It’s time to zip it up!....

A shout out to prevent peeing and spitting in public places.

Guwahati is no doubt developing; the once green city is rapidly becoming an unattractive concrete jungle, the melting pot of northeast. I love my city and would accept some of its faults, but there is no point denying that it’s screaming for a change, a "clean" change. While driving around Guwahati, you will notice the irritating not-so-soon ending traffics, the people, old, young, the families, the coming up tempting stores, buildings, more buildings, and then there are the unavoidable stink of pee and the red stains of spit in almost all the public walls. The sight of a man relieving himself with his face towards the wall or a woman or man spitting from speeding vehicle is almost synonymous to the everyday sights of Guwahati or for that matter in any state in India.

When our PM Narendra Modi launched the cleanliness campaign “Swachh Bharat Abhiyan” I heard apprehensions and cynicism on a regular basis. One local elderly uncle, “Swachh Bharat, my foot!” spitting a torrent of red betel nut juice on the road. The local youth, the aspiring cool dudes who cannot let go of their ‘gutkas’ talking about all things and spitting on the nearby walls the streets and even the corners of staircases. The Swachh Bharat enthusiast for a day... cleaning and smiling with a broom their hands who, later on even forgot the meaning of cleanliness and continued to treat the streets as the waste bin.

For Mahatma Gandhi "Sanitation is more important than independence". He saw a clean and hygienic dream for India. Though not much a fan of Gandhi, his vision was the foundation for Swachh Bharat and I couldn’t help but agree with him, and why not? Why then the apprehensions and cynicisms? Why not try? Is the cynicism coming from those ‘men’ who cannot handle pressure and give in to it? For whom finding a toilet is the most difficult task in hand and who believe in the saying “going back to nature”?
To me, a simple bus journey is enough to see how the Guwahatians treat the busy streets like a huge waste bin. Let me narrate an incident which happens in regular, basis and I know which has been experienced by all of us irrespective of what public vehicle we chose to travel in. Here I was taking a bus from Christian Basti to my place (which is not too near) jam packed with all kinds of people. In the more than half an hour journey I seething-ly and helplessly observed how at least ten people spat from the moving bus without any care in the world like world champions or has chucked their finished eatables or wrappers like they were flying paper kites. What struck me most was this group of young college going girls going on about the high-flung things in life and easily throwing out gum and chocolate wrappers out of the window and wrinkling their noses when the bus stopped beside a ‘forced’ waste bin beside a bus stop.

Streets are the major source of throwing waste by the Indians followed by the wall of public buildings, official, private buildings and the staircases and yes elevator! I once met a friend of a friend who narrated why he shifted from a government job to an IT company. He told me how the government offices, wash basins, staircases were always painted with red stains, and the backyard wall is marked by ugly red stains along with the filth and stains of urination. The image itself is disgustingly repulsive. But what do we do to prevent it? Or what did my friend’s friend did to stop it? If it repulsed him instead of doing something he preferred to leave. But another question is can one person make a difference? Will his or her voice change the filthiness of people?

To some extent no doubt a voice or the collective voices will make a difference or it will simply bounce off the offender. No doubt peeing at roadside walls is the worst possible filthy picture a city can present and it’s downright embarrassing to the passerby, especially women. I am not being Feminazi here, just merely being a feminist and my question is why is it always men who find it difficult to find a toilet or hold on to the pressure of their pipes?? Day or night, whether it’s a bust street or a secluded spot there will always be a section of men unzipping and relieving themselves. And the thought that peeing in public places in front of public doesn’t seem to bother them calls for a strong need to change this attitude and it has been tried; definitely tried! to a very great extent. From the Governments campaigns and policies to the local endeavours people have tried and still trying. Like for instance, the various implementations of schemes in the major cities.

In Mumbai peeing and spitting in public places is considered the top offence, New Delhi and Bangalore is levying a heavy fine for the same offence and other cities are also taking up the same route slowly. The Government implementations are fine but are they really working? Well, not so much so the locals or the non-government organisations tried to stop this disgusting parade in different new ways and for instance, the advent of posters which are hilarious and eye-catching. And then there are those graffiti saying “yahan mootna mana hain” or “yat kukuror nisina numutibo” Or for that matter putting up deities and pictures of Gods and Goddess in the once garbage or peeing, spitting part of the public places to stop the persons specially men from defiling the area and locality. The walls are splattered “demotivational” posters and messages threatening to pleading to being downright begging... from bringing God’s name “For God’s sake do not Pee here” to a politer one “yahan peshab na kare” to a more aggressive like “Peeing here or spitting here will be subjected to heavy fine” but the problem still persists. Some get discouraged, but some sickening people answer those pleas and threat by directly urinating or peeing in those messages and posters. But to some extent the pictures of Gods or Goddesses seems to work. At least the picture of God makes them control their urge to attend to their nature’s call

And there are those public toilets Sulabh Sauchalaya in almost every big city which undertook the social task for providing hygienic toilet amenities to the local people who feel the need and also to the people who visits cities from outside. They are usually free of cost and also the charges for using toilets etc are easily affordable by every section of people. However, Even then people pay no heed and decide to answer their nature’s call wherever they are.
It’s not just keeping the environment and social surroundings clean and fresh, but also contributing to the nation’s hygiene and health. Spitting is the breeding ground of some of the most hazardous diseases like TB, Swine flu, pneumonia and influenza. India has the highest number of cases of TB caused by infections from spit. Peeing also has its share of infections like urinary tract infection giving birth to other health problems.
The clean-up campaigns, schemes, projects may look fine in print, but the India has a long way to go before achieving its cleanliness targets. It’s not just the lack of manpower or funds but targeting the psychology of the majority of Indians who plainly refuse to follow the basic rules of hygiene and cleanliness and treat the streets and public places as their person dumping grounds.
Building the attitude and the will is what going to solve the problem. No matter how colossal the task seems to be or how deep is the ocean of problems, the awareness programs should never stop; even if they seem quite insignificant. It might just be a short message on the wall or a big scheme of the Government without trying the problem won’t be solved. It’s up to the citizens to try to change the psychology, the hideous attitude and asking them to zip it up!




(Published in the Goodtimes of the Northeast Magazine, month of September)

The ‘graffitied’ love

February is upon us and so is the imposing air of love that will grip the city and the Nation spreading ‘love consciousness’ among people on the Valentine’s day. Yes, this month we are celebrating love and expressing our love in all means possible. Love is a beautiful thing and certainly a thing to be celebrated and treasured; something beyond the realms of money, fame and what not! I strongly believe in love and its magic and so for me, V-day, as it’s called by its aficionados, isn’t as special as I cannot put a constraint of a day or a month to my celebration of love. Yet, I will also not be against people celebrating their love on this day.

Celebration of love is a wonderful thing, but should it come at a price? Should it be at the cost of besmirching the beauty of a city or a country? Just as the title of this feature suggests, I am literally talking about the so called ‘art’, ‘graffiti” of expressing your love. Love can encompass many forms and so can your means of expressing it but that doesn’t mean that you can transform a historical monument into your love-note doodle. Not every art form is golden; nor are your thoughts or feelings and they are certainly repulsive if you put them in public places befouling them.

What I am talking about is the so called graffiti culture in India where the Romeos feel the need to inscribe their love in public places to immortalize their love. It is an extremely repulsive and stupid thing to do. You will find it everywhere; go to a public park and you will find a meticulously carved heart with names embedded along with on some tree or the other, the poles, seats of bus stops, public transports, the desk of Schools and College classrooms and of course the historical monuments are a living example of India’s answer to graffiti scribbles.

Our very own city is no exception; in fact it can give competition to any other graffiti-strewn cities of India. Walk down any area there are love notes scribbled on the walls. Take a look at any electric pole or the walls beside the streets or take a trip to the rural areas and small villages you will find your journey strewn with graffiti scribbles of love. Among them the prominent ones in our city are our temples: be it Kamakhya temple or Umananda or Basista Temple. Take a leisurely trip to the Kamakhya and starting from the first resting lookout point to the last, the walls, the boulders, the posts are strewn with love declaration.

On my recent trip to Kamakhaya which was a more of an outing to enjoy the fresh cool air and view rather than a pilgrimage; I was able to witness and record quite a handful, at the risk of being extremely modest, graffities of love declarations.
In the first look out stop “Rahul loves Sonia forever” and the extremely difficult but not quite cryptic equation : Pranab + Disha = Love, When I walked past that, blushing with all that love, I encountered “Mohan loves Meenu” but Raja loves Isha easily won the “Couple of Kamakhya” award as his heart was doodled the biggest around his name and his beloved. Then again in the ‘big rock’ which is the resting point cum photographic point cum adda point I come across a treasure trove of love notes, with hearts drawn with an arrow. SIGH!

Then again few days later, at the Uzan bazaar park which is the dating point of almost all lovers who want to add a touch of romanticism with a good view or some to save money I saw this tree. Now, this Dilip must be so much in love with Rita or he would not spend hours inscribing meticulously their name along with a heart and rose in the thick tree trunk! And I am sure all of you reading this will have your own versions of witnessing love notes in public places.
But the question is should we be okay with it? What do you all readers think about it? Should we consider it an annoying habit worth a few smiles, a form of amusement and disgust for some? Or should we take some considerable action to stop this besmirching? True! A repainting can restore the walls, posts , desk and benches; but what about our heritage sites? How do we restore their beauty and save them from becoming testimony of blooming love tales which last a whole month on their best days?

These blooming tales of love destroy not only the heritage monuments and sites but also deface the ambience and environment of the place. The damage is irrevocable in some places and in some other places maybe the help of conservation architects may help. Either way, Government intervention as well as the citizens’ cooperation is essential in conserving and keeping public properties, heritage sites free of mindless graffiti. It is not doing any wonders to the city’s decor and it’s time the defacement should be controlled, especially on the landmarks of the city.
It is not just a matter of few laughs, or moment of annoyance, disgust or overlooking, if we cannot curb it, any other measure would be purely a waste of time and resources and would be worth nothing. So what could be the solution or how do we find a solution? Penalties? Fine? But for that we need to catch the culprit in action and for that again the Government should employ “guards” or “supervisors” safeguarding the beauty of the public places. It’s a long shot but if we really work towards it we can cease the invasion to a considerable degree, if not completely stop the besmirching.

The reason defacement occurs because the offenders perhaps feel that there are no outlets to express their love or no ‘wall of expression’ to pour their heart out. But then there are so many possible outlets for the Romeos : how about a poem next time you get submerged in a bout of love and feeling like expressing it, even if it’s a cheesy one? Or how about a tattoo, it seems less tacky and if you cannot do either of those how about your Facebook wall or any other virtual medium? And if some fail to get either option there is still the good old method of writing in a paper and sticking it out. It’s time you control your bouts of love expression and think about the beauty of your city and nation.


[This article has been published in the magazine "Goodtimes...of the Northeast" in the February 2015 issue]

IT'S NEVER JUST A ‘DREAM’..

Dreams! such a pleasant word… a world filled with an oceanic depth in which no matter how much you swim and dive you cannot come to a static surface. Dreams are rich; dreams are unique to every individual. We all have our dreams, do we not?? And it’s up to us to share our quota of dreams with others. Some dreams are vivid some are not…some are more comprehensible and some remains a mystery. It’s like trying to catch the wind, you feel it yet you cannot hold it.

Dreams are said to be the window to our unconscious mind…a way for us to look into our unconscious. According to ‘the’ Sigmund Freud (founder of psychoanalysis) dreams are all forms of " wish fulfilment" — which can be said as ‘attempts by the unconscious to resolve a conflict of some sort, whether something recent or something from the recesses of the past.


So what is a dream?

Literally dreams are images, thoughts and emotions that we experience feel during our sleep. Dreams can be very graphic or can be very vague; filled with emotions like happiness, joy, sadness, disappointment, anger, pain and even fear.">Dreams can be divided into two main kinds; one that occurs only during our sleep when the mind is unconscious and others that occur while awake or in a state of semi wakefulness or semi conscious mind.

So why do we dream? What intentions do the dreams have? While many theories have been projected till now, no single accord regarding the dreams has surfaced. Nevertheless, it is important to regard that science is still unravelling the exact purpose and function of dreams.

A dream is a vast region and every known religion, culture of the world has it’s own different interpretation of dreams and associated superstitions. And chances are that all of us at one point or the other is often found mystifying over the mysterious substance of a dream. Today dreams and its interpretations are one of the most researched and studied upon subject. You can find all kinds of interpretations; there is psycho analytic, cultural and religious dream interpretation. Dreams are also used to foretell the future

We all want to know about our dreams, their meanings, intentions some with hope and some with apprehension. Dreams are like short movies going on in our mind giving us visuals and also make us feel. Did u ever think how a few seconds of visuals can affect your mental stamina? How a bad dream has that lingering touch to the whole day make you feel miserable, or happy or sad.

It’s never just a dream there is so much to it. Sometimes the dreams are so vivid you can almost feel them, whether you dreaming about an attack by a elephant or you get bitten by a dog you can almost feel it.. the next question comes are dreams symbolic?? Do they represent things, why is that sometime we have clear dreams and others are hidden behind an array of symbols???

Most of the times dreams are symbolic and that is the reason why dreams are studied and researched upon so much. The dream interpretations is actually a very fascinating.. You can find meaning of your dreams in books and the  internet. There are even dream dictionaries telling you about your symbolic dreams.

Here some of the symbolic interpretations of dreams:

Animals:  Animals in dreams are commonly associated concealed desires, feelings and sexual urges. Cats in the dream indicate deceive and deceit. Dogs generally indicate loyalty and friendship and also are symbolic of your skills which are ignored, but are yet to be revived. Elephants represent that you need patience to get success. Fish indicates coming of some new changes. Crocodiles represent powerful force which can be harmful or favourable. Snakes has different meanings in different cultures sometimes it represent sexual potency , sometimes sexual dissatisfaction. When you see a snake biting you, it represents hidden fears.

Chasing dreams: In a dream if you are chased by someone or some animal, it characterizes your fear of being attacked or opposed. It might mean that you have an issue in the work place or love which you have to resolve.

Dead body: A dead body in the dream usually has a positive meaning it represents good fortune and monetary gains. Some dreams can also mean oncoming doom. 



Sex: To dream about sex represents that you are sexually dormant. It also indicates repressed sexual desires and your needs for physical and emotional love. And to dream about sex with a stranger signifies that you are dissatisfied with your partner and indication of a new relationship.

Sky: Clear blue sky symbolizes new hopes and happiness and cloudy sky represents trouble. Clouds in our dreams tell us about the balance between our logical mind and our emotions. Dark clouds usually symbolize a brooding nature, or a situation in which we have dark feelings about something, and we are unable to express these feelings

Earth: Earth represents your practical nature and your need to be patient. It also symbolizes our roots, stability and foundations. If you dream of dark, rich soil it means fertility, birth and gives us a message to be creative and plant our seeds of creativity with an expectation of good result.

Water: Pure water in indicates that you are emotionally and spiritually good and muddy and dirty water represents that you are going to face troubles or there may be some bad news.

Fire: Fire symbolizes anger, passion, transformation, sexual desire and destruction. It can mean a symbol of your own internal fire and inner transformation, indication of something old is passing and something new is entering into your life.

Teeth falling:  Its one of the most common dream symbols. Many cultures, including our own diverse Indian cultures, believes that when you dream about rotten or falling teeth, then it indicates that a family member or close friend is very sick or even near death. It also indicates some deficiency in you. Losing your teeth- Feeling helpless, powerless, overwhelmed.
Decayed teeth- indicate weakening of power in the areas of health, business, finances or society. People fighting disease or suffering business losses often dream of rotten teeth.
Biting someone.-What you are doing or saying is hurting another person or you may be reacting in a childish, forceful manner in some particular situation.
Being bitten-It indicates a feeling of threat or pressurized.

Then there is the category of horror dreams, nightmares- dreams involving the dreamer having a frightening dream about ghosts, spirits, and other supernatural beings which infuse fear and dread in the dreamer. The characteristic of a nightmare is it’s frightening or has an emotional content with a sense of dread. You tend to wake up in fear in the midst of a nightmare and they have a greater impact on you and its images stay with you throughout the day.

Ghosts, in dreams, often signify shadowy apprehensions that have to be brought into the open. It represents that aspect that you fear and it’s your fear which turns them into horror images. These kinds of dreams reflect your own fears about death and death. There is also a mystical meaning to it, many claim they can speak to the dead through dreams and the ghosts appear to speak to them or convey them a message. In some cases, the spirit through the dreamers gave evidence that proved them to be the real spirits of people from the other world. It’s said that usually only the spirit people whom you care for can communicate with you in this manner.


But the question is are they for real?? Or are they just tools of pop psychology to gain attention of the people, is dream interpretation slowing becoming commercialized like palmistry, fortune telling and on the verge of becoming a sold art??

While some think it’s a voice from the other ethereal world, others believe it’s your soul communicating with you. So this has led to so many interpretations which have now taken the shape of commercial dream interpretation. But whether commercial or academic or purely for scientific gain dreams is one of the fascinating and mysterious subjects of the world which have so much to offer. Though dreams are surrounded by the halo of mysticism, psychic and religious traits, it’s mainly our subconscious mind helping our conscious mind to walk through the events of life.

And lastly all I want to say is that a dream is your and only yours alone, there is no two dreams alike, no twins so it’s up to you to decipher its meaning by diving deep in to it.  Till then keep dreaming.

                                                                                  

Silver-tailed words

You emerge out of the shadows

I reach out to touch you

The trees drifted apart,

You become more opaque yet beautiful

The ghostly halo never leaving you

Your rays slanting down to touch the tip of the leaves

My hands taking in your colour

The beautiful silveriness spreads around

Then the voices of the dusking bugs

Welcoming you with a strange disjointed melody

Yet the stillness creeps around

(inside me)

The lake looks on.. murmuring

Frowning and forbidding

Brooding at you for taking its beauty and covering her with your silvery mist.

I sat beside it taking in the sounds in the silence.

The silence!! (the inner silence!)

Ever prevailing ever unfriendly

So where did the sounds go?

Lost in the transition of chaos of discontentment?

The breeze answers softly whispering…. silently.

I sat there

And there and now

Taking in the unnerving hushed beauty.

So hushed drowning in your own voice.

I search for my words

The darkness mocks at my faltering sounds.

Words slipping out.. falling.

A period of Mind-ly disarray

Wits, mind and hearts colliding

Turmoil of words, conflicting each other.

Leaving me with an empty yet occupied mind,

Lost…. And searching….

Then …you beamed at me

Silver-tongued with those radiant hues

Softly caressing my nervousness.

Dousing me with illumination.

  

What do we have?

 A time, an age where

The insight, the knowledge pertaining as it is

The expectation, the hopes as they are

Unseen and aloof staring at us

Intact and untouched.

Silent yet promising…

This poem is dedicated to the memory of the unfortunate Delhi gangrape victim. May she find peace

The mutilated Self

Her veiled heart,

Lost in the world of lust.

Drifting among the soulless soul,

Shrouded in shame and disgrace.

Seized of her dignity,

Ravaging her mind, her body..

A mutilated sense of self.

Wounded and broken She lies

Screaming into the silence;

Slithering for justice.

Calm she never found.

Yet why??

The torment she waged ?

The demons faced?

Inexorably sapping the life out of her

Till she is nothing but a shadow of remains.

Now,

She lies in rest, mingling with the ashes

Her soul remains seeking out her revenge.

A flame of Red Rose

A flame of rose, Red rose.
Yielding, exploring passions,
Scalding, burning, warming..
Hearts everywhere.
Yet a prick, another sharp prick
A cherry atop a fork.

The flame surrounds you.
Wash you down as its,
Sweet scented breath engulfs you.
A rose tinted world- Rosy eyed vision.
Red love, Red desires, Red passions..
Red.
Snaring, gnawing at the senses.
A blind mind, a blind heart.

Then a raw rosy wound.
A hurt in the heart.
Consuming pain and anguish.
Descending of a
Red of black darkness.


A flame so strong?
Or
An emotion so weak?

Love.
The flaming emotion.
A red of heart. Blood red
Creeps on to us…
To be tamed, to be detained.
Yet it wants to be nourished.
To be treasured, to be unspoiled.
Not to be kept and castoff
As a flaring of senses, of lust and mind.

As Love
A grasp of heart,
A soft flowing warm red.
Caressing, cajoling and nurturing.
An emotion soaked in happiness and pain.
A Red rose with a shrill spike.

short fun poems!!

Light

orange and luminous,
Flaming up.
Your halo of heat...
warm and scalding
worshiped and revered
What am I???
Fire or Sun

The Artificial sun.


Amber glow, lighting me up.
Defying the shadows,
Throwing colors all around.
Illuminating happiness.

The Silent Sounds.

The window overlooked the blue ocean that existed beside the small cottage and by the window sat Saya. She was playing the piano yet, she could hear the sounds of the sea and the wind attuning together, it was an enthralling, yet a formidable duet to her, the loud bass music seeped in her eardrums and she tried to read the message it tried to convey. But now it was obvious...a storm was in the offing to endow with further rhythm to the sea and the wind.

Sounds always fascinated her, to her everything has a unique sound and it was her way of being responsive to things, a way to balance the inability in her, the imbalance of co-ordination of speech and sound in her body. While her sense of perceiving sound was extraordinarily developed, her vocal chords were unproductive which made her unable to articulate any sounds. A severe throat infection in her childhood had left her speech system barren and silent. But she seldom grieve for her voice, her voice was now just an unfamiliar tone which she was ready to forego, because devoid of 'her' sound she learned to accumulate many new sounds.

She could hear her mother humming a tune, she smiled to herself, her mother once wanted to be a singer, but due to heavy responsibility of surviving in the hard world alone filched the dream out of her, so that it was now just a shadow of the dream she used to nurture. The grand antique piano stood like an evidence of her wish, it was the only precious thing left in their ominous life. A gift from her husband when things were good in their life, when Saya still had her father, until the fated day when the ship on which he was working, got lost in the ferocity of the ocean currents. They had a hard time overcoming the loss and she faced a tough time handling the situation, it was that time when the infection ruined Saya's throat.

Her mother was moodily watching Saya play the piano, the piano which once held so many prospects to her life is now just expensive thing which she had not yet sold because it gave her daughter a voice. It greatly pained her when Saya lost her voice and she could not provide any treatment to her. Saya did not want her mother to work extra hard to cure her, but it always troubled her mother, but now after finishing school her mother had become obsessive to treat her and every little extra amount she gets , she saves it for her treatment. The silent throat never bothered her, her ears accumulated enough sounds to make her feel the want of any other sound. It puzzled her mother, because her sense of rhythm, notes were perfect and she could play the piano perfectly without any training. She was sure that with the aid of her voice she could completely master the art of music.

But to Saya her sounds were her music, her reverence. This uncanny ability to perceive sounds, the echoes in everything, in every object was her identity...a self she mysteriously developed.

She was very fond of the piano, it was her means of creating endless new sounds, with each new note she created and played, a sense of optimism filled her heart. All her emotions flowed through the sounds of the piano, it gave her a voice, an eternal voice, a voice which can reach across the sea and the land. She could relate her murky life to the piano, its music; its sounds are part of its innards, just as her sounds were intrinsic. She could channel her music through the piano, it was like her voice, her inner voice surfacing on the sound of music.

The ringing of the phone jarred her tune, it was a sound she was not fond of, it disturbed her senses. Her mother answered it. She could hear her mother listening intently to it and a glad smile appearing on her face. She excitedly came over to her and said, "Saya , I have some good news for you. The doctor that I talked to for your treatment is here in our town. And with luck we can get you checked tomorrow."
Saya did not want to dampen her mother's eagerness, perhaps having a voice would be so unrewarding , she could produce more sounds, but still she preferred her extraordinary sense of hearing to her 'unfound voice'.

Her treatment began, the doctor examined and observed her for few days. On the third day, the doctor informed, "The medication is working fine, we just need to do an operation and within a few weeks she would be able to speak again." Her mother was thrilled, she was willing to take up any expense to cure her daughter. But Saya was not happy, she could not define her uneasiness, she felt she would gain something at the cost of another. But she had to give in to her mother's wish, but first confirming they could afford the treatment, her mother assured her she could.

She closed her eyes and listened to the sea outside calling her to join in, she felt better. After today, she would also be able to cry out like the sea, could use her voice to sing along without the piano....but no! Her piano was her real voice, a voice that assisted her all through her life and no voice could ever replace it. She felt incomplete without her piano, she lovingly touched its keys and struck up a note and played as if was her last day at the keys.

She was changed into a neat hospital gown, the doctor had assured her, the operation would be fine, she looked at her mother and she gave her an assuring nod.

She felt delirious, perhaps the drug she was given was taking effect. The OT looked a bit scary to her, the tools...knives, scissors, scalpels even the nurses were building up a staccato melody. She smiled, trusted her ears to find a melody even in this situation...and then she was unconscious.

She opened her eyes to find her mother sleeping on the couch beside her bed, everything was very silent. It was unnerving to her to "hear" such silence which she never felt. Perhaps she was so interested in gathering new sounds to care for silence and now this hospital room has commenced the silence. She reached for a glass of water kept on the table, beside the bed, her grip slackened and she dropped the glass shattering the silence. The loud crass noise hurt her ears, it was not pleasant, it woke her mother who came at once beside her and said, "Do not use your voice yet dear, you need to rest...and sweetheart the operation was a success. You can now use your voice in a few weeks," her mother told her happily that her wish had been fulfilled. Saya smiled feebly at her mother's happy face but she felt a sense of loss which she could not comprehend, maybe tomorrow would be better. But the next day too was the same. She could hear the sounds but it did not sound the same, it was like her eardrums had gone fuzzy. She longed to go home, to use her piano, now that she has her voice, it would be a great to use it against the voice of her piano and also maybe she would again discern new sounds and thread it to a tune. She consoled herself that the next day would be better but each day was same, until the day she was discharged. She felt happy and anxious it would be after so long she would play her piano and create new sounds which was completely absent in the four walls of her hospital room. Her mother thanked the doctor and they headed home. On the way she could hear the sounds of the cars, bicycles, people shouting, but it was all noise to her... to her it was not piece of music. It troubled her, she longed to hear the music in those sounds which she earlier could and now she could not.

At last she reached the place she longed for, she rushed through the front door to the sitting room, and she stopped abruptly.... an empty space greeted her, the markings were still there as if it was recently moved. She could not believe it was gone, tears flowed heavily... she felt numb. Her mother silently walked up to her "I am sorry Saya, I had to sell the piano, it was the only means through which I could get more money for your treatment"

At last she understood why she felt empty, depressed , her real voice was gone, so has her extraordinary ability to perceive new sounds, it had all left her at the cost of that 'unfamiliar' voice she would have all her life...she let out a wail and that was the first sound she had let out.

Haiku ( a form of Japanese poetry,very short poems.)

Lament

Bleak moon, biting wind
Sending shivers all around
She waited, night long

5-7-5 syllabic form
( a modern English haiku)

Haiku ( a form of Traditional Japanese poetry) these are very short poems.)

A Rainbow

A storm swept over,
Showers of 'decipitation'
Rainbow at the end.


5-7-5 syllabic form.
(modern English haiku)

"My" adaptation of the story "Tobermory" by Saki

TOBERMORY

I was little anxious when I heard Mrs Blemley’s is giving another of her dinner parties this evening. I am not that fond of dinner parties though I like the food, but mostly because of my coyness and of my disastrous dressing sense. But there was just one thing that instigated me to go to the party.
The air was pleasantly warm when I entered the garden which was ornately decorated with flowers and small bug lights. The guests were sitting around those small round tables which were arranged beautifully near the pool. But my eyes sought only one and there she stood... like a luminous white flower glowing in the dark with white fur, her bright orange eyes and a matching flower on her collar ...ah! the only colourful thing among the mass of blacks and greys.
I made my way towards her rather than my host and hostess, welcoming guests. I assembled my guts and walked towards her; tonight I have to talk to her, it’s been too long my feelings are congealed inside me. As I reached her I opened my mouth to talk to her, but instead with a swirl she walked away from me as if I did not exist. Sigh! She always taunts me this way. I watched her curl up to her mistress’s lap and watched me beadily while her fur is being constantly ruffled by the ladies.
Yes people I am a cat and a black cat as that with all the superstitions and other beliefs attached and yea... I am Tobermory by the way, and the beautiful white cat (sigh! ) is Lily Mrs Jenkins’ cat. I was desperate to get her attention but all she bestows upon me is ignorance. What do I do to be her only number one muse? Then the answer came to be in the form of Mr Appin an old eccentric scientist who wants to achieve extraordinary things...like teaching a cat to talk in human language and yes! I am his first pupil. I must say he is good, but no one believes him as I was reluctant to share my knowledge with the world, so he was dejected and dismissed. But now the situation is different if I have to capture Lily’s attention. I have to show my talents.
He was sitting alone (predictably) on a table with a glass of whisky,
“Mr Appin” I gently called, he jerked his head towards my direction.
“Oh it’s you Tobermory, what do you want from me now?” his voice was angry then burst out “wasn’t it enough for you to humiliate me in front of the world”
“Relax Mr Appin , I know I had done great injustice to you, so I have come to make amends, you see”

“Amends! What do you mean?”
“I mean I will demonstrate my speaking skills in front of everyone, now”.
He was surprised and half rose from his chair “you will?”
“aa yes”
“Come on now.” He picked me up (that was degrading) “I can walk you know”
“Oh sorry” he grinned, he seemed excited.
He went towards the large table loaded with drinks and climbed on it and shouted
“All my good people, good evening to you all. Today I present you the opportunity of witnessing something rare and wonderful” (I hope he doesn’t overstate himself) “a spectacle never seen, I present you the talking cat Tobermory”
There was a flutter of response and exasperated looks, till I joined Mr Appin on the table and greeted, “Hello everyone”.
There was shocked silence, everyone gaping at me, which was rather uncomfortable, then I saw her eyes on me, and my confidence renewed.
“I know it’s hard for you to believe a cat can talk but here I am, and I can talk all you want to hear in your language -starting with Mr and Mrs Blemley, thank you for keeping me in your house and anyone who wants to talk to me, you have the whole night ahead ” I ended my little speech.
And now suddenly I and Mr Appin was core of the party with the fancy food offered to us and of course the lovely ladies cuddling me and having their photos taken with me...it was really grand but the best part was when Lily walked up to me with her seductive smile “so where were you hiding your talents?” she asked me alluringly.
“Waiting for the right moment for them to surface” I replied, dazed.
“Well don’t hide anymore talents, I would like to see all of them. Meet me tomorrow by the park” with that she gave me one of her alluring smile and walked away with Mrs Jenkins.
Sigh! That was the best party ever.

YASHOMANA CHOUDHURY

"The Scream"

In the waste land of materialism,
twisted, stagnant and bare feelings
Whirls,Stirs and Simmers.

Emotions,
Tamed and contained,
Frustration mounting..

Till it culminates to a suffocating nausea,
rotting your innards and soul
waiting for and explosion.
and then The scream.

It was an interesting task we were set upon during one of the Creative writing session what was we thought as random words and expression turned out to be a POEM!!!!,

A Wavering Mind..


Raindrops.
Gloominess,
Thoughts tinkling like the rain drops on my window.
Confusion,
Why a melancholic sprinkle on this moonlit night?
Candlelight,
Fireflies...
at the rim of twilight glided with their fiery bodies from the dark snare of leaves.
Consciousness,
Containment
Happiness seeping in, infighting feelings...
I breathed deeply and my lips gave way to a wavering smile
Sitting pondering pleasantly.



YASHOMANA CHOUDHURY

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!

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

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

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

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