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

…………………………………………

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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In the name of cow

In the name of cow

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I did my schooling from Dehi. We were teased by North Indian friends for eating fish. Those days in Delhi Bengali meant fish eater and madrasis were the south Indians whose staple food was idli ,dosa  . I have not seen any of my north or south Indian friends eating non-veg, it was kind of taboo. Yes, all my Bengali friends were eating non-veg. During those days i never heard anyone eating beef. Come to think of that during our school days’ meat meant mutton and not chicken. During  one of our biyearly visit to maternal place in Bengal I witnessed sacrifice of a goat during some puja, that ghastly scene made a lasting impression in my subconscious mind and I stopped eating mutton, may be from class two or so. In our house those days whenever mutton was cooked then my mother would prepare separately egg curry for me. Of course I started eating mutton and chicken when I joined IIT,Kharagpur. Now I am more comfortable with aloo paratha than with mutton curry.
I remember "Cow"was the very popular subject for essay in all vernacular schools and almost in all languages.

Those days in Delhi we had seen sadhus coming with cow and declaring those as very holy , one could ask any question to those and those cows would reply by swaying their heads either sideways meant “no” or up and down meant ‘’Yes”. So the question has to be objective type with yes and no answers. Someone would ask, “Will I get a job?” obviously the cow would nod it’s head meaning ‘Yes’’. If someone asked ,”will it rain?” The cow would move its head sideways meaning ‘no’. Nothing divine here the clever sadhu with the rope tied around the neck of the cow would make it do all those head motions. This of course I analyzed much later. Sometimes some sadhu would bring a freak cow with a fifth leg hanging from the shoulder and declare that to be very auspicious. So all the ladies of our muhalla would line up to donate rice or money to the sadhu and get blessings. Yes, in north India cow is revered and not surprising all these cow related things are happening in Northern belt of India. In connection with job I was posted in Southern and Western India and found that in Tamil Nadu getting non-veg in common restaurant in 1980s was a problem. One has to go to military restaurant for non-veg, I had gone to such restaurants in Chennai, those were not really owned by army or any such thing but because they served non-veg so were called military restaurant. Now when I go to Madurai for Windmills, the official lunch served by the host is vegetarian.

I faced extreme vegetarianism in Wanakbori ,Gujarat  during 1985 to 88, no meat or fish shop was allowed in the Electricity Board Township. I was going to a market in a slum away from the Township for meat, for fish I was travelling some 8 kms away to a small town .Only egg was allowed to be sold in the township.

Now I come across many Marwaris, Punjabis who don’t eat non-veg in their houses but relish those in restaurants. During my posting in Refineries of IOC in Gauhati and Barauni I had no problem with non-veg, like in Bengal those were easily available in cooked or raw form anywhere.
The people of Andhra are like in Bengal which i realized during my 3 years posting in Vizag Steel Plant, they are non veg all the way.
Display of carcass of cow openly in a meat shop i had seen in Shillong, Khasis and Garos go for beef in a big way. 
While in Bhopal the officer's club dinner used to be veg affair till i reached there. After my joining as Executive Director  the club  started having a non veg dish in the special dinner parties, now possibly it is back to veg there. The marriage dinners would be veg affair excepting for Bengali marriages. I can never forget the delicious kabbabs and Birayani of MrsBuniyad Ali which Buniyad would bring lovingly during Eids, i really miss those and also Aftab who too would bring home cooked biryani during Eid.
By the way within last 3 weeks i attended 2 special dinners in Kolkata and both were totally vegetarian, of course those are nonbong affair.
During my first Dhaka visit in 1999 or so Dilawar Hussain a manager of Bangladesh Electricity Board was assigned to me to show around. He took me to Chittagong Power Station and then we returned to Dhaka. While walking the Dhaka Streets i saw a meat shop and meat in the form of a tree trunk. I asked Dilawar what was that. He was looking embarrassed and requested me to walk faster past that shop. But my curiosity got better of me so i again asked him,"What was that?" He shyly stammered and said, "Beef!" I was touched by his sincerity as he did not want to hurt my sentiments so was trying to avoid the question. 

This cow or non-veg is a kind of cultural issue and varies from region to region but some unscrupulous guys are whipping up sentiments to make these as national issue and diverting from the main issue of poverty, unemployment etc. As I have noticed there are good number of citizen who worship cow and at the same time we have a section who enjoy beef, then there is that section who are part of the supply chain of beef. So there three categories of people, vegetarians and non-beef eaters like me, beef eaters and beef suppliers, it is necessary that the fine balance is restored within the framework of the constitution as soon as possible to avoid the present atmosphere of barbarism in the name of cow vigilantism.

My friend Dev D

My friend Dev D

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“I am also from Delhi,” Mrs. M informed me smilingly. She was a healthy lady in her late forties. We were having tea in my office colleague M’s flat in Vasant Kunj, Delhi. My flight to Calcutta was delayed so M took me to his flat to spend the intervening time.

When Mrs.M came to know that  I am originally  from Delhi then she informed me that she was also from Delhi.

I got curious and inquired, “Where did you stay in Delhi?”

“We were in those bungalows behind teacher’s quarter in Gole Market.”

Her above statement made me sit up and look at her closely. I was in my early fifties then and she was in late forties and also has put on weight, I was trying to find that smart girl in skirt whom I first saw on a swing in their garden. This happened when I was in school, possibly in class nine. I had gone to her house with my friend Durga. Durga used to blow away the school fees and she being his love interest used to make up for the shortfall. The visit of Durga was to collect money from her and also let out the secret to me about her being his girlfriend. Durga’s house was in the teacher’s quarter just behind her dad’s official bungalow.

Let me first confess that Durga was some kind of hero in our eyes and also he was one of my closest friends. Those days we were all fan of Devanand, for us Durga was our Devanand. His hair style was like that of Devanand puffed up and all ,his stances were like the hero, even he would dress up like Devanand. He would not miss any movie of Devanand. He had numerous female admirers because of his smart look. His mother was a teacher of a nearby government run public school for girls, we knew about girls going to his house on the pretext of meeting his mother and in turn meet the local Devanand but at no time he let us know that his real love interest was staying behind his house. That kindly chubby lady sitting in front of me that day in Vasant Kunj was that cute girl in her teens swinging merrily in the garden in late nineteen fifties.

While we would be playing football Durga would often bring his friend Zindi with him. He was another care free chap. Those two will keep us rollicking while narrating their recent adventures. Durga was a great bluffer so he was also known as Gulbaj(that's Bengali word for bluffer) Durga in our friends’ circle. In the class Durga would sit next to me and copy my notes. Most of the time he was flushed with money; often he would go out of the class with the pretext of going to the toilet , would come back with pocketful of peanuts and gathia. When we were busy in solving sum he would be busy eating those, he usually shared those with me too. I also gladly accepted his bribes in exchange of allowing him to copy the sums solved by me. Later on I came to know that all those money was from that girl who was staying behind his house...…cut to present, the middle aged lady sitting in front of me in Vasant Kunj.

He failed in class nine and thus could no longer sit next to me. Though he was not in my class but he would come every day to chit chat with me in our play field in chummeries where we were staying those days  which was close to his house in Gole Market.

I passed out and went to IIT, he somehow managed to pass higher secondary and did some kind of private course and became lab assistant in Cambridge School, Delhi.

Whenever I was in Delhi I would meet him in Kalibari of Gole Market. By that time they had shifted from the teacher’s quarter to a government flat on Reading Road near our school, Raisina Bengali. In the meanwhile we had shifted to Wilson Square which was very close to Birla Mandir, now of course those squares are no longer there.

I was told that he was a regular in Kalibari as he was addicted to three cards or was a gambler; he also boasted to me how he was making a tidy sum through gambling. He was much more matured than all of us, he had a steady girlfriend whereas we could not think beyond our studies, and he took to smoking, drinking, gambling much before we could dare to think about those in sixties.

That year I had come for Durga Puja in Delhi from Barauni refinery of IOC where I was posted then, it was sometimes in late sixties. He took me to his house and told me that he was planning to hitch hike to Europe. He showed me a map and elaborated his travel plan. The route was full of danger, he wanted to hitch hike through Khyber Pass to Afghanistan and from there find a way to reach Europe. He showed me his passport to convince me as I was laughing at his foolhardy plan. We used to kid each other a lot so I thought that this was one of his pranks which he was trying to pull on me. I wished him luck and left.

On my next visit I was told that he had left India , had reached Germany, so he was not bluffing about his hitch hike plan to Europe, i felt bad that i was doubting his intent.

After that many years had passed, I had gone to Delhi in 1973 for my first Durga Puja after my marriage and was visiting Kalibari to offer puja with my wife. My mother called someone from a tea stall and said to me , “Can you recognize him?”

A big fat fellow came out of the stall and hugged me tightly and said, “Somu, it has been years since we last met.”

Oh my god it was Durga, he had a French beard and weighing more than 100 kgs whereas I was still below 70kgs. If he would have passed by me in the road I would not have recognized him, it was completely a changed Durga in all respects. I was trying to find out our Devanand in that fat Durga, the real Devanand on the screen was still fit as a fiddle . He called out for someone in the tea stall, a foreign lady came out. She was introduced as his girlfriend and he informed us that he was going to marry her. She was a German lady. I introduced my wife to him and told her about his exploits.

Those days any one going to foreign meant he was minting money.

“You must be earning a good sum there in Germany.” I asked.

“No yar, I am just a worker. There are about 1000 Indians in Germany and I might be the one getting the lowest.”

“Did you see Munich Olympic?” In 1972 the Olympic was held in Munich, there was massacre of players from Israel by Palestinians.

“I was there but not watching the Olympic but breaking ice.” He gave a loud laugh and with that laugh I could get back my old friend Dev D where D stands for Durga.

That was our last meeting….he must have settled there with kids and all. His first love was married to my office colleague and well settled with a college going daughter in 1999.

At the Delhi airport I looked at me closely in the glass and found a man with 38 waist and a receding hair line staring back at me. But those moments in Vasant Kunj transported me back to my school days when I had hardly any pocket money but there was a satisfied complete life with my friends, parents and my relatives. Many of them are no more there. But a chance meeting like this brings back those good old memories and gives a chance to live through those past happy days.