Sonu Sood

Sonu Sood.
I never saw him in person or on screen.
He never screamed in Twitter against the system.
He must not be the most wealthy Indian or artist.
His name so neutral , we can't guess his faith.
We need not and should not.
He stood out.
He did it massively,
So massively that he might go out of funds,
Alone one can do wonder.
He has done a portal.
Find out if it can be helped.
He found the way.
If one wanted to run a thousand buses but had no permission.
Give the fund to Sony Sood he would handle.
Not for his money but for his method, he started local but now helps anyone anywhere.
That is the real start up, the real make in India,
I wish his name written in golden letters on the pages of history,
I wish he is red cross, he is lions, he is rotary, he is Ford foundation, he is Bill Gates, he is mother Teresa, he is Florence and he is everything put together.
He is a tiger, not a paper made.
He is the real life hero.
And he is Sonu Sood.

An Exotic Expedition.

An Exotic Expedition.

Author Rabinarayan Senapati. Edited by Sayam Suraj.

A memoir from my book, ANYATHA MULYAHEENA (Otherwise Insignificance).

It was the year nineteen hundred ninty-three. I was posted as a doctor in a subsidiary health centre at a village named Budhikomna, in Nuapada district.

A purposeless granary was utilised as our hospital’s establishment. The shed in its front once meant for weighing grains, now sufficed as the patient’s waiting area. It had two benches, newly constructed for the occasional patients but mostly utilised by the hospital staff in their leisure hours.

It was a Sunday morning. I and our pharmacist Mr Narendra Panda, a native of the village, with his friend Navida, a frequenter to the establishment, were relaxing on those benches. An intervening free-space of about a hundred feet from the shed allowed a view of the bus-stop across the street. The stop had only two visitors; the state-run bus from Cuttack to Nuapada and a local private one.

Spontaneously and uninhibited, I uttered in an audible voice, “That young woman getting down from the bus looks like my wife!”

Laughter broke out amongst the people seated with me, as I became aware of the loudness of my statement, knowing well that my wife Sarita, was more than six hundred kilometres away, worked at a hospital, in Bari, Jajpur district. I blushed. But my gaze did not move away from the woman in question. The woman had turned towards the opposite side of the road asking something to the passersby. I noticed the long, thick, pleated bunch of hair falling on her back. The familiar clothing assured me even more. Knowing no bounds of happiness, I rushed to greet my absolute surprise. It was her! This was an era before the cell-phones. And I was twenty-six years young!

Due to the courtesy of the school headmaster, a fatherly figure and Narendra Ajna's elder uncle, I was staying in the schoolroom meant for the students of fourth class. Realising my wife’s presence, my staff and Navida quickly arranged to make a partition in that big room to give it a look of a house. We arranged walls made out of bamboos available in the village to construct the bath area, on the backyard. The school was at the northern end of the village. There was enough bushy wasteland towards the western side of the school to enforce further privacy to attend to our needs; a struggling doctor (a couple in this case) of rural Bharat as shown in a classic old cinema.

Our son, Sayam, was yet to see his first birthday. Leaving him with my caring mother-in-law, Sarita had decided to gift me a surprise: her visit! To celebrate her adventurous spirits, we planned another.

The village health guide (VHG), from the small village Pattpain atop Dunguripali hill, had come down to fetch his logistics. Pattpain literarily means royal water or royal rain. It was a strategically established village by King of Khariar, at the border of Khariar and Patana, two princely states in pre-independent era. We decided to climb to Pattpain with the VHG.

The local women advised against taking my wife atop the stiff hill, citing their fear and uncertainty regarding her abilities. They probably had genuine concerns. Or, since they were afraid of doing the same, their suggestion was possibly out of jealousy or a feeling of inferiority. Both way, we were blissfully ignorant, and at a short notice, everything was arranged.

After having lunch, we started our journey towards Dunguripali hill. On our way, we prayed at the Shiva temple situated at the southern end of the village. The temple was a thirteenth or fourteenth-century monument built with designer bricks. It was under the responsibility of central ASI.

We crossed Dunguripali village to reach the foothills within half an hour.

The journey, in the beginning, was beautiful, covered with lush green flora and rocky terrains. But in the sunny humid weather, it did not take too long to get exhausted. The stiff hill was extremely stiff. Sarita was lagging behind. And so was I. Navida and Narendra ajna were ahead of us and the porter and the VHG were far up. Both of them belonged to the village. Now, at the age of fifty-four, I understand the reversal of our hierarchy under different circumstances. And in that expedition, we had a similar reversal of our positions. 

The climb continued. I realised, at the plea of my wife’s exhaustion, I was also receiving the required rest. In every aspect of life, we feel comfortable and get comfort if there’s one who lags behind us. After a point, Sarita started feeling breathless. We were unaware of the remaining distance. Neither Navida nor Narendra ajna could forecast the same. The localities were too far ahead to answer us. Although the hill was a smaller one, it felt like climbing Mount Everest, without the aid of oxygen and water. We could not conclude which was easier; to climb further to reach the top or to trek down the trail to Dunguripalli village. But man always looks ahead and we climbed despite the difficulties. After every few steps, Sarita would pant out of thirst and would be breathless. Slowly, her pulse rate increased above a hundred, and she started getting palpitation. But after resting for a few minutes she would say, “Let us climb, and let us move”.

 Throughout life, I have heard the same thing from her, “Let us move ahead”. I do not know if she is an inspiration or an obstacle in my life’s endeavours and vice versa.  

When she could not climb anymore, she started crawling. She was begging for water. But our stupidity had suggested us to give the water container to the porter. And now, he was too far up. The other two started climbing fast so that they could send back some help and water. Now it was just the two of us, struggling on our own, a great romance of loneliness and fear. Fear of death was not out of question. As doctors, we were familiar with death. Once she regained her stability, we did not stop. We moved ahead; painfully ahead. And the help returned.

After taking enough water, we felt better. Knowing the top is not too far, we were extremely relieved. It felt like achieving the unachievable. And finally!

It was not a big valley. The plane lands were not enough for housing and farming. The small houses, twenty in number, looked comfortable in the lap of the mother, the hill of Dunguripalli. The VHG, Navida and Narendra ajna were waiting for us. All of us were tired and so was the day. The twilight welcomed the comfort of dark night, without an intervening evening. We neither had energy nor time to explore the landscape and observe the natural walls surrounding three-quarters of the village. 

The Anganwadi centre worked as a guest house. They offered a large amount of tea and an even larger amount of puffed rice. Given our situation, anything was enjoyable. We cherished the rest and relaxation. In an hour, the dinner was served. It was a sizeable portion of rice with a good amount of country chicken curry. We were meat-eaters back then and enjoyed it to our soul’s satisfaction (I do not accept the term non-vegetarian as there is no human who does not at all consume plants and plant products). By eight o'clock we were ready to sleep. The whole village was in slumber by then. The VHG, who too had a tough day, bid adieu.

We reduced the flame of the lantern to its minimum. After flashing our torchlight at the surroundings for a while, the four of us retired. There were two rooms and we, the couple, had the luxury of a rope woven cot. The cot was about five and a half feet in length and three and a half feet in width. Why do people make dimensions so small? Wood was not in scarcity; at least not there! Do they believe small cots are more romantic?

Nature was more romantic than the couple in its lap. There were so many sounds, which certainly were not sweet songs of birds. Some were periodic in nature and some, more constant. An owl’s hooting was the only sound I could recognise. I assumed the constant ringing sounds to be of Jhinkaries, a buzzing insect. The periodic sounds were very different and possibly those of wild animals; some docile and some fearsome. 

But, within a moment, everything changed. It started raining heavily. The cold wind came through the breaches in the small window, rest from under the door. With every passing moment, the rain intensified. Previously the sky was so clear. It was unbelievable, how fast the clouds covered the hill and started pouring. The sound of rain in a small valley is a memory of a lifetime. It was amazingly different! It felt as if we were placed within the sounds of thunderclaps. The sound of the rain resonated as if it were confined in a sound machine. It still remains inexpressible! 

But soon everything changed to another sound play. The rain suddenly stopped. The wind became calm. The air stopped entering our room. The flashes of lightening paused. And no thunderclaps were heard anymore. But that did not stop the sound show. This new profound sound was that of a large number of waterfalls banding together. The profuse rainwater was falling downhill, surrounding the three sides of the village. But again, the sounds diminished as dramatically as they had started. I am not sure who slept first; the hills or the couple it sheltered.

The next morning, we woke up early, feeling extremely fresh. If the sound was the charm of the night then the sight was the magic of the morning. The hills on our right looked brighter than the village and we presumed the sunrise to happen from that direction. Lo and behold! It was just the opposite. That was the west. The tall walls were reflecting the sun in front of it creating an illusion for us. The sun rose from the opposite side that was free from hills, to give us a jolt and correct our sense of direction. And suddenly another magic happened. The valley went dark and we all were drowned in thick clouds. The visibility was far more compromised than the winter mist of the coastal planes. But again it got cleared to let the sun sign bright on the lush green vegetation all around. 

We visited the tiny village houses. They did not speak any different language. We could communicate easily. We learnt a little, about their economics, sociology, rituals, aspirations and problems. After breakfast, we prepared to return fast. The villagers of Budhikomna must have been worried for us because of the rain, we presumed.

We started. This time we took the path through the north-east direction along the side of a stream. That route was a gradual slope, longer in distance and through the two villages, Kamkeda and Nuagan. We walked long and reached the village Kandetara and then walked another three kilometres and entered the village of Budhikomna from the opposite direction; the very same direction from which Sarita had entered the village, a few days before. We reached the hospital. The revenue inspector Reddy Mousa, mausi and family were waiting for us with intense anxiety.  So was Mr Narendra Panda’s elder brother. All of them felt great relief after seeing us. But the ones who became the happiest were Lalubudha, the world’s tastiest aluchop maker with a broken femur, his blind wife and family. 

This exotic expedition that we undertook twenty-seven years ago still remains in our memory as an experience of a lifetime.

The Labourer. By Rabinarayan Senapati. Edited by Sayam Suraj.

The Labourer. 

By Rabinarayan Senapati. Edited by Sayam Suraj.

We couldn't exactly say that Biplab was a labourer. How could we? He was a stacks & operations supervisor, managing an entire floor, at The Great Western shopping mall. There were ten workers at his disposal. And all of them addressed him as “Sir.” Besides, he was a graduate. His pay was more than sufficient to provide him with rented accommodation. Earlier, he was staying in the company’s boarding facility with the other workers. To a literate supervisor, that was distasteful. How could he live with them, reluctant to identify himself with these mere labour class people? After house-hunting for a while, he had found a small one-bedroom flat at The Ganesh apartments. The owner had stated a mandatory precondition of renting his flat only to married couples. Instantly agreeing to his demands, Biplab had paid the deposit.

His wife, Bijli, was living in his village, far away in the eastern state of Odisha. It had been more than a year since they got married. The couple was under a lot of social pressure to have a baby. But they had spent less than a month of their married life together. Biplab had been thinking of getting his wife to stay with him. Thus, the owner’s precondition became his catalyst in bringing Bijli to her new destination.

Hearing the news of his wife’s arrival in the newly rented house, Biplab’s subordinates had demanded a feast. The celebration was arranged at the small eatery inside the shopping mall at a special staff discount. Bijli was delighted to meet the girls and boys who behaved so friendly with a sense of respect as well. Out of courtesy, they also met the mall manager, Basanta sir. The middle-aged man had no inhibition in praising Bijli. He compared her beauty to that of the goddess of wealth and fortune, Laxmi. Biplab was relieved. Unlike others, the comparison was not with any film heroine. He thanked the manager’s decency, of course, in silence. The manager also enquired her qualifications and skills if any.

Within a few months, his wife transformed the house into their beautiful abode. One day,  when a delighted Biplab returned from the mall, Bijli showed him the two lines of her testing kit. His happiness doubled. 

“We are really lucky Bijli! God has heard our prayers. We are going to be parents soon! And, guess what, there is another good news. Basanta sir, the mall manager, wants to appoint you as the data entry operator in his office. Would you like to work?”

Before answering him, Bijli dashed towards the basin. Her nausea culminated in bouts of vomiting. Biplab brought a piece of lemon from the tiny refrigerator they had bought on instalment from the mall. Both of them remained silent.

He did not meet Basanta sir for a while. One day he summoned Biplab and asked him for their decision.

“Yes sir, she is very interested. But please give us two more months,”

“No. The office needs to fill this vacancy soon. Jobs aren’t fruits hanging from branches, that you can pluck at your will. So you may forget my offer. I cannot wait.”

Days passed away. Bijli had completed three months of pregnancy. She did not have morning sickness anymore. Basanta sir, once again, asked Biplab about their willingness for the still-kept vacancy. The truth was neither he nor Bijli felt comfortable accepting a proposal from the man who had praised her beauty on their first meet. But society keeps moving with its fair share of indecency and people adjust their dignities within those boundaries. She knew her husband’s pay was not enough to show off the lifestyle of a supervisor. She convinced herself for the job.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I feel better now. I can handle the job. I mean, I can handle everything within the dignity of a working woman.”

Biplab appreciated the grace of his wife.

After a week, Bijli started working. Neither Basant sir enquired about her health nor did the couple reveal her pregnancy. It would take a while for the features to be noticeable. They kept on pushing at life with their child sheltered within the safety of the mother’s womb. They hired a part-time maid to share their household chores. Occasionally, they would bring food parcels from their favourite restaurants. They lived happily.

Happiness has an expiry date. After two months, a severe flu, the Covid-19 Pandemic, started spreading throughout the world. The country went under complete lockdown. The Great Western was no exception. Businesses and private employers were urged by the government to retain their employees and their livelihood. But the mall owner declared his incapability to pay the employees. Biplab and Bijli lost their income. But they had sufficient groceries for a month and enough money to survive for another six months. The government had requested house owners to excuse the monthly rents of their tenants in this difficult situation. Biplab’s house owner obliged and the couple managed.

In the initial days of the pandemic, housing societies harbouring medical professionals started panicking. What if they brought the disease, from their hospitals to our doorstep? Two of Biplab’s immediate neighbours were contractual nurses. A doctor couple also lived in The Ganesh apartments. They had helped the community several times. Even though Biplab and Bijli were aware of their medical needs in the near future, the fear of infection propelled them to join the others in driving the health professionals out of their society. But the couple did not realise that they had axed their own feet.

The flats, vacated by the nurses, belonged to Biplab’s house owner. All his savings, and retirement benefits, were invested in these three small flats. His son’s business had tanked. His wife was a cancer patient. How would he manage without the rent? He informed Biplab about his decision against exempting the rent.

Biplab’s calculations fell short. Bijli felt sorry for driving away the health professionals. The owner’s difficulties weighed heavier than their own. They had not paid the rent since two months. The couple understood his situation and cleared all the pending dues. This emptied up a big chunk of their balance.

Back in their village, the condition of their families was severe. Biplab belonged to a family of barbers. They had a small shop in the village. Due to the lockdown, all the barbershops, including theirs, had gone out of business. And Biplab had stopped sending money since two months. To add to this, Bijli’s cousin fell sick. He used to work at the spinning mill in the neighbourhood. Biplab had to take care of him until he was tested Covid-19 positive. Soon, the news broke. The contact-tracing team came for the couple. When they were leaving for isolation, the apartment inhabitants gave them a ‘No Return’ notice. They saw their house owner, begging with a gesture that he was not in a position to return the deposit. Biplab and Bijli realised, how similar was the health professional’s evacuation!

Luckily, both of them tested negative and came out of the isolation centre. But their apartment had orphaned them. Cousin’s treatment had dried up their accounts. They had to move to the temporary camps meant for the homeless workers. To the literate ex-supervisor and his wife, the only option left was to live with these mere labour class people.

Soon Biplab, which literally means revolution, became the leader of the labourers in the camp. He raised their issues through various helplines. He requested the governments of the host state, the states of the labourers, and the centre for help. But Nothing changed. They kept on giving him sweet assurances. The caretakers considered him a threat to their corrupt practices. They dealt with him using controlled aggression. Whenever the labourers tried protesting on the streets, the police would come and chase them away. As time passed by, more and more inmates started testing positive. The camp authorities did not have enough resources and facilities to quarantine all of them. The number of cases started rising alarmingly. There were many symptomatic cases that had not been tested. The situation was extremely chaotic. Everyone was desperately wanting to go home. Few of them headed for their states on bicycles. Some middlemen started arranging bus tickets and fake medical certificates for the inmates to return home. Initially, Biplab tried counselling others against it. His several discussions with the stakeholders had given him false hopes. Eventually, he gave up. He wished he had enough money to purchase the tickets. But they had lost everything before entering the camps.

Meanwhile, the authorities shifted the camp to a school campus, citing better discipline prospects and improved facilities. The couple was allowed to stay together in a small room. This was school’s NCC room, the logistics suggested so. This also had an attached washroom. Compared to the other camp dwellers, they were lucky. But the situation did not change. Biplab did not let his wife come out of their room. He was worried about her health, and the health of their unborn child. When the caretakers decreased the food amount, he started having one meal a day. For the rest of the meals, he would pretend that he has eaten in the camp, and feed his share to Bijli. He knew that his wife should not remain hungry.

Only a woman can hide her hunger from a man. A man has no such skills. Whatever might be his relationship with a woman, she can perceive his hunger very easily. How could she not? God has bestowed that instinct on her. And that instinct was ripening in the womb of Bijli. Her pain was excruciating. Yet she tried controlling it. She was afraid that the baby inside her might feel the pain. She felt helpless. She did not want Biplab to remain hungry. But she also wanted to feed her baby. She wept through her helplessness and agony, in silence.

Basant sir hadn’t stopped calling her. She used to put him off as a thing of her past that would never come to their aid. But now she had no other option. He was her last hope. She, from the solitary confinement of her hopelessness, started responding to his calls, requesting him to help her financially. Biplab did not know. Bijli wanted to do her part alone. And Basant sir obliged.

Helplessness is the father of exploitation. 

The Great Western mall manager wanted Bijli’s help in setting up a video conference to communicate with the government. He conveyed that to her husband. Previously, he had called Biplab, a couple of times, to know their state of affairs.

“So what, if the mall is closed? I have enough money to help you. Come on Biplab, take some money from me.”

Biplab had never given any importance to the manager’s alcohol-influenced generosity. But this new proposal seemed real. Basant sir arranged police passes and sent a vehicle to pick them up.

The camp authorities were initially reluctant. After talking to the mall manager, they allowed the couple to leave. But the condition was, Biplab should come back immediately and represent the labourers in a meeting to finalise the standard procedure of return to their home-states. Biplab looked at his graceful wife. Her motherhood was overtly promising. He saw the Goddess Laxmi in her. But Bijli wanted to go. They left. Biplab escorted his wife to Basant sir’s office and returned after showing his respects to the man.

The day passed away gradually. After a long time, Biplab had two sufficient meals. Most of his proposals were accepted in the meeting. He was aware that he had no money to book tickets for him and his wife. But, as a leader, he had a responsibility to carry out for the greater good of the community. He returned to his room after the meeting was over. He remembered that he had flu-like symptoms. Bijli too was having the symptoms since a couple of days. But there was no point in revealing the same. So many people had these symptoms. No one bothered to get them tested. Nevertheless, he regretted letting his wife go to the meeting. What if she was infected? She might be a source to the others.

In the evening, Bijli came back. She presented herself with a smile hanging from her lips. She had a cough. Her smile and happiness teased Biplab, but her cough worried him.

“Bijli, are you well? Did you remove your mask in the office? Did you cough there? How do you feel now?”

“Mask!” she sighed.

All of a sudden, she became conscious and said, “Everything went fine. I did not cough. Do you suspect Corona in me? Didn’t we test negative? What’s the point? So many people are having the symptoms. Nobody is testing them. Let’s presume that we are infected and be happy about it. We will recover. We will definitely recover. I am not afraid. You should not fear as well. Come, hug me. Wait, let me have a shower first. I want to feel fresh again.”

She entered the bathroom, throwing her purse on the floor. A bunch of five hundred rupee notes fell out. Biplab looked at those notes with surprise, but without much interest. Dogs started barking outside the room as if they were chasing something. A black cat hurried in, through the partly-opened window and ran atop the fallen bunch, further dispersing the notes. It reached the corner and sat there, still and soundless. It looked at Biplab. He thought of it as an ominous sign and wanted to drive it away. But the dogs were still barking. He looked at the cat once again. It seemed fearful. Its eyes moved his heart. It was pleading for a safe haven. The picture of his unfortunate self and his wife came to his imagination. They were once forced to vacate their beautiful life in that small one-bedroom home.

The dogs stopped barking. His wife came out. The cat left the room, cautiously.

“Oh! You saw these. I wanted to hide them from you. Who knows, tomorrow someone may beg your help. No! You will not help anyone. You should not. Let the world go to hell. We will leave this place with this money. You were lying to me for the last several days, keeping yourself hungry. I have tolerated that. How can I face your mother? I cannot. We should leave this place as soon as possible. We will repay this borrowed money to the pig. We are barbers. We are the clever ones, aren't we? We cannot afford to be stupid. We will work in our fields and in our cowshed. We will revive our farming. We have never remained hungry in the history of mankind. Even the king has remained hungry during the war. And so has everyone else. But we, the clever ones, have never remained hungry. Why should my husband remain hungry? Come, my sweetheart! Hug me, my love!”

They embraced each other for a long time.

Soon they purchased the train tickets. After a week, they were in the quarantine centre of their village. Testing positive, they were shifted to a COVID hospital. After getting cured, they returned to their home and handed over the money, they had received from the government, to his mother.

One day, Biplab’s phone rang. One of his juniors had called him to inform that the mall manager had died of Covid-19. He was a diabetic. He could not fight the novel virus.

Biplab conveyed the news to Bijli. She was filled with joy.

“The pig is finally dead! Thank God! we do not have to return him the money. We never had to. Why should I pay back my hard-earned money?”

She whispered to herself so that the world doesn’t hear her, “Mask? How can a mask help when the soul is polluted? When everything is sucked out of the helpless, how can the mask help? The world can never face a mother. The mother can never be impure. I claim that I am pure. I claim that I am untouched by impurity. And I claim that I am a mother; the mother to my hungry husband, the mother of the labourer, and the mother of his baby inside me.”

The labourer never investigated.

It was wartime. It was a nightmare, and it was over.