Standing before the caved in Jeypore(Koraput) Palace.

While sipping tea at a tea-stall opposite to the recently collapsed imperial entrance (Smiha Dwara) of Jeypore palace of Nanda dynasty I reconfirmed my belief in the eternal truth- NOTHING IS PERMANENT IN THE WORLD AND EVERYTHING SHALL PASS AWAY………

The tea was hot and steaming. But I had forgotten to sip it. My heart was steaming with a burning emptiness. And it was because the collapse was before time & could have been averted.

6 years back, in 2006, I had landed the place with a metal trunk to join in the teaching job in a college. And thenceforth a new relation was formed with this enchanting place. I remember how, for the first time, when I viewed the dilapidated palace, I was completely awe struck. And how magically the characters of the past became alive in my imagination and I could feel as if I was standing under the imperial sun of the Kings and queens. But now I see those feelings & structure crumbling down and the earth engulfing it.

……..Holding my tea cup I realized that by the time my one half year old son grows up to understand the historical importance of the palace and the rich heritage of the place I may not be able to show him the decipherable remnants of the princely palace. Therefore, I have made this post with some photographs so that at least he (my son) may feel proud that his father had witnessed the last stand of this imperial structure……….

“I love you so much my dear son but I am not a good daddy. Because I could not preserve that brilliant flash of the brick & mortar made royal palace for you. Alas! For my insincerity I apologize to my posterity and at the same time I hope & dream that when the GenX (generation next) come to my age, they shall never repeat such mistake what I have made & repent for.”    

RED LINE

Green colored leaves and pink flowers and under them, we stand. The evening setting sun had smeared the sky with some crimson. And we two looked at the same direction, completely lost in our own thoughts. The breeze waved our hair and the loose corners of the clothes.

A togetherness of six years with each other had given the necessary understanding to understand each one's silence and we could read the meaning of the movement of each one’s eyes. Now she turned her face towards me. She looked into my eyes and I into her and felt that the time that we had enjoyed together make a golden period of our lives.

She hugged me and showed a line on her palm and smilingly told, “This line will take me overseas. I am destined to move half of the globe.”  I held her palms and kissed her.

In the next few months, she married a manager of a multinational financial institute, and, as she believed, that line on her palm took her beyond the seas.

Now I stood alone where once we used to stand together and I looked into my palm but I could not find such a line on it. I missed that line; I missed her too. I missed her hands, her lips, her smiles and her dreamy imagination to go abroad.

The sun was about to set in the west. The birds returned their nest. The approaching night enveloped the earth in darkness and I returned to my rented room. I lay down on the bed and could see how that line took her far away and now it turns out to be a RED LINE for me-a reminder not to cross it in any case because she is not mine.

80 kilometers to Koraput

The gods live in the sky and peep at us through the clouds-such is the widely-held belief of the people who live in a country like India. I am no more an exception. I also look skyward when I feel myself reconnecting with some invisible power that we give the name GOD.

Gazing at the sky I forget my tiny height and my limitations. I expand my hands and close my eyes breathing in some fresh air of godliness to simply remain as a sensible human being in a world that always pulls you, grabs you, and blows you apart. The sky gives me the balance, the poise to live my life. And in night we can also point at the distant stars giving them the names of whom we loved so much and are no more with us. This is relation among the sky, the stars and the man who stands on the earth but looks upward into the sky.

That day I was commuting on a friend’s new bike from a considerable distance. I had already ridden the bike for 8 hours and I had still another four hours’ journey. This biking-journey was kept secret from my family because the route, which I had to pass through, was infamous for Naxal violence. And my family members would never have allowed me to undertake such a journey alone. But at the age of 35, the whims of a teen-ager are not totally dead. And I drove ahead in the speed range of 50 to 80kmph without any care for the risks involved in such a journey.

It was the month of rain and thick clouds were chasing me. They were my companion and now I climbed a steep ghat road. I scaled a considerable height and I found myself talking to the clouds. From the top of the mountain I looked downward like God and saw great patches of green paddy fields and tiny houses all looking like small segments of lines. I was overjoyed. I stopped my bike. A misty rain was spraying all over. I stood on a rock and from that height I embraced the beautiful view with my gaze. I blessed the beautiful earth. And I felt that I am amply rewarded for undertaking the secret and adventurous journey all alone.

I thanked the beautiful place and crossed the milestone that said: 80 kilometers to Koraput.

A Mood Swing

The mood is set. And I feel life interesting. The common things now appear in uncommon colours and superb brilliance. I touched the mud and soaked my new leather boot in the steaming coffee-coloured waters on the road. And I walked the distance to my work place carrying an umbrella. It had been a long time when I moved under an umbrella through the market. My walk was interspersed with a natural question from the locals, “Where is your motorcycle today, Sir?”

I realized that the petrol-run machine had now become a natural outgrowth of my existence and when I went without my motorbike, it raised a concern. But those people did not realize that at the cost of soaking my new leather boot I had come out to enjoy rain. And I am walking proudly enjoying the God-gifted height of around 6 feet. Also, I save some petrol for the next generation.

The leisurely walk is a boon in life when all rush madly after worldly things.

The atmosphere was charged with all the elements of romance. The world looked fantabulous. Had there been Raveena Tandon (the sizzling hot actress in the song ‘Tip Tip Barsa Pani’), she would have gone for the re-enactment of the remix version of the song even without asking for the payment. And such was the charm of that rainy day.

I was walking and I was humming that song- “Tip Tip Barsa Pani”

A vehicle came waving its wipers on the front glass. The wipers perfectly danced rhythmically to the tune I was humming. The vehicle moved past by me and one of its well-built tyres splashed around two-buckets of water from the muddy pool formed on the road I was walking. The splash gave me a second bath and Ms Raveena Tondon, the sizzling hot actress, and all the romantic imaginations accompanying that figure, the song and all boundless love for rain instantly got dissolved in the splashing water. The attack was not from above the umbrella; it was from under the umbrella and so its range was from tip to toe of my 6 feet human form. Now the humming of the song was replaced by a uncontrollable shout, “Bloody rascal.”

I turned back angrily and discovered equally angry and hot fumes being discharged from the exhaust pipe of the vehicle. Now I questioned myself how the heroine enjoyed rolling on the water and mud and could sing so enchantingly. I concluded that rolling in reel-life rocks but in real life it shocks. The mood was utterly lost…..

The school is a temple and the teachers are God

The school is a temple and the teachers are God-this is the faith in which students are brought up in India. But school-going children love the play ground most among all things in school. The love of children for playing surpasses everything. The running in the field, the merry-making and the physical activities on the ground make children fountains of joy. Many children forget many essential activities like eating, taking bath or even watching their favorite cartoon shows when they get to know the charm of the playground and the excitement of playing with their peers.

The main motivation for me to go school regularly was my love for the health education periods allotted in school. No sooner the bell for play-time rang, I would run into the field. I was never unreasonably absent in my school because my love for my play mates and play-time was such a pull. I was active in the playground and in the same manner I loved indoor games too.

But in class 7, for a traumatic period, I was robbed of that innocent joy so unmercifully that till today I remember those pangs.

I had a math teacher and we, his students, used to think him as the wisest and the most intelligent man on planet. Despite working for hours, we would miserably fail to work out some of the mensuration problems in our Math books. But he would instantly solve them and we would look at him in great awe and wonder. We were impressed by his deep knowledge.

One day he came with a chess set. He wanted us to learn the game. But I was smarter. I used to play chess from class 5 with my grandfather. After describing in detail about the movements of different pieces in a chess set he invited me to play a game. I played with the teacher and to my amazement I defeated him.  He could not believe what happened. He was my teacher and I was his student and that had given him a license that he would win in the game. And a deviation from this normal supposition silenced the class. He played with me once again and I could still retain my title. I mean my teacher was vanquished. This two wins did not make me feel happy rather they made me feel guilty. I felt as if I had committed a crime by defeating my teacher. My teacher praised me and packed up the set. I helped him in the pack up. He went away but most of my friends, now, turned their face away from me. They asked me that how I could become so heartless and arrogant and had the temerity to defeat one who is our teacher. Some of my friends reminded me the story of Ekalavya and went away leaving me alone. Their condemning words seared my heart and filled myself with a guilt feeling that often accompanies in post-masturbation ruminations. I saw my eyes were tearful.

Next day, my teacher called me to play chess. It was the play-time in the school. I wanted to run and play in the field with my friends. I did not like that indoor game of chess but I wanted to become like Ekalavya. So I killed my likes and sat with the teacher for the game. I sacrificed my play in the field for the teacher. For his fancy I sat with him for the game and I deliberately behaved foolish as much as I could and my teacher now chuckled and had a sigh of relief when my king was imprisoned. His face beamed with joy and mine too. He asked me, “Did you learn something?” Most respectfully, I answered, “Yes sir” and then I asked him, “Can I join with my friends in the ground?” He allowed me and in the ground a friend while kicking the football at me seconded, “We must respect our teachers.”  To which I noded.

In the evening I prayed with my sister……..Guru Brahma, Guru Vishnu, Guru deva Maheswara……Guru sakhsyat Param brahma……Tasmai shree Namoh Namaha.