Thursday, November 19, 2009

What a man …….!


Date:- Undated
Place:- Zaranj, Afghanistan


There is a gentlemen somewhere in the busy world, amongst the hustle and bustle of modern life, whose expectations from life are poor in worldly measure, but rich from life’s necessities. Whose life flows fresh and clear, searing through the mad world of modern life.

His needs are simple, he just wants to lead his life with contented heart, tranquil mind and still soul. He doesn’t aspire to master anything or preach anyone, but has a clear mind and clear purpose which keeps him apart from rest of the world. He finds his peace and satisfaction in whatever work or job he does. He doesnt not have ill will towards anyone, nor he is rude or quick to judge others. He doesnt build a mental world of resentment and vengefulness.


Instead, he builds a heart large enough to accommodate loving words and rebukes alike, gentle mind to absorb beautiful behavior and occasional rudeness of the world with equanimity. He has a personality pleasing to both gentle teacher caring those tender children and hard worked men toiling by the quarry. He doesn’t look to being flooded with good only, nor completely shielded from evil, but he wishes to pass by both good and evil, and know their differences and place them in their own places. He prays that the grace and gentleness that God has blessed us be shared and rubbed into those who have wandered off and are in want of it, even if they don’t realize. He also prays for the healing hands of God to touch all our heart, which is burning and is in anguish because of spiritual darkness we are living in. He understands that good men and evil men as world understands are Almighty God's children. More than the world, it is God who understands us.

Having put in sincere effort, he is satisfied with whatever God has blessed him with. He understands and lives by the fact that man’s stomach needs just enough food to keep him from hunger and provide necessary nutrients, man’s body needs just enough cloth to protect him from vagaries of weather. But he also knows that hungry stomach and cold body is no vessel for spiritual freedom, and lack of these amenities causes all the miseries of life. Having realised this, he works hard so that for want of these worldy things, he doesnt compromise with his spiritual life.

This is the story, sulu tells himself.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Mother - The life giver.


Where the Life began .....

" The universe begins with mother. But for her, there will neither be life, nor the universe as we know. The life is her gift, but as we enter the life istelf, she is relegated to the background. And willingly she fades into lesser of the priorities, all the while, hiding her pains with prayers for not so gratefull progenies. What with necessities of life, is what we say. But these are excuses why there is not enough time for the one who gave us our life. The future has become the reason, to forget the past. The materialistic needs have taken the place of needs of love, feelings and passions for fellow human beings. In this race, we forget the fact that the progress in science and other materialistic comforts have occured as a result of undying love of our forefathers to bless the generations to come with the comfort they never knew for themselves, but wanted their children to have. The whole edifice of human civilization was built on the strength of parental love and desire to secure more comfortable life for their children. Take out the humane and emotional aspect of civilization, you have armageddon staring down at you. Love was the driving force, love will continue to be the driving force in progress we have made and we will make. Science devoid of love ... well .. I dread to think of it. The day we start to strive towards progress for sake of progress only, the beginning of our end will begin."

Love in its most refined form is exhibited in a mother's love for her children. As a mark of love for the source of all LOVE, shall we ..... Shall I say ... I love you, mother. And shall I request you all to express some act of acknowledgement of her love towards you ... in whatever small way, and bring a small smile on her face ... however old her face looks, whatsever number of lines that cut across her aged face .... for once, let the love be there once again, ... For once, give her a glow of a morning sun, during the evening of their life.

And, when they pass into the night, let them say, " Yes, I have lived my day, and night is the time for rest, rest in peace, shall I."


This post is dedicated to all the unsung mothers, whose love has sustained the humanity till now, but who have never been acknowledged. You all may not be eulogised in the golden letters, but it is on your spirit of love that this edifice of human civilization stands.




1. My mother atop Shillong peak.


2. Feelings, feelings is all that matters - Mom and her grand daughter.(My daughter)


3. What can compare the comfort of a snuggle under a parents arms. Another of grand daughters steals a snuggle under her arms.

4. And love dwelt in between our hearts. Children with their grand parents.
5. Moments of truth, moments of togetherness. Wife, Children and self with Mom.


6. But for you, what would world mean to anyone, Mother? Mother and me.




Ode to unsung Mother
s


My Mother and me,
She sang ,
And I heard,
Of days that were long gone,
Of battles that were fought,
In the times that,
Lived in the memory,
So far.

Of the love and betrayals,
The ballads,
That passed down,
From mother to child,
In a soothing words,
Told.

Of the days to come,
Of mountains and rivers,
To be crossed.
The mothers dreams,
Of her children, their dreams,
And her wishes,
Mingled,
In her prayers,
Said in that,
Endearing voice.

Song sang from her,
Deepest heart,
Is all that took,
To spur her children,
To the heights, never attained.

So falls sulu in love with mothers.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Some more pictures from Afghanistan

Down the memory lane .

"Todays moments are tomorrows memories. Since we tend to live more in our memories of past, why not build beautiful memories by living our moments by the ideals that are so dear to our heart."
So says sulu to himself.

These are some more pictures from my Afghanistan sojourn. As I told you all, in my previous post, I was stationed in the South -Western Afghanistan, bordering Iran in a place called Zaranj, which is the capital of Nimroz Province. This is the most backward province of Afghanistan. I met some Americans and French people who were working with some charity foundation, and helping set up orphanages and vocational training courses for Afghani women folk to equip them to generate income for themselves.
To me, these people were the real heroes who had left the comfort of their home and country, and, living among the poorest of Afghanis were working without salary. Only accomodation and journet fair was provided to them, and their friends and families used to fund their stay in Afghanistan. Each of them were donating their time for cause of humanity. Some had come for six months, others for one year or two years. Can we take a leaf out of their life in helping our own people to overcome poverty and ignorance?


1.Myself with an American gentlemen called Mike, who was helping in orphanage and running vocational training courses.

2. Carpet weaving training centre run by an American Charity.

3. Finished weaving product/carpet depicting Afghanistan.


4. Tailoring and emroidery were also taught to Afghani women by some French and American ladies.

5. Training class for beauticians are also run by them.

6. We visit orphanage here. Considering the fact that there is incessant war in Afghanistan, the need for orphanage is immense.Among the boys in the picture are those American and French women with head coverings, my doctor friend, Dr. Raj, in dark googles and another American friend in the back.


7. An Afghani boy from orphanage. The beauty and radiance among the children are universal. Their hopes, their expectant eyes, the glow of youthfull spirit on their face are the hallmark of children everywhere.


8. Myself lost among the Afghani children.
" Long after my body leaves a place, it is in my mind and heart that this place shall continue to live, and it is in their mind and heart that I shall continue to live. How I lived the moments I spent with them, shall determine in which part of their memory, I shall continue to live."
So says sulu to himself.
--- ADIEU ---

Friday, August 28, 2009

Home Coming

One of the sweetest moments of our life is home coming experience. Wherever one may be, his home and her native land and neighbourhood is closest to her heart, however ugly or dirty the home and native town may be, it remains perched in the green land of our memory, forever lovely and refreshing.
On this subject, I posted a comment on one of the posts in Arunachal Diary. I am re-producing it down below because I felt so nostalgic about it when I read it again this morning.

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Cho, you have captured the basic essence of Ziro life in a concise and lucid manner. It still gives me goose bumps as we start to ascend the hills from Yazali. As one drives through hairpin bends, cool breeze is felt smooching your cheeks and gently weaving through your hair as if mother is running her loving fingers through hair while we are asleep in her bossom. One can smell the pine trees and feel freshness of mountain air coursing down your lungs.

But this magical scenery lasts till one reaches Ziro town proper. As soon as one enters Hapoli town one starts his life on a war footing, as you have to negotiate with numerous pot holes, dirty drains, spilled sewages,unplanned and ugly houses littering the lovely landscape, pigs, cows dogs and numerous four legged animals fighting with you for teir right to way. Town itself is no better than any slum. I wish we could do something to tidy up this dirt.Whenever I come over to Ziro, I spend most of my time in tending my bamboo and pine groves and little forest areas that my father owns. I feel better being outside among the fields and trees rather than Ziro town itself.
The thoughtless deforestation is the sad part of modern Ziro. Forest conservation in Apatani society was one of age old social wisdom of Apatanis which they have lost to the greed for quick money. Lets hope the cast away wisdom is picked up by younger generations.Ziro has a beautiful landscape and if its growth is planned properly and strict regulations for construction of new buildings are imlpemented, may be it will attract decent number of tourists. But whatever is to be done has to be done with urgency, otherwise it will be too late and the place will be littered with ugly scene of concrete jungle.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

A thing of beauty is ... well guess what?



Well, I came to Ziro on 31st July' 2009 and left on 2nd August' 2009. Very short stay indeed, considering Ziro is my home town. The beauty of greenery that surrounds Ziro during the summer and the way it gives way to golden carpet during the autumn with blue mountains in the yonder, is the most beautiful moment that I have experienced. Here, I am posting some of the pictures I took of somewhere, where a small patch of my rice fields lies, both during my latest visit and the visit to my beloved valley I made during October 2005, before I left for Afghanistan. It was a gala harvesting time.


1.

a) Prelude to story of beautiful Ziro - A view as you drive down Aaabliya Balya - A Panoramic view of Ziro valley as you enter main my heartland.



2.


b) As I go to my field, I have to pass through LEYU,(Leyu is a passage through the bamboo groves which one must take to leave village for any work .. including field work.) Here I take nenting leyu, which is a way to upper Hija village's fields and forests.



3.

c) As soon as I leave Leyu, this is the vista my eyes are blessed with.



4.

d) Another eye feasting vista as you view the Myoko( Open space beyond village area) beyond your village.



5.



As I look back, I see the Leyu, with crops of millets planted on the sides of Aaji Ager(bunds)




6.

Moving with steps that are confident of grounds beneath, of the paths that I grew up with, I find the lush green fields swaying with a blush of young heads of rice as the wind blows gently.



7.
Here, I turn to my right and find the fields swaying to the music of the winds playing with instruments nature provided in abundance in the open fields. What symphony can compete with nature's sweet music. huh!!!!



7.

I take a detour and take picture of my field from afar, where my father was laid to rest last year. A patch of raised land is called Nendu Nenchang - a public burial ground. My dad, rests not there, but where I stand and take these snaps. Small hut you see is Myole Piinyi, where the apatani priests perform rituals to propitiate the spirits. White bamboo structures are burial memorials.



8.

This is another picture - my eyes are never tired of such visual feast of greenery, freshness, beauty and tenderness that was all along.



9.



Here, I look back before I enter leyu. My body leaves you, my dear, but I leave my heart with you. Keep it green, fresh, clean and forever young.


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When you see something, and find it beautifull, you behold it. Nature takes its tolls, and you look again, and wonder, where is that which I beheld with such awe? How has it withered with time and age? Where do I find such beauty, such love, which neither time nor age will leave it untouched. And you wonder!!!!!!

Suddenly, a whiff of fresh memories, not fresh in a sense it is new, but fresh because of its essence, ... the memories of childhood, of neighbours and surroundnings that looks so unpalatable to the foreigners, whispers, here I am. And, you know you have found true beauty. It grows with age, and as the seasons change, it reveals its beaty in phases.

What is beauty? Is it skin deep? Is it limited to the pereiod when you are young and fresh? Where does the beauty fade away when the age catches up with it?

Haaa Haa haa.... ha ha ha. Like most people, I am usually confused between youth and beauty. That loveliness that we see usually are the youths in bloom, not the beauty in its true colour. True beauty is deeper and unfathomable. Like a good old wine, it becomes better with age. So is Ziro. You thought, green and beautiful Ziro will give way to old and withering autumn and winter? No way. These are some of the pictures I took during the harvest season in October'2005, before, I left for Afghanistan.


10.
As Ziro matures from spring to summer and to autumn, it turns golden in its look and its content. Whole of Ziro valley is carpeted with golden crops of ricewith a far away blue mountains as a back ground. This is the time when gangs of male and females( Patangs), as per their age, band together and have maximum fun and frolick harvesting the rice fields and getting drowned in its celebration. Those of you, who have never experienced abandoned gay and joy, come during the harvest time to Ziro and join one of the patangs to drink the last drop of joy that lifes gives us. I assure you, you would have squeezed out the nectar, the honey that life has never blessed anywhere else.

This is a view from Siilang Diiting of Siilang, Boppii, Tbyo and Piisa pu putu. I took this scenary while proceeding to my fields beyond those blue mountains with my wife and children.


11.



Just as I cross a small stream to enter my field, I see this view. The fenced field is others. Beyond that, in a far off hirizon where lies the blue mountains is our clan's naring morey and katu morey.( Morey refers to forest, here clan forest.) To the left is Aifu Puttu(AAifu Hillock) and to the right is Piisa Pu Puttu.


12.


This is another shot of fraction of my field and beyond as described above. It looks surreal. Doesnt it?

( The first picture at the top is of my son Dingyang performing pabung banni, which means carrying the threshed rice grains to a place called intii pere. Usually children are tasked with pabung banni while the young and grown up females reap the rice stalks and young and grown upmales thresh the rice. It is one of the most beautiful moments of any childhood who have grown up in a typical Apatani Village life.)

13.

Rest a while. Well, goldend carpets all around. Why would anyone go for red carpets anywhere else?
Well, I will be in my home town this harvest season. God willing. Anyoneone who wants to have fun and frolick in the very work work that gives us life are welcome to join me.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Conversing with Myself - XII

Discovering Life

Life is,
What I think,
Life is.

Life's chores are,
But a vessel.
What I think of Life's chores,
Is what my life is.
Wah! I found you,
And you thought,
Forever you will remain elusive.

Life is,
What I think,
Life is.

So says sulu to himself.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Conversing with Myself -XI

Place:- Zaranj, Afghanistan
Date:- 21.01.2007

Peeking Through
I

Live your moment: hour will take care of itself. Live your hour nicely, day will take care of itself. Live your day to the full; life will take care of itself. Live one moment at a time, enjoy it with great hopes for future and pleasant memories of past. This is way to happy and contented life.
II

Also remember the wise words of Mark Twain when he said, “Lack of Money is root of all evil.”
Work hard for money so that you do not fall into evil ways .... and days.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Conversing with myself - X

Date:- 03.01.2006
Place:- Zaranj, Afghanistan

Waking from a Nightmare .....

I can see my life clearly and impassiontely wading through fleeting moments of time. My life, as of today is led by whims and fancies of mind rather than my detrmined purpose and direction. I can see the kinds of thoughts that constantly pour inside my mind. It has a strong leaning towards the fantasy filled world and is susceptible to to such pleasure seeking fun filled; foolishly melodramaticworld constructed to please the ever seeking lazy mind. I can see and feel the kind of thoughts that filters into my mind, I cannot check those unwanted time and energy sapping thoughts from entering inside and filling my mind.
My saner and more sensible part of mind has awakened and has recognized what is good and bad for mind. But now, if I don’t let those superfluous and negative thoughts enter inside my mind; then I should train my mind to accept constructive and positive thoughts. I need to tune my mind and heart towards positive and constructive world of thoughts and deeds. I wake up from twilight zone of half asleep and half awake.

So says sulu to himself.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Conversing With Myself - IX

Let me be ........

Let ,
My inner self and external world,
Remain balanced and harmonious.
Let,
Me learn to accept life as it comes,
Because,
Life and death,
Are nature’s rhythm.
Why … then worry?
Who can challenge destiny?
Let,
Me enjoy my life,
Like a child,
Free of care and worry.
Let,
Me take my life,
One step at a time,
Till it lasts.

So says sulu to himself.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Conversing With Myself -VIII

Where am I?

In silence and quietness,
Introspect.
There in one will find,
All his answers.

So says sulu to himself.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Conversing With Myself- VII


Date:- undated
Place :- Zaranj, Afghanistan.

Home is where heart is.

Roads were many,
And forked at places.
Lest I loose.
Took the route,
To the home that led.
Leaving behind,
Works and worries,
Where it belongs.
I tread on.

Lively is my step,
Gloom and worry,
Pain and weary,
Of body and soul,
Fades away,
As my spirit rise,
And home beckons,
I tread on.

Tinkling sound,
Of,
My little boy,
And,
Mirthful laughter,
of,
My little daughter,
Sings in my mind.
Heavy was my heart,
And,
Lighter it grows as,
I tread on.

I long for;
Tender arms,
And long feet;
That embraced my body.
Delicate fingers;
That pricked my ears.
Nimble palms;
That searched my face.
I long for those smiles;
Which tells,
Of thousand mischieves,
I long for tears,
That adorn,
Childs tender face.
That gleeful laughter,
And tenderly tear,
That rankling cheers,
Beckons me my dear.
I tread on.

Long is the way,
Longer still I have waited,
For my home and hearth.
Deeper and deeper,
My longing grows,
For a glance,
Of my loved ones.
Cold food and gloomy weather,
In a strange land,
Tells the tales,
Of love and warmth,
That home is made of.
I tread on.

Though,
My feet crumples,
And head spins,
My spirit soars,
Beyond mortals reach.
Over the mountains,
And the hills,
Seas and rivers,
Across the oceans,
And desserts.
With wings,
Of wind and light,
I shall be home dear.

And so sulu sings to himself.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

On retiring.

I have always looked towards retirement with great expectation. Retirement to me is finding time and resource to do such work which will help me actualise desires of my life without expecting back money or honour. It is a freedom from our necessity to work for living, for food, cloth and shelter. It is ability to devote my time and energy in works that has been closest to my heart. It means working and spending my time for sake of love for the work, for sake of happiness and contentedness from the realisation that I am part of that creation which is free from compulsion of finishing a job. Instead I am bonded to desire for finishing the job because of love for finishing that job. Thus retirement to me is not getting freedom from work, but entering that sphere of life where I can devote to such work where I can give hundred percent of my time and energy.

While I was in Afghanistan, my boss retired. I drafted a letter on occasion of his retirement, but failed to send it because I had second thought about its appropriateness. I am reproducing it now, and if he happens to see this, let me tell you this is straight from heart. Comments are welcome on the appropriateness of the letter.


****************************
Dated :- 29.11.2006
Place :- Zaranj, Afghanistan.


Dear Sir,

As you embrace your new phase of life, that leisurely phase of your long and active life, a period of life that you can control its pace, decide its texture and fill it with whatever colour you wish to fill it with, I wish you all the happiness and contentment that life can bestow.

We as a human have a finite life, but the joy and happiness that life gives is infinite. It is not only the number of years that counts, but what counts more is how much love, joy and happiness one derives along the path of his life.

More than what you have done and achieved, is how and why you have done that defines one’s contentment.

May you live your life with contented heart, tranquil mind and still soul. May you find happiness and joy in each day of of your retired life.


Your’s Sincerely,
Dani Salu.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Conversing With Myself - VI

Date:- Undated
Place:- Zaranj, Afghanistan

Let the life flow .........

Be slow and steady,
In whatever you do.
Take time to think.
Take time to talk.
Take time to act.
This way;
You will lead a life of contentment.

So says sulu to himself.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Conversing With Myself -V

Date:- 28.11.2006
Place:- Zaranj, Afghanistan


One man comes and says do this way. Another man comes and says do that way. First man may be right from his point of view and wrong from second person’s point of view. If the first person carried out the work as per his idea, most probably, he would have accomplished the work in the best possible manner. If the first person carried out the work as per second person’s idea, most probably he would not have accomplished the work in the best possible manner.

If the second person carried out the work according to his idea most probably he would have accomplished it in the best possible manner. If the second person had carried out the work as per the first man’s advise, he would find the manner unfamiliar and foreign and might not be able to accomplish the work in the best possible manner.


This shows that there is no universal way to do a thing, but there is universal philosophy how best one can perform his task. And that philosophy is realizing our own strength and attitude and aligning our effort in that line while performing our task. Each of us are unique and imbued with equal potentiality. The secret to success is identifying that unique quality and nurturing it.
Therefore, whenever you have a task to perform, find the best way you will enjoy doing it. That way, you will be romancing your work instead of being tasked to carry out the works which are foreign to you.

In the end, shall we say there is more merit in an individual’s attitude towards his work than the starched and well laid out ways of doing the work.
Work on your attitude man, on your attitude.
So says sulu to himself.

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In this section I will share some innocuous conversation I had with myself and which was jotted down in my diary.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Ordinary morning in a ordinary man's life.

Morning dawned with cry of my two month old daughter. As I rub my eyes open, I hear my wife soothing and cuddling our dearest latest darling ( we already have three dearest darlings) with some sweet nothing songs in her gentle voice. As soon as she sees me, I am handed over the charge of the little angel and she pushes off for .... I rather say relieved herself of little angels' care and leaves the room. No words said. Simply understood that she had a tough night, while I remained in a dream world, oblivious of what the mother and child passed through the night. Still my eyes half closed, I hold my cutie pie. She cuddles up to my chest and her soft little fingers curls around my arms. Such tenderness, such softness, such abandoned helplessness brings freshness of the morning to my mind and brings back to life that were dead and withering in my grey mental self. If youth is the spring of life, infancy is the source from where the life begins its journey, and, it is the source of that ephemeral love that sustains and propels our life towards creation and sustainance of this whole universe of human civilization.

BANG ! I hear the bathroom door and wake up from this philosophical stupor to the reallities of life. I can hear my wife waking up my other dearest darlings with occasional sound of whacking up of their bottoms. This is it, I tell myself. Soon the house is filled up with noises of my favourite devils, their fights for the bathrooms and tooth paste, sounds of joy and excitement interspersed with occasional sob or cry. Than there is that deafening noise of my wife shouting at one of the child for his antic of remaining asleep even while brushing his teeth. Tempers cool down and those shouts are things of past and the children are cajoled into dressing up their school uniforms and finishing with their breakfast. My little darling also has her way of ensuring her share of attention by wetting my pants. At this, my four year old daughter Rinyi breaks into peals of laughter and other family members joins with giggles and smirks. At my expense, otherwise tense and serious atmosphere is loosened and the kids are all ready to take on the new day.


Father poor, you all may say as I am asked to dress up quickly and walk down our children to their new school by their mother. The power and terseness in her command would have shamed the best of the army commander. I dress up and gulp down few sips of my morning tea as she stares at the watch on the wall and me as if daring me to be late. Well, well, well .... I tell myself and leave my tea with such longing as would have shamed Juliet's longing for Romeo. I had a duty as father to take my children to school on time and duty as a husband to obey my wife without a question. My dream of life as beauty was transforming into life as a duty.

It is raining out side and my children are dressed in their raincoats. The sight of their raincoats gives me a tinge of jealousy as they are so pretty and tidy compared to dark and drab rain coats of my times. My daughter has a pink colour raincoat with a beautifull prints of puppys with large ears drooping by. Her face shows up pretty and beautifull like a flower in a garden.My son Pading, who is six year old is dressed likewise, only difference being the colour of his raincoat which is green. He is one naughty devil and is behind every prank that keeps the family busy. He is the sunshine, the freshness that keeps the family lively ... and on toes. My sight wanders and rests on my eldest son Dingyang. He has put on a raincoat which we bought two years back. He has overgrown it since and everything seems to be protruding. He tries to remind me I am yet to buy him a new raincoat by trying to button up his raincoat unsuccessfully. I take a mental note of it and acknowledge him with a nod.

My wife hands me her marketing bag to bring back their raincoats and umbrella and I tuck it under my arm obediently. I soothe myself by justifying that these are small things which I can obey, because when bigger decissions of life are made, she obeys me unquestioningly. Takes and gives have to be adjusted into the scheme of life to keep it on track. So much for my wisdom, eh.. I tell myself.

And lo ! we march to the new school my children have joined. As we proceed, my heart skips its beat umpteenth times as they tend to wander towards the middle of road after pulling off their hands from my grip. Splash ... my little devil Pading steps into the puddle of rain water on the road for the third time. Once again I tell him to keep clear of the puddle.... and there again he heads towards the next puddle. Such is the way with children.

On his return from school on first day, Pading had told me in a most spirited way that he had made two new enemies. When I asked how come he made two new enemies where as other boys make new friends in new schools, with a smirk on his face he tells me that a boy tried to mess up with him and in response he punched him till the other boy cried. Then someone from behind caught him and punched him. Pading turned behind and rained punches on the other boy. By then, class teacher appeared and separated them. They were let off with reprimand. He told me with much gutso and sense of triumph. Shall we say he started his new school with a bang!

Squeezing through narrow footpaths and fighting off the traffic we reach their school. As we hug, kiss, and wave our hands off each other and as they step into their respective class rooms, a sense of joy and fulfilment courses through my mind. "Oh! what beauty they are and how lucky I am to have them," I tell myself. But then, isn’t it every parents privilige to feel their love ones are the best. To a parents eye, everything else in this world pales away in the sight of their children. Thus, I try to rationalize my child like exuberance about my kids.

I come back to my wife with her market bag hanging heavy with children's raincoats and their umbrella clutched under my arms. I pretend as if I have been wronged immensely with a somber face. She gives a patronising smile, an understanding nod, pulls up a chair for me and asks whether I would like to have nimbu pani (fresh lemonade) with a mesmeric twinkle in her eyes. Like a pacified child, I give in to her magic and there another part of day begins anew. After all she is a female of species and understands males weakness and their unqualified egoes.

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This is a pen picture of a ordinary morning in a ordinary man's daily life. By the way, I came to Shillong on posting on 2nd May 2009 from New Delhi. My children joined their new school this Monday. This is all for now folks. Bye till I have another innocuous story to tell.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Remembering Afghanistan - I

Life has a way of throwing up surprises, and one such unexpected road which took my life unawares was my posting to Afghanistan. In a hindsight it was a wonderful experience, but living that experience was completely a different song. As one of many aids, Indian government is providing to fledgelling Afghanistan government, road from Zaranj to Delaram (215KM) was also taken up by India. Border road organisation was entrusted with this job. I went there and stayed for two years and came back during November 2007.
I landed up at Kabul Airport on 25th October 2005. The winter was setting in and whip of cold wind played with my unkempt hair as I stepped out of Airport. As I looked out and saw the town surrounded by barren hills, it reminded me of Kathmandu valley. Airport itself reminded me of our old Ziro Airport. Only difference was it had pot holes near the edge of runway and number of bombed Aircraft scattered all over, like broken toy aeroplanes in my children's room. We slowly piled up infront of immigration counter. People at the counter looked at my passport and at me, and scrutinised my face to a point of embrassment, they repeated it for sometime and took me to a different room. They didnt believe I was an Indian and put my pass port to scrutiny again and again. Only after I showed my disqeuit and showed Ministry of External Affairs letter to Afghanistan Embassy, did they let me through ever so reluctantly.
Next morning I flew down to a place called Zaranj in a eight seater small plane. Weather was clear and sky was deep blue stretcing far into the universe. Down below, there was not a whip of cloud, so I could fill my eyes with awsome landscapes. All the way to Zaranj, which took two hours, we crossed mountain range after mountain range, but not a forest was seen. It looked so much like face of mars and other planets as we see in science fiction movies.
Landing at Zaranj was totally a different experience. The runway was not metalled and it was laid with small stone chips. I had the childish fear that one of that stone might pierce the tyre and it would burst. Nonetheless, it landed safely and I experienced the most wonderfull flight I have ever flown.
Zaranj is the capital of Nimroz Province and it is hardly half a mile from Iran border. This is one of the remotest part of Afghanistan. I suppose it should rank among the remotest in the world. The whole of province has not had any metalled road in history. There is a huge market for second hand four wheel SUV cars as all the journey is a cross country run through the desert. There is no system of vehicle registration and driving license. So all the vehicles have the registration numbers of previous country and owner.
There were no banks existing when I landed, and people kept their money with money lenders. There is a money market where various currencies are sold and bought. Currencies of various countries are kept piled up on the shelves and people come and purchase as we buy vegetables from vegetable market in India. It was something very new to me and I took sometime to understand the system. Iran currency i.e rial is the prevailent medium of exchange, although US dollar is also favoured by many. Afganistan govt has introduced Afghani currency and DA Afghan Bank. But people have neither faith in Afgani currency nor DA Afghan Bank. So, they still prefer to keep their money with money lenders and hold foreign currencies. There are no cultivable lands nor any industry, but God has blessed them with acumen for money management. So, they are very gud business men.
Security was a big issue. Although Taliban govt had fallen two years back, it was resurfacing in this part of Afghanistan with much more vigour and determination. Within twenty days of joining, one of our men from Kerala was kidnapped and beheaded. Many a time our people used to be ambushed on the road sides. There was a constant fear stalking us whenever we moved out side. Every vehicle we passed by was viewed as a potential suicide jihadi. There were times at night when one would watch rockets falling around the camp with total dispondency. These were moments of heplessness. We lost number of our own people and also Afghani soldiers who were guarding us to our enemies. Reminds me of " There are no atheists in a cornered place." Everybody thought of their maker in those situations.
I came back to India towards the end of November 2007. Today, the road stands completed and the the remotest place in Afghanistan stands connected to the rest of Afghanistan .
Afghani People are warm and hospitable, but have that trait of short tepmer which comes in a package with honesty and simplicity.
These are some of snaps which I thought I should share with you all.




Infront of my makeshift office with my staff at Gurguri, Afghanistan.
Visiting a road construction site.


New Road being built. Zaranj - Delaram, Afghanistan.


Afghani warriors to guard us.



Commander in the centre fell prey to Taliban bullets.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Remembering Afghanistan - II

Outside Minar village over an old burial ground. Afghanistan.
Minar Village, Afghanistan

Entrance to Minar Village, Afghanistan.

One for Memory. Minar Village, Afghanistan.




Goat strolling on the roof of a house.



Remembering Afghanistan - Trip to Minar village - III



Inside a courtyard of Afghani House.


Inside Afghani house with a Afghani Patriach.



With Afghani Family Patriach.




With young boys of Minar Village, Afghanistan.





Before leaving the village, group photo for remembrance.
Odd man out with Afghani villagers.