Fried Eye

-Bibhuti Borkotoky, Freelance Writer

It was during the year 1969, a time when there was no TV and even Radio was a luxurious item.There was no residential telephone, only the govt. offices and a few private business houses had it. For any private telephone call, one had to run to the telephone exchange only.

I was a boy of about 26-27 years and employed in a Central Govt. department with a transferable job. Due to this, I had the opportunity to visit many places. Once, I had to undertake a journey to a place called Sarli (presently in Kukung-Kumey District of Arunachal Pradesh) which practically had no means of communication with the outer world. One could reach Sarli by air but Chopper services were rarely available. Thus, with no means of transportation either, it took 15 days of travelling on foot to reach the location from Ziro (Presently in Lower Subansiri District, Arunachal Pradesh). I was accompanied by a few security escorts. Ration and luggage was carried by local porters.

After reaching the destination, I could see that it was not very far from the mighty Himalayan Range and the continuous snowfall made a beautiful sight. People out there depended on the air services to drop food and other items needed for survival.

Postal service was only through locally engaged special Dak Runners. My letters would take a minimum of one month to reach my folks at home. By the time, I received the replies the topics would often get so stale that often its importance was lost. Yet the letters still held a special place in one’s life.

The days spent in Sarli remain a treasured experience of my life which cannot be explained in plain words. In this era of internet and mobile phones, such living conditions indeed become unimaginable too.

As I walked into a quiet, dimly lit Tibetan restaurant in North Delhi’s Majnu ka Tilla area, I found the man— after whom the place has been named— sipping Coke and enjoying tingmo (a Tibetan delicacy).
“As-Salaam o alaykum, Majnu sahib. All well?”
“Wa ‘Alaykum as-Salaam, Wise Bachelor sahib. Jab life ho out of control, honthon ko kar ke gol. Honthon ko kar ke gol, seeti baja ke bol. All izz well!” Majnu suddenly broke into a jig, startling everyone else around.
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“Fashion”… a vague word with tremendous significance for the stylish folk world over.

The trend of following fashion fads, I believe, cannot be traced back accurately in time. But it cannot be denied that fashion does rule the young and not so young alike. Everyone wants to, or at least secretly desires to, look pretty and in tune with the “in “styles. But the dilemma is what exactly is “in” and what is “out”. More complex is the question as to who decides what is “in” and what is not. However again, we the common folk or the lay men are not concerned with who decides and why but we are mainly curious to know what styles are the styles of the day.
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Author of the poetry collection We Called the River Red: Poetry from a Violent Homeland, Uddipana Goswami is also a researcher and media consultant. Her area of expertise, both as writer and researcher is the Northeast region of India – often called India’s troubled periphery. She has been addressing issues like insurgency, conflicts, militarization, nationalism, migration, displacement and ethnic reconciliation in Northeast India through her writings. She has worked with some major media houses, like the India Today Group and National Geographic Channel (India), before turning to sociological research. Her academic and creative writings and occasional translations have been published in print as well as online from Australia, New Zealand, the UK, the USA, South Africa, Bangladesh and India. She is Assamese literature editor of Muse India, a literary e-journal. She blogs at www.jajabori-mon.blogspot.com.

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