Nobel In Calcutta

Last night I went to see the Abhijit Binayak Banerjee interaction at the Victoria Memorial lawns. This was held on the concluding day of the Kolkata Lit Meet. Jeet, the organiser, had given me ten passes, so that I could pass them on to colleagues and friends. I could inspire only my family to come along. Monisha came from work. An almost reluctant Mampu came from home. We walked from the Exide head office to Victoria, past an obnoxious urinal and a beautiful garden juxtaposed side by side . 

Banerjee was interviewed by Udayan Mukherjee, the ex-anchor of CNBC India. I would've thought he was more suited to interview stock brokers but at the end of the evening he did a reasonably decent job. Much to my surprise I later discovered Udayan had studied economics at Presidency and JNU much like the interviewee. 

The interaction was strictly on Banerjee's new book Good Economics For Hard Times. But of course it touched upon various controversial political issues as well. 

I went principally to see a Bengali Nobel laureate. I did not expect him to say anything earth shattering. And he didn't disappoint anyone with anything earth shattering. He was extremely guarded in his reaction to very provocative questions on the current BJP government and its policies. There was no question on CAA and no answers either. He used to be more free flowing in his criticisms of the government before winning the Nobel. 

The Victoria Memorial makes for a fantastic backdrop for such occasions. The lawn was overflowing with Calcuttans including some very old people who had to walk a considerable distance to reach the venue. Many, including the three of us, had to stand it out for the hour long interaction. But the questions that the enthusiastic crowd asked (only four questions were allowed), at the end of the interview, were rather useless and a waste of an opportunity. They should have taken the questions from the audience during the interview on pieces of paper and then let Banerjee or Mukherjee choose the questions worth answering. 

A young girl asked something as banal as what he wanted to be in his next life. He also rubbished a questioner who asked for his opinion on the asset selling plans of the current government. I think that's a very silly thing to do - rubbishing a questioner. I think there is a difference between a policy decision for a government to exit businesses as a whole and a government selling its prized assets under financial duress, which is what is happening now. 

The evening ended with a queue to get his signed copies of the book. We beat a retreat and went home :-) Indians don't win Nobel very often. But most of those who have won so far is a Calcuttan or has some Calcutta connection. Does it make me proud? You bet.

Bhutan Diaries

নরবুলিং, পেমালিং, তাশিফু। তিরিশ বছর আগে এই নাম গুলো জীবনের সাথে অঙ্গাঙ্গি ভাবে জড়িয়ে ছিল।এগুলো যে কোনওদিন ভুলে যেতে পারি মাথায় আসে নি কখনো। সেদিন কি একটা কথায় এই প্রসঙ্গ উঠলো। তখন দেখি একটা নাম ভুলে গেছি। তাই ভাবলাম এবার লিখে রাখি এগুলো। সময় হয়েছে।

আমি ভুটানে আমার তিন বছরের জীবন নিয়ে কখনো কিছু লিখিনি।কারণ ওই অভিজ্ঞতা ও স্মৃতি নেহাতই আমার। ওটা কারোর সাথে ভাগ করা সম্ভব নয়।এটা কোনো স্বার্থপরতার জায়গা থেকে বলছি না। আসলে ভুটান দেশটা ও তার যে দিকটার সঙ্গে আমার পরিচয় হয়েছিল, তার মানুষ, প্রকৃতি ও পাহাড়ি সারল্য সেটা কলকাতার বাঙালিকে ঠিক বুঝিয়ে বলা আমার পক্ষে সম্ভব নয়।এছাড়া কতকগুলো জাতীয় ট্রাজেডির সাক্ষী ছিলাম আমি। সেটা মনের ভেতর যে ক্ষত সৃষ্টি করেছিল সেটা কারুর সঙ্গে ভাগ করার নয়। ওগুলো নেহাতই আমার ক্ষত।

আজকে লিখতে বসেছি বা অন্তত শুরু করেছি এই ভেবে যে এবার আমি নিজেই ভুলতে বসেছি সেই সব কথা ও ঘটনা  ভুটানের সেই সময়ের কারো সাথে আমার যেহেতু আলাপ নেই আজকে তাই এই স্মৃতি একান্তই আমার একলার। চর্চার অভাবে বয়সকালে ভুলে যাওয়াই স্বাভাবিক। তাই নেহাৎ নিজের জন্যই লিখে রাখছি।

ভুটানে আমি গেছিলাম ইস্কুলের মাস্টার হয়ে। প্রাথমিক বিদ্যালয়। ওখানে তখন সমস্ত স্কুলই সরকারি ছিল। কাজেই আমার স্কুলটাও সরকারি। নরবুলিং প্রাইমারি স্কুল। তবে নরবুলিং প্রাইমারি স্কুলে প্রথমে আমার চাকরি হয় নি। চাকরির অফার লেটার টায় যোগ দেবার কোনো নির্দিষ্ট তারিখ ছিল না। শুধু লেখা ছিল আমায় তকলাই প্রাইমারি স্কুলে যোগ দিতে হবে। সেটা কি ভাবে যাবো? আসামের কোঁকড়াঝাড়ে নেবে বাসে Gaylegphug এ যেতে হবে। সেখানে DEO র সাথে দেখা করতে হবে।

Gaylegphug কে আমি পড়ে ছিলাম "গাই লেগ ফুগ" . পরে জেনে ছিলাম ওটা গেলেফু। ওখানকার বাঙাল দোকানদাররা আবার গেলেমফুঙ বলত। যাই হোক।

১৯৮৯ সালে গুগল ছিল না। ভুটান সম্বন্ধে কিছুই জানি না। মা'র কলেজের এক নাক চ্যাপ্টা দারওয়ান  কে মা জিজ্ঞেস করেছিল। সে বলল না না আমি নেপালি। শেষ পর্যন্ত্য কলকাতায় কোনো ভুটানি কে আমরা খুঁজে পাই নি। আমার প্রশ্ন গুলো ছিল এরকম - এই যে হাজার তিনেক টাকা মাইনে পাব, তাতে মাস চলবে ? ওখানে থাকা খাওয়ার খরচ সম্বন্ধে কোনো ধারণা নেই আমার। এক্সচেঞ্জ রেটও জানি না। দ্বিতীয় প্রশ্ন এই গেলেফু যাবো কি করে? কোঁকড়াঝাড় তখন বোড়ো আন্দোলনের একদম কেন্দ্রে। বাস ট্রেন সমস্ত বন্ধ। মাসের পর মাস। কাজেই ওখান দিয়ে যাওয়ার কোনো প্রশ্নই নেই। তাহলে উপায় ?

আমার নেপালে যাওয়ার অভিজ্ঞতা দিয়ে ভেবে ঠিক করলাম -  ভুটান বিদেশ হতে পারে কিন্তু after all একটা তৃতীয় বিশ্বের দেশ। কত আর খরচা হবে? গিয়েই দেখি। অসুবিধে বুঝলে চলে আসবো। গেলেফু যাওয়ার ব্যাপারে ঠিক করলাম ময়দান থেকে যে ফুন্টশিলিংয়ের বাস যায় তাতে চড়ে ফুন্টশিলিং যাই। তারপর দেখা যাবে। নিশ্চই ভুটানের ভেতর দিয়ে ওদের কোনো রাস্তা আছে।

অর্থাৎ কিছুই না জেনে, "গিয়ে দেখা যাবে" এই মন্ত্র নিয়ে একদিন সন্ধ্যে বেলায় সেই বাসে চড়ে বসলাম। ধর্মতলায় এসেছিল আমার বাবা, মা, বন্ধু চেঙকু ও প্রসেনজিৎ। সঙ্গে দুটো জিনিস। একটা স্যুট কেস আর একটা ফ্রেম দেয়া রাক স্যাক। ডাউনের স্লিপিং ব্যাগ টা নিয়েছিলাম কারণ ঠান্ডা নিশ্চই।

ফুন্টশিলিংয়ে পৌঁছতে দুপুর হয়ে গেলো। বাস থেকে নেবে সামনের প্রথম হোটেলটায় গিয়ে একটা ঘর নিলাম। এখন আর মনে নেই কত কিন্তু সাংঘাতিক কিছু দাম নয়। খানিকটা নিশ্চিন্ত। বাবা মা কে ছেড়ে এসে খুব মন খারাপ লাগছিল। হোটেল থেকে দেখলাম ট্রাঙ্ক কল করা যায়। একটা ট্রাঙ্ক কল বুক করে খোঁজ নিলাম যে এই থাই লেগ ফুগ কি ভাবে যায় এখন থেকে। ওরা হেসে বলল না না গেলেফু। বলল এখন থেকে সকালে দুটো বাস যায় এক সাথে। ইন্ডিয়ার ভেতর দিয়েই যায়, তবে আসামের রাস্তায় army escort থাকে। বলল এক্ষুনি টিকিট কেটে আনুন। পরে পাবেন না। মে মাস। ঠান্ডার নাম গন্ধ নেই। টিকিটি কেটে এলাম। বাড়িতে ট্রাঙ্ক কল টা গেল কিন্তু কিছুই প্রায় সোনা গেলো না। যাই হক কিচুটা মন ভালো হলো।

পরের দিন সকাল সকাল বাসে গুছিয়ে বসলাম। ব্যাগ দুটো ছাতে, আমি পেছনের দিকে একটা সীটে। টাটার বাস।  লোকাল বাসের মতো ভিড়। মানে তেমন কিছু বিদেশী ব্যাপার নয়। ফরেক্সের ব্যাপারটা দেখলাম ১:১। ওখানকার টাকাকে বলে ন্যুট্রম। ভালোই হলো। শুনলাম সব জায়গায় IC (Indian Currency) চলে।

তাশি ট্রান্সপোর্ট কর্পোরেশনের চারটে বাস এক সাথে ছাড়ল। দুটো যাবে গেলেফু, বঙাইগাঁওয়ের কাছে। অন্য্ দুটো যাবে সামদ্রুপঝোঁকার। গৌহাটির কাছে। প্রথম স্টপ এলো বারবিসা। জলপাইগুড়ির একটা ছোট টাউন। চা জলখাবারের জায়গা। সামনে একের পর এক অমলেট ভাজা হচ্ছে। যে যার মত খেয়ে নিয়ে আবার বাসে ওঠা। অবশেষে শ্রীরামপুর বলে একটা জায়গায় এসে বাস টা দাঁড়িয়ে গেলো। মাইল পাঁচেক লম্বা একটা ট্রাকের লাইন। সবাই রাস্তার ধারে সার দিয়ে দাঁড়িয়ে। সামনে একটা চেক পোস্ট। আমরা সেই লাইনের মাথায়।

জানা গেলো এটা আসাম বেঙ্গলের বর্ডার। এখান থেকে আর্মির জীপ আমাদের নিয়ে যাবে। তাদের আসার অপেক্ষা শুরু হলো। বোকার মতো দাঁড়িয়ে থাকা ছাড়া কোনও  কাজ নেই। বেশ কয়েক ঘন্টার পর একটা আর্মির জিপ এলো। একেবারে সামনে কয়েকটা ট্রাক চলা শুরু করলো। তারপর জীপ সেই কনভয় তে ঢুকলো। পেছনেই আমাদের ছাড়তে বাস। পেছনে বাকি ট্রাক সমস্ত। কয়েক শো ট্রাক। মাঝ খানে মাঝ খানে আর্মির লরি।

যুদ্ধ বিধ্যস্ত একটা দেশের মধ্যে দিয়ে যাচ্ছি যেন। জঙ্গলে ধিকি ধিকি আগুনে বিশাল বিশাল গাছ পুড়ছে জায়গায় জায়গায়। মাঝে মধ্যেই পুড়ে যাওয়া বাজার। একটাও লোক দেখিনি গোটা রাস্তা টায়। রাস্তার মাঝে একটা জায়গায় আমাদের বাস থেমে গেলো। মেন্ কনভয়টা চলে গেলো পুব দিকে। আমরা এখান থেকে উত্তরে যাবো।

জায়গাটার নাম সামথই বাড়ি। হাই ওয়ে র ওপর একটা বিন্দু। আশপাশে কিছু চায়ের দোকান গোছের ঝুপড়ি। দোকান গুলো ফাঁকা। দেখেই বোঝা যায় সবাই পালিয়ে গেছে। কেউ কোত্থাও নেই। খাঁ খাঁ করছে। একটা বেড়াল কুকুরও  নেই। দু একটা দোকানে গুলির দাগ দেখলাম। মাটির দেয়াল। গা ছম ছম করছিল। এই জায়গাটা বঙাইগাঁওয়ের ঠিক বাইরে। এখান থেকে ঘন জঙ্গলের মধ্যে দিয়ে একটা রাস্তা উত্তরে ভুটানে চলে গেছে। ওই রাস্তা দিয়ে আমাদের যেতে হবে। কিন্তু এসকর্ট নেই। তাই অপেক্ষা। আমার যে খুব ভয় করছিল তা নয়। তবে একটা বাস ভর্তি লোক যদি সবাই চুপ করে থাকে তাহলে একটা গুরু গম্ভীর ভাব এমনিতেই তৈরী হয়। ড্রাইভার বলে দিয়েছে এদিক ওদিক না যেতে। খানিক পর সে বললো চলুন আমরা দু কিলোমিটার দূরে রুনিখাতা থানায় গিয়ে দাঁড়াই। এখানে দাঁড়ানোটা খুব রিস্কি হয়ে যাচ্ছে। কখন এসকর্ট আসবে তার কোনো ঠিক নেই।

রুনিখাতা থানার সামনে খানিকটা মাঠ। উঁচু কাঁটা তারে ঘেরা। বাইরে বালির বাঙ্কার করা। সেখানে বন্দুক হাতে, মাথায় হেলমেট পরা পুলিশ। আশা করা যায় দিন দুপুরে এখানে এটাক হবে না। বেশ অনেক্ষন পর আর্মির গাড়ি এলো। বাস চলা শুরু হলো। গভীর জঙ্গল। মাঝে মাঝে বোড়ো গ্রাম। সেখান থেকে বোড়ো মেয়েরা ওঠা নাবা করছে বাসে। ব্লাউস ছাড়া শাড়ি পরে সবাই। বুকের ওপর টেনে বাঁধা। মোটেও অশোভন নয়। বেশিরভাগের পিঠে বাচ্চা বাঁধা কাপড়ের ওড়না দিয়ে। বোড়ো গ্রাম গুলোয় একটা চোখে পড়ার মতো জিনিস হলো, প্রত্যেকটা গ্রামের একটা লাইব্রেরি আছে। তাতে কি বই আছে বা কে পড়ে জানি না। কিন্তু আছে।

অবশেষে এলো গেলেফু। বিকেল গড়িয়ে এসেছে। বাস থেকে নেবে ভারাক্রান্ত মনে হেঁটে হেঁটে শহরটায় ঢুকলাম। প্রথম যে হোটেলটা দেখলাম তাতেই ঢুকে পড়লাম। নামটা মনে নেই। বোধ হয় কুয়েঙ্গা রাবতেন। দোতলা বাড়ি। শহরে কারেন্ট নেই। ভালোই গরম। কিন্তু কলকাতার লোক। লোডশেডিংয়ের ভয় আমি পাই না।

বেশি কিছু মনে নেই তবে এটুকু মনে আছে সেদিন রাত্রে মা কে একটা লম্বা চিঠি লিখেছিলাম। পৌঁছ সংবাদ। পরদিন ভোরে বাস ড্রাইভার টা কে দিয়ে ছিলাম যে ফুন্টশিলিং থেকে পোস্ট করে দেবে স্ট্যাম্প লাগিয়ে। তাড়াতাড়ি যাবে। কিছু টাকাও দিয়েছিলাম। কেউ কথা রাখে নি।

******

Norbuling, Pemaling, Tashiphug. Or even Shersong. These names used to be part of my consciousness some thirty years ago. It never occurred to me that there might come a day when I would forget these names. The other day in one of those rare occasions the topic of my life in Bhutan arose and I realised I had forgotten one of the names. That's why I thought I should perhaps write these memories down for posterity.

I have never written anything about my three years in Bhutan. Because that experience and memory is exclusively mine. I cannot share it with anyone. You might find it selfish but that is not how I see it. Actually the side of Bhutan that I was exposed to and got to know, the people in their natural background and the simplicity of the mountain people, their way of life and their warmth is impossible for me to explain to the Bengalis of Calcutta.

Also I was witness to a few national tragedies that completely changed the Bhutan that I knew. They created a certain deep wound in me. Those are entirely my wound and I cannot share them with anyone. I am still haunted by them and I guess I will take those wounds with me into the hot chamber of the crematorium when I finally go there. 

I have finally got down to write those memories down because I have myself started to forget them. This is largely because I don't have anyone form those days with whom I could share those memories. 

********

As per my appointment letter I was supposed to report to the District Education Officer in Gaylegphug and then go and join Taklai Primary School. How does one reach Gaylegphug? The instruction was simple - catch a bus from Kokrajhar in Assam. Now Kokrajhar in 1989 was in the heart of the extremely violent Bodo agitation. Trains and buses to Assam were suspended for months because the agitators used to plant bombs on train tracks and buses would often burst while speeding over the highways. 

I had no clue how one navigates to Gaylegphug without going through Kokrajhan. I had a few other questions about going to Bhutan. Will Rs 3000 per month be enough as a salary? In Calcutta it would be a princely sum but what about Bhutan? I could not find any single Bhutanese to answer these questions. Google and internet were completely unknown back then. There was a security guard in my mother's college who had a flat Mongoloid nose. We asked him and he said he was a Nepali and not Bhutanese. 

I decided I shall take the Phuntsholling bus from Esplanade. Go there and see how to reach Gaylegphug. There must be a route through Bhutan, like in Nepal. Regarding cost of living I reasoned that Bhutan was after all a Third World country. How expensive can it be? Let me go and check it out. 

So with zero knowledge about the country and its geography, one fine evening I boarded the bus in Esplanade. My parents had come to see me off. With them were two of my friends - Prasenjit and Chenka to wave me good bye. I had a suitcase and an old green rucksack with a rusty frame for luggage. I had also taken my down sleeping bag. Bhutan must be cold, I had reasoned.

By the time I reached the border town of Phuntsholling, it had become late afternoon. I checked into the first hotel that I could see. I cannot remember the exact tariff but it wasn't anything fancy. I felt reassured that at least the cost of hotel room is reasonably affordable. I asked the guy at the reception how to go to "Thai - Leg - Phug". He laughed out loud and told me it is Gaylegphug and pronounced Gelephu. He said there are two buses that go to Gaylegphug every morning through Assam. There is no seperate road through Bhutan. Run to the bus stand and book the ticket, otherwise you will have to stay here tomorrow, meaning more cost in the hotel. 

I did as instructed and got one of the last tickets. In the evening I booked a trunk call home and though I could hardly hear their voice, I felt better to be able to connect to my mother. Early next morning I boarded the crowded bus in one of the rear seats. Four bus would go together. Two for Gaylegphug near Bongaigaon and two for Samdrupjhonkar, a Bhutanese border town near Guwahati, farther east.

The first stop was a small town in Jalpaiguri called Barabisa. The bus stopped in front of a tea shop and everyone went for breakfast. Fried eggs and toast and some tea. After breakfast we started again. Soon the bus reached a place called Srirampur. This is the Bengal/Assam border. I saw a 5-km long line of trucks parked on the side of the road. Our convoy of four buses stopped near the head of this queue of trucks. I was told that now that we will enter the disturbed state of Assam, Indian army will escort us through this area that lies ahead. After an inordinately long wait, the army vehicles arrived. Truck loads of soldiers and a few jeeps came. They positioned themselves in various strategic points within this massive line of trucks and the convoy started. 

On this journey I didn't see a  single human being on the road. The bus went through forests and small hamlets with no population. Deserted bazaars came on the way. Most looked burnt down. I saw fire burning down huge trees in the forests. I don't know who set fire to the innocent forest or why. It was a very sorry sight. I still feel very sad when I think about this journey. 

Soon our bus stopped on the way side and the main convoy of trucks crossed us. This is a place called Samthaibari. It is just outside the Bongaigaon town. We will now travel (I think 30/40 km) north towards Gaylegphug. This is a densely forested part and the road is relatively much narrower. It goes through Bodo villages. 

We would wait here for another army escort vehicle to come and escort us. So I got down from the bus to let my legs stretch out. Samthaibari looked like a haunted place. It's just a dot on the highway. It has a few abandoned thatched huts that were highway side shops selling food and tea to truckers in normal times. But all are deserted now. Some of the huts had bullet marks and holes on the mud walls. Obviously gun battles have been fought here. May be people have been killed right here. There was not a soul to be found anywhere. Not even a cat or a stray dog. It felt very uncanny. If I was watching all this in a film there would be a slow sad music in the background. A bus full of silent people, in a silent place with such abandoned huts with bullet holes in the walls makes for a very uncanny experience.

Our drivers increasingly got jittery about waiting here alone. They feared an attack any time. And no one knew when the army escort would come. They decided to move ahead a couple of kilometers and wait near the police station of Runikhata. Here, there was a small field outside the police station cordoned off with a barbed wire fencing. Armed guards were manning the gate sitting behind sand bunkers. Our buses entered this area and waited. We felt quite safe here. The escort van arrived and our northward journey started again in right earnest. 

The bus passed through Bodo villages where women and men boarded the bus or got off. The women had a different type of dress I had never seen before. They didn't wear any blouse. They wore a piece of cloth wrapped around their chest. Nothing vulgar about it. Everyone looked very dignified. Many had their child tied on the back with another piece of cloth. I found a peculiar thing here. Virtually every village had a small library on the road side. I do not know if they all really study so seriously here but this is a very unusual thing in India. 

The bus entered Gaylegphug and I entered the small town with my rucksack and suitcase. I walked into the first hotel again. There was a loadshedding going on in the town. Being a Calcuttan I wasn't worried by that. I wrote a long letter to my mother detailing the journey. Next morning I put it in an envelop and gave it to the bus driver going back to Phuntsholling, asking him to post it on my behalf from there. It would reach faster I thought. It never did. No one kept their words. 

It was broad day light but there was an uncanny feeling. 

Death March

Noted mountaineer and friend, Debasish Biswas  (you can google about him) has recently written an article in the Bengali Indian Express on the series of deaths in the Himalayas this year, with specific focus on the death of two Bengali mountaineers on Kanchenjungha. It was published on the anniversary of the first successful summit of Mt Everest done by Hilary and Tenzin. 29th May to be precise.

This article is very different in that it addresses the real issue without mincing any word. It's high time someone said what he said. I am sure this will invite the wrath of a lot of so called mountaineers in Bengal but what he says is worth a listen.

Here is a translation of the original write up that was published in Bengali. For the original write up in Bengali click here

This write up is not to point fingers at anyone. Rather it will be proper to treat this as self-criticism. Perhaps then can we find a way to stop this death march of mountaineers. Mountaineering is a risky business. We cannot deny that. But we cannot accept meaningless, avoidable deaths. A death brings a certain emptiness in the hearts of parents, wives, children and friends. This can never be undone in any way.

So far we have got news of some 19 deaths in the various 8000 meter plus peaks of Nepal. Allan Arnette has written, “sadly all of these incidents suggest a level of inexperience and inadequate support”.

Adrian Ballinger has said, “many clients were not receiving sufficient support or training to take on the highest mountain.” Since there is no specific law in Nepal to restrict climbing, Adrian says, “because of lack of government regulations, specially on the Nepal side, we are going to continue to see this type of accidents.” This is why we think it’s time for the Nepal government to spend some more thoughts on climbing of the 8000 meter peaks.

Morning 10.30. Mingma is calling me on my phone. “Their bodies have arrived. They are at the Teaching Hospital. Please go there.” Mingma is the head of Kathmandu’s famous Seven Summits Treks. He is the first Nepali who has climbed all the 14 8000 meter peaks. I ran towards the Teaching Hospital of Tribhuban University. With me are Malay, Ananta-da (da, meaning elder brother, is an honorific for elders), Ramesh, Rudra and Kuntal’s relative Srirup. Kuntal and Biplab’s dead bodies have just reached there.

Went straight to the hospital mortuary. Two persons were standing with masks over their face. Seeing me one of them came running towards me, taking the mask off from his face. I couldn’t recognize him due to the mask. He is Umesh Jipre. Leader of Pune’s Giripremi mountaineering club.

He knows me. He held my hands and broke down crying. “Stop these people. Don’t let them come to commit suicide like this.”

Then he started relating his long list of complaints about the Bengali team to Kanchenjungha this year. We spoke for a long time. His point was these climbers had no proper idea about the difficulty and dangers of the route to the Kanchenjungha peak. On top of that they hardly had any physical training.

Umesh’s words have a lot of weight and he has to be taken seriously. I know how they trained for their previous expeditions to Evererst or Makalu. They make a team about a year in advance and train like in a residential school. They stay together, eat together, train together in one place. When they head out for the expedition they are at the peak of their physical and mental condition. That’s why they have such an envious success rate.

According to him, “all five of these from Bengal had no right to go to Kanchenjungha. Kuntal and Biplab could not come back. Rudra and Ramesh came back due to sheer luck.” I asked “what about Sahabuddin. He was apparently fit”? “Yes he was fit but he is dangerous as a team man. He continuously quarreled with the other four of the team.”

I felt really ashamed. Perhaps because he knew me so well, Umesh poured out all his inner frustrations and pain. Then he said, “a total 68 people climbed Kanchenjungha this year. Record number that has never been achieved before. No one had any problem except the team from Bengal. Why?”

Sixty eight summiteers !!! In the 55 years between the first ascent of the mountain in 1955 and when we summited it in 2011, the total number of summiteers as far as I know was 150. Here in one season alone 68 summiteers! On the summit day the weather wasn’t too bad either. Yet such a major accident. Then where is the problem? If we analyse the ground realities, we will probably be able to avoid such accidents. In all sports and games there is a concept of screening or a benchmark. In athletics it is about time, long jump, high jump, swimming, badminton, table tennis any sport has a benchmark. If you surpass that then only you qualify to compete at the highest level.

In mountaineering there is no such thing. In India at least there are some basic rules. Indian Mountaineering Foundation checks certain papers and gives you permission to climb. In Nepal there is no such restriction. If you deposit the permit fee you can climb any peak. There are innumerable agencies in Kathmandu who will do the entire paperwork if you pay them.

So those who opt to climb don’t have to go through any system that checks his ability to climb. Only the climber himself is responsible. If the climber himself fails to judge his own abilities, then there is a high risk of accident.

If someone comes back from a successful summit, we make a big hero out of him and put him on a pedestal. If there is news of any accident, we immediately need a villain – either the Sherpa or bad weather or oxygen malfunction or the agency. We need to blame someone. For example, this time it is being said, they were using refilled oxygen cylinders and that’s why their oxygen got exhausted and hence the accidents. I have been climbing 8000 meter peaks since 2010 without a single gap year in between. Every year I see every one using refilled cylinders. This year all the other successful Kanchenjungha summiteers used refilled cylinders. Then why did they not have any similar problem?

As far as I heard they took a long time to come down to Camp 4 and it was late night. Naturally oxygen had exhausted. You have to keep in mind the total time being spent. It’s being said the Sherpas deserted them. I am not giving any clean chit to the Sherpas but if a mountaineer tears off his oxygen mask and throws it away and tells the Sherpa I will not go any more, then what on earth is the poor Sherpa supposed to do in that Death Zone? He is human. He has got to come back alive.

According to the agency, Biplab’s problem started when he was climbing down. He had breathing problem. In climbing parlance, it is called High Altitude Pulmonary Edema. The region above 8000 meters is a death zone. There is less oxygen in the atmosphere so if anyone stays at that kind of high altitude for a long time, oxygen in his body is supposed to come down. Fluid starts accumulating in the lungs further aggravating the problem. Movement becomes a problem now. He feels sleepy. He starts thinking “if I rest a while I will feel better”. He does not realise this is going to be his last sleep. He will never wake up. The only thing to do in such a situation is to bring him down.

But then 8000 meters is a different world altogether. Every step is dangerous there. To climb down with a critically ill person in that zone is next to impossible. We have to remember the rescuer is also another member of the team. He is also equally tired. It is to be noted that not just Bengalis have died this year. So far in this spring season 19 people have perished in the 8000 meter plus peaks of Nepal. Annapurna, Lohtse and Cho Yu has each seen one death. Four on Makalu, three on Kanchenjungha and nine on Everest.

This year I was in Cho Yu from the Tibet side. One Sherpa died there. Here also it was entirely his fault.

Due to tremendous high wind, all the loose and soft snow above Camp One had blown off exposing the hard blue ice underneath. Blue Ice is extremely slippery and dangerous. The Sherpa was going on this blue ice without rope. Usually in such situations other Sherpas belay each other with rope. He didn’t listen to anyone and went ahead without any rope. Suddenly he slipped and fell down in the gorge meeting instant death. Who is responsible for this? Blue ice or his own adventurist decision? Immediately after this a team of 15 abandoned the expedition and went back leaving six of us to climb. Three Sherpas and three climbers.

We have lost Chhanda Gayen in the past due to her lack of ability to understand her own limitations and the dangers of the mountain. This year I saw a similar obstinacy and adventurism in Piyali Basak. Her experience so far includes just climbing Manaslu. With that experience she went to climb Everest and Lhotse in one go and that too without oxygen. This is not courage. This is senseless obstinacy. I don’t know how many 6000 and 7000 meter peaks Piyali climbed before attempting 8000 meter peaks.

Till last information I am told Piyali has abandoned her expedition and coming back now. She is extremely lucky not to have faced any major danger. I hope good sense will prevail. If she wants to prove herself as a mountaineer she will climb a few 6000 meter peaks, improve her experience and then attempt an 8000 meter peak like Everest. Probably then the regrets and wailings of people like Umesh will reduce.

চুটকি গল্প

এই গল্প গুলো বিভিন্ন সময়ে বিভিন্ন বন্ধুদের কাছ থেকে শোনা। মুখ্য চরিত্ররা অনেকেই ফ্যাতাড়ু। তারা যে ভাষায় কথা বলে সেই ভাষাই রেখেছি।  পুরো টা যে সাংবিধানিক তা নয়। দরকার হলে কানে আঙ্গুল দিয়ে নিজ দায়িত্বে পড়িবেন।

*******

দূর পাল্লার ট্রেন থেমে আছে কোনো অজানা শহরতলীর স্টেশন-এ। ভোরবেলা আধো ঘুমে শোনা দুই হকারের কথোপকথন। এক জন আমার ট্রেন এ, খোলা দরজার কাছে। অন্যজন পাশের প্লাটফর্ম এ। 

"কিরে বাঁ? ভোরে ভোর চান করছিস? তাও আবার সাবান মেখে?" গলায় ঈষৎ তির্যক সুর। 

"আজকে বাড়িতে মাংস হয়েছে।"

*******

এক ই রকম পরিস্থিতে দুই হকারের কথোপকথন। 

- এই কটা বাজে রে? 

- সাড়ে ছটা। 

- তুই আবার ঘড়ি কিনলি কবে রে, বাঁ ?

- সেই, তুই যে বছর বিস্ খেয়ে হাসপাতালে গেছিলি। 

********

এরাও দুই হকার বন্ধু । একজন বাজারে সব্জি বেচে, অন্যজনের পাঁউরুটি বিস্কুটের দোকান।
- এই, একটা fruit কেক দেতো ! তোর fruit কেক-এ ফ্রুট আছে ত'?
- কেন রে বাঁ ? তোর ধোনে পাতায় ধোন থাকে?

আমার প্রথম বাংলা ব্লগ

বাংলায় একটা ব্লগ লিখলে কেমন হয় ? অনেক দিন ধরেই ইচ্ছেটা ছিল। কিন্তু বাংলা লেখার তেমন জুতসই কোনো সফটওয়্যার পাচ্ছিলাম না। অনেকেই Avro ব্যবহার করেন শুনতাম। আমি কোনোদিন সেটা নাবিয়ে উঠতে পারিনি। গুগল-এর দাক্ষিণ্যে এখন বাংলা লেখা দারুন সহজ হয়ে গেছে। কাজেই না লেখার আর কোনো যুক্তি দেয়া যায় না। শুধু চন্দ্রবিন্দু টা কি ভাবে লাগাতে হয় এখনো বুঝে উঠতে পারিনি। আশা করি বুঝে যাবো শিগগির। তবে গুগল দেখছি বানান গুলো মোটামুটি জানে। কিছু ওপার বাংলা মার্কা বানান আছে। কিন্তু একটু সজাগ থাকলেই ওগুলো এড়ানো যায়।

কেমন ভাবে লিখি গুগল এ? লিখে রাখি। হয়তো ভবিষ্যতে পুরো ব্যাপার টা পাল্টে যাবে। গুগল ইনপুট সরঞ্জাম বলে একটা ওয়েব সাইট আছে। ইংরিজিতে "Google  Bengali input " বলে গুগল করলেই সেটি চলে আসে। সেখানে একটি বাক্সে ইংরিজিতে বাংলা শব্দ গুলো লিখতে হয়। যেমন sudipto যদি লিখি গুগল অনেকগুলো অপশন দেবে। নম্বর দিয়ে। এ ক্ষেত্রে প্রথমে ছিল সুদীপ্ত। সঠিক বানান। তখন যদি স্পেস বার টিপি তাহলে ওটাই রইলো। অন্য অনেক বানানের অপশন দেবে। তার কোনটা চাইলে সেই নম্বর টি টিপতে হবে। মানে আমি চাইলে সুদিপ্ত বা সূদীপ্ত ও লিখতে পারি।

তবে হ্যাঁ, এই ভাবে বানান দেখে দেখে ও সঠিক বানান খুঁজে খুঁজে টাইপ করা বেশ সময় সাপেক্ষ ব্যাপার। মাঝে মধ্যেই ভুল বানান হয়ে যায় খেয়াল না থাকলে, আবার তাকে rewrite করতে হয়। 

How A Fledgling Bird Learnt To Fly

Learning to ride a bicycle is a basic life skill that everyone must know. Much like swimming. And once you learn it, you cannot forget it. I know of a distant cousin, who cannot stand erect from his waist up due to an accident. He walks with the torso of his body parallel to the ground. But he rides a bicycle every morning. It is an unbelievable sight. He is 70 years old.
I have willy nilly given up on trying to teach my daughter how to ride a bicycle. She is 14 years old now and has owned various cycles from even before she could walk (starting with tricycles of course). She just doesn't have it in her to learn how to balance herself. She needs prodding and at this stage I cannot run with her holding her under the saddle from behind (that I believe is the second best way to teach cycling, first being learning on your own through trial and error). Also I think anyone who needs prodding to take a bicycle out does not want to learn really and it is best not to push.
I will explain how I learnt and I think that's the way most of us in our generation learnt. May be not at that early an age and perhaps not all completely on their own. But generally speaking it's more or less the same story.
I was eight years old and probably three feet and a few inches tall when we went on a family trip to Shantiniketan where an uncle lived. I remember nothing of that trip except that my parents were sitting on the large balcony of my uncle's house and there was a bicycle in the house. A really tall one that I still find difficult to ride on (the cycle is still there even after a good 45 years of my learning on it when it was already an old cycle). I cannot remember if my father encouraged it or I pulled it out, but I was simply ecstatic when I was allowed to take it out to the field outside my uncle's house. They probably thought I could not have done anything with such a huge cycle. Indeed my chance was very slim.
I was so small that I could not hold the two ends of the handle bar together – an old-fashioned handlebar that I don't see anywhere except in India and also lots in Amsterdam. So, I held the left end of the bar with my left hand and with the right hand I grabbed the saddle. I was finding it difficult to keep the cycle standing erect, let alone take it anywhere. But that itself was a challenge. I kept it straight with all my little strength and then started walking with it, holding it as straight as possible. It was reclining towards me all the time and it was quite a struggle to keep it vertical. Soon enough it became easy and I was walking with the cycle quite comfortably.
The field in front had a gentle slope. I was going up pushing it and then coming down comfortably. On the return journey while coming down, the cycle was rolling much faster. This I kept on doing for an hour or two. Soon enough, while rolling down I started standing with my right foot on the left pedal and roll down a bit with the flow. After this I remember pushing myself intermittently with the left foot on the ground as the cycle was coming to a halt and trying to get some movement. Then at some point of time I started keeping both the feet on the pedal. My feet were so small I could quite comfortably stand with both of them on the pedal. I was basically hopping but with the wrong foot on the wrong pedal. In fact today if I try to do that I might find it difficult - hopping with the right foot on the left pedal.
My parents were busy chatting on the balcony with their friends and relatives. Perhaps they kept an eye on me. Perhaps not. But I was glad to be alone yet within their view of a few hundred meters. I soon started rolling down the slope, standing with both the feet on the pedal. I cannot remember clearly but once I got on the pedal I think I could reach with both the hands to hold the two ends of the bar.
What I do remember is my beaming father telling me, "I guess now you have the balance to ride a bicycle. You don't need anything else."
He then encouraged me to put the right foot on the right pedal while in motion and push/ride the pedals. We call it "half pedaling". Many children, trying to ride a bicycle too high for them, do this. Rather, used to do this. These days one does not see this sight on the streets of large cities anymore because youngsters get cycles suitable for their size.
After some time my father bought a used bicycle. It was a very good cycle but meant for adults. I was allowed to use it but I could manage to ride only half pedal. I was still too small for an adult bike. Then one fine Sunday afternoon my father told my cousin Mezda, who at that time used to live with us, to take me to the lake and help me learn how to ride sitting atop the saddle.
Mezda made me sit on on the saddle and ran for a few meters holding the bike under the saddle. I did not realise when he had stopped running. I could not do a full circle with the pedals. I was still a little short. Perhaps by an inch. So I would push the pedal hard while going down and then let the leg hang and then push down again when the pedal came up. Those who have done it will know what I am talking about.
This in long (as opposed to "short") is how I learnt to pedal a bicycle. As I look back with a matured brain I am trying to analyse what went right with me and wrong with my daughter?
Let me write them down.
1. I grew up with my father's adventure story of how he cycled from Hazaribagh to Ranchi crossing the massive Chutu Palu ghaat at the tender age of 14, even at the risk of being devoured by tigers. These stories probably sowed the seeds of adventure in me. So when I got a chance I pounced upon the cycle.
2. I never had any fancy cycle. There was a tricycle at home that I used to ride on our rooftop. I had no other toy, so to speak. I thoroughly enjoyed it. In our childhood one never got anything without asking for it for months. Children these days get things even before they ask for it. We parents are to be blamed for it. Probably we remember our childhood and try to ensure happier childhood for our children but we are probably destroying a lot of potential in them that a desperate want would have ignited.
3. I was exposed to the right environment for learning to ride. My daughter has never been to a field with a cycle. She has always been exposed to either concrete or asphalt roads where the fear of injury from a fall is high. The field I got had a very gentle slope which helped and hastened the process of learning for me. No such luck for my daughter.
4. My bicycle never had any training wheels which my daughter's cycle had. Training wheels are useless and do not teach you anything. You end up learning how to ride a bicycle with training wheels. In fact Mampu used to love riding her cycle with the training wheels. She stopped riding the day I took them off.
5. I was watching a training video from REI where they say a child must learn first to scoot, coast and then pedal. You learn to balance first and then pedal. This is exactly what I happened to do without looking at any website. Of course I first had to learn to hold the cycle upright first. That itself is a major first step. Ask anyone who does not know how to balance, to walk a bike. One cannot. If you can walk comfortably with a bike you are half way there.
6. I was way too young to use my brain and be afraid. Incidentally I never fell a single time trying to learn, despite my first cycle being too large for me even now. 

A Lust for Life

I do not remember when I first heard about Van Gogh. Probably in school and from my brother in law who was an artist himself and idolised him. I also do not remember who told me first about the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. But I remember that ever since I learnt about its existence I wanted to go to that city, even if it was for a day. 

When we learnt that Mampu would be visiting Amsterdam for a day trip from Geltsenkirchen, Germany, my only request to her was to try and get a Van Gogh postcard and post it from Amsterdam. Just like that. As a memento. Mampu unfortunately didn't get a chance to even see the museum building. I think they just went to the Museum Square Area and were shown the Van Gogh Museum from a distance. Sad for her. 

But soon enough I learnt that I myself would be going to Amsterdam for slightly more than a day. I would be in the city, with 200 office colleagues and some 1500 dealers, for two full days (the entire trip would be for three days with one day reserved for Den Haag - The Hague). 

My first reaction to office colleagues was: "my long cherished dream of seeing Van Gogh Museum would come true at last". To this a particular colleague said, "Who is that? The Monalisa fellow?"  I realised not only does he not know who Van Gogh is, he has no clue who the Monalisa fellow is either. But that's a different story. 

As the time for the trip drew nearer I realised that probably we would have to give the visit to Van Gogh Museum a miss. Because the two days in Amsterdam were planned in such a way that you had to go out on group tours of the city and its surrounding areas throughout the day. I wasn't too sure if I would be able to opt out of these trips. So I didn't book any museum trip in advance. I told myself that we will go to Europe on a family tour later and that is when we shall see the museum. 

Our plan in the Netherlands was like this. Day one is in Amsterdam. Day two in The Hague (Den Haag) and day three again in Amsterdam. By day one afternoon we realised that a. going out on these group tours is a torture b. we could easily opt out of them. The only cost was we would need to organise lunch or dinner on our own. By 'we' I mean Surajit Majumdar and me. 

Surajit suggested that we book the ticket for the Van Gogh Museum for 9th August, the second day of our stay in the city. After some initial hesitation I agreed. It was to cost us € 16 each. The hesitation wasn't about the money but just like once I make up my mind to do something I do it regardless of the obstacles, once I make up my mind not to do something I find it difficult to do it. But for Van Gogh Museum, I chose to be a little more flexible. 

Surajit booked the ticket online and we got a 4 pm to 7 pm slot. So we were all set to go. On that day we chose to opt out right from the morning. After a particularly heavy buffet breakfast at the hotel (which came gratis), I went out on my own to explore the city. Surajit and I decided to meet in front of the shop Hema in Central Station, where we went on day one to buy breads and butter etc for the dinner. We decided that we would meet at around 3 pm and from there go to the museum. 

The park behind the museum. We spent a pleasant time here

I came to the rendezvous point a little ahead of Surajit because I was close by at Haarlemarstrat buying my hiking boots from Kathmandu. The boot was a little too large for my 26 lit Deuter which I was using. Inside I had a warm woolen and my Precip rainwear. I think I kept the Precip on top of the shoe box, under the top flap of the sack. It was hitting me on my neck from behind. The sack just did not have any more space even for a fly. 

Anyway, after meeting up at the Central Station, Surajit and I took a tram and went to the Museum. We took tram number 2. I think 5 would also have gone. Earlier in the morning I had taken the same tram to go to Lightsupply (Leidseplein in Dutch) stop for a visit to the Bever store and Van Gogh Museum was a couple of stops after this. So going back the same route was not a problem at all, except that we had to spend €3 more on tram ticket. We could have easily walked this distance but Surajit didn't want to take a chance with the time and our arrival etc. 

We reached a little ahead of time. First I checked out the little shop outside the museum which was selling Van Gogh themed post cards and posters. I looked for a self portrait fridge magnet which they did not have. I decided not to buy anything from this shop before checking out the official museum store. 

There was quite a large crowd that had gathered outside to get the entry ticket. I felt great that we had already booked the ticket. We asked an official kind of lady about how to get in using our e-ticket and whether we needed to do anything else. Like in India if you book an e-ticket for a cinema you still have to collect the physical ticket from the counter. She said you need not do anything. Just show them the ticket at the gate from your mobile after 4 and enter. No line or anything. 

We spent the time taking some photographs of the building. In case you do not know, the Van Gogh Museum is housed in a rather modern building. Because this is not one of those old traditional museums, which the Rijksmuseum, for example, is. I think it was built in the 60s (google says it was built in 1973). There are two buildings. One houses the main collection. The other was running an exhibition of sorts for some Van Gogh paintings, putting him in the context of other contemporary European artists. 

The museum from behind

We spent some time sitting on the large lawn behind the museum. At the other end of the lawn one could see the imposing Rijksmuseum. But that's quite a distance. 

At around 4 pm we took our chance to enter the museum. It was the moment for me. I had seen a few Van Goghs in New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art on an extremely crowded Sunday afternoon in December 2002. But entering the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam for the first time is a special moment in one's life.  

The Rjiksmuseum from the lawns behind VGM

From the entry gate one has to go downstairs that houses the official museum store. Here we left our backpacks for safe keeping and then decided to explore the shops. They have everything. The post cards, posters, replica paintings, T-shirts, bags, fridge magnets, pencils, pens, paints, key rings, pads, even Van Gogh branded hair oil and moisturisers. The way they have merchandised the artist is really remarkable. I didn't know whether to like it or hate it. I think I had a mixed feeling. I made a mental note of what to buy on our way out and went for the museum tour. 

We did not buy any audio guide but decided to explore it on our own. To be honest, the main paintings are so well explained through written notes next to them that one perhaps does not need an audio guide, which I thought might be a distraction rather than help. 

The first thing you notice in the museum is the tremendously low light. The halls are almost dark you could say. I have been to only the Metropolitan Museum in New York, among the globally famous ones. There the light was normal. Here things are different. It's an extremely subdued light that they have. 

Later I learnt that the real reason for the low light is a recent discovery that some of the pigments in Van Gogh's paintings are changing colour due to the effect of light. In fact his Irises, which are blue and the world has always known them to be blue, were originally purple! This is a recent discovery. Apparently the floor in the painting Bedroom, which is also housed in this museum, had a lot of purple in it as well. The museum authorities have thus decided to reduce light. 

I remember Aisling once telling me about an English painter who donated his life's work to the Irish National Museum with an order for them to display the paintings only in winter months when natural light in Ireland is proverbially low. Otherwise they were to be kept in vaults throughout the year. He was in mortal fear of his paintings losing their original colours. He was apparently a water colour painter and used extremely subtle and faint colours. 

It is sad to think that a day will come when Van Gogh's paintings will not look like the way they do now. We have no idea how the original Irises looked in purple. 

In the first hall we saw all the self portrait in the museum's collection. It's a massive collection. We did not count but thought there must be some 20 of them there. I just checked the most elaborate website on Van Gogh . According to their list the museum has 17 of them. I am proud that I saw them all. 

In this hall we also saw a sculpture by Rodin. In fact although called the Van Gogh Museum, there are several other paintings in their collection which are displayed side by side with the Van Goghs. These are mostly his contemporaries or artists who had an impact on him. There are some paintings by other artists which are in the nature of their tribute to him. I saw Monet, Rembrandt, Gaugin and various other artists whose names I do not know.

There were two more floors of Van Gogh paintings. We saw them all. It is impossible to recount all that we saw. But obviously this museum houses paintings from all the important phases of his life. Among the notable paintings that I will always remember are the Sunflowers (there is just one them here), the Potato Eaters, the Irises, the Wheat Field with Crows the Almond Tree in Blossom, Seascape near Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. In fact, we had missed the Potato Eaters initially. We asked the guards and went back again to see it. You have to stand mesmerised before the actual painting when you see it. 

We saw a few remarkable paintings that we had no clue were done by Van Gogh. The most remarkable of these was the Japanese style painting of  Courtesan after Eisen and the skull with a burning cigarette. I had no clue about these.

And of course we saw a lot of his drawings with charcoal and other media. I have always loved bold drawings with charcoal. The study of Old Man in Grief has fascinated me for a long time now. I saw it as well. 

The two most notable paintings of his life that are NOT here in this museum are the Starry Night and the Street Side Cafe in Arles at Night. That painting is officially called Cafe Terrace and I believe it is now in the Otterlo's Kröller-Müller Museum (incidentally a new dream is beginning to take shape - can I ever visit this museum? It has the world's second largest Van Gogh collection. Otterlo is a small village in The Netherlands whose only claim to fame is this fantastic museum. Presumably this museum does not stay as crowded as the VGM.

Apart from the low light in the museum, the other problem there is the continuous flow of visitors. Well, we were also part of the same crowd so I cannot complain about that. But it does make seeing the paintings in detail a tough task. You are always blocking or disturbing someone else. It is not possible to block someone else for a long time. But I must say, the crowd here is not nearly one tenth of what I had to endure in New York. Of course, that was a bad day to go, being the last Sunday of the year. Here, we were visiting in the middle of the week. Still the number of visitors in front of each painting is quite sizeable. They do try to evenly distribute the crowd by giving slots. Even then it is quite large.

It took us about two hours to see the main collection. I think we spent a little more than that, doing a recap of a few paintings once again. After that we went to the other building where we saw a few more, including what was claimed to be "possibly the last painting of Van Gogh, painted a few days before his death".

Next we went to the official Museum shop. Oh my God. One should come here to see what merchandising is all about. They even have moisturisers and hair oil in Van Gogh's name, not to speak of post cards, posters, reproductions, life size prints, bags, wallets, T-shirts - in short everything. There were some paint tubes also. I knew what I wanted in my limited budget. I picked up a self portrait fridge magnet for the living room and a diary with the Seascape painting on the cover for Mampu. She loved it, incidentally. If I ever go again I will possibly pick up a Potato Eater poster. It is a bit of a gloomy painting. So I might just get the Almond in Bloom poster as well. (Apart from these mementos, from the Netherlands I bought a small blue and white porcelain windmill, a  tiny silver windmill pendant for Monisha and a blue and white small biscuit tin with some cookies in it.)

Van Gogh shower gel anyone ? Body lotion ?

I also picked up a small memento for free from one of the halls. It was a real ticket left on a table. I asked the guard if I could take it and he said it was fine.

When we came out at around 7.30 we realised we were a little hungry. I had with me three cookies bought by Surajit on day 1. The three of us (Mr Ganguly had joined us during the visit) shared the three large cookies. They were very filling. After raising my sack back on my back I realised the Precip was not hitting me against the back of my neck. I quickly took the sack down and realised the Precip wasn't where I thought I had left it - on top of the sack.

I was in panic. I went back to the guards at the gate and told them about my issue. They let me in to talk to the lost and found section. The lady there was extremely helpful and looked around with me through all the shelves where bags are kept. We could not find it. She even showed me a jacket that was lying with them since the previous day. It was obviously not mine. I thought may be it had fallen off even before I had deposited it to their counter and gave up hopes of finding it ever. She noted down my email ID in case they found it.

I came out, feeling very sad. I just wished if it is really lost someone poor should get it. I even went to the part of the lawn where we had sat. The bench. No trace. Finally I thought let me check the inside of the sack. Did I really keep it on top or did I somehow shove it in? And guess what? It was there. I felt so happy and really embarrassed because the lost and found lady asked me several times, "Are you sure it's not in your bag?" I went to the guards and told them the story. They laughed and said they would inform the lady about it.

We came back. Happy to have lived through a big dream.

That's me in front of the museum. A long cherished dream come true.