Agomoni 3

Barir pujo orghyo...

Dhuno Poranor Purono Reeti...

Kumari Pujo...

Bishorjoner age dorpone mayer pa dekha...

Ei shesh dekha...e bochorer moto...

Agomoni 2

Alo r bigyaponer moroke...

Tufaani chumuk protibaarer motoi...

Nache alo dhaker taale....

Thakur dekhte jawa...

BIGyaponer bajare BIG FM...

Agomoni 1

Trinoyoni Durga...

Rudrorupini tokhono kumortulite...

Agomoner Prostuti...

Tak Duma Dum Dhaker Kaathi...

Ma chollen baaper baari...kumor para theke...

As the festivities begin...

It has been raining intermittently since the past month…well, it no longer takes a monsoon to bring out your umbrellas and rain coats. The Low Pressure troughs have been a bit too frequent over the Gangetic Plains this year…Looming, dark clouds gather almost every alternate day causing creases on more an every alternate face on the roads. Perhaps we a re a bit too tired of rains…perhaps we are a bit too tired of half dried clothes with a musty smell…perhaps we are a bit too tired of the mucky lanes or the more than half drenched roads!

Guess its finally time for Zeus…or Indra (They look strangely familiar in spite of their locational differences!) to take a rest for the year! The over-drenched humans are now crying out loud for a bit of sun! As the roads of the metropolis remain drowned to the waist even after scorching sun beats down on the rain drenched city (Thanks to the Civic Services!) the sick and tired souls of the city call out more to the Civic Authorities rather than the All Powerful Gods. It’s no wonder then that the theme-crazy Puja organizers do not hesitate to replace the moulds with a more bureaucratic look that the usual ethereal ones in their bid to be the best! Actually there is hardly an option left! With the Potters Zone either remains submerged in waist deep water or another harsh Low Pressure starting to beat down on it mercilessly, the traditional idols hardly get a chance to dry up in time!

And of course there is the Puja Shopping…perhaps one of the favourite pastimes for Us, proud Kolkatans! As the rains put a hold on the entire affair for a few days, the remaining ones see record crowd gathering around the shopping centres, and the bazaars of the city so much that life becomes tough for the rest of the world. Well, news here then…the Met Department has predicted a Dry Puja this year (sound strangely familiar to Dry Days!!!) leading to the obvious conclusion of the opposite! So fellow city-ans…keep your umbrellas and raincoats ready for the five days of celebration! And be sure to include waterproof clothes in your Puja Wardrobe. Oh yes and it’s Floaters Time…and so, the Reeboks and Nikes of the world unite…for its time for the Khadims, Sreeleathers and the lot to rest in peace…

And then the Rizwanur Rehman Case still remains shrouded in mystery as authorities juggle it between themselves arguing over when to prosecute the suspected officials! For Life’s Sake…the guy was found dead and in all probabilities murdered…and yet the discussions range between whether it will be right to prosecute the people concerned! And of course the ‘Ration Revolution’ as it has been labeled now, continues to claim lives and burn shops and assets. The Authorities are as usual at a loss about which side to take – the ones they had been stealthily taking or the ones they have to openly take to save their faces! Oh yes…Nandigram continues to simmer like on a perpetual fire…with deaths in a row and definite more to follow wonder what appeals to them now…The blue skies with white clouds floating? The smell of autumn emanating from every part of the world? The Mahalaya and Puja dawning with its usual fervour? Or food, land and respect?

Will be back with more updates on the city and around and of course everything else that will remain dormant and will eventually die a unnecessarily predictable death…

Well….Happy Durga Puja people…

Shanti Town VI

The morning welcomes us in the same way, with the only exception that it being a Sunday does not necessarily imply lazing in the bed till late hours of the day. Post breakfast and bath we set out to explore the town and buy small mementos for people back home. This time we decide to walk the two kilometres instead of taking the rickshaw. Walking down the road by the canal, the breeze sings in our ears as colourful butterflies flutter past taking short breaks on the tall green grass by the roads. The sky is a strange spotless blue designed with stark shades of red, orange and yellow emanating from the flowers that bloom on the high up branches. Again we pass locals on our way and wonder if our presence in their usual settings upsets the ambience for them...

A trifle tired as we reach the Canal More, we decide to stop for a cup of tea in one of the stalls. Hot tea in earthen cups tastes fantastic, with the smell of fresh earth surrounding us throughout. Instead of taking the left turn we decide to turn right towards Goalpara and walk down a few steps to 'Ipil'. Does the name sound weird? It might...it means a star in the local Santhali language. A lone man runs this small shop or boutique in the real sense of the term. He makes all the items on sale with meticulous care in his own little studio room in one corner of the small hut like structure. The room smells strongly of grass, as in ganja...while the items on display, mostly Dokra craft can leave one mesmerized. We wander in the shop for a while and end up buying a few stuff that can hardly be found in the Kolkata or for that matter in the town area itself.

Satisfying our aesthetic senses for the time being we start walking towards the University area. We cross Shyambati, University More and walk further down leaving Purbo palli on the left. As we get closer to the now deserted Bhuban danga ground, a surging memory fills the mind - that of the Poush Mela. Started by Tagore, this huge fair is another event of importance in this town. Held over the 22nd or 23rd, 24th and 25th December, marking the Foundation Day of the Vishwabharati University. The 'Melar math' as it is also known as turns into a literal Fair ground with shops selling locally made handicraft items, food, items of daily use and local jewellery. There are entertainment corners and the crowd essentially pools in from Kolkata and other places as well.

One of the main attractions remains the 'Baul Akhra' where bauls come together and present their songs in a somewhat similar version of a JAM Session. People sit there enamored by the simple yet philosophically charged lyrics of the baul songs - a speciality of rural Bengal, particularly this part of the state. the lyrics as well as the tunes accompanied by the Khamaks sound strangely rustic as they sing in unison...'Chatoko pray ohornishi/ cheye ache kalo shoshi/ ar hobo bole choron dashi/O ta hoy na kopal gune...amar moner manusheri shone...O milon hobe kototdine...' The sorrow and cries of the soul reverberate through the strains of the songs that equate love for the supreme being through the love for a lover. Though literally Poush Mela ends on the 25th December, what continues is the Bhanga Mela or the remnants of the fair with some shops still selling items, now at a cheaper rate.

As we move further, rows of shanties sell locally made artifacts and items. Teracotta being a speciality in this part of the state, items made in this form are plenty and at rates unimaginable anywhere else. The earthern artifacts, the batik clothes, the Dokra ornaments...it actually is a shoppers paradise for those with a taste for elegance and sophistication. As the day gradually moves towards noon, tired of the walking, we take a rickshaw and head back for home. A little rest and packing our belongings we head towards Prantik Station to take the train back to our usual lives once more. The Ganadevta Express comes at 6:30 and we board the train, a trifle sad that the trip has ended but ever ready to come back at the slightest pretext yet again...and again...As the trains gains speed taking us further and further away from Shanti Town, a faint melody rings in the ears...'Jabar age jao go amay rangiye diye, rokte tomar chorondola lagiye diye...rangiye diye jao jao jao go ebar jabar age'

Shanti Town V

Post lunch we move towards the Khowai...A part of the land naturally eroded for ages, rendering it the name, erosion in Bengali being known as 'Khoy'. The red soiled road lined on either side with tall trees takes us to the dam gate which is perhaps the most precarious and yet the most wildly appealing part of the town. The brown earth eroded over the years creates considerably deep gorges with tall grass growing all around as the dam gates slide down on one side now leaving just a thin stream of water. As we walk deep into the forest like hind part of the area, all we can see are the same eucalyptus like trees that are a regular feature of this area emanating its strange smell. The crickets go on buzzing even during this time of the day creating a strange music...no wonder the poet found refuge and inspiration from this abode of peace...we accompanied them with a chorus rendition of 'Ha re re re re re amay chere de re de re...jemon chara boner pakhi moner anonde re....' True to the words we felt free beyond all ties.

Leaving Khowai behind, we then moved towards Kopai...we could have taken the road along the Khowai but the approaching evening and the precariousness of the road made us think sense as we drove back to the Sonajhuri more and from there took the road leading to Goalpara and beyond. It took about 15 odd minutes to reach the bridge over Kopai. The thin brown stream below the bridge flows as a mocking tribute to the Kopai that swells ferociously during monsoons. We park the car by the side of the bridge and climb down the steep side by the bridge to reach the river, the moist red earth creating footprints as we move further down. As we sit by the River on the red soil on a few luckily found boulders, the river gurgles faintly close by on its endless journey witnessing years and years of life around. Adventurous by birth, I walk towards the water with my jeans folded to the knees...as my feet gradually get used to the chill in the water. On the other bank, a few local women casually bathe and wash their clothes looking at us amused at our antics and over excited behaviour. I take a few more steps into the water and feel the need to fold the jeans further up. Looking back I realize that I am almost halfway through the river and I stand with the water level only upto my thighs....I wade further upstream and get a large boulder right in the middle of the river and sit on it with my feet still in the waters. The evening gradually turns redder as the sun now on the western horizon slowly dips further and further down intermittently hiding behind palm trees. The nip in the air can be felt faintly as I head back for the banks almost unwillingly.

As I step foot on the ground, on the other side a herd of cows come slowly down the slope and enter the water accompanied by a boy of about 12 or 13 who also steps in...one by one he leads them into the water and then swims accross, his height being short enough for him having to swim through...they all reach this side and in the same mechanical way walk down the banks towards home...I wonder how life goes on in the same way fro them everyday. they cross this river twice everyday from this side to that and yet the monotony and drdgery of their lives do not drive them crazy to the hilt...they seem content with what they have. Why then do we, more educated, more civilized lot have this source of constant deprivation in life? However much we get we still want more...maybe it is the distance from the roots or maybe because of our lack of association with nature...I wonder! As we walk back to the car darkness and silence engulfs us on our journey back home. The multitutde of glow worms and stars in an ethereal unison cast a magical spell all around with the crickets accompanying them with their incessant sound. The moon shines yet again and lights us the world around and yet again we retire to the comforts of our home, make a quick dinner and finish it off discussing the wanderings of the day. The terrace calls yet again as we go up and sit in the shimmering moonlit terrace remembering the poet and singing songs endlessly. It dawns on us how and why he had written 'Chader hashir badh bhengeche uchle pore alo...o rojoni gondha tomar gondho sudha dhalo'...

Shanti Town IV

The road takes us through a level crossing at the Prantik Station and through the Canal Side Road to the Sonajhuri More. A left turn accross a bridge over the canal takes us closer towards the peaceful town now abuzz with activities of the day. Saturday and Sundays do not mean the weekend fro the people here....a rebelious against Rules, Rabindranath Tagore wanted an unconventional day to be the end of the week...and so on Wednesdays this town, just a little over 225 kilometres away from the Kolkata Metropolis enjoys a Sunday! Good for us travellers though who have only the conventional weekends to get away from the grind to the shelter of the Shanti Town.

The car passes through Shyambati with trees lining both sides of the road interspersed with picturesqe houses with fascinatingly appealing names. As we slowly leave Shyambati behind we enter the University Area with the first glimpse of the hind part of the Uttarayan Complex - the poets home. On the other side of the road within the boundaries of the Univer sity stands the Upashona Griho, believed to be the prayer hall where Maharshi Debendra Nath Tagore held prayer meets of the then much coveted Brahmo Samaj. The stained glass walls of the Upashana Griho creates a thousand hues as sunlight streaks through. I could almost hear the chorus of voices offering an ode to the formless God...I could hear 'Noyono tomare payna dekhite royecho noyone noyone...hridoy tomare pay na janite hridoye royecho gopone'...Close by stands the much revered Chhatimtola. The Uttaryan Complex, once home to the poet stretches accross a wide area close to the University More. A part of it now transformed into a museum, is open to tourists to view remnants and aspects of the poet's life. It was from here that the coveted Noble Prize was stolen! The complex has a museum known as Bichitra where there has been an attempt to capture glimpses from Rabindra Nath Tagore's life. Nandan, the art gallery is also a must watch. As we stroll accross the first building, an extension of the Museum and the Art Gallery is Udayan - One of the five abodes of the poet within the areas of the complex. Standing neatly one after another at considerable distances are Konarka, Shyamoli, Udichi and Punoscho.The poet is said to have spent time in each of these buildings as he went on weaving one master creation after another.

Leaving the gates of the complex, we stepped into the University Campus. The stretch and vastness complemented beautifully by a strange feeling or freedom and being back to the roots gripped me as always. Never an ardent believer in rules, Gurudev had initiated this Institution in 1901 where education till date is carried on in the same way - in harmony with Nature. Unlike any school or university in the world, classes are still held in this centre for learning and culture, in the open under huge trees in the very lap of nature. The dream of the Poet materialized to its utmost when Vishwabharati was declared a Central University in 1951.Walking through the peaceful campus one by one we passed Gour Prangon, The University Grounds, Vidya Bhavan, Patha Bhavan, Siksha Bhavan, Vinay Bhavan, China Bhavan, Hindi Bhavan. Sangeet Bhavan and Kala Bhavan fall on the other side of the campus close to the much known Kalo Bari. The campus, the comfortable warm breeze and the peaceful ambience at once transferred me to a a state we friends refer to as 'Haloo' - a short form of halucination. Not an exact meaning though, the mind at this state travels through time, space and reality to a state of absolute trans where reality seems to get further and further away from you. The huge trees with Krishnochura, Radhachura and Polash crowning their green heads offers solace and refuge to us weirdly urbane creatures, who behind the facade of modernity and urbanity, long to return to their roots at the slightest pretext.