Bina Baideo

Whenever I fought with my elder sister, which we did quite often when we were young, my Deota would intervene and addressing to her and pointing to me he would say “First tote kar bhonti?” (Whose younger sister is she, first of all?) and then addressing to me he would ask the same question “First tote kar baideo?” (Whose elder sister is she first of all?) and the two of us would say “mur” (mine) in unison.

However, this story is not about my elder sister but about one of my cousins- from the maternal side. Bina. Yes, that’s my cousin’s name. Almost all my cousins are quite older than me barring only a few. Bina baideo, as I called her, was more than 20 years older than me. So, I never knew her well due to our age gap. Not well enough, to write a few lines on her.

She was my Jethi’s (maternal aunt’s) eldest daughter. The same aunt bore 6 more children after Bina baideo. Three more girls and three boys- all who were younger than her. I remember meeting her in my other cousin brothers and sisters marriage and other family gatherings and festivals. I never knew why she never got married until Ma told me about her one day.

When Bina baideo was young she had an affair with a boy but my Jetha (Baina baideo’s father) never allowed the two to get married. The boy later married another girl and went ahead in life. But Bina baideo didn’t. She decided to stay single.

I wonder how she took that decision never to marry in life, to always remain single, never to know what love of a husband and one’s own child(ren) is. Perhaps she could never feel the warmth of an embrace or the passion in kissing one’s beloved, what it is to feel the sweat when two bodies meet. What it is to call one’s own house a home. That void always remained in her throughout her life.

In her later years, Bina baideo took care of her ailing mother after Jetha (my uncle) passed away. She worked as an anganwadi worker in Hajo, not very far from her parent’s house where she lived. Things took a different turn after Jethi (my aunt) too died. I got the news over the phone from Ma who called to inform me that her eldest sister- my Jethi was no more. This was in 2008.

After I returned from Delhi in 2011, I saw Bina baideo twice or thrice (between 2011 and 2015). Whenever I accompanied my mother to her ancestral home in Hajo, I always ensured that we dropped by at Bina baideo’s place. The house I visited so many times in my childhood days began to fall apart. The last time I went there the mud walls appeared slightly tilted and the roof was on the verge of collapse. The house resembled her condition.

When I saw her in 2012 or 2013 she looked lonely and depressed. All her siblings, except one stayed all across Assam. Perhaps they were all busy in their own world, with their own families. One or two may have kept in touch with her providing her with the daily provisions. A time came when she totally stopped cooking for herself. It is then that her neighbours who also were her distant relatives provided her with the regular meals. Later she also stopped going to school from where she was withdrawing Rs 3000/ per month.

A few months back my mother and I again went to Hajo. The place is famous to the Hindus, Muslims and the Buddhists. It has the sacred Hargriv Madhab Debalay, Kedar Madir, Kameswar Mandir and Pua Mecca. I have heard from Ma that when she was young she saw Buddhists pilgrims from Bhutan coming down to Hajo to offer their prayers to Hargriv Madhab Temple. But now-a-days, they have altogether stopped. Perhaps it was due to the insurgency problem that plagued Assam in the last 2-3 decades or there could be some other reasons.

When I went to the verandah and peeped inside Bina baideo’s house I was in for a shock. The place stinked, there was cobweb all around. More than the condition of the house it was her state that troubled me. Her hair was all matted and she was all skin and bones. She was a diabetic and the pangs of loneliness were visible in her face. Every time my Ma and I went there we only offered her money, money so that she can at least eat something, so that it sustains her living. But this time I silently prayed to God to take her away soon, for I didn’t want Bina baideo to continue living like this in such a pathetic state. She had the means to make a good living but she never tried on her own. I wanted this to be the last time that I saw her, alive. I never knew God would listen to my prayers so soon. Today, on the eve of Christmas, God took her closer to Him. I didn’t cry when I heard the news from another cousin. I didn’t even pray for her soul to rest in peace. What I prayed is to give Bina baideo a better life in her next birth, if ever there is one.

Meanwhile, all the relatives rush in to her house to pay their last respect. Bina baideo lived alone and died alone.

Childhood Express

I wish I could be a child,

swing and slide like a wild.

I wish I could play,

            And smile like sun’s golden ray

All the games of childhood days,

            makes me feel lighter in many ways.

Hair-bands, clips, ribbons, frocks and skirts,

            these are the most precious possessions of my heart.

The child had all the time to juggle and chime,

            those were the days of pure happiness and clime. 

Joy rides in cycle we buzzed like bees,

and like Spider-Man and Tarzan we climbed boughs of trees.

 To steal from neighbour’s garden sweet-scented flowers,

            and to bathe in God’s blessings of rainy showers.

Unripe mangoes and berries with stones aimed by us dropped,

With much gastronomic delight it went into our mouth as we popped.

Kulfis, jolphai, local chips, poppins, chewing gum, gems and Amul’s Fruit ‘n Nut,

our drooling mouth never did for such tasty treat shut.

ABCs and 123s, spellings and dictations,

            Classworks and homeworks and poems for recitations.

Gold Spot, Lock and Key, Dog and the Bone and Hide and Seek,

a game era before we became tech-saavy and a geek.

Life as a child was so simple and fun,

            as we hop, skip, jump and run.

Those are the moments, to time forever lost,

            Memories I can never buy from markets and shops at any cost.

I wish I could steal a child’s innocence and laughter.

            If not in this life, probably God will bless me in the life after! 

Life in a boarding

Aditi is unable to connect to her mother on the phone. It’s her and the boarders’ phone call day. Every Thursday and Sunday the boarders’ of Gulmohar call their parents, 4 minutes on Thursdays and 8 minutes on Sundays. She (and Ngangranabi Thokchom, both from Manipur) is the only one out of the 28 boarders who didn’t get the line. The rest all signed in the phone call register.

The SA 1 examination is going on. Hence, some of the girls study till late night while the others are fast asleep. Aditi too fell asleep thinking she would be unable to speak to her parents.

I get a call somewhere between 10:00-10:30 pm. Generally I don’t pick up calls from boarders parents after 9:30 pm. But today I did when the office phone buzzed and “Aditi’s Ma” appeared on the screen. I went to room no. 4B. Her bed is no. 3, in one corner facing the window (in Gulmohar we call it facing DPS Guwahati). She was fast asleep.

When the rouser call rings in the morning at 5:30 am almost everyone wakes up on time except Aditi. When I take a round to check if everyone is awake and brushed their teeth, she would still be sleeping. I would go to her bed and wake her up gently. Once I was in such a round and as expected she was fast asleep, all curled up in bed. “Wake up, Aditi. Wake up, Aditi”, I told her. She opened her little eyes. I sternly commanded her to get up from bed and go. She was still in a half-sleep-half-awake state when she replied “Go where, Ma’am?” It was for the PT/ Yoga classes I meant. Even though I acted as if I was angry with her for asking such a question when she ought to know her daily schedule followed in the hostel, deep inside I was not. Her question only made me smile from inside.

She spoke to her mother first and asked her why she didn’t keep the phone with her. She told her mother that her tuck was almost over and asked her to come from Imphal to Guwahati to meet her and bring her the special Maggie cooked by her mother. In the hostel, most of the boarders eat uncooked Maggie as they eat Wai-Wai ­- raw.

She asked her mother about her father’s health, if the lump in his face has subsided. In all her innocence she beseeched her mother to pray to the Almighty to cure her father. She was crying when she spoke those words. Hope the one above us sees her tears and listens to her prayer. She later spoke to her father in Hindi and asked him about his well-being. Her tears stopped immediately as she started the conversation with him, as if she didn’t wish him to know that she had cried a moment earlier. I could sense a grim in her face as she spoke to him. She asked her father to “kick that doctor”- the one who was treating him.

I must have waited for more than 4 minutes by her bed. Shabana, Aditi’s roommate got up from her bed and climbed on to Aditi’s bed when she became emotional. Krishna, her other roommate who was sleeping peacefully until then too woke up when she was on the phone. Donu Kena, her Arunachali roommate had just entered the room after studying in the study room when I was about to leave their room. I wished all the 4 roommates good night.

Aditi is a very sweet girl even though she doesn’t spend much time in studying. She was in Sanskriti- The Gurukul, Guwahati before joining Royal Global School, Guwahati. She was my nephew Jonathan’s classmate in her previous school. She is in grade VI A now and seems to know her lessons well since she had already studied in class IV and V in Sanskriti (under ICSE) what she is studying now in grade VI in RGS (under CBSE).

The next day she had her mathematics examination. I went to see if all the girls had assembled in the corridor of the hostel before going down for breakfast. She saw Ginima, the security personnel, making pleats in Ritika (the youngest boarder of Gulmohar) and Shabana’s hair. She too requested Ginima to pleat her hair. While I was watching Ginima arranging Aditi’s hair I saw that Aditi’s left hand had some cut marks. I asked her how she hurt herself. She narrated: “Ma’am, while I was taking out the paint bottles from the rack under the study table, I hand accidentally hit the edge of the table and . . .” She made some strange sound like ‘dharang’ to express what happened later to her. I understood what she meant to say. She never came to me crying seeking some comfort or to ask for medicines to Hemlata, the resident nurse. “Had it happened to delicate girls like Urvashi from grade VII, she would have come writhing in pain, with tears in her eyes and even if it was just for a very minor scratch”, I laughed while saying this to her and the other boarders who had assembled there one by one. “I am a strong girl, Ma’am” was her straight yet simple statement. As she spoke this I looked into her face and squeezed her cheeks as if to praise her. Imagine a girl of only grade VI making such a strong statement. Perhaps I was not that strong when I was of Aditi’s age, with so much of shield against difficulties, sorrows and pains from my parents and siblings and living in a cocooned world. Aditi’s remark set my thoughts rolling- I wondered what had made her say so- her ailing father or her circumstances at home. Life had taught the young girl about “life” at a very early stage. I only wish all my girls- the remaining 27 boarders’ of Gulmohar to be as strong a girl as Aditi, to face life with a smile when they grow into beautiful young ladies even when they face adversities.

Intrepid Travellers: Travels through Leh-Ladakh

Route: Delhi (by bus) –Manali (By SUV)-Rohtang pass- Keylong-Jispa-Darcha-Baralacha-la-Sarchu (H.P.)-Moray plains (JnK)-Tanglang-la-Leh (hired ‘local’ SUV)-Hemis-Lamayuru-Alchi-Nubra-Pangong.

I was working with a publishing house in the national capital, digitally mapping cities, countries and regions around the world ranging from Argentina, Baja California, China to Scottish Highlands and Islands, Trinidad and Tobago, Vancouver, Zanzibar etc. On a hot late-June, summer day in Delhi I with three of my female colleagues decided to lace on our travelling shoes. After short-listing a few hill-stations of western Himalayas, we zeroed in on Leh-Ladakh for a week’s trip. A 49 plus ever youthful, energetic and enthusiastic Madhavi Singh (aka Mavi), a beautiful-humorous Sardarni- Jasbir Sandhu (aka Jaso) and the stylish and elegant Ragini Govind (aka Ragi) and I (aka Karo) geared up to tread on the land of high mountain passes-Ladakh (La-Dags). We met Roshni  Pradhan at CCD in Khan Market who helped us in preparing the itinerary, the list of things to carry and for the travel permit required for entry into Ladakh and for such other paraphernalia. Roshni advised us to take the road journey as people who fly directly to Leh may at times suffer from mild altitude sickness.

The mantra was to travel light so we divided the load amongst us- I carried the torch, candle/ match box, ear-buds, pen knife (the items I always carry when I am on the move), Jaso carried sunscreen lotion (much-needed in Ladakh due to high altitude) and other toiletries, Mavi- the first-aid kit including oxygen cans and her easily detachable clothes-line came in very handy while Ragi carried the high energy snacks and the dry fruits. Each of us ensured that we also carried thermals and sunglasses besides our personal wear and shoes, gamusa, tooth-brush, bathroom slipper etc.

We boarded the HPTDC super deluxe bus from CP in Delhi to Manali on 8^th July in the evening. The Manali-Leh Highway, the highest motorable road in the world, remains open to northern India for a brief period of the year when the glacial ice thaws, mainly from July onwards to September. All along the highway road safety signs like “Be gentle on my curves” to “Overspeed is a knife that cute (sic) a life”, (so wonderfully captured in the book on hilarious road signs Peep, Peep, Don’t Sleep by Ajay Jain) keeps a traveler hooked.

With the climb up the mountain, jolly Jaso puked all the way to Manali as soon as the movie ‘Hera-Pheri’ shown in the bus ended.  The bus stopped many a times for Jaso. Luckily Ragi carried sickness bags. I sat on an inverted steel bucket between the driver and Jaso (now seated on the conductor’s seat) as she went on throwing. We reached Manali in the morning the next day which was our first halt in the long leg of journey. Jaso also regained her health quickly. We saw the town and the Hidimba Temple in the evening and gulped down hot momos and thupas in the market. I purchased a green sleeping bag in the market at Manali as I couldn’t find one in the Delhi markets. Mavi purchased the big multi-coloured umbrella (which came in handy later while peeing on the road which is devoid of trees, shrubs and bushes).

We briefly halted at Rohtang-pass (Rohtang meaning piles of dead bodies) where we clicked pictures with the yaks Jonny any Monny. Foreigners cycling on mountain-bikes are a common sight in this part of the highway. The road ahead was blocked by a JCB earth mover to clear off debris so out I went with Jaso for some photo session in a bed of wildflowers which is my FB profile picture.

The fog slowly lifted to reveal the white-frothy streams and water-falls cascading from the high green carpet of mountains. Slowly the greenery gave way to exposed rocky outcrops. With further ascent, the sedimentary rock formation in the fold mountain viz. symmetrical, asymmetrical, isoclinal, overturned, recumbent fold etc. that I studied as a student of Geography in Cotton College, Guwahati, came alive instantly as my eyes scanned the Greater Himalayas. To me the mountains are not just a physical feature on the earth’s surface but the lofty highlands with its pristine snow-clad peaks makes me believe that there is a power mightier than us.

We lunched at Koksar in one of the dry stone hut dhabas. Tandi village is at the confluence of Chandra and Bhaga rivers forming the river Chandrabhaga which flows as the River Chenab downstream from here. As the vehicle zoomed past, I gazed at the confluence of the two rivers while my mind unzipped memories of Miss Ruma Baruah’s Geography class in high school- “The place where two rivers meet is known as confluence (prayag).” I feel blessed to be her student for it was Miss Ruma who brought the mountains, the rivers and its valleys come alive in the classroom of St Mary’s School, Guwahati. I owe much to her for developing an interest in Geography. We refueled our vehicle at a stone-hut petrol pump as the next refilling station was at a distance of 365 kms. away from here along this highway.

Our next halt was at Keylong, the district headquarters of Lahaul. There we explored the quiet-little town and had the pure pleasure of chomping fresh green peas directly from the fields. In the morning when the veil of mist cleared we captured the view of the distant Buddhist gompa in the mountain lap. As we continued with our onward journey we crossed Jispa, an idyllic, picture-postcard mountainous setting by a stream against the backdrop of seasonal wildflowers. Jispa’s surreal charm almost took my breath away. We stopped at Darcha for a quick bite of breakfast on the bank of a river. At Baralacha-la, vast stretches of stones are piled one on top of the other (like the game of seven stones) by weary travelers across both sides of the highway to pray for the onward journey.

Towards the early evening on the third day we stopped at Sarchu. During the day the place is mesmerizing with barren mountains beyond a few pitched tents where nature in its ‘nakedness’ (since it is devoid of any greenery) looks all the more appealing to the senses. There is no human habitation, no hamlet miles from here and even no electricity. Drinking water is also scant. We explored the barren landscape and reached a tributary which silently glided by carving steep walls. That Nature could be truly beautiful in all its forms was visible right in front of our eyes. Like a child I ran, ran to explore so that I don’t miss out on anything (like Heidi in the Swiss Alps). Like the air which is rarefied here, I also felt much lighter. But travellers beware- you must NOT over exert yourself in Sarchu as oxygen is quite less here. Due to this reason some people do develop breathing problem. Sarchu was Sar mein dard for me as this was the first time I felt dizzy and developed severe head ache and puked right after the early dinner of rajma-chawal. I felt so weak and sick that Mavi had to administer oxygen to me from the oxygen can. I immediately drifted off to sleep.

Next day I was back on my feet after inhaling the fresh morning air of the mountain. We offered our prayers to the small Shiva shrine erected next to the campsite and headed further north. We stopped at a tented dhaba at Pang for lunch. During the day time we crossed the Moray plain. The Moray plain is a vast stretch of high-altitude, barren, sandy plain with no permanent human settlement and the area is not blessed with precipitation. There is not even a single sign of human life to be seen for miles and miles around in this desert plain except a few solitary herdsmen with their flocks. One may easily get disoriented and lost in the sandy desert. There is no surface road in this stretch of land and only expert drivers know their way out. It is here that I badly wanted to pee but felt somewhat scared to even get off the vehicle alone even in broad daylight owing to the eeriness of the place. Not to be seen by any passing vehicles while I relieved myself, Mavi’s huge multi-coloured umbrella purchased in Manali came in real handy. Since the entire region is arid, we offered one or two of the herdsmen drinking water in this utterly barren, desolate place and my advice to you is- Please (with a capital ‘p’) offer them a few bottles of drinking water too if you pass across this land. You never know when their blessings rain on you.

At Tanglang-la (17582 feet), the highest point of this highway, I got down with the driver and once again I offered my prayers in the small shrine followed by a single click capturing me with the altitude sign by Ka, the driver. It was biting and freezing cold here and only my cheeks were visible as I discovered later.

I always prefer to sit in the left-hand side while travelling so that I could watch nature at her best. Not knowing when I dozed off but when I opened my eyes I saw one of the most spectacular view- nature as the best sculptor. Later when the River Indus came to sight we knew that our destination was not far away. Nestled between the Great Himalayan Ranges and the Karakoram Range, Ladakh is a land of contrast. That was my very first observation as a geographer-cum-Cartographer. With snow on one side and sands on the other, rains at one time and scorching heat the next, high-altitude arid condition at one place to very short-salubrious weather at another, barren lands here and patches of ‘irrigated’ greenery there, the weather is highly erratic in Ladakh. Winter temperature may plummet to blood freezing minus 40˚C.

The River Indus criss-crossing, the Chortens/ stupas, rock carvings and the colourful gate welcome you to Leh town. We had two rooms booked at Millennium Guest House in Leh, the capital of Ladakh. Leh was our base from where we covered the places of interest across Ladakh. The rooms were spacious and clean with hot water available, the neatly arranged flower-pots across the open passage outside leads you to a lively front garden with manicured lawn where tables and chairs are laid-out under huge umbrellas where guests can strum the guitar and croon to their favourite number under the star-lit sky. Staffs at the guest house are friendly and makes you feel at home.

Early the next morning while Jaso and Ragi preferred to catch up on lost sleep, Mavi and I walked the length and breadth of the part of the town near the guest house. We saw the standing crops in the agricultural fields and heard the chirping of the birds and the gurgling of a stream nearby. Such early morning walks in the mountain pumps in fresh air into your system. It was pure pleasure for the senses which is best captured permanently by the lens of my mind.

The first place of interest we visited was the Hemis Buddhist Monastery. We had synced the time when the Hemis festival just started. Perched atop a glen in the mountain and surrounded by mustard fields below, Hemis Festival is the most famous of all the monastery festivals over Ladakh. The masked dance is the major attraction of this festival which attracts both hordes of foreign and domestic tourists. The incantation of divine Buddhist slokas chimes out from the monastery and lingers away across the wide valley.

Nemu village on the way to Lamayuru and Alchi is another serene scenic setting. We next headed to Lamayuru Monastery which stands atop a high spur and had the unique experience of walking on the ‘moonscape’- an eroded landscape. The Lamayuru Monastery has the best collection of colourful thangkas. Located at a bend on the river Indus, the tranquility of the monastery complex at Alchi reverberates across the surrounding barren mountains. Its ancient painted murals and fine wood sculpture is sure enough to make you fall in love with history.

We were so enchanted by Ladakh that we extended our stay by a few more days. Our guide Sapan Pradhan, Roshni’s younger brother included Nubra Valley and Pangong Lake. From Leh we headed further north to Nubra Valley. It is hard to believe that this geographical space was once a part of the Tethys Sea in the geological past as evidenced by the fossil remains found buried in the sand-dunes. Hundur is the farthest point where one is permitted to go along the Nubra Valley, the Line of Control not very far away from here. We checked-in at the Snow Leopard Guest House at Hundur. The Guest House offers enchanting view beautified by its extensive front garden of flowers and a vegetable garden. In the morning when I Aliced myself in this wonderful land, I saw nearly straight-cut narrow ducts channeling melt-ice water from the nearby brook, passing through the garden of the guest house.

Hundur is renowned for the double-humped Bactrian camels. Not to miss the ride, Jaso took a short ride in one of them. The confluence of the Nubra and Shyok, a tributary of Indus, is a place worth-seeing. Towards sun-set we contoured the figure of a ‘sleeping princess’ in the distant Karakoram Range. The sky was crystal clear on a moon-lit night. That late evening we spent sky-gazing in the sand-dunes of Nubra Valley. Later while Mavi, Jaso, Ragi and Sapan chatted amongst themselves, I spent a few minutes in silence, alone. The next day we took a tour to the local Yak farm and fishery. We also made a darshan of the monastery at Diskit where the colossal Buddha statue towers across the silent valley. While on the way further north we saw soldiers, dressed all in white, moving in army trucks heading towards Siachen Glacier. The lilac lavender flowers grown in the wild on the way to Panamik and the medicinal hot springs are not to be missed in one of India’s northernmost zone accessible to travelers. On our return we stopped at Khardung-la (5578m): claimed to be the world’s highest motorable mountain pass. Later all four of us climbed atop a rocky hillock to tie the colourful Buddhist prayer flag. It is in Kharlung-la that I was able to get rid of my phobia of heights.

Our final stop was at Pangong Tso (Lake), a place much glamourised later by the Amir Khan starred Bollywood movie 3-Idiots. Only 1/4^th of Pangong Lake lies in India while the remaining lies in China. It felt like Heaven to bask on the shore of the zero-pollution, blue-green turquoise coloured lake. We were lucky enough to see the rainbow at Pangong Lake. While my 3 companions preferred to laze around the camp I went for a slow leisure walk on the shore of Lake Pangong. From a distance I saw a western tourist, sans any clothing, ready to take a dip and so I decided to make a u-turn. Very soon I reached my trio-companion. Suddenly 3 children appeared in front of us cycling. They were God-sent for me as I am very passionate of cycling. I greeted them ‘Julay’ in the typical Ladhaki style and requested if they would be kind enough to allow us to cycle for a few minutes. They happily agreed. It was by far the best cycle ride in my life till date. We gave the young ones chocolates which they too gaily accepted and rode off. At night the 4 of us churned out stories from our lives as the moon’s reflection on the still waters of Pangong had an embalming effect on each one of us. I wrapped myself in a layer of warm clothes before I buried myself inside the sleeping bag. The next morning I took a dip in the still, cool and clear waters of Pangong Lake before kissing the paradise good-bye.

Our tour guide Sapan took us to a Ladakhi village home where we interacted with the elders and the young members of a joint family. We were offered rich and creamy yak butter-milk which tasted almost like soup to me. Jaso and Ragi who didn’t quite relish the taste stealthily passed the bowls to Mavi and me. The fireplace in the spacious kitchen, adorned with its shinning utensils, low table and carpets, kept us all warm and comfy. We were also offered home-made surpi.

All my travelling companions were vegetarians so throughout the journey I also took veg food though my tongue did get to taste boiled eggs. We munched on dry fruits and took tea breaks throughout the cold, serpentine route. One evening during our stay at Nubra, Mavi even prepared hot soup with fresh vegetables and like gluttons we emptied the bowls in no seconds. Maggi in the mountain is a gastronomic delight for tired and hungry travellers. We slurped and gulped down piping hot bowls of soupy maggi (it was not banned then) at almost every stop. Maggi with freshly chopped vegetables cooked in the pure mountain water and garnished with finely chopped onion, green chilli and a dust of pepper powder adds to its aroma and taste. I wonder what travelling in the mountains would be now without it after the ban. Sigh!

Can any women’s trip be complete without shopping? Though we didn’t shopped till we dropped, as our travel cost shot up by a few grands owing to extending the duration of our stay and the return journey from Leh to New Delhi by air, nevertheless all four of us visited the Tibetan market and got mementos for our dear ones and colleagues. I purchased a brown shawl for Ma, a unique brass bottle-opener (a gift for my husband) and a bottle-green coloured Tibetan cross-button shirt for myself. Leh Market is a maze of shoppers selling fruits and vegetables, pendants, trinkets, amulets on the pavements to those housing expensive shops dealing in Thang-ka, Pachmina and Kashmiri shawls, carpets, samovar and Kashmiri handicrafts and artifacts, apricots and other dry fruits, traditional Buddhist Ladhaki tops, precious and semi-precious gems and ornaments, internet cafés, Tibetan restaurants. All 4 of us got the cotton tee of different colours and sizes with “YAK-YAK-Yak-YAK-YAK” embroidered on it which we decided to wear on the day of re-joining office after the trip. After purchases have been made we sizzled at Leh Café. Towards evening Sapan strummed the guitar while the 4 of us made an evening to remember for the rest of our lives at Millennium GH as we sang English, Hindi, Punjabi and Assamese songs. A few foreign guests in Millennium GH, not to be left behind, joined us too pouring a musical ambience in the evening.

Last but not the least, the presence of the Indian Army, the Border Security Force (BSF) and the Indo-Tibetan  Border Police (ITBP) which mans and protects our border deserves salute. The white snow is turned deep red when blood of our brave soldiers spill in cross-border shelling and aerial bombardment, their round-the-clock-surveillance along the border areas to keep terrorists at bay from infiltrating into our country so that the millions of Indians across the latitude and longitude where India extends could work, travel and sleep in peace. Braving the harsh terrain, the adverse climate, the inhospitable and remote location, living away from their families, our soldiers continue to lay down their lives for their soil. Drivers ferrying tourists and travelers to Ladakh happily load newspapers into their vehicle and deliver it to the Army camps. As Ka-our driver, did in one of the camps, I saw young and robust jawans playing volleyball in the Army camp. Furthermore, the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) which maintains the treacherous mountain highway also deserves accolade. The glacial streams wash away the asphalt road and eat away the road surface leaving potholes of varying depths. At times rock debris blocks the highway bringing the flow of vehicles to a grinding halt. The highway is in most places capped by overhanging rocky mass with steep descent over the cliff plummeting to thousands of feet below.  The width of the highway often narrows down at certain points where you only close your eyes to pray as the vehicle from the opposite direction inches forward. Unskilled labourers, both men and women, working on the highway could be seen toiling hard. JCBs in this part of the highway are a sure sight.

The muezzin calling out the faithful to the evening prayer from the Jama Masjid in the bazaar at Leh to the white-washed Buddhist chortens/ stupas and gompas, Ladhaki men and women dressed in their traditional wear hand-wheeling prayer wheels, the bright and colourful Buddhist prayer flags, the sharp multi hair-pin bends in the mountain, greeting complete strangers ‘Julay’, the solitary goatherd/ shepherd with their flocks, hot Ladhaki butter-milk, the munching of surpi, the Magnetic Hill on the Leh-Srinagar Highway, the stops at the tent camp roadside eateries for a cup of garam black-chai, Maggie in the highway, the barren mountains with isolated patches of melting snow, the u-shaped valleys and its hanging glacier . . . all remains etched in my mind’s slate till date. The small airport at Leh was teeming with troops of the Indian Army and tourists. As we boarded in and the aircraft left the airport tarmac, the bird’s eye-view of Ladakh appeared to be as equally spectacular as the journey covered by road. Like a circumambulation, we crossed the Zanskar Range and the mighty Himalayas.

As we descended by flight, I realized why our not-so friendly neighbours vie for Akshai Chin and why J’nK is the bone of contention between India and Pak. Ladakh is a golden key that clicks open many locks in the treasury of nature. It is Nature’s cradled treasure-trove and a tourist’s gold-mine of delight, hence JnK is popularly called ‘Paradise on Earth’.

The trip to Ladakh was more than a journey for me. It was a learning experience for me to discover a land which knitted different civilizations in the silken past. Just like the caravan routes through Ladakh which once connected present-day Turkey to Tibet, this journey knitted a strong bond of sisterhood, of love and bonhomie amongst the 4 of us, to abdicate my unknown hidden fears and to re-discover myself in a sacred parikrama in the journey of my life. The Buddhist sloka “Om Mani Padme Hum” (Hail to the Jewel in the Lotus) which I heard more than seven years ago in Keylong has woven self-confidence and self-belief on the humming loom of time, to move ahead in life despite challenges and adversities. Hence, after I reached Delhi I decided not to digitize a map of Ladakh but to key it in the computer instead as it was a soul-stirring journey to Leh-Ladakh. Ju-Leh! Julay!

P.S.- When I opened my air  bag after reaching home in Delhi to be greeted by my husband and Lulu- our dear pet cat, a butterfly emerged from my bag and flew away.

Asha Darshan

Change can act as a catalyst of growth and once the wheel of change commence to roll; there is no full-stop while navigating the voyage towards its destination of development. Such a seed of ‘change’ germinated in Biju Borbaruah, trustee and founder of Asha Darshan, by her elder sister who was instrumental in chiseling young Biju’s mind. In several occasions, Biju accompanied her elder sibling, who was involved in social work- be it solving a local dispute within the precinct of her village or while providing relief in the flood-prone areas of North Lakhimpur district of Assam, a place ravaged by floods annually. She had to drop out of college due to financial constraints at home. It was around the time when Assam appeared in the militancy map and the state’s name was synonymous to the underground militant groups- the United Liberation Front of Assam (ULFA), the NDFB, the BLT etc. and the army’s rule and rape rampaged the state to weed out militancy.

Biju was eager to pursue a professional course in nursing but fate had some other plans. Had it not been due to setbacks in her personal life, the dawn of Asha Darshan would not have seen the light of the day- the source of illuminating the lives of thousands of women and children, in one of the remotest parts of India. Ever since she was young, she cradled a vision of opening a weaving centre involving the local girls. With that objective in mind, she joined a weaving industry in Harmoti in North Lakhimpur district of Assam which ameliorated her weaving skills. But after six months elapsed, she quit the job owing to corruption within the industry. A true Gandhian in spirit, she was immensely inspired by Ravindra Nath of Silapathar of Dhemaji District of Assam. She worked over there for two years. Her coherent idea of creating an organization of her own had finally woven a fine web in her mind by now. In November 1998, she discovered her true calling- the new environment in Tamulpur of now Baksa district of Assam. It posed several challenges in terms of language communication as the Bodo language of the dominant Bodo tribe of the area belongs to a different language family altogether, quite different from her lingua franca Assamese. The paranoia which lurked in people’s mind against the underground militant groups like the ULFA, NDFB, BLT etc. didn’t deter her to abdicate the path she had set her eyes on. In the late 90s the transport and communication system was not much developed (not that it still is but much better now than a decade and a half back). Reaching out to the marginalized indigenous ethnic groups was a major hurdle as paved surface transport was next to nil in the 90s in the remote areas of Assam.

She underwent training programme in thread-cutting of cotton in her home-state as well as in the state of Gujarat. She was fortunate to meet a Gandhian, social crusader, philanthropist and Padmashree awardee Late Rabindranath Upadhyay, popularly known as Rabin Bhai (whom she addressed as Pitaji [father]) who became her mentor and guide, a fountain of inspiration and constant advice. She was determined and strong enough to establish an autonomous voluntary organization- a non-profit public charitable trust- Asha Darshan (meaning trust with hope). It was registered in 2002 under the Public Charitable Trust Act. Asha Darshan is based at Tamulpur in Baksa district of Assam and its primary focus is to work for village women’s empowerment. Its vision is in shaping a fabric of peace in the society where people of various religions and communities can lead a life of love, respect and mutual cooperation towards each other. Its mission is to knit a sisterhood of unity, generating awareness amongst them and imparting training in various ways. Asha Darshan’s trustees are Late Rabindranath Upadhyaya, Biju Borbaruah, Jennifer Liang and Sabita Roy.

Baksa district in Assam is the main artery of Biju’s herculean work comprising three blocks viz. Tamulpur, Nagrijuli and Ghograpar, areas bordering Bhutan. The region is populated by diverse ethnic groups, both tribal and non-tribal, namely the most dominant tribe the Bodos, Rabha tribe, Hajong, Sarania, Adivasis, Nepalis and Muslims. These socio-ethnic groups are alienated and marginalized from the mainstream society and are the most deprived sections. Hence, the area has been a breeding ground for insurgency owing to its backwardness and underdevelopment. These people with less or rather no land-holding of their own are forced to eke out a living as daily wage earners for their economic subsistence and survival, often working as labourers in building and construction sites, carpenter or in shops in neighbouring Bhutan. Their income is very paltry and insufficient to run a family of 6-7 children on an average in a family. There was no concept of family planning in the villages. This means the kids are deprived not only of their Right to Education but of their childhood as well, as they too join their parents in providing hands for income. With no government schools in the vicinity or schools, if any, are largely defunct owing to absenteeism and/ or dearth of teachers or the teacher-student ration is highly skewed.

Education Programme: Asha Darshan runs a chain of 12 schools in north-east India, 11 in Assam and one in Ukhrul district of Manipur. Teachers of Asha Darshan are trained and supported by the organization. It caters to a strength of 1410 students in Assam (684 girls and 726 boys) while the strength of teachers is 41. These students come from financially poor families and reside in remote villages of Assam where they do not have access to schools run by the government. The medium of instruction is Assamese in nine schools while two Bodo medium schools also exist. Alternative skill-based education/ vocational training of school drop-outs have not been cent-percent successful due to financial crunch. Asha Darshan aims to cater rehabilitation of trafficked children and providing a means to their economic self-sufficiency and self-dependence and living a life with dignity, societal acceptance while simultaneously providing a haven under its umbrella.

Self-Help Group (SHG): Apart from its education mission, the organization also has Self-Help Group (SHG) promotion. When Biju came to Tamulpur for the first time, there was no idea about Self-Help Group in this area. Now she has successfully knitted 450 SHGs with strength of 5850 members who are mostly women daily wage earners. These groups address and assist issues pertaining to health of especially women and children. The region is an acute malaria-prone area and various water-borne diseases like diarrhoea, dysentery etc. are endemic to this region. Women in this part are mostly anemic and hence nutrition for women in general and both mother and child in particular is quite essential. While consumption of country-made liquor is rampant in this part and is not a taboo for the tribals, alcohol addiction is a major concern especially for the womenfolk. A school by day could turn out to be a drunkard’s den by night time because of the absence of a locking system. The SHGs also promotes social harmony through motivation and measures undertaken for maintaining peace in the volatile, insurgency-infested region. The SHGs were formed keeping in mind the objective to encourage women to develop the habit of small savings of their hard-earned income. These SHGs are linked to banks such as the State Bank of India (SBI), UCO Bank, Gramin Vikas Bank etc.

Mahila Shanti Sena (MSS) [Women Peace Brigade]: The main responsibility of MSS is to handle cases of domestic violence against women in a democratic and peaceful way, to ensure that peace and harmony of the families/ communities is not disturbed. It has organized ‘Maun Rally’ (silent rally) to promote its message of peace building in the disturbed areas. A lodestar in organizing women into MSS, Biju has created a multi-level organization comprising 350 small units of 10 each (total 3500 women) at the primary level federated into larger units as it expands. Peace-making through non-violence is their mantra. These groups are trained and motivated to resolve disputes and conflicts, especially those related to violence and atrocities against women. It also acts as a check against human trafficking especially of the girl child.

Livelihood Programme: Asha Darshan  promotes livelihood programme by facilitating livelihood-related activities like weaving, tailoring, poultry, piggery, goatry while provoding training in making of soft toys, jewellery, pickle, detergent, table-cloth, door-mat etc. Besides these, improvised weaving looms for the differently-abled has also been carved out, improved techniques and technologies have been introduced in some of these activities to reduce drudgery, to enhance quality and productivity thereby augmenting the income of the people.

Biju’s constant supervision, her strong grit and determination, her dedication and devotion to serve the downtrodden and marginalized sections of the society has bagged her the ‘C Subramanian Fellowship Award’ by the National Foundation of India (NFI), the ‘Bahadur Ladki Award’ (Brave Girl) conferred upon her by the Himalaya Foundation for her tireless work in militancy-ridden areas of the state. The Anne Nirmali Kakati Vocational Award by the Rotary Club is yet another feather to her cap.

Environmental Conservation: Asha Darshan also aims to preserve and conserve the rich biodiversity of the region. Rampant deforestation of the once sylvan cover has been axed esp. in the plains bordering Bhutan and mainly the foot-hills paving the avenue for establishing factories and industries in the fragile ecological hot-spots of the eastern Himalayan foot-hills thereby releasing effluent directly in the streams and rivers. Rock quarry activities from the bowels of the foot-hills not only degrades the environment but also robs off its scenic natural beauty. The organisation has an objective of bringing lands under fruit-bearing trees since the area is conducive for plantation. Creating awareness amongst the locals for its participation in wildlife protection is the call of the hour as elephant corridors are been encroached and the habitat of wildlife shrinks thereby increasing men-animal conflicts. Asha Darshan in mitigating such encounters could play a pivotal role in the protection of the rich flora and fauna of the region. Venison meat, much sought-after by tribals and non-tribals alike, and curbing of poaching of wildlife parts through awareness generation, afforestation drives could be just a few measures in nature conservation.

It has been observed that the streams and rivers originating from the Himalayas which meander through these areas have been reduced to a small rivulet owing to building of dams in Bhutan. So much so that portable drinking water as well as non-drinking water has to be carried in thelas (4-wheeled hand-pulled carts) and bicycles from the nearest water pump situated a kilometer or two from the Vocational Training Centre of Asha Darshan in Bogajuli (Nonke Angarkata) of Baksa district in Assam.

Help in the form of providing benches and tables, books and racks from a city-based school which has been closed down now, donations of tins and asbestos sheets for roofs for Asha Darshan’s branch office at Nonke Angarkata by the Marwari (businessmen) community, providing land for setting up such centers by the Government of Assam has been a step which has alchemised Biju’s dreams into reality albeit step-by-step. Bottlenecks in realizing her goals are absence of permanent concrete structure of Asha Darshan schools. The school structure including its walls are thatched which are in a dilapidated condition in a few schools. Class progress could be hampered owing to leakage from the roofs during the monsoon rains or due to absence of ceiling fans in the classroom esp. during the hot and humid weather conditions. In one school, a hall has been partitioned by bamboo lattice to create two separate classrooms. Limited classroom space, insufficient benches and tables, access to library books, non-lucrative teacher’s job owing to less pay or teacher’s moving for greener pastures after qualifying the state conducted Teacher’s Eligibility Test (TET), not to mention about the clod filled roads leading to school, unavailability of clean drinking water and proper sanitation in the school premise are colossal challenges on Asha Darshan. However, this could be a great opportunity for Biju and her team in the eradication of illiteracy, providing education-cum-vocational training towards a better and brighter life for all the children, which will in turn churn social uplift from the quagmire of poverty and ignorance towards illumination through the rays of Asha Darshan. It’s an irony that space for a playground exits but there are no sports equipment and its paraphernalia for the students’. Asha Darshan schools may be in sharp contrast to the city-based schools of Guwahati, with smartclasses and state-of-the-art-technology, but the quest of its students’ for education is not a shade less. There was a time when even the underground militant organizations demanded money from the teachers, a time when Biju was followed by members of such groups in order to find about her real motive- if she was a beacon of change or was an agent of the government. The cusp of change is visible as the veil of ignorance and illiteracy is eclipsed by knowledge.

Asha Darshan contact details:

Asha Darshan Trust,

P.O.- Tamulpur, District Baksa (BTAD)

Assam (INDIA)

PIN- 781 367

Phone-  +91-3624-287364/

             +91-94351-98562

Email: darshan_asha@yahoo.com

            bborbaruah@gmail.com

Web: www.ashadarshan.blogspot.com

From afar

From afar, the rain from the sky pours

From afar, my heart for you soars.

            From afar, I for you, pray,

            From afar, I dream about you, night and day.

From afar, I in my solitude, cry

From afar, I ask for the reasons why?

From afar, I count the days and the years

From afar, I open the floodgate of tears.

From afar, I into your eyes, kiss

From afar, your sight I miss.

From afar, I wake up with you in my thoughts till sleep

From afar, my minutes turn to hours which torments me deep

From afar, my memories weave

From afar, my soul grieves.

From afar, I see a sepia image of a girl-child holding our hands

From afar, the child walking between a man and woman of distant shores and lands

From afar, the picture fades, of the man and his wife

From afar, their drowning in the sea of troughs and ebbs called life

            From afar, I hear your voice

            From afar, you forked out a life of your choice

From afar, we will again meet

We will be one when our pulse will cease to beat.

            From afar, the rain pours; from afar the heart pours . . .

The Aura of Auroville

Aura of Auroville

“There should be somewhere on earth a place which no nation could claim as its own, where all human beings of goodwill who have a sincere aspiration could live freely as citizens  of the world and obey one single authority, that of supreme truth; a place of peace, concord and harmony where all the fighting instincts of man would be used exclusively to conquer the causes of his sufferings and miseries, to surmount his weaknesses and ignorance, to triumph over his limitations and incapacities; a place where the needs of the spirit and the concern for progress would take precedence over the satisfaction of desires and passions, the search for pleasure and material enjoyment”- An extract from A Dream by The  Mother, August 1954

It’s been almost a month since I landed in Chennai in search of greener pastures and except for appearing in job interviews and watching the Bollywood movies on ace boxer Mary Kom and another one on child trafficking Maardani screened in Ampa SkyWalk and Escape respectively, I have not much ventured out in the oppressive heat down south. Well, Chennai has only three weather- hot, hotter and hottest and I don’t know into which of these degree of hotness the month of October falls as it is still scorching hot. I am yet to get drenched in the north-east monsoon rains here (the Tamil Nadu coast experiences it when it is winter season in the rest of India).

So I escaped out of Chennai for the weekend, a day after World Egg Day on 10-Oct after ensuring that I devour at least an egg before I hit the road as I was already stuffed ‘mentally’ with a lot of Amma(s) and Anna(s) viz. Anna University, Anna Memorial, Anna Square, Anna Nagar, Anna Salai (Road) etc. etc. and almost all the national and regional news channels for the whole week fed viewers with news about Amma aka Jayalalitha, the former chief minister of Tamil Nadu who has been jailed in the Indian state of Karnataka in the disproportionate assets case along with her aides Sashikala, her foster son et. al.

Pondicherry/ Puducherry 11-Oct-14 (Saturday)

Pondicherry now known as Puducherry is a Union Territory of India and comprises Mahe in Kerala, Yanam in Andhra Pradesh, Karaikal and Pondicherry, the last two geographically located within the Indian state of Tamil Nadu. It was a French colony in the historical past and the city still has retained its French flavour in many ways. Pondicherry stands out from the rest of the Indian cities in its architecture and style. Most of the duplex houses along the East Coast Road, commonly known as ECR in short, are a riot of colours brushed with pink, yellow, blue and purple. The wooden balustrade in the porch, the cafés, bakeries and kiosks  adds to its uniqueness. Shops sell all sorts of colourful fancy floral dresses which are a perfect wear in the sea beaches.

ECR is a single-lane, scenic highway along the eastern coastal belt skirting narrow sea inlets, rivers that fork out into the sea, coconut and date-palms; dotted with tiny temples dedicated to Tamil Gods/ Goddess commonly Murugan and churches and cathedrals; connecting Tamil Nadu’s capital city Chennai with the Union Territory of Puducherry.

Since it was the weekend, cyclists- both men and women in helmets, Indian and foreigners, were seen paddling  as far as Mahabalipuram (now Mamallapuram). It was cloudy weather when we set out in the morning and the weather God was kind to us (the cyclists and the travellers) throughout the day. Work on road widening by a meter or so till Mamallapuram was in progress. Except for the cyclists, there were very few motorised vehicles on the road. I found it difficult to read the signboards since most of it appeared in Tamil with scant English places names on it. The green paddy fields and water-bodies attracted the flocks of bogolis (cattle-egret) numbering more than hundreds. A few salt plant and several hatcheries (after World Egg Day on 10-Oct) and fisheries could be seen from the highway. Every now and then the driver overtook the green-coloured State Transport Bus. Most of his talk, in fragmented English, centred around Amma aka Jayalalitha and he reasoned out why she should be released from the jail. Amma has entered the pantheon of Tamil Goddesses as people worship her, many even self-immolated and committed suicides after the court verdict sentencing her to jail. One newspaper caption which particularly caught my attention was “Take Cavery water, give us Amma” since there is a river-water dispute between the states of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka.

Our departure was at 6:30 am and we hit the Toll Gate in P’cherry at 9:25 am with a halt for breakfast at Motel Mamalla (with a roof-top resto) in Mamallapuram which serves good south Indian masala dosai, idli, vada, appam, pongal,  . . . (the Center Fruit T.V. ad did come in my mind) and coffee for breakfast. Fancy and catchy names of resorts like Hidden Bay, Tropical Tides, (O)scar Resort- with my poor eye-sight missing the ‘O’ (written in black) of ‘Oscar’ (written in light orange colour).

Locals in white cotton dhoti and foreigners in shorts on bikes is a common sight. Sharanga Guesthouse, a cosy, homely, quiet ambience under the shade of a banyan tree amongst other green canopy, with each home carved out in exquisite traditional décor; a small, shallow-water pool roofed by 4 wooden pillars with a presiding water deity in the centre in one end of the pool; three broad tables spaced out in the open opposite the small pool with cottages in one side, a clean and spacious kitchen attached with 24 hours accessible electric tea and coffee maker, toaster etc., a roofed but open dining hall with a table for 8, a common recreational room with a T.V. set, a gym, a Tai-Chi hall, an image of a Hindu deity- a place of sanctum sanctorum, cobbled pathway with greenery from ground to a sea of green screen though the thick foliage and big, beautifully coloured pitchers for water laid all across the guest house complex of Sharanga, a reception with stained glass windows and ventilators and beautifully carved out woodwork with a book corner towered by a large globe and a wall map of Auroville and framed photographs of sepia hue in black and white greets the visitors. There is also a bicycle parking hut with slanted roofs.

Sharnga Guest House serves breakfast at 8 am and dinner at 7:30 pm and charges Rs 2800/ per day. The food served for both b/fast and dinner appealed to our taste buds, neither very hot nor pungent and spicy compared to food served outside and is a mixture of south Indian and continental. The guests of Sharnga from across the globe also have the option of eating their meals (breakfast and supper) together while getting to know each other. Both veg and non-veg are served to the guests.

The rooms have bed for two, a wooden cabinet, table-chair, attached bath with hot water and 24 hours electricity. Internet service is also provided. The receptionist Janani and her husband Sundaresan is sure to provide you with all the details which a guest needs in order to explore Auroville and its surroundings. A map of the locality definitely comes in handy. Bikes are also easily available on rent from Sharnga GH. Bourgounvillea floweres with white, orange, pink, purple and yellow blossoms add a riot of colours while the chirping of the local birds is perfect music for the senses. Try Dinesh Restaurant for local cuisines.  Auroville beach is accessible for guests of Auroville. The Visitors Centre, International House, Youth Centre, Town, Foundation Tibetan Pavilion, Sri Aurobindo’s Statue, Fleurs d’ Auroville, The Kindergarten, Buddha Garden, Botanical Garden, Integrated Animal Care, Pony Farm, Certitude, Solar Kitchen, the Windmill, Water Harvest, Menhir and all other places of Interest is centred around the Matrimandir- a golden globular shaped structure resting on 12 petals in the middle of an extensive green manicured lawn with an adjacent amphitheatre. Visitors are permitted entry inside the Matrimandir (and even in its periphery) only with a visitors pass issued in the Visitors Centre. Lose yourself under the shade of The Banyan Tree, where The Mother meditated, and enjoy the tranquil atmosphere. One is sure to feel rejuvenated and recharged.

Auroville has sprouted from a once barren plateau of red earth with nationals from 35 countries from different hemispheres and time-zones honeycombing this unique society. At the inauguration ceremony of Auroville on 28^th February, 1968, representatives from 124 countries and 23 Indian states scooped out a handful of earth from their homelands to place it in a lotus-shaped urn symbolising the unity of humans across diverse religion, caste, creed and colour in a sea of humanity. This is the aura of Auroville. What better place to pray and meditate than inside the Matrimandir complex in Auroville on my husband’s fifth death anniversary, for his soul to rest in eternal tranquillity, as I seek solace and embark in the journey of life . . . Bon voyage!

May you be the mother of 28 girls

While applying leave in the online leave application form I had inadvertently clicked on to one option which made my manager in the publishing house in Delhi laugh. I had thought of availing a day’s off, there were just 3 options- casual, privilege leave and maternity leave. The manager of the company instantly reverted via email to my leave application with a single liner - - -

“MUM’S THE WORD?”

Initially I didn’t understand what she meant but when I scrolled down I realized my blunder. I had in a hurry pressed inadvertently on the last option- maternity leave whilst I was still single.

Life is amazing. You never know how it meanders like a river. Professionally I had worked in a publishing house in Delhi, a GIS-cum-automobile navigation company in Gurgaon, a journalist with a local newspaper and now I have taken up the job of a school teacher-cum-warden in Royal Global School, Guwahati located in the outskirts of the city. I had stayed in a hostel for two years while pursuing M.A. in Geography from Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi.

September 2001

Room No. 26, First Floor of Gerda Philipsborn Girls’ Hostel (commonly known as GP hostel), New Delhi- the hostel where we got rajma every Monday, paneer/ eggs every Friday and the much-hated yellow rice and bundi dahi on Sundays. In every meal, the oils would float. But as a whole, I cherish a sweet memory of hostel days.

April, 2012

When I came to know that a residential school would start in the outskirts of Guwahati a close friend of mine suggested that I apply. I was reluctant and apprehensive to take up the new role of the House Mistress-cum-teacher since I was a novice with no experience of “grooming” others. I accepted the offer after much thought. The first days few when the boarders moved to the hostel were the toughest days. The girls felt homesick, they cried since they were away from their parents, siblings and home.

There are children who still suck their thumbs while sleeping and it is a sight to capture permanently through the lens of your eyes. One young boarder very often directly translates from Hindi to English. So when in the cold winter days the DPS building was not visible from our hostel she remarked “Ma’am, DPS is not looking at us only”.

There are a few boarders who are fussy eaters. They don’t like to eat ‘saag’ and ‘karela’. Two boarders once tried to hoodwink me by coming to the dining hall during lunch time. They gave their attendance and left the dining hall stealthily. I took a head count and mentally calculated who was missing. Later when I questioned them they asked me how I came to know.

T.V. remote in the common room or the dining hall is a tool of dispute amongst boarders just like in any home. Someone would want to watch Doremon/ Dora-the explorer while others would like to listen to songs and some others would opt to watch Mahadev or Baalveer. It is a never-ending tussle in Gulmohar.

The morning PT/ yoga time is the part of the day when they all pretend to fall sick. The girls would complain of stomach ache but as soon as it is past PT/ yoga time they could at times be seen munching chips or other tucks and their ache vanishes into thin air.

Hostel life is fun. It is a temple of learning wherein one learns to manage time, they learn to adjust with fellow boarders and understand each other. They also become active, smart, helpful and cooperative.

Since I was also a boarder once in life I know what hostel life is all about- Kyuki hostel warden warden bhi kabhi boarder thi.

Under the shade of Gulmohar

What’s in a name? Gulmohar is not just a flowering tree providing shade to the people. You need not go to Musee du Louvre in Paris to see the Muskan (smile) of Monalisa. Karobi (Oleander) and Nirmali (floral offering to God) to Lord Krishna blooms in this campus. Out here you will be given the right Deeksha (direction) of life. Manvi/Tanvi, Ishika/ Gopika/ Ritika- could be just the names of siblings in a family. Urvashis meditate in studies and focuses in extra-curricular activities. Dorothy and Christina could be quite ‘English’ names but we are Indians to the core. Saloni or Sonali and Aditi or Arundhati could be just tongue-twisting. Maheshwari- a name which is also a surname can be found here too. Anisha (one night) is sufficient to know how strong the sisterhood of girls can be.