To Jayantada, from Dublin, with love

Photo credit: Bishweshwar Das

Jayantada (the renowned poet Jayanta Mahapatra) left us for ever on the evening of Sunday, 27th August 2023. I was in Cork then. I went numb. My flight back to Germany on Monday the 28th August was cancelled and I suddenly found myself in Dublin on Tuesday, the 29th August, with nothing else to do but wander around, while waiting for the flight rescheduled for Wednesday. This is what I saw that day, in the company of a lovely Finnish woman, whose flight was also rescheduled. I wrote the poem at 2 a.m. on the night between Tuesday and Wednesday... Talking to Jayantada helped.... here it is...

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Random thoughts about Indian tourists in Europe

I am an Indian myself. But there are a few things I find hard to understand about my guests from back home when they come visiting: here is a random sample of some problems I have had. I am not complaining, perhaps I am just as bad as any of them, but I just wanted to make a list so that I knew what to expect, and what not to expect, next time someone comes visiting me. I guess some of my friends will be cross with me because they think I am talking about them, I hope they will forgive me and take it in the right spirit. I am being grossly unfair here I know, for most of my friends who have visited me over the last years have been very independent, capable, accommodative and were a lot of fun and no trouble at all.  But still, there are some typical Indian traits that I need to talk about. Or perhaps these traits are not Indian at all...

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Beauty that heals; and some thoughts to ponder on

As luck would have it, I have been to a few places in the last few weeks that have filled my heart with a kind of joy that only naturally beautiful and old places and objects can give... First I spent a wonderful day in the beautiful north German town of Lübeck where the exquisitely beautiful hofs (inner courtyards) of many old but newly restored apartment complexes made me jump with joy... 

Following closely on that trip came a visit to the quaint little city of Hannoversch Münden, where the rivers Fulda and Werra join to become the river Weser. The beauty of the half timbered houses of that ancient city and the natural beauty of the area around the 'Weserstein' (the Weser Stone on which is inscribed a lovely verse about the rivers, more about that later)  are unparalleled. I have to write about those two places if only to show you some photos to prove my claim.  

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The stuff of dreams

When I had said yes to going to Freiberg, little did I know what was in store for me... and then it all began to happen... and before I knew it I was drawn into that rabbit-hole like little Alice in Wonderland...What happened to me in those days in Freiberg was an illustration of the statement, 'The secret, Alice, is to surround yourself with people who make your heart smile. It's then, only then, that you'll find Wonderland.'

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Can't get no crazier!

Is something the matter with our stars these days? Else why are so many unnatural things happening one after the other in my vicinity...If all those many deaths that happened one after the other (about which I have written elsewhere) was not enough, there was that crazy waterpipe burst in Kharghuli (right in front of our front gate) last week that killed a few and washed away the homes of many more. I am not sure how such things can happen but they do. 

Initially I was happy that our building was spared, that although it happened right in front of our complex, the force of the water was turned towards the hill and hence nothing happened to our building. But then looking at the scale of devastation it caused to the affected people, the number of people who have had all their homes and belongings washed away, I am beginning to feel that perhaps it would have been better if we had been affected, not them. For all of us in our building, have second homes where we can happily go and stay. Losing this flat would not be the end of our worlds for us. But for those poor people, they have no other shelter, no other car, no other TV, no other bed, no money, no clothes,... Nothing would have happened to any of us if our building was swept away, I think. But then we got lucky at the expense of all those others.

Then came a couple of earthquakes one after the other, first in Shillong, then in Tezpur, and their surrounding areas and created fear and dread in the residents. And if that was not enough, now my little bhagin Biju in Delhi, is fighting for his life in an ICU in a Delhi hospital. What a sheer waste! I need to write this story... it is a real case of truth is stranger than fiction. He literally drank himself to his death. And here we are all sitting and praying for him to be given another chance... another chance to mend his ways or another chance to kill himself... who will tell me...I am going out of my mind. 

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Stephan's 75th birthday message

It was a little over four years ago when Stephan and I spent some days trying to write a 75th birthday message that Stephan wanted to send out to his friends. It was also supposed to serve as a kind of farewell letter because he wanted to also announce in that letter that he was in the terminal stages of pancreatic cancer. He wanted to celebrate his platinum birthday in Bremen, but his health did not permit anything more than a small celebration on Saturday, 18th May, 2019 in Volkach. Today he would have celebrated another birthday, if pancreatic cancer had not snatched him away from us on the 26th July 2019, not even three months after his 75th birthday.  Here is the letter he wrote and a few photos from that last birthday celebration. He never got to host the summer garden party that he wanted to organise in Volkach in July that year (that he mentions in the letter).  But we did organise a memorial event in his memory on the 10th August that year in that very garden in Volkach. 

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They don't come any fairer!

I had not finished saying farewell to my lovely friend Srutimala Duara when disaster struck again, and this time took away from us our beloved Deepika Phukan baideo. If the too early departure of a bright, beautiful and vivacious human being that Sruti was has stunned and numbed me, Deepika Baideo's going was perhaps less unexpected but has left me feeling like an orphan, all over again.  And now, as I sit at my desk trying to make sense of these goings, I understand more clearly than ever before our transience in this world we temporarily inhabit. Nobody is a survivor, Sruti had rightly said, for in the end nobody will survive the condition of being alive. 

 But then why is it so hard to say goodbye?

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Too many deaths

There has been too many deaths these last months of people who I was close to -- it began with Neelda's going last October. Then  Nilmoni Phukan khura in January, followed by Srutimala Duara, and Deepika Phukan in February and March... among many others...Some were sick and ailing, some were old and frail, but still...

Why is it so hard to say goodbye?

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Why is it so hard to share?

We're trying to raise 15 lakhs to build a multi-purpose shed in Sishugram. When we started, I imagined it would not be difficult to raise that amount through crowd funding. My idea was that many in India would happily contribute varying amounts ranging from Rs. 500 to Rs. 5000. So I thought that if we could raise 5 lakhs from such small donations, and another 10 lakhs from the more generous ones who will and can give more and from a few of my friends abroad, we would easily reach our target. But I have been proved wrong on most counts.

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From Goa by road through Karnataka

 Hema and I had done a similar 3-week long road trip before, in November 2020, through Central India. This time our stops   were Goa (1N), Dandeli (1N), Hampi (4N),   Chitradurga (2N), Shimoga (4N), Chikmaglur (4N),   Udupi (3N), Kumta (2N) and Goa (3N). But    this 24-day trip (covering more than 3500 kms) through western Karnataka north of Mangalore,   starting and ending at Goa, was different. 

 For one, there was no Covid which made its presence significantly felt by its very absence. But still. we made a few rules for us, and tried to keep to them -- no driving at night as far as possible, and trying to avoid big cities, and staying in homestays rather than hotels, wherever possible. 

Without the fear of Covid looming large over us, the logistics was much easier this time.  Everything was open, the roads were full, the towns and cities were bustling with activity. But precisely because of that, we knew that driving around would be a bigger challenge than last time. So we chose a much shorter route, so that no single journey from one stop to the next was more than 200 kms. But we had not factored in the many long and winding day trips we made at each halt. So in the end we landed up having driven more than 3500 kms, almost 1000 kms more than last time. Like last time, 24 days; like last time, Hema drove, but this time the car was different. This time we had a Hyundai Creta that Hema's son Shamir very kindly lent us. And that car held up and did not let us down, even once. No punctures, no getting stuck in the mud, no refusing to start, although we made it do some pretty tortuous journeys and although very often the road we were on was nothing more that deeply pot-holed mud tracks.

And  what a revelation that part of India was for us.

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