Innocence At Its Best

I call up my mother everyday as I know she feels restless if she does not speak with me. Yesterday I had called her up as usual at 8:30 PM and to my surprise my niece picked up the phone (she must have won the race to the landline telephone beating my mother to it). My niece, Titiksha, is three and a half years old and seldom talks to me over the phone except whenever she feels like reciting the latest poem she has learned at playschool.

After first complaining that "Maa, is not allowing me to see Chota Bheem on TV", she asked if she can ask a question. When I replied in the affirmative. Pat came the query, "Where is the new little baby, who was supposed to come to your house?"

The question was asked with so much of innocence that I could not help smiling. She must have been thinking about asking this to me for quiet sometime, however she must have been asked never to ask this question  to either me or Vidisha by my brother and sister in law after our daughter Mayra passed away.. Finally she had got the opportunity to ask this question and her curiosity got the better of her.

I had still not replied to her, when she repeated the question again. I told her, the baby went back away as she did not like our house.

Hmmm!! She mulled over my answer for a couple of seconds before telling, "Don't worry a new baby will come over soon who will like your house".

Innocence at its best...I sure hope her words are true.

A Father's Obituary For A Daughter

Life has a way of passing by silently leaving you open mouthed and speechless sometimes. I have been away from my blog for quite some time now because of something similar in my life. 

The year 2013 began on a happy and expectant note for the both of us. Vidisha and I were expecting our first child and we were a bundle of nerves. I had sent away Vidisha to Kanpur so that she would be taken care off at my in-laws place. After all the first pregnancy of a woman is a time when she needs the utmost care and what better place to be taken care off and pampered than in your own home.

They say, a man learns about parenthood when he holds his first child in his arms while a woman learns about motherhood when the child kicks for the first time in her womb. Vidisha gave birth to a baby girl on 6th March 2013. I had missed the birth of my child because I was stuck in Chennai with office work. However, I booked my flight ticket and landed in Kanpur a day later on the 7th of March. I could not take my eyes off my little bundle of joy. She was so pretty. So tiny. So cute. So very special.

Vidisha was very tired but both of us could not help smiling and crying at the same time as we saw our first born sleeping there peacefully. I was the happiest MAN on the planet then and I am sure Vidisha was the happiest WOMAN.

We named her ‘Mayra’ which meant loved by everyone and gave her the nick name ‘Sia’. We were weaving dreams around our child and were looking forward to bringing her to Chennai in a couple of month’s time. I had planned to paint the spare bedroom pink for her. Buy tons and tons of toys for her. Leave office early everyday just to watch little Mayra sleep. I wanted to watch her crawl, standup, stumble and walk in front of my eyes.

But alas, life has its own strange way of playing cruel games with us, of shattering our dreams and leaving us disillusioned with our own life. I had taken a flight from Lucknow to Chennai early morning at 5:00 AM on 13th March. I had hugged my child lightly and my wife tightly. I had taken care not to wake little Mayra before I bid adieu to her. It was the most difficult goodbye of my life. I simply did not want to leave sight of Mayra.

I landed in Chennai at 3:00 PM and turned on my phone after getting off the flight. I was stunned and could not believe the words which were being spoken to me by Ashok uncle. "Mayra is no more" How could that be possible? She was hale and hearty in the morning barely 10 hours ago. But it was the truth. The bitter truth. The wail that escaped Vidisha when I spoke with her a minute later was heart rending. Her tears of anguish, that afternoon, is something which will haunt me forever the rest of my life.

Mayra had breathing problems earlier that afternoon and by the time she was rushed to the hospital it was all over.

Vidisha came back to be with me almost immediately after this unfortunate event. Her tears every night burned my cheeks. I could not cry like her for I had to remain strong for the sake of both of us. I used to wait for Vidisha to cry herself to sleep every night before I could allow the luxury of silent tears to myself.

Life has lost its sheen for us. Our dreams have been shattered. However life must go on. We have picked up whatever remains of our shattered life and decided to place our belief on the adage, "Whatever happens, happens for the best."

It is nearing 3 months now since she left us. I could not summon myself to write about her up until now. However I have realized that life is like a book which has a new story to tell when we turn over the page.

We miss you....We really miss you Mayra....

 Dear God,

Please take care of our little girl,

The one with big eyes and soft curls.

She was special, as you should know,

We really didn't want to let her go but we had to....

R.I.P Mayra Misra

March 6, 2013 - March 13, 2013

We hold you close within our hearts,

and there you will remain,

to walk with us throughout our lives

until we meet again...

Book Review: Ayodhya: The Dark Night

Title: Ayodhya: The Dark Night

Summary: The Secret History of Rama's Appearance in Babri Masjid

Author: Krishna Jha & Dhirendra K. Jha

I just finished reading this book titled Ayodhya: The Dark Night. I would recommend this book to every Indian for the very simple reason to understand about the politics which we are experiencing now.

In fact how many of us actually know about some of these facts:

•  Ram Lalla never appeared miraculously in side the Babri Masjid, as held in popular belief. It was a vairagi by the name of Abhiram Das who actually placed the statues clandestinely.
• BJP was created by members of Congress Party who were Hindu Fundamentalists against the secularism preached by Gandhi and Nehru.
• The Hindu Mahasabha was the organization behind the Mahatma's assassination although for some strange reasons it could never be proved.
• People in the Mahasabha were opportunists whose only fundamental thought process was to make Muslims in India second class citizens.
• Nehru had the guts to kick the behinds of the perpetrators and was never weak as commonly understood by modern day Indian youth.

That was the Anti- Modi side of me ranting about facts. Anyways the book  throws some much needed light on the true history of the Hindu parties of India.

The systematic planned degradation of Muslims  in post -partition India and especially Ayodhya is really eye opening. The narrative is breathtaking and has been painstakingly put together by the authors Krishna Jha and Dhirendra k. Jha who have interviewed the survivors of that clandestine plan.

The Hindu Mahasabha which had been linked to the Mahatma Gandhi assassination's had its back broken post that ghastly act by the combined effect of the Nehru/Patel led investigations and the popular discontent of the masses. I mean look at their thought process. They were under the impression they would first kill Gandhi ji and then follow it with a pogrom against the Muslims and in turn make India a Hindu "only" country. This was supposed to endear them to the masses and win them the elections. However their plans were decimated but they were not to be kept quiet for too long. They then hit on the golden plan of converting the mosque into a temple and strike the communal chord again. The book details the plans of how this was all done.

The book doesn't touch on the fact whether there was a temple originally there or not. 

But hell, who cares, there was a place of worship there and it was desecrated on 22 Dec 1949 and later razed to the ground in 06 Dec 1992.

 All in all a nice book to read if you want to know about the truth about Indian politics.

Book Review - Dozakhnama: Conversations in Hell

Title: Dozakhnama: Conversations in Hell

Author: Rabisankar Bal

Translator: Arunava Sinha

To be honest the book had me just after I read its name, "Dozakhnama: Conversations in Hell"....Dozakhnama....what an interesting sounding word.

I had mixed feeling of should I buy this to read or look for something else to read in Landmark, Chennai. The reason for the mixed feelings were unambiguous.....the book was a translation from the original Bengali to English by a guy called Arunava Sinha.....Hmmmm translations I have come across those....and some of them are seriously crap. I had once purchased an English translation of Nirmala by Munshi Premchand....Believe me the translator had RAPED English language in the book.... I had put down the book after reading just 2 pages even after I had spent 200 bucks on it..Till date I haven't read Nirmala :(

But when I read the book's jacket....I knew I cannot miss this one...It had the names of two of India's greatest ever writers in it....One who's ghazal's these days seem to be remembered only by alcoholics and the other ....well modern India doesn't even know that he was an Indian.

Mirza Ghalib

I am talking of Mirza Ghalib and Sadat Hasan Manto. One who was ridiculed during his living days as a writer of incomprehensible poetry and the other who was hounded throughout his life for writing and had the temerity to order his epitaph to read "....Under tons of earth he lies, still wondering who among the two is greater short-story writer: God or He.”

Let me confess here, I am a huge huge HUGE fan of Sadat Hasan Manto....I will definitely write an essay on him, whenever I get the time

Sadat Hasan Manto

Well back to the book review, the book begins with an old man handing a young journalist a manuscript which according to him is the last writing of Manto. The journalist cannot read Urdu and therefore takes the manuscript to a well-read young lady to translate to English.....

Here begins the story....

Manto has died and decides to talk to the one person he looked up to all his life.....Mirza Ghalib....Yes, my friends, they are two human beings who died 100 years apart and they are having a conversation....from their graves and let me tell you the conversation is witty, intellectual, peppered with historical true facts and describes the life and times of 1840's as well as 1940's India.

The book tells the story of the Mirza Ghalib who lost his father in a war thereby leaving Mirza and his mother without a house. Mirza grows up without a father figure in his life as he lives with his maternal grandparents. The obsession of owning a house can be felt throughout the novel with Mirza ultimately dying without owning a house himself. The book paints a very different picture of the 1857 revolt which had been witnessed first-hand by Mirza. Peppered with ghazals and small anecdotes the writing is exquisite.

Now coming to Manto's part of the book. Manto shows his irascible self. His obsession with prostitutes and his justification of "there needs to be someone there to write down a dream of a prostitute" makes him all the more endearing. Manto had an equally interesting life and describes life in pre-partition India and then Pakistan. The stories and anecdotes including intercepts from his banned story, "Thanda Gosth",are each a gem worth treasuring for life.

The book has alternating chapters with Mato followed by Ghalib talking to each other. Each chapter carries forward the timeline with short stories and anecdotes. So in a way it can be said to be an anthology of stories too. However a word of advice, the book is heavy reading and not something which can be considered to be popcorn fiction. How I wished I knew Urdu to read the ghazals written in the book. Although trust me the English translations are equally well written. The stories in the book grow on you as you read them...

If I needed to choose sides, then my choice for obvious reasons will be the Manto part of the book. As according to me, Sadat Hasan Manto was one of the greatest storytellers of pre-partition unified India. An author whom India consciously removed from its consciousness and an author whom Pakistan never accepted as one of its own.

The book as I have already mentioned was written in Bengali and translated to English by Arunava Sinha. While we need to bow our heads before the author, Rabisankar Bal, for having the vision to write this...I would like to doff my hat to Arunava Sinha, the translator of this book. Let me put down in writing, never ever has a translation from a regional language to English been done so beautifully.

This is a book I will treasure throughout my life and will definitely be reading again and again.

The Irreligious Dog

The Masjid in a small nondescript town had been pulled down by Hindu fanatics about a week back. The town which had long lost its importance and had become a faded page in the annals of history had suddenly been catapulted to the limelight. The land long forsaken by the God’s played host to humans now. However for some strange reason, the humans seemed to be invoking the God’s using loud speakers. The cacophony consisted of loud calls of “Allah Hu Akbar” interspersed by “Jai Sri Ram”.

 Hordes of people had arrived prior to the beginning of the vandalism. The triumphant crowd of fanatics decided to rub salt in the wounds by staying back in large numbers to show their strength in numbers. The denizens of the small town which comprised members of the Hindu majority and the Muslim minority suddenly found themselves in none too likeable position. The numbers on the Hindu side swelled like a pregnant river with the melting of the snow in the summers. However the worst off were not the two legged Homo sapiens who had lived like the siblings of step parents before the act of vandalism. The worst off were the four legged dogs who used to be the kings of their streets, but no longer. This is the story of one such four legged dog.

The town which used to already overflow with humans, cows, dogs, monkeys and garbage was now bursting at its seams. The fanatics had set up camps around the Muslim localities in order to flex their muscles so that the Muslims might not conduct any misadventure like breaking the makeshift temple built over the Masjid which in turn had been built on top of a temple. Ghetto's soon formed with the youth on each side holding their positions like battlements. Each side held their ghetto with the military precision with night watchmen and lookouts posted. Skirmishes were common in the dark of the night as the "Kattas" or country made guns were common.

It was the turn of Ramu to be posted as the night watchman of the Hindu camp along with half a dozen others. They held forth on an "L" shaped street corner, with one end of the "L" being the Hindu border and the other end of the "L" being the Muslim border. Ramu having arrived just after the Masjid had been vandalized was feeling left out and bored. He could not prove his bravado as the brick and mortar of the Masjid had fallen before he arrived at the site. What would he tell his friends when he returned back? Mulling over these thoughts and drowsy with sleep his thoughts wondered off to the "Katta" he had purchased just before boarding the train to this godforsaken town.

Suddenly he became alert, were his ears playing tricks or did he hear a scurrying sound emanating from across the street corner. Maybe the one of the Muslims was trying to escape the Hindu embargo forced upon them. Maybe a good time to test the precision of his "Katta". Maybe the time for him to return a hero had arrived. As all of these thoughts were swirling in his mind, he concentrated in the darkness towards the street corner. He was disappointed when he saw the source of the sound. It was a scrawny looking impoverished young dog who seemed to be sniffing around the roadside for some food. On smelling the human, the dog’s ear stood in alarm. But being a street dog he was used to the kindness of humans who threw scraps at him and sometimes kicked him when he lingered longer than necessary. Maybe this human would give some food and with these thoughts it scampered towards the human its tail swinging from side to side. Ramu breathed a sigh of relief as he relaxed on seeing the dog. Bored as he was and desperately seeking the intimacy of some living thing, he welcomed the dog’s friendship request. Searching his pockets, he found a scrap of the leftover roti from his dinner earlier in the evening and threw it over. The dog gobbled up the roti and started yelping and wagging its tail even more. By this time the rest of the night guards had come over to Ramu's corner to see what the commotion all about was.

The dog suddenly found an abundance of food as each of the people parted with some food scraps. They decided to play with the dog to while away their boredom. As the dog playfully jumped around, it endeared itself to the humans with its doggyness. The dog started showing them all the tricks it had learnt over its lifetime of 2 years like standing up on two feet, chasing its own tail, sniffing at the crotches of humans.

For some apparent reason, it felt these humans loved its trick of standing up on its hind legs maybe it was because the humans walked in that funny way on their two hind legs. Hanumant one of the guards asked Ramu what the name of the dog was. Ramu thought over it and said lets first get a string and a piece of cardboard and we will think of a name meanwhile. Lakhan one of the other guards was sent away to arrange for a string and a cardboard to tie a dog tag around the dog. As Lakhan returned with the essentials, Ramu set about tying the string around the dog's neck. What was this? There already was a name tag on the dog and horror of horrors it had been christened as “Chappad Ganju”.

As an afterthought someone had added a second line in green ink on the dog tag. The name tag on the dog read

Chappad Ganju

A "Muslim"Dog

As Ramu told about this new development to the other guards, the oldest among them Sitaram said we too can play this game and beat the previous masters of Chappad Ganju at their own game. As he was speaking he along with Ramu tied the new string along with the cardboard dog tag around the dog. On it was scribbled in red ink

Shappad Sanju

A "Hindu" Dog

Chappad nee Shappad did not mind the string around its neck on the contrary it felt elated. This was the second string which had been tied around its neck on the same day. As the string meant among the dogs that it had friends now who would take care of it and provide food forever. All of its fellow street dogs dreamt of a string such as this around their scrawny necks. Ohh!! How proud it felt? How jealous its friends would feel when they saw these two beautiful strings around its neck.

As the night became ripe into a nascent blooming day, all the guards including Ramu, Hanumant, Sitaram and Lakhan retired to their tents to catch their forty winks. Chappad nee Shappad followed them into the camp thinking that maybe some new games will be played here. But the guards all went away to take a nap. Chappad being Chappad started feeling bored so decided to wander off in the streets. Maybe show off its newly tied strings to its friends on the nearby streets. So off went Chappad nee Shappad on its jaunt. That day was the best day of its life as all the other street dogs looked up at him in awe. As Chappad nee Shappad recounted its tale of how two strings had been tied by two separate human groups, it felt it was the cynosure of all the audience comprising of 5 other dogs (2 among them rabid), 3 cows, 2 calf’s, and 14 vultures near the local dump yard. Oh!! How proud its parents would have felt if they would have been alive today?

As the day turned from ripe to riper and the heat became unbearable, Chappad nee Shappad started feeling sleepy and retired to a shady spot near the dump yard to doze off. It dreamt and in its dreams it saw the bearded Rahim tying the first string around its neck and then followed by the duo called Sitaram and Ramu tying another string around its neck. Soon 9 separate clouds wafted in and Chappad nee Shappad was playfully jumping from one cloud onto the other trying to catch the butterflies wafting around them. Then suddenly it felt as if something gave away. The clouds dissipated and Chappad nee Shappad had a free fall. Its arms and legs flailing it landed painfully on its back on the ground. The pain was unbearable, it wanted to yelp in pain but no sound emerged. It felt something cold on the fur on its back. Slowly it turned its head to see Rahim standing there, eyes glowering at it. Chappad nee Shappad could not understand the glowering eyes and turned around to see Ramu, Sitaram, Lakhan and Hanumant also standing nearby huffing and puffing with anger.

Just at this moment a rickety old police jeep with its sirens blaring signaling the beginning of the nightly curfew passed near the dump yard startling poor Chappad nee Shappad from its sleep. Brrrrrr!!! Darkness had set in and Chappad nee Shappad had just broken a cold sweat which felt even colder as it dripped down its forehead. That was a very strange dream thought Chappad nee Shappad. Why had his human friends looked so strange? Where had the benevolent smiles disappeared? "Ohh!! Forget it". It’s just a stupid dream, that’s what it told itself as it shrugged off the eerie feeling.

As the night grew darker Chappad nee Shappad stretched its legs and felt a soft growl in its stomachs. It decided to pay its human friends a visit as after all the humans had tied strings around its neck solemnizing the bond of friendship only yesterday. The humans would definitely arrange for some food which would silence the two rats rumbling in its empty stomach. It walked towards that "L" shaped street corner where its friends lived.

Rahim, a strapping lad of two score and five years was guarding the Muslim end of the street. Armed with his own "Katta" he felt comfortable as the warmth of the cold steel made him feel alive. Just as he was about to open the packet containing his dinner to eat, he saw that friendly street dog walking towards him with its tails wagging. "Well, Hello!! Chappad Ganju. Where had you been yesterday night? I had brought an extra roti for you yesterday, but you never showed up. As he remembered the wasted food of yesterday Rahim kicked at Chappad Ganju. Chappad thinking it was some new game its friend was playing side stepped the kick easily and started wagging its tail even more. Rahim laughed as the dog came closer and nuzzled its head near him. "I missed you Chappad Ganju. You had me worried yesterday night when you didn't turn up" Rahim said. As he was talking with the dog, Rahim brushed the back of the dog. That is the time when he realized that there was a new dog tag around the dogs neck. He took his torch out and tried to read what was written on the new tag. As he finished reading, Shappad Sanju - A "Hindu" Dog, his blood started boiling. The bile turned inside him. That bitter taste called hatred stung his tongue with vehemence. "Bastards!!!" Rahim shouted loudly so that his voice travelled the "L" of the "L" shaped street corner to no one in particular. The fury which had been convulsing inside him had inadvertently found vent in his fingers which had started pinching the furry back of the dog. Chappad tried to ignore the pain thinking it was a game, but then it became unbearable. It yelped in fear and slunk away from Rahim. This was the time when Rahim realized he had been trying to smother Chappad and as a result the dog had slunk away. Breathing in and out he controlled his anger and contemplated upon the course of action to be taken.

Rahim took out his pen and scribbled some of the choicest expletives targeted at the other community on the dog tag. Then feeding the dog with a scrap of Roti, he instructed it, "Chappad Ganju, take my message which is tied around your neck to your unholy friends. Don't wander away trying to fool me. I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery. Your treachery if you dare to show it will be awarded with death". Chappad Ganju was feeling a sense of déjà-vu as it noticed a change in the way the human was speaking with it. Why was it feeling like the human was speaking harsh words to it? "Now go away you ungrateful wretch" bellowed Rahim as he kicked the dog.

Yelping away and not sensing what had gone wrong with the human, it tried to limp away to the other end of the "L" shaped street. As it turned around the sharp 90 degree corner of the "L: shaped street, Ramu and his night guard friends noticed it limping towards him. The initial sense of happiness on seeing the friendly street dog was snuffed out like a candle in a storm when Lakhan whispered aloud, "Did you see, that mangy dog just came from the Muslim side of the street?" "We gave it food and played with it yesterday and look that unappreciative dog is still showing loyalty to it old masters" scorned Hanumant. Sitaram shouted aloud "traitor". Ramu pulled out his country made "Katta" and aimed at the limping dog. Grinding his teeth in anger, Ramu muttered "even dogs need to decide if they are Hindu or Muslims".

KATTA

The first bullet fired from Ramu hit inches from the front paw of Chappad nee Shappad. It got scared, more from the loud bang which emanated from the gun than the smoke emitting from the ground in front of it where the hot bullet had got lodged. Chappad nee Shappad stood glued to the ground unable to comprehend what was happening over here even as Ramu and his friends were shouting expletives at it aloud. The brain on Chappad nee Shappad was working in overdrive, first the angry muttering from the solitary human followed by the hard kick and now the loud bang and the shouting by the other group of humans. What had it done to deserve this?

Just at this moment a second loud bang could be heard followed by the shattering of its left foreleg. The pain was unbearable for poor Chappad nee Shappad. It hobbled and looked imploringly towards Ramu and his gang who seemed to be shooing him away. Turning on its heels, it tried to return the way it had come. A third bang was heard as Rahim nodded with satisfaction on seeing the smoke emanating from the barrel of his "Katta". Unfortunately the bullet had missed its mark as the dog had been hobbling up and down. Rahim shouted loud enough for the dog to hear, "Remember who you are, do not show treachery in front of me otherwise you will die a dogs death". Poor Chappad nee Shappad was terrified by now. What bloody evil had taken over the minds of these people? Why were they trying to harm it? Chappad nee Shappad looked with tears running down its eyes and blood flowing from the stump of what was left of its left foreleg. It was standing exactly at the corner of the "L" shaped street as these ghastly events were unfolding in front of it. Chappad nee Shappad looked imploringly to the right once where the group of humans still stood shouting loudly then it looked left where the solitary human was brandishing his gun at it.

It tried to take a step forward towards the pavement away from Rahim and Ramu. Ramu and his friends thought the dog was coming towards them while at the other end of the street Rahim felt the dog was returning towards him. Angered by the insolence showed by the dog, Rahim fired off his weapon of death a second time that night and the bullet hit the dog this time. Before the sound of the Muslim gun fire had died down another loud bang was heard as a second bullet pierced the dog. This time the culprit had been the smoking "Katta" in the hands of Ramu. Chappad nee Shappad yelped one last time before life ebbed away swiftly and a calm darkness enveloped its eyes.

Authors Note: The author has no intention of disrespecting any community. Please do forgive the author if this story offends any ones sensibilities.

If only all of us would realize that no one can build a country on their own. A nation is great when we built it together.

As a parting thought the author would like to say Thank You to Sadat Sahib.

Bada Dethei - A Personal Post

Bada Dethei has passed away..Thats what the SMS read when I read it
around midnight on 26th April 2012. Just as the reluctant darkness of
the room was sliced by  the light of the moblie screen, the news
sliced through me to sink in reluctantly....

Bada Dethetei to my non-Odiya friends is the wife of the eldest
brother of my father.....How could the news be true? I admit that she
had complained of chest pain a fortnight back. But the Doctors had
gone through with the whole gamut of tests and declared that she was
fine....But I knew the news was true,because it was sent by my sister
in law and I know her very well. She would never say such a thing in
jest.....

My wife was sleeping peacefully at the other end of the bed....I had
by that time re-read the SMS atleast 5 times....and it still read the
same....I went blank....I did not know what to say....what not to
say....how to react....My mind became absolutely blank....I stood up
and then sat down...and then walked out to the balcony of my
house......The night was a balmy one and I could see the stars
twinkling.... I read the SMS again....Realization set in...No matter
how many times I read the SMS...it will continue to shout out the same
bad news in its own mute way.....

Words were failing me but strange enough my tears were failing me
too.....I uttered a prayer asking for God to ensure my bada dethei's
soul rests peacefully....I was thinking of calling someone in Cuttack
immediately but decided against it.....I was going to be of no use
absolutely to them.....and my phone call would be more of a nusianse
than anything.....

So many memories flooded into my mings....Bada Dethei....she ad been
named Lakshmi and had been true to her
name....Beautiful....Gentle...

Mild Mannered...Always Caring....Always
Smiling....Lovable....The one thing that always struck me about her
was that she might be mild mannered but she had a strong heart.....

My first memory of her is from way back when I myself was a couple of
years old and all of us cousins used to visit her place in Talcher and
she used to have these white rabbits....But the memories that can
actually be considered to be as memories were when Bada Dadei (my father's elder brother) got transfered to Cuttack and thier family
along with Bada Dethei came to live in the same house we lived
in......I had been the happiest soul when I heard they were coming to
live with us....the simple reason being we lived in the outskirts of
the then city and I had no friends as I was yet to join school.....I
would get someone to play with and someone to tell me stories
........Innocence at its best......Bada Dethei had the habit of
reading me stories from the magazine "Janhamamu" or "ChandaMama"

I am not a person who displays any love or affection for anyone, at
least not openly, but Bada Dethei had a special place in my heart. May
God rest her soul and give her immediate family all the strength to
tide over these bad times.