Barapani Diary...Disillusionment

The magic is wearing off..like everything else..this place is losing its exquisiteness..it is just one of those small villages in our country..where newspapers do not reach except for a local one which some days finds its way to the local shops..Khasi language in English script, one of those villages where children walk miles in search of a school,where nearest hospital is some twenty km away..where few Tata Sumos run with people hanging behind as means of public transport, where girls go to the river for washing clothes, where children collect drinking water from roadside taps..huddle containers of water in make shift carts..where men drink in evening and night..where concept of street light is totally redundant..where women give birth to half a dozen babies within the four walls of home..wherein within the long stretch of unpaved road..if any little shop you can find would definitely have 'kowai' (local betel nut) if not any trace of other bare necessities of life..

In this land I stand partly disillusioned partly grounded..partly lonely wondering if I am missing out on life where I spent last six years..but then I never know what I am missing out on..a fiercely competitive manipulative professional life in the city..where relationships even if  manage to find a place, longevity gets shorter..nothing survives here save a hunger for success..and a family life..where baby, husband maid, parents, friends all strive for a place and I long for space and continue with a super balance act. And here in this land one can have all the space one longs for and more..so much space that loneliness creeps into the soul in one form or other.. That's it then..solitude and bliss turning to hard hitting loneliness from which there is no respite..there I go.. sounding frustrated , lonely lending substance to the term ' tenure' or ' unpopular posting'. The lush green of August has given way to a hazy dusty February..where spring is hardly tangible wrapped in warm sunny days and cool chilly nights.The hills seem to long for rains, pine trees looking high in the sky..and to me the magic of the hills do not work any more..like magic of new found love giving way to routine indifference..a nonchalance owing to the loneliness bug digging into the soul..the Wanderlust giving way to a longing for ' home'

All said and done..my if all works well I would be' home' after a few months and my ' airport' would have all new admirers..all for a year..loving, hating , fleeing, some will be cast in its spell, some will be drawn and disillusioned..some will simply not fall into the trap..and I wouldn't be there to see (in high probability)..I would be 'home' and the residue of ' Wanderlust' in me in lone lost moments would build by bits and parts..a picture, an image of a bewitching beautiful lonely airport in the laps of rain kissed August green hills..my tiny tower and the thatched 'Meera's Tea Shop' lurking behind..providing oxygen to one and all..well ironed uniform clad airliners..kowai chewing red lipped labours..lazy without work Sarkari babus...hunger thirst driven passengers searching frantically for a cup of tea in days where flight gets delayed indefinitely...

Down memory lane...

Almost half way there, six months of a long one year to be spent all alone..alone.. as in without a husband and with a child..So a little looking back, little reminiscence..as we complete five years of our conjugal life. Yes anniversary , birthdays and all mushy stuff do not play any significant role in our normal lives ,may  be a small gift , may be a dinner out and then normal ending to the day with normal tiffs, fights, next day's worries, some phone calls and our relation steps into another year..May be only when one spends time in unavoidable exiles..there is time..enough time to reflect, introspect.

Marriage, wedding..so mundane so normal..that too an arranged marriage where the groom family responded to the matrimonial published in Sunday edition of ' The Assam Tribune'.( Can"t help suppressing a smile thinking of the little space my matrimonial eligibility occupied in the sunday ' The Assam Tribune') The respondents , the filtration..and the final ' they are coming to see the girl ' occasion. Venue: Delhi 2 BHK apartment in Dwarka..my roommate and her mother went 'out' to make enough space for us.. me baba ma uncle..and the groom party. Hired chair from the neighbourhood Malayali family. ( Me and my room mate stuck to our respective bed rooms and never bothered about any furniture for the hall). Baba venturing alone in the Dwarka market searching for Bengali sandesh/ rashogollas and ending up with strange looking yellow rasgulla look alike..( My husband never fails to remind me till date... 'from where your father got those yellow rashogollas') Then the waiting..baba loitering nervously in balcony as I returned from Gym in the evening and grumbling ' What is the need of going to gym today...' And in the two bed room apartment when the bell rang and uncle opened..I could hear all very well sitting in the adjacent room. I remember seeing a dishevelled guy continuously texting someone with his cell. as I was chatting with my to be in laws. Not at all impressive..but arranged marriage was something I was ready to go into without much expectations and impressions..

Phone calls , meetings, dates and then the decision about the final plunge we made after lunch sitting in CP footpath..nothing remotely romantic..nothing I've ever read in those romance books. Then the wedding, Kerala trip.. and then finally starting life under the same roof, wherein dreams aspirations romance...all get grinded under the double edged sword called ' real life'. Two contrasting working lives..one in shift duty in one of the busiest airports of the country.. another fighting the Delhi traffic driving his way round the city with his clients..and then to his home in another part of the busy city. Sometimes I was leaving the house as he was entering and vice versa, some day he would divert a few km in the airport direction to stop and say' hello' to his wife at the gate of the airport while she had a night shift and somedays simply fight under myriad topics.. your city/my town, your sarkari job/my private one, your parents/my parents, your hi fi taste my crude one, your Naseeruddin Shah/ my Govinda, your Amitav Ghosh/my Dan Brown, your dhinka chikas my Jagjit Singhs... list was endless..The first year was over..and we celebrated our anniversary in ' The Olive Beach' exorbitantly priced..food we could not make anything of..terribly conscious to venture there with our Maruti 800..and yes.. our tussle started when he ordered a second glass of wine..me being a teetotaller. ( Though he repeatedly told me first glass was so tiny he could not get any hang of it) Second year was professionally more turbulent for him.. weighing job options.. deciding on the better of the two, fumbling..settling for the old one..more distance confusion..and then settling down with the confusion.

Third year we were preparing for a new stage of life..parenthood with confusion expectation hesitation..excitement and finally our angel came in this world and with her we could understand and comprehend the term ' responsibility'..yes we spent hours in your responsibility/my responsibility..we never found out whose..and she was turning out to be a delight.. Our staying apart for three months after her birth and my subsequent visits to the hospital..I think that was the time when I knew beneath all my ' independent woman' veneer I was totally and happily dependent on my husband.. And as I struggled for everything .. looking after me and my baby.. I knew how in his presence, all I know is how to blame him for the things he might have done and not done and how to take all the things he does for granted. And as I struggled for doing all the things he would have done so smoothly..I learned to wait for the call starting with  ' +' 0049...wherein I would be directed with full details accurately starting from any odd Delhi address to wherebouts of any odd apparatus in the house. The most pleasant time we had I think.. after he came back..we had a toddler to take care of, manage the demands of two demading jobs..yet there was perhaps a realisation, together it was better..much better. Fourth year comparatively placant less turbulent.. where we almost knew when we would fight.. and to laugh at ourselves when we do..yet fight.. make up..and laugh..That was the year we began to become very good friends..and I/me began to be 'us'.

Fifth year again upheavals for me professionally.. as I roamed from one part of the country to another.. with my toddler..shifting accommodations as changing outfits..fighting with health once again.. This time I learned to long for home enjoying the short meetings after the long long breaks unless the breaks became too long..and the meetings too rare to wait for , to look forward to.. fiftth year would roll into sixth.. as phone calls became infrequent.. fightings less severe..because for fights too a clsoeness a proximity  is necessary..and the warmth of fights does not dissipate over cell phones...Nonetheless this year taught us to wait..to rebuild our broken homes..to wait for togetherness under the 'double edged sword'..to long for something we always took for granted.

Five years.. a small journey in the long path of life...lots to come...litte gone..lots to wait for..little to forget..lots to cherish and remember..

Barapani Diary...A peek in the city

January chill set in with fanfare..a little bit of drizzle and the new year ushered along. Another year..adding up to the number.. as I get reused to my office chores after my vacation..just gives the feeling another year passed by and I stand here without achieving much. Yes of course 'achievement' is relative. Anyways blogging isn't about achievement stories rather I'd talk of the little gathering we, most of the office goers had, in the city of Shillong in the new year night thanks to the promotion of my colleague and his enthusiasm in getting us all together for a treat. I, with my limited vision expected a gathering at the nearby lake resort and didn't imagine we would move to the city late in the evening. With this expectation I left my little one at home, it was only when we crossed Orchid ( the lake resort) I realised we were moving to the city. Initial pang of leaving my little one behind..how late I will be.. and what if I get stuck in the traffic fiascos I have heard of.. then I sat back and relaxed. It was then I understood after many days I was going in a drive without a little bundle in my lap and I wasn't continuously worrying about the little one vomitting in the next curve we cross, without ripping my head off if the anti vomitting medicine is going to work or not...here I was on the outskirts of Shillong at this time of late evening..pine trees zoomed by the window.. Bhupen Hazarika,s ' Shillongore godhuli' ( Dusk of Shillong.. my naive translation) , 'Sitore semeka raati' ( Moist winter night) echoed in my head and a whiff of freedom lingered on in the sultry evening . FM radio too churned out beautiful Lata classics..reminding me of Delhi FM gold.. and the lovely numbers at night.

Shillong New Year

I have hardly ever seen Shillong at night. The working womens' hostel I used to stay earlier.. gates closed at seven  in the evening. Dinner bell rang at 8 sharp. I cant help remembering women and girls of different shapes and sizes, different states of India, aged between 20 to 50 all queuing up in the dining hall for a bowl of watery dal to be sipped with rice and two spoons of sabji..After that some would gather for a gossip, younger lot mostly loitering with the newly acquired mobile phones, (and would you believe it charging phones was not allowed as it would enhance electricity bills.. and how the girls managed..not less than miracle) another group rushing with mugs of water for brushing and other beauty regime because water supply if at all available would stop exactly at eight and then lights to be switched off by eleven. Though I remember lighting candles after eleven and finishing thrillers. My Shillong night life apart from candle light adventures or gossip with my room mate night ended blissfully at eleven.. sometimes I stared at the window and watched the deserted foot path near the church showing no sign of life. But this time was different... new year and the whole city dressed up..lights everywhere..all restaurants filled..long queues outside.. As we waited outside.. I was marveling at the outfits both traditional and modern of the women.. their matching belly shoes, toddlers and teenagers in beautiful boots. I remembered the pink pair of boots I bought for my little one and was glad that I did.

The city and its people looked different from the village near my airport and its people. May be the age old difference between the city and the country. Irreconcilable differences. In the crowd I noticed the bus conductor who comes to airport. His little daughter tied in his back draped in traditional shawl..but for some strange reasons he refused to reckon me..Should I give him the benefit of doubt he did not see us, the group of fourteen odd people..Well new year anyway.. and he has the liberty to reckon/unreckon the people he pleases. Though he would wave to me enthusiastically whenever we met at the airport, exchange some pleasantries. Somehow with the good food , I  tasted the feeling of being ' outsider'...The city with its wide arms accepts anyone and the country shuns itself off from everyone. It is only work , necessity which opens the doors..at least make some perforations in the concrete wall..

We came back.. and my bundle squealed and rushed in my arms.A good beginning to the year..some freedom..some bond.. I hugged my bond tight and took her inside shielding her from the chill.

Barapani Diary...After the break..

Long time no blogging..enjoyed my little long holiday in Delhi. It was a mixed bag holiday with health playing some tricks on me, my little one..but then life is something you have to squeeze out some happiness from and no perfection awaits us anywhere. Onset of Delhi chill, mall hopping, long rounds in SN Market, Karol Bagh in the foggy Delhi sun and yes...mouth watering Shawarmas at Defence colony Al Bakes, those crispy fried besan pakodas covered with muli and mint chutney at Lajpat Nagar (Ram laddoos) and the show stopper... sending my help for  Chole Bhature from INA footpath .. once husband steps out of the house 🤭..well he can't be blamed considering my non alcoholic fatty liver and high triglycerates (whatever that means). Speaking of Delhi, can't get over the taste of good food and good times... that hot cuppa at Barista with a warm almond muffin and a new found husband 😁,rediscovering same old relationship in Saket malls sharing a plate of Sushi..watching deer and peacocks with daughter at Hauz Khas in a leisurely warm sunday morning and of course Dilli Haat with its colorful bangles stoles and yes yes.. fried momos at Nagaland stall..with red hot chutney..and not to miss the sabudana vada at Maharashtra stall.. ah yes the foody in me is up, awake, hungry and relishing, savouring good times...

Colourful Dilli Haat

Christmas

Deer Park..Hauz Khas

Sushi at Sushiya.. Select City Mall Saket...

After the crests and troughs.. health problems in family, being stuck in a fog affected Rajdhani Express but toddler of my daughter keeping everyone busy in the compartment.. finally back and I was about to write back to where I belong..who knows where I belong to...that four lane clad, malls and flyover embellished city of Delhi where somehow I found my little space ( I know many would object to me occupying little space 😛), city of guwahati where school college university days zoomed by in the bank of Brahmaputra.. or this place where I am supposed to spend one year more and had spent another year earlier in my first job. In Delhi I'd always feel I belong somewhere in Assam in Guwahati..while at Guwahati I just longed to see the world and while being in this place there's a sense of calm and peace, a feel of ' Shangri la ' where time stands till and whose inhabitants hardly venture out of this land..One thing I'd take with me is ( provided I leave in the right time) the memories of these girls here.. simple, smiling, hard working.. running small shops in one hand and large families in the other. Independent, struggling, smiling and when required they can tackle their menfolk in an enviable manner, give them a taste of their own medicine..! I have seen all the domestic helps wherever they are Delhi, Guwahati,  Kolkata one common thread binds them, one single story with one common character...a drunk violent jobless husband..here somehow the story has a twist... braveheart hardworking womenfolk...decision makers..and supporting men behind them..well things may not be so simple as they seem..but for a change this is interesting ..and I can't help admiring these women..

Iva, the beautiful young girl  with bright red lipstick in the days she is well and a nice flirty smile works in the office from eight to five thirty, has two sons at home, most of the days as I return from evening walk I see her standing in queue to collect water from the roadside tap, sometimes beating up her son and rarely sometimes her contagious sound of laughter catches my attention as I turn to see her sipping tea in the small tea shop with other folks, waving at me smiling with her kowai stained lips. There is Rani pale timid, three children at home, studying for her Class XII exams when she is not cleaning office and making tea, there is Meera smiling chatting , she lost her working husband of excessive drinking, left with five kids, no compensation from office yet. Meera runs a tea shop the lifeline of the airport.. provides poori for breakfast, simple rice sabji for lunch and roti for dinner. Sometimes I wonder without Meera's shop all the airlines staff, office staff, workers all would starve to death..even the passengers when flight is delayed because nothing edible is found inside the airport. Debo, Meera's helping hand, over worked, stressed out often sick with stomach ache and fever, sits in the shop from morning to night, without her pooris aren't fluffy enough, lunch isn't ready in time and when she is taking a break I have seen her carrying a pile of hay while returning from harvest. The pimpled, smiling girl..people say won't get married.. some failed love affair..who knows..

Peaceful the sweet fragile tiny office assistant whom everybody love to tease, Theresa hardworking shy office attendent..comes to office leaving her infant at home. And the numerous girls who run different shops, some sell Kowai the local betel nut, some pork and fish and in the local market day so many would flock around, some with a stoic expression, some using a smile to bypass the language barrier, oldies smiling and speaking in pure Khasi.. I hardly get the language barring a few stray words I have picked up..but the smile is infectious and the toil the hardship..my salutes to these women..

We, the women...

Barapani Diary...Life in the Airport...III

There is something good about working in a small, very small  airport..it feels like your own!! All the staff.. all the units..so alien to each other in bigger airports..where we Air Traffic Controllers are totally engrossed in ourselves..here just seem like one big family. One flight is the life of the airport..all the units would be waiting for the arrival of the flight and breathe relief once the flight is gone. There's a bond binding all of us..make us see where we all exactly stand..whereas in bigger airports somehow it's always me and us..my job my task.. not my responsibility...all units are fighting their hearts out in the blame game..anyways that might be essential considering the tough lives we lead.. Let me come again to my small airport..this small airport gave me a sense of ' importance', a sense of belonging, this is very obvious but then there's hardly any mere mortal who doesnt get complacent with a little bit of recognition , little bit of self importance and if it doesnt get to the head it works on fine.. it gives a 'my' feeling..dont know exactly when the building the passengers the flight the staff became so ' mine'..flight's safe, timely departure arrival became so much my concern not because it's my 'duty' to read ' Cleared for take off' and ' Cleared to land'..simply because you become involved , concerned and learn to think of the airport as a life which needs to be watered and nourished so that it can breathe, survive and beam with life.

Such a lovely building.. all it needs flights passengers, taxiwallahs, food stalls..bursting with activities cutting across the mesmerizing silence of the hills..pouring life into the adjacent villages..dont know which future is better..this calm tranquil building in the middle of nowhere or an aiport, a full working airport dragging in the villages within its powerful clutches..transforming the area into a fledgling township.. I don't know..and to be on safe side the future does not depend on me! Well that is too safe.. future follows its own course, may be with great foresight and vision from certain stalwarts who are able to give a direction to the future.. for the rest of us .. just wait, watch... may be brood sometimes.. ah the greens and the hills.. all gone..or may be nod pessimistically..no future of this place, of this airport..surviving only in bureaucratic papers...I don't know what is better..can just wonder and marvel at the greens and hills, peek into the local life , and feel sorry for my airport...

Barapani Diary...Life in the Airport..II

Every place has a pulse throbbing underneath.. a heart beating within..be it a hardcore stone hearted city like Delhi or a soft shy coy Elizabethan maiden like Barapani..once you feel the pulse.. you start vibrating with the same frequency out of habit may be and then.. if you dare ..you fall in love. May be with the beauty, may be you begin to touch the heart within and may be simply you have no other option..and things begin to work out just like an arranged Indian marriage does!! A stupid analogy may be..but then trying to make the best of what one has...or to lay contented with what destiny has offered..or to try to explore discover and if not anything else than grumble, sulk..all these somehow compares to one analogy.. Anyways in this land.. hope against hope is my new found 'friend' rather companion..almost a decade younger than me ( as per her statement) , my Malayali colleague struggling in the Khasi land with her language, with her food habits, struggling with the severe cold hitherto unknown to her, with her new job, with her stern bosses. Looking at her..I somehow doubt whether my company really has a HR policy where H stands for Human ( Please pardon me AAI.. with all due regards to everything you have given me till date)..a twenty three year old Malayali girl from Kottayam ,engineer by profession.. has her first posting in Barapani Airport..of all the places..and of all the directions  (southwest to north east)..Wonder how much travel allowance AAI has to pay her.. She is my companion for morning walks..( one walk a month..that's a different story)..where we did yoga in the Runway (Hope higher authorities are not reading). Can't help mention just as we were into ' Balasan' ( our favourite one..lie on your stomach with knees curled up like a child) a flight hovered above and she stared at me for a moment before breathing 'Run' (🤭🤭)...Well, well a tried and tested air traffic controller like me was taken in by the 'Run' before ATC sense poured in 'This is an overflying aircraft.. it wont land...watch opens at nine thirty' I convinced myself before convincing her as we watched the plane fly away..... and faces lighting with dismay replaced by laughter.... She turned out to be my saviour, tea biscuit breaks in office, long evening walks, long chats, our worlds were different..Kerela village with hardworking mother and siblings in financial constraints..and my world in bits and parts..parents coming in sometimes, reminiscent of childhood days  only the child now replaced by my toddler, tussle between mother and my help.. and..the husband alienated with his daughter and wife, but not sure whether to feel pity for him..as every weekend a new movie, or the same movie twice, a new restaurant..freedom I guess. And yes I am not disliking the freedom as well, books, net ( though service is very erratic), little bit of blogging, some diet of daily soaps with Ma, getting in touch with the sweet sounds of the languages I knew so well since childhood, the taste of childhood food and vegetables and the rains..incessant,nostalgic. A dash of Kerela, a pinch of Delhi, bits of Guwahati..in the rain kissed hills of Barapani...while we count our days for the end of a year and the end of an exile.

Barapani Diary....Life in the Hills...I

Air Trafic Control Tower

Again the time of the year when every bengali yearns for his home...the homecoming..the Durga Puja.I watch from my tower as the tiny ATR offloads its passengers..and reloads itself fully, a rare instance..as most of the days the half empty ATR takes off in the air from the deserted airport. A longing to be home..away from this land locked island..I breathe away my wish in the gusting wind engulfing the tower, gather my things together to go down, winding up the day's job after the lone plane of the airport takes off. Few official letters , routine replies, routine data entry into the computer..routine jobs..routine smiles but outside office premises nature greets you with her open arms..some days a rainbow would glisten in the fresh rain drenched sky..some days the cows would bathe in the water logged fields..nothing routine about this world, a silent world..content with its simple undemanding dwellers..dwellers who haven't robbed off all the wealth from her, dwellers who have guarded her, protected her against outsiders, cherished and coveted her and chose to live a quiet merry life..life within these hills.

Tomorrow is the local market day...a colourful market with so many facets..a day when the village is busy with all the hustle bustle..village roads are full of vehicles...a day for whom I've learnt to wait whole 8 days....to get my fill of fruits, vegetables and fish for the week. It is almost like a festival for the villagers and soon I was caught in the spirit as well.. happily munching pineapples and oranges with the deadly local chilly powder with my colleague, packing different types of sweets available fried in God-knows-what oil, missing altogether two/three hours of office... looking forward to the fun day ahead.

Happiness has a little price to pay, this colourful market with fresh vegetables , lures me..makes me plan my entire week ' food programme' , strange but in this land where a proper grocery shop isn't available in the nearby four/five kilometres, no goodies ,the vegetables are refreshingly fresh and seem garden plucked.

I load my bags with vegetables, goodies, toys for my toddler..look around for some lift, if anyone is there with vehicle..try to shove in the over loaded bags..and don't mind walking the lovely stretch with a packet of pineapple in hand and my dear colleague accompanying me.