sat before the closed door I did
not give anything. I came back surprised. On the way Swapan babu was telling
me that Prabir Babu was very religious since his childhood. He used to
perform puja of Ma Kali when he was a mere boy. Once he was coming from the
market place. It was a drizzling evening. The village road was desolate. He
suddenly heard a jingling sound of anklets of a woman in front of him. He
did not pay much heed to it at first. Nevertheless he could not ignore it
also. He was bit scared too. He stopped for a while and he heard the sound
as if just in front of him. Then he got the *Hukum* (command) …that is the
very word Swapan Babu used…of Ma. And since then he is giving service to
the people who are in need. People come there to Prabir babu for the safe
delivery of their goats, they come to get medicine for their diseases, they
come to settle the quarrel between the mother in law and the daughter in
law. Young Jacks come to know whether they will get their Jills and vice
versa. Ma keeps on answering tirelessly even if it is a silly (?) question .
By the by Ma interacts only in the evening. Nevertheless, Prabir Babu is
always there to give you a patient hearing. Does the so called civilization
has the ears to listen to these voices? Police came there to Prabir Babu.
They harassed him. Ultimately, they constructed a portion of the temple.
There are many things in earth and heaven which science and Philosophy can
not explain. People like Prabir Babu and Ma Kali are still the shelter for
the common men and women. The do not rob them at least like doctors lawyers
…the so called educated intelligentsia.
Nandita Bhattacharya
There is a place called Handol in Paschim Medinipur, a district of West
Bengal. To reach Handol one has to take a bus towards Mayna. Mayna is a
block of Purba Midnapore. Earlier there was only one district called
Midnapore and it had 54 blocks. Just imagine of a district which was so big…
the biggest district (in count of blocks, otherwise Bastar was the biggest
one) in India having 54 blocks. The district has been divided into two
districts in Paschim Medinipur and Purba Medinipur for the sake of better as
well as effective administration.
However, Handal is a place located on the way to Mayna from Midnapore town.
The bus stoppage is called Handol Katpul. A morum road enters the village
living behind the main road or bus road here in this stoppage. One can go
through the morum by cab or van rickshaw but after that, s/he has to walk
through a kaacha road as that road is under construction.
One of my friends Swapan Maity took me to that temple on his byke. In fact I
heard of this temple from Bijoy Maity a teacher of English. He lives
in Rampura
village of Pingla block of Paschim Medinipur. The Handol also falls under
the same block in Pingla. Bijoy Babu wrote his experience of Handol in the
bulletin of Writers Forum also.
Handol is very much like other ordinary villages of Paschim Medinipur. Like
many other villages of WB it has a Kali temple also. But unlike other Kali
temple here stays a person who is the real attraction of the temple side by
side with Ma Kali. In fact Ma enters his soul every evening. And he speaks
to the devotees of the holy Mother from the Kali temple. He is not a
fortuneteller. The not so rich people go to the temple with their different
kind of problems. And that particular person or Ma Herself gives solutions
to the problems of the people who come to her/ him. It is a small temple but
very neat and clean. There is no pomp and show in and around the temple. It
is like other village temples. When one enters the area of the temple s/he
feels different. There are big trees in and around the temple. As soon as
one enters the temple, s/he feels her/his body gets cool. He will have a
soothing feeling. The air immediately takes away one’s anxiety, which always
hangs heavy upon him/her. One feels the touch of his/her own mother.
Swapan Babu a social activist of the area told me *Didi wash your feet hands
and face*. He pointed at a tube well . It was half past six then. The sun
god was just set. The glow of the setting sun was still lingering on the
temple. I tried to pump the tube well. Seeing me not handling the tube well
properly, Swapan Babu came forward and pumped the tube well for me. The
villagers I found always very generous and they do not have any ego as such
if s/he is associated with politics, panchayets, and any govt. office. I
washed my hands, feet and face and saw a gathering in the varandha of the
temple. This varavda is in fact at the backside of the temple. I joined the
crowd. Men women young boys and girls and children together form the crowd.
I saw most of them were trying to peep through a gate made of grill. I was
quite curious to know what was there inside that closed gate. I stood on the
tip of my toes and tried to find out what was there inside but I could not
see anything. I did not see any image of Kali even.
One small child who is hardly 4years old was shouting and playing around.
His mother happily was sharing with others that her son became so happy
after coming to the temple. It appeared from his face that the boy was sick.
Suddenly I heard Swapan Babu calling me. I looked out of the varandha.
Swapan Babu waved his hand and I followed him. We reached to the other side
of the temple. He introduced me with a gentle man whose look was quite
ordinary. A lanky person age group between 33-36 wished me *Namaskar*. I
reciprocated the same. Swapan Babu said to me that he is the person who
gives remedies to everybody. *He is my friend…*Swapan Babu added proudly.
The man smiled and nodded his head to affirm Swapan Babu’s claim. He then
said to me *Its time to enter the temple. You please wait and we must
interact.* He was not at all impressive. But there was a simplicity in him
which I believe touches everybody. He was clad in a white coarse dhoti and
he covered his body with the other end of the same dhoti. I can remember his
head was covered but I cannot remember whether it was with the same cloth or
not. The place was not very illuminated rather it was shaddy. I came back to
the same varanda where I stood before. After 10/15 minutes, Swapan Babu
called me again. He took me to the same place where I met that divine
person. It was the varanda of the front side of the temple. There was no
light in the varanda. The lights cast from the other side of the temple
added a light and shade to the place. I saw some people sitting there inside
the varanda. I also entered in the varanda and sat in a corner. In that
light and shade, I heard a female voice talking something. I looked around
once again. My eyes were accustomed with the light and shade in the mean
time. Now I could see that some people were sitting in a queue. Most of them
though were women but males were also there in the queue. One after another,
they dragged themselves in a sitting posture near the closed door of the
temple. They prostrated before the closed door. A voice from the temple
asked *Bosechis? *(have you sat) the person from the outside replied *Yes
Ma. *The Ma or Mr. Prabir Samamnta (name of that divine person) started
talking. The male speaks in a female voice. The devotees believe that Ma
Herself speaks through Prabir Babu. Yes I also believe very much Ma speaks.
Ma wants to give solace to the distressed souls like us who visited Her. I
sat before the closed door of the temple following the same procedure of the
other devotees. Now I understood that the image of Ma Kali is there inside
the closed door. By the time, I reached the place the daily evening worship
was complete. And they close the door of the temple after the daily worship.
Then Mr. Samantha or Ma Herself interacted to her devotees through Mr.
Samantha.
The voice inside however asked me as usual *Bosechis* ? I said *yes Ma. *The
voice from inside started speaking. And to my utter dismay I found whatever
the voice told me were all true.
Surprisingly enough they do not have any charge for all this things . If one
feels like S/he can offer whatever S/he likes to offer. While waiting in
that varanda I heard the people keeping coins in the ground before
prostrating in front of that closed door. It must be maximum a five rupees
coin. It can not be more than that. When I sat before the closed door I did
not give anything. I came back surprised. On the way Swapan babu was telling
me that Prabir Babu was very religious since his childhood. He used to
perform puja of Ma Kali when he was a mere boy. Once he was coming from the
market place. It was a drizzling evening. The village road was desolate. He
suddenly heard a jingling sound of anklets of a woman in front of him. He
did not pay much heed to it at first. Nevertheless he could not ignore it
also. He was bit scared too. He stopped for a while and he heard the sound
as if just in front of him. Then he got the *Hukum* (command) …that is the
very word Swapan Babu used…of Ma. And since then he is giving service to
the people who are in need. People come there to Prabir babu for the safe
delivery of their goats, they come to get medicine for their diseases, they
come to settle the quarrel between the mother in law and the daughter in
law. Young Jacks come to know whether they will get their Jills and vice
versa. Ma keeps on answering tirelessly even if it is a silly (?) question .
By the by Ma interacts only in the evening. Nevertheless, Prabir Babu is
always there to give you a patient hearing. Does the so called civilization
has the ears to listen to these voices? Police came there to Prabir Babu.
They harassed him. Ultimately, they constructed a portion of the temple.
There are many things in earth and heaven which science and Philosophy can
not explain. People like Prabir Babu and Ma Kali are still the shelter for
the common men and women. The do not rob them at least like doctors lawyers
…the so called educated intelligentsia.
HUNDRED STANZAS ON THE NAME SHREE HARI
HUNDRED STANZAS ON THE NAME SHREE HARI
Ramesh Mukhopadhyaya
We die ten thousand times
Before our death
The name of Shree Hari
Is the elixir to sustain our breath.
II
Joys and sorrow come in waves
To shake our miserable tent
The name Shree Hari always saves
The mind from the world earthquake rent.
III
Viruses of anger jealousy and self pity
Have their cell-divisions in the mind
The name Shree Hari – the simple ditty
Kills all their kind.
IV
Beauty, wealth, fame and power
Are Time’s temporal dower
The name Shree Hari alone
Can priceless gifts shower.
V
The waters encroach upon the land
The land conquers the seas
The cruel march of Time’s brigand
With the name Shree Hari cease.
VI
No, not eventhe sun will burn ever
The expanding universe must contract
The name Shree Hari will extinguish never
It is nothing abstract.
VII
The deathless flora of the Vedas
Fountain of ceaseless flow of Hippocrene
Puts forth in its excess
The name of Shree Hari serene.
VIII
The seed of the Vedas in Aum
Made of the three phonemes
Has had its origin in the sunbeams
Of the Name that shines beyond the gloam.
IX
The sages chant the Gayatri
And invoke the Name supernal
That sets the soul free
From Cerberus eternal.
X
The Puranas and the Tantras
The Vedas and the mantras
Court Shree Hari
As the theme of their story.
XI
Just as the rivers rush to the seas
So do the names whatever of gods and deities
Give themselves up in jollity
To the hallowed name Shree Hari.
XII
In the Waste Land
Of deciduous plant
The name Shree Hari
Is the evergreen tree.
XIII
The name Shree Hari alone
Batters the life of worldly pleasure
And shatters every pleasure
To quiet human groan.
XIV
The Christians and the Jews
The Buddhists and the Jains
Whatever sect or creed there might be
Sing the Name, in different forms only.
XV
This playhouse with wife and children
Life & family
Is but the evanescent backdrop
Of the undying name Shree Hari.
XVI
Every act of love &kindness
Every act of worship & praise
Lead on unknowingly
To the name Shree Hari.
XVII
Every act of knowledge &offering
Every act of meditation & cleansing
Bring the humanity closer to the name Shree Hari
Away from the daily world which is gory.
XVIII
The wisest among the sages
Have no worldly bond
Still do they wander
In every haunt
Singing the name Shree Hari
In joy &ecstasy.
XIX
The wise cull the flower
Of the name Shree Hari
In whatever they hear
And whatever they see.
XX
Stronger than the strength itself
The name Shree Hari
Is the poor man’s only help
In life’s journey.
XXI
In this friendless glen of ours
The name of Shree Hari is always a friend
In times of prosperity they flock around us
In times of adversity they disperse
Alone the name of Shree Hari persists with us
In weal &woe, joy & sorrow.
XXII
Those who seek freedom from the prison house
To excelsior into the skies of bliss
Sing the heavenly name of Shree Hari
In love and peace.
XXIIa
Lo the lark singing the Name
Leaps up from the Earth
And burns its mortal frame
And joy’s own self has its birth.
XXIII
The Name of Shree Hari alone
Teaches all that books &Nature ever part
Let Satan and his hapless crew mourn
It cleanses every human heart.
XXIV
A learned man who does not know the Name
Is not learned enough
A human being who does not know the Name
Is not human enough
XXIVa
Scholarship that knows not the Name
Revels in sensuous riots
No phantom of Helen
Saves him from funeral faggots.
XXV
In this desert area of darkness
Where enemies lie in wait
And thieves furtively tread
The name Shree Hari brings light & grace.
`XXVI
Fear itself is afraid
Desire itself is enamoured
Greed itself is engrossed
When with the Name the heart is wrought.
XXVII
With the name of Shree Hari alone
All the wealth of this world is borne
That meditation, worship prayer
Can hardly yield together.
XXVIII
The Name could be heard always
The Name could be chanted always
The Name could be remembered always
To live ever in grace.
XXIX
Each of the five senses
Has its own love
The Name is the Beloved
Whom all of them serve.
XXX
There is no disease
There is no misery
That has no remedy
In the name Shree Hari.
XXXI
The Name is the best offering to the gods
The Name is the best food for the dead fathers
The Name is the manna for mortal souls
The Name is the grain that a wise man gathers.
XXXII
In this pathless woods of worldly life
Infested with beasts in strife
The name Shree Hari is the heaven
That summons every night-foundered sea-caravan.
XXXIII
Repitition robs any worldly name of its glory
Unless it is the name of Shree Hari.
XXXIV
To chant the Name
Is the crown sacrifice
It is the finest device
The sages proclaim.
XXXV
Every kind of ritual is observed
Through chanting the Name
Every kind of duty is performed
Through repeating the Name.
XXXVI
The lover gets his beloved
The merchant gets his gold
The pious gets his accolade
When in the heart the Nature they hold.
XXXVII
The station & duties
As determined by Providence
Attain their crowning beauties
In the Nature’s effulgence.
XXXVIII
From the throne of Jupiter
To the blade of grass
Everything is transitory & dross
But the name Shree Hari is for ever.
XXXIX
The wise churn the show of things
With the wand of wisdom
Only to discern the Nature
That holds the world on its fulcrum.
XL
The wise do everything whatever
That the world asks for
At heart they are however
Plunged in the name Shree Hari.
XLI
Medicine, if any,
For the snake-bite of mortality
Bides in the name Shree Hari
The love of Aphrodite.
XLII
The poisoned chalice
Aheart with malice
Turn into honey
When they chant the name Shree Hari.
XLIII
Always a friend
Untold wealth
Inexhaustible
And indescribable
Is the name Shree Hari.
XLIV
Even the highest heaven
Full of abundance and abandon
Without the leaven
Of the name Shree Hari is Abaddon.
XLV
The name Shree Hari
Is the chocolate-cream for the hungry
It is the clear and cool stream
For the thirsty.
XLVI
Even the blackest devil
Sheds its evil
And joins the whitehouse of the holy
At the sound of name Shree Hari.
XLVII
This World is the Babel of sounds
Full of disputes among quarrelling hounds
The sage reads in that a symphony
Singing the name of Shree Hari.
XLVIII
The name Shree Hari
Phosphorescent with consciousness
Excels everything else
Earthly or heavenly.
XLIX
There are gods everywhere
To reward the strong and the holy
The name Shree Hari is the shelter
For the meek and the lowly
L
He who breathes his last
Chanting the name of Shree Hari
Outruns every one
And reaches the Almighty.
LI
So the meritorious people
Adore the name of Shree Hari
Since their infancy.
LII
As long as the tongue obeys one’s self
As long as life burns in the body
One surely sings the name Shree Hari.
LIII
One cannot trust one’s breath
It can stop any time
So the wise sing the Name
From childhood in nursery rhyme.
LIV
Death does not tarry for a while
It does not listen to any request
Hence by chanting the Name, beguile the Time
And make use of the life best.
LV
This age of Decadence
Has the Gorgon’s eyes.
With the name Shree Hari
They are blinded & the devil dies
The name slays Death itself
And souls to Elysian field rise.
LVI
So, the Sun is past meridian
The wine of life is running out
Fill, fill the cup with the Name
Sinking every doubt.
LVII
Could we then sing the name Shree Hari
Sitting, standing, walking & sleeping
In love & piety!
LVIII
There is no way out
From the waste of the world
Unless one is stout
To hold the Name unfurled.
LIX
He who has the Name
Hemmed in his body
Stamped in his heart
And stuffed in his tongue
Treads upon the Earth
In blessed mirth.
LX
Better to be a beast
And chant the Name Shree Hari
Better to be an yeast
And mutter the name Shree Hari.
LXI
Whatever misfortune befalls
Let us play our part
And whistle the name Shree Hari
At the bottom of our heart.
LXII
Much of our life is wasted
We do not know how long we have to stay
Let us sing the name Shree Hari
As long as it is day.
LXIII
Procrastination has stolen away
Much of our time
May there be no more delay
Let us sing the Name to the life’s chime.
LXIV
My family is not me
My fortunes are not me
My body is not me
Imust be saved by the name Shree Hari.
LXV
Even the conquest of the kingdom of heaven
Does not blow off desire
It is the name of Shree Hari
That quenches the fire.
LXVI
As flowers are to the bee
So is the name Shree Hari to me.
LXVII
The Lord Shree Hari stays
Whatever they sing His name in choir
Vision of Valhalla arise
Say the sages and the voyeur.
LXVIII
Wherever they sing his Name
Gods dance in glee unseen
And angels play on their violin.
LXIX
The father’s joys know no bound
When they hear the sound
Of the name Shree Hari.
LXX
Even a life of few seconds would do
If the name Shree Hari were at my heart
It is essence where existence had its start.
LXXI
Whatever is there on Earth
Wears out with use
The name of Shree Hari alone
Is the minstrel’s immortal Muse.
LXXII
Those who know what is profitable
And what is not
Buy the name of Shree Hari
At body’s cost.
LXXIII
There is no point in lamenting one’s lot
The winter garment of repentance is rot.
LXXIV
I wish, I were a gleeman
Living on my begging bowl
Chanting the name of Shree Hari
In every village, every town
And the World will be paradise to me.
LXXV
Alas! It is me who betrayed me
And kept me away
From the name of Shree Hari!
LXXVI
I wasted my prime
In foolish pastime
Seeking tinsel
Ignoring the Name.
LXXVII
It is Shree Hari Himself
Who turned into the ascetic
To chant his own name
Amidst ashes in the filthy air, upon the ...
Ramesh Mukhopadhyaya
We die ten thousand times
Before our death
The name of Shree Hari
Is the elixir to sustain our breath.
II
Joys and sorrow come in waves
To shake our miserable tent
The name Shree Hari always saves
The mind from the world earthquake rent.
III
Viruses of anger jealousy and self pity
Have their cell-divisions in the mind
The name Shree Hari – the simple ditty
Kills all their kind.
IV
Beauty, wealth, fame and power
Are Time’s temporal dower
The name Shree Hari alone
Can priceless gifts shower.
V
The waters encroach upon the land
The land conquers the seas
The cruel march of Time’s brigand
With the name Shree Hari cease.
VI
No, not eventhe sun will burn ever
The expanding universe must contract
The name Shree Hari will extinguish never
It is nothing abstract.
VII
The deathless flora of the Vedas
Fountain of ceaseless flow of Hippocrene
Puts forth in its excess
The name of Shree Hari serene.
VIII
The seed of the Vedas in Aum
Made of the three phonemes
Has had its origin in the sunbeams
Of the Name that shines beyond the gloam.
IX
The sages chant the Gayatri
And invoke the Name supernal
That sets the soul free
From Cerberus eternal.
X
The Puranas and the Tantras
The Vedas and the mantras
Court Shree Hari
As the theme of their story.
XI
Just as the rivers rush to the seas
So do the names whatever of gods and deities
Give themselves up in jollity
To the hallowed name Shree Hari.
XII
In the Waste Land
Of deciduous plant
The name Shree Hari
Is the evergreen tree.
XIII
The name Shree Hari alone
Batters the life of worldly pleasure
And shatters every pleasure
To quiet human groan.
XIV
The Christians and the Jews
The Buddhists and the Jains
Whatever sect or creed there might be
Sing the Name, in different forms only.
XV
This playhouse with wife and children
Life & family
Is but the evanescent backdrop
Of the undying name Shree Hari.
XVI
Every act of love &kindness
Every act of worship & praise
Lead on unknowingly
To the name Shree Hari.
XVII
Every act of knowledge &offering
Every act of meditation & cleansing
Bring the humanity closer to the name Shree Hari
Away from the daily world which is gory.
XVIII
The wisest among the sages
Have no worldly bond
Still do they wander
In every haunt
Singing the name Shree Hari
In joy &ecstasy.
XIX
The wise cull the flower
Of the name Shree Hari
In whatever they hear
And whatever they see.
XX
Stronger than the strength itself
The name Shree Hari
Is the poor man’s only help
In life’s journey.
XXI
In this friendless glen of ours
The name of Shree Hari is always a friend
In times of prosperity they flock around us
In times of adversity they disperse
Alone the name of Shree Hari persists with us
In weal &woe, joy & sorrow.
XXII
Those who seek freedom from the prison house
To excelsior into the skies of bliss
Sing the heavenly name of Shree Hari
In love and peace.
XXIIa
Lo the lark singing the Name
Leaps up from the Earth
And burns its mortal frame
And joy’s own self has its birth.
XXIII
The Name of Shree Hari alone
Teaches all that books &Nature ever part
Let Satan and his hapless crew mourn
It cleanses every human heart.
XXIV
A learned man who does not know the Name
Is not learned enough
A human being who does not know the Name
Is not human enough
XXIVa
Scholarship that knows not the Name
Revels in sensuous riots
No phantom of Helen
Saves him from funeral faggots.
XXV
In this desert area of darkness
Where enemies lie in wait
And thieves furtively tread
The name Shree Hari brings light & grace.
`XXVI
Fear itself is afraid
Desire itself is enamoured
Greed itself is engrossed
When with the Name the heart is wrought.
XXVII
With the name of Shree Hari alone
All the wealth of this world is borne
That meditation, worship prayer
Can hardly yield together.
XXVIII
The Name could be heard always
The Name could be chanted always
The Name could be remembered always
To live ever in grace.
XXIX
Each of the five senses
Has its own love
The Name is the Beloved
Whom all of them serve.
XXX
There is no disease
There is no misery
That has no remedy
In the name Shree Hari.
XXXI
The Name is the best offering to the gods
The Name is the best food for the dead fathers
The Name is the manna for mortal souls
The Name is the grain that a wise man gathers.
XXXII
In this pathless woods of worldly life
Infested with beasts in strife
The name Shree Hari is the heaven
That summons every night-foundered sea-caravan.
XXXIII
Repitition robs any worldly name of its glory
Unless it is the name of Shree Hari.
XXXIV
To chant the Name
Is the crown sacrifice
It is the finest device
The sages proclaim.
XXXV
Every kind of ritual is observed
Through chanting the Name
Every kind of duty is performed
Through repeating the Name.
XXXVI
The lover gets his beloved
The merchant gets his gold
The pious gets his accolade
When in the heart the Nature they hold.
XXXVII
The station & duties
As determined by Providence
Attain their crowning beauties
In the Nature’s effulgence.
XXXVIII
From the throne of Jupiter
To the blade of grass
Everything is transitory & dross
But the name Shree Hari is for ever.
XXXIX
The wise churn the show of things
With the wand of wisdom
Only to discern the Nature
That holds the world on its fulcrum.
XL
The wise do everything whatever
That the world asks for
At heart they are however
Plunged in the name Shree Hari.
XLI
Medicine, if any,
For the snake-bite of mortality
Bides in the name Shree Hari
The love of Aphrodite.
XLII
The poisoned chalice
Aheart with malice
Turn into honey
When they chant the name Shree Hari.
XLIII
Always a friend
Untold wealth
Inexhaustible
And indescribable
Is the name Shree Hari.
XLIV
Even the highest heaven
Full of abundance and abandon
Without the leaven
Of the name Shree Hari is Abaddon.
XLV
The name Shree Hari
Is the chocolate-cream for the hungry
It is the clear and cool stream
For the thirsty.
XLVI
Even the blackest devil
Sheds its evil
And joins the whitehouse of the holy
At the sound of name Shree Hari.
XLVII
This World is the Babel of sounds
Full of disputes among quarrelling hounds
The sage reads in that a symphony
Singing the name of Shree Hari.
XLVIII
The name Shree Hari
Phosphorescent with consciousness
Excels everything else
Earthly or heavenly.
XLIX
There are gods everywhere
To reward the strong and the holy
The name Shree Hari is the shelter
For the meek and the lowly
L
He who breathes his last
Chanting the name of Shree Hari
Outruns every one
And reaches the Almighty.
LI
So the meritorious people
Adore the name of Shree Hari
Since their infancy.
LII
As long as the tongue obeys one’s self
As long as life burns in the body
One surely sings the name Shree Hari.
LIII
One cannot trust one’s breath
It can stop any time
So the wise sing the Name
From childhood in nursery rhyme.
LIV
Death does not tarry for a while
It does not listen to any request
Hence by chanting the Name, beguile the Time
And make use of the life best.
LV
This age of Decadence
Has the Gorgon’s eyes.
With the name Shree Hari
They are blinded & the devil dies
The name slays Death itself
And souls to Elysian field rise.
LVI
So, the Sun is past meridian
The wine of life is running out
Fill, fill the cup with the Name
Sinking every doubt.
LVII
Could we then sing the name Shree Hari
Sitting, standing, walking & sleeping
In love & piety!
LVIII
There is no way out
From the waste of the world
Unless one is stout
To hold the Name unfurled.
LIX
He who has the Name
Hemmed in his body
Stamped in his heart
And stuffed in his tongue
Treads upon the Earth
In blessed mirth.
LX
Better to be a beast
And chant the Name Shree Hari
Better to be an yeast
And mutter the name Shree Hari.
LXI
Whatever misfortune befalls
Let us play our part
And whistle the name Shree Hari
At the bottom of our heart.
LXII
Much of our life is wasted
We do not know how long we have to stay
Let us sing the name Shree Hari
As long as it is day.
LXIII
Procrastination has stolen away
Much of our time
May there be no more delay
Let us sing the Name to the life’s chime.
LXIV
My family is not me
My fortunes are not me
My body is not me
Imust be saved by the name Shree Hari.
LXV
Even the conquest of the kingdom of heaven
Does not blow off desire
It is the name of Shree Hari
That quenches the fire.
LXVI
As flowers are to the bee
So is the name Shree Hari to me.
LXVII
The Lord Shree Hari stays
Whatever they sing His name in choir
Vision of Valhalla arise
Say the sages and the voyeur.
LXVIII
Wherever they sing his Name
Gods dance in glee unseen
And angels play on their violin.
LXIX
The father’s joys know no bound
When they hear the sound
Of the name Shree Hari.
LXX
Even a life of few seconds would do
If the name Shree Hari were at my heart
It is essence where existence had its start.
LXXI
Whatever is there on Earth
Wears out with use
The name of Shree Hari alone
Is the minstrel’s immortal Muse.
LXXII
Those who know what is profitable
And what is not
Buy the name of Shree Hari
At body’s cost.
LXXIII
There is no point in lamenting one’s lot
The winter garment of repentance is rot.
LXXIV
I wish, I were a gleeman
Living on my begging bowl
Chanting the name of Shree Hari
In every village, every town
And the World will be paradise to me.
LXXV
Alas! It is me who betrayed me
And kept me away
From the name of Shree Hari!
LXXVI
I wasted my prime
In foolish pastime
Seeking tinsel
Ignoring the Name.
LXXVII
It is Shree Hari Himself
Who turned into the ascetic
To chant his own name
Amidst ashes in the filthy air, upon the ...
I see her everyday
I see her everyday
Rajannya Lahiri
I see her everyday. But I also see a certain couple of teachers at school everyday, and there is a difference. As for the latter (the teachers), I have grown to have them bore me already. For her, she is never the material that you could get used with. She visits us everyday in her small thin-and-pale frame; and begins to flit about the rooms with the broom (that is strangely nearly her size) in her hand, then follows it up with great swishes of soapy water and abundant rags, and ends up with the waiting dishes at the sink. Meanwhile, she keeps talking and singing, or humming (both are the same to her), to herownself.
I do not take to write about her simply because I love her salt-senses more than I can put up with my mother's. As is the matter, my sister has landed such a job in a multinational as one that could make any kid-sister feel "posh" out of the blue. And this certain lady named Rupali who works of such accord in a number of households in the urban had invited my sister and me for a big dinner one evening. O, because I am the one whose sister newly works in a multinational!
Two kids, with regular dreams of their own lighting up their eyes, greeted us into her eight-by-three feet parlour where the plaster had fallen off at various, seemingly artistically selected locations on the walls. The kitchen tables ran along more than half the length of one entire wall, narrow and crowded; a long, high bed covered the opposite wall; and you are left with barely a quarter of a foot between the bed and the kitchen. Sleeping on such a bed would give me skin as hard as Rupali's, I now come to think. An agreeably sized table stood at the head of the bed: on it rested a desperate CRT topped with a flowervase, and before the screen were arranged her ten-year-old's dog-eared schoolbooks. A broad, oddly-placed pillar consumed a sizeable amount of space.
Garments piled at almost every direction you turned your head to, everything rest which you might imagine were piled in a dark corner beyond the kitchen and the TV. And she so smilingly served us platters of steaming pulao while we sat on the bed. The children, one her son and the other her niece, were to have their meals later...
It was the short duration before the actual meal that dried me up.
The lad was an absolute rooster. First, he showed me all the expensive points he had scored on the gaudy, cheap "videogame" that he played. Then he said, "You wanna' see how high I can jump? Alright, I'll show you!", and he jumps up on the bed, drawing support with his hands from the TV-table and the pillar, on both sides of him. During the process, his leg painlessly hits the table, and the flowervase topples over on the bed before me. I saw it then - a neck and a bottom, held together by endless rounds of cellotape, gracing plastic "flowers".
Then he brought out his precious collections of a variety of pulses which is mother had given to him from her own precious collection. He told me that he had kept them all because I too did the same for my art projects at school. I stored them in those huge tin boxes familiar to everyone who has a fetish for knick-knacks; he had a couple of broken cassette-cases for the same purpose. He further showed me his toys: a stuffed tiger and an equally stuffed giraffe. Then both kids began telling me about giraffes and tigers; the girl was such a sharp brain! Soon her bright eyes turned up to me with all her standard-one knowledge of numbers: I think, aptitude is the same everywhere after all.
Suddenly, the tiger's nose had disappeared, noticed the boy. He jumped under the bed, and the first thing he got out was a shining, white bottle of glue. But where was the nose itself? When no amount of searching on the part of three very excited little persons appeared to help, the girl (of whom I have become an ardent fan) comes up with this, "Why don't you stick one of those dals on as his nose?" And a host of glue was squeezed before we had a brand, innovative nose on our tiger.
What captured me? Was it the little girl's deep, black eyes set against her young, peaches-and-cream complexion? Or, was it the dismal, the bleak light in the rooms which showed them to me? She touched me, I know. Why did she? I saw through her eyes the same, uniquely individual visions I had seen through my seven-year-old eyes back then. At this point of fifteen long years, I still see myself graduating into the woman I have dreamt. But shall she see yet the same vision when she is fifteen?...
Then the kids left the room while my sister and I had our dinner
Rajannya Lahiri
I see her everyday. But I also see a certain couple of teachers at school everyday, and there is a difference. As for the latter (the teachers), I have grown to have them bore me already. For her, she is never the material that you could get used with. She visits us everyday in her small thin-and-pale frame; and begins to flit about the rooms with the broom (that is strangely nearly her size) in her hand, then follows it up with great swishes of soapy water and abundant rags, and ends up with the waiting dishes at the sink. Meanwhile, she keeps talking and singing, or humming (both are the same to her), to herownself.
I do not take to write about her simply because I love her salt-senses more than I can put up with my mother's. As is the matter, my sister has landed such a job in a multinational as one that could make any kid-sister feel "posh" out of the blue. And this certain lady named Rupali who works of such accord in a number of households in the urban had invited my sister and me for a big dinner one evening. O, because I am the one whose sister newly works in a multinational!
Two kids, with regular dreams of their own lighting up their eyes, greeted us into her eight-by-three feet parlour where the plaster had fallen off at various, seemingly artistically selected locations on the walls. The kitchen tables ran along more than half the length of one entire wall, narrow and crowded; a long, high bed covered the opposite wall; and you are left with barely a quarter of a foot between the bed and the kitchen. Sleeping on such a bed would give me skin as hard as Rupali's, I now come to think. An agreeably sized table stood at the head of the bed: on it rested a desperate CRT topped with a flowervase, and before the screen were arranged her ten-year-old's dog-eared schoolbooks. A broad, oddly-placed pillar consumed a sizeable amount of space.
Garments piled at almost every direction you turned your head to, everything rest which you might imagine were piled in a dark corner beyond the kitchen and the TV. And she so smilingly served us platters of steaming pulao while we sat on the bed. The children, one her son and the other her niece, were to have their meals later...
It was the short duration before the actual meal that dried me up.
The lad was an absolute rooster. First, he showed me all the expensive points he had scored on the gaudy, cheap "videogame" that he played. Then he said, "You wanna' see how high I can jump? Alright, I'll show you!", and he jumps up on the bed, drawing support with his hands from the TV-table and the pillar, on both sides of him. During the process, his leg painlessly hits the table, and the flowervase topples over on the bed before me. I saw it then - a neck and a bottom, held together by endless rounds of cellotape, gracing plastic "flowers".
Then he brought out his precious collections of a variety of pulses which is mother had given to him from her own precious collection. He told me that he had kept them all because I too did the same for my art projects at school. I stored them in those huge tin boxes familiar to everyone who has a fetish for knick-knacks; he had a couple of broken cassette-cases for the same purpose. He further showed me his toys: a stuffed tiger and an equally stuffed giraffe. Then both kids began telling me about giraffes and tigers; the girl was such a sharp brain! Soon her bright eyes turned up to me with all her standard-one knowledge of numbers: I think, aptitude is the same everywhere after all.
Suddenly, the tiger's nose had disappeared, noticed the boy. He jumped under the bed, and the first thing he got out was a shining, white bottle of glue. But where was the nose itself? When no amount of searching on the part of three very excited little persons appeared to help, the girl (of whom I have become an ardent fan) comes up with this, "Why don't you stick one of those dals on as his nose?" And a host of glue was squeezed before we had a brand, innovative nose on our tiger.
What captured me? Was it the little girl's deep, black eyes set against her young, peaches-and-cream complexion? Or, was it the dismal, the bleak light in the rooms which showed them to me? She touched me, I know. Why did she? I saw through her eyes the same, uniquely individual visions I had seen through my seven-year-old eyes back then. At this point of fifteen long years, I still see myself graduating into the woman I have dreamt. But shall she see yet the same vision when she is fifteen?...
Then the kids left the room while my sister and I had our dinner
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