Life, like tea, needs patience to reveal its true flavor.

After visiting Kal Vairav and Sankatmochan, we rushed back to the hotel for a bit of rest. Soon after, we headed to Assighat by scooter rickshaw. It was noon, but the December sun in Banaras was gentle. 

This was one of our annual pilgrimages to the ancient, holy city. I was pleasantly surprised to see the impact of the Clean India movement on the ghat—it was visibly cleaner than last year. This time, I nudged my wife to climb the stairs leading to a Pizzeria that served wood-fired pizza. 

We took a seat facing the Ganges, noticing that most of the customers were foreign tourists. The menu was a mix of Italian and Indian dishes. After savoring pizza and coffee, we headed back toward the riverbank to catch a boat.

            “What’s the rush?” A voice broke the quiet urgency of our steps. I looked back to see a sadhu sitting on the steps, a small kettle and tea-making paraphernalia arranged around him.

        “Don’t stop, keep walking!” my wife whispered sternly. She knows my tendency to get drawn into conversations with sadhus, which often end with me parting with more money than wisdom. Ignoring her, I walked toward him.

   The sadhu smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m in a hurry to keep a schedule, so I’m going to catch a boat,” I explained. “We are all in a hurry, going up and down the stairs of life,” he mused. “Some rush down to the Ganges, hoping it will wash away their sins.” Intrigued, I couldn’t resist engaging further. 

      My wife tugged at my sleeve, but I stayed. “I suppose one dip can’t cleanse the sins of a lifetime,” I offered. “But it gives a momentary sense of relief.” “Yes,” he said, nodding. “The dip cleanses the visible dirt on the body, but not the subconscious.” His words struck me as profound. I have always believed that not all sadhus are frauds. Some, I feel, have chosen this path to escape the chaos of life.

    I wanted to know more about this one. “How long have you been a sadhu?” I ventured to ask. He laughed, a rich sound that echoed off the stone steps. “You are a sadhu too, in your moments of solitude. A family man like you gets only brief moments of silence, but in those moments, you find peace. I might give 50% to my sadhuness, but you, perhaps, give 10%.” 

     I smiled at the thought and sat beside him.

    My wife, realizing she couldn’t pull me away, went down to arrange the boat. The sadhu began pumping his kerosene stove to make tea. In the chilly afternoon by the Ganges, a cup of tea was welcome. He carefully boiled water, added tea leaves, then tulsi, and let it steep. 

   When I asked for black tea, without milk or sugar, he teased, “Have you used up your life’s quota of sweetness already?” When he handed me the tea in a clay *kulhar*, the aroma was extraordinary. I sipped, savoring the warmth. “This is wonderful,” I said, genuinely impressed. “You see,” he replied, “to make good tea, I had to control the boiling time, measure the ingredients, and let it steep just right. Life is like that. You have to endure the boiling, the hardship. But if you wait patiently and put in the effort, something beautiful will come of it. There are no shortcuts.” 

 N  His words, simple yet layered with meaning, resonated deeply. I realized he wasn’t just offering tea—he was offering wisdom. In today’s world, few people give their time; most give only money. As we talked, I felt the rush of my day slip away. He seemed to be enjoying our conversation as much as I was. 

     At one point, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. “Open this when you’re alone,” he said. Then, picking up an unusual guitar with only one string, he began to strum it softly, chanting "Om." The deep, rhythmic sound from the lone E string filled the air. Curious, I asked, “Why does your guitar have only one string?” “You’re observant!” he chuckled. “The other strings are unnecessary for me.

  This one string is enough to chant ‘Om.’ Sometimes, less is more.” I took this as my cue to leave. As I stood up, I instinctively reached into my pocket for money, but there was no bowl, no place to offer it. He didn’t expect any.               As   I walked down the steps toward the river, the boatman waiting, he said, “Ah, you had a long chat with the *ketlibaba*?” “Does he serve tea to everyone?” I asked. “No, not many stop to talk to him. He mostly sits there, reads books, and plays that odd guitar. I’ve heard he’s from a wealthy family—different from other sadhus.”

       Later, back at the hotel, I opened the envelope. Inside was a letter.

 --- **Dear Friend,**

 I don’t know your name, but when you passed by, I felt a strange sense of familiarity. I’m not truly a sadhu, at least not permanently. I’ve been playing the role for a month as part of an exclusive group of professionals who, like me, sometimes feel the need to step away from the rat race. This spot on the ghat is reserved for those in our circle, and there are people around who ensure our safety. I’m the CEO of an MNC and was once as disturbed as you might be. I met the previous *ketlibaba* here and, after a conversation, received this same letter. After discussing it with my family, I decided to spend a month living as a sadhu. You’ve been chosen as the next *ketlibaba*. You have ten days to decide. There’s a guest house where you can stay, with food and lodging provided. When your month is over, you’ll pass on the letter to someone else, just as I’m doing with you. If you're interested, call me at the number below.

 Regards, Ketlibaba ---

 I was stunned. The offer was both bewildering and intriguing. Could I, too, escape for a month? Would I find what this man had found? Back in Kolkata, I would discuss it with my wife and son. Maybe I’d bring along my books and painting supplies for my newly acquired hobby. What do you think, my friends? Should I take the plunge? --- **Philosophical Reflections:** 1. *“Life is like tea. It requires patience, effort, and the right balance of ingredients to make it worthwhile.”* 2. *“We are all climbing the stairs of life, some rushing up, some down, but the true journey is within.”* 3. *“Solitude is the rarest luxury for the modern mind. Those brief moments of silence are where we glimpse our true selves.”*

From snowbound Norway to the thrill of recovery—another case closed with Sam Spade.

Long ago, I traveled to Norway and stayed in a hotel in Oslo. Being in a place so different from home, with its crisp air and serene surroundings, I found myself reflecting on one of my long-time favorites—Humphrey Bogart. Bogart, with his iconic portrayal of the hard-boiled detective Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon, has always been a source of fascination for me. Created by Dashiell Hammett, Sam Spade's character embodied sharp wit, toughness, and a complex moral code that left a lasting impression on cinema.

This trip to Oslo, combined with my admiration for Bogart and his unforgettable roles, stirred something within me. It sparked the urge to write a story—one that blends the mystique of distant lands, the intrigue of a noir detective, and the timeless charisma of Humphrey Bogart.

With a jerk, I came to my senses when I felt a tug at my coat. I was buried in snow, numb from head to toe, but that tug brought me back from the brink. A Saint Bernard dog had found me, its warm breath visible in the freezing air as it sniffed and nudged me to move. I weakly reached for the bottle of brandy hanging from the dog’s collar and fumbled with the cork, my frozen fingers barely able to manage it. But when I finally got it open, I took a long swig, feeling the fiery liquid seep into my veins, thawing out my mind and bringing me back to life.

 How did I end up here, half-buried in the snow-covered wilderness of Norway? As the sled took me back to the nearest town, I tried to piece it all together. Just days earlier, Sam Spade and I were relaxing in our hotel room in Oslo, savoring the success of our last adventure—the Maltese Falcon. Sam, looking every bit the Humphrey Bogart figure he was, leaned back in his chair, sipping a glass of whiskey with that familiar smirk on his face. I had just arrived from Kolkata to join him on a new case that promised to be as dangerous as it was intriguing. We had been hired to track down a stolen Van Gogh painting, the prized possession of a Monte Carlo drug lord. Art, especially something as valuable as a Van Gogh, was the perfect way to launder and stash ill-gotten gains. 

    The money trail was untraceable, the transactions hidden in the murky depths of the dark web. The drug lord’s vault was supposedly impenetrable, buried deep within his lavish estate, protected by state-of-the-art security. But someone had pulled off the impossible. The thief drilled a tunnel from a neighboring building into the vault, bypassing the coded locks with ease and making off with the painting. The job was a risky one, but when Sam Spade called, I couldn't resist the allure of another adventure. It wasn’t long before we got a tip-off that the thief was hiding out in Norway, operating from an igloo in the far north, beyond Tromsø. 

Our anonymous client had reached out to Sam through the internet, transferring a hefty sum in cryptocurrency to his New York account as payment. The job was on. Sam and I planned to head out together, but as luck would have it, another lead came up, and Sam had to follow it, leaving me to scout the igloo on my own. I left our Oslo base early that morning, equipped with a satellite phone to keep in touch with Sam and Soumya, my tech-savvy contact in Kolkata. Soumya had been tracking the thief’s movements through his extensive network on the dark web and had sent me the coordinates of the thief’s hideout.

 I rented a sled in Tromsø, the last major outpost before the vast wilderness of northern Norway took over. It was bitterly cold, the kind of cold that cuts through even the thickest layers, but the excitement of the chase kept me warm as I headed out into the desolate white landscape. As I neared the coordinates Soumya had sent, my instincts prickled. Something wasn’t right. Before I knew it, a group of local toughs, hired muscle by the looks of them, was hot on my trail. They attacked, and despite my best efforts to fend them off, I was overwhelmed. A blow to the head sent me sprawling into the snow, and everything went black. That’s how I ended up here, rescued by a Saint Bernard, on the verge of losing everything—the painting, the mission, and maybe even my life. But the brandy had worked its magic, and by the time we reached the small town of Alta, I was ready to get back into action. The locals, seeing my battered state, offered me shelter, but I declined. I had a job to finish. I quickly contacted Sam. "Sam, it’s me. They found me. I barely made it out, but I know where the painting is. 

The thief is holed up in an igloo near the coordinates Soumya sent." Sam’s voice crackled over the line, urgent and clear. "Stay put. I’m coming to you." It wasn’t long before Sam arrived, looking every bit the iconic detective he was. He wasted no time, handing me a spare coat and another flask, this time filled with strong coffee. "Let’s finish this," he said, his voice carrying the gravitas of a man who had seen it all and lived to tell the tale. We rented snowmobiles in Alta, opting for speed over the sled this time. The snow was relentless, but the adrenaline pumping through our veins kept us going. We tore through the frozen landscape, the engines roaring against the howling wind. It wasn’t long before the cluster of igloos came into view, their rounded shapes barely distinguishable against the snowy backdrop.

 We approached the igloo cautiously, Sam’s years of experience guiding every step. As we circled around, I spotted tracks leading away from the igloo, fresh and hurried. The thief knew we were coming. We dismounted and followed the tracks to a smaller, more isolated igloo at the edge of the cluster. This was it. Sam signaled for me to cover him as he approached the entrance. With a swift motion, he pulled out his Colt M1911, a relic from his earlier days, and kicked open the door. The inside was dimly lit, the flicker of a single oil lamp casting eerie shadows on the walls. The thief, a wiry man with a face twisted in fear and desperation, was frantically packing supplies, clearly ready to bolt at any moment. But it was the Van Gogh painting, leaning against the far wall, that caught my eye. "Hold it right there!" Sam’s voice boomed, his gun trained on the thief.

 The thief froze, his eyes darting between us and the painting. For a split second, it seemed he might comply, but then he made a desperate dash for the back of the igloo, where a hidden tunnel led to the open snowfields. Sam fired a shot, grazing the thief's leg and sending him crashing to the ground, screaming in pain. I rushed forward, securing the painting while Sam kept his gun on the thief. The man was whimpering now, the fight drained out of him. "We got what we came for," Sam said, his voice calm and measured. "Let’s get out of here before his friends catch up." We tied the thief up and left him for the local authorities to deal with. The painting, now safely in our hands, was wrapped securely and strapped to the back of Sam’s snowmobile. We rode back to Alta in silence, the satisfaction of a job well done keeping us warm against the biting cold. As we reached the outskirts of the town, Sam looked over at me with that familiar, lopsided grin. "You always did have a knack for getting into trouble." I laughed, feeling the tension of the past few days finally start to lift. "And you always show up just in time to get me out of it." We returned to Oslo the next day, the Van Gogh painting safely in tow, ready to be returned to its rightful owner—or as rightful as a Monte Carlo drug lord could be. As we sat in our hotel room, nursing glasses of whiskey and reflecting on our latest adventure, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Another case closed, another story added to the growing legend of Sam Spade. "Here’s to the next one," Sam said, raising his glass. I clinked mine against his, knowing that wherever the next adventure took us, we’d be ready. And maybe next time, I’d bring Babulal along.

Arun escaped death in Rishikesh, but a sadhu stole his youth in return.

The city of Kolkata was quiet that evening as the rains had just subsided, leaving behind a cool breeze that filtered through the curtains of my flat.

 Jogen sat across from me, a distant look in his eyes as he narrated this peculiar story about his old friend, Arun.            There was a sense of disbelief mixed with genuine concern in Jogen's voice, as he recounted the events that had transpired over the past few months.

 Arun had always been a deeply religious man, spending hours each day in prayer, fasting, and seeking guidance from holy men. But lately, his devotion had turned into desperation. His horoscope had predicted that he wouldn’t live past the age of 50, and as his 50th birthday drew closer, a sense of dread consumed him. His eyes searched for a miracle, something that could change his fate.

 One day, Arun had ventured to Rishikesh, a city nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas, known for its spiritual ashrams and mystic sadhus. The town, with its rolling hills and sacred river Ganges, was shrouded in an aura of timelessness. Pilgrims from all over the country came seeking salvation, wisdom, or—like Arun—a reprieve from their own mortality. 

 It was there, amidst the towering peaks and the gentle hum of temple bells, that Arun encountered the sadhu. He was an old man with long, matted hair, a face weathered by years of meditation, and eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. His ashram sprawled across the hilltop, surrounded by lush green forests and the distant echoes of the Ganges flowing below. The place was alive with the presence of devotees, clad in saffron robes, all seeking the teachings of the sadhu. The sadhu had told Arun that he could help him cheat death. There was a way, he said, but it required complete surrender. Arun, driven by fear and hope, agreed to follow the sadhu's instruction, leaving behind his old life for six months.

 The ashram was an expansive place, with stone steps leading up to a massive hall where the sadhu conducted his rituals. His chelas, disciples, worked tirelessly, maintaining the grounds, preparing meals, and chanting prayers, their voices merging with the sounds of the wind and water. Every morning, Arun would wake before dawn and sit in meditation with the sadhu. The first few days were difficult, but soon the rhythm of the ashram engulfed him. The sadhu had given Arun one specific rule: he was never to look at his own reflection. No mirrors were allowed. Arun complied without question, trusting the wisdom of the sadhu.

 Time passed slowly in the ashram, the days blending into each other, as Arun grew more absorbed in his practice. Yet, he began to notice something strange. His body felt different. He felt weaker, older. His joints ached, his hair turned gray. Concerned, he approached the sadhu, who merely smiled and assured him that this was part of the process, a transformation that was necessary for his salvation. The sadhu's words, spoken with such certainty, calmed Arun's fears.

 And then, one day, without warning, the sadhu vanished. In his place appeared a young man, clean-shaven and full of vitality. The young man bore a striking resemblance to the sadhu, but his eyes—those same eyes that had once held the weight of wisdom—now seemed alight with youth. The man instructed Arun to leave the ashram and return home. 

Confused and disoriented, Arun obeyed, but as he made his way down the hill toward the town, a deep sense of dread washed over him. He stopped at a local shop and, for the first time in six months, bought a mirror. The reflection that stared back at him was unrecognizable. His face was wrinkled, his skin sagged, and his hair had turned completely white. Arun had aged twenty years in the span of months.

 Realization dawned on him—the sadhu had stolen his youth. 

 The story weighed heavily on my mind as Jogen finished speaking. Arun, now back in Kolkata, was a shadow of his former self, looking like a man in his sixties rather than his forties. But I couldn’t help but note the irony. "By default," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "Arun has escaped the prediction. His danger of dying before 50 has passed. He’s aged, but he’s alive." Jogen nodded, though he still seemed disturbed by the thought of the sadhu and his dark magic. "It’s strange, isn't it? The sadhu helped him escape death, but only by stealing his years. He lives... but at what cost?"

 As I sat there, thinking of the sprawling hills of Rishikesh, the ancient ashram, and the enigmatic sadhu who had exchanged youth for life, I wondered if there were other such stories—hidden in the mist of the mountains, waiting to be uncovered.

Nature's Guardian: The Magnetic Mystery Unveiled"

#### Characters:

- **Samaranand**: A wise and resourceful middle-aged man known for his calm demeanor and problem-solving skills. He lives in a quiet flat and has a keen interest in nature and birds.

- **Tiku**: A curious and observant ten-year-old boy who lives near the flat where Samaranand lives. He loves birds and often spends his time exploring the neighborhood.

- **The Villain**: A cruel and mischievous individual who derives pleasure from disturbing the peace of the birds by using a high-powered magnet.

---

In the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood where Samaranand and Tiku lived, the chirping of birds was a daily symphony. The large tree behind their flat was home to many nests, adding to the peaceful ambiance. Tiku, with his bright eyes and boundless curiosity, often observed the birds and admired their beauty. He adored Samaranand, a wise middle-aged man who was always ready with a story or a piece of advice.

One day, Tiku noticed something strange. The birds seemed agitated and disoriented, struggling to find their way back to their nests. He reported this to Samaranand. Samaranand advised him to keep watch of anything unnatural happening to make the birds disturbed !

Tiku decided to keep close watch from sunset when birds fly back to their nests. Hiding behind a bush, Tiku saw a man lurking near the tree with a high-powered magnet. The man's cruel grin sent chills down Tiku's spine as he watched the birds' confusion.

Rushing to Samaranand's flat, Tiku breathlessly recounted what he had seen. "Uncle, there's a man with a magnet! He's confusing the birds and laughing at them!"

Samaranand listened intently, his face growing stern. He understood the severity of the situation. "Let's observe him a bit more, Tiku. We need to know exactly what he's up to." 

Samaranand explained to Tiku that most of the birds have iron in their beak and that helps them to find their nest by using earth's magnetic field.Also they put in their mental map the surroundings like ponds,building etc to pin point their nest. That villainous fellow is trying to confuse the birds by that powerfull magnet.

Over the next few days, Tiku and Samaranand discreetly watched the villain. They saw him use the magnet to disturb the birds, deriving twisted pleasure from their distress. With enough evidence, Samaranand decided it was time to act.

"We'll give him a taste of his own medicine," Samaranand declared. They set up a magnet activated alarm as is used at airports and connected a hooter with that. The hooter was hidden in a nearby bush. They also positioned a hidden camera to capture his actions as evidence.

The next day, as the villain returned with his magnet the hooter gave out a loud sound. The rascal started running for his life. Samaranand and Tiku had a good laugh to see his predicament.

With the video in hand, Samaranand and Tiku confronted the villain. "We know what you've been doing," Samaranand said sternly, showing the recorded footage showing him approaching ,hooter blowing and his running with his tail between his legs. "Your actions have caused these birds unnecessary distress. It's time to stop."

The villain, faced with undeniable evidence and realizing he had been outsmarted, looked ashamed. "I... I didn't think it was such a big deal,being a man of science I was conducting experiment" he said lamely.

"If you want we too can do scientific experiment on you  by throwing sound blast in your flat,we have gadgets which can be targeted to you (they had in mind asking their IT expert Soumya to hack in Alexa and trigger loud music )

"It is a big deal," Tiku retorted, his voice firm. "These birds have a right to live in peace. If you don't stop, we'll report you to the authorities."

Shamed and defeated, the villain agreed to cease his malicious activities. Peace returned to the neighborhood as the birds settled back into their natural rhythm. Tiku was praised for his keen observations and bravery, while Samaranand reflected on the importance of protecting nature and standing up against cruelty.

In the meanwhile Samaranand called Soumya and asked him to hack that fellows Alexa and play loud chirping sound of bird for 5 minutes every night after 11 pm.Tiku collected the email id ,mobile number etc from the society office and passed that on to Soumya.

Tiku was asked to spy on him. He reported after 5 days that villain was complaining that his Alexa is behaving weirdly and he was not able to sleep so now he keeps it disconnected.Samaranand smiled and thought that fellow has been punished for his misdeeds. Soumya was asked to restore the Alexa to normal function. Tiku was told to discreetly tell that fellow that Alexa might have malfunctioned for sometimes as same problem happened to his Alexa too. Now it was working so he can too switch that on. 

The story ended on a heartwarming note, with Samaranand and Tiku sitting under the tree, watching the birds fluttering about, their bond strengthened by the adventure they had shared. The symphony of chirps resumed, more melodious than ever, in the serene neighborhood they called home.

সেদিন টা আর ফিরে পেলাম না

ক্যামেলিয়া হোটেলে আমি ,শ্যামল আমাদের বন্ধু দ্বিজদাসের সঙ্গে গল্প গুজব কিছু খোয়া দাওয়া l সময় টা 1997 যখন আমি প্রতি মাসে শান্তিনিকেতন যেতাম বক্রেশের তাপবিদ্যুৎ কেন্দ্র রিভিউ করতে l প্রজেক্টে যাওয়া, তারপর শান্তিনিকেতনে একটা চক্কর , দ্বিজ আমাদের জন্য অপেক্ষা করত l দ্বিজ আমার ছোটবেলার বন্ধু l ও আমার সঙ্গে উচ্চ মাধ্যমিক পাস করে দিল্লির রাইসিনা স্কুল থেকে l

ঐ 1997 এ দ্বিজ তখন শান্তিনিকেতনের রেজিস্ট্রার l সেই জন্য আমাদের কোনো অসুবিধে হয় নি রবীন্দ্র ভবন ঘুরে দেখা l

ঘুরতে ঘুরতে ভাবতাম দ্বিজ বেশ আছে ওই রকম এক শান্ত পরিবেশ l হিংসে হত l

যা বলছিলাম ঐ ক্যামেলিয়া হোটেলে আড্ডা দেওয়া l আমি বললাম “দ্বিজ বেশ আছ, এই রকম গাছ পালার মধ্যে “

ও হেঁসে উঠলো আর বললো ও রকম মনে হয়, আমার এই নিস্তরঙ্গ জীবনে তোমরা এলে একটু তরঙ্গ আসে l

আমি অবাক, এ যেন নদীর ওপার সকলের মনে হয় এপারের চেয়ে বেশী সবুজ l

দ্বিজ আমাদের স্কুলের সকালের প্রার্থনা টা আবৃত্তি করত l

চিত্ত যেথা ভয়শূন্য, উচ্চ যেথা শির,

জ্ঞান যেথা মুক্ত,যেথা গৃহের প্রাচীর 

আপন প্রাঙ্গণতলে দিবসশর্বরী 

বসুধারা রাখে নাই খন্ড ক্ষুদ্র করি,

ইত্যাদি 

ওই রকম রিভিউ মিটিং র জন্য একবার আমাদের ডিরেক্টর লাহড়ি সাহেব এসে ছিলেন, আমরা যথা রীতি ওনাকে নিয়ে শান্তিনিকেতনে যাওয়া, দ্বিজর সঙ্গে আলাপ করানো l

আমি বললাম ও আমাদের স্কুলে সকালের প্রার্থনা করত l

রবীন্দ্র ভবনের বাইরের বারান্দায় দাঁড়িয়ে এসব কথা হচ্ছিল, তখন রবীন্দ্র নাথের আসবাব পত্র, পাণ্ডুলিপি, মিউজিয়াম ইত্যাদি দেখা হয় গেছে l

ঐ বাইরের বারান্দায় দরজার দু পাশে চিত্ত যেথা কবিতা টা ইংরাজি আর বাংলায় লেখা l

দ্বিজ কে অনুরোধ করলাম দুটোই পড়তে l

স্কুলে যখন আবৃত্তি করত তখন গলা অন্য , অতটা ভাঙ্গেনি l

কিন্ত সেদিন ও ওর দরাজ গলায় যখন  দুটোই পড়লো তখন আমরা প্রায় মন্ত্র মুগ্ধ,আমার তো চোখে জল এসে গেছিল!

সেন্টিমেন্টাল হয়ে ওকে জড়িয়ে ধরলাম l

ঐ শন্তিকেতনের পরিবেশ টা আলাদা স্কুলের তুলনায় l

আমার মনের কোঠা য় এখনও ওই মুহুর্ত টা ধরা আছে, লাহিড়ি সাহেব গত হয়েছেন , দ্বিজ এখন কোথায় জানিনা, শ্যামলের সঙ্গে মাঝে মধ্যে দেখা হয় l

Retirement এর পর প্রায় প্রতি বছরি শান্তিনিকেতনে যাই কিন্তু সেদিনের পরিবেশ টা পাইনা l 

এখন ওখানে যাওয়া মানে শোনাঝুড়ির হাট, সিনেমার দেখানো কোন একটা রিসোটে থাকা, খাওয়া দাওয়া আর  কাঁকালীতলা যাওয়া l

কাঁকালী তলা গেটের সামনে বটতলায় মার নামে যাত্রী দের বসার জন্য একটা বেদি বানিয়ে দিয়েছিলাম, তখন গেটটা ছিল না l ওটা বাস স্ট্যান্ড l

ঐ গেটের আর্কিটেক্ট দের ধন্যবাদ যে ঐ বেদি টা পুরো ভাঙ্গে নি, 

স্বর্গিয়া সুষমা রায়, বিপ্রটিকুরি লেখাটা এখনও আছে ওই বেদির ওপর  ! প্রায় পঁচিশ বছর আগে মায়ের স্মৃতিতে বানিয়ে ছিলাম, আমার মামা বাড়ি বিপ্রিটিকুরি ,কঙ্ককালী তলা থেকে 7 কিলোমিটার দূরে

Chameleon

Chameleon

I reached Gurgaon form my house at Pashchim Vihar just in time for the interview. I was one of the experts hired for interviewing candidates for an IT enabled service company. We were to select a couple of mangers to head the departments. My friend Gulati completed the first round of introductions between us interviewers.

We allotted 15 minutes to each of the candidates; we were three so 5 minutes to each of us to ask questions. The interview started and we could manage to interview three candidates in one hour.

The fourth candidate with slight stoop entered, smartly dressed, French beard, specs and wearing a dark suit with matching tie. His biodata indicated him to be 40 years old and having a brilliant academic career with requisite experience in an IT company in Bangalore. He was carrying a lap top.

After the preliminary introductions, we started our interview. I was the last to ask question to him. Somehow I got this uncanny feeling that I had known this guy intimately somewhere during my service time, unfortunately the name, experience and the place of his work was not matching with my work domain. The twwinkle in his eyes and the mishivieous smile was familiar.

“Were you in Calcutta in 1990?” I asked.

“No sir, of course I have visited Calcutta many a times,” was his jovial reply.

“Do you have a brother who used to stay in Ballygaunge Station Road area?”

“No, I am the only son of my parents,” was his cryptic reply.

As this thought of knowing him was nagging me so I could not proceed further with my questioning.

At the end of the interviews in the evening when we sat down to assess then the fourth candidate, whom I thought I knew came out to be the best and he was selected.

After returning home the feeling of knowing that guy kept on haunting me. The eyes were known and I thought during the interview once he winked at me, that might be figment of my imagination. Then it came to me that about fifteen years back near my house in Calcutta there was a club. They used to hold various puja functions and also stage dramas. Once for one of our office plays we had hired Pratul for the main role. He single handedly carried the drama through. After that he used to come to my house regularly. He was working as a clerk in a private company. He had no ambition.

“Why don’t you join one of the professional theatre groups in north Calcutta,” I enquired.

“I don’t want to do the same role day after day. Haven’t you noticed that the same drama is staged months after months,” was Pratul’s logical reply.

“You know; I don’t know how my manners switch when I change my dress. Supposing I am wearing dhoti, kurta and sandal then I am a typical Bengali babu. If I am in jeans, Tee shirts and Nike shoes then I am one of those party hopping youth’s when I am not doing any drama then still I start acting the character as per the dress I am wearing on that day. My parents feel disturbed about it as they feel I have split personality but I feel it is natural” he explained passionately.

That was the last talk I had before they moved out of our area. This fourth character at the interview whose name was Probal Ghose, somehow reminded me of Pratul Dey.

I woke up from my reverie by the shrill ringing tone of my land phone. I took the phone.

“Hello uncle, this is Pratul, I am sorry about today and I want to meet you tomorrow,” he pleaded.

“So it was you?” fumingly I said.

“When I meet I will explain you everything.”

“Ok, come at 10 am, do you have my address.”

“Yes, I got it from that office, see you then.”

Next day with baited breath I waited for him to arrive. He came just on time, I could recognize him instantly then, the stoop was gone, and there was no beard and specs. He was wearing a full sleeve sweater over his blue shirt and a black pant, sneaker. There was no trace of Probal excepting the eyes. He came and touched my feet; I became emotional and hugged him.

“Probal is my close friend; he got stuck at Bangalore so he contacted me in Calcutta that whether I can attend the interview on his behalf. Getting the job at Delhi was very important for him as he is from Delhi and his parents need him. He knew my ability of impersonation, he paid plane fare and here I am. Your choice is right because all the records are his and I became him for those fifteen minutes of interview,” he explained while sitting down.

“But this is not ethical. You have put me in a spot,” I argued.

“Look uncle this is nothing compared to incompetent people getting selected through the back door. Please tell me in India which selection is fair. You are in Delhi you know how business is done here. I understand in many governments companies the employees after giving attendance go out and manage some other business. You once mentioned that at Farakka Barrage most of the employees are the owners of the shops at the Farakka Barrage market,” he argued with me.

“Are you still a clerk or moved to some drama company.”

“No, now I am running a consultancy firm. I have specialized in attending interviews. Many of those Bengali boys though they are brilliant but are not fluent in English because of the skewed education system, they come to me. I train them for interviews for those IT companies coming up in Salt lake area.”

“How the hell in a short time you can brush their spoken English,” I asked.

He hesitated to answer this question of mine. On my prodding he replied “I have trained some boys who have studied in English medium, these boys are smart but not good in studies but can sail through those interviews. They attend the interviews on their behalf. Let me warn you that if you give them any software work then they will flunk. Luckily mostly call center jobs are coming. These young boys trained by me are very good. I am proud of them.”

“Where else do you use your acting capabilities,” I asked gleefully.

“I act as father of other’s kids and attend interviews in the English medium schools where they interview the parents also. You know many people have made tons of money in business but can’t speak English, like your previous land lord Malakar the jeweler. These are the people who are mad for admitting their kids in English medium schools and as a result of this, English medium schools are coming up like anything, so through this route I get good business. There are many such avenues where I use my acting talent which you may not like to know,” was his considered reply.

“I remember you told me that the dress you wear influences you to act as per that. Then your wardrobe must be full of various types of dresses.”

“No that is easy, I borrow these from a friend who runs a dry cleaning shop in our area,” he replied with a wink.

This was preposterous.

“I have some more future plans, looking at the need of the modern society. I am shortly opening a branch at Salt Lake City for providing grandparents for the nucleolus families. There are so many young parents with one kid but they are not keeping their own parents with them as they are not hep like them, they are from the suburbs. I will provide them with smart set of parents whom they can introduce proudly in the upwardly mobile society. These smart old people have good stock of bed time stories, the dadis can sing lullabies. They can do babysitting for the kids of these new generation couples. The charges will be hourly basis; the client has to provide transport, food etc for that period. Uncle if you are free then I can put your name also in the panel,” he said teasingly.

I was not interested to know more about his nefarious activities but I could understand that the consumerism has thrown open fresh opportunities for him where he is hard selling his talent. Let us say that you have to attend some silly statutory office personally then probably a guy like Pratul will be handy. He can be you to face those dull moments and you can save your precious time and do something more useful. In this fast moving world many a time one is faced with this dilemma of attending too many things at the same time. Then almost all of us must have thought at some time or other that we wish we could be like Lord Krishna to be present at all the places at the same time. Saddam had been practicing this openly and hoodwinking the whole world. I understand most of the dictators were using double. Pratul left his business card with me in case if his talent is required by someone.

The name of his company is Personality Provider, located in South Calcutta. He can be reached through me.

মুখপুড়ি

 লেকের চারপাশে আমার সকালের হাঁটা শেষ করে, সিআরসির কাছে গেট থেকে বেরিয়ে এলাম, গোপাল গাড়ি নিয়ে আসল, আমি এক ভিখারির দিকে হাঁটা দিলাম। প্রতিদিন আমি সেই ভিখারি এবং একজন  মহিলাকে কিছু টাকা দি। সে দিন সেই মহিলা আসে নি। আমি ওই ভিখারিকে তার সম্পর্কে জিজ্ঞেস করলাম। সে জানাল, "আমরা দুজনেই গতকাল এক ভদ্রলোকের কাছ থেকে 500 টাকা পেয়েছি, এখন ও ওই টাকা দিয়ে বেহুঁশ কোথাও পড়ে আছে।"

"বেহুঁশ পড়ে থাকা" এই শব্দগুলি আমাকে প্রায় 20 বছর পিছনে নিয়ে গেল।
তখন আমি কলকাতায় পোস্টেড ছিলাম এবং রোজ সন্ধ্যায় বাড়ির পথে সান্ধ্য ভ্ৰমনের  জন্য রবীন্দ্র সরোবরে থামতাম। এটা এমনই এক সন্ধ্যা ছিল যখন আমি মেনোকা সিনেমার বিপরীতে লেকের চারপাশে হাঁটছিলাম। হঠাৎ আমি অনুভব করলাম যে কয়েকটা বদমাশ আমাকে অনুসরণ করছে, সেই সময় লেকটি এখনকার মতো ঘেরা ছিল না। আমি টের পেলাম যে ওরা ছিনতাইকারী, আমি ওই রকম এক পরিস্থিতি থেকে বেরিয়ে আসার উপায় খুঁজে বের করার চেষ্টা করছিলাম কিন্তু হঠাৎ ট্রাউজার পরা এক মহিলার মুখ  বিড়ি , চুলগুলি শক্ত করে বাঁধা খোঁপা  থেকে চুলের কাঁটা কে ছুরির মত ধরে সে ঐ বদমাশদের দিকে কট মোটিয়ে তাকিয়ে বলল, “ফিরে যাও
! এনাকে  ছেড়ে দাও!"
আমি থেমে গেলাম, চোখ বড় বড় করে দেখছিলাম সেই tableaux টা। আধো অন্ধকারে উন্মোচিত সেই দৃশ্য দেখে আমি মুগ্ধ হয়েছিলাম। রাস্তার বাতি থেকে বিচ্ছুরিত আলো এক মায়াবী পরিবেশ তৈরি করেছে! সে একজন যোদ্ধার মত ছিল তার ওজন তার বাম পায়ে ছিল এবং সামান্য সামনের দিকে বাঁক ছিল, সে তার লম্বা চুলের পিনটি টেনে নিয়েছিল এবং তার মুঠিতে ধরেছিল, আমি ভাবছিলাম এযে এক দেশি Modesty Blaise । তার এই অপ্রত্যাশিত চেহারা সেই রফিয়ানদের স্তব্ধ করে দিল, আমি পুলিশকে খুঁজতে লাগলাম। আমি পুলিশের জন্য চিৎকার করেছি কি না ঠিক মনে নেই কিন্তু পায়ের আওয়াজ এবং whistle শুনেছি। ওই বদমাশরা তাকে বাংলায় গালা গাল দিতে দিতে পালালো, তারা তাকে মুখপুড়ি বলে ডাকছিল। সে আমাকে একটি কৃতিম স্যালুট দিয়ে  বাতাসে অদৃশ্য হয়ে গেল।
সেদিনের পর থেকে আমি লেকের চারপাশে আমার সন্ধ্যায় হাঁটা বন্ধ করে দিলাম। যখন আমি মেনোকাতে একটি ইংরেজি সিনেমা দেখতে গিয়েছিলাম তখন আমি আবার ট্রাউজার পরা সেই মহিলার মুখোমুখি হয়েছিলাম। আমি দেখতে পেলাম যে সে black এ টিকিট বিক্রি করছে, আমি বুঝতে পারি যে সে সেই সিনেমা হলের চারপাশে টিকিট বিক্রি করা সমস্ত ছেলেদের রিং লিডার ছিল। সে আমাকে চিনতে পারেনি কিন্তু আমি পারলাম, সেই দুর্ভাগ্যজনক সন্ধ্যার ঘটনাটি আমার মনে চিরতরে গেঁথে গিয়েছিল।
আমি রাস্তার পাশে চায়ের দোকানে তার কাছে গেলাম, আমি টিকিট খুঁজছি ভেবে সে এগিয়ে এল।
-না, না, আমি কোনো টিকিট চাই না কারণ আমি আগে থেকে টিকিট কিনেছি কিন্তু সেই সন্ধ্যায় আমাকে বাঁচানোর জন্য আমি তোমাকে ধন্যবাদ জানাতে চাই।
সে আমার দিকে ঘনিষ্ঠভাবে তাকালো এবং তারপর নির্লিপ্তভাবে বললো, “ওহ! এটা কিছুই না! এইসব বদমাশদের কারণে এই সিনেমা হলে সন্ধ্যার শো করতেও মানুষ আসতে ভয় পায় আর মানুষ না এলে আমরা আয় করব কী করে? তাই আমি এবং আমার দল কড়া নজর রাখি!”
-সেদিন আমি তোমাকে ধন্যবাদ দিতে পারিনি কিন্তু তোমার সেই কাজের জন্য তোমাকে পুরস্কৃত করতে চাই।
আমি তাকে 50 টাকা দিয়েছিলাম এবং সে অপ্রস্তুতভাবে তা গ্রহণ করেছিল।
হিন্দি সিনেমার নাম মনে নেই যার জন্য পরে আরো একবার মেনকা তে যাই , কাউন্টার থেকে টিকিট কিনেছিলাম। হলের সামনে "হাউসফুল" বোর্ড টাঙানো ছিল। চায়ের দোকানে তার খোঁজখবর নিলাম। চায়ের দোকানের ছেলেটি বলল, তুমি মুখপুড়ি কে খুঁজছ, সে গতকাল বেশ কিছু টাকা আয় করেছে কারণ এই সিনেমা হিট হয়েছে, সে এখন মদ খেয়ে বেহুঁশ!”

ইতিমধ্যে, আমি বদলি হয়েছি এবং তারপর অবসর নিয়েছি, আমার মেনোকা সিনেমা হলে যাওয়ার কোনও সুযোগ ছিল না, 8 বছর আগে লেকের চারপাশে আমার মর্নিং ওয়াক শুরু না করা পর্যন্ত তাকে দেখিনি।
কিন্তু যখন আমি সেই ভিক্ষুক মহিলাকে প্রথম দেখলাম যার মুখে এবং হাতে সাদা ছোপ রয়েছে আমি এক মুহুর্তের জন্য হতবাক হয়ে গিয়েছিলাম কারণ আমি সেই মুখটি কোথাও দেখেছি। আমি আমার ড্রাইভার গোপালকে তার সম্পর্কে জানতে বললাম।
পরে গোপাল আমাকে জানায় যে সে সেই মুখপুড়ি মেয়ে যে এখন পাগলী নামে পরিচিত, বিশ বছর আগে সে মেনোকা সিনেমা হলের ডনের মতো ছিল, থিয়েটারের সিনেমার টিকিটের কালোবাজারি নিয়ন্ত্রণ করত।
আমি অবশ্যই তাকে সেদিনের কথা মনে করিয়ে দিইনি তবে প্রতিদিন তাকে টাকা দিতে শুরু করেছি। সে এখনও তীক্ষ্ণ, সে আমার গাড়ি চেনে এবং যখন সে আমাকে লেকের গেট থেকে বেরিয়ে আসতে দেখে সে গোপালকে গাড়ি নিয়ে আসার জন্য আদেশ কণ্ঠে ডাকে। আমি তাকে গেটে গার্ড এবং পুলিশ সদস্যদের সাথে বন্ধুত্বপূর্ণ অবস্থায় দেখতে পেয়েছি। এমনকি কটূক্তির মধ্যেও সে সর্বদা হাসিমুখে থাকে এবং সেই হকার, ড্রাইভার, গার্ডদের সম্পর্কে মন্তব্য করতে থাকে।
এরই মধ্যে গোপাল গাড়ি নিয়ে এলো এবং আমি ভিতরে উঠলাম, জানালা দিয়ে পাগলির ফাঁকা জায়গার দিকে তাকালাম এবং মুখপুড়ির প্রাণবন্ত তরুণ মুখের সাথে তা তুলে ধরার চেষ্টা করলাম যা আমি 20 বছর আগে দেখেছিলাম।

Management by magic

The subordinates go rushing to a boss who can resolve their problem. What is that extra any boss is having over his subordinates? It is the designation and that gives power over the individuals but it does not enable him with the problem resolving knowledge.
Once it becomes known that the boss does not solve the problem, rather becomes a part of the problem then subordinates stop dealing the problems. Then the problem becomes a tool for blame game. This starts the all time favourite “not me, he” syndrome in the organization. Some smart operators even pick up external agencies to pass on the blame.
This is the tale of a company which got its new CEO.
The old CEO while handing over the charge to the new CEO gave a sealed envelope to the incoming CEO with an advice to open that after he left the organization.
The new CEO without demur opened the envelope after the departure of the old CEO.He found three advises written on a slip of paper.
1. During your first year blame every failure to me.
2. In the second year comprise a committee to look into the problems.
3. If the problems still persist it is time for you to go and pass on this slip to your successor, good luck to you.
That is one way of looking at the situation in hand. My potion is to follow the basic principles of Magic ,avoid taking responsibility and enjoy life.
1. Sleight
2. Illusion
3. Escape
4. Diversion or misdirection
5. Ventriloquism
Let us examine the above from the management point of view.

SLEIGHT
This is the magic performed by two hands, like card and coin tricks, jugglery, vanishing objects of size smaller than the palm etc.
The organization consists of people, departments, office space and the facilities to juggle. The trick is now to shake all of these four ingredients in such a manner so that the participating individuals don’t know whether they are the audience or the participants. By this method every one is kept on toe. They are kept guessing about their future. Though the modern management gurus may differ as the accountability is not fixed.Dont bother about that as at the end of the day it is your ass which is on the string and you are accountable to the stakeholder and the corporate bosses.
Just imagine the fun when an individual walks in his office next day and finds someone else is occupying his seat. A situation may arise when the individuals will stop availing leave and also will leave the office late. They don’t want to loose their coveted place. Having created this uncertain situation by sleight of your hand, now use them as you like. They are now under your spell.So, your magic has worked. The problems will not travel to you; you are now free to work on your personal agenda.

ILLUSION

The illusionist plays with the mind. The illusion is all about creating diversion. Even by doing routine you can create the illusion of non existence. In Africa, the tribes make themselves invisible by standing still at one place, thus they merge with the environment.
Similarly a leader has to produce the effect of invisibility. This will create a fear psychosis in the mind of people working under you. You are omnipresent, something like ORWELLIAN situation as described in the book 1984,”The big brother is watching you”. For creating this illusion you have to play with the mind of the people. You have to closely study their body language, use of words and facial expressions. You may have to conduct some mock trials. Like drop a word with one person and wait for it to reappear from some other place. Your side kicks have to be smart as your invisibility will depend on their intelligence. Once you have set this system in motion then you will notice that the people will not know whether you are in the office or outside the office. The work will go on as you are omnipresent now. That is the ultimate illusion. Now you can relax and pursue your personal agenda.

ESCAPE

The escape artists can escape from any situation. They are handcuffed and put in a box but still they manage to escape. Houdini was the best escape magician. The secrets of escape are the special handcuffs having clasps, the boxes having sliding bottoms etc.
As explained earlier in the article you can work for a change of place the moment you are in a tight position. But that will be treated as running away. The question is to escape and reappear. One wants to escape responsibility .The best method of escaping responsibility is to feign busy. To keep oneself busy without responsibility is a difficult proposition. For this type of situation my suggestion has been to encourage holding regular meetings for all kind of subjects under the sun. These meetings are your weapon of escape, like the secret clasps in the handcuff. You calibrate the meeting in urgent or non urgent category as per the prevailing situation which you want to escape. I have found that the Indian managers are past master in this meeting methodology. Whenever a serious situation arises immediately form a committee and then ask the committee to fix up meeting. Though you may know the solution but why volunteer your neck, let the committee hold its endless meetings. Thus you escape the responsibility.
Two important decisions of the meeting will always be made by you. These are menu and venue. By using your ingenuity in these you can make the corporate life exciting. Sometimes the venue can be shifted to a hill station as well. The people will love you. When the meeting is on then pose as though you have received an important call on your cell phone and then excuse yourself out to your chamber. Now the situation is like this, for rest of the world you are in a serious meeting, for those attending the meeting you are attending an urgent call. So you have neatly escaped and now you are free to follow your own personal agenda.

Diversion or misdirection

Magicians keep on chattering endlessly and do lot of hand movements. They are also constantly moving on the stage. The attention of the audience is riveted to the talk and movement but assistants are not watched closely. In most of the tricks the assistants play active role. If there is fire on the stage or sudden illumination then attentions will be diverted towards that.
Let us say that a customer has been dumped on you, you have to now come out of this ticklish situation. As you are a modern manager so you must have read “The seven Habits of highly effective people” by Steffen Covey. Your customer is a modern guy so he must have also read the same book. Now the trick will be how to put him in your shoes (reverse of 7 habits), you start diversion by talking about your woes and he will walk into the trap and will start sympathizing with you and thus he will try to put himself in your shoes as per the book. You have successfully reversed the situation and go on talking about your problem so that there will be hardly any time left for him to talk about his problem. This diversion trick is useful for one to one situation.
Now if there is a generic kind of administrative problem then how to deal. Again use misdirection. Engage one of those high flying management companies (preferably MNC) to examine the organizational problem and give recommendation. This is my personal favorite as this gives you a chance to hone your management technique and at the same time the subordinates are awed. Those boys in black with matching tie, lap top talking gibberish in clipped voice known as management jargon will make your people scurry for cover. Hold regular communication meetings and unleash these men in black on your unsuspecting subordinates. So the game of “catch me if you can” start, you are now free to pursue your own agenda.

Ventriloquism

This is a science of throwing sound. A magician holds a doll and the doll talks. You see the doll, the lip of the magician does not move but you get the impression that as though the doll is talking. As you are watching the doll so you don’t see the movement of the vocal cord of the magician.
This is a very useful method for you to use. You form a close coterie, they become you. Now these side kicks of yours will do all dirty job in order to remain close to you. Sometimes they are known as “his master’s voice”, so you have now multiple puppets to disseminate your thoughts. As each member of the coterie will try to prove that they are influential so now rest of the people will be watching them and not you. So you have used ventriloquism effectively and isolated yourself apparently though you are in absolute control like a puppeteer.
As per the Indian philosophy everything is MAYA, you simply spread the Mayajal.Indian philosophy believes in the theory of moment, every moment it is changing, no two moments are same. The past is a memory and the future is imagination, so the life is in reality an illusion. What you are doing is just trying to be a true Indian by shedding all responsibilities and striving to achieve Moksha.
Many of the senior officials have been switching their role successfully between Yogi and Bhogi by following my potion. My good friend NRY has successfully used Sleight of hand and mesmerized all his subordinates, Tipu uses the Escape potion for shifting responsibility and I know of a director who used to use Diversion or misdirection in order to avoid taking any decision. The readers are free to use my suggested magic formulae by acknowledging the source.

NOte: This article i wrote by observing some of the dodgy managers in Public and Private sectors. My advise is to take responsibility and imbibe trust .

Thus a Sadhu was born

Thus a sadhu was born ………………….. Baren was returning from his work in the evening. The dark cloud was hanging on the rice field, the zig zag lightning often was flashing. Baren could feel the static in the air. His body hair was charged, he was feeling as though he is a human battery carrying charge with him. He was wearing a rubber sole shoe so the charge was not discharging to the ground. The feeling was funny, as per science, he was full of electron on his synthetic cloth and hair. He was hesitating with his cycle to go any further towards his house in the village because of that eerie atmosphere. He had heard many stories during his childhood about ghosts coming out in such weather. Lucky that it was not raining yet, he was not carrying his umbrella. The blinding flashes of the lightning was scary, he could see lightning strikes on the field. As a precaution, he avoided standing below any tree, as a science graduate he knew that lightning would strike the tallest structure or tree. He was keeping a safe distance from the trees as if the lightning strikes a tree then the heavy current will fan out in the ground, if he stood near such lightning struck tree then he would get shock from the ground because of the rush of that current.He was transfixed by that celestial show. Suddenly he heard an ear splitting sound when a big ball of dazzling light fell on a mound, which was within his visibility range. He was scared , like a magic the dark cloud cleared and the thunder stopped. He could see the reddish sky to the west where sun was setting. The refracted light of the setting sun created a magical atmosphere around him; he heaved a sigh of relief. He cautiously approached the mound where the fireball had fallen. To his surprise, he discovered that it was no lightning strike as there was no sign of any burn instead there was a round object which had impacted the ground with such a force that it had formed a cavity in the earth. The object was lying in the ditch; it was of a size of football. Some invisible force was pulling him towards the round object. The handle of the cycle turned toward the object and started taking him towards the object. First he was scared as he thought some demonic force is pulling him but then he thought that there is no such thing as ghost or demon. He did not resist and reached the object by getting down from the cycle. His cycle flew towards the object, and got stuck on it. But as he was going nearer to the object he was feeling a repulsive force, still he kept on walking towards object as he had to retrieve his cycle . Suddenly he felt himself levitating. He spread his hands to balance so that he can stay vertical.

A group of people who were passing by watched with awe the miracle of a person levitating in the air in that diffused sun light of setting sun. They all ran towards Baren ,who was still suspended in the air. He acted nonchalant as though it’s nothing. Those villagers took him to be a yogi with supernatural power. They ran to the nearest village, a big crowd gathered around to witness the miracle. Baren with a beatific smile started blessing the crowd and thought to himself that it was time for him to leave that shitty work in the shop and cash on this godsend chance to become a spiritual guru. He addressed the people, “ I am happy that I could demonstrate my yogic power to you all. ‘’ The crowd was spellbound by the show of supernatural power , they requested ,”Sir you please climb down and come to our Kali temple, there is a guest room where you can stay as long as you want.” Baren replied, “I will come back after a week and spend some time with you all.”’ Somehow he managed to climb down. In the dark, the villagers could not make out that while getting down he had to more or less eject himself from that invisible force. He decided to sharpen his knowledge of magic mostly sleight of hand and study some medicine book for easy remedy. Also he would have to brush up Ramayana and Mahabharata for discourses. He had French cut beard but now it had to grow full. But first within those 7 days he had to make arrangement of a spherical container for that diamagnetic object. After getting down he removed his rubber sole shoes and thus literarily grounded himself, all accumulated negative charge in his body got discharged. Then how come the cycle is positively charged! He had been negatively charged peddling the cycle so the cycle must have got opposite charge,that was what he derived. That extraterrestrial object was negative diamagnetic he reasoned.Baren thought that his first priority would be to get in touch with Babulal so that he could garner help from Samaranand for his journey to Sadhudom or may be Samaranad himself would be interested to seize the oppertunity to become Sadhu. The crowd in the dark could not see his face so he can switch place with Samaranad and he could be the side kick like Babulal. Note: Though Baren used his knowledge of Physics to explain the invisible force as magnetic but can the repulsive magnetic force be strong enough to hold his weight? Chances are it to be some antigravity phenomena associated with that strange globe. I am Samaranand and heard the above story from Babulal. I could have made the journey to find out more about the terresterial object but because of Lockdown could not go. In the meanwhile I have to organize a Geiger Counter to make certain that strange object is not radioactive!

Team building

Team building ……………………

. I looked up in Google about team building and came up with the followings: "Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much." – ... "Talent wins games, but teamwork and intelligence win championships." – ... "Teamwork begins by building trust. ... "It is literally true that you can succeed best and quickest by helping others to succeed." – I like the last one as it suggests by helping others to succeed we succeed. I consciously or unconsciously try to follow this. In fact, in each of my transfer I did not carry any team but adopted the people of the new place as my team. Did I say “ I Adopted”? It was the other way round slowly people started gathering around me and adopted me , thus a team was formed, I didn’t know their strength or weakness but by and by everyone started getting slotted. Have you ever noticed how a group of black kites (cheel) are flying together, circling in the sky without flapping their wings at one particular space. They just manipulate their wings to keep afloat at that particular region of the sky. What is the science behind it? That zone is the place where hot air is rising to the sky, that draft of air is supporting their weight and they simply adjust the wing angle as per the rising hot air current.These black kites know that hot air draft will not suddenly withdraw in the day time so they confidently float. A leader is one who keeps on creating upward thrust for the people around him by offering them goals matching with their aspiration.A leader keeps a close watch by way of encouragement to the team and when need be extends help.People who initially missed the sign they too get sucked in towards the leader. Thus it becomes an ever expanding sphere of influence with the leader at the center, a team is built where every employee got queued in, no one feels left out. Unfortunately weak leaders form coterie of faithful, those chosen few get the major portion of the reward .The majority consciously or unconsciously get repelled and stay away. To conclude, teamwork begins by building trust.

The Northern light

Yupik thrust a gaming rifle to me, I was terrified as we were chased by a pack of wolves in that snowy Siberia. I had fired a few shots during my NCC days but this situation was of life and death. Our sled pulled by husky dogs was smoothly sliding on piegnartoq (solid ice in Eskimo language), the green Northern light or Aurora Borealis was sufficient enough to see the vast icy landscape but suddenly the pack of wolves appeared from nowhere.

I had not bargained for this kind of adventure when Alexendrov offered me in Moscow to show Eskimos and their life styles. It was planned as two days trip, take two and half hours flight by Ural Airlines to Tbilisi, check in the hotel and  go to the nearest sled station for a round trip in that Siberian habitat of Eskimos. Stay the night in Tbilisi after the trip and next day return. It looked a very convenient plan to me so I had agreed.

From Tbilisi airport, Alexandrov and me took a taxi to a cheap hotel named Ma Xata, within half an hour we were in the hotel. It was in April ,the days were short but if we were lucky enough then it would be possible to see the Northern light during the late evening. We had a quick lunch then headed for the sled station at the out skirt of Tbilisis for our journey to the heart of Siberia by sled.

We had two sled drivers Insupiat and Yupik , over my jacket I was wearing a hooded parka and snow goggles to save the eyes from frost. Four of us on the sled, it was moving at 20km/h speed with 6 husky dogs were pulling it.The icy wind was hitting my face, i pulled out the stainless steel flask from my parka pocket and took a swig of brandy.It was ice everywhere a few slades zipped past,shadowy skeleton of fur trees were visible at the horizon. Slowly evening was setting in, I was eagerly waiting for the nature’s miracle. Suddenly Yupik shouted and said something in his language, Alexendrov  told me that we were lucky and pointed at the Northern sky. The sky was yellowish green and an inverted cone, which was moving like sea waves in the sky. The green light with occasional  blue and violet was reflected on the ice and was casting a magic spell all around. It was ice all around so the view was magnificent. For me it was like watching a surreal show , produced and directed by some mighty force. The distant fur trees were acting like stage where this magical display was demonstrated ,we stopped the sled to watch the display.

We were mesmerized but our two Eskimo friends were alert when they heard some howling at a distance. They turned the sled for returning, we had to abandon the plan of visiting an Igloo. Now a days of course Eskimos stay in regular concrete houses but some igloos are there for display to the tourists.

The hungry pack of wolves were chasing us, the dogs also increased their speed,  the sled was moving at 30 km/h speed, the icy wind was buffeting our faces. The magic moment of sighting the Northern light became a nightmare. I took the rifle and pulled the trigger, it was a Remington repeater bolt action old style rifle. Insupiat was driving the sled, we three were firing at the wolves. Yupik was in cool frame of mind, our rifle shots had discouraged those wolves, Yupik pulled out a sack from the tarp covering our belongings and unbound it, pulled out some dry reindeer meat  which he kept as emergency food, started throwing the meat pieces at those wolves. Those wolves slowed down, started sniffing at the thrown meat pieces. I was terrified but then I could see the silhouette of those wolves in the multi color three dimensional light of Aurora Borealis in the northern sky. I will never forget that experience in my life.

The Aurora is an incredible light show caused by collisions between electrically charged particles released from the sun that enter the earth's atmosphere and collide with gases such as oxygen and nitrogen. The lights are seen around the magnetic poles of the northern and southern hemispheres.

I was sitting on my favourite chair in the drawing room, the bottle of pill given by the sadhu to enhance my virtual travel ability was on the table. I reread Jack London's White Fang and watched Ice Station Zebra to ferret out information on the polar region before popping the pill. I had the above experience as the pill triggered the capsules in my memory wall, the story which my subconscious mind was building came alive, it appeared as though i was watching a 3 D movie where i was one of the casts.

Frozen in time

“In Russia do you have arranged marriage?” Bhatnagar had been asking this type of questions to the Dy.Chief Engineer Ms Lana which was promptly translated in Russian by our guide and translator Alexendrov to Lana.

I was amused by the way Alexendrov was translating such question to Lana which he himself could have replied as it was no technical question.

We were standing by the side of frozen Baltic Ocean, to avoid people walking on the frozen sea they had put up a barbed wire fencing. We had gone to Russia for a technical collaboration, the meeting was over so I requested Alexendrov to show us around. When he mentioned about frozen sea I got interested. We could see the white sheet of ice like a skating rink in place of sea water. At a distance we could see some ships marooned. Lana avoided replying to such type of silly questions. Lana looked to be in her fifties, the usual typical squarish Russian face cut and solidly built. The Chief Engineer Chekov was a thin gentleman always smiling. Alexendrov though was acting as our guide and translator but he was a professional with 6 patents under his belt. I was pretty surprised when he told me that he had patents not only in electrical but also in chemical components, dealing with electrical insulation. I still remember his visiting card which had a caricature face of him in beard, just outline and his credentials.

While I was enjoying the frozen sea Bhatnagar threw another of his nagging questions to Lana which she refused to answer and Alexendrov explained why.

‘When did you pass your engineering?’

Alexendrov spoke in Russian to Lana and she smiled and gave some reply.

With a serious face Alexndrv told Bhatnagar, “She will not give reply to this question as you will then calculate her age!” then he guffawed and I laughed out loud.

Well gentleman that was Alexendrov and I had this incidence in St Petersberg in April,2003.

Back to present ,when this time I was in Goa then on the beach I found some Russians standing around a few cows by the side of Arabian sea,  They were clicking pictures while passing them I looked at an elderly gentleman and said, “ For tonight dinner you don’t have to hunt much for beef, it’s there for you!’

He laughed out and looked at his wife said smilingly while rubbing his belly, “Yes I love beef.”

I teasingly rubbed his belly and said, “Sure you have that fat there.’’

We stuck up friendship and walked to the shack known Pedros on the beach. A cool breeze of February was blowing, we could watch the restless waves of the sea breaking on the beach and the sea foam sidling down the beach leaving behind myriad patterns on the sand.

I   ordered beer for both of us and introduced myself. He was a retired Engineer from Petersburg, February month meant freezing cold back home so they had come to Goa. Russian tourist makes up the majority of foreign tourists visiting Goa. Due to the fall of Russian ruble numbers had decreased but they recovered soon. Tourists in northern belt of Goa are mostly Russians. Many shacks and restaurants run by locals have become accustomed to it and have sign boards and menus in Russian. Due to their large presence, the town of Morjim is often called ‘little Russia.’ It appears there are some Russian tour operators who operate chartered flights from even unknown cities of Siberia. Russians prefer Goa over middle east in winter because of our friendly culture. There certainly is a very strong presence of them in Goa, and like most mass-migrations, there is no particular date in history that can be assigned to this. However, common consensus seems to be around the time the Russian economy started opening up under Putin. Russians began travelling to friendly countries like India.

While talking to him my mind went back to that day by the side of Baltic ocean, I was remembering about Alexendrov , the twinkle in the eyes and wry smile were like that of Alexendrov. We exchanged visiting card, his card was a caricature of him and his credentials. I was taken aback by the similarity of the visiting card of his with that of Alexndrov.

“I have seen such card, my friend Alexendrov’s visiting card was like this!”

“Oh, you knew Alexendrov, the engineer,inventor?” He said excitedly.

“Yes, the same! Wish I could meet him again!”

“He was a close friend of mine. I had borrowed his visiting card and got mine made as per his design. I am sorry to inform that Alexendrov is no more, he left us 6 years back.” The Russian said with a gloomy face.

I was shocked,Alexendrov was such good engineer, he helped us in designing Shunt Reactor, often he would come from Russia to BHEL,Bhopal. I remembered that he could turn any ordinary topic to an erudite discussion with his creative mind.

That Russian gentleman could sense my melancholy mood, he quickly finished his beer and shuffled off bidding good bye to me. I did not try to remember his name, no use loading the mind with another name which eventually I forget at this age of mine. Yes, I had his visiting card, his visiting card was like a prism refracting two situations, one by the side of frozen Baltic Ocean and another by the side of roaring Arabian sea. I slowly tore off his visiting card and without bothering to look at the name and scattered the pieces on the beach. Those pieces flew away with the strong gust of wind blowing on the beach, as though taking away the memory of my friend Alexendrov with it.

Well friends meeting the Russian on the beach is my imagination. I have seen lot of Russians on the beach around the cows , the Russians were in every beach of Goa. Seeing the Russians my memory of that day by the side of frozen Baltic sea got triggered. Alexendrov was real and he was our guide and adviser in Russia and he is no more, left us a few years back.While walking on the beach of Goa i started thinking about Alexendrov and if one of these Russians turned to be his friend but that was too much coincidence to expect, so i did the next best thing of spinning this yarn.

The chase....Part 3 of Virtually possible

The chase ..

“Where is Soumya?” agitated Babulal shouted at Anil in his drawing room at Lansdown.

Anil and Sunil both were taken aback by the news and made it clear to Samaranand and Babulal that they had no clue about what they were talking. Anil informed that Soumaya left their house 2 days back in the evening and after that there was no contact.

Samaranand and Babulal when found Soumaya had vanished then they decided to return to Kolkata by the same Santiniketan Express on the same day and confront Anil and Sunil next day. They had a lingering doubt that these people were involved in Soumaya going missing. They had planned to go to police first but dropped the idea as they have taken big money and which was in cash, hence confronting the Maity brothers was the next move.

Reluctantly they left Maity house threatening to come back if Soumaya was not found in the meanwhile.

They found pagli camping near the gate, Babula got down from the car and gave some instruction.

In the evening Babulal rang up Samaranand from a public booth to inform Samaranand about the discussion which took place between the brothers after they left, this he could get from the recording device which was there with Pagli, the bugs were still there in the drawing room of Maity’s.Both the brothers were scared about a third person who had been pressurizing them for the details about Soumaya’s whereabouts. Genuinely they had no clue about Soumaya going missing.

They decided to wait for a few days and not to meet each other.

As usual Samaranand’s routine of morning walk, painting, office continued. Out of the two beggars patronized by Samaranand only Sambhu alone on the pavement as pagli was stationed in Lansdown.

Finally there was some indication of Soumaya. It happened like this after a few days when Samaranand after finishing his walk was giving 5 rupee coin to Sambhu, the beggar then Sambhu passed on a slip of paper to him. After getting in the car eagerly he spread the slip of paper. It was short note from Soumaya.

Uncle,

Sorry that I put both of you in distress. I had to vanish, will share details with you when we meet. Please visit the same café in the evening where you with your friends went after finishing your studies in IIT.

Soumaya

Samaranad started recalling the restaurants he visited after his final exams before proceeding for Delhi, he recalled that he had shared his rendezvous with various restaurants with Babulal and Soumaya. His choice of restaurants was limited those days and that too after passing out he stayed just for two days in Kolkata before proceeding for Delhi. He remembered to have gone to Anadi’s cabin and Trincas on Park Street. So next two days he went to Anadi’’s cabin, there was no sign of Soumaya, as usual Anadi was choke a block full and he had his favourite dish of Moghlai Paratha. He had informed Babulal about the letter and asked him to follow him clandestinely. There was no sign of Soumaya. He instructed Babulal to keep watch on Anadi’s and he himself went to Trincas next day evening. It was just filling up with customers returning from office, who would just take a quick swig and then leave for the house. The live music was going on; crooner was singing some fast new Hindi songs with the band. He selected a corner table with four chairs and ordered Carlsberg Beer and a chelo kabab. He scanned the people who were dinning, there was no trace of Soumaya. Slowly the restaurant was getting filled, he knew by the dinner time it would be full. Suddenly he felt there is change in the tempo of the music. The crooner started singing old Hindi songs and mostly from the movies of Devanand. Samaranad became alert and was sure Soumaya was somewhere near because he only knew he loved movies of Devanand, somehow Soumaya has influenced the band to play Samaranand’s favorite songs.. Without drawing any attention, he casually looked at the faces of the guests around. After a few songs he headed for toilet to relieved himself when a guy followed him. From the corner of his eyes he measured the guy, a young fellow in office going dress of brown corduroy pant and blue blazer. He thought to himself whether that guy was following him and in that case Soumaya would not come. He sauntered back to his table, lifted the bottle to pour when he found a letter below the bottle. He palmed the letter to his jacket pocket and nonchalantly went on eating and drinking. He paid the bill and walked off.

After returning home he read the letter.

It was a short letter.

Uncle,

Sorry could not make contact with you, there was a guy following you. Very soon I will get in touch with you. Don’t worry I am fine, will explain everything when we meet.

Soumaya

Samaranand was relieved that Soumaya was fine but he was worried about Soumaya’s safety.He thought that once again the game of shadowing him had started, the thought did disturb him but then he thought once again those unknown followers would contact him.

From whom Soumaya was hiding and why?

Planchet

Samaranand was taking his usual round of lake, the previous day it had rained heavily, the broad road in the lake perimeter was still submerged, a very few morning walkers. He took his usual seat by the side of that historic cannon, he could see a sadhu like guy in beards,dhoti, kurta was in meditation  in another concrete bench. He also got in the mood of meditation when he felt someone came and sat by the side of him, from the fragrance of the deodorant he could know that his side kick Babulal had arrived. With his eyes closed Samaranand  said, “ Hope everything is fine? “

“Yes, I have been busy with Soumaya in preparing guess papers for schools, now we are preparing guess papers for 4 schools out of which 2 are English medium.”

“What is the striking rate of Soumaya?”

“He has honed his computer programme and getting about 80% success.”

“It means you are now earning a neat sum!”

Babulal shyly nodded his head.

Here the reader those who are reading this for the first time should know that Babulal who had been with a street magician in Delhi as assistant, later he was helping a fraud sadhu near Delhi and finally he ran away from Delhi and met Samaranand at the lake, became his assistant. Samaranand was supporting him by paying a monthly sum but now he does not require that as he had started his own side business of preparing guess papers for various classes of different schools with the help of Soumaya ,a computer geek who has created an algorithms for creating guess paper.

Babulal said, “While talking to a school student I came to know that his father attends planchet regularly to get in touch with his dead  elder brother Bishu who died in a motor bike accident 2 months back. He too was studying in the school but was in final year. I smell something fishy and Subimal also is worried!”

Samaranand himself a man of science does not believe in this type of supernatural things.

“There must be money involved, the medium must be taking a hefty sum!” Samaranand said smilingly.

“Yes, each sitting he charges 10,000! His father has a jewelry shop and makes good money.”

“Who took his father to this fellow?” Samaranad asked.

“Curiously it was this boy’s cousin brother! After every visit his father comes back pleased as he could talk to his dead son.”

Samaranand was curious about this case so asked Babulal to facilitate a meeting with that Subimal’sfather.

Next day Subimal took Babula and Samaranad to his father’s shop in Gariahat. Nirmal Babu was free as it was around lunch time, he was nearly 50 years old, there were pictures of god displayed in the shop.

As Subimal had already told his father about Samaranand who he introduced as uncle of Babulal.

After some small introductory talks Samaranand expressed his desire to go with Nirmalbabu in his next session with the medium. First Nirmalbabu was reluctant but on his son’s insistence he agreed to take Samaranand which was on next Friday.

The appointment was in the evening in a house in Elgin Road, it was one of those dilapidated houses. Samaranand and Nirmal babu went by Nirmal Babu’s car. They entered the old style drawing room with lot of antique furnitures and almirah full of books. A smart looking  young man in jeans and T shirt was waiting for them, as Nirmalbabu had already informed them that he would bring a close friend so that man was not surprised to see Samaranand. The light in the drawing room was dim, a round table with a few chairs was in a corner, a frayed sofa set was in the center. It had two doors, the door connected with outside verandah and the second door connected with the house. He invited them to sit on sofa and informed Nirmalbabu the medium would be coming soon. After about 5 minutes a frail looking mid age man of medium height ,disheveled hair in kurta pajama entered the drawing room from the inner door. Looking at him Samaranand thought that the man looked as though he was drugged. That youngman Sunny introduced the medium as Nishikant to Samaranand. After formalities Sunny said, “’Let us go and sit around that round table.It is good that Mr.Samaranand is there so I don’t have to organize a fourth person to complete the circle.”

Samaranand realized that Sunny was the key person in that event.

They all sat around the table.

Sunny said, “We will all hold next man’s hand and concentrate on the picture  of Bishu. I will put off the light. Mr.Samaranand if you have cell phone then mute that.”

Samaranand took out his Note 4, drew the pattern to unlock and dragged down the setting bar. He put his Bluetooth on and noticed that his mobile was catching a signal in the room, he put the volume in ‘mute” and kept the mobile on the table.

Sunny put off the light, the diffused light from the street light through the window was creating a mesmerizing ambience.They held each other hand, after a few minutes there was a faint coughing sound and aroma of a scent was wafting in.

Nirmalbabu whispered ,”Bishu is here, I can smell his scent.”

“Bishu how are you my son.”

The lips of Nishikanta was moving, his eyes were closed and looked as though he was in trance.

“Yes,Baba! I am fine.” The voice was appearing to come from Nishikanta but was sounding as though coming from a distance.

“Bishu, last time when I spoke to you then you wanted me to do something, what is that?”

“No,no I don’t want to burden you!” the faint voice floated in.

“Please don’t hesitate to ask, I insist!” Nirmalbabu sounded adamant.

“Ok, if you insist, please give Rs 10 lacs to these people so that they can perform some rituals to keep my soul happy.”

“Oh, don’t worry I had kept fixed deposit for that amount in the name of each of you brothers. I will organize that soon.” Nirmalbabu sounded relieved.

‘How is Subi? Is he busy with his computer game?”

“Yes, he is always with his computer. Your room I have kept as it is. The picture of Ronaldo is still there, your laptop is on the table as it was. Your bed is made every day as though you are still there. In the evening after closing my shop I spend sometimes on your bed.”

“Ok,baba ,now I have to go!” The voice slowly died down and Nishikant slumped in his chair.

Sunny quickly got up,switched on the light and escorted Nishikant to the sofa. He sprinkled water on his face, slowly Nishikant opened his eyes and came to his senses.

Nirmalbabu said,” I will try to organize the money as early as possible, I want Bishu to be happy, any way I kept that money for him only.’

Nirmalbabu and Samaranand walked out and started walking towards the car. Samaranand could feel that the whole thing was a scam to take money from Nirmalbabu .How to prove?In his mobile he has seen a Bluetooth speaker signal.

Samaranand said,”If you don’t mind I will advise you to hold on for sometimes. Don’t rush with money. I may come up with something.”

Nirmalbabu being a businessman realized that he should be cautious with money though during the séance he promised to act because of the spell of that moment while talking to dead Bishu,his eldest son.

Samaranand got down near the lake where Babulal and Soumay with Subimal were waiting.

While returning Samaranand had hatched a plan where he required Soumaya’s computer talent.

He asked Subimal,” Is there any chance that your cousin brother Biren has either audio or video recording of your dead brother Bishu's voice?”

“Yes, many recording as I would upload our videos of social events in YouTube which my cousin brother Shibu has watched.”

Samaranand then laid out his plan to Soumaya and Subimal.

“Subimal you put those videos of your brother in a pendrive and give to Babulal or Soumaya.”

To Soumaya he gave elaborate instruction what he should do with those videos. He also told him if he requires any guidance then he can contact his IIT friend Biswanath who is master in computer algorithms. He gave Biswanath’s mobile number to him and promised Soumaya that he would tell Biswanath that he would contact.

Soumaya was to act within a week and be ready with the software.

Samaranand advised Subimal to inform his father that they have found another medium and convince his father to give a try. Babulal would check with Subimal after two days  whether he could convince his father with the plan of alternate medium.

After two days Babulal met Samaranand to finalize the plan.

As usual they were sitting on a bench at the lake. It was cloudy but not raining. The weather was good, Samaranand was in his shorts,Tee and cades. Babulal was in black Tee, blue jeans, sneakers with spikey hair style.

The plan was very simple, there will be Jishu, Samaranand’s friend as medium because he was frail looking middle aged man ,widower who was staying in one of the MIG flats near central park of Golf Green with his servant. Soumaya would edit the recordings with the help of a software which he and Biswanath Chatterjee had developed. It will have only Bishu’s voice which would instruct something or will give short replies. Samaranand had already noticed what kind of questions Nirmalbabu asked.Babulal informed that Subimal has more or less made his father agree to go to another medium. Samaranand asked Babulal to fix  Nirmalbabu with the help of Subimal next Friday for the session at 7 pm with Jishu in Golf Green.

Next Friday in Jishu’s house Babulal and Soumaya had come earlier to fix Bluetooth speaker and digital playback system. They remained unnoticed in the bedroom which they were using as control room. Samaranad entered with Subimal and his father Nirmalbau in Jishu’s flat at 5 minuters to seven. Jishu was an avid reader so the drawing has two almirahs full of books and which impressed Nirmalbabu, he knew that he had not come to a fraud. After introductions they decided to proceed with the séance , Subimal got up and put off the light, it was full moon night, the room was lighted by the moon,it was pretty eerie ambience. All four Samaranand,Nirmalbabu,Subimal and Jishu held each others hand around the center table of the sofa. The smiling picture of dead Bishu was on the center table. They all closed their eyes, a faint music was wafting in from the next room. Soumaya was playing a record player for the effect,Babulal stealthily sprayed Bishu’s favourite essence in the drawing room. Nirmalbabu became alert by the smell and murmured ,” My Bishu has come?”

Jishu’s lips were moving, “Baba good to see that you have come here.”

Nirmalbabu’s body became taught, it was the voice of his dead son.

Nirmalbabu asked, “How you can come in this place, I thought that address of Elgin was known to you, that is what Biren told me.”

A slight laugh was heard in the air, a light cough and then the voice simmered in ,’” I am just a soul now and can be called by any medium but what address you are talking about? I have not gone to any other address.””Nirmalbbu was perplexed, he asked,’ The other day you asked for 10 lacs for those people so that they can do something for you to be happy.”

“No baba, don’t spend any more money for me, how any one can do something for afterlife, it is not possible. You have already performed Shradha which was to make my soul rest in peace.”

Nirmalbabu was totally puzzled and could not think of any more questions to ask.

Jishu’s lips moved,”Baba this may be my last conversation with you. My request to you is that don’t fall in that trap. Biren is using your weakness for me to extract money which they would share.”

Nirmalbabu as such knew Biren, his sister’s son was a good for nothing character but his son’s death had confused him.

Then Nirmalbabu asked, “I heard your voice there , how is it possible?”’

“”Here also you are hearing my voice.”

“Yes, then how is that possible?”’

“Ask Subi, he will explain.Now I have to go.”

Subimal got up and put on the light, Jishu was looking at Nirmalbabu who was looking confused. Samaranand then explained how voices can be doctored by using softwares and then took him to the bedroom where Babulal with a big smile was standing and Soumaya was operating the system. Samaranand told him, “Those rascals have used the same technique as Biren has downloaded the videos of Bishu and doctored those.”

It did not take much time for Nirmalbabu to understand the scam which was played on his sentiments for his dead son. He thanked Samaranand for exposing the reality by showing him the technology which was used. Samaranand told him, “’ It is a kind of phishing, which means by disguising as someone else to extract information, money etc from another person.”

Next day Samaranand met Babulal and Soumaya at the lake. Samaranand told them,’” Nirmalbabu wanted to give me one lac rupees as reward but I told him to give that to both of you. Babulal you better collect that.”

“’Yes I got a call from Subimal to collect the money from him.”

Samaranand patted him affectionately, winked at him and said,” I have a plan which I will tell you afterwards.””