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Tuesday, 26 January 2016

The Soda Pusher and the street dancer. based on Dr Lalitendu Jena's Odia story, a quarter century back.

(Originally Dr Lalitendu Jena narrated the core of this story as his real life experience which he penned down in Odia language to bag an award as best story. It was his plus two time experience in 1980s.
Dr Lalitendu met a fatal accident on 20th of April. He was a hard working, philanthropic human. His young experience speaks how beautiful was his soul.
I begged his permission to recreate this story in English in 2016. This is the first story of my book, "Twenty Tales", published in 2017.) 

The Soda Pusher and the Street Dancer.

Lalitendu, as he walked down an unused street, that once upon a time was a rush road before the construction of the flyover, recollected his old memories. To reach this road he used to pass through a breach in the boundary wall in front of East hostel of his Ravenshaw college. With regular use by boarders, it had become an unnamed lane. 
The lane met the road at the soda pusher's stop. The shop at the stop sold soda.The process of opening the bottle by pushing down a small bulb was a technique mastered by the cart owner earning the name, 'Soda Pusher'. It was not a shop in true sense, but a cart with a flat top having multiple holes to carry the soda bottles upside down that looked fascinating even if there was no variety.  Coke was driven out of the country,  the only available cola was a campa cola, Its cost was ten times of a soda bottle that was sold at thirty paise a bottle.Many people stopped there to drink a soda, raw, as a poor man's cold drink.
 The boarders also visited the cart, Lalitendu too. 

There was a street book store that sold old and partially new books of all kinds, at a discount of fifty percent or more. Lalitendu had a passion to browse the stall to find a classic, often available. This made his presence in the place for enough time to observe the soda pusher. It was difficult for him to understand how the man always looked so jolly with this ordinary business. He even did some philanthropic work, offered a bottle to a beggar or a poor. A very positive feeling, Lalitendu carried with himself from this common man. He subconsciously became an admirer of the Soda seller.

One day Lalitendu spent a long time in the book shop. He could collect a copy of “Gitanjali” of Viswakabi on the street, which he felt to be great disrespect to the Noble laureate. He searched more time to bail out more classic books from the street to his cupboard. 

Staying long hours he could observe one more thing. 

A youngman, a thorough lunatic was dancing on the street.

The dance steps had tinge of refined classical Odishi. The boy was singing a popular devotional song of Radha offering Sri Krishna. This man in woman's attire was dancing for hours as people gathered there to see him. He had never seen a psychotic to perform like him. 
The shopkeeper informed him. This youngman left his study in 'Sangeet Mahavidyalay' as he became mentally imbalanced, identifying a real Radha in him.
 He would be dancing for hours together without being visibly tired.

Lalitendu moved there. He saw the wonderful dance of devotion that delighted everyone except the soda pusher.

After some minutes the soda man came with a bottle of cola, with the motherly love of Jashoda. He with a very tender voice told, "Radha! Oh my dear child, your dance is enough, I should release your Krishna from the lock up, where I have kept him captive, will not demand that he is mine only. You definitely deserve Him. But please stop dancing, you are too tired dear, Jasoda can never see you drop down dancing. So please have this cola and stop it now, I can't bear it anymore”.

People dispersed as the dancer obeyed the command, many had tear drops rolling down, could not know whether it was for the street dancer or for the soda pusher or for the Supreme Shrikrishna.  

Lalitendu with Gitanjali in hand could feel, one more poem of Tagore, entered to the pages, to be treasured forever.

( The story is based on Lalitendu Jena’s narration of his own Odia story that fetched an award, which he wrote as a class twelve student in Ravenshaw college.)

This story is dedicated to noted literary person, Sri Ramachandra Behera on Laitendu’s request.

Friday, 22 January 2016

ପରୀ Paree, children,s fairy tale..

ପରୀ
ପରୀ ଏହା ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ଆଂକିଥିବା ଚିତ୍ର
ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ପାଠ ଖାତାରେ କଣ ଗୋଟାଏ ଗାରା ଗାରି କରୁଛି ଏକ ଭଂଗା ପେନସିଲର ଅଭଂଗା ମୁନରେ । ମା କହିଲେ ପାଠ ସରିଲା ଐଶ୍, ରୋଷେଇ ଘର ଭିତରୁ ଥାଇ। କିଛି ଉତ୍ତର ପାଇଲେ ନାହିଁ। ଦୁଇଥର ଡାକିଲାପରେ ବହାରକୁ ଆସି ଝିଅକୁ ନିଘା କଲେ, ସେ ହଜି ଯାଇଛି ତା ଚିତ୍ର ଦୁନିଆରେ। ମାଂକ ଉପସ୍ଥିତି ସମ୍ପର୍କରେ ସଚେତନ ହୋଇ ପାରୁନାହିଁ।
ଠିକ ଅଛି ତା’ର ତନ୍ମୟତାରେ ବ୍ୟାଘାତ ନକରିବା ଭଲ।
ମାତ୍ର ପନ୍ଦର କୋଡିଏ ମିନିଟ ପରେ ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ତା ନୂତନ ଚିତ୍ରକୁ ଧରି ମାଂକ ପାଖରେ ହାଜର୍। ମାମା ଦେଖିଲ ଦେଖିଲ ମୋ ପରୀ’କୁ।
ପୁଣି ପରୀ!
ଏମିତି ସେମିତି ନୁହେଁ ମାମା, ଇଏ ପ୍ରୋମିଜ କରିଛି ମୋ ସହ କଥା ହେବ, ଖେଳିବ, ମୋତେ ନାଚ ଶିଖାଇବ, କେତେ ନୂଆ ରାଇଜ ବୁଲାଇ ନେବ, ତାଂକ ଘରକୁ ବି ନେବ।
ଛୋଟିଆ ଛୁଆ, ମାତ୍ର ସାତ ବର୍ଷ ବୟସ ତା’ର ପୁଣି ଏତେ କଥା। ସମାନ୍ୟ ବିଚଳିତ ହେଲେ କିଂତୁ ଚିତ୍ରଟିକୁ ଦେଖିଲା ପରେ ସେ ବିଶ୍ୱାସ କରି ପାରିଲେ ନାହିଁ, ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ଏତେ ସୁଂଦର ଆଂକି ପାରିବ ବୋଲି। ସତରେ ତ ଏହା ଜୀବଂତ।
ମାମା! ସେ ମତେ ସତରେ ବୁଲାଇ ନେବନା?!
ମା ବୁଝି ପାରିଲେ ନାହିଁ, ହଁ କହିଲେ ଭଲ’କି ନା କହିଲେ ଭଲ। କେବଳ ଆଦରରେ କୋଳାଇ ନେଇ କହିଲେ, ଅତି ସୁଂଦର।
 ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ଏବେ ବାପାଂକ ପାଖକୁ ଦୌଡିଲା, ହୁଏତ ବାପା ଏ ବାବଦରେ ଠିକ କଥା କହିବେ।
ବାପା କହିଲେ, ହଁ ସେ ତୋ ସହ ସାଥି ହେବ’ଯେ କିଂତୁ ତାଂକ ରାଇଜର ନିୟମ କାନୁନ ହିସାବରେ, କେବଳ ସମୟେ ସମୟେ, ତାହାପୁଣି ସ୍ୱପ୍ନରେ। ତୁ ଯେଉଁ ସୁଂଦର ସ୍ୱପ୍ନ ଗୁଡିକ ଦେଖୁ ସେ ସବୁତ ଏହି ମାନେ ଦେଖାଂତି, ଆଉ ଏହି ପରୀଟି ନିଶ୍ଚେ ତୋ ସହ କେତେ ଖେଳ ଖେଳିବ ଦେଖୁନୁ ଏହା କେତେ ସୁଂଦର ହୋଇଛି,ସେ ଯଦି ସତରେ ତୋ ଆଗକୁ ଆସି ତୋ କଳ୍ପନାରେ ଦେଖା ଦେଇ ନଥାଂତା ତା ହେଲେ ତୁ କଣ ତୋ ଟିକି ହାତରେ ଏମିତି ଆଂକି ପରିଥାଂତୁ।
  ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା  ବୁଝିଲା ତା ଚିତ୍ରାଂକନ ଆଜି ବୋଧେ ଭଲ ହୋଇଛି।
ଠିକ ଅଛି, ଆଜି ଅମେ ଆମ ଏଠିକା ପରୀ ରାଇଜ ଡିସ୍ନି ଲାଂଡ ବୁଲିଯିବା ଅପରାହ୍ନରେ।
ଏ କଥା ଶୁଣି ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟାର ମନ ବଦଳି ଗଲା ସେ ଖୁସିରେ ମା ପଖକୁ ଦୌଡି ଯାଇ ମାଂକୁ କହିଲା, ମା ଶୀଘ୍ର ଶୀଘ୍ର କାମ ସାରି ପକା ନହେଲେ ଡେରି ହେବ,ଆମେ ସବୁ କିଛି ଦେଖି ପାରିବା ନାହିଁ।
ମା’ବି ବୁଲିଯିବା କଥା ଶୁଣି ବେଶ ଖୁସି ହେଲେ।
ଚିତ୍ରକର ଓ କାହାଣୀକାର, ରାମୋଜୀ ଫିଲ୍ମ ସିଟି, 31.01.2016.
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ସହରର ଅଦୂରରେ ଗଢି ଉଠିଛି ପିଲାଂକ ମନୋରଂଜନ ପାଇଁ ଚମତ୍କାର କୃତିମ ପାର୍କଟି, ନାମ ଯାହର ଡିସ୍ନି ଲାଂଡ୍, ମେଟ୍ରୋ ରେଳଗାଡିରେ ଗଲେ ତିନୋଟି ଷ୍ଟେସନ ପରେ ପଡିବ ଏବଂ ଏହି ଭୂତଳ ରେଳଗାଡି’ର ମଜା’ବି ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ନେବା ଦରକାର।
ସଜବାଜ ହୋଇ ବାହରି ପଡିଲେ, ଆଜି ରବିବାରର ମଜା ନେବା ପାଇଁ। ଐଶ୍ୱ୍ର୍ୟା ତା ପରୀକୁ ଏକ ଫ୍ରେମ ମଧ୍ୟରେ ବଂଧାଇ, ସାଥିରେ ଧରି ଚାଲିଲା।
ରେଳଗାଡି ଅଲଗା ପ୍ରକାରର, ଭାରି ଚିକ ମିକ୍, କେତେ ଢଂଗରେ ସଜା ହୋଇଛି, କେତେ ଚିତ୍ର ଲାଗିଛି, ସବୁଚିତ୍ର ତଳେ ଡିସ୍ନି ଲେଖାଯାଇଛି। ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ଦେଖିଲା ତା ପରୀ ଚୁପ୍ କିନା ତା ହାତରୁ ଖସିଯାଇ ଗୋଟିଏ ଚିତ୍ରର ଏକ କୁନି ଛୁଆ ମଧ୍ୟରେ ମିଶିଗଲା ପୁଣି କିଛି ସମୟ ପରେ ସେହି ଏକା ପ୍ରକାର ସତସତିକା ଝିଅଟିଏ ଆସି ତାଂକ ସିଟରେ ତା ପାଖରେ ଥିବା ଖାଲି ଯାଗାରେ ବସି ପଡି ତା’ଆଡେ ଚାହିଁ ହସିଦେଲା। ସାମ୍ନାରେ ବସିଛଂତି ତିନି ଜଣ, ଝରକା ପାଖକୁ ବସିଛଂତି ଜଣେ ଗମ୍ଭୀର ଦିଶୁଥିବା ଏବଂ ନିରବ ରହୁଥିବା ଦରବୁଢା ବ୍ୟକ୍ତି। ତା କଡକୁ ସମ୍ଭବତ ଦୁଇଜଣ ସାଂଗ। ଜଣେ କରିମ ଚାଚା ଦରଜୀ ଭଳି ଦେଖା ଯାଉଛ୍ଂତି, ଆଉଜଣେ ଖିରବାଲା ହରିକାକା ଭଳି। ଏତେ ସୁଂଦର ବଗିଟିକୁ ସେମନେ ବାଦାମ ଖାଇ ତା ଚୋପାଗୁଡା ତଳେ ପକାଇ ଅସନା କରୁଥିବା ଦେଖି ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ମନେ ମନେ ଖପ୍ପା ହେଲା, ତେବେ ବାପା ଓ ମାଂକ ଆଡକୁ ଥରେ ଥରେ ବୋଧ୍ୟଗମ ଚାହାଣି ଦେବା ବ୍ୟତୀତ କଣବା ସିଏ ଅଧିକା କରି ପରିଥାଂତା।
ସେମାନେ ନିଜ ନିଜ ଧର୍ମ ବାବଦରେ ଯେତେ ସବୁ ଭଲ ଭଲ କଥା ବଖାଣୁଥିଲେ ଏବଂ ମଝିରେ ମଝିରେ ବାଦ ବିବାଦରେ ଲାଗି ଯାଉଥିଲେ,ପୁଣି ସାଥିରେ ବାଦାମ ଖାଇ ଚୋପାଯାକ ବେପରୁଆ ପକାଇ ଚାଲୁଥିଲେ। କେତେ ସମୟ ପରେ ଛୋଟ ପିଲା ଦୁଇ ଜଣଂକ ଉପସ୍ଥିତି ପ୍ରତି ସଚେତନ ହୋଇ ସେମାନେ ଉଭୟଂକୁ କିଛି ବାଦାମ ଦେଲେ,ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା  ମୁହଁ ମୋଡି ତାର ମନର ଅବସ୍ଥା ଅନୁସାରେ ବାଦାମ ନେବାକୁ ମନା କଲା, ପରୀ କିଂତୁ ବେଶ ଆଦରରେ ସେ ସବୁକୁ ଖାଇ ତା’ର ଚୋପା ଗୁଡାକ ତା ଅଣ୍ଟିରେରଖିଲା ଏବଂ ସବୁ ଖାଇ ସାରିଲା ପରେ ସେ ସବୁକୁ ବଗିରେ ଥିବା ଡଷ୍ଟବିନରେ ପକାଇଲା। ପରୀର ଏତାଦୃଶ ଆଚରଣରେ ସାଂଗ ଦୁଇଜଣ ମଧ୍ୟ ଆଉ ଅସନା ନକରି ଠିକ ହିସାବରେ ଚୋପାକୁ ରଖିଲେ, ତେବେ ସେମାନଂକ ଏ ପରିବର୍ତ୍ତନ ଯେ ସେମାନେ ପରୀଠୁ ଶିଖିଲେ ଏ କଥା ଗ୍ରହଣ ନ କରିବା ପାଇଁ ସେମନେ ଅଧିକ ମତ୍ରାରେ ଧର୍ମ, ଅଧର୍ମ ବାବଦରେ ଚର୍ଚ୍ଚା ଜାରି ରଖିଲେ।
ପରୀ ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା କାନରେ ଚୁପ୍ କିନା କହିଲା ରହ ବ୍ୟସ୍ତ ହୋ’ନା ମୁଁ ଏସବୁ ସଫା କରି ଦେଉଛି ତୋ ମନକୁ ଭଲ ଲାଗିବ। ଏହା କହି ସେ ଉଠି ଚଲିଗଲା, କିଛି ସମୟ ପରେ ହାତରେ ଝାଡୁ ଧରି ଛୋଟ ଝିଅଟିଏ ବଗିକୁ ଝାଡୁ କରି ଚାଲିଲା। ବେଶ ଅଲଗା ଥିବା ପରୀକୁ ଆଉ ସିନା କେହି ଚିହ୍ନି ପାରିଲେ ନାହିଁ ହେଲେ ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ଠିକ ଚିହ୍ନି ପାରି ଖୁସିହେଲା ଏବଂ ତା ମନ ବଦଳିଗଲା। ବଗିଟି ଝାଡୁ କରି ସାରିଲା ପରେ ପରୀ ସମସ୍ତଂକ ପାଖରୁ ପାରିଶ୍ରମିକ ସଂଗ୍ରହ କରିବା ଦେଖି ପୁଣି ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ଚିଂତିତ ରହିଲା, କିଛି ରହସ୍ୟ ଥିବ ନିଶ୍ଚୟ।
ବାଦାମଖିଆ ଲୋକ ଦୁଇ ଜଣ ପରୀକୁ ଚାହିଁଲେ କିଂତୁ କିଛି ଦେଲେ ନାହିଁ। ଐଶ୍ୱ୍ର୍ୟା ଟିକେ ହସିଦେଲା, ବାପା ଆଉ ମାମାଂକ ଆଡକୁ ଚାହିଁଲା, ସବୁଠୁ ବେଶି ଅସନା କରିଥିବା ଲୋକ ଦୁଇଜଣ ସଫେଇ କାମ କରିଥିବା ପରୀକୁ କିଛି ଦେଉନାହାନ୍ତି। ସେମାନେ ନିଜ ନିଜ ମଧ୍ୟରେ ପୁଣି ଧର୍ମ ବାବଦୀୟ ଯୁକ୍ତିତର୍କ ଆରମ୍ଭ କରିଦେଲେ।
ଝାଡୁଦାରବେଶୀ ପରୀ ଏକ ପାଂଚଶହ ଟଂକାର ନୋଟ ବାହାର କରି କହିଲା ଯେ ସେ ଟଂକା ସେ ବାଦାମ ଚୋପା ମଧ୍ୟରୁ ପାଇଥିଲା ଏଣୂ ତାଂକର କାହାର ହୋଇଥିବ। ଉଭୟ ନିଜର ଆଲୋଚନା ବଂଦ କରି ପକେଟ ମୁଣି ଅଣ୍ଡାଳି ପକାଇଲେ, ତଥା ନିଜର ଟଂକା ପଇସା ଗଣି ପକାଇଲେ ଏବଂ କହିଲେ ସେଇଟା ତାଂକ ନିଜର ବୋଲି। ଧିରେ ଧିରେ ନିଜ ସପକ୍ଷରେ ନାନାଦି ପ୍ରମାଣ ଦେଖାଇବାକୁ ଲାଗିଲେ। ପରୀ ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା କାନ ପାଖରେ ତୁନିକରି କହିଲା, ସେଇଟା ନକଲି ନୋଟଟିଏ, ତୁ ଖାଲି ମଜା ଦେଖ୍।  
"ମାନ୍ୟବରଃ ମାନ୍ୟବରଃ, ଝଗଡା ଲାଗିବା ଭଲ ନୁହେଁ, ନିଅ ପେଡା ଖାଅ", କହୁଁ କହୁଁ ଶୂନ୍ୟରୁ ଏକ ପରେ ଏକ ପେଡା ବହାର କରି ସମସ୍ତଂକୁ ଧରାଇ ଚାଲିଲେ ଝରକା ପାଖରେ ବସିଥିବ ସେହି ମହତୀ ଜଣକ । “ଆମ୍ଭେ ଜଣେ ଈଶ୍ୱର ସତ୍ତାଧରୀ ମଣିଷ, ଆମ୍ଭେ ମତ ଦେଉଛୁ ଧର୍ମ ଅତି ସାଧାରଣ କଥା, ତୁମ୍ଭେ ବଗିଟିକୁ ଚୋପାପକାଇ ଅସନା କରିବା ଅଧର୍ମ, ଛୁଆ ଦୁଇଜଣକୁ ବାଦାମ ଦେବା ଧର୍ମ, ସଫା ସୁତର କରିଥିବା ଛୋଟ ପିଲାଟିକୁ କିଛି ନଦେବା ଅଧର୍ମ, ଟଂକା ନିଶ୍ଚେ ଜଣକର ହୋଇଥିବ, ଯିଏ ମିଛ କହୁଛି ସେ ଅଧର୍ମ କରୁଛି, ବ୍ରହ୍ମଚାରୀର ବଚନ ଅନ୍ୟଥା ନ ହୋଇପରେ।“
ଏତିକି କଥା କହି ସେ ପୁଣି ଏକ ରାଉଣ୍ଡ ପେଡା ବାଣ୍ଟିବା ଆରମ୍ବ କଲେ।
ଲୋକ ଦୁଇଜଣ ଗଦଗଦ ହୋଇପଡିଲେ ଏବଂ ଅତି ଆଦରରେ ସେ ଟଂକା ଏହି ଆବିଷ୍କୃତ ଯୋଗୀବାବାଂକୁ ଦାନ କଲେ।
ମାନ୍ୟବରଃ ମାନ୍ୟବରଃ, ଅର୍ଥ ସମସ୍ତ ଅନର୍ଥର ମୂଳ୍, ତଥାପି ଯେଯାବତ ଏହା ସ୍ଥିର ନ ହୋଇଛି ନୋଟଟି କାହାର ସେଯାବତ ଆମ୍ଭେ ଏହାକୁ ସାଇତି ରଖିବାର କଷ୍ଟ ସ୍ୱୀକାର କରୁଛୁ।
ଏକଥା କହି ମାନ୍ୟବର ଜଣକ ତାଂକ ବଟୁଆ ମଧ୍ୟରେ ନୋଟଟି ରଖିଦେଲେ। ତେବେ ସେ କାହିଁକି ବହୁତ ବିଚଳିତ ହୋଇ ପଡିଲେ।
ପରୀ ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟାକୁ ଚିମୁଟି ଦେଲା, ଏ କଣ ସେ ଛିଡା କାପଡ ପିଂଧିଥିବା ପରୀ ଗଲା କୁଆଡେ। ଇଏତ ଚିକିମିକିଆ ପରୀ, ଐଶ୍ୱ୍ର୍ୟା ଆଶ୍ଚର୍ଯ ଚକିତ ହୋଇ ଟିକେ ମାମାଂକ ଆଡକୁ ଚାହିଁଲା।
ମାନ୍ୟବର ଦେଖାଯାଉଥିଲେ ଅତି ବିଚଳିତ। ପରୀ ଖିଲିଖିଲି ହସି କହିଲା କଣ ଖୋଜୁଛକି ମାନ୍ୟବର ମୋଉସା। ତୁମ ପେଡା ମୁଣି ନିଅ।
ପରୀ ହାତରେ ଥିଲା ଏକ ବିଚିତ୍ର ଓ ବିଶେଷ ପ୍ରକାରର ମୁଣି।
ଆରେ ଆରେ, ଇଏ ଗୋଟେ ଭଣ୍ଡ ମାନ୍ୟବର, ଯାଦୁ ବଳରେ ପେଡା ଦେଉଥିଲା। ବଗିଟିରେ କୋଳାହଳ ଆରମ୍ଭ ହୋଇଗଲା। ରେଳ ପୋଲିସ ଆସି ସମସ୍ତ ଘଟଣା ସଂଧାନ କଲେ। ମାନ୍ୟବରଂକ ପାଖରେ ଥିବା ସେ ନୋଟଟି ନକଲି ଜଣା ପଡିବା ଏବଂ ସେ ଲୋକଂକୁ ଠକୁଥିବା ଦୋଶରୁ, ପୋଲିସ ତାଂକୁ ବାଂଧିନେଲା, ବଗିଟିକୁ ଅସନା କରିବା ଅଭିଯୋଗରେ ସେହି ଦୁଇଜଣ ବ୍ୟକ୍ତିଂକୁ ଜୋରିମାନା ଦେବାକୁ ପଡିଲା।
ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟା ଖୁସିରେ ହସି ଉଠି କହିଲା, ସାବାସ ପରୀ ସାବାସ୍। ଚାଉଁକିନା ଐଶ୍ୱର୍ଯ୍ୟାର ଏ ଖରାବେଳିଆ ନିଦଟା ଭାଂଗିଗଲା, ଦେଖିଲା ମାମା ପାଖରେ ଠିଆ ହୋଇଛନ୍ତି ଏବଂ ତା’କୁ ଡାକୁଛଂତି, ଉଠ ଉଠ, ଆମେ ଡିସ୍ନି ଲ୍ୟାଣ୍ଡ ବୁଲିଯିବା ପରା। ଐଶ୍ୱ୍ର୍ୟାର ମୁହଁରେ ତଥାପି ସେ ହସଟି ଲାଖି ରହିଥିଲା, ସେ ଦେଖା ଯାଉଥିଲା ଖୁବ ସୁଂଦର। 

 


Saturday, 12 December 2015

But Where? A short story in Hati series,

 But Where?
Edited by Sayam Suraj Senapati who also contributed the photograph.

(Pleasantly surprised to get this mail from Dr Hati after so many days. Must be a new story!)
                                                                              Mumbai, Dt .12.12.2015.

Dear Rabi!

World is so small; problems, so common. I realized that with my stay in this metropolitan city of Mumbai since a year and more. You know, it feels so lonely, away in this neighbourhood of skyscrapers. Sometimes, quite frustrating.

When I came here, Tapas helped me get a one BHK flat on rent. You remember Tapas and Pinky? This couple, some eight years back, was blessed with a son in our hospital. Remember how the grandfathers went to a high on alcohol and celebrated; till it became so disturbing that both of them had to be driven out of the premises!

It did take some time for me to adjust here. But my attempts of socializing with Tapas and his family were futile. Although, he arranged the flat, I could never see him or Pinky; even if they were staying in the same apartment. When your bhaauja was here for a fortnight, I passed the message to Tapas but they never invited, nor tried to have a courtesy visit. I assumed it to be a metropolitan culture, where nothing ran without an event manger. I felt bad to think of the culture in this manner without knowing the essence of it. May be, they were avoiding me due to some reason. The reason for this couple, to leave Mumbai and come to our hospital for the care of their first pregnancy in Odisha, could never be economical; considering their high income. The reason must be social; The euphoria of both the grandfathers on the birth of their grandson! With time and my increasing work pressure, I stopped thinking about them.

During your bhaauja's stay, Chinama, my aged cook, opened up the apartment lives to her. She knew so much about the residents of this apartment! More than any of  us, society members. Or may be it was my uninvolvement that made me so ignorant. The old lady always came with Gem, a kid who looked so decent that it amazed me to think, the help’s grandson could be so smart! But your bhaauja clarified from Chinama that he is the son of another resident of this apartment. She is their recent cook. The previous cook, as per Chinama’s version, was a young Chudhail who destroyed the family. The sahib was trapped by her and the matter went so far that sahib had to compensate heavily for the alleged pregnancy she carried and her demands to marry him. The chudhail is still in terms with sahib; even that pregnancy is now a beautiful baby girl. So, during evenings, neither the sahib nor the maimsahib stay and the kid remains under her custody. She, in a whispering voice, further added,”Another man has entered maimsahib's life and sahib knows that. Once their divorce is accepted, she is going to marry him and move away.”

So what about Gem!?

Both of them want to keep Gem but that decision is pending in court. She made her tone further low and hissed,"I don't think any of them has a real intention to keep Gem. The claim is merely superficial.”

So after your bhaauja left, Gem came with Chinama every evening and watched cartoon channels. His pain was observable or may be, my thinking was biased, knowing his background. Once, Chinama, after finishing her work, asked the boy to leave with her as usual. But he was reluctant. The boy looked up to me and asked, “Lekin hum jaenge kahan?”(But where should we go?)

Chinama explained, “His mother will be late and father will come later, He remains scared and depressed at home. Neither does he like to go to our jhopadpati. And the last option is to sit in the security room without a TV.”
"Then, let him stay here and watch TV."
I locked the main door to prevent him from leaving the drawing room without my knowledge. I remained busy. When the calling bell rang, it was his mother in her most modern office outfit. The corridor was too dark to see her face properly. She took the poor kid home. But the echoes of his voice remained for a long time. "Lekin hum jaenge kahan?" Where does a single kid of a modernised ultranuclear family go in a period of distress! How can a kid fear his home and like mine? Surprisingly, Chinama told me the very next day that maimsahib did not send the kid with her to my house. I did not see him for a week. And suddenly today!

Today, for the first time, I saw police in this apartment. Gem had died last night in his sleep! His father was away. Gem was sick. Her mother took him to the hospital where he was treated for Asthma. After getting cured, she brought him back. Everything was normal until she discovered Gem, lying dead. The father complained the police with the suspicion of fowl play. The police could not ignore that knowing their disturbed background and the burning issue of the recent Sheena Bora murder case. The news spread like wildfire throughout the apartment where, in good days, nobody knows anyone else. When I reached the spot, it was terrible. I saw the known faces of two grandfathers mourning arms in arms, the same ones who once celebrated in our hospital and Gem was none but the same newborn whom I helped to bring to this world. It was one of the most difficult deliveries. Tapas and Pinky stood there; not as mourning parents but as complainant and accused. 

I was profusely sweating, cursing myself, why did I not care to know who Gem was! Why did the boy not talk to me in Odia? Why did I not investigate the reason of Tapas avoiding me? Why the corridor light was so dim that I could not recognize the modern woman who had once come to me like a country girl for her pregnancy care! All these questions were meaningless as both the grandfathers hugged me, screaming loudly; mourning that they came all the way from village to see their grandson, dead!
Gem was no more but "where should we go uncle" kept bursting my eardrums.

                                                                                                                             Yours Dr Hati.  

Saturday, 5 December 2015

Divided by democracy. A walky talky molecular story. Dt.05.12.2015.

Divided by democracy.
A walky talky molecular story. Dt.05.12.2015.
From the battle field of Kalinga War

It was Chetan calling Biju.
Very rarely he talked to BIju after the last general election that made C jobless and B roaming places with government money, a reversal of role. They are friends from childhood.
When his highness honourable President of the nation wanted to refrain from voting, with a wish to remain neutral, people debated it in many ways.
Why should the common man be criticized not casting one's choice?!
 Had he not the option to maintain the secrecy and voted for NOTA that was the real neutral way?! 
B debated it differently with C.
“You are losing dear; Mr President not voting is not a neutral position as his voting means he votes for C even if he may have other choice. He is not interested means he doesn't want to vote to his own previous party as it is useless or he is angry for some other reason.”
 
C defended,"No no! He should not be dragged to controversy; your quarrelsome mind set raises war between historical souls like Gandhiji, Nehru, Patel and Bose that is OK but don't bring the ultimate peace maker of my party to controversy. Why should he think against party that made him the president!!"
B smiled with sarcasm, “Oh! But he should have been the prime minister that hurts him.

C was annoyed,then!!
 Netaji should have been PM, Patelji should have been PM, President should have been PM, Jinnaha ji should have been the PM to save partition, and many virtual prime ministers. Why didn't your party declare the name of two or three prime ministerial candidates but chants Har Har......

This was before the election result when both of them claimed in favour of their own party.
After the result cameout, B hosted a party where C was integral to tell that the democracy was mature.
Time passed, they were not too political in their communications till Mr Shourie told, B is C plus a cow.
Chetan ridiculed Biju for this. They were discussing it in presence of Ashu the supporter of party A.
A concluded,"Doesn't it mean Shourie told, C is B minus a cow, so where is the point for Chetan?"

And now Chetan calls Biju!
Honourable President told in Sabarmati in the Bapuji Ashram that garbage is not in our lanes but in our mind.
What does it mean?
Is he referring that Bapu should not be minimized for external cleanly ness but in addition to that to our internal Swachhata? Doesn't it mean he is very disturbed with the tolerance debate and the irresponsible statements thrown by people in high position?

Who listens? Every one is measuring oneself by one's own cubit that comes as fourteen quarters.

Biju concluded yeah people should introspect, make a full stop to the debate and start cleaning the garbage both from inner self, outer lanes and from the whole environment.


Next day it was seen both of them resigned from their respective party and were doing Kara seva as shoe keepers in the Delhi Gurudwara.

Wednesday, 25 November 2015

Monkey Terrorist.

   Monkey Terrorist..
There was a black smith in a big village. He always had work. He had no assistant. He brought a wild black faced baby monkey and domesticated it. To make it's loyalty sure he trained it to smoke tobacco, in form of hand made bidi. Very soon it obeyed him to wind the mill to keep the smiths furnace burn. He called it Jayvir to the annoyance of people as it was smoking. But the smith didn’t listen to anyone.
Soon Jayvir was so addicted to bidi that it begged any customer who started smoking there. It also enjoyed cigarette.

The wild monkey herd while merry making from tree to tree looked at Jayvir with pity and wished to remind it the length and breadth of free air, bright sun light, tender tasty leaves and fruits of all taste and state of ripeness. But custom forbade them to bring back it to their herd.
When Jayvir looked at them it also felt sorry for those unfortunate animals unable to take the real charm of a puff of tobacco. It was too happy to do the work of a full labourer in a very disciplined manner until it brought back some of its animal instincts.
If anyone smoking in his front denied offering a bidi, it got enraged. It made its fore claws wet and put some ash with it. The paste it made on its both claws was looking like black ink. It used that ink to tarnish the other man. Soon it became a menace.
He was the only blacksmith in the area, customer had no other options. 
The smith always took Jayvir's side as losing it meant a lot for him.
One day a terrorist in disguise came to the smith to make a deal of an order of some hundred of swords. He was taking marijuana in bidi that the monkey for the first time enjoyed with his delight. Wah this man is better than the smith. The terrorist did several visits to the smith and in the processes Jayvir became very fond of his new smoke.
With the new addiction Jayvir soon shifted allegiance and followed the terrorist. Needless to say too soon it became a slave to marijuana and to the terror organization. They trained it to be a suicide bomber..

It was utilized for its purpose in a market place killing hundred and eight persons several children included.