Preview on the short stories drama festival

A week ago when I met Pinky Jayanta Bora over a cup of coffee, she told me about her forthcoming Short Stories Drama Festival. As we delved into the conversation deeper I realized that the festival was about stories that weave threads of human complexness.

Stories that were written decades ago, but is relatable in today’s world of ours where everything is instant and just a click away.

Four prodigious writers who needs no introduction at all and their four incredible tales are about longings – but in different forms.  Munshi Premchand’s Boodhi Kaki, Asha Purna Devi’s Trankorta, Mamoni Raisom Goswami’s Xanskaar and Aabid Surti’s Teesri Aankh (Third Eye) – All four are phenomenal . The one common factor the four stories hold is a sense of desire, wish and craving and if I am permitted to add, I must say the four stories are also about deprivation at the same time.

Abraham Maslow was right when he said and I quote, “Once we have food and shelter -- but before we can seek self-actualization -- we must feel safety, belonging, and mattering. Without these three essential keys a person cannot perform, innovate, be emotionally engaged, agree, or move forward.”

Munshi Premchand’s Boodhi Kaki is a feeble old woman who craves for love and attention with a perpetual gluttony. Her tribulations are akin to an alcoholic – the very thought of food makes her ravenousness and there comes a point of such deprivation that she loses the balance between what is right and wrong and does all that fills her only sense organ left functioning normally – the sense of taste.  And what were the reasons that led her to this state of privation? Her own God fearing nephew and his family, with whom she entrusted all her wealth in return for love and care.

Aabid Surti’s Teesri Aankh or The Third Eye looks calm and peaceful on the surface. A happy and devoted wife, two sincere and honest grown up children and a loving brother - nothing could have been more neat or better, Sundarlal thought and felt always, until one fine day when the eye of the insight; in the form of a pair of silver rimmed sunglasses enters his life and nothing seems what it really is. A family that connives and conspire to push Sundarlal to the point of insanity.

Asha Purna Devi’s Trankorta has a thirteen year old dirty rotten scoundrel Kanhai who craves for security in the form of shelter and food. He eventually succeeds in gaining this from the very home where he had stepped in to steal. The blind trust the master showered on Kanhai turn tables as he changes and proves one and sundry wrong that sometimes all one needs is a leap of faith.

In Mamoni Raisom Goswami’s Xanskaar, Damayanti is not righteous, yet she has no qualms about it. On the other hand Pitamber; who desperately seeks to have a child of his own, go beyond the limits of self righteousness and does something totally unacceptable. But what would be repercussions?

All the four stories are progressive and undogmatic written excellently by free thinking minds. I am looking forward to these spine-tingling adaptations on stage.

A year ago Girish Karnad’s stage adaptation Malini was a wonderful watch too directed by Manik Roy.

Wishing the entire team of A Cube Dream Production success in all their ventures.

Bahniman - My thoughts

It would not be wrong to say that as a mainstream commercial cinema, Bahniman is one of the few bilingual films to be made in Assamese.  

Biswajeet Bora, the director, story and screenplay writer of the film, started his career on the editing tables and moved on to assist Jahnu Barua , a filmmaker who needs no introduction. His path to direction began with his first movie Ejak Junaakir Jilmil, which gained critical recognition in many international film festivals world over. Much later in the year 2015 he made his first Hindi movie, Aisa Yeh Jahan.

Talking about Bahniman, he says, the movie happened without prior notice.  He wanted to make an Assamese movie, which would be totally a commercial cinema with the right dose of action, drama, giggle and thrills. A movie that would be visually appealing to all section of the masses. 

The story unfolds with a plot of land being the prized booty. Viewers would feel the movie deals with land grabbing issues. But as it progresses, the spectators are pleasantly delighted to realize that there is a cat and mouse chase going on between the four central characters of the movie. The gangster, his confidant and a lady cop are all chasing main protagonist.

On asking him if there were reasons to make the film bilingual, he says, Guwahati is now no longer a small town with a handful of people. The city has grown into a cosmopolitan and is a diverse cluster with people from cross section of society. The target audience was not confined to just one section of the viewers.

The four central characters – Bahadur, Kanu Sharma, Preeti and Bikram (played by Jatin Bora, Yashpal Sharma, Rimi Hazarika and Ravi Janghu correspondingly) are introduced neatly one at a time as the story develops and progresses.

Bikram, the protagonist, is the calm and sober character. His underplay is a fair deal to the boisterous and energetic characters of the other three leads, toning it down evenly.

The film has its lighter moments in the form of dialogues. The characters do not try and attempt too hard to be funny. The humor is situational and is etched out by the characters effortlessly. Arun Hazarika as the assistant cop is definitely the show stopper when it comes to comic timings and it blends in smoothly without interrupting the flow of the story.

While speaking to the Director, I asked him why did he brought in or better outsource the DoP (Titu Jena) ,  action director (Koushal-Moshes) and the editor (Suresh Pai).  And he aptly replied that he wanted to make a movie which would stand at par with movies made nationally. He also added he gave a free hand to his entire team to improvise during the making of the film. All he was looking for was to bring newness to the Assamese film industry.

And he has lived up to his words. The movie is glossy, fast paced and stylishly made.

To daddy with love

This is for the most important man of my life.

My dad.

I lost him when I was sixteen years old. Its been quite a long time that I have lived my life without him. Do I miss him? Oh yes! I do that… I miss him terribly….

I was a typical daddy’s pet. And I always supported him. Even during the times and instances when he was wrog and at fault.

Do I come from a dysfunctional family? I don’t know… I think I do… for that matter I have to dig deeper and study what actually stands for dysfunctional…

Yes… I was raised in a family where life was easy…fun… privileged as far as I can recall… and there were the ugly egos, drunken brawls, nasty fights which were at times were physically abusive too; which walked hand in hand when I was growing up.

For every daughter her dad is the MAN. I am not denying that.

But my dad was more than that. He was no nonsense to begin with, no unnecessary frills, with a huge and bad temper. He was an excellent swimmer, roller skater, tennis player, shooter and driver. He was a chain smoker too and an alcoholic.

Who is an alcoholic? The book says there is no specific definition to define an alcoholic. And most of the times the word alcoholic is used in the wrong ways because we do not actually understand it. So to cut it short an alcoholic is someone who cannot limit the amount of alcohol one drinks; they always have an overwhelming urge for a drink; it affects their personal lives yet they do not stop drinking and they lose interest in other activities.

Yes my dad was an alcoholic to some extent. He would drink even during the day hours.

It did create problems and when I saw him and mom arguing during the rounds of binge drinking, I always stood by my dad’s side.

He was definitely a nice man. He was a voracious reader. He loved cars. He loved the good things in life.

For me he was more of a friend. I listened to Deep Purple, Jim Morrison, The Beatles, The Who and The Rolling Stones on LPs with him.

I could talk to him about anything under the sun.

In some instances I was petrified of him, but still he was my number one. Mom always stood at number two.

I think I am more of him. I represent him more through my attitude.

Just before I lost him in 1995, we were driving from Shillong to Guwahati back to home; seeing off my mom in Shillong.

The plan was initially different. It was the month of June and mom loved to spend a month in Shillong with my maternal grandparents. Dad always drove us to Shillong. Stayed overnight; usually checked in at Pinewood; and would come back to Guwahati the next day. I was supposed to stay there too. But somehow, the next morning as he bid us goodbye in our Oakland house and got inside his putting the ignition on, I hopped with him and decided to come back to Guwahati. I was almost in tears. I could never afford to stay without him for a month. Or maybe at that time it was the inner calling. That I should be with him. That as soon as the month of June would pass I would lose him forever.

We drove in his red Skoda in silence for quite a while. The air was getting warmer as we crossed Barapani.

As we reached Nayabungalow; he stopped the car to watch a local football match in progress. He was an avid football lover. It took roughly an hour for the match to get over and when I asked him, “Did your team win?”, he looked at me and chuckled and replied, “I just supported both the teams and the best team won!”

He asked me to wait inside the car and walked to a bootlegger.

It didn’t take much time though. He mixed the vodka with water and we started our onward journey yet again.

We had crossed Nongpoh thirty minutes later. Still driving with his right hand, he handed me the lighter and the packet of cigarettes.

I look at them and then at him.

“Light one”, he said in a matter-of-fact way.

I still kept looking at him like an ass.

As I lit the first cigarette infront of my dad, the feelings inside me were kind of mixed.

I handed him the smoke and looked on to the road straight. He continued enjoying his smoke and sipping the vodka.

The silence was broken by him as he spoke looking on to the highway, “See Nan... soon you will be out of school and be in college. You will meet boys. But I want you to meet men. Intelligent men. Its not the age. Its the attitude that separates men from boys. You will go out on dates, you will party, you will drink and you will smoke. So have your first drag with me.”

“And ...one more thing”, he continued further. “Studies should be intact. Wherver you go, with whom you go and what time you reach home, you should always let me know. Rest... life is good. And ...do not get pregnant.”

The deepest daddy daughetr conversation I had....

HALF BAKED

I feel I am amidst a crowd of people, its congested, it warm and that is aggravated more with the body heat; there are too many people, almost sticking to one another. And these people are not known to me. I do not know their names. It’s only their faces which are familiar to me by now. I have been stuck up with them, sweaty like a pig for a way too long time.

My limbs ache for standing so long. I can take it no more and I need to get out of this congestion and breathe some fresh air.

No… this is not a nightmare. These are things I feel even when I am functioning normally.

I feel like a failure…. For a few reasons….And that I shall continue soon…

THE BIRTHDAY (THAT NEVER HAPPENED)

“I don’t need a weepy goodbye”, he said, looking fixedly at me. 

He took the last drag of the cigarette, threw it with a flick of his fingers and continued, “Goodbyes should be on a happy note…”; took a deep breath and added “ALWAYS”.

Even before I could say a word he got excited as he rubbed both his palms together and said, “Let’s make a plan!”

“What plan”?, I asked him. I let my thoughts pass by, swallowing all that I had to say about goodbyes, weepy or otherwise.

He stood up, took out his phone from the right hand side of his denims and got restless as he began unlocking the screen. He looked quite lost and mumbled something as he opened the calendar on his phone.

I said nothing. I almost snatched his phone and fed in my birth date, setting as a reminder with the most annoying alarm tone.

He scratched his head and said, “I don’t remember birthdays”, and we both smiled. 

We sat in silence for a while on the rickety bamboo bench gazing on to the pine trees. Soon it would be dusk. It’d get cold and a thick layer of fog would surround us.

“But I will remember yours”, he said and removed the reminder in no time.

I looked at him, questioningly now as I raised both my eyebrows.

“It’s on 7^th Feb da” he said.

He rather looked cute…. No he looked cuter.

It was our last evening together. One on one. We still had thirty six hours at our disposal but that would be spent travelling.

I felt a heavy lump inside my throat.

Things had just got better. We were in sync.

He stood up, took out the camera from his black sling bag and walked towards the main stage. My favourite artist Prateek Kuhad had just taken control on the center stage and the crowd began to gather and swell. My eyes followed his footsteps as long as I could and after a while he got lost amidst the swarm of people.

I sat alone, still gazing on to the pine trees. I don’t know how many minutes I sat there all by myself. As I turned my head to my right to take a good glimpse of Prateek Kuhad, I saw him at a distance, taking pictures of me.

He came walking towards me, put the camera inside the bag and handed it to me.

“Sit!, I told him.

“Wait a minute”, he said, as he pulled out something from his back. Well… it was a bamboo hollow filled with Apong.

“Cheers!”, he said, as  he took a sip and handed the Apong to me.

“Let’s make a plan”, he said yet one more time.

So we got back to where we had started.

I smiled at him and asked the same question as I sipped the Apong, “What plan?”

“Let me check the air fares from your place to mine”. He wasted no time and started looking up the air fares.

“Man it’s cheap if we book it right away!” he exclaimed as I kept sipping the Apong.

“So… 7^th is a Sunday and your Saturdays are off days too. Take the early morning flight on Saturday and I will receive you at the airport and we will drive down straight to Auroville. Your birthday will be in Auroville with me. I want to make it special!”

He took my phone and set reminders this time!

It sounded special and it felt nice.

“Four months huh?”, I questioned him teasingly.

“It’s only four months da! If we could have waited for five years, four months should not be a big thing”.

“Yes!” I exclaimed and gave him the tightest hug.

For the rest of the evening we happily let ourselves get drowned in music, Apong and the fog, holding hands all the while.

The next thirty six hours passed too soon travelling and finally the moment came I dreaded the most. The time to bid adieu. It wasn’t a weepy goodbye at all. For we knew we’d be seeing each other soon… it was just a matter of four months.

The next four months were no easy. I felt I was getting clingy and he seemed to go inside his shell. We spoke on and off. But he said he was in his own zone and preferred keeping quiet.

It took a while to gather myself and get used to my life the way it was and the way it is.

And finally the day arrived. 

My phone beeped with the reminder on time! I looked at the screen and smiled at myself. We made plans and the plans remained plans! I don’t know whether I was happy or not. But I smiled and recalled that last evening.

I prefer quiet and noiseless birthdays. 

I never expected him to call or wish me. In the six years (yes it is now six years) I have known him he never has wished me once!

And then he called. Whoa! He called! Yes he did!

“Happy birthday girl!”, he said. I know he was smiling. I could make out from his voice.

“Thank you!” I replied.

“See, I told you I’d remember your birthday. And in the last six years that I have known you this is the first time I am wishing you!”

We both laughed at the same time and I said, “Yes! And I will remember this for the rest of my life!”

We spoke for a long time.

Much later a night I sent him a message.

Me:“Thank you”

Monk:“For what?”

Me:“For remembering my birthday”

Monk:“I told you I would”

Me:“We were supposed to be together on this day Monk”

Monk“Yes, I know”

Me:“Maybe some other time”

Monk:“Maybe we are used to not seeing each other for five years!”

Me:“I miss you”

Monk:“I miss you sometimes”

Me:“I miss you mostly”

Monk:“I hate the distance”

 

ON A BULLET YATRA

It took me four months to finally meet the person from the virtual world to the real and it was worth the wait. Meet Dhruv Dholakia, the man on a soulful journey, On A Bullet Yatra ; to be more precise and apt.

I started following his blog in Facebook when he had just begun this journey. The first story I read was about his experiences in Goa and that really intrigued me. Because I had just done a travelogue about Goa around the same time as well.

And today afternoon as we were eating a hearty meal of authentic Assamese food at Paradise we spoke for a long time. He looked on to his king sized plate filled with ten bowls of different kinds of food which would tease his taste buds and I briefed him to start with Khar which is alkaline and end with Tenga which is acidic. Before he could ask me “Why”?, I said, “We Assamese eat the Khar and end with Tenga to keep the Ph balance in our body intact!”.

The first thing which he has answered about a hundred of times is, “What triggered and inspired him to take up on this mammoth solo ride? Was it a much thought and detailed plan or was it just a flash of wisdom that struck him?”

He leaned back, flashed me a broad smile with a raised eyebrow and said, “I had been working as an investment banker for the last ten years. And I felt I was getting nowhere. I was becoming a very boring person. I was doing the same things day in and day out. And when I went out on weekends, I realized there were no interesting conversations. I was growing at a receded pace. So I decided to explore.”

So on the fine morning after Ganpati Visarjan, i.e 29^th September, 2015 to be exact, he put the ignition of his 500 CC Royal Enfield on and there has been no looking back.

He has traversed from the Western Ghats to the Southern tip of India and now is in North East to explore the furthest Eastern point where the sun rises for the country. And he said, “This is perhaps the best leg of my journey.”

Assam is his twelfth state that he has stepped on.  He has seventeen more states to traverse.

“I want to explore the twenty nine states in fourteen months’, he said, as he savored on his meal.

And he feels life is so peaceful here with zero pollution and no traffic as compared to Mumbai. I did not know whether to laugh out loud or have second thoughts. So I took it as a big compliment and thanked him wholeheartedly.

I told him as we finished our meal, he is doing an incredible job and it is so inspiring.

“What are your plans?”, I asked

“Plans?, he questioned me back.

“Yes, plans”, I said.

“Nothing as of now. When I started my journey I did not know what was in store for me. My mother was worried. I just asked her to pray for me, being the spiritual and religious woman that she is”.

He further continued, “The entire journey till now has been an assortment of experiences. With landscapes, weather, food, culture and language changing every hundred kilometers.Travelling across India is like time travel. Every place takes me to different era with its own highs & lows. Spanning from the very beginning of the mankind”.

I smiled and nodded my head in affirmation. He is so true. Being a traveler myself I know the joys of trotting and learning about life.

To travel is to live and learn. He spoke about Gautama Buddha, Swami Vivekananda, Mark Zuckerburg  and Steve Jobs; to mention a few who travelled to find their true calling.

All I could do was nod my head in total agreement.

We shook hands firmly knowing well we will be meeting again as long as he is in North East. And I walked to back to my work as he rode on his Bullet and agreeing for sure….He Who Does Not Enjoy The Journey Can Never Reach His Destination.

The Blog link: https://www.facebook.com/Onabulletyatra/?fref=ts

Nandini Raybaruah (nandini.raybaruah@gmail.com)

Coz I don’t wanna write (About you)

It takes one crazy to know another crazy.

“Say something?” he told me one day.

“What should I say?” I asked.

There was a pause. I am sure he was in deep thoughts for a while. And then he said, “it’s you I want to hear and I end up doing all the talking’. He sounded miffed and not quite amused.

I did not have much to say. I have told him a lot about me. In details at times and in bits and pieces otherwise.

He is a good listener. He remembers well. He questions me about things I had told him about a month back at times.

“I was pissed off the first night”, he told me one day in between our talks.

It took a while for me to pin point which night he was saying.

Foggy brains that I am mostly, he teased, “Oh! So you like to remember only the good things and edit the bad ones easily!”That left me laughing out loud like a woman gone nutty.

When I keep calm, he says, “So you need fodder for your stories! Hence you wanna listen to me.”

I kept shut and he retorts with some uncanny fondness, “Did that hurt you? I am so mean”.

Yes he does! And I tell him so. That he is ruthless and rude.

“Love my rudeness to love me”, is all that he says.

So one fine day I tell him, “I am not going to write about you”.

“Why?” he asked.

“I am superstitious”, I replied.

He asked me the reason.

But I did not reply.

I am superstitious to write about it… more than “it” … its him… its about him and me.

I don’t wanna write about it.

The peole I have written about are the ones I have lost and whom I have love deeply.

He is someone I don’t wanna let go so easily or too soon.

So I said, “I don’t want this bubble to burst”.

If only if I made any Goddamn sense!

“Which bubble?”, he asked.

“Let it be”, I said and changed the topic.

A few days later he asked me’ “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes”, I said

“Enough to keep the bubble charged?”, he asked!

“Enough to last a lifetime”, I answered.

He did not say anything much. I think I sounded too intimidating.

He keeps me in tenterhooks. Perplexed. Confused.  All the time.

I wished him “Goodnight” yesterday.

“Love you????????????”, he replied with unending question marks!

“Do you?” I asked him back. Because everytime I tell him so, he says it is difficult to reply in affirmative.

“No!No!No”! , he replied and this is how I deal with my Serpent!