of life...and death

I think about death a lot these days. No no , not in a morbid way or in any self-inflicting manner . But rather I am trying to understand and come to terms with this much-avoided but ultimate reality called death.  This morning as i browsed over what i call "my newspaper", i happened to stumble upon a blog and a post. Both of them, extremely poignant and soul-stirring, were related to death, in a very positive and inspiring way.

 The post was from a friend, who had lost a life-long partner, and yet, for whom, life had to go on, for the sake of her children and for herself. It is a story of strength and patience, of pain and lonliness, and of, achievement and victory ( if i may use the last word). The post found its way silently and strongly into my heart not only because it was so moving, but because it spoke of so much strength, of patience, of love and the will to carry on inspite of the unwillingness; that life carries on, has to carry on and knows no other. Somewhat reminds me of the strong and silent mighty Brahmaputra that wreaks havoc in the simple lives of the  multitude that looks up to it for strength and succour; yet it flows without a flinch, without finish.

The other was a blog, again written by a friend about death of a loved one and the painful realisation that death really doesn't takes away whom we love. They are forever in our minds and hearts. It was written straight from her heart and found its way into mine, perhaps because we both had experienced death of a loved one. But the beauty of the piece lay not only in the longing and the pain, but in the eventual realisation that the loved one lives on in the heart, and we should cherish the happy moments spent rather than on the sadness of the physical separation.

 I am glad that my day began on a positive note. I am quite often chastised for thinking negative thoughts but today i commit myself to dwell on all things positive; to cherish what i have and not fritter my thoughts away on the frivolous. To not fret about the little things because life will continue any which way. Life is so much more than that. It is about living every moment and cherishing what we have and hold. Let's say Amen to that.

Rainy Rantings ... in the Desert

A cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other and rain outside my window- an idyllic and perfect afternoon for every avid reader; except that the last element, rain, is not something one can wish for and get in Saudi Arabia. But this afternoon was special. The sky had darkened to a feverish brown-black and it seemed like another sandstorm was in the offing. I put my over-imaginative mind to work and fantasised thunder and lightning followed by the romance of rains. And me lounging on a couch languorously enjoying a book by the window seat. Perhaps God was nearby and sent me some magic dust. It started raining and i decided to make the most of my dull lazy afternoon. I made a cup of tea for myself and perched on a window seat and took in the rains like a thirsty soul.

The rains seem to have that effect on me, of watering my senses and making them feel alive again. It made me ink my thoughts on paper. Nothing profound, nothing overwhelming- just some earnest and honest emotions pouring out like the rains bursting upon a dusty hot afternoon. I think rains seem to have that effect on most of us who happen to be from India. Rains in India do not just happen to be characteristic of the monsoon season, which spans across for almost around four months across most states, but apart from a being a geographical entity it has certain social and cultural connotations as well.

Rains are a life-giver in India which sustains itself economically primarily through agriculture. In that sense, rains are the source of life for its teeming millions. It gives sustenance to thirsty crops which still depend heavily on the Indian monsoons and fills up the myriad rivers of the sub-continent which in turn irrigate the hills and plains, and provide hydel power to light up villages and towns. what a life-giving force the rains are! without the rains we would have been a dry dusty desert and we do not even have liquid gold under our soil.


So that was about the economics of rain. But much as its economic significance may be, i would rather dwell on the romance of the rains. Let the erudite dwell on the intellectual aspects. Lesser mortals like me would rather talk of the poetry and music of the rains. "my heart leaps up..." at the sound of thunder and lightning which augurs the rains. Rains seem to have a wonder, a mystery about them, i could never fathom. The skies darkening during the day with dark angry clouds ready to burst any moment and the dark nights made more mysterious and menacing as thunder rolls across the wrathful skies. Perhaps it is comfort-food for the soul in a paradoxical way. It reminds me of a childhood when rains were bountiful and we would brave the rains with umbrellas and raincoats to go to school; or of rainy soggy evenings when thunder and lightning would send the power scurrying away  and we were spared from the tyranny of evening studies in the pleasant damp darkness. and oh yes, before i forget, the sound of the whistling winds on the tin roof accompanied by the pitter-patter of raindrops and the frogs going berserk with their throaty loud croaks in the 'beel' just behind our house.

those times have now been reduced to only a figment of our memories.

In the north of India, where rains are scantier than the north-east of India, people welcome and celebrate the rains by getting wet and dancing in the first outpour. When i first saw this ritual, i found it quite amusing as i came from a place where rains were taken for granted and rarely disappointed anyone during the monsoons. As i made the north of the country my home, i gradually learnt to appreciate and understand this 'rainy' ritual. In fact, many a time i have myself danced in joyous abandon in the first rain of the season. Now that i am far away from my home country in a desert land, my thirsty soul yearns for those rumblings of thunder and lightning, the earthy smell of the parched soil after the first shower, and the rain falling incessantly quenching the tired and the thirsty.  time and place have taught me that rain is indeed a blessing. Amen.

Ma, this is for you...

Mother's Day is almost over as far as the date and the time is concerned. A couple of hours to go before midnight. But as far as I am concerned everyday is Mother's Day. Period. How can we dedicate one single day alone in 365 days for someone whose entire life is dedicated to her children?

After Mother's Day is finally over and done with, i finally decided to put these down in words. Perhaps i was a little inspired by my Uncle's blog post, a heart-touching piece where he thanks his mother and expresses his love for her, something he claims he never did in her lifetime. I decided the time is now- to thank Ma and tell her how much I love her. She sure knows that but sometimes it feels good to hear it too- to feel cherished and appreciated.

These days, especially since i am physically very far from her, I miss her a lot and she is often in my thoughts, especially when i am sad and lonely. Perhaps thats why God made mothers- to give us strength in our weak and dark moments.

Ma has always been a Super-Mom ...and my role model. I say this not because it is fashionable to say so but because she is a Super-Mom. She has juggled many roles single-handedly to make us what we are today. A mother, first,  and a career-woman later, she has balanced the roles perfectly without compromising any one. I don't remember a single meal cooked by anyone but my Ma at home. We have always been fed Ma-cooked meals even at the heights of her career as a college Principal and it continues till this day. We are so fortunate that our meals were made tastier by her love. Not just the meals, every aspect of my life has been inspired and shaped by her. I am what i am today beacause of her. And yes, a word about her knitting-I bet there is no one in our family who has not been warmed by her hand-knitted sweaters.She is a house-proud lady who believes in taking care of her home all by herself. She is 70 now.

From the time when she used to carry me from my way back from school as a Nursery kid to this day when she ran around with me when I had to submit my doctoral thesis, things haven't changed very much. She still continues to be loving and giving, in a sense only a mother can. Nothing a child does in return can ever repay back the love of a Mother. The least I can do is to put it down in words and tell her- ' I love you and thank you, Ma, for everything'.

" pawe pori hori koroho katori pran rakhibi mor..."

" pawe pori hori koroho katori pran rakhibi mor...". my eyelids opened reluctantly refusing to wake up from this musical dreamy sleep...but wait! since when did my dreams become so lyrical, so heavenly? my dreams were always made up of mean men chasing me and me falling over some deep ciff. so this definitely could not be a dream..it was real. I was wide awake now and rose to find out the source of this tranquil morning call . It was the Borgeet playing in the Naam-Ghar just opposite our house, my ma-in-law said, adding that it was a daily ritual, an auspicious way of beginning a new day everyday. And this was the auspicious beginning to a new life to a brand new bride in a brand new place:Kokrajhar.

Till then I knew Kokrajhar as one of the several districts of my native state, Axom. It used to be in the news more so because of the Bodo Andolan rather than any other worthy cause. What of course I did not know was that it would be my home one day, and I would be attached to it in more ways than one. My first memories of this quaint town was our house in a lush green locality opposite the naam-ghar bearing a pleasant resemblance to Jorpukhuri- paar, my Aita’s ancestral home in my hometown, Guwahati. At that moment, I believe, I had made my connection. Kokrajhar would become dear to me as was Jorpukhuri-paar for myriad reasons. Little did I know that over the years, my attachment would grow and I would become increasingly fond of its old-worldly charms.

Everyone seemed to know my better-half here by name and wasn’t he popular! He seemed to be acquainted with almost everybody starting from the friendly neighbourhood khura and pehi to the ubiquitous bakery owner. And then I realized that like all small towns, everybody seemed to know everybody and best of all, everyone was affable with a moment to spare when you met them. Charming indeed! No wonder he still vanishes in his pyjamas and chappals early in the morning to share a cuppa with an old friend. Did I happen to mention the must-visit to the friendly neighbourhood barber who still has an extra head massage to spare?

The verdant spaces, the tranquil mornings and serene evenings- it is as if life takes its time here to savour each drop. The paddy patches on the outskirts of the town, the rolling green hills, the river Gourang flowing quietly and resolutely on its course and the content little ponds with the lazy ducks are a treat for tired eyes. The journey to the Mahamaya Mandir was another intense experience. Sometimes, time seems to stand still here...

My bond with Kokrajhar has become stronger over the years and now, far away from home, I yearn to spend Magh Bihu in Kokrajhar.( We usually happen to go home around Magh Bihu, a time of reunion for all Axomia people) Where else can I experience dew-filled mornings, the warmth of the wood-fires, the bird-song in the evenings and the taste of “maal-bhog sira” and “doi” with “gur” and “mangshor jhol” cooked on a woodfire? The very thought warms the cockles of my heart on a cold wintry morning miles away…


But over the years, Kokrajhar too, like all bustling towns in India, has seen changes. Globalization and consumerism will not spare anyone will it? The spaces are not so green anymore and time does not stand so still any longer. Businesses are flourishing, concrete structures are fast appearing and roads are bustling. It is as if change is the only constant.


But one thing has remained constant. ..the naam-ghar still stands solid and strong and whenever I am back home in Kokrajhar, I still wake up to the sweet strains of the soul-stirring borgeet " pawe pori hori koroho katori pran rakhibi mor..."

The wheel of time

Time is all but ours. Or so we would like to think. I remember the countless times (still counting)my mother reminding all of us that time and tide wait for none. But that was the time when we would all think that we have all the time in the world, that time is all ours. Wisdom dictated that we spend our time wisely, but who had the time? Childhood was time well spent - a time to play and a time to study, time to have fun under the sun. Those were the best of times, a simple innocent time. Then came the heady days of youth. We vowed to have the time of our life. College was a place where teachers told you that now is the time, no time like the present to grab time. But as we all know so well, time spent inside the classrooms were just to pass the time and time spent outside was 'our time'. Time's a wasting, the inner voice said. But hey, what the heck, all in good time, I said! And then came a time to love, infact it came time after time. And suddenly you knew that this time you let go and only time could heal a broken heart. And then suddenly you were running out of time, so much to do and so little time. The boss said "time is money" and so we ran after time, time after time. And then everyone said that it is about time and so when the knight in shining armor came riding on his white horse and left me breathless, I did not wait for time. We both vowed to have a good time. And so we had the best of times not to mention the worst of times too. There was no time like the present and we took time to smell the roses and time to soak in the sun. The stork decided that now is the time and visited us soon thereafter and suddenly we had no time. Time management seemed to be the keyword here as we struggled for quality time. We now live in desperate times- rupee down,prices up, salaries low, inflation high. Only time will tell what the future will bring. I had a good time writing this piece as the milk stands boiling over the fire. I rush as a stitch in time saves nine and then there would be no use crying over spilt milk. The day is done and now my time is up. It's time for me to fly...

Winter Words

As the pallid sun brings in another wintry morning, my dulled sleepy senses are woken by words anew...words which had paused in the crowds...words had just become a bystander , quietly and patiently waiting that in the queue of life, you would give it it's due...and so the day finally comes and you know that words were always there...waiting, watching and hoping, you embrace them too...don't let go of them, my friend,..for when all is said and done, it is these words which will always be true to you...

Sepia Dreams

I write something very profound and very passionate, and the world is at my feet. Everyone complements me on my piece and I am almost on the way to winning a great prize, a grand award.I am overwhelmed with calls, SMSs, mails, messages on Twitter and FB… the works. Students finally realized that there was more to 'Ma’am' than the utter drudgery of preparing for case studies and presentations. Family and friends are too thrilled and friends who considered me too unassuming and of no consequence earlier now realized my true worth. The better and by now bitter half finally realized that words could be fun if only they were put on paper rather than being fired on him like poisoned darts. The little one is proud of her Mama as much as she was of her own achievements of being the only one capable of spelling “education” in her class. Unable to handle so much of admiration and adulation never experienced before, I awake from my lazy afternoon siesta ( ‘power nap’ would have sounded more inspiring, my friend suggests) and realize that like the fading sun, it was just one of my sepia dreams that I drifted into after writing this miserable piece...