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We, the friends


We, the friends

Constantly active, a town, else a city to be:
Commerce on high, ey ‘tis Tinsukia and we-
Swaying nooks to center, majormates or friends,
We few study English literature, also its trends.

Borguri, Hijuguri, Makum o’ Chota Hapjan-
Sreepuria, O’er Bridge are the regions we don.
0840, chiefly lessons start ‘ou at times late;
Any soul may find us at the beautiful gate.

An hour o’ so, in rooms, attentions roam a bit
Sirs ‘n’ Mems come and teach, we gently sit-
At the solemn top, Fanny Price, her silent love,
The fair youth, all, travels in by our ear’s cove.

Then we gather at the mazy corridors and buzz,
Sit under the canopies, the campus does merge-
Pretty gals carry fancy bags, move and gossip
But guys hover, time and again their cells beep.

After that we step out, moving in noisy groups,
Pushing him and her, like some ‘naughty troops’-
The hot sun smiles above; hungry- recall we few,
Speed up paces, part to meet again, wishing adieu.

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Addiction for Cruel News


            After getting up in the morning people without any discrimination in cultures, nature and religion get ready for three things. A toothpaste-along-toothbrush, a cup of steaming tea and the morning newspaper. After the strong popularity of electronic media, still today newspaper retains its own demand. Even when there is a lot of business to be carried out throughout the day, it doesn’t feel good to start without rounding the eye through the day’s newspaper, at least through the headlines. On special holidays when editions of a newspaper doesn’t come out, they search for the previous day’s newspaper that has been left out after reading it in a haste, or any other day’s newspaper that has be left out unread, or any unread article in some daily or weekly magazine. And for the retired ones the only escape from their negligent and family void world is the newspaper. Beginning from the First page’s ad to the Last page’s ‘Edited by’; these ‘neglected’ few kill their time.
            Before the movement of banishing the illegal migrants popularly known as the ‘Axom Aandolan’, newspapers were not much popular. The only newspapers published from the state were ‘Dainik Janambhumi’ from Upper Assam, and ‘Dainik Axom’ and ‘Assam Tribune from Guwahati. The Guwahati published newspapers could only reach Upper Assam by the evening. The situation has moved to better today. With the aid of satellites it has become possible to publish the same edition of a single newspaper at various locations at Guwahati, Dibrugarh, Tinsukia, Jorhat or Tezpur. The same news at the same time reaches readers from through the state. There has been an increase in the number of newspapers along with the increase of number of news. The Assam Aandolan attracted the mass towards newspapers and the aftermath of the movement gradually made them addicted towards news. The saying is true. Correspondents today seek new news- they need ‘hot news’. A doctor who has served for at least thirty-six thousand patients taking minimum of ten patients per day for ten years will never appear in the news; he’ll if he gets responsible (willingly?) for the death of some unlucky fellow. Among these the coping of common men like us, with such dangerous, cruel and addicted news is becoming permanent in our brains gradually without our knowledge. Like the addicted people, we too are falling prey to these dangerous, cruel and addicted news.
            In the morning newspaper, we hunt for news of Aadibasi Aandolan and its cruelty mirrored with images, negligence of some unlucky official and the bullet that rode out of his modern ammunition, description of some terrorism carried out, or a detailed report of some female ravished by the armed forces. And when such news don’t appear, believe, reading a newspaper can be completed more quickly- (why?), coz, ‘Shah, no hot news today!’ Aah! What a turn time has taken!
            Bigger problem of an addicted person is possibly not the drug or alcohol; rather it is the immunity that grows in him to fight such drug or alcohol. People who take such drugs or alcohol in a daily basis grow such immunity and thus deteriorate a body of strong built. Accounting for bad of the world, this problem is a worsening one and is gradually pulling our mind towards darkness.
            There was a time when natural death of someone, alongside accidents, also touched everybody’s heart. And now? Not even does it matter the least for anyone (par the victimized family). An incident accounting to death of one or two persons doesn’t become a topic of discussion. The Reuters photo portraying a bullet ridden young body doesn’t even reach anybody’s heart. The name and address of the victim can be forgotten the very next moment. After all we search something ‘Hot’ at least that can pull a discussion till two days. ‘Did you see today’s newspaper?’ ‘Ya, I read, nothing special at all!’- A despair reply. And when such news is not available there is no other opt that to read some politically incited mob’s news or some show made by some politicians to showcase their ‘non-corrupted’ face!
            Just like a drinker who loses control with the first peg in the beginning and later four pegs don’t affect him; similarly the Assamese who couldn’t kill a pigeon from his ceiling for dinner, today can pass through a corpse outside his boundary without even lending an eye. Today they can playfully sit on a sofa ignoring the cries of some neighbor in trouble. How amazingly had our heart rose its softening level and made it cruel! This has resulted only from the cruel news we keep hearing now-and-then. This is really ghastly. During our childhood, the children’s special page used to take us on a trip to dreamland. We would fly behind the clouds on the back of the winged horse of the prince, and today? Our children see the bloody snaps and ask- ‘Who died Papa- Ulfa or Army?’, ‘What is rape?’ Very critical is the time!
            The immunity of our mind is increasing in a very wrong way. Like a dealer of alcoholic items, the media is increasing the bazaar of hot news. And we? Reflecting an addicted, we too sit early morning before the TV screen in wait of cries of a helpless child, or torture carried out on a wife/ mother before children or husband, or a story of agony of a cruel murder? Then? We are busy again- Marketing, Office, City bus!
            Why is this situation?
            Isn’t it the immunity born from the cruel, dangerous news we see? Any immunity grown from such news read daily- is not any less from addition of some deadly drug! The former one murders our mind, the latter body!
            To free the habit of addiction of drugs there are many ‘de-addiction centers’. But relief from the addiction of cruel news can be brought by newspapers only. I have told in the beginning- among the advancement of electronic media, the mind of the mass retains affection for printed letters. Like Lady Diana’s death headlined the ‘New York Times’ (Lady Diana Killed In Rod Accident) in a non-masala way; if newspapers contain news laid in a cool way, may be gradually the past days will be back again when people read newspapers only for news.
            The recent Beltola violence- unlike the electronic media which showed videos of violence, most of the printed media resorted their ‘real’ way of publishing the news in a peaceful manner and this identified them as ‘true journalists’. Can, the mindset of publishing the news in such way for the sake of the respect and name of the state, without hooking for money, claim of returning to the glories of the past days?
            This is true that the happenings of today have also turned for its worse from its twenty-year-old face. Media will have to publish news with images without discrimination of good news, bad news, cruel news or peaceful news; it will require to be published. But in this article we are discussing that the corpse of the killed could be portrayed in place of the horribly-placed bullets in the body zoomed to its best. That makes news too, images too.
            Then it might be possible to gear the heartless mass back to reins, if not a bit. Will it not be a good news for the mass too?
            Is news made only for business is regarded as great? If the whole state breaks up- where can you and me stay in peace? Its time we went deeper into the matter.


Translation of 'Nrixonxo Khoboror Nisa' by Hridayananda Mahanta. The original article in Assamese appear in AANK-BAAK publications' 'ADDAR XONALI XAPON'.

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LINES SET AT MIDNIGHT...


LINES SET AT MIDNIGHT...

It’s around midnight and I am still awake-
Along me, on my new varnished Study Table;
Rests the bound book with the NCERT label.

All out of sudden, a desire fills me- Yes!
A desire to write some verses that rhythm-
What? A poem amidst unsolved Logarithm!

But… On what should I write it, or on whom?
Love, Friends, Nature, Calamities or woes-
The corruption issue, Baba Ramdev or his foes?

A real unsure mind, facing subject alternates-
And now I hear a cell tone- Shouldn’t I write
On that silly man calling at this time of night?

Ohho! Nah! I can’t go more- I have lost my words-
I doubt if any poem would come up tonight-
Hmm, I go to sleep, lights off- Wish you Good Night!

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Beloved :: by Himashree Choudhury


Beloved
-Himashree Choudhury




Who’s that like a prince?
I’ve never seen nor met,
Who seems unique and
Different from others-
I can’t think of anyone else..
Who’s that, loyal to all?
Whose eyes are so attractive?
Whose never ending smile
Glimpses like the morning sun,
Whose face always
Remains in my mind
Can anyone tell me,
Who’s that, who’s he?
Can anyone say, can anyone?

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To Her and Back


To Her and Back

Excited, a light heart, a smile in face,
Zoo Road: I stepped on a crowded bus;
On board I heard buzz and consents..
Some in a fix, Captain defeats Queen;
Others roared for Congress had its win-
It was just two days past the Result 13th!

Stoppages past- Zunali, Tiniali, Commerce,
Chandmari, Colony, Service and finally,
I’m down at the big circle of Silpukhuri.

From the hill road when you grace me
With a private glance, I know for sure-
That the proof of love you gave me
When we were 500 miles apart, alone
Was not just a mere good dream,
Next we headed for Digholipukhuri!

Once there, then we exchanged words-
This journey of life- whatever is left,
We‘ll advance together, hand in hands.

Still, but we are not much ready now,
Tomorrow we will be- so we part again
With a promise that we’ll meet again
Amidst that crowd, just the two of us-
Alone thus I returned back contented,
To the solitude of my private dreams!

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Private Tutor- and his shadow


Private Tutor- and his shadow
 
A friend calls- “Hey! Its time for tuition, are you ready? Sir will be coming.” 8 out of 10 students of today has faced or heard something spoken of that kind. Private tuitions had turned a necessary part of student life, or saying broadly, education.
Every day students turn home from school and gulp some food in a rush for they should be attending tuition classes in time.
Tutors provide notes to students and make them so-called prepared for exams. But do they really benefit the students! Has anyone tried to analyze this? None knows.
Parents now put their children under tutor surveillance from the tender years of nursery. In this way they grow depending upon the notes provided by such appointed private tutors. They also bear a feeling that their parents know less and this has a negative affect on the children.
The best way to teach a child is when ‘parents become children with their children’. Learners have the best support from a friend, a close relative, a person who can understand him and support him at his pace. Parents and siblings can fulfill all of these, all in one.
The importance of tutors can not be zeroed though- they help- but only when they are helping the children learn and not to be depend on their notes.
The conclusion will be perfect by saying- Private Tutors are bricks of basic education and are not a reinforced house of education.

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Folds..


Folds..

That day
I was reading
‘The Book Of Job’
I folded a page..
                   That fold had lines:
                   Elihu was describing God,
                   His presence and Fatherly Love
                   Job and his friends listened..

That night
I was sleeping
The best of naps
I folded a page..
                   That fold had dreams:
                   You were bridging Me,
                   My duties to our future
                   I and only me listened..

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Scribbled

I said-
‘In a mood’
You suggested-
‘Write romantic verses’
I wrote a poem
You read it-
‘Very Good Jaan!’
A faint smile leaked my lips.

The smile content was
Not for my poem;
But I laughed
At your cheers!

My lines
Supplied late and Praised still
Like the dishes at Payash
Has indeed stole me of me!

Again and Again
It appears
In my dreams now
I feel like saying-
‘Finally today we Hug..
You and Me are together!’

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