Sunday, December 18, 2011

A tragedy averted


There are times, when the hands of fate work like mysterious clockwork, directing a deadly disaster, but then; at the last moment, they withdraw, leaving in plain sight of us mortals what Fate (Read Nature) can do if disturbed.

17th December 2011 will remain etched in my memory as the day this sleepy town of Lumding could have been witness to one of the biggest catastrophes in its foggy history.

 It was a normal wintry morning that day. The sun was rather reluctant to peek out of the clouds, and there being a thin blanket of fog about, I found it rather hard to leave the confines of the bed and get ready for office. Still, after much deliberations (it being the last day before the weekend), I convinced my reluctant mind. I reached my desk at 0840 Hours, exactly 40 minutes late than the “official” time.

The first thing I noticed through the window was this empty POL BTPN Rake* which we had decanted the afternoon before. It was still lying idle inside the Terminal premises, meaning the Railways hadn’t lifted it yet. And that irked my mind. I couldn’t place an exact reason why, but it was irritating all the same. I got a repeat confirmation from the security officer that no Loco had come to recover the Rake. 

“Well, so that be it!”
 
In understaffed POL Terminals like ours, It doesn’t take long to take one’s mind off a matter of engagement and then engage it in other activities. For the next three hours, I completely forgot about everything else as I went about the daily work schedules.

It must have been around 1230 Hours that I noticed the empty rake had started showing some movement, slowing deactivating its air brakes. At 1300 Hours, it finally started on its way, picking speed as its wheels pushed mercilessly on the old steel rails. 15 seconds later, there was one resounding noise wave that travelled all across the 49 Wagons and the Rake came to a deadly, screeching halt. 

It difficult to exactly explain the silence that followed. Confusion ensued, with many heads pouring in many enlightened answers to the occurrence.

It later required a 2 minute call to the control room at Lumding Divisional Headquarters to know the whole story:

At 1300 Hours, 15928 Down DBRT-KYQ (Dibrugarh Kamakhya) Express was on halt at Lumding Junction. The Guard of the train, after getting confirmation from the control room, gave the Go-Ahead to its Driver. The Train started, riding down the plateau on which the station is built and gained its full working speed.

Meanwhile, the driver who waited with his WDG3 LOCO to lift the empty BTPN had also heard the Go-Ahead on his VHF Set. Instead of waiting for another confirmation or the mandatory written communication from the Cabin Control, he too started pulling out the Rake, putting both the Trains on straight collision course. A passenger train at breakneck speed, full with people perhaps eagerly waiting to reach their homes for the weekend, and the heavy duty BTPN. Many a heart must have stopped beating in the Railway control at that moment.

Miraculous as fate is, the P-Man at cabin control had not made the branch line to our terminal through for movement. After a 15 second walk into disaster, the Engine derailed from that fateful path. 

It was later recovered 5 hours later, and this time, everything went clockwork, just like usual.

A big catastrophe was averted that day. But our hearts still jump with the thought of what could have happened and didn’t. 

Perhaps there really is this mysterious force working behind the scenes, directing the drama, be it God, or be it the Higgs-Boson. Life is only when it exists, and the true honour; it lies only in death.

-Palash
(December 2011)

Sunday, December 11, 2011

নিয়ৰ


Xeet’or kuwolie
Sani dhora december’or nijan rati,
1ta bojar intercity’r aakakh kopai tula kolahol:
Nixasor buror karone assakhor eti puroni maat,
Taar pisot kintu,
hridoy’or moncho’t  bohe.
Xunyotar,
Stobdhotar,
Ek obuj natok, ebuku akha
Aru ebuku xopun loi.

Taarei majot,
Niyor,
Tumi oha botora paisilu,
Hoitu nikhar botahe sui jua gos puli keitai koisil,
Hoitu koisil khirikit bohi dinor xekh tik-tik’oni dia jethi tue.
Kali Ratipua mur bhab,
Xui thoka phul-paah buror majot bisari paam tumak,
Xontyek xomoyor babe holeu
Ahila je tumi,
Xei ontoheen nosto natokor olpobiram hoi,
Dhnoyobaad tumak,
Moromor
Niyor.


-পলাশ
(December’11)

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Lively Death!



Munificent life,
Joyous dreams disclose,
Games to be played,
Destinations to reach
Nascent steps- so wonderful!
God’s conspicuous enigma?


Ardently standing out in the rain,
Thou wish to wash away the “sin” and the “fear”,
Ever notice the smudged painting life’s become?
Yearn though thou might, for time to be timeless,
Forget not that there’s an end to the cameo
Uncanny, yet with surety, unraveling death!


Sorrows and happiness of yours, to be shared copiously
But the pangs of death, thou shall face in solitary confinement.
In thou body and soul, gnawing fingernails of destiny…
Nevertheless, freedom from the earthly cell
Leading to a blissful sabbatical.


The art of death thou must learn and paint
The ghostly hands that embrace but ambush
Easily like the graceful fog, thou shall melt away
With the torrents of life ebbing out to the heavenly manor,
Evolve and emancipate thyself, professional amateur!



-Palash

Friday, December 9, 2011

যুবীন।


So much, the good, the bad and the ugly; has been discussed about the man that I find it a futile exercise to go on a “suitable” adjective hunting spree for his name. Mired in ill-timed controversies, Zubeen’s niche in Assamese music, and especially in the hearts of the people, has widened and narrowed almost in a cyclical fashion over the last two decades, ever since he hit the roads with his “Anamika” in the 90’s.

Through an almost weird viewpoint, I find Zubeen in the same dais as some one like say “Sehwag”. I realized that placing and judging them against any reference is a mistake. A simple waste of time. Mostly eccentric, sometimes stupidly outgoing (perhaps when mostly high) and sometime quite the sober gentleman, it is our mistake if we hope that Zubeen will one day fill up those voids that exist after greats like Dr. Bhupen Hazarika left us all.

Zubeen is simply Zubeen. Zubeen is what his music is. Zubeen is what he himself guardedly confesses in one of his recitals:

“Jodiu moi bhabisilu my father is a hero,
Teur dore hobo pora nasilu moi kunudin;
Aah, Teur ischar xomadhi bogai aji moi ki je holuhi,
Ekhon halodhia morubhumi, jibonhinotar smokhan,
Deutai najane kothabur, khub dukh paabo teu,
Mur aatmohononor diary porhi,
Moi je ajikali jontronar dhuarito cigarette hupu,
Aru pi matal hoi thaku xunyotar modira
Bor hasyokor, bor korun,niyotir khela...”

A burning desire. A desire that refuses to die down even after the midnight hours have long passed in the day. Something that lingers on, however one wishes it away; painful and permanent. Seeped in hopelessness. We used to call it “frustu” back in our college days. Be it the odes for his mother in “Pakhi”, the songs that cry for the homeland and the devastations in “Xikhu” and the countless heartbroken romances from “Anamika”, “Daag” “Maya” “Rumaal”, Zubeen infuses that unfulfilled desire in each one of those gems. As if he is still in search of his “Nazira higher secondary’r Anamika Dowerah”...

To the tired farmer in the fields, to the mother humming in a “paakghor”, to the dejected youth tired from unemployment and lost love; Zubeen’s voice carries to the farthest harmony.

We are already devastated, with the realization that Bhupen Da’s voice will no longer spin new tales over the Luit. Already devastated with the realization that the State, our Assam is going nowhere near any path of progress fought and promised for again and again.

I seek Zubeen in my devastation thus. And I know I will miss him, if sometime his voice too ceases to be around. That is just an honest confession.

-পলাশ