About Me
- Yashomana Choudhury
- Guwahati, Assam, India
- Writing is(to Me) a pleasure, a bliss, a trance..a transition and self-crafted FREEDOM!
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
This is the first poem I ever wrote and it was during a test!
The Lost Memory
I could not breathe..
The curving staircases never looked so daunting.
Half a climb and the rest lay there taunting,
Endless, listless...
Flickering darkness , drip drip water
Haunting me still.
Touch of the walls and eroded skin hung onto my fingers.
This was once my house, a house where I built myself up.
What is it now? Just a rumble of concrete?
Thoughts alighted my mind
a deep-seethed nostalgia,
how far is it now?
I looked at the staircase again,
how often I used to climb it and..
Oh! So easily. But now........a nostalgic entity.
The musty damp smell felt like a stranger
Even the air was different now, a new air mingled with new era and a new time.
A search -- Where do I find my piece of memory among those ruined structures?
Oh! But look what I found.
A small broken toy lay on my path.
My senses cuddled it and revived its lost memory
At last, an evidence of my existence
Here!
Sunday, 12 September 2010
This story is dedicated to all the hardworking cricketers who wanted to make it big..and fulfill their dreams
Living a Dream
He loved cricket, it was not just his passion ,it was his religion. From the day his elder sister gifted him a bat…from the day he held his bat, he knew what he wanted to do with his life ....be a cricketer. He was just nine then but that didn’t encumber him to dream big. He would ardently follow India’s progress through out the cricket seasons , in fact no one passionately celebrated or brooded over India’s wins and losses.
‘ Tendulkar was batting and India was hovering over a win, but with once clean stroke, he hit it across the boundary’, the T.V. erupted with loud applause, but no applause was loud enough to hide the joyous yelling of little Swarg . He watched Tendulkar with utmost devotion. If cricket was his religion, than Tendulkar was his God. “Swarg settle down” his mother said from the other room “its time you get down to your books” but little Swarg could never handle a book for 5 minutes , though he would happily spend 5 hours with his bat.
His mother was worried about him “Swarg is not performing well in his studies” she told her husband in a worried voice “”hmmm yes I have noticed that too” he replied. “its just that he spends so much time on playing cricket” said his mother, his father was deep in thought, after a while he said …”I think its time we take his passion seriously and give him professional training” It was his first step towards realizing Swarg’s dream. So, Swarg began to train hard , as a result he began to rise remarkably in this field. At 14 , he was selected for the state’s junior team, he was elated, for he was now part of professional cricket world. But his big break came when he was 16 , he was preparing for his boards when he was selected for the U-19 Indian cricket team . His joys knew no bounds but his parents were in a dilemma they didn’t want him to sacrifice his studies , but Swarg was not someone to be tamed when it concerns his cricketing career . So his parents grudgingly gave in to his wish.
Swarg shone brilliantly, there were great reviews of his in the National and Regional dailies. It seemed nothing would stop him to enter the Indian Cricket squad. But life is not perfect, Life is not easy and life doesn’t make things easier to achieve . after still performing well in the tournaments the “call” never came ( the call for the Indian team) Swarg was disappointed. His inability to make it to the higher brigade , made people assumed he lacked in the perfection of the game. The state coach who was once full of high praise for him began to drop him from the inter-state tournaments. It affected him and his performance, but it didn’t prevent him from training hard, but no matter how hard he trained ,how many hours he spent on practicing, the coach and the selectors were indifferent towards him.
Swarg was upset but he never lacked confidence in his skills. It was his optimism that with his hard work he could make it to the team that lead him push himself so hard. But then the inevitable struck —he was injured, he dislocated his right arm in a practice session. Swarg was inconsolable now, the optimistic fire that always burned inside him was in threat of extinguishing. After six months of resting, he was ready to go back on the field, but the state selectors were not ready to accept him, they had lost their confidence in him, after some failed trail matches, they almost sealed his fate—that his career was over.
Few month passed and Swarg has not touched a bat nor watched any cricket game. In fact he had as if banished himself from anything that reminds him of cricket. The trim, hard stomach was showing some flab, even during his injury he had kept himself fit, because he wanted to get back on the team, but now it seemed he had no purpose left in his life. His entire life was focused on cricket , it was as if his shadow. His parents helplessly watched his condition , but his father was determined to bring him on track no matter how long it takes.
Early next morning , his father came to his room “son lets go for a jog”, “no dad I don’t want to” he answered groggily , but he had to finally give in to his dad’s persuasion. So since then every 6 am , the father and the son would set out in the morning air and strangely enough Swarg began to feel fresh after these walks. In fact he began to look forward to these walks where he would empty his heart and mind before his dad. They became best of friends and this exercise not only helped him to clear his mind of all the negativity but also bought back his energy .
One day while they were returning from their usual walk, Swarg stopped beside a tree to wait for his dad to catch up, while waiting he noticed an army of black ants laboriously carrying food to their hole. He was watching then with interest when his came up behind him and saw what had held Swarg’s attention “see those ants son, each and every day they set out on their task and only returned to their houses when they had completed it” his father picked up a stick and touched the big piece of food four ants were carrying “Dad don’t” as the ants lost their balance and were scattered. His dad just smiled and said “ just watch they will pick it up again” and sure enough the ants picked up the piece and dispersed. “See Swarg, life is not easy for everyone, even these small creatures like ants had to work hard to get what they want. They too face problems and obstacles and also failures but they never give up trying, whether they succeed or not , see son it’s the trying that matters much not the successes and failures” Swarg was silent after a pause.....” I understand dad what your trying to tell me” he said quietly “and I will try I promise”
Next day Swarg was up before his dad and was anxiously waiting for him “no jogging today dad” he said , “What but you have your track suit on” he dad was puzzled “Well today am gonna start my practice session and you will be my coach” he smiled. Swarg was back, he would laboriously train hard every single day and he was filled with hope and confidence again. He did brilliantly in the trails and the selectors could not find any fault with him this time and took him back in the team. Swarg was unstoppable now, he excelled in all inter state tournaments and the regional newspapers were in full rave about him.
Swarg’s father smiled as he finished reading an article on his son, his smile then turned to grimace as he felt a sudden stab of pain in his chest, he was feeling ill lately, but he didn’t want to alarm his wife and least of all his son. “hi dad am back ..... dad whats wrong?” Swarg rushed to his dad as he saw his father’s pained faced “nothing son am alright, just old age catching on” he smiled feebly “Are you sure dad? Maybe we should check on a doctor” “No son am fine” he assured Swarg.
Swarg continued his winning streak , but meanwhile his father’s health worsened with the passing days. But his father would never let his illness come before his son’s dream , he wanted Swarg’s dream to come true as much as Swarg wanted.
And then one day it did come true . Swarg was got the call from the national selectors, he would be representing India, Play for India at the international level. The newspapers exploded with the news of the newest inclusion in the National team. Swarg’s happiness knew no bounds the only person he thought deserved credit was his Dad. He could not hold back his tears when he told this news to his father. “I knew it son. I knew you could do it” his father said in a voice filled with emotions “I will play well Dad and prove my worth” Swarg promised.
The day Swarg left for Delhi, to join the Indian team , his father was very ill, he could not even come to the airport to bade his son goodbye. Swarg joined his new team members and once the coach saw him play he didn’t regret Swarg’s inclusion in the team.
Swarg was nervously sitting in the dressing room. The match had just started and India has opted to bat against Australia . It was his first ODI and the pressure was mounting on him . “hey Swarg there’s a phone call for you” the team manager hissed in his ear. Swarg immediately knew something was wrong . He placed the phone to his ears and heard his mothers strained voice “yes ma whats up?” “Swarg your father is in critical condition we have just admitted him to the hospital” he could sense the panic in her voice as he himself felt it. “What? Ma how is he?” he asked her urgently… “He insisted on talking to you before…” his mother broke off “Ma please put him on line”…his mother hands the phone to his father “hello son” he heard his father’s weak voice “ Dad am so sorry I could not be there with you” Swarg was crying now “ don’t be foolish Swarg, you would have been sorry if you were here with me not playing. I would have been sorry if my illness stopped you living your dream” his father said “But Dad how can I play knowing your in this condition…” he broke off “ Listen Swarg its not just your dream, its mine too, you will me put in more grave condition if you leave everything and rush down here, I didn’t call you to call you back I called you to make sure you play all your worth , I just want to you to ensure me that” his father was pleading him now “ Yes Dad I will play and play all my worth…….and dad Thank you!” after a pause he added “I will always make you proud” his father closed his eyes with a smile.
It was Swarg’s turn to bat, the words of his father still in his ears, he took a deep breath and set out towards the crease.
As Swarg was walking to fulfill his dream, his fathers breath was becoming faster and faster the doctors rushed about shouting for oxygen to make him breathe normally.
The crowds were all cheering the new player, he put on his helmet and took his position to face the bowler,
The doctors were positioned beside his father, trying to make him gain consciousness.
The bowler did his run and threw the ball at Swarg , , swarg raised his ball and hit it with all his worth, the crows erupted as the ball landed in their midst, it was a huge six!! (he lived his dream)
Meanwhile far away in the hospital all was quiet as his father breathed his last. ( his dream lived on along with his son)
YASHOMANA CHOUDHURY
He loved cricket, it was not just his passion ,it was his religion. From the day his elder sister gifted him a bat…from the day he held his bat, he knew what he wanted to do with his life ....be a cricketer. He was just nine then but that didn’t encumber him to dream big. He would ardently follow India’s progress through out the cricket seasons , in fact no one passionately celebrated or brooded over India’s wins and losses.
‘ Tendulkar was batting and India was hovering over a win, but with once clean stroke, he hit it across the boundary’, the T.V. erupted with loud applause, but no applause was loud enough to hide the joyous yelling of little Swarg . He watched Tendulkar with utmost devotion. If cricket was his religion, than Tendulkar was his God. “Swarg settle down” his mother said from the other room “its time you get down to your books” but little Swarg could never handle a book for 5 minutes , though he would happily spend 5 hours with his bat.
His mother was worried about him “Swarg is not performing well in his studies” she told her husband in a worried voice “”hmmm yes I have noticed that too” he replied. “its just that he spends so much time on playing cricket” said his mother, his father was deep in thought, after a while he said …”I think its time we take his passion seriously and give him professional training” It was his first step towards realizing Swarg’s dream. So, Swarg began to train hard , as a result he began to rise remarkably in this field. At 14 , he was selected for the state’s junior team, he was elated, for he was now part of professional cricket world. But his big break came when he was 16 , he was preparing for his boards when he was selected for the U-19 Indian cricket team . His joys knew no bounds but his parents were in a dilemma they didn’t want him to sacrifice his studies , but Swarg was not someone to be tamed when it concerns his cricketing career . So his parents grudgingly gave in to his wish.
Swarg shone brilliantly, there were great reviews of his in the National and Regional dailies. It seemed nothing would stop him to enter the Indian Cricket squad. But life is not perfect, Life is not easy and life doesn’t make things easier to achieve . after still performing well in the tournaments the “call” never came ( the call for the Indian team) Swarg was disappointed. His inability to make it to the higher brigade , made people assumed he lacked in the perfection of the game. The state coach who was once full of high praise for him began to drop him from the inter-state tournaments. It affected him and his performance, but it didn’t prevent him from training hard, but no matter how hard he trained ,how many hours he spent on practicing, the coach and the selectors were indifferent towards him.
Swarg was upset but he never lacked confidence in his skills. It was his optimism that with his hard work he could make it to the team that lead him push himself so hard. But then the inevitable struck —he was injured, he dislocated his right arm in a practice session. Swarg was inconsolable now, the optimistic fire that always burned inside him was in threat of extinguishing. After six months of resting, he was ready to go back on the field, but the state selectors were not ready to accept him, they had lost their confidence in him, after some failed trail matches, they almost sealed his fate—that his career was over.
Few month passed and Swarg has not touched a bat nor watched any cricket game. In fact he had as if banished himself from anything that reminds him of cricket. The trim, hard stomach was showing some flab, even during his injury he had kept himself fit, because he wanted to get back on the team, but now it seemed he had no purpose left in his life. His entire life was focused on cricket , it was as if his shadow. His parents helplessly watched his condition , but his father was determined to bring him on track no matter how long it takes.
Early next morning , his father came to his room “son lets go for a jog”, “no dad I don’t want to” he answered groggily , but he had to finally give in to his dad’s persuasion. So since then every 6 am , the father and the son would set out in the morning air and strangely enough Swarg began to feel fresh after these walks. In fact he began to look forward to these walks where he would empty his heart and mind before his dad. They became best of friends and this exercise not only helped him to clear his mind of all the negativity but also bought back his energy .
One day while they were returning from their usual walk, Swarg stopped beside a tree to wait for his dad to catch up, while waiting he noticed an army of black ants laboriously carrying food to their hole. He was watching then with interest when his came up behind him and saw what had held Swarg’s attention “see those ants son, each and every day they set out on their task and only returned to their houses when they had completed it” his father picked up a stick and touched the big piece of food four ants were carrying “Dad don’t” as the ants lost their balance and were scattered. His dad just smiled and said “ just watch they will pick it up again” and sure enough the ants picked up the piece and dispersed. “See Swarg, life is not easy for everyone, even these small creatures like ants had to work hard to get what they want. They too face problems and obstacles and also failures but they never give up trying, whether they succeed or not , see son it’s the trying that matters much not the successes and failures” Swarg was silent after a pause.....” I understand dad what your trying to tell me” he said quietly “and I will try I promise”
Next day Swarg was up before his dad and was anxiously waiting for him “no jogging today dad” he said , “What but you have your track suit on” he dad was puzzled “Well today am gonna start my practice session and you will be my coach” he smiled. Swarg was back, he would laboriously train hard every single day and he was filled with hope and confidence again. He did brilliantly in the trails and the selectors could not find any fault with him this time and took him back in the team. Swarg was unstoppable now, he excelled in all inter state tournaments and the regional newspapers were in full rave about him.
Swarg’s father smiled as he finished reading an article on his son, his smile then turned to grimace as he felt a sudden stab of pain in his chest, he was feeling ill lately, but he didn’t want to alarm his wife and least of all his son. “hi dad am back ..... dad whats wrong?” Swarg rushed to his dad as he saw his father’s pained faced “nothing son am alright, just old age catching on” he smiled feebly “Are you sure dad? Maybe we should check on a doctor” “No son am fine” he assured Swarg.
Swarg continued his winning streak , but meanwhile his father’s health worsened with the passing days. But his father would never let his illness come before his son’s dream , he wanted Swarg’s dream to come true as much as Swarg wanted.
And then one day it did come true . Swarg was got the call from the national selectors, he would be representing India, Play for India at the international level. The newspapers exploded with the news of the newest inclusion in the National team. Swarg’s happiness knew no bounds the only person he thought deserved credit was his Dad. He could not hold back his tears when he told this news to his father. “I knew it son. I knew you could do it” his father said in a voice filled with emotions “I will play well Dad and prove my worth” Swarg promised.
The day Swarg left for Delhi, to join the Indian team , his father was very ill, he could not even come to the airport to bade his son goodbye. Swarg joined his new team members and once the coach saw him play he didn’t regret Swarg’s inclusion in the team.
Swarg was nervously sitting in the dressing room. The match had just started and India has opted to bat against Australia . It was his first ODI and the pressure was mounting on him . “hey Swarg there’s a phone call for you” the team manager hissed in his ear. Swarg immediately knew something was wrong . He placed the phone to his ears and heard his mothers strained voice “yes ma whats up?” “Swarg your father is in critical condition we have just admitted him to the hospital” he could sense the panic in her voice as he himself felt it. “What? Ma how is he?” he asked her urgently… “He insisted on talking to you before…” his mother broke off “Ma please put him on line”…his mother hands the phone to his father “hello son” he heard his father’s weak voice “ Dad am so sorry I could not be there with you” Swarg was crying now “ don’t be foolish Swarg, you would have been sorry if you were here with me not playing. I would have been sorry if my illness stopped you living your dream” his father said “But Dad how can I play knowing your in this condition…” he broke off “ Listen Swarg its not just your dream, its mine too, you will me put in more grave condition if you leave everything and rush down here, I didn’t call you to call you back I called you to make sure you play all your worth , I just want to you to ensure me that” his father was pleading him now “ Yes Dad I will play and play all my worth…….and dad Thank you!” after a pause he added “I will always make you proud” his father closed his eyes with a smile.
It was Swarg’s turn to bat, the words of his father still in his ears, he took a deep breath and set out towards the crease.
As Swarg was walking to fulfill his dream, his fathers breath was becoming faster and faster the doctors rushed about shouting for oxygen to make him breathe normally.
The crowds were all cheering the new player, he put on his helmet and took his position to face the bowler,
The doctors were positioned beside his father, trying to make him gain consciousness.
The bowler did his run and threw the ball at Swarg , , swarg raised his ball and hit it with all his worth, the crows erupted as the ball landed in their midst, it was a huge six!! (he lived his dream)
Meanwhile far away in the hospital all was quiet as his father breathed his last. ( his dream lived on along with his son)
YASHOMANA CHOUDHURY
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
its a pleasant lighthearted story....
A Perfect Picture
It was raining very hard, just as I wanted it, the usual dirty long spread of concrete looked swabbed and almost new. The city of Mumbai looked fairly urbane through the stretch of Arabian Sea on which it hovered. I was standing on the Marine drive which well can be said as the most popularly famed landmark of Mumbai, with all young, old flocking to this place to get the real taste of the city. But today the usual swarms of crowds, the obliviously imposing chanawalas, the trinket-ers were not there, it suited me fine, if I have to have my work done, it had to be deserted and which gave a fine chance explore to my camera-eyed vision.
I began to work on my camera but the shots were a bit hazy, perhaps because of the heavy rainfall. I waited for the rain to dawdle down a bit…I had to get a good picture or it would be perfect opportunity for my boss to “hawk” me down. work at a photography magazine called “Moments”. The reason for me to get a perfect picture and my boss scaring me to it was the upcoming big event The Asian photography contest which was due this month. I wanted to win it. Hawk (my boss) warned me to win it. The cause for my haste was my ignorance of the event which left me with just few days.The rain began to drizzle down a bit…I could now get a few decent pictures. I focused my camera again and looked at the stretched grey road reaching out to the now foaming and raging sea and then, I saw her.
A lone figure standing at the edge with her wet dark blue dupatta and dark hair flapping in the wind with a little strain from the dampness as she stare out at the sea. I instantly clicked a picture more as a habit then as a compulsion. I was fascinated by that figure because it instantly bought to my mind the picture of Sarah in the novel ‘The French Lieutenant’s Woman’ by John Fowles of which I have lately buried myself with. So the comparisons were inevitable. Sarah too position herself at the end of a long sea wall, looking the picture of misery with a heartfelt story attached. Maybe I was making too much of a random occurrence, but my imaginative sense was fixated to weave out a story. And well she was standing at the edge looking like she is about to flung herself in the sea too (well that’s always the stereotyped assumption isn’t it?). I thought up hundred possible stories—jilted girlfriend or jilted wife, frustrated spinster or a jobless widow.
But to formulate my story I decided to get a better look at her. It started to rain heavily again and I walked stealthily towards her shielding myself with my camera. I clicked as I walked along; as I was near enough she heard the shutter sound of my camera and turned around. FLASH! In an instant I captured those eyes…which seem to burn like embers, when she realized my presence and what I had done; she made a wild grab at my camera, luckily my hold was strong or else the look in her eyes were enough to tell me that my precious canon would have been several feet under the sea. The angry pair of eyes flashed at me, I looked at the face it was the face of a young girl but her eyes made her more mature as if it has some unknown depth.
“How dare you click my picture” she screeched at me, I was taken aback at her accusation; true she again tried to snatch my camera. “Delete my picture now,” she commanded. “Whoa hold on don’t worry just give me your address I will mail it to you”. You have no right to click picture without their permission ,your random clicking might be fun for you but its intervening into someone’s privacy when someone is in so much pain...I am in so much pain…,” she added almost to herself with her long fiery sentence. “Look it’s just a picture of your eyes and nothing” I showed her the picture in my camera screen “No harm done and about you being in pain and having fun with it I had no idea” I said politely. She was mildly taken aback at my words as she realized what she said…. “Oh…I just…well it just came out of my mouth…it’s nothing..” she mumbled in a dejected manner. I was tempted to ask what her story was but with my one recent misdemeanor I didn’t want to commit another by poking my nose into her privacy, so I beat down my temptation and gave her a well considered philosophical response.
“Well see Life is just like a photo album, which is filled with all kinds of memories, ...memories that are painful, memories that are happy...but we place all those memories along side each other.. and when time passes the memories too become like the faded picture which is sometime difficult to discern”. She seemed confused at my philosophy so I tried to simplify. “We have to live along with our past, with its sorrows and joys so when one picture fades away a new always comes to fore.” That was the best I could do because I failed to explain anything without bringing in the metaphor of camera and pictures.. Sigh! May be that’s the result of spending too much time with lenses, flashes and knobs.
She looked thoughtful; her anger passed but replaced with sadness. “What if that present or past is too painful to forget?” she asked me sadly. I was seriously tempted now…what might have caused this young girl such anguish I decided to stall my question.. “Yes, some things are too painful to forget, but we should consider them as the old torn pictures preserved or thrown away but in both ways it’s a way of letting a new picture to fit in!” I replied to her question…. “So what is your…..” I had just begun when she gave me a look so loathing and turned and walked away from there. I stood there looking after her. I was miffed, so much for my philosophy and advice. “Hey!” I called after her but she didn’t turn back, just walked and walked out of my sight. I didn’t follow her I didn’t have the reason nor the intention to follow her, but it really did mystify me. I was still pondering over her when a cool breeze stirred my mind to my task that I had to complete .Shoot ! so much for my musing now the rain is almost gone expect for the clouds dispensing the last few drops and the crowds began to trickle back I had missed my perfect shot. I was angry with myself my day was wasted so are my chances to win the contest because the theme of the contest was ‘rain’…drat! I felt too dejected to take anymore pictures now…Ah! did I have to waste my time talking to that girl…how good it would have been if I had minded my own business. I reached my small dingy flat.. sheesh! another reason for me to win the contest so badly, the money was big if nothing my house would have been made fit to live in. I consoled myself, no good crying over the spilt chicken curry.
Later as I sat in front of my pc going through all my pictures to select the best three entries I was faced with difficulty as ever earlier due to variety of choices and now due to lack of it. I scanned through my pictures selecting, rejecting all…and finally I came to her picture and her eyes pierced me through the computer screen I do not know why am I making a fuss over her so much…just that when I smell the story I can’t resist myself, anyways now to select the picture. I saw her eyes and tear drops frozen at the corner of her eyes. I decided to select her pictures and leave the rest to the destiny.
The past few weeks were spent in impatience and anticipation….the result will be out in about one month and I didn’t have the courage to let my boss my select the pictures because , don’t think I could make them appreciative in his eyes.. still lets wait for the outcome…
The fated day arrived and I was up early to grab the newspaper (but in the back of my mind I knew if I had won I would have known earlier) still in great apprehension I scanned the newspaper and my fears were true there was no mention of my name in the winners column I was so disappointed. I felt thwarted by my destiny. I didn’t have the nerve to face my boss but I had to go on. So at 10 am I placed myself dutifully at my desk and waited for my doom… it came at about 11 am I was summoned to his office. I knocked and his garrulous voice pressed me inside his office.
“I got a call from the Asian Photography contest and your being asked to report at their base at 12,” he stated his face was impassive, “so get there as soon as your big @## you”….trust hawk to use his usual brand of language he could make any conversation unpleasant . I hurried from the office to catch a cab.. the west side of Mumbai was really far from my office. Several thought reeled my mind as to what was the reason and it won’t be much good as the winners are declared so lets find out what I am being called for. The photography club which organized the event was really fabulous the best selected entries were hung there and the winners would be felicitated later with the opening of the art gallery. As I ascended the steps to the head office I saw the gallery open and as I could not handle my curiosity, I cautiously went to take a peep at the prize winning entries…then I saw her there
I was stunned she was standing exactly like she was standing there even her clothes were black…but what was different was, her dress was now stylish, lovely and her hair was flowing curling at the end, but what made me recognize her was her face which I saw only from a side but how could I ever forget that face. She was intensely gazing at a picture which I didn’t look at as my entire focus was on her. I startled her just as I did the other day.
“You really have a bad habit of jumping on people” she said but her voice was light I didn’t respond. “Well why are you here? I asked her in not able to hide my bewilderment.” “Well I came here to make good some amends” she replied mysteriously “Amends ??” I asked my confusion mounting to highest state “Yes, you see my father is one of the great photographers of India and incidentally he is also a judge in the contest” she paused “so when one of the entries had my picture in it he was enraged and that too a picture of my tear filled eyes,” she stated watching with amusement at my stunned reaction.. I was shocked I could not respond “ So,” she continued “when he asked me well indicted me about the picture I had to make the confusion clear as to who clicked it, because my father in his temper stripped that picture of its worthy honor which the other judges liked so much”. I was astounded and angry “What you mean one of my pictures won but it was stripped of its honor?? I asked in disbelief. “But why was your father so worked out about your picture being taken?? It was just a picture of your eyes” I asked furiously and I was angry to be thwarted from a win just because I clicked someone’s daughter’s picture I seethed at the injustice. “ Well you remember the day we met and I was so upset…well…” she paused (vividly I thought) “ well the reason I was there was that I found that my boyfriend was a scoundrel and he too was a photographer and he had dumped me…I realized it only after he had left me so cruelly.. my father had known about him long time ago and warned even threatened me to get away from him but I didn’t listen to any of his warnings.. so when he saw me in the photo he immediately thought it was clicked by him even though it was in your name, he thought he had sent his picture in another name so as to avoid detection. That’s what made him so angry”
So this was her story but what about me, I thought so. As I opened my mouth she raised her hand mildly to silence me “So I told my father everything and he was convinced that it was you and to make amends he decided to give the entry a special prize and the other judges agreed heartily so just turn around and see the ‘Raining of the eyes’”
I turned around and there enlarged and framed in beautiful classy golden frame hung the picture, the picture of her eyes with the my caption ‘Raining of the eyes’ which I found to be best fitted to bequeath upon it accompanied it and adorned a part of the gallery . I was speechless, elated “aa! and one more thing you get a big special prize but that’s not for me to disclose. You will find out soon come” she beckoned me forward “to the office where you shall get what you deserve” with that she led me towards the exit and I followed in a happy daze. Things do come right at the end, if you have talent it would soon come to focus whether through, as in my case a camera, and in your case some other, but what matters is, how you capture it.
Yashomana Choudhury
It was raining very hard, just as I wanted it, the usual dirty long spread of concrete looked swabbed and almost new. The city of Mumbai looked fairly urbane through the stretch of Arabian Sea on which it hovered. I was standing on the Marine drive which well can be said as the most popularly famed landmark of Mumbai, with all young, old flocking to this place to get the real taste of the city. But today the usual swarms of crowds, the obliviously imposing chanawalas, the trinket-ers were not there, it suited me fine, if I have to have my work done, it had to be deserted and which gave a fine chance explore to my camera-eyed vision.
I began to work on my camera but the shots were a bit hazy, perhaps because of the heavy rainfall. I waited for the rain to dawdle down a bit…I had to get a good picture or it would be perfect opportunity for my boss to “hawk” me down. work at a photography magazine called “Moments”. The reason for me to get a perfect picture and my boss scaring me to it was the upcoming big event The Asian photography contest which was due this month. I wanted to win it. Hawk (my boss) warned me to win it. The cause for my haste was my ignorance of the event which left me with just few days.The rain began to drizzle down a bit…I could now get a few decent pictures. I focused my camera again and looked at the stretched grey road reaching out to the now foaming and raging sea and then, I saw her.
A lone figure standing at the edge with her wet dark blue dupatta and dark hair flapping in the wind with a little strain from the dampness as she stare out at the sea. I instantly clicked a picture more as a habit then as a compulsion. I was fascinated by that figure because it instantly bought to my mind the picture of Sarah in the novel ‘The French Lieutenant’s Woman’ by John Fowles of which I have lately buried myself with. So the comparisons were inevitable. Sarah too position herself at the end of a long sea wall, looking the picture of misery with a heartfelt story attached. Maybe I was making too much of a random occurrence, but my imaginative sense was fixated to weave out a story. And well she was standing at the edge looking like she is about to flung herself in the sea too (well that’s always the stereotyped assumption isn’t it?). I thought up hundred possible stories—jilted girlfriend or jilted wife, frustrated spinster or a jobless widow.
But to formulate my story I decided to get a better look at her. It started to rain heavily again and I walked stealthily towards her shielding myself with my camera. I clicked as I walked along; as I was near enough she heard the shutter sound of my camera and turned around. FLASH! In an instant I captured those eyes…which seem to burn like embers, when she realized my presence and what I had done; she made a wild grab at my camera, luckily my hold was strong or else the look in her eyes were enough to tell me that my precious canon would have been several feet under the sea. The angry pair of eyes flashed at me, I looked at the face it was the face of a young girl but her eyes made her more mature as if it has some unknown depth.
“How dare you click my picture” she screeched at me, I was taken aback at her accusation; true she again tried to snatch my camera. “Delete my picture now,” she commanded. “Whoa hold on don’t worry just give me your address I will mail it to you”. You have no right to click picture without their permission ,your random clicking might be fun for you but its intervening into someone’s privacy when someone is in so much pain...I am in so much pain…,” she added almost to herself with her long fiery sentence. “Look it’s just a picture of your eyes and nothing” I showed her the picture in my camera screen “No harm done and about you being in pain and having fun with it I had no idea” I said politely. She was mildly taken aback at my words as she realized what she said…. “Oh…I just…well it just came out of my mouth…it’s nothing..” she mumbled in a dejected manner. I was tempted to ask what her story was but with my one recent misdemeanor I didn’t want to commit another by poking my nose into her privacy, so I beat down my temptation and gave her a well considered philosophical response.
“Well see Life is just like a photo album, which is filled with all kinds of memories, ...memories that are painful, memories that are happy...but we place all those memories along side each other.. and when time passes the memories too become like the faded picture which is sometime difficult to discern”. She seemed confused at my philosophy so I tried to simplify. “We have to live along with our past, with its sorrows and joys so when one picture fades away a new always comes to fore.” That was the best I could do because I failed to explain anything without bringing in the metaphor of camera and pictures.. Sigh! May be that’s the result of spending too much time with lenses, flashes and knobs.
She looked thoughtful; her anger passed but replaced with sadness. “What if that present or past is too painful to forget?” she asked me sadly. I was seriously tempted now…what might have caused this young girl such anguish I decided to stall my question.. “Yes, some things are too painful to forget, but we should consider them as the old torn pictures preserved or thrown away but in both ways it’s a way of letting a new picture to fit in!” I replied to her question…. “So what is your…..” I had just begun when she gave me a look so loathing and turned and walked away from there. I stood there looking after her. I was miffed, so much for my philosophy and advice. “Hey!” I called after her but she didn’t turn back, just walked and walked out of my sight. I didn’t follow her I didn’t have the reason nor the intention to follow her, but it really did mystify me. I was still pondering over her when a cool breeze stirred my mind to my task that I had to complete .Shoot ! so much for my musing now the rain is almost gone expect for the clouds dispensing the last few drops and the crowds began to trickle back I had missed my perfect shot. I was angry with myself my day was wasted so are my chances to win the contest because the theme of the contest was ‘rain’…drat! I felt too dejected to take anymore pictures now…Ah! did I have to waste my time talking to that girl…how good it would have been if I had minded my own business. I reached my small dingy flat.. sheesh! another reason for me to win the contest so badly, the money was big if nothing my house would have been made fit to live in. I consoled myself, no good crying over the spilt chicken curry.
Later as I sat in front of my pc going through all my pictures to select the best three entries I was faced with difficulty as ever earlier due to variety of choices and now due to lack of it. I scanned through my pictures selecting, rejecting all…and finally I came to her picture and her eyes pierced me through the computer screen I do not know why am I making a fuss over her so much…just that when I smell the story I can’t resist myself, anyways now to select the picture. I saw her eyes and tear drops frozen at the corner of her eyes. I decided to select her pictures and leave the rest to the destiny.
The past few weeks were spent in impatience and anticipation….the result will be out in about one month and I didn’t have the courage to let my boss my select the pictures because , don’t think I could make them appreciative in his eyes.. still lets wait for the outcome…
The fated day arrived and I was up early to grab the newspaper (but in the back of my mind I knew if I had won I would have known earlier) still in great apprehension I scanned the newspaper and my fears were true there was no mention of my name in the winners column I was so disappointed. I felt thwarted by my destiny. I didn’t have the nerve to face my boss but I had to go on. So at 10 am I placed myself dutifully at my desk and waited for my doom… it came at about 11 am I was summoned to his office. I knocked and his garrulous voice pressed me inside his office.
“I got a call from the Asian Photography contest and your being asked to report at their base at 12,” he stated his face was impassive, “so get there as soon as your big @## you”….trust hawk to use his usual brand of language he could make any conversation unpleasant . I hurried from the office to catch a cab.. the west side of Mumbai was really far from my office. Several thought reeled my mind as to what was the reason and it won’t be much good as the winners are declared so lets find out what I am being called for. The photography club which organized the event was really fabulous the best selected entries were hung there and the winners would be felicitated later with the opening of the art gallery. As I ascended the steps to the head office I saw the gallery open and as I could not handle my curiosity, I cautiously went to take a peep at the prize winning entries…then I saw her there
I was stunned she was standing exactly like she was standing there even her clothes were black…but what was different was, her dress was now stylish, lovely and her hair was flowing curling at the end, but what made me recognize her was her face which I saw only from a side but how could I ever forget that face. She was intensely gazing at a picture which I didn’t look at as my entire focus was on her. I startled her just as I did the other day.
“You really have a bad habit of jumping on people” she said but her voice was light I didn’t respond. “Well why are you here? I asked her in not able to hide my bewilderment.” “Well I came here to make good some amends” she replied mysteriously “Amends ??” I asked my confusion mounting to highest state “Yes, you see my father is one of the great photographers of India and incidentally he is also a judge in the contest” she paused “so when one of the entries had my picture in it he was enraged and that too a picture of my tear filled eyes,” she stated watching with amusement at my stunned reaction.. I was shocked I could not respond “ So,” she continued “when he asked me well indicted me about the picture I had to make the confusion clear as to who clicked it, because my father in his temper stripped that picture of its worthy honor which the other judges liked so much”. I was astounded and angry “What you mean one of my pictures won but it was stripped of its honor?? I asked in disbelief. “But why was your father so worked out about your picture being taken?? It was just a picture of your eyes” I asked furiously and I was angry to be thwarted from a win just because I clicked someone’s daughter’s picture I seethed at the injustice. “ Well you remember the day we met and I was so upset…well…” she paused (vividly I thought) “ well the reason I was there was that I found that my boyfriend was a scoundrel and he too was a photographer and he had dumped me…I realized it only after he had left me so cruelly.. my father had known about him long time ago and warned even threatened me to get away from him but I didn’t listen to any of his warnings.. so when he saw me in the photo he immediately thought it was clicked by him even though it was in your name, he thought he had sent his picture in another name so as to avoid detection. That’s what made him so angry”
So this was her story but what about me, I thought so. As I opened my mouth she raised her hand mildly to silence me “So I told my father everything and he was convinced that it was you and to make amends he decided to give the entry a special prize and the other judges agreed heartily so just turn around and see the ‘Raining of the eyes’”
I turned around and there enlarged and framed in beautiful classy golden frame hung the picture, the picture of her eyes with the my caption ‘Raining of the eyes’ which I found to be best fitted to bequeath upon it accompanied it and adorned a part of the gallery . I was speechless, elated “aa! and one more thing you get a big special prize but that’s not for me to disclose. You will find out soon come” she beckoned me forward “to the office where you shall get what you deserve” with that she led me towards the exit and I followed in a happy daze. Things do come right at the end, if you have talent it would soon come to focus whether through, as in my case a camera, and in your case some other, but what matters is, how you capture it.
Yashomana Choudhury
Monday, 6 September 2010
This was My first ever story, wrote it when i was in Cl- IX
THE RACE
The race was on 13th August and I was practicing from dawn to dusk. As I sat on my bed counting the days , I realized there was hardly two days left. Grabbing my gear, I rushed out to the nearby field. I practiced there for two whole hours enjoying the morning’s coolness. As I was resting, my eyes were focused on the road. I saw a figure cycling toward me, at once my expression became stark, it was Gena, my arch rival and my competitor. She came up to me and mocked “ hi you look beat, wanna have a race” I accepted. We rode two miles and Gena came out the winner. I was burning with envy. The whole day all horrible thoughts surrounded my mind “What if she wins” …” what if she…. I could not keep my mind at ease and began to figure out a plan . Early next morning I went to Kim(my best friend) and told her about my worries and hesitantly about my plan. But to my surprise she screamed at me “Are you crazy?? NO don’t do that”. But I remained determined to execute my plans. The next day Kim didn’t talk to me the whole day, I was sad but at night but I was adamant. So at night I I worked out my plan and tempered with Gena’s brakes.
Next morning everyone took their position. Gena looked at me maliciously. The race began. After covering the plains we were and the slopes we were to make the ride downwards. Then to my horror my brakes failed (something had gone wrong!!!) I paniced and before I knew I was hurled into a large rock. I landed with a thud and slowly opened my eyes. I could not believe my eyes! I was on the floor of my room. I was so relieved that it was a nightmare but it also taught me a lesson, I felt guilty. The race was about to start at 10 o’clock and there was still chance of fixing her bike as it was just 8 am. I went to her place, on hearing the reason of my visit she was furious, it was predictable, she didn’t forgive me ( I knew she would not) , although I apologized profusely.
The race began . Both Gena and me started to gain pace. As we reached near the finishing line, I paddled unceasingly. Sweat tickled down my body and I at last crossed the line. There was a tense moment among the crowd, I didn’t understand who had won nor did the crowd I guess but I felt sure I was in the front. The results were announced, to my utter surprise I and Gena were declared the winners. We had completed the race at the same time. I saw Gena approaching towards me. At first I was apprehensive , but then she came and gave me a hug, out of the corner of my eyes I saw Kim standing beside me and she smiled at me happily. I was overjoyed , everything turned out fine, I won the race and now I had one more friend Gena.
- YASHOMANA CHOUDHURY
The race was on 13th August and I was practicing from dawn to dusk. As I sat on my bed counting the days , I realized there was hardly two days left. Grabbing my gear, I rushed out to the nearby field. I practiced there for two whole hours enjoying the morning’s coolness. As I was resting, my eyes were focused on the road. I saw a figure cycling toward me, at once my expression became stark, it was Gena, my arch rival and my competitor. She came up to me and mocked “ hi you look beat, wanna have a race” I accepted. We rode two miles and Gena came out the winner. I was burning with envy. The whole day all horrible thoughts surrounded my mind “What if she wins” …” what if she…. I could not keep my mind at ease and began to figure out a plan . Early next morning I went to Kim(my best friend) and told her about my worries and hesitantly about my plan. But to my surprise she screamed at me “Are you crazy?? NO don’t do that”. But I remained determined to execute my plans. The next day Kim didn’t talk to me the whole day, I was sad but at night but I was adamant. So at night I I worked out my plan and tempered with Gena’s brakes.
Next morning everyone took their position. Gena looked at me maliciously. The race began. After covering the plains we were and the slopes we were to make the ride downwards. Then to my horror my brakes failed (something had gone wrong!!!) I paniced and before I knew I was hurled into a large rock. I landed with a thud and slowly opened my eyes. I could not believe my eyes! I was on the floor of my room. I was so relieved that it was a nightmare but it also taught me a lesson, I felt guilty. The race was about to start at 10 o’clock and there was still chance of fixing her bike as it was just 8 am. I went to her place, on hearing the reason of my visit she was furious, it was predictable, she didn’t forgive me ( I knew she would not) , although I apologized profusely.
The race began . Both Gena and me started to gain pace. As we reached near the finishing line, I paddled unceasingly. Sweat tickled down my body and I at last crossed the line. There was a tense moment among the crowd, I didn’t understand who had won nor did the crowd I guess but I felt sure I was in the front. The results were announced, to my utter surprise I and Gena were declared the winners. We had completed the race at the same time. I saw Gena approaching towards me. At first I was apprehensive , but then she came and gave me a hug, out of the corner of my eyes I saw Kim standing beside me and she smiled at me happily. I was overjoyed , everything turned out fine, I won the race and now I had one more friend Gena.
- YASHOMANA CHOUDHURY
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Search for the Teacher- (REMEMBERING Dr Radhakrishnan )
‘The day was hot and I was foot sore and weary, the search was really taking a toll on me. My friend was equally tired too but we valiantly kept up the search, we had to.... it was important. Till now we visited all the shops in Panbazar “the-supposedly-bookshop-hub” of Guwahati ,but it was of no use. It was really disheartening that we scanned the whole place and there is not a single picture of the Teacher?... yes we were looking for a picture rather a poster of the great teacher Dr Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan and till now there is not even a small picture of him in the offing, let alone find a big poster.’
We were so amazed, it was teachers’ day the next day and all the shops which were all flamboyantly dressed up with confetti , balloons, streamers cards and gifts for the teachers’ day …had not a single picture of Dr Radhakrishnan , the man. The reason for which Teachers’ Day in India came to be celebrated
Dr Sarvappali Radhakrishnan was born on 5th of September. He was one of the greatest philosophers of India and not just of India but of the world too. He is one of the most celebrated writers and his works are many and varied which ranges from philosophical, theological, ethical, social to cultural subjects. I was after this man , who asked his students not to celebrate his birthday, but dedicate it to the teachers. Dr Radhakrishnan spent a great deal of his life in his teaching profession. From being Lecturer in Presidency College Madras to Professor in Mysore University and Calcutta University to become the vice-chancellor of Andra University, he was also representative in universities like Harvard and Oxford. Later he went on to become the vice president and then the second president of India. He was a versatile genius and to talk about his achievement in few short lines is too insufficient and very hard to pen it all down. But throughout his outstanding career he essentially remained a teacher all through his life. So, in India it’s the 5th of September that our country bestows its love and appreciations to the teachers who instill knowledge in us and guide us in our early lives. There’s a famous saying that “a teacher is like a candle which burns itself to give light to others” so its not just in India that we commemorate our teachers its all over the world but they have their own dates. Like in United states it’s the 1st of Tuesday in the month of May, in china it’s the 10th of September , in Latin America it’s the 11th of September and such. In many countries it’s they observe a national holiday on their Teachers’ Day. But it’s the 5th of October that the world collectively honored and appreciated for their special contribution to the community in general it’s the world’s Teachers’ day.
Today though out our country teachers’ day is celebrated with great enthusiasm and verve, but sadly enough its has been commercialized by the media and the market and sold very much like other events in the bazaars in shape of all kinds of fancy items, its as if our appreciation can only be presented with some fancy cards and gifts. It has both positive and negative connotations it can establish a relationship with the aid of materialism or it can really create a healthy bond between the teachers and the teachers.
Its surprising as well as to be expected that most of the kids, the younger generation and shocking the most of the average older generations are unaware of the teacher ,who was the reason teachers are celebrated on the 5th of September
‘As we went along from shops to shops with our query , there was some really interesting incidents we had to encounter. Most of the shopkeepers seemed ignorant who Dr Radhakrishnan is…some just shook their heads and some asked us who he was. There was again some who asked us to download it from the internet and others who advised us to visit the gift shops..we did. We went to gift shop and whence asked about our want they held before us dozens of posters of people who never had an ounce of teaching experience. They were the pictures of the celebrities, filmstars, cricketers, Wrestlers (phew!!) we were amused as well as discouraged too. When we tried explaining who he was and tried to be more specific…one helpful shopkeeper took out a poster and beaming all over his face , held before our eyes a poster of a south Indian filmstar….Sigh!!! he had the same initials S.R. as the shopkeeper tried to explain. I hated to disappointed him, but had to illuminate him that though the name is South Indian the persons need not be the same one.
But the wackiest of all was the least expected and well shocking too. We went to another shop where a bald pot-bellied man greeted us..i asked him “Dada Dr Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan or poster ase niki??” his reply was “ Nai bhonti amar tat Radha aru Krishnor photo nai etia..” we were stunned and hurriedly left the shop amidst mass giggles.
We saw the kids and adults buying gifts and cards ,some teenagers trouping inside a bakery to order a large cake, the feel was festive. I secretly wondered all the people celebrating…all the schools, colleges do they remember who Dr Radhakrishnan was or are they oblivious to him as the shop keepers are?. Kids are most likely to remember as most of the schools give a lecture on Dr Radhakrishnan on Teachers’ Day (I grew up hearing that)…but it just fades away or remain in the deep closets of our minds.
We too planned to celebrate Teachers’ Day in our Department and it was that reason we were so earnestly searching for the picture of him (and also we were strictly asked by our head to get Dr Radhakrishnan’s picture . But it looked like we would have to return empty handed too…it was late and we had other work too. We decided to try our luck with the roadside vendors that sits near the Chruch. The chances were slim still…… most of them had their wares spread around them…but it was as usual posters of celebrities(looking cheap and vulgar) in cheap papers and landscapes, we didn’t bother asking them. But there was a frail old man sitting a little isolated from the hoard that caught my attention. He had very few pictures spread around him but they were pictures of the great leaders of our country unlike the other sellers. We approached him with expectations and sure enough he took out a big poster of Dr Radhakrishnan from his battered old tin trunk. We were so relieved and couldn’t believe that this old man who was uneducated knew about Dr Rahakrishnan(than those supposedly educated lot who runs the big book stall and gift shops) . We were impressed because he could even tell the history of the great teacher and also why we celebrate teachers’ day he seems to know all even more than us I presume, in fact he seems to know about all the important events in our country and assured us that we would get posters of whomever we want (from him)… “next is Gandhi Jayanti, if u want a good picture of Gandhiji , I will keep it for you.” We assured him we would definitely come to him if we need any such pictures instead of walking our feets off around the city.
So, thus ended our search for the Teacher and now its time to celebrate this day with great enthusiasm and verve(and also remember the great teacher) for Teachers’ day are indeed intended to be special days for showing our love and gratitude to the teachers and thanking them for the lasting contribution in our lives. It’s a means of celebrating the people who has transformed lives through education. HAPPY TEACHERS” DAY !!
it was published on Melange( The magazine of the news paper The Sentinel)on 5th September 2010
We were so amazed, it was teachers’ day the next day and all the shops which were all flamboyantly dressed up with confetti , balloons, streamers cards and gifts for the teachers’ day …had not a single picture of Dr Radhakrishnan , the man. The reason for which Teachers’ Day in India came to be celebrated
Dr Sarvappali Radhakrishnan was born on 5th of September. He was one of the greatest philosophers of India and not just of India but of the world too. He is one of the most celebrated writers and his works are many and varied which ranges from philosophical, theological, ethical, social to cultural subjects. I was after this man , who asked his students not to celebrate his birthday, but dedicate it to the teachers. Dr Radhakrishnan spent a great deal of his life in his teaching profession. From being Lecturer in Presidency College Madras to Professor in Mysore University and Calcutta University to become the vice-chancellor of Andra University, he was also representative in universities like Harvard and Oxford. Later he went on to become the vice president and then the second president of India. He was a versatile genius and to talk about his achievement in few short lines is too insufficient and very hard to pen it all down. But throughout his outstanding career he essentially remained a teacher all through his life. So, in India it’s the 5th of September that our country bestows its love and appreciations to the teachers who instill knowledge in us and guide us in our early lives. There’s a famous saying that “a teacher is like a candle which burns itself to give light to others” so its not just in India that we commemorate our teachers its all over the world but they have their own dates. Like in United states it’s the 1st of Tuesday in the month of May, in china it’s the 10th of September , in Latin America it’s the 11th of September and such. In many countries it’s they observe a national holiday on their Teachers’ Day. But it’s the 5th of October that the world collectively honored and appreciated for their special contribution to the community in general it’s the world’s Teachers’ day.
Today though out our country teachers’ day is celebrated with great enthusiasm and verve, but sadly enough its has been commercialized by the media and the market and sold very much like other events in the bazaars in shape of all kinds of fancy items, its as if our appreciation can only be presented with some fancy cards and gifts. It has both positive and negative connotations it can establish a relationship with the aid of materialism or it can really create a healthy bond between the teachers and the teachers.
Its surprising as well as to be expected that most of the kids, the younger generation and shocking the most of the average older generations are unaware of the teacher ,who was the reason teachers are celebrated on the 5th of September
‘As we went along from shops to shops with our query , there was some really interesting incidents we had to encounter. Most of the shopkeepers seemed ignorant who Dr Radhakrishnan is…some just shook their heads and some asked us who he was. There was again some who asked us to download it from the internet and others who advised us to visit the gift shops..we did. We went to gift shop and whence asked about our want they held before us dozens of posters of people who never had an ounce of teaching experience. They were the pictures of the celebrities, filmstars, cricketers, Wrestlers (phew!!) we were amused as well as discouraged too. When we tried explaining who he was and tried to be more specific…one helpful shopkeeper took out a poster and beaming all over his face , held before our eyes a poster of a south Indian filmstar….Sigh!!! he had the same initials S.R. as the shopkeeper tried to explain. I hated to disappointed him, but had to illuminate him that though the name is South Indian the persons need not be the same one.
But the wackiest of all was the least expected and well shocking too. We went to another shop where a bald pot-bellied man greeted us..i asked him “Dada Dr Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan or poster ase niki??” his reply was “ Nai bhonti amar tat Radha aru Krishnor photo nai etia..” we were stunned and hurriedly left the shop amidst mass giggles.
We saw the kids and adults buying gifts and cards ,some teenagers trouping inside a bakery to order a large cake, the feel was festive. I secretly wondered all the people celebrating…all the schools, colleges do they remember who Dr Radhakrishnan was or are they oblivious to him as the shop keepers are?. Kids are most likely to remember as most of the schools give a lecture on Dr Radhakrishnan on Teachers’ Day (I grew up hearing that)…but it just fades away or remain in the deep closets of our minds.
We too planned to celebrate Teachers’ Day in our Department and it was that reason we were so earnestly searching for the picture of him (and also we were strictly asked by our head to get Dr Radhakrishnan’s picture . But it looked like we would have to return empty handed too…it was late and we had other work too. We decided to try our luck with the roadside vendors that sits near the Chruch. The chances were slim still…… most of them had their wares spread around them…but it was as usual posters of celebrities(looking cheap and vulgar) in cheap papers and landscapes, we didn’t bother asking them. But there was a frail old man sitting a little isolated from the hoard that caught my attention. He had very few pictures spread around him but they were pictures of the great leaders of our country unlike the other sellers. We approached him with expectations and sure enough he took out a big poster of Dr Radhakrishnan from his battered old tin trunk. We were so relieved and couldn’t believe that this old man who was uneducated knew about Dr Rahakrishnan(than those supposedly educated lot who runs the big book stall and gift shops) . We were impressed because he could even tell the history of the great teacher and also why we celebrate teachers’ day he seems to know all even more than us I presume, in fact he seems to know about all the important events in our country and assured us that we would get posters of whomever we want (from him)… “next is Gandhi Jayanti, if u want a good picture of Gandhiji , I will keep it for you.” We assured him we would definitely come to him if we need any such pictures instead of walking our feets off around the city.
So, thus ended our search for the Teacher and now its time to celebrate this day with great enthusiasm and verve(and also remember the great teacher) for Teachers’ day are indeed intended to be special days for showing our love and gratitude to the teachers and thanking them for the lasting contribution in our lives. It’s a means of celebrating the people who has transformed lives through education. HAPPY TEACHERS” DAY !!
it was published on Melange( The magazine of the news paper The Sentinel)on 5th September 2010
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