Infinite Mischief

Bhumon (meaning ‘beautiful mind’) is my youngest cousin brother, all of 3 years. I call him ‘Bhoo’ while my younger brother Sunny calls him ‘Baby Bhoo’. How equipped really, is a 3-yr old with social, directional, conversational and selling skills? Can he charm people and win them over to his POV? ‘Oh yes’ I hear you say, if by ‘charm’, one is alluding to how kids howl, slather stuff copiously with drool and otherwise, coax out thingies from tuckered-out parents and nannies. But what if I were talking about a 3-yr old being a smooth operator? ‘No!’ But wait a minute, he’s so intelligent…. ‘Nyet, nada…whoever heard of conversational skills in a kid as small as that.’ So to win over all skeptics I present before you, 2 of the latest exploits of Bhumon, the charm-kid.

His parents go visiting a colleague of the dad’s with Bhumon in tow. With the adults talking in the living room, Bhumon rolls around taking inventory of the house’s provisions. Food being the reason d’être of most 3-yr olds, our charm-kid soon ends up in the kitchen where he sees a maid. Bhumon strikes up a conversation with the maid all by himself, talking about this and that, until he gets around to the topic of whats available in the way of instant consumption. Our charm-kid enquires, “Have you got Maggi (a brand of instant noodles)?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I love Maggi. How much time does it take to make Maggi?”

“No time at all.”

“Then maybe you can make me some. I’m so hungry.” The charm-kid usually embellishes such requests with a slow smile and big, twinkling eyes (from my own experiences).

It was a short visit which gets prolonged cos the maid’s preparing Maggi for Bhumon who spends a slurpy time eating the noodles which he had got prepared by someone he’d met for the first time in a house he'd been visiting for the first time.

Another time, Sunny goes visiting Bhumon. Both of them are watching TV and Sunny is slowly getting irritated cos Bhumon’s been watching cartoons for the last half-hour and he’s got the remote nestled safely within his small palm. So Sunny says, “Hey baby Bhoo, you’re so big and still watching cartoons. Gimme the remote.” Our charm-kid slowly turns his head away from the TV, looks at Sunny full in the eye and explains, “Sunny da, I’m just 3-yrs old. All I can understand is cartoons.” And just as slowly turns his head back towards whatever colourful adventure was exploding on the screen. A very sheepish Sunny spends the rest of the evening following the trail of a pink teddy as it gallivants around a sleepy, Japanese town.

Whoever says that a 3-yr old is shy around people, unable to express himself thru language, is naturally hesitant & has no working knowledge of Carnegie’s ‘How to Win Friends & Influence People’, has to interact with Bhumon, the charm-kid.

Spring’s Here

Assam heralds spring with the month of ‘Bohag’; as per the Assamese almanac, 1st day of Spring falls on Apr 14th this year. Nature of course, follows its own primordial clock cocking a snook at man-made numerals. So, we already have green buds stretching their tender necks out on trees, the violet-white ‘kopou’ flower (an orchid whose blooming is traditionally associated with Spring’s coming), and the cuckoo shrilly calling out (another omen for Spring’s onset) in the nippy mornings.

The spring festival of Assam (Bihu) traditionally celebrated as an ode to the season and the fertility and regeneration of all nature, is replete with references to the natural world. So, Bihu songs contain words like ‘phool’ (flowers), ‘kuli’ (the cuckoo bird), ‘kopou phool’ (the orchid – foxtail), ‘bhumura’ (the bee), ‘nodi’ (the river), and of course, those extolling love and romance. So we have among bihu songs, dedicated categories of songs just for l’amour – ‘Joranaam’ (a kind of competitive teasing) where bands of boys and girls attempt to sing the other out through retorts and friendly insults, ‘Prem-peeriti morom-bhalpua naam’ (songs exploring love and affection). There are other types too, some based on history, others about the pangs of separations and still others which are just silly and contain ‘nonsense lyrics’ but nevertheless heart-warming. There is a colloquial quality to Bihu songs which is difficult to find pretty much anywhere else, and with a simple and unpretentious character which stays with you for awhile.

Sample this Bihu couplet:

hahe hoi tumare pukhurit parimgoi, paro hoi tumar salot sorimgoi;

ghame hoi xumamgoi, makhi hoi suma dim galot

[English Translation]: I shall be a swan and swim in your pond, I shall be a pigeon and sit on your roof; 

I shall be perspiration and shall enter in your body; I shall be a fly and kiss your cheeks.

Even as I am writing this, I hear a cuckoo calling out persistently somewhere outside. Yes, all the signs are here – Spring has come visiting!!

The Collective Consciousness of a Storm named Bordoisila

The first of the spring rains hit the city yesterday morning bringing a brief respite from the dust blowing around. This cycle of dust storms and then, rains in this period (Mar-Apr) is a regular phenomenon in this part of the world though, signaling the onset of Spring and sometimes, continuing well into the later part of April. There is an interesting Assamese legend explaining this local phenomenon. This legend bears telling in a dark room lit up by the feeble light of a hurricane lantern  with the wind howling outside, just as I heard this tale for the first time so many years ago. We call this fierce wind the “bordoisila” and legend has it that she is a married lady.

THE OVERTURE

So, in the mid of March (which is the Assamese month of Sot), Bordoisila rushes to her mother’s home (Assam), flying like the wind and in her haste, bringing a trail of destruction in her wake. So, when we are well and truly in March, dust winds blow around, picking up dirt and stray stuff and whirling them around.

THE CRESCENDO

Sometime later towards the second week of April, when Bordoisila leaves her mother’s home, she unleashes another series of frightful bursts in her wake. Only this time she is sad after her short maternal visit; so she burst into tears. If the heaving dark masses of rain-laden clouds wasn’t such an ominous sight, the manner in which massive rain clouds assemble in the sky seemingly at a moment’s notice turning day into night, is undoubtedly one of nature’s most awe-inspiring tricks. Blinding lightning flashes and loud thunderclaps follow with heavy rainfall, and you can feel the full force of Bordoisila’s agony all round you. It’s a nice legend though and if one stops to think about it, bridled passions and the accompanying emotional outpouring which often follows, is very much human nature and by extension, a part of all nature itself.

Numerous rituals have been built around the legend of Bordoisila and the quaintness of these traditional rites handed down over the years, is simply heart-pleasing. One of these rituals is a poem still being taught to children in the villages – “Sotor bihut Bordoisila makor ghoroloi jai, gos gosoni ghor duar niye uruai” which literally translated means, “Bordoisila, the symbol for whirlwinds, visits her parents in the month of Sot, uprooting trees and houses along the way.”

Another short couplet ritually forms a charming part of Bihu-naam (Assam’s spring-songs). It goes like this:

"......nalbirinar paah, brahmaputrot halise jalise, boga koi bogoli nil aakaxot urise,

aahise bohagi tai maa'kor ghoroloi bordoisila hoi..........."

Literally translated (to the best of my abilities), it says, “Alongwith the new buds on trees and the brimming waters of the Brahmaputra, the frolicking herons in the blue sky, Spring comes to us in the form of Bordoisila visiting her mother..”

To make Bordoisila feel welcome in her mother’s home, people do their own bit in their homes. A traditional comb made of bamboo called ‘kakoiphoni’, and wooden stool called ‘borpira’ is left outside in the courtyard for Bordoisila to comb her tresses and rest awhile, before continuing along her journey.

I am sure that cultures worldwide have built their own legends and traditions around local storms, so many of whom have feminine names (‘Mala’, ‘Laila’, ‘Melissa’ and the fearsome ‘Nina’); I wonder why?!

Name’s Winter, Heart’s Sunny

Her name is Winter. She is a dolphin. When she was around 2 months old, Winter got entangled in a crab trap. Post rescue, Winter’s tail had to be amputated. Anyone who has ever seen a dolphin rejoices in the fluid, powerful strokes with which the creature swims (or rather, plays!). Well, Winter could neither do fluid nor powerful. What she did do was this – she created a special place in a few people’s hearts who set about the task of getting her to swim. A team of experts assembled to design and create a prosthetic tail for Winter (around 50 – 60 “test” tails & a newer, improved prototype is being developed) moulded around the amputated stump with a special gel which is now known as Winter’s Gel. Dedicated trainers worked tirelessly to help Winter swim with her new tail. And they succeeded.

Winter stays in Clearwater Marine Aquarium, Florida where she is a star attraction. Winter’s gritty tale of loss and redemption has already served to infuse hope and strength in several people, particularly those who themselves have amputated limbs and are now using prosthetics. Winter’s Gel has been used successfully by injured veterans and amputees to reduce the pain of their prosthetics. It is a testament to Winter’s courage and the love and skill of the experts who work with her, that their efforts have today impacted many people’s lives in a positive way. Below is a short clipping from the end credits of Dolphin’s Tale (2011) where Winter stars as herself, showing how people intuitively seek and receive Winter’s reassurance.

It is in ‘Scent of a Woman’ (1992) where Al Pacino’s character speaks out, “But there is nothing like the sight of an amputated spirit. There's no prosthetic for that.” These words are I guess, true for most people but for atleast 1 dolphin happily swimming away in a giant pool in Florida, an amputated tail has not led to an amputated life!

“Only the gentle are ever really strong….”

My friend Kaushik has a natural affinity towards animals, the physical manifestation of which can be unnerving at times. He knows almost no dread or obscure sense of ‘human’ regard for his appearance or the animal’s. I remember how I used to be put off by his easy attempts to pet stray dogs. I suppose I was more concerned about how the paws of such mangy mongrels might ruin my outfit, or leave stains upon my person. Kaushik’s love for animals however transcends such petty boundaries which we build around ‘expected behaviour’.

One recent incident further reflects this kindred feeling that Kaushik feels towards animals. He was recently driving his car along a highway with his mother. They were going to a family function outside the city. From a distance, he saw a crumpled heap ahead, of something which was obviously a road-kill.

He stopped the car and proceeded to get out of the car. His mother asked,” What do you think you’re doing?” Kaushik replied,” I’m going to see if I can help the animal.”

“Are you crazy? If you do that, the nearby people may think that you’ve hit the animal.”

“That may be so, but I’ve got to see to the animal.” Kaushik said as he stepped out.

The animal was in the middle of the road, and it took some time to get to it. It was a busy highway and cars and trucks were zipping by, a couple narrowly missing the stricken animal. With no apparent concern for his own safety, he stooped near the animal, saw that it was a goat kid and that it was beyond help. He picked up the bloodied mess, walked over to the roadside and laid it down gently. By that time, the kid was dead and a motley group of people had gathered around.

These people were all the while, watching the entire spectacle from a few shops by the roadside. One of them spoke up,” Well now, this kid has died and the owner has to get compensation. How much will you give?”

My friend blew his top cos he had seen these people mutely watching how the kid was suffering with no thought of perhaps, helping it or if nothing else, picking it up and moving it off the road so that it does not get bloodied any further by passing vehicles. He put up a spirited argument with the assembled throng, giving them such an earful about simple human concern and a sense of civility that shame-faced, a few gave their apologies and shuffled away. This is very amazing cos if you knew my friend, you’d know that he’s such a gentle soul that I’ve only seen him raising his voice, indeed getting into a confrontation maybe only 3 times in the 20-odd years that I’ve known him.

Kaushik told me later,” If there was any chance of saving that kid, I’d have driven him till I could get him help elsewhere” - which is just the truth cos again if you knew my friend, you’d know that he’d have done exactly that.

I know for a certainty that if it was I who was driving on that highway on that day, I’d just have sidestepped over the stricken kid and driven away. Oh sure, I’d have felt bad for a little time but I’d have recovered from the sad episode telling myself,” Ah Roon, but what could you’ve done? The animal must have already been dead.” This is why in the face of such rampant weakness and apathy, the strength and piety of one who thinks and acts differently is commendable and worthy of emulation.

[It was the Hollywood legend James Dean, himself an incandescent flame that burned all too briefly who said ‘Only the gentle are ever really strong’.]

Nature Ground Cover Inc. – over & above!

The carpet must be one of the oldest home decoration thingy that’s there – indeed the oldest one dates from BC and was found preserved in ice! Before nylon, polyester, acryclic and other synthetic blends came along, carpets were made from wool, hair, cotton, silk and even metal. And there have been amazingly elaborate and huge carpets woven by the hands of men. Perhaps the earliest idea of something like a carpet came to man from observing nature’s own ground cover.

A day-long trip outside the city drove home this point for me.

Carpet#1 – Simalu – The large crimson blooms of the ‘Simalu’ flower paint the sky red in the months Jan – Mar; as evident from the pic, they also do a good job of colouring the ground beneath a deep red. Interestingly the pods in the flower exude a cotton which has traditionally been used for filling pillows and cushions. It is said that when in full bloom, there are very few flowering trees than can compare with the simalu.

Carpet#2 – Looks like an indigenous cockscomb – The pic might give an impression that the plant has actually been cultivated as a crop cos the ground cover is so intense. Truth is, it grows wild but grows in such a close-cropped fashion as to be almost mistaken for a cultivated swatch. It was growing adjacent to a garden patch where garlic was being grown. The tall green stalks and up-thrust, featherlike spikes of tiny red blossoms of the plant do an effective job of carpeting the ground.

Carpet #3 – Indistinguishable pink moss-like plant – The pic was taken in a field which had been left fallow for the season. As my guide informed, this plant grows profusely for a very short time in fallow fields (it evidently needs the full heat of the wintry sun cos if you notice in the pic, it doesn’t grow under or near the harvested paddy stalks) before disappearing just as mysteriously as it arrived. 

What the Moon has to Offer

The Sun gets a lot of respect and love in man’s society and rightly so, cos it gives everyone life. But why should that make the Moon feel any lesser? The Sun and its personification as a God has its roots in many civilizations (ancient Egyptians worshipped the Sun God ‘Re’, the Hindu holy book ‘Rig Veda’ calls the sun the “God among the gods, the highest light”) . In contrast, the moon is not held in the same reverential light and is largely overlooked today. Certainly, the Moon too had its share of worshippers and its own symbolisms in ancient cultures; for instance, the Babylonians regarded the moon as the chief of the 2 luminaries (sun & moon). But what does the moon have to offer now?

It was a recent poem I read which set this wheel in motion. The poem was a beautiful collection of simple thoughts and vivid imagery. This poem titled ‘My rendezvous with Mr Moon’ brought back school memories where I loved simple, elegant poems like ‘Sea-Fever’ by John Masefield, ‘Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost, and so many others. In that dewy-eyed and simple-minded world, a poem did not require much effort to understand; there was no complicated use of metaphors and allegories. What you read was just what it was. This poem showcases a little conversation between the moon and what I think, is a hopeful young girl. In response to the earlier question of what the moon has to offer, it provides us hope, the coming of a new dawn and a perennial sense of refuge (just as the sun does, but the moon gives us all these in its characteristic mellow, silvery glow). I have reproduced the poem here, a graceful piece by a lady named Paromita Bordoloi. The moon speaks to the girl in a wonderfully sage, tender and understanding manner, much as a parent would speak to a child, I am sure. I read the lines as more of a story and that is what I think it is – a tale of love and wisdom.

My rendezvous with Mr Moon

I was getting a little impatient with Mr Moon                                                 

Since I remember, it forever hung in the old oak tree

With the same name engraved on its face

Last night I quietly climbed up the tree and released Mr Moon from the branches

Mr Moon was not very happy with my act

It was too used to hang in the same position; it became lazy

When I pointed out that it was becoming FAT too; it showed a little dissatisfaction with a small grunt

In silence it pulled its muffler closer and said in a grumpy voice, “It’s too cold you see.”

Now that Mr Moon was displaced from its home, it had to travel to find another.

I said with a little guilt, “Buddy, will you write to me?”

Mr Moon with the same old wise smile whispered to me, “Friend, I am illiterate.”

With my cynical eyes, I asked, “Then how come you have a name written on your face?”

Mr Moon sat beside me and laid its bald head on my shoulder, it said,

“It’s a secret that I have carried for centuries; actually I have no name engraved on my face,

Just that Mr Cupid plays a trick of enveloping the lovers’ eyes with their beloved’s name

And every time they see me, they saw their beloved’s name.”

Mr Moon was packing the last bunch of stars in its satchel,

I bade it goodbye with a kiss on its forehead.

Just before taking the reins of the Unicorn, Mr Moon revealed me a secret

“Mr Time was tired last night and while it was resting in one of the branches it told me that there will be a new name engraved in me the next time I meet you that will stay with you forever,

Mr Time was sorry that you had to wait so long.”

Thus saying, Mr Moon flew off on the unicorn to find the new name for me.

I smiled as I saw the empty branch and suddenly I found myself waiting for its return.