Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Visitations from the past





 The shrill ring brought Darpana out of her reverie. Another of those customer care calls. Of late, these call centres are turning out to be a bother. The number was saved on her phonebook; so she had no difficulty in  canceling the call.


A sigh slipped out of her. Something made her glance upward--she couldn't see  herself in the rusty mirror, ...and yet she knew that her lips were parted...Abhi would often tease her for this—whether sad, or happy, or listening intently , or viewing somebody ... or simply thinking—her lips would remain parted. Whenever they went hiking into the wilds,  he would tell her that this would be her last trip, for “won’t a baby snake enter your gaping mouth  as you sleep? Or else an insect”, curving his lips hw would smile....he had a unique smile, didn't he?... he would emphasise, “some insect will definitely crawl in…the way you sleep with your mouth open”. “Don’t say mouth, say lips…that sounds better”, Darpana would feign anger. And thus they would go on with their meaningless ramble. How nice it had felt then. It feels good even now, reminiscing...
she absently pushed away a strand of hair from her eyes...how he had loved that..the way her long black tresses, would fall over him as he lay on her lap, while she kept poring over her books..she glanced upwards


Darpana suddenly  stifled. the cobwebs had been pushed back. She could see herself clearly in the mirror now...


lips withered, hair frayed , ashy...Darpana Rajkumari couldn't recognize anymore (those) visitations from her past....

Sunday, July 18, 2010

memories, imagination and words

we paint with colours....we paint with words....and we paint with feelings as well.
as i sit down at my computer this rain drenched morning, i witness a beautiful sight just outside my window...an emerald countryside, with lush green paddy on either side, as far and as wide as the eye can see....bluish hils in the distance, and a silent solemn Kopili sailing beside. The road is bumpy, and full of interjections--cows lazing, snotty children playing, tanned workers drying hay in d sun--all on the road, and yet, for a first timer like yours truly, its fun. The driver grumbles at the pathetic roads...and i laugh in glee each time we ride the bumps and troughs of this apology of a road...the countryside around me lilts and sways .. and .i am reminded of Dylan Thomas
                    "All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay"
                                                                                 I know not how it is, and yet I can smell the hay.
we arrive at our destination--kampur--snuggled amidst memories, in the district of Nagon, it falls somewhere in between NH 36 and NH 37. The railways are the most effective means for transmuters. It is a town, and yet, the Kapili flows alongside...it is a few steps away from where we are put up. I am thrilled. The blessings of technology are to be seen everywhere, and yet somehow people haven't forgotten to be warm. It is my first time there, and not even for once do i feel that i am not  at home. a small world, people mostly know one another, and by the time we bid adieus to this place..i know most of them too...
we returned through  nagaon via Kathiatoli , and the sights, once again, are breathtaking. This road too isn't different--bumpy as the previous one(which by the way was the road that led directly to Kampur from Roha)---and yet the countryside is equally enthralling. It is emerald-hued, and as we  drive along country roads, the rain sprinkles... soon after the sun smiles....and then, like magic i see the most beautiful rainbow i have ever seen...it is a double rainbow actually....two wide colourful arcs..one a reversed shadow of the other, two beauty-full semicircles...it almost seems as though the heavens are smiling...(doesnt a rainbow remind you of an inverted smile??to me it does, here there are two)................and then just at the point on the earth from where the brighter arc seems2emanate there is a solitary hut, with a clump of trees(in the midst of acres and acres of paddy). Screened by the rainbow, the hut is drenched in colour. It feels as though this hut were a pebble plonked into the river of nature , and the rainbow, and its shadow close by  ripples in the wind.........
brrrrrrrrrrrr..........bbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
the phone barks out its vibrations,..and i m jolted out of my reverie...a missed call.......i look out of my window,the countryside vanishes..its a concrete porch right outside my window...replete with cars parked and labourers working...obstructing the view of the lawn at our neighbours.....dejection tries to set in...d feeling that had originally led me into my reverie through words....but i refuse..i refuse to be bogged down any longer...rejuvenated, i wind up my account, and gear myself for my next project......suffused with colours, suffused  with memories, imaginations and words..........

*besides i was foolhardy enough to forget my camera at home....so i hv uploaded acouple of pix hoping it helps in d effect...
* http://maps.google.co.in/maps?hl=en&q=kampur+nagaon&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=Kampur,+Assam&gl=in&ei=_6dCTO2yK47-vQPL4oz4DA&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CAoQ8gEwAA

Thursday, May 20, 2010

hope

a strip of ice floats over the azure sky,

ramola gazes, open eyed...
       her eyes...
                 caverns of her soul.
Sprinkilng love, she croons
pristine melodies ...
ramola gazes open-eyed...
a strip of ice glides across an azure sky
Sprinkling hope
...the parched earth would be quenched soon...

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

untitled

as is sat before my computer this afternoon, to check my mails...something told me this was to be an afternoon with a difference.

(Sounds clichéd ..ain't it? but then we are all made up of clichés ....) anyway....i felt an urge...there were those strange waves at the pit of my stomach....a strange tumult that i have long not felt...a feeling which is excitement, thrill and glee mixed in sweet harmony.....a feeling that has caused a spring in my step, a smile hangs upon my lips…when I answer a call, it is with a zest that surprises even my closest friends.…m not even angry anymore….
People call it love….for me, it is the experience of creation…

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Bihugeet

We can hardly think of Bohaag Bihu without remembering the Bihugeet. In fact, the festival of Bihu, particularly Rongali Bihu is incomplete without the rendition of the bihugeet to the accompaniment of the reverberating dhol(drum) , the throbbing gogona, the rhythm of the toka, and the melody of the baahi(flute) and the mohor xingor pepa (instrument made out of buffalo horn); and the eternal Bihu dance matching steps.



And yet, the bihuget has undergone its own journey since the beginnings of time, evolving through the ages.It traces its origins to the distant past when, primitive man, leaving behind his nomadic life, began living in settlements. Probably at such a time during his spare hours or even while engrossed in his daily activities man’s creativity had sprouted –pouring forth impromptu tunes and verses. These melodious notes were derived from nature; and so were the verses –(which were) impressions and inspirations of nature’s myriad forms. Thus nature is central to the bihugeet.



Almost all festivals the world over have economic victory as their major driving force. And Bihu too is no exception. Even the Vedic yagya had as its primary objective prayers for increase of production. Since societies were essentially agrarian increase in production implied (the need for ) increase in the fertility of the soil. For this purpose in the ancient times different societies performed different rituals songs and dances, songs which had overtly erotic sentiments. It was believed that such songs and dances would stimulate Mother Earth and heighten her productivity. Thus love, passion, the sensual urge have found expression in the bihugeet. However, there is much more to the bihugeet than these. The bihugeet is the living reservoir of the Assamese culture. It is man’s intense desire for life. It is the succour for the (city-going) multitudes distanced from the joy and sweat of work in the fields. The melody of the Bihugeet revives life just as the season of Spring(Bohaag) rejuvenates barren nature. The bihugeet in true ,earthy colours give expression to the hopes, aspirations joys, sorrows, emotions and experiences of the people. However, for a long time, and for diverse reasons many people particularly the so-called educated class and /or the middle class had strong reservations about these (Bihu) songs and dances. There were people who would even term it obscene. However, with time and with its simplicity and grandeur, the Bihugeet has won over its obstacles, establishing itself as an art form , as the song of life. As somebody has rightly said whatever is not in the bihugeet is not to be found in Assamese social life.

At the same time in its long journey down the meshes of time the bihugeet has added different elements repertoire. Under the influence of the Neo-Vaishnavite movement under Sri Sri Sankardeva and Sri Sri Madhavdeva, words like ‘Ram’, ‘Krishna’, ‘Gobinda’, ‘Gobindaai-Ram’ were incorpoprated into the bihugeet. For instance—

“Joidoul Xivadoul Oi Ram, Ranghar Karenghar Oi Ram

Axomor Bijoy Kiriti Hari Gopaalo Gobindo Ram”



During the Ahom reign, the bihugeet, underwent many additions. In the eighteenth century during the reign of Swargadeo Rudrasingha the festival of Bihu earned royal patronage. Bihu songs and dances came to be performed by villagers before the Swargadeo(king) at Ranghar Baakori besides at the households of other important ministers and the Ahom nobility. For instance—

“Swargadeo Olale, Batsorar Mukholoi

Duliyai Paatile Dola

Kaanote Jilikil Nora Jangfai

Gaate Gomsengor Solaa”

[The Swargadeo appears at the gateway/The palanquin bearer readies his palanquin(dola)/Nora Jangfai(traditional jewellery) glitters on his(the Swargadeo’s) earlobes/As he dons himself in the finest robes]



Again, commemorating the Swargadeo’s hunting trips(for they were expert hunters), somebody had sung-

“Swargadeo Goisil Pohu Mariboloi

Sungote Godhuli Hol,

Kunworiye Xudhile Kom Kiye Buli

Jaal Faali Horina Gol”

[The Swargadeo had been to hunt deer, and it got late in the evening, what do I answer the Kunwori(queen) when she asks about the hunt, the deer ran away tearing the trap]



The bravery of the Ahom general Lachit Borphukan in a historical event like the famous battle at Saraighat (where an ailing Lachit led the Assamese army to victory over the Mughals) have been immortalized in such compositions as—

“Saraighatot Kandile Lachit Borphukane

Barhamputrai Xolaale Bhex,

Xonar Axomot Kinu Jui Laagise

Sokut Nai Tuponir Lex”

[Lachit creid at Saraighat , and the Brahmaputra changed its form/What fire swathes the Golden Axom, all sleep have deserted

during the British rule again, many significant changes came over the bihugeet. The Britishers set up tea gardens all over Assam. Consequently, somebody sang—



“Mohoriloi Jabagoi MOharani hobagoi

Sokit Bohi Khabagoi Bhat,

Bagaanor Cooliye Babuwoni Bulibo

Xiu hobo Omaator-maat.”

[If you get married to a mohori (clerk), you’ll live like a queen(maharani)/you’ll sit

on chairs and eat/the labourers(coolie) will call you babuwoni, even that will sound pleasing to the ear].

The British rule ushered in radical shifts/changes in the lifestyle of the Assamese people , and the above geet throws such a hint. Among others, one of the blessings(if we might use the term) of the British rule was the railways that improved transport and communication. That moment too was crystallized for posterity with a bihugeetlike—

“Ukiyai Ukiyai, Relgaari Solile

Dibrut Godhuli Hol;

Tomaak Anim Buli Bore Ghore Xajilu

Goru Bondha Gohali HOl”

[Screeching loudly, the train(relgaari) moved on/Dusk fell on Dibru/Dreaming of bringing you home, I built a bor ghar(the house in which the owner sleeps and valuable possessions are kept)/ that has now turned into a gohali(cowshed)]
We also learn about the different artifacts of our culture from our bihugeet. For instance, when we sing—

“Gogona Aaaroni Gogona Puroni

Gogona Kihere Baai

Dufaale Dusoti Maajote Esoti

Mugaxuta Logaaye Baai”

--we are teaching our future about the musical instrument gogona.

At the same time, the bihugeet cries out in protest against discriminations of caste that hinder the union of two lovers—

“Saut Saute Jopona Doete

Bindhile Aghoya Hule

Tomaar Mone Gole Muru Mone Gole

Ki Koribo Kalita Kule.”



Spring is not only the season of the young(the young at heart), it is also the season when passions are in a tumult. Bihugeet speak of the passion throbbing the bosom of lovers—

“Dhole bai dhuliyai khole bai khuliyai

Kar ghoror nasoniye nase

Osor sapi sapi nahiba nasoni

Tomar gat mohani ase.”

[the dhuliya plays the dhol the khuliya plays the khol/to which family does the dancer belong/do not draw near O fair dancer/you have charm in you] or else

“Haah hoi porimgoi tomare pukhurit
Paro hoi porimgoi saalot
Ghame hoi bagorim tumare xorirot
Makhi hoi suma dim gaalot”

[I shall be a swan and swim in your pond/I shall be a pigeon and perch on your roof/I shall ne a streak of sweat and roll down your body/I shall be a fly and kiss your cheeks]



However—

“Sote goye goye bohaage paalehi

Phulile bhebeli lota

Koino koi thakote oroke nopore

Rongali bihure kotha.”

with the month of sot drawing to an end and the arrival of Bohaag, the bhebeli creeper is in full bloom, there will be no end, (even) if I go on talking of Bihu[and in this context, the Bihugeet. Therefore, with the belief that we shall meet again to continue our discussion on this beautiful art form, here’s wishing you all a colourful and melodious Rongali Bihu…