A strange island & songs for the birds

During my College days, our hostel gave each of the girls the choice of deciding the menu for one day in the entire month. For this we would often visit the Kachari Bazar, a small market run by the locals, situated on the banks of the Bramhaputra. Often this would lead to good natured haggling and lots of laughter with the shopkeepers almost every day. Most of these shopkeepers would bring fresh vegetables from the other side of the river every morning and sell them on this side, probably at a higher price. Fish here was especially very fresh. With time, I made friends here with a few of the guys who owned boats. There were many a days when my morning walk would be interspersed with little tea cups and conversations with these fellows. On most mornings the mighty river would look different, some days it was grey and on others green. One day, one of the boat guys( they were probably much smaller than me) asked me, "Baideo jabo naki Umananda?" ( Sister will you go to Umananda?). 

I used to watch the little island of Umananda almost everyday from my end of the river bank and wonder what it held. Of course I knew there was a small temple, stuff that most people knew..But hearing the invitation that day, was too tempting to let go. It was still early, about 7.30 in the morning and college and classes weren't till much later. I knew I could get back in time. The island right in the middle of the Bramhaputra, seemed to hold numerous mysteries that I was yet to discover. A bargain ensued and keeping in mind the fact that those from the hostel were forever low on money, the usual fare of Rs 100 was reduced to Rs 50.

Bramhaputra that morning was as beautiful as a prince decked up for battle, the rains had swelled the waters and even as I embarked I could see loads of weeds, little pieces of driftwood, plants, small worms, all floating around. The young boatman started a song once we started off, even as I hummed along. On reaching the island, the temple seemed small and deserted. While my boatman waited for me in the boat, I was left all alone to explore. I was not too sure what I was supposed to do here or what I wanted to.

Often things have their own way of divulging themselves, while I did almost a circle of the island surface, I noticed that to one side there were a lot of rocks, with birds perched on them. I opened my shoes and walked barefoot, jumping from one rock to another. Walking along the rather dark looking rocks, I came to a point were the rocks had formed smallish caves. I pushed my head into one and it was like being transported into a small private den of own's own. Very gingerly I sat down, shoes still in my hand and rested my head on one of the cool rocks, while the breeze echoed all around me. Fear is something that never enters the mind, when you're out exploring for yourself. I closed my eyes and for the first time in a very long time I sang..loudly, without inhibition, very happy at nothing in particular.

There were many times after this particular occasion, when I disappeared to Umananda on my own, seeking the birds and singing songs for them. Never once did I feel scared..the boatmen never asked me what I did there..once I was back on the boat, he would rattle about his brothers and sisters..how he was making a fast new boat to beat his friends, the fish he caught, the money he planned to save..sometimes he sang songs, sometimes he talked to the Bramhaputra..always a sense of happiness to the small things of life. Umananda remains the place I always remember as the caves that sang along with me.

( Image from Google)

To the story that every forest carries...

There is a certain charm to growing up amidst trees, amidst the call of birds and exploring things unknown and the ever present curiosity it brings out in you, to see what is on the other side of a reluctant hush sometimes..

I have always felt that like the sea, the jungles have a language of their own. It is in discovering that language that the most fascinating stories are told. 

But wandering into the forest alone is not enough, one must be ready for them, ready to be surprised and know somewhat what lies ahead. Tribes who live in the forests will tell you that the forest has a spirit, sometimes worshiped in the form of 'Ban devi' ( Ban is forest, devi is Goddess) These spirits are the guardians of the forests, of the treasures that lie deep inside the forest...the supposed Yakshas who roam around free spirited.

The tribal s who lived within the fringes would talk of these spirits, living a life in the nights, they would fight, make love, roam around uninhibited and to enter the forest at this time was to disturb their territory.

But during the day, you could roam and the stories would enfold if you had the eyes to see and hear. Anyone who has been in Indian forests will tell you that the forest is never deserted. There are women gathering twigs, peasants taking short cuts and it is they who will fascinate you as much as the forest itself.

During one such session of wandering into the forest, close to a swamp, we were playing 'collect'. Whoever could bring the most unique thing from the forest did and left it in a small clearing where we later stood to examine all the goodies. As we sat around it, a tribal lady, with a bundle of firewood on her head was walking through. She looks at us and did not say anything. Suddenly she spotted the bundle of small things comprising fruits like Guavas, some red leaves, a pretty flower, patterned leaves, etc. She put down her bundle on the ground and suddenly lay down straight on the ground to bow down at the heap, we had gathered. In her simple mind, this was probably an offering to the Gods and she paid her homage willingly too. Without a word to us, she prayed silently and went back to collecting her wood. 

Even that day as today, it is the simple faith that people have, that is like a prayer. It is like an omnipresent beauty that few have and even fewer who understand it. In her faith that day, all of us lay enriched. Little stories of the forest never go unheard, they waft somewhere so beautifully and glide down as only sunshine can...

To the story that every forest carries....

( Picture from the Internet)

The lesson of the wild

Wild Elephants gather inexplicably, mourn death of “Elephant Whisperer” | Delight Makers

Reading a recent incident about a herd of wild elephants, visiting author and legendary conservationist Lawrence Anthony ( popularly known as “Elephant Whisperer” ) on his death reminded of my own experiences with the wild.

Growing up in the lap of the wild teaches you more about human behavior than that of an animal & the contrast is very plain to see and invariably it also teaches you the necessity of going back to the wild, adapting their ways of adjusting with each other and living in tandem with other creatures. The North East of India is home to plenty of jungles and many areas declared as Natural wild life reserves.

The Britishers were meticulous about planting a lot of fruit trees, throughout Assam, in fact they planted many even among st the wild forests. As a result, plenty of birds, squirrels and other such small animals were regular visitors in homes there in and around the forest. Growing up in the lap of nature, the first principle that we were taught was, the animals always have the first right, since it is their territory. This includes the right to the land, and food too. We learnt soon enough that animals leave you to yourself if you can respect their territory too!

It was 1.30 at night (And that is very late in small towns) when the phone suddenly rang in our house. The small oil town of Digboi sleeps pretty early. Each house rests on a small hillock and is thus separated by a valley of bushes and trees, which is usually the grazing ground of many animals. Our neighbor from the next hill warned us that an elephant herd was marching its way up our house, having trampled much fauna on their way.

In the dead of the night, we sat trembling inside the huge Bungalow, watching as nearly 20 adult and few baby elephants ravaged our backyard, which comprised the vegetable patch. The surrounding Banana plans were uprooted and devoured. But all this in so much silence that had we not been warned of their coming none of us would have ever known that there was a herd of 20 elephants making merry in the backyard! Their eating and fun over, they left in an hour’s time, having devoured most fruits and vegetables and leafy plants, but without the slightest destruction to anything else man made.

Had they wanted they could have played football with the car or tossed around the hen coop. But they left as silently, as if nothing had happened. I remember sitting in awe all night, looking at those huge creatures in the dark, silently ravaging what they thought was part of the wild. Anger was not a natural outcome, in such a scene because we were guests in what was their area. The minute each animal understands the respect of another’s territory, everything is somehow quite easy.

I remembered the case of a farmhouse( Acres Wild) built on a mountain in Coonoor by ace film maker Mansoor Khan. There are no fences in the farm that is situated practically in the middle of two mountains. The man lives with his man Friday and his wife and had told me that when he first built home on the mountain to start with the farm, the wild elephants had ravaged it. His friend in the next mountain, a planter had told him that he must have an electric fence and a gun if he were to live in the territory. The erstwhile film maker refused, saying, “ It is their territory, I leave it to them to decide whether we are welcome or not” It has been almost  years since then, the elephants still come and yet they have learnt that this man is part of the locale and means no harm. They leave him to himself too. The farm still does not have any fences and there have been no incidents that strike fear in the hearts of those who stay there.

Such incidents confirm my belief every time, that it has been the animal who teaches man that with power comes grace too. Nomads with whom I made friends during many of my jaunts in the coming years in the forest taught me one lesson I never forget- 'It is their space, respect it, let them decide whether they want you to be there or not. They understand peace more than us, and if you can convey that to them, you never need to fear an animal.'

The cat who ate my Masala fish fry..while I FB'd

There's really no need to think of this as airing a personal vendetta against cats..but if you do I don't really care a fig.. Since time immemorial (Ok so I'm not that old) but then again since time immemorial, I have hated cats. I happen to think they are furry balls of deception, ready to claw you at the slightest pretext. Its a different matter that I happened to have a friend some time back who loved cats and I had to construe emotions that I never felt, at her love for them.

But this is not all about cats, my hate for them or crass a piece of literature ( ok whatever) that you might think of. There's more to it, and a story rather peaceful & hilarious somewhere down if you care to listen.

I got some very good fish today ( which is a rarity in Bangalore) and decided to make Masala fish fry, which I did & placed it, just ready to eat in some time. So I'm at my Fb page..doing important stuff ( And I belong to the group named- Just because I'm on FB doesn't meant I don't work)..so you get the hint..Im replying to mails..when this sneaky little brown cat, leaps up the kitchen counter and in a matter of minutes ( even before I can react to what was the noise all about) vanishes with all the fish..some in the mouth & some in the belly.

I'm of course sweetness personified as I see my lunch going through a cats tum ( I could still bear it if a dog had had it..but never a cat! Those treacherous creatures. Its all about principles you see!) But in the pandemonium I'm reminded of a similar incident that happened way back in childhood in Digboi( Assam).

So this tale from Digboi goes..We had a dog called Brownie ( That we had Blackies and Bhuto's & Baghas too is besides the point..blame it on Bong idiosyncrasies!)..On one fine day, we were alerted by some one we called Nani ( A Coolie tribe woman) to the exciting fact that a deer had been caught in the fence bordering our Bungalow. Everyone was excited, some at the prospect of whether the deer could be sampled for deer meat, some at the prospect of seeing a deer so close & Brownie for reasons very different. Of course in the end, we decided and struggled to release the deer, back into the jungle where it belonged to. But amid st the heart warming sight of the deer jump back in a flash into the forest, we were treated with the sight of Brownie ( who I believe had waited all his life for an opportunity like this) carrying three chapatis in his mouth and wagging his tail at his master's & Nani's voice that screamed at him.. aghast at seeing her breakfast ( which she had forgotten all about & kept on a plate in the ground) gone down his tum..It is a different fact that I managed to find some nobility in the event & as befitted a true dog lover termed it as 'Taking advantage of a situation..& the works'..but that day..like today..it was the animal in question who had the last laugh.

( Image courtesy Google)

'Shewli'..The fragrance of Durga Puja

The year was 1988, we had shifted to a rather huge house in a small district of Assam called Tinsukia. The Britishers of course made sure that wherever you stayed if you are working with oil..it has to be massive.. As a little girl, settling into that house was rather cumbersome. Everything seemed to be so huge for the tiny me. Walking down lawn tennis courts and garden full of Hollyhocks I found myself keeping a distance from them. In those days, your house was yours only as long as your dad's next transfer..and under the circumstances, I always founded a nook in the garden that I could make mine. Strangely even three months after the shifting I had not found my nook.

But one fine day, something happened that changed everything. I woke up in the morning, it was early October, a lovely chill in the air surrounded by early morning mist. I shivered a bit in the chill, and went up to the window. Suddenly I saw a vision in white. In the driveway of our home, a rather ordinary green leafed small tree had been standing for long. It had neither the beauty nor the flowers to attract one. But suddenly that day I saw it anew. On the ground near the tree was a carpet of white! Every bough in the tree was covered with tiny little white flowers with a trimming of orange as if defying their colorless existence and laughing in mirth at the foolishness of man for not having noticed it for so long. As I stared at this wonder in stupefied silence..I suddenly ran down to see the tree, to touch it in loving reassurance that this was reality.

As I stood beneath the white tree, I was in for more surprise. from the tree came the sweetest of smells that wafted into me a dance. I closed my eyes and in reverence of the white bed took of my shoes and sat on the bed of flowers soft.

Ma told me later that day that these little flowers called 'Shewli' in Bangla were the first heralder s of the Durga puja..perhaps the quintessential welcome of nature to the Godess with ten hands. Over time plenty of things have changed for me..the house, the childhood, the dreams..what didn't was the memory of the Shewli tree that had welcomed me to the Pujos and the essence of their beauty..till today every Durga puja has me searching for Shewlis..the little white flowers that welcome the Goddess.

© 2011 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

( Image courtesy Google)

Memory loss and college ke woh din

It was a bright sunny day, the time around 11 am, there I was standing in front of my impressive college campus, reliving all my memories of the years gone by. It was three years since my passing out and since I was in the city on personal work, I decided to drop in the college to say hello to my teachers and take a trip down memory lane. My reverie was suddenly broken by screams from another end of the college, as I looked yonder at the commotion, I spied on a girl frantically waving her arms at me & calling out my name. Perplexed whether I should smile or run, I stood my ground and waited for her to approach. When she finally did she enveloped me in a great bear hug and kept saying wow! its been so many years since I saw you. It dawned on me finally that this was someone who knew me and obviously had a great liking for me. I smiled, laughed and did everything else in my capacity to evade my confusion regarding her identity. Luckily for the non-taker in me some people talk enough for both myself & themselves and never have I been more pleased for that fact. It at least gave me time to gauge that she was a junior and was now in the final year of her Masters. I racked my brains to recollect her name & how apparently she knew me so well and loved me so much ( apparent in her bear hug & all the muaahs I was being showered with), but woe betide I was absolutely blank. Of course being the smart cookie that I am, I asked her all the right questions about her studies, her parents, her classes and complimented her on her apparent weight loss( that's always a safe bet with girls) and how she looked so smart..you get the general drift. Just as I was about to excuse myself from this genie..in the college, shall we say. She pounced on me with her delightful 80 kg frame. In Assamese she blurted out that I must come home with her for lunch. My mind went ticking..err where exactly was this home & then my expressions froze! Lunch..and I didn't even know her name! Wow....If you have to know the Assamese are a genteel race, warm and exceedingly loving and this species seemed to have taken a rather tremendous fancy to me. I cleared my throat and offered to give the vaguest of all excuses, because my mind was still ticking away her identity & frankly speaking I was so embarrassed at my BIG time memory loss that I had no words to compensate. All the while while she somehow dragged and sweet talked me into coming home for lunch with her parents, I seem to be literally carried away with her. If you thought this was the end to my embarrassment, you haven't seen nothing yet! Having entered her home I was warmly welcomed by her mother, who said her daughter would keep talking about me and she was so glad to have finally met me. While I pouted niceties and started the same routine of how pleased I was too..etc etc..You get the drift again I hope. Finally some 'Me' time both mother and daughter went inside while I made myself comfortable in the living room. To my joy and delight, I saw her bag carelessly thrown over the settee. My eyes gleamed, surely I would finally find her name in one of her college books. All my confusion would finally be laid to rest. I edged myself slowly towards her bag, all the while looking out for any movements in the curtains in the adjoining room. Finally I was near the bag, I grabbed the flap and flipped it open....Maitreyee ba! ( Ba is elder sister in Assamese) she screamed!!! " Please don't read my notes, they are horrible, you would be so ashamed of me", I sprang back from the bag as if it were a reptile. "No no, I was just admiring your bag", I said. More chatter, lunch and good ol' college days, when I was there kinda talk later, it was finally time for me to go. The meal was great I suppose, but sadly most of it went in figuring out where I was and what I was doing there. Its been good many years since the incident and I still do not know the name of the girl who loved me so much, who's mother was hospitable enough to feed me. I guess social grace and presence of mind saved me from making a complete fool of myself which I felt anyway..some obvious's are better left unsaid I guess!

Dig-Boy-Dig

Have often asked myself about why I've never written anything about Digboi, the one little word that has had such a sustained effect on me. Perhaps because it's just too much to encapsulate, or perhaps because it's difficult to pen down thoughts that are an essence away... whatever.... some intentions however lazy, justified or just well... ought not to be met and I have been trying to do just that!

When I think of Digboi, there's one recurring scene that always flashes by.. childhood memories that refuse to burn out.. they'll stay till my grave.. LOL cause they r connected so with the graves. Twas this place up a small hill, for the lesser informed :) Dubbs para, small homes( note they are not houses) almost on the edge, just about a push away you'd say! Some times meandering sometimes zig zagging it leads to a small but serene grave yard. We were about 9 of us and we would regularly haunt those guys and at times play games with their souls too.. how? Hide & seek of course. Weird but nice we called it, grotesque and stupid they found it.. who? the elders of course.. we were admonished threatened and everything else in tow.. but somehow we found it peaceful there. I talked to a 6 yr old once, lying there for ages.. wondered if he was ever bored and wanted to kind of pop out and join us.. now that would be something.

My fondest memories are of a spring day, about 4 in the evening. It was still light, there was a strange calm along with the wind that bl owed on. Am talking of days pre'Titanic'.. :) ( lest u think i copied!) I stretched my arms & took in that absolutely fresh air.. oh! it was almost orgasmic in perfection. No wonder I never get over it, not till today probably never..
Most Digboities will tell you stories of snakes in the toilets, leopards in the backyard & Elephants in the foreground.. but hey nothing prepares u for the one big mother of all picnics that Digboi turns out to be. With Swimming galas & flower shows, silks & chiffon's & parties & then some parties & more! In Digboi there are no end to the parties & they don't make them as boring as anywhere.. swear!
The animals of course are a different category altogether & u have such variety of flora & fauna. While there were the loveliest of birds from the smallest & teenie winnie blotch in red to a sparkling sunshine yellow..never got their names & don't see the necessity now either.. twas & always will be a pleasant whiff & a blurr come to sniff my Bougainvilleas in full crimson bloom. And then there were dragon flies, oh! how those little creatures drove us crazy..
My den in times like these and whenever wherever, were the beautiful lustrous branches of two Thusa pines that graced out in the front garden and made for a welcoming twosome. They 've shared with many so many an orange, flights of fancy of EnidBlyton & Tin Tin and then M& B's galore. Their gentle swaying while lulling me to sleep gave me dreams worth a life time, oh what a swish set they were...:)
With the slight snip in the air and chilly October winters, the smell of the shewli on my mind and pujo came rushing in. Pujo was to me as much about the Mother with the ten hands coming home, as Baba was with the Dhak, I with the Kartal Ma at her Mandap, me staring at the carpet of white shewli and the khichuri of the pandal. In the dance and the drama that was Digboi, of the silent hush of the elephant steps in the dead of the night.. of a fairytale childhood, of a paradise.. lost but probably gained in more ways than one, Digboi was never the oil field to us it was the only HOME we knew :)

© 2009 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury