Thoughts In Isolation

We are in a lockdown. It has been ten days or so that I am homebound. The longest I can remember. When I was young once I had to stay home for 21 days. I had contracted chicken pox (the milder and non-fatal form of small pox). That was different. I was sick and was considered risky for the society. Now I know there is a word for it. Quarantine. I was quarantined for three weeks. This time is different. I am perfectly fit. Normal with no trace of any illness, yet I cannot go out. Not just me, my entire family is at home. The whole city, as indeed the entire country is not supposed to go out. They are trying to control the spread of Covid-19 by keeping the entire nation behind shut doors. 

Today is a Tuesday. Last Friday night, ten days ago, when I came home from work I knew I would stay at home for two days, that is Saturday and Sunday, and possibly try to visit office on Monday and see what the situation was like. An internal circular from the MD's office had already come informing us to work out the feasibility of working from home. Schools were already closed for a week. And there was a general fear among all against going out on the street. 

On Saturday I had planned to take an electrician to our house in Metro Park to fix a faulty line. But we were not too sure if we should actually go. The old electrician with a white stubble on his sunken cheeks, a freelancer who lives just behind our house, came at the appointed time. We were to go together in our car with the aluminium ladder. I told him about the fear and asked him whether it would be prudent to go. He agreed with a dry, disappointed face. I told him, we will go once this panic blows over. He looked at the floor and nodded in agreement. Let me know when you want to go, he said resignedly. I felt sorry for him. I gave him Rs 100 for coming. He seemed a little hesitant. I told him, we will adjust this against your future charges when you actually do the work. The old man seemed happy. It is not always easy to deal with an honest man. I had to convince him quietly that he was being paid for a service.

A couple of evenings before this I was walking to Gariahat through the Dhakuria Lake. There were two younger boys walking in front of me. They were from a poor family. Since our speed was more or less equal I could hear the conversation between the two for some time. One of them seemed to be a Swiggy delivery boy. He was ruing that he didn't go out to work as there weren't many orders to take. They are paid on "per delivery" basis. "It's pointless you see. This other guy at work who always gets more deliveries than me got just two deliveries the whole of yesterday. Why waste your time? I didn't go." 

I realised that the virus scare has already hit these daily wage earners. Monisha had stopped using taxis. I am sure lots of other people too. The hawkers in front of our office were mostly gone. In fact even when the lockdown wasn't announced, the road in front of Exide in the evening was eerily empty. People were already avoiding unnecessary travel. The momo shop was closed. There were hardly any buses on the roads. The drive home via HSBC was a breeze.

April 9, 2020
Honestly I cannot remember what day it is today. It could be Wednesday. Or Thursday. The stock market climbed for a few days in succession. Couple of days ago, Mr Chatterjee issued a note to all the employees saying salaries would be cut. He himself has taken a 30 per cent cut followed by directors and ex-com members who are 25 per cent down. I am in the 20 per cent category - DGM to EVP and rest are 15 per cent. Fair enough. We have not been selling anything for the last more than two weeks. We just paid a big dividend to the shareholders. Our daily fixed cost is Rs 5 crore. Outstandings are Rs 900 crore. Huge stockpile of inventory in anticipation of bumper sales of inverter batteries in March due to the oncoming summer season. So the going is already pretty tough.

The Indian government's decision to impose this 3-week long lockdown is being squarely ridiculed by the economists and business people. This might save lives but it will kill livelihood as I understand. We cannot hope to beat the contagion by sitting at home. Lockdown and isolation are luxuries that the middle class can afford. My electrician cannot really afford it.

April 19, 2020

It was a Sunday today. Though in such a complete lockdown the individual days of the week cease to have any special meaning, it was an off day for Monisha ( on working days she works most diligently from home). We decided to go to Sepncer's to try our luck with some purchases of grocery items. The roads were completely empty. I chose to take the inner route through Kabir Road and Raja Basanta Roy Road to go to the Gariahat Spencer's. There were a few cars parked in front of the store. Entry, contrary to normal times, was through the side gate which is usually the exit. People were lined up in a disciplined way at the marked spots with sufficient gaps in between. You could enter only if someone came out. It wasn't as crowded as I thought it might be. We stood in queue for about 15 minutes before we could go in.

We made a purchase of some Rs 4000. Frozen green peas, tea bags, rice, flour etc. We couldn't find the specific biscuit that we wanted. Couldn't find Maggie either. Most of the popular branded food items have vanished from the shelves and have not been replenished.

I remembered reading a page one anchor story yesterday of a migrant labour somewhere in Gurgaon, who sold his mobile phone for Rs 2500, gave the money to his wife and committed suicide leaving four children behind, the youngest of who is a five month old child. He couldn't face the battle of unemployment with so many hungry mouths to feed. And here we were going back home with grocery that is mostly unnecessary for us in the near future. I felt and am still feeling guilty about it. And mind you, I have just been told by my office that my salary has been reduced by Rs 20,000 per month. Except for stopping a few SIPs, resulting in less savings, this won't make much difference to me in the foreseeable future.

I started reading the Discovery of India. Last night I finished reading Nehru's letters to Indira.

Anarchy

William Dalrymple's Anarchy made a wave in India when it was published late last year. I had bought the book, possibly my first ever purchase of a hardbound first edition, but couldn't make much progress with it. After finishing Sapiens during this Covid-19 lockdown I took it up as my second project and finished it today. It's a 400-page book and I am happy with my speed. I almost feel like a mountaineer conquering difficult peaks.  

This is the first Dalrymple book that I have read so far. I must say that I intend now to read all his books. He is a historian. These books are his research projects. They are extremely thorough and well researched. They might not have revealed anything stunningly new that past historians did not know but no one wrote history like he does. You read it like a story. As if it was a novel. This makes history interesting to the general public. I am sure many young school students who have read Dalrymple at an early age would want to grow up to be historians.

I studied in a school where the worst teachers were given the task of teaching history. Most of them would ask one of us to read the book aloud and promptly go to sleep. We had a reputation for bringing out excellent science students who went to IITs and other reputable engineering or medical colleges. But our track record for producing good students who excelled in the field of humanities or liberal arts was terrible. History was just not a priority.

If history was taught like Darlymple does it would have been a different story for me.

Now, let me tell you very briefly what I thought of Anarchy. I was interested in reading the book because it promised to tell the story of how a joint stock company from London, the East India Company, could grab an entire country with millions of people (I think 200 million when they took it over) and rule it for 200 years. Well, the company did not rule for 200 years but it created the way for the crown to take over from them. Technically the company ruled it for a little over a hundred years. From the Battle of Plassey (we call it Palashi) in 1757 to a little after Sepoy Mutinee 1857.

The book is rich in research and Dalrymple quotes his original sources all the time in their original language. There is very little that Dalrymple himself says in the course of the book. The story is told mostly through other people who were present during those times. The most important chapter of the book is the Epilogue perhaps where the author talks about how the lessons of the EIC could equip us to deal with the large corporations of the modern world.

I learnt a few new things from the book. First of all and this I consider the most important - I changed my opinion about Warren Hastings. Not that I had a strong opinion about him before. To me he was just another colonialist. Reading the book I realised that we should perhaps put up a memorial for him here in Calcutta. He loved India more than he loved England. I must make it a point to read the first translation of the Gita whose introduction he wrote. I wish he had written an autobiography. There are some biographies on him that I will try to procure. The last one was written in 1935 though. Many of us know that he was impeached for his "misdeeds" in India but very few know that he was subsequently exonerated from all the charges because they were patently false. He was framed by his rival who even lost a duel with him.

Another important thing I learnt is the fact that Wellesley, who actually built the large expansionist colony grabbing bits and pieces of the empire from regional rulers like Tipu Sultan, Nizam, Scindias, Peshwas etc through deadly wars was basically funded by the Marwari money lenders of Calcutta. I am sure there will be other books on this subject. This subject is worth exploring.

What I did not like about the book was its descriptions of the gory details of various wars. The loot, torture, rape, killings are described in great gory detail. Could he avoid this? Perhaps he could but then that would probably have made it into another drab history text book. It had to be a bestseller, you see.

Sapiens

Mampu made the bookmark

The Covid 19 lock down has given us a unique opportunity to read fat books. We are just in the first week and I have already finished the Sapeins - a 464-page international bestseller from Yuval Noah Harari. I am very proud of this achievement. For the last 30 years or so I had got unused (is there any such word?) to the idea of reading fat books. Not that I did not try. I did, but I was repeatedly frustrated to discover that my progress was always very slow. Before long I would lose interest in a  particular book and keep it aside for some imaginary time in the future. 

Not that I did not read anything in the last few years. I finished the autobiography of Sourav Ganguly in one sitting last year. I finished quite a few good books on mountaineering fairly quickly. But I have struggled with many other serious books with good literary or intellectual value. For example I have not been able to read any major work of fiction in the recent past. I so much want to read Amitav Ghosh but I have not made any progress with him. I want to read William Dalrymple. Two of his books are rotting on the shelves. There are many more authors, subjects and titles but unfortunately I have been a failure. 

Somnolence has been the biggest enemy that has stood between me and the books that I wish I could read. The moment I sit down with a book I doze off. Is it a sign of boredom or just a biological need? I think it's both. 

Mampu went berserk here

Earlier this month, on 5th March, on DN Road in Bombay Mampu was very excited to see new books being sold on the footpath at Rs 100 each. All fast selling titles. I knew they were pirated copies and I have reservations about buying them. It is not a moral or ethical question. It is about quality. But Mampu went berserk. She bought Michell Obama's Becoming, Harari's 3 books and a couple of other books of fiction. 

Last Saturday, sitting at home out of fear of the Corona virus (the nationwide lockdown had still not been announced but our office had issued work from home advice and the state government had issued a 5-day lock down order) I decided to attack the Sapiens. 

Some intellectuals of a higher order might dismiss the book as popular science. That might well be so. The book is about human evolution over the last 70,000 years or so. Now, to tell that story in 464 pages you cannot afford to get into the depth of any one particular subject. Harari does not attempt to do that by any stretch of imagination. What he does is he connects various dots in human evolution and tells the story. 

I definitely learnt a lot of new concepts, new ideas, new ways of looking at things. I am definitely a more informed person. I may not remember all the new things I learnt but they will definitely remain in my overall consciousness.

Not all the details Harari gives are 100 per cent authentic, I felt. They may not be grossly wrong but they are somewhat approximate truths. I suppose it is impossible to be 100 per cent authentic when you are dealing with such a vast vast subject. But I like the book overall. 

There are certain personal biases that take over the main theme of the book in certain portions. But that's what is to be expected. There are many philosophical points of views that Harari pushes. I am fine with the philosophy but just thought that they were beyond the scope of the book. 

Overall I am very happy that I read the book. I can never remember the nitty gritty details of a book. I only remember the impact it had on me after reading. This book will be remembered as - I am glad that I read this book. It opened my eyes to a lot of things. Taught me to look at things from a different perspective. 

The Free Voice

I never knew the name of Ravish Kumar until he got the Magsaysay award last year. I do not watch television news because they are a complete waste of time. They show endless debates, views, points and counter points throughout the day. The anchor takes a holier than though approach to everything. He knows everything. He questions every one. He generally shouts. While he is at it, some 4 to 12 participants are either shouting at each other or are raising hand, trying to say something and wanting to generally be heard. I do not consider this worthy of my time at all.

On facebook I had once unfriended a guy simply because he posted shots of his appearance on an Arnab Goswami show. And Arnab was yet to launch his channel. I think people who agree to appear on such shows are sick and unworthy of being even my facebook friends.

So once I found someone from this crop had got a Magsaysay award I paused a bit and googled him up. He is a Hindi anchor of NDTV. I came across an interview of the man that he gave to some other youtube channel. I simply loved what he was saying. He was basically attacking this brand of journalism and advocating that people stop watching TV channels including his own. He was also extremely anti-establishment, which right now means anti-BJP. I felt like I was watching myself speak in eloquent Hindi about today's television media. 

One of the first things I did, after discovering Ravish Kumar was to subscribe to NDTV Hindi. I wanted to listen to him. For the life of me, for the first few months, I couldn't find when his show was. Till date I have seen only one of his live programmes. I have of course watched a few of his shows on youtube. I love the way he speaks. I love what he says because he says exactly things that I want to say. 

So when I discovered this book on the shelves of Story I didn't waste any time and immediately purchased it. Finished reading it in no time. One of the fastest reads in recent times.

What is it that I liked about the book? I think it stands for certain values that I hold very dear in life. His sense of what is journalism, his courage to stand against constant life threat and to keep on hammering his point of view despite all the hate and threats. Agreed there is no literary value in the book. Yet it is an important document for our times. Every student of journalism today should read this book. 

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।

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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. 

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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.