Sadhu on the step

 Sadhu on the step

…………………………..

After visiting Kal Vairav and Sankatmochan we rushed back to hotel for rest. After a while we headed for Assighat by a scooter rickshaw. It was around noon but the sun of December month was not harsh in Banaras. It was one of our yearly visit to this thousand of years old holy city.

The clean India movement was very much visible at the ghat, found it to be cleaner than last year. This time I nudged my wife to climb the stairs leading to Pizzaria restaurant where Pizza baked in wood fire oven is available.

Having taken a seat facing Ganges noticed that most of the customers were foreign tourist, the menu card showed Italian preparations in addition to Indian cuisine. We had pizza and coffee and then headed for the river bank to catch a boat.

“What is the hurry?’ I heard a sound thrown at us. I looked back and found the smiling face of a sadhu perched on the steps. Around him were arrangement for preparation of tea and personal belongings.

‘’Don’t stop, keep walking !” my wife hissed at me. She knows that I have this weakness for sadhus and get into discussion with them, finally land up shelling out money .

I ignored her caution and walked up to the sadhu , he gave a knowing smile with twinkle in his eyes.

“I am in a hurry to keep my programme, so going to catch a boat, that is why I was climbing down the stairs.” I informed him.

“We are all going up and down the stairs of our life, here some go down to take a dip in the holy Ganges thinking that it will wash off all sins.”  he said philosophically. His  these words made me interested in continuing the conversation, my wife started pulling the sleeve of my blazer but I stayed on.

“Yes I know one dip cannot wash away the accumulated sins of years or for that matter any dip at all but it gives a momentary satisfaction !” I said.

“Yes, the dip is significant for cleaning the visible dirt on the body but not the subconscious!” I was impressed by these words, he appeared to be a learned sadhu. I have a theory that all sadhus are not fraud, there are some who have chosen this path to get away from the routine life.I am always in the lookout for such wise sadhu.

‘’How long have you been sadhu?” I took the liberty of asking this personal question.

He laughed out loud and said, “You too are sadhu but that moment comes to you when you are alone, your mind is more or less a vacuum but those moments for family man like you are far and few. The other thoughts related with your day to day chores keep you occupied subconsciously. For us we get into that state of vacuum more frequently. If I give 50 out of hundred to my sadhuness then you will get 10.”

I sat down on the step besides him and my wife went down to fix a boat.

In the meanwhile, the sadhu started pumping the kerosene stove and started boiling water. In that windy winter afternoon by the side of Ganges a cup of tea was welcome. He took lot of care in boiling the water and then put tea leaves, put off the stove, put some tulsi leaves. Allowed the concoction to soak for about 3 minutes, I requested him not to put sugar and milk, I wanted it to be black.

“What you have already consumed your life quota of sweet?’’ he said teasingly while handing over tea in earthen glass, kulhar to me .

I took a sip of the tea, it was not scalding hot but the taste and aroma were out of this world. I complimented him for the tea.

“You might have noticed that to produce that tea I controlled the boiling time of the water and also put tea,tulsi in measured quantity. Our life is like this tea, to enjoy the life one has to go through hardship, like I boiled the tea. I could have boiled the tea leaves along with water and save time but I did not do that. For every good thing you have to wait for your time but that will come only if you have put sincere effort.”

I could know that I was talking to a learned man who has turned himself to a genuine sadhu and his offering tea to me was meant to give some wisdom to me as I gave my time to him. In today’s busy world no one wants to give time but doesn’t mind giving money.

I could make out he was enjoying our discussion, I also started feeling relaxed as he put a break to my rush to catch the boat.
He pulled out an envelope , handed that to me and said, "Open that when you are alone after you leave this place."

He picked up a guitar lying by the side of him, it had only one string. I was surprised as I knew either there are 4 or 6 strings in guitar so I asked curiously about the guitar.

‘’You are pretty observant! My this guitar is having only the last E string, see the grooves of the other five are vacant. I can easily strum this string and chant OM .” He strung the E string, the thickest string of the guitar which was making thung, thung sound rhythmically  and started chanting OM by closing his eyes. I could sense that our conversation has come to an end, Istood up, I wanted to give some money but there was no bowl or box for money anywhere visible. I slowly started walking off to the bank of Ganges where a boatman was waiting for us.

“You had quite a long discussion with ketlibaba!” the boatman said.

“Does he serve tea to everyone?” I asked.

“I have not seen many people talking to him, mostly he sits there and reads books and strums his that odd guitar.I heard that he belongs to a rich family, unlike other sadhus!”

After boarding the boat I looked up at the steps , the sadhu was busy chanting Om and the sound of the E string from a distance was casting a spell , the sun was slowly setting casting long shadows of the edifices on Ganges.

After returning to the hotel i opened the envelope and found a letter. 
Dear Friend,
I don't know your name but the moment you crossed me it appeared as though i know you. I am not a sadhu but i am pretending to be one for 1 month till i pass on this mantle to someone for a month. Let me explain, there is a group of professionals who have formed this exclusive club for professionals who sometimes feel to get out of the rat race for sometime, a kind of sojoun. This spot where i am sitting has been reserved by that group and there are people around who make sure nothing untoward happens. I am top man of a MNC and was disturbed, like you i came to Varanasi and met the Ketlibaba here, he was also a disturbed soul like me. We had conversation and he passed on the letter to me asking me to become sadhu for one month. I went back home, had discussion with my family, came here and have almost finished one month. The group has a guest house where i stay and if you wish to become next Ketlibaba then you too can stay, fooding and lodging are free. Whatever you saw around me will be yours of course not the one string guitar because that's my personal instrument. You don't have to carry these items everyday as there is a guard who looks after these. Yes, you have to get gerua uniform of your size. Before completion of your stint you have to select the next one and give a similar letter to him. I know you are curious to know how it works, who is funding? This organisation is funded by some HNIs ( high net worth individuals) as an experiment which may in future roll to some more sacred places.I have selected you as the next Ketlibaba after scanning a few. You have 10 days time and contact me on the mobile number given at the bottom.
Regards,
Ketlibaba.

I was not ready for this but the offer was unique. I was thinking why not take a chance? After returning to kolkata i have to discuss with my wife and son, then probably i may take the plunge.He carried his guitar, i will carry some of my books and painting set for my newly acquired hobby. What do you say friends?

The genie and me

The genie and me

Abu Sayyd's tent

Me in bottle

I was trapped in the bottle and the bottle was among many such bottles stacked on the crude desk  in a tent. The night was in it’s last lap, the morning comes early in the desert. I was in some kind of tunic fitting to my minuscule body inside the bottle. 
You must be wondering how come i am in a 75ml bottle, well that's'a long story but let me try to cut it short. 
It all started with my visit to Al Maha desert resort in Dubai. 

We were there for a musical soiree, many Mideastern activities like writing one’s name in Arabic script, henna tattooing, writing name on sand in bottle etc were going on side by side.After watching the program for a while i was curious to know more about those other activities of tattooing by henna, writing on sand etc  going on, I asked my wife to wait for me along with other guests . I sauntered to the old fellow with leathery skin in a typical Arabian white dress known as thawb at the corner writing names on sand in bottles. It was late in the evening and in the dim battery powered light he was looking like a character from Arabian nights with his pointed beard bending down and doing his craft on a wooden table. My interest was not in the writing of name on sand but something else.

Seeing me approaching he looked up and smiled. 

“Hello” I said.

He nodded at me. It was not clear to me whether he would understand English.

 As though he read my mind , smiled at me and said,”Yes, I can speak a little bit of English. Without knowing that language how can i run my  business with foreign tourists who come here for desert safari .”

I was relieved. In a conspiratorial tone I asked ,”Do you have any genie in those bottles?”

To my question he winked at me and asked,” Why do you ask that? Are you looking for some unfulfilled wishes?’’

I shook my head vigorously and said, “Just curious!”

“I must admit that you are the first person who asked me such question and I have been waiting for someone to tell my expertise with genies.”

He offered me a chair to sit by his side and we got into animated discussion about genie and the various stories I have heard. He informed that putting genie in a bottle was the practice of many centuries old, it was a kind of punishment given to the soul of a person who crossed path with some influential person. The flip side of the punishment was that whenever the genie could come out from the lamp or bottle he had the power to bestow anything under the sun to the person releasing him. An invisible bond started developing between us, may be the vast shadowy desert was having effect on me.

“I belong to that family which had the expertise of putting genie in a closed space.” He had a melancholy look on his face as though he was missing his ancestral importance of good old days. Now of course in modern age no one gives a fig for such medieval practice. 

I pointed to the bottles and mischievously asked, “Any of those bottles have genie?’’

He looked up at me and said, " just follow me a few meters in the desert to that tent.”

I could see some scattered lights at a distance. He informed me that those tents are meant for people like him who are carrying on ethnic activities around the resort. 

I was a bit reluctant but curiosity and the newly developed bond compelled me to follow Abu Sayyd.

He pulled out a torch and both of us started walking towards those tents. I was following him in that uneven sandy desert with his dancing light of the torch. Nights are pretty cold in desert, i pulled my jacket lapels to save myself from the chilly draft.The distance was not a few meters, we walked for about ten minutes but still could not reach. I kicked a bottle stuck in the sand, Abu Sayyd looked back and warned me to be careful as there could be some bad soul trapped in the bottles. When he said this I started getting goose bumps.

“How long will it take?” I looked back to the resort whose bright light was casting a magical spell in the desert.The mesmeric sufi song of Rahat Fateh Ali Khan who was giving live performance was wafting in the vast empty desert, his song sounded much better at a distance than sitting near one of those super big sound boxes.

“Don’t look back, walk faster.” There was urgency in his voice.

I heard some whispering sound, it appeared as though the sound of wind sliding down on those sand dunes and sounding like banshee, it was aerie . The tracks of Suvs,Quad bike and camel hoofs have left deep impressions on the sand. In the dark I was walking like a drunk on that wobbly track on sand, occasionally stumbling on those deep tracks gauged in the sand when I heard that strange sound. Something swept on us , both of us fell down on , something hard hit me.

When I came back to senses found myself in a bottle and Abu Sayyd too was in another bottler.He was gesturing at me in the dim light of the tent. No one was visible. From the bottle I had a good look of the tent, because of my tiny size the tent was appearing like a cavern, through the glass of the bottle and the refracted refracted light of the dim battery powered overhead lamp i was getting a tunnel vision of each angle. It was a Spartan tent with a bed, a tin box, few clothes hanging from a cloth line, a stove with some boxes at a corner and a pitcher of water. Apart from me and Abu Sayyd there were some more bottles with names written. From the gesture of Abu Sayyd I could make out that it was his tent.

Many questions were racing through my mind but the main issue was getting out and regain my normal size. I could see my pair of trouser, shirt, undergarments lying on the floor. I guess whoever had put me in the bottle could not shrink those garments. Abu Sayyd gestured at me to go for sleep , but how sleep can come to me? As far as I know souls were put in a bottle ,that is per those fables i had heard, but here I was shrunk to a Lilliputian size to fit in that bottle. Abu Sayyd could feel my dilemma , gave beatific smile to me and went to sleep sitting in his bottle. I don’t know when I had fallen asleep.

When I woke up I found myself lying on the cot with my regular clothes on. Abu Sayyd and a teenager leaning over me.

“How did we come out and regain size? My wife will be worried.”

“Don’t worry I am here.” I heard my wife’s voice as she came forward from the shadows.

She explained that she had watched me from a distance  going to the desert with Abu Syyd and she was about to warn but by the time we had melted in the dark desert. She waited for a few hours and then came out in search of me and met that boy Salamuddin who was grandson of Abu Sayyd. Then both came to the tent .

"How did you know we were in the bottles?" I asked
"We saw your cloth strewn on the floor and then Salauddin derived from all the tell tale signs that you must have been put in the bottles by casting spell by some evil soul."
"Yes i remebered to have kicked a bottle in the dark when that evil soul might have escaped."
 Luckily Abu Sayyd has passed on the knowledge of genie to his grandson and who knew the process of reversal.The process was pretty complicated and it took sometime to extract us out. 

I profusely thanked Salamuddin and gave him 100 Durham as bakshish. We came out of the tent , did not forget to take the the bottle on which my name was written, the sun had come out full and 2 camels were waiting to take us back to the resort. The desert was glaring with bright sunlight.





I was clutching the sand bottle with my name written on sand in our hotel room in Palazzo Versace, Dubai, told my wife that i must write a story about this bottle. So i thought of this plot in Dubai and wrote the above story, i have not shown the story yet to my wife. Hope you guys liked the story.
Though the story will appear to be impossible for some but then how today's generation lap up Superman,Batman or Harrypotter? My story is no different from those fantasy things.

Shadow run Connaught Place “I was cursing myself for my predicament during the middle of that winter night in January, 05 when I was stranded on the Delhi Chandigarh highway.” “Why? What really made you to make that journey? “See my son had taken out my car, and then suddenly I got this call from my friend Malhotra at Chandigarh that Gurdeep was critically ill and I must come immediately. After finishing my dinner I started off for Chandigarh.Do you know how? I rode on my son’s motorbike and proceeded towards Chandigarh .It was freezing cold .You know that January nights are foggy in this part of North India, I had worn a top coat over my leather jacket, monkey cap, gloves and driving goggles.” We were lounging in Wimpy’s in Connaught Place when Sid was narrating his latest escapade over a mini meal of chicken nugget, cheese burger and hot coffee. Whenever I am in Delhi, I try to visit Connaught Place as it brings back my childhood memories.Connaught Place of fifties was having a sprawling park at the centre where now Delhi Metro hub is coming up. There was a dais at the centre of the park where army band used to play on Sunday evenings. We used to sit on the lawn and listen to the band, eat peanuts. There were not many cars those days, especially on Sundays, there were hardly any traffic, and popular mode of transport was Tonga. All the shops used to be closed on Sundays. So the army band and the green grass were the attraction for the people to come there. The magnificent sound of the army band used to reverberate along the circular corridor of Connaught place. Like every time, this time also I had gone to Connaught place while I was in Delhi. After purchasing the latest John Grisham novel “The Broker” from Gilgotia I proceeded for lunch to Wimpy’s and there I bumped on Sid after a long time. He had also come for lunch. After some small talk Sid narrated his strange experience. So, there we were taking our lunch when Sid continued with his narration. There was dense fog and that is quite normal in January. I started at about 10.30 pm from my house at Chittaranjan Park. I was driving at a cautious speed of 60km per hour in that foggy night. I had no trouble during the first two hours when I crossed Badarpur, Faidabad, and Panipat stretch but suddenly my motorbike stopped after Karnal.There I was in the middle of nowhere, the dhaba which I crossed was about 20km behind. Due to the fog there was hardly any vehicular movement on the highway. I tried to fiddle with the engine but failed. If it would have been Rajdoot motorbike of olden days then I could have stripped the engine. I have no idea about these Jap collaborated motorbikes. The fog had become denser and the visibility was practically zero. There was no shop or house nearby. Suddenly at a distance I could see a diffused light which was sporadically appearing and then disappearing. I thought my eyes were playing trick but still I walked towards that light. “Was it on the same side of the road where you were stranded? I guess due to the fast changing density of the fog the visibility of the light was changing,” I tried to find a cogent reason. “Yes, it was to the left of the road, when I reached with my motorbike to that place then I found that it was a small tea shop and an old person was dosing by the side of the hot chullah. He looked at me and invited me for tea.” “I have gone many times by that highway but those kind of small shops are no longer there,” I informed him. “I know, I was also surprised, I found there was no electrical connection. The source of light was a hurricane lamp. He informed me that I will not get any thing in that night and so I can as well spend the night in that shop. He had a charpoy; he offered me that to take rest. I had no choice. After a cup of tea I stretched myself on that charpoy.” “Terrible, I can imagine your quandary in that freezing temperature.” “Somehow with those layers of warm cloth and the anxiety of getting stranded there, the cold did not bother me much. After about an hour or so I heard some voices coming from the road. I got up; I noticed that there was a chauffeur driven Chevrolet car. There were two passengers, one in the front and the other one in the back. They were sardars, there turban was wrap around type. They were wearing regular dress like khalsa, lungi, kurta, kirpan with heavy kadas on their right wrist.” “Must be some royalty otherwise who else will maintain those vintage cars?” “Surprisingly the car was new; I approached them with my sob story. The gentleman at the back was sipping tea and he appeared to be the boss. I requested him to give me lift up to Chandigarh, I told him that I would leave the motor bike at the tea shop,” Sid continued with his narration. “He gestured me to come and sit in the back seat with him. I took my brief case and got in the car. After paying for the tea the driver started the car with the other passenger in the front seat with him. I started dosing after sometime, but I could hear them discussing in Punjabi how they had looted the treasury. I pretended as though I was asleep but remained alert. There was no Khalistani movement, and then who were these fellows. Were they terrorist dressed up as Khalistani.I was really scared.” “Oh, my god, you were really in deep shit .How did you escape from there,” I said excitedly. “Let me finish. I could hear the sound of an approaching automobile. They became agitated and decided to stop the car near a temple. They got down and requested me to go with them. I grudgingly got down from the car. I started sweating in that chilly winter night so I took off my top coat and was carrying that in my hand. While walking towards the back of the temple they were making plan to somehow take the looted money to some Joginder Singh of Fasada village near Chandigarh on the way to Shimla.” “I presume Joginder Singh must have been their leader.” “Yes, I could make out that. I guessed from their talk that now they had to change the plan and were trying to hide the loot. They dug a hole at the back of that Durga temple and hid the loot which was in a steel cash box. While digging they borrowed my top coat to kneel on, I had no choice. Then suddenly there were commotion and I could hear footsteps and some command in English. These three persons huddled together and looked at me. Then the boss came forward and told me that if anything happened to them then I must contact Joginder Singh and gave me his address. Then I started having a feeling that those were not terrorists.” “They must have been modern day Robinhoods, looting for noble purpose,” I said jokingly. “Suddenly I found a posse of policemen coming towards us, in panic I ran with them towards the field. There were shooting, I heard some screams ,sounded as though those cohorts of mine were hit .Without looking back I ran like hell towards the road. I stumbled on a boulder and fell, lost my senses. When I regained my senses then I found myself by the side of the road. Someone has parked my motorbike to the other side of the road. I went near my bike; the briefcase was strapped to the backseat. I turned back the bike and tried to start it. To my surprise it started smoothly.” “What about the tea shop?” “In my excitement I forgot about the teashop. The fog had thinned out, I did not see the car also, it was 6am in the morning, I drove off fast. I was in Chandigarh by 8am.I took a hotel room in Sector 5.’ “I contacted Malhotra and came to know that Gurdeep had expired, I narrated my experience to Malhotra.” “Did you search for Joginder Singh? What happened to your top coat?” I asked. “After attending the last rites of Gurdeep I requested Malhotra to help me in searching out Joginder.He was also curious, so he agreed.Oh, the top coat, I left behind when I was running away from that place where the loot was buried.” We took a break and finished the lunch in Wimpy. We ordered another round of coffee; I could guess that his experience was heading for a climax. He lighted a cigarette, I borrowed one from him. We were sitting by the window, could see shoppers walking by. At that time of the day the Connaught Place was bustling with activities. It was crowded with shoppers and tourists.Connaught Place is a magnificent doughnut shaped layout, running colonnades with diverse kinds of shops and establishments. I was getting shivers thinking about his plight that night when there were shooting around him. “Was the incident of killing reported in the news paper?” I asked. “No, I purchased The Tribune and all other news papers next day ,but could not find any mention of the shooting. Even the TV channels did not cover that. I was surprised.” “Might be for some security reason that news was blacked out,” I guessed. Sid continued with his narrative. We hired a cab and went out to locate Joginder Singh of village Fasada on the highway to Shimla from Chandigarh.It took us an hour to reach that villge.We enquired about Joginder Singh from a young man in a shop he could not tell us but he asked us to wait in the shop. He went out and brought his eighty years old uncle Natha Singh. Natha Singh became emotional when we asked about Joginder Singh. “Joginder Singh was most revered man of the village. He had fought against the British rulers. He was a member of the Gaddar party. But finally English caught him and sent him to Andaman’s for life imprisonment.” “That must be long time back, before independence. In that case those people whom you met, they talked as though Joginder Singh was around.” I butted in. “Yes, I was puzzled so I requested him to take us to the next of kin of Joginder Singh so that I can untangle the mystery,” Sid said. “We were taken well within the village. There was a dilapidated house and outside the house there was some commotion. We found a sardarji about sixty years old standing with his wife and scattered luggage around them. They were arguing with another sardarji who was standing at the door of the house.” Sid continued,”what we could make out was that the family outside had come from Andaman, they had lost everything in Tsunami but the cousin brother was not allowing them to come in the house as he had no place for them.” “It was really pathetic,” I said. “Yes, both me and Malhotra were emotionally moved.Natha Singh informed us that the man outside was the son of Joginder Singh .After India became independent Joginder Singh was out of Cellular jail. He settled down in Andaman Islands married a local girl. He started farming.Joginder Singh and his wife had died and his son was carrying on with the farming. But due to Tsunami the son lost all his farm land and decided to come back to Punjab, his ancestral place. The cousin brother has taken hold of the property and did not want to give their share.” “Then your encounter with that group on the way and their directing you to Joginder, everything appears to be a dream sequence or a ghost ride,” I said. Sid took a sip of his coffee and continued. I was totally in loss, there seemed to be a time warp. Those guys in the car indicated to me as though Joginder was still alive so I was witness to a sequence of events which happened in the by gone days, that was before independence of India. That was enacted for some purpose .I told same thing to Malhotra.We decided that we would go back to that place where I had that nightmarish experience so that we could get to the truth. We drove down to that place. It was very difficult to locate that temple as many houses were there around, which I had not seen on that particular night. I had seen only a solitary temple with no locale around. Finally we could locate the temple. It was having a boundary wall now, which was the reason why I took time to trace. The temple was more or less unchanged. We entered the temple compound through the gate. A beautiful garden had come up around the temple. There was a solitary priest in the temple in that winter afternoon. He nodded at us. We went inside the temple and offered puja.We came out and pretended to take round of the garden. While taking round of the garden I found my top coat lying at corner of the boundary wall to the left of the temple. We both rushed there. I was excited that I could find the place and also my top coat. Then we decided that we must now try digging the ground to see whether the cash box which was carried by those ghosts was really there or not. We could find a shovel in the garden. We dug the place where my coat was found. After digging a meter or so we found the cash box. We wrapped it in my coat. We had a choice to hand over the cash box to the temple but ruled that out as we knew that it would be swindled by the trustees. We could have taken it but that was also ruled out as it was shown to me by those people from the past for a special purpose with a specific instruction. On analyzing the situation, we came to the conclusion that those freedom fighters who really looted the cash box from the treasury wanted me to hand over the cash to the family of their leader Joginder Singh as the family was in dire strait after loosing everything to Tsunami. As a matter of fact I was used by them as a messenger to hand over the loot to Joginder’s son so that he could restart his life. This was their offering to their beloved leader. We drove back and gave that cash box to the son and of course with the full explanation. I personally felt very much ecstatic after that noble act. We were profusely thanked by the distressed family. I was totally flummoxed by the strange experience of Sid. I started having goose pimples thinking about his encounter with those ghosts and his taking part in a police encounter which must have actually happened sometimes before 1947.But Sid appeared to be very happy as he could come to some help to a Tsunami ravaged family. SNR

Footsteps

Footsteps

Now days I don’t feel like getting up early in the morning.The going out every morning for my ritual of four and half kilometers of walk around the lake is becoming an ordeal but still my mind commands the body to get up. So the routine is getting up, freshening and do some yoga and free hand , then head for lake.

After my walk I would sit at a designated bench by the side of lake when Babulal my side kick will come and give update about his activities. I have already introduced Babulal to the readers but let me once again give a short introduction. He is a short frail guy who had been assistant to a street magician in Delhi and a chela of a sadhu.By virtue of those experiences he knows a few magic tricks and is a street smart young man. Now a day he hangs around all the places of worships and earns money from worshipers by selling miracle pens. His morning beat is Lake Kali temple and thus he waits for me for any assignment. I pay him 500 bucks a month as retainer.

While we were talking a middle aged gentleman whom I see often and have nodding acquaintance came and sat next to me. He was looking pretty worried.

I smiled at him and enquired,” Any problem? I am samaranand”.

‘I am Pratul Banerjee” he introduced and then he said, “I have this strange feeling that as though someone is following me.’

“You mean now while you are taking a round of the lake?’’

“There is lot of surrounding noise here and also lots of people are here so even if someone follows me I will not be able to hear or distinguish that footstep.” He said.

“When do you feel someone is following you?”

“After dinner around 10 i go out for smoke to the corner shop then I hear the footsteps. I have  turned around but could not see anyone? The road is practically deserted at that time of night.”

“why someone will follow you? Do you own some land or old house then probably real state goons will be after you.”’

“Yes I stay in ancestral house with my wife and I have let out the ground floor to a businessman.”

“Has he offered to purchase off the house or any of his relatives?”

“No nothing like that happened?’

“May be you are having some affair and your wife is getting you followed.” I said jokingly to cheer him up.

For the first time he laughed and said, ‘” At this age?”
"When did you first felt someone was following you?'
"About 4 months back, just after my accident which i think someone staged to harm me."
"What really happened?"
"I was going by rickshaw to the market, i got down near the market when a motorbike hit me from the side. I fell down and my head started bleeding. The guy on the motorbike sped away. I was in hospital for 2 days for the injury , nothing abnormal was found on scanning. I was released after stitching."
"Oh,i see ,that is serious!"
"Can you help me to catch the fellow whose footsteps i hear?"

“Look I am no private detective but I love solving problems so if you don’t mind you can give me your address and I will try to solve the mystery of footsteps.”

He gave his address which is in Ballygaunge Place and asked me about my charges.

I told him to allow me to solve the problem and then I will tell. I asked for one-week time. While we were talking Babulal was keenly listening and when Mr.Banerjee left then Babulal with a big smile said, “ Now I know I will get an assignment from you.’”

I laughed out loud at his enthusiasm and said “Yes!” gave the paper on which Mr.Banerjee wrote his  address and mobile number.

“You stakeout his house during late evening till he goes to sleep. Also follow him from his house to lake or wherever he goes.”

He gave me a mock salute and said ‘Yes sir, and I am going to start my shadowing job right now !” He got up and ran towards the direction where Mr.Banerjee was headed.

After that day everyday Babulal would give his report at the lake where i would be sitting on my favorite bench. He did the shadowing job of Mr.Banerjee for 4 days. His report was thorough. He was keeping note like keeping a diary with date, time and place. He had not noticed anyone following Mr.Banerjee. It made me think whether Mr.Banerjee was paranoid, I know the modern life is stressful some don’t get proper sleep and start imagining things. I also thought it could be a paranormal case.I have read many stories about haunted house and mysterious footsteps.In the meanwhile I got hold of a book titled “The man who thought his wife is a hat” and it triggered me to think in different direction,

I rang up Mr.Banerjee and fixed up appointment at the same bench at the lake. That bench had become my virtual office. Me and Baulal were waiting for him. He was looking haggard and dragged himself to the bench. He looked at me and asked, “Could you find anything?”

"Yes and No. We are certain that no one is following you. But this information does not solve your problem.

“But I hear the footsteps and also I hear strange sounds.”

“ I was about to ask you whether you think you hear some strange sound and now you confirmed that. Will you mind visiting someone with me at 11AM today?”

“I don’t mind if my problem can be resolved by that gentleman.”
We took leave. I went back home and quickly took bath and breakfast.

At 11 i picked up  Babulal from the lake and headed for Mr.Banerjee's house. We picked him up in our cab. I had fixed up appointment with a Neurologist with whom i used to play golf in Royal Calcutta Golf Club.

Dr.Rajiv Ghose was waiting for us in his chamber in Lake Terrace. I had briefed him already about the symptoms.After some small talk he invited Mr.Banerjee to the patient’s chair in front of his table.

“Do you hear your own heartbeats or creaking sound of bones?”

“Yes, sometimes my ear gets jarred by my own heartbeat which I thought was because of my palpitating nerves as I have high blood pressure.”

Dr.Ghose took out a tuning fork and asked Mr.Banerjee to take off his shoes.

Dr.Ghose bent down and hit the tuning fork on the floor and then held it near Mr.Banerjee’s ankle. We were surprised to see Mr.Banerjee holding his ears with both hands and shouting , “Please stop that noise!”

We were not hearing any noise from the vibration of the tuning fork.

Dr.Ghose informed Mr.Banerjee that he has superior canal dehiscence syndrome and which is very rare. Because of thinning of temporal bone near our ear our hearing sensitivity increases many folds.He further explained as he was holding the vibrating tuning fork near his ankle bone the sound was travelling through the bone structure to his temporal bone near ear, thus whenever he was walking in the night when there was no other sound then he was hearing his own footsteps. This disorder was the reason of his hearing heartbeats and even creaking sound of his joints.Most likely this had been caused during that accident when he got the head injury.

Because I read that book "The man who thought his wife is a hat "which gives case histories of various such disorders hence I had the hunch that Mr.Banerjee was having one such problem and so I consulted Dr.Ghose. Of course most of the people are not aware of this disorder and treat the person as though he is paranoid.In villages such people are taken to tantriks or Ojhas or Oculists. 

We came out of Dr.Ghose's chamber and went to the nearest CCD for coffee. Mr.Banerjee was looking relieved and insisted for paying my fees. I advised him to pay whatever amount he wants to Babulal as  finding solution is my hobby and i don't accept anything for my hobby. He paid 10,000 to Babulal. 

Babulal got up and bowed at us and muttered something like as though he had some urgent work and left.
I advised Mr.Banerjee to get in touch with some multispeciality hospital for treatment. 

The talisman

The Talisman

Bijli baba temple of Mahadev,a Shiva Linga is theree

The ATR was full, though being a no frill flight but a complimentary breakfast was served, a cold sandwich, no hot coffee. I had to get up early in the morning to catch this 6.30 morning flight from Delhi. I was feeling sleepy but the beauty of the hills kept me awake. The plane landed on time in Bhuntar airport of Kullu.

I picked up my rucksack and walked out of the airport. I had no previous booking but could get a cheap hotel easily by the side of the airport, it was lean tourist season. After freshening up ordered breakfast and took a quick power nap after the breakfast. It was November and winter was setting in. I took out a pullover, went to the reception and requested for a taxi for the whole day.

I prefer to travel by SUVs in hilly areas, requested for a Qualis.

Kullu, once known as Kulanthpitha - "the end of the habitable world",, a picturesque town on the banks of Beas river. On the east of Kullu lies a broad mountainous ridge having the village-temples of Bijli Mahadev,

I had no fixed plan excepting to enjoy the beauty of the hill range. Ramesh the driver of the Quails suggested Hidamba temple in Manali,yes it is the same Hidamba wife of Bheem and mother of Ghatotkach. So we proceeded towards Manali. We finished our aloo paratha lunch midway. We were at the temple by noon. It is a wooden structure made like pagoda and cached in the forest of Deodars.The wet smell of the Deodar and the chimes of the temple transported me to another world. I was mesmerized by the beauty, smell and the sound. The bench by the side of the temple was quite inviting. I sat down and took a few snaps of the temple. The plaque indicated that the temple was built in 1553.

Our next stop was Bijli Mahadeva temple.. The surprising thing about Bijli Mahadev temple is that the dhwaza sthupa of the temple will attract lightening and thunder some days and at that time the main shiv ling will be broken into pieces by the lightening. The priest will reconstruct the shiv ling by using butter. The temple is perched on a hill on the way back to Kullu from Manali. We came out of Manali by another road running parallel to Beas River. I asked the driver to leave me midway to the temple so that I could trek. I never realized that during that journey the visit to that temple was not destined for me. After walking up for about one hour I was resting on a stone by the side of the hilly road. I was enjoying the beauty of Beas flowing below.

Suddenly I heard a groaning sound from the shrubs behind me. I got up and started walking towards the the source of the sound. After a few meters I found a small hut, there were two occupants, a young Lama and an old man of undetermined age. It is common knowledge that Tibetans have their base in Dharamsala in Himachal, so I was not surprised in seeing those Tibetans. Seeing me approaching, the young Lama was perplexed. I could feel that they were in a dire strait but at the same time they were quite suspicious about me. I addressed them in Hindi, "Can I help you?"

The old man was in some deep physical pain but he was the one who replied, "This is my hut and my friend Dhargey has recently come from Tibet. He could trace me through our center in Dharamsala. You can see that I am seriously ill."

I was quite surprised when he told me that the young man who had recently come from Tibet was his friend. Also I had doubt about that Lama, he could be a fugitive from China. The old man could sense my doubt and said, "Yes he has escaped from Tibet and he is not that young as he looks. The place from where he comes people don't age at the same pace as they do in the planes. Look at me, I have aged faster because I came here long back with Dalai Lama. The air there is pure and rarified."

"Is it Shangri-La the illusive place of James Hilton."

The old man smiled, "I have heard about that novel, The Lost Horizon."

I offered them coffee from the flask which I was carrying with me. While they were relishing the hot coffee I called Ramesh by my mobile.

'Can I take you to a doctor? I have conveyance with me."

"No please don't do that. We don't want to put you in trouble."

"Ok,then tell me where I can drop you, certainly this place is not conducive enough for you to stay , I can see you are quite weak and also you got to eat. You are not in a position to cook."

"I will like to go to Malana ,where some people of my clan are there, but that is about 60 kilometers from here."

"I know Malana, lot of backpackers from various countries camp there. There is a permanent establishment of Israelis and I understand they grow illegal Hashhish .I am also informed that foreign currencies and foreign goods are easily available there. I think you can get good doctor too."

"Yes i also know there is a good doctor. It will be a big trouble for you.'

"No ,please don't bother we will drop you and then stay in Manali, will not go back to Kullu."

I heard the voice of Ramesh outside the hut. We helped the old man through the forest to our Qualis and proceeded for Malana.The sun had just set, it was dark and chilly. I advised Ramesh to drive cautiously in the hilly road.

I kept looking at the Lama and wondered about the miracle of nature. He was smiling warmly at me and I could feel positive energy flowing from him to me.

He said something in a sing song voice to me, he spoke in Tibetan language , I could not follow him.

The old man who was lying with his head on the lap of Lama was dosing but he was alert.

He told me in Hindi, " Dhagey is describing the place from where he has come. He is quite nostalgic about that. The place is verdant, it is a kind of paradise and it is hidden deep in Tibet's Himalayas in a gorge. Tucked beneath a mountain spur at sharp bend of Tsangpo river gorge. It is in the forbidden region of Pemako.Once a group of American explorer stumbled on our lonely monastery."

I took out my Black Berry and Googled for Sagrilah,I could get a site which reproduced a newspaper account of a 1999 expedition done by explorers to a similar place as described by Dhagey..

I knew that there have been many attempts by explorers to search for the illusive Shangri-La, the place described by Dhagey could be one such place. There is lot of mysticism linked with Tibet. I recalled the vivid description of Tibet in the book "Seven Years in Tibet" by Heinrich Harrer.

The young monk looked serene and kept smiling at me and watched with curiosity my action with my Black Berry. I too smiled back at him and started thinking about the place described by him.

The young monk touched my hand ,something strange happened, I was magically transported to the place described by him.

We were standing on the mouth of the gorge in the monastery, I was in heavy sheepskin dress of a gown and body hugging pant, Dhagey was standing next to me. The mountain peaks were covered with snow, the river below was frozen in November. A deep sound of group chanting of hymns was wafting from the main hall of the monastery, the giant Dharmachakra was just at the entrance of the monastery. Dhagey smiled at me and nudged me to look around. At this high altitude tall trees were rare but there were patches of garden around.I inhaled the fresh unpolluted air and felt rejuvenated. My tiredness vanished, I felt fresh. Strangely I was not able to move around but I could see, feel and smell the surrounding. All my senses of enjoying beauty were working sharply . I did not see any other monk coming out of the monastery, it was as though I was a spectator of the scenes unfolding before me without me being a part of the divine show. I was suspended between dream and reality. I could not keep track of time as the canvas was frozen in time. Dhagey smiled mysteriously and plucked a leaf from a tree and put that in my hand.

With a start my stance was broken; the young Lama Dhagey was rubbing the forehead of the old man and nodded at me, as though welcoming me back to the real world. I was clutching a leaf. I was fresh like I never felt in years; it reminded me of my younger days when we used to get ready for a football match, eager and fresh. I put the leaf in my pocket with reverence.

We reached Malana valley in three hours. There were scattered light in the valley, a heavy fog had descended could see shadowy figures moving around, the old man asked us to stop near a shop. Inspite of my protest they got down there and assured me that they would be fine.

Somehow an invisible bond had developed between me and Dhagey because of that astral travel. Dhagey came forward to shake my hand and pressed a Talisman in my palm. He said something in Tibetan.

The old man translated, "Go in peace, whenever you are sad the Talisman will give you solace. With a clear mind you can experience astral travel with the help of the Talisman."

I watched them slowly melting in the dark hill side. I could feel the temperature had dropped below ten degrees. I felt sad, holding the Talisman tight I got in to the Qualis. We headed for Manali.

I have the Talisman now, but could never experience the Astral travel as my mind has been always full of conflicting thoughts. I suppose I have to focus my mind on one object like one does for meditation and then the Talisman can help me through. So many times after reading a travel book I tried to transport myself to those exotic places but failed to utilize the power of the Talisman. Now I must search for a real guru like Dhagey to guide me through my Astral travel or else master the meditation techniques to reach the higher level of mind control.

I am missing those good old days

I am missing those good old days

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On line purchase and home delivery is the latest fad going round but for me it is the return of the old practice with a difference and that is ordering on line. Take for example the on line grocery delivery thing like Big Basket, supply vegetables next day. During those good old days of 50s Chetri would come to our house everyday carrying fresh vegetable in his basket on his head.

Raymond advertises get your dress stitched to your measurement. Nothing new about it,those days it was one step further. Our household tailor Kaminibabu would come to the house, take our measurement, carry the cloth and finally will come back with our shirt pant stitched to our measurement. That was during our early school days. Later on I would shift my allegiance to Gunga Tailor in Shankar Market. Yes he was deaf and dumb but a first class tailor. During my IIT days tight narrow pant was in style (it is back in style now), so I will purchase pant cloth of my choice and head for Arora Tailors owned by Gunga in Shankar Market,New Delhi. We used to talk in sign language, I could explain him where I want it to be tight and which place should be loose. Two hip pockets, one inner pocket to tuck in money so that pick pockets can’t reach it. Yes for pants I would head for him and for shirt I would try in Gole Market.

Come to think of it even shoes I would get made to my choice and thus I shifted my loyalty from Bata to a cobbler in Ballimaran,Chandni Chowk. Once I had this shoe with air hole as upper got made by that cobbler. It was a hit in IIT.

Those days we would decide what we will eat, drink and which song we like unlike present days. Now there are food experts on TV advising what to eat, then there are n number of musical shows confusing people about good music. The songs played in the radio was our source and if our friend Ratan could play that song in his mouth organ then we all would start liking the song. More or less if anyone would sing any song then that was our song.I remember after I joined as Trainee in IOC,Gauhati once along with internal audit team I was heading for Cherapunji in 1966. There was this guy Kumar Choudhury in the audit team who had this battery operated tape recorder. During the journey he was playing some Hindi songs which we have never heard but I loved those songs instantly. He informed those are from yet to be released movie and he could get the songs from the music director himself. The music director was R D Burman and the film was Teesri Manzil. Yes that is how it was then, very first listening I got hooked to those songs unlike now when the producers pour their songs from every possible known sources to reach our ear drum.

Same is the story with food choice. For us during those school days if someone is giving party then it will be Chole puri in Bhagwan Das restaurant, Gole Market. Later on we graduated to Standard Coffee House in Connaught Place where we will have espresso coffee with hot dog. After joining IIT I got hooked to Moghlai Paratha, life was that simple no Tara Dalal or Jigs Kalra or Sanjeev Kapoor to guide us and no mumbo jumbo about Italian,Greek,Mexican,Lebonese etc. Straight food…dal,roti,subzi….no stomach problem…thank God I am still hooked to my old taste.

I am not guided by any of these so called experts, I choose my own without any guidance, if a dish looks complicated then I don’t try but then slowly the restaurants have stopped serving my kind of food. In Nainital this year we wanted to have chole bhature and found that those shops are selling chomein..slowly chowmein, momo  etc are replacing the typical street foods of the regions..

That is the reason why I miss those old days when decision making was simple and within the reach of common people…

More than any movie we would wait eagerly for those Ramlila days, when the Ramlila group would come in our neighbourhood..there we discovered that the role of Sita was enacted by a bidi smoking man..….our wait was not Ramlila exactly but for those plays like Sultana Daku,Puran Bhakat, Bhakt Prahlad etc which would be enacted on alternate days of Ramlila on a stage in one of the squares in Gole Market. There was entry ticket which was costing 25 paise then. It was a princely sum then but we never worried about that as our friend Subhash would produce counterfeit tickets for us. Subhash is now a part of a street play group in Delhi .

……oh those good old days!!!!

Were have all the ghosts gone?

I have this feeling that ghosts were there when we were kids but slowly those have left us as the population was exploding. But still when i go to a hill station i do come across some stories about sighting ghost . During my childhood days we would go for summer vacations to our mother's village ,Bipratikuri in Birbhum. Those days the village was not connected by road, no electricity, kerosene lanterns were the source of light at night.

It is about 7 km from Kankalitala near Bolpur.We would get down at Lavpur from a narrow gauge train and then travel by bullock cart to the village. It was backward in all respect with a middle school and a dispensary to boast.                

Kankalitala

Lavpur Station

With the sunset the village would be dark as there was no electricity. The kerosene lanterns were used extensively in the houses. The starlit sky or the moon would be the source of light. The kucha country road will be lighted by the diffused light coming out from the windows of the houses. We would hurry home after our evening outing to avoid darkness, often someone would have a torch. Walking down those half lighted roads and our moving shadows would give us goose bumps.The dark moonlit night would make our imagination to work in top gear.The reason for the thinking about the unknown was because we were from a modern city like Delhi where the evenings would be lighted by street lights and of course by all other lights from the various houses along the road, proportionately less of darkness than in villages .So the difference was that of between light and dark.At that phase of our childhood we would believe many of those ghost stories as we would listen ghost stories in the pitch dark night surrounded by dark outlines of palm trees creating an eerie ambience, the only source of light would be a kerosene lamp kept at the corner. We would sit closely huddled together when one of our maternal uncles would narrate some ghostly incident of the village .None of us would get up alone even for drinking water. I think today's children miss that thrill of the darkness and which generated much of the ghost stories. Now Hollywood has to produce those atmosphere by using special effect which we were getting free in those dark nights, it was the childhood thrills of unknown.

Then there would be some old broken down haunted houses in the village where nobody would be staying or may be some old lady would be staying alone. In our that village there was one such dilapidated house with a pond , we would not look at that house in the dark lest the ghost spots us. We heard many stories of ghost sighting in that house. Recently when i visited Bipratikuri i went to that house. I found that children were playing around that house and a club has come up, but that old house was still there. The pond was filled up.When asked about existance of ghost there those children laughed it off as a joke.

Third place of ghost sighting would be the adjoining burning ghat.We would hear many stories about how young men would lay bet to go there alone in moonless nights . . The scene of Srikanta ( Srikanta by Saratchandra Chattopadhya)accepting the challenge of spending the night in the burning ghat alone  ignoring the request of Rajlakhi would often play out in my mind.As a matter of fact i absorbed most of the nuances of that idyllic village through the writings of Saratbabu , including Indranath's escapades. .Indranath was fearless as per Srikanta. Indranath faced ghosts boldly , those days I believed that and would try to locate a fearless youngman like Indranath in that village.

That village has lost its charms now, there is a metalled road running by the side of the village,there is electricity, telephones,TV and all other the modern trappings.As usual there is violent politics of the kind we read every day in news papers,the goons have replaced the ghosts now.

It is said that ghosts have no religion, they don't fight with each other over religion.They also don't scare people with religious bias or prejudice.as a matter of fact the religious chanting scare them away.Looks like this fanaticism with the religions might be one of the reasons for their nonexistance in our spheres.Ghosts were secular in todays parlence.

I got this enclosure constructed around the banyan tree at the bus stop of Kankalitala around 1997 in memory of my mother. I am not sure whether today it is still there or not.

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