“You will know when you have your kids” .. I still remember this from the countless scoldings my mother showered on me. For every time I disappointed her, she made it look as if her sorrow is more than my humiliation. i always thought I would never scold my kids like she scolds me. Now the thought itself makes me feel a little guilty but never leaves without a smile. Not that the dialogue has changed ! Only the scoldings ahve turned into a funny arguement at times.

Today when I see a baby fail, the look in his eyes,the will to keep trying,and at times running back to mothers; It all makes me want to sort things for the kid , only to see him smile. But I am not his mother, I remind myself. And yet I feel for him. I am no one’s mother, I realize just like the the barren land below my feet. And I wish flowers would cover this land soon.i feel for the land too. As if its an extension of me. am still single , and yet I want nothing more than a kid. All the years that I spent searching for love , they seem to mean nothing now as I crave for the touch of a baby. In a story I read long time back, the king asks “what makes one a mother – giving birth to the kid or raising the kid?” I say no one or nothing makes you a mother. You are a mother always or never.

Funny how it reminds me of the scene between Kajol and Kareena in “we are family’ ( Not that i love this movie more than the original ) . Every female sure is born with motherly instincts and you can see that all around you. The way I treat my younger brother is no different from how my mom treats him, just for the fact he is 10 years younger than me. Some of my friends too say that I am more of a mother to them than friend at times of crisis. “Maa” was a nickname some friends gave me 3 years back. First i felt little hurt, wondering am I really that old and dominating. but later i realized if my love and care earns me such a prestigious nick, so be it. I atleast have to live upto it. I still love each of my friend the same way. Not that i think of others as innocent kids. But i do realizze we all have a kid hidden in our hearts. The one that needs to be pampered the most all times. Make that kid love you , and you have made the person love you for a lifetime.

This mother’s day I do not want to thank my mom for just raising me well and being my best friend. But I want to tell her that she can be assured her grandchildren would be scolded as much as her kids have been. I might not be as good as her when I have my own kids , but the life lessons she has passed on to me , have helped many a kids around, some as old as me.

Love you Ma.
and love to my friends.

It’s amazing how one word can describe so many things, emotions, feelings, bonding and of course love, itself. One word to describe how we relate to each other, how we get into relationships. We as humans emote so many feelings, but love is the first feeling we develop and perhaps it is the last when we leave this world. In between, however, we only talk about love. How easy life would be if we would “feel” love rather than searching for it, rather than trying hard to express it or trying even harder to win it.

One of my colleagues recently came to me with a request to write a letter to his lady love. And it took me some effort to convince him that it was his love and it would be highly unfair of him to express his feelings through my words. Finally he settled for an expensive ring to express his feelings. And I couldn’t help but wonder. Does love need to be expressed through words or rings or anything for that matter? Love just has to be felt. How ironic then that we have become so materialistic that we have forgotten one of our base instincts….Love.

We celebrate Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day and so many other days just to find an excuse to come up with more materialistic pursuits to impress our loved ones? But does love really need a day to be expressed? I wonder. We treat out friends to parties and feel happy when we get gifts on our birthdays and weddings and anniversaries. But do those gifts really express any congratulatory love? Does every expression need materialistic proof?

Does a mother need proof to express her love and concern for her offspring? Does a brother need proof to show love for his sibling? Does a friend always ask for something in return when he comes in handy? And does favour by a fellow human demand a favour in return? Never. But in today’s world we need symbols to express everything. Love needs expression on Facebook. A favour demands a favour back in return and everything has to be weighed and measured.

And finally, the love among us all. It seems to have disappeared. Gone. Poof. On one hand we have to give proof to express our love and on the other we don’t feel the love at all. It’s a weird feeling, this love. Songs have been sung, books have been written and lectures given but we never learn. It is perhaps the easiest thing to do, and the most difficult thing to learn….to love.

With where we stand today, it seems to be a difficult task to do. But a century of conditioning and materialistic pursuits cannot be washed away in a day. And changes take time to come by. Showing a little bit of pure love should not be a difficult task. All it takes is a smile, a twinkle in the eye and a wholehearted expression of satisfaction to express. Love is right here, amongst us. We just have to look.

  I’m posting an inland letter sent to my Dad from Jorhat when he was in Ziro. The letter was sent to him on 26/4/1970 and it reached him on 28/5/1970. It took 1 month since Ziro was a remote place and it needed 10 days from Jorhat to Ziro including 7 days of walking.

‘O Didi! Chithi!!’, Kong called

I saw the blue inland letter in her hand

Love from home, I thought with a smile

The other day I was in Post Office, I wondered if they still have those blue inland letters. It has been a long time since I came across one. I know that Post Cards still exist as I have come across it and received a few with non important messages. I remember while I was still a kid, Deuta used to write letters to Aita (his Ma) and got replies in Inland Letters. At that time, Inland Letters were considered classy and only poor men and misers used to write letters in Post Cards. I was not allowed to write letters in Inland letters as I would waste most of the space. It was a standard thing that I don’t have much to say, and therefore my letters would be short and hence I should use Post Cards. We can come back to that later on in some other post. Envelopes were considered expensive as they cost double the price to convey the same message. Envelopes were used only when you have to say things more than an inland letter could say and it generally meant that the issue is serious and a matter of grave concern.

I don’t know how many people in my generation will remember the blue inland letter. The blue inland letter – large enough to write a month’s information and cheap enough for the common man to afford it. For a long time, it used to cost 75 p. I remember the monthly exchange of inland letters between Deuta and Aita which would make us feel that we meet regularly.

I remember one of my uncles who used to use every inch of the letter. The one we used to call a ‘Paisa Vasool Chitthi’ (Value for Money Letter). Ma used to say that people of his (my uncle’s) age write letters like that and it was a school of thought that said we should not waste any amount of resource.

I remember the Kong (Elder Sister in Khasi), who used to come every day with loads of those inland letters and now I hardly see the postman with an inland letter in his hand. Nowadays, most of the letters that are posted in the red letter box are envelopes; most of the others are either couriered or sent through registered or speed post. Inland letters are lost somewhere, amidst the memory of time, when there was no internet.

P.S. – If I wrote this in an inland letter, I would have used hardly 2 pages. 1 page would have been completely wasted. A big crime, a guilt that will always stay in my mind forever.

Addendum-

 Inland letter- as the author says is a relic of the past in a way. In those times when people had no cyberspace to scribble their notes, they had instead sent those lovely blue notes to be their voice to distant places. And so it had build many relationships, strengthened bonds, or in a tragic twist had maybe bore sad tidings of an end. E mails, social network have made life easier, but the joy of a letter after many days of waiting, from your beloved will always remain priceless.

A little bit of statistics for you -

2 Annas inland air letter was the first postal stationery of Independent India. It was issued in 15^th September 1948 from a few selected post offices

Its dimensions range between a maximum of 30 by 21 cm and a minimum of 28.2 by 18.2 cm with flaps on three side of breadth not exceeding 1.5 cm

You can use the private inland letters provided it satisfies the specifications.

Inland letter is priced at Rs 2.50 now and is still available.

“So what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Back in the good old days, the answer to this was pretty simple and straightforward, because the options were quite limited. Girls wanted to be married. Ambitious ones wanted to become teachers. Boys wanted to be doctors. Or sometimes policemen. As time progressed, the answers started getting slightly more “sophisticated”, for the want of a better word. Kids today want to be more than just doctors and engineers. They want to become scientists, pilots, even astronauts, fashion designers, journalists and basically anything that might be in vogue at that time.

I had wanted to be a teacher for as long as I have known myself. While growing up, any time Ma went out was a chance to play “Miss-Miss”. And the chance was zealously seized by wearing one of Ma’s saris and hanging a slate on the wall and teaching every subject possible to my imaginary classroom of particularly naughty students who had to be told to keep quiet all the time. And then the Pond’s Dreamflower ad came in where the playful teacher wore this beautiful pink sari and laughed along with the students. The desire turned into determination. I was going to be a teacher. I was going to wear a pink sari and be all playful with my students.

Then pre-college jitters struck, and Usha Alburquerque’s The Penguin India Career Guide was brought out of the shelf and dusted and perused for information. Journalism sounded good, but thanks to television all I could think of was men and women in white kurtis and “jholas” on their shoulders. Hotel management, which was a fairly new concept back then sounded pretty okay. The winner however was the all encompassing Home Science. From diets for the convalescing to removing ink stains, that seemed like the best subject a girl like me could hope for! But before the seed could even germinate, the ballot was struck. Science stream it has to be. With the royal combination of Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics. And so I joined the bandwagon with almost a 115 batch mates in an exceptional batch of students where almost everybody had passed the High School Leaving Certificate Examination with above 75%. My post-college options were then brought down to two. A bachelor’s in Physics or in Statistics. And in wasn’t mere co-incidence that while my mother is a Physics graduate, my father taught Statistics. So, at the end of my Higher Secondary the route for my future was to be a B.Sc, an M.Sc and then a PhD. The “Dr.” title never looked more appealing.

Three years of doing a Bachelor’s in Physics with Honors and passing it with a first class was all it took for me to develop a distaste for the subject. Let the whys and hows remain unasked at this juncture. I needed all of a year to decide on the next course of my career, and the only thing that I knew was I didn’t want to have to do anything with the sciences anymore. In the course of that year, I researched practically all options I had. I even decided I would get a whole new Bachelor’s degree in a subject of my liking this time (Psychology) and become a counselor. I dabbled in call centers, searched for schools wanting music teachers (when else would my Bachelors in Music be of use?) and even wondered if I should just go ahead and get my B.Ed since I wanted to be a teacher anyways. Oh, and I should probably mention the airport ground crew phase I had, where all I wanted was to dress smart and talk smart and earn s*** loads of money.

As always the ballot struck again. I had to “complete” my education first. Which meant getting a Masters. And as Physics no longer remained an option, I pursued the next best thing: Computer Applications!

Three more years of cribbing and complaining about how much I hated computer applications and then doing a project on artificial intelligence (and no less!) and I was finally free. What remained was the all important question: Free to do what?

Write a book, the inner voice said. Your book wouldn’t sell, reason chimed in. Become an editor, the voice said again. No one would hire me without proper qualification, reason chimed in again.

As I was growing up, one of the standing jokes in our family was that Dad would get me married if I don’t study, and I had taken it quite seriously. What happens to be the irony of my life is that the moment I completed my education, I was married. And my knight in shining armor swooped me away to the far far land of Vietnam.

Vietnam, and no less, let me tell you.

Doing a job which required me to code and test software was something I would not consider even if that was the only option left. Not knowing the language meant I wasn’t capable of doing most of the jobs that I could have done back home. And then the old voice started singing again: You can be a teacher now! Even when the voice of reason started saying I needed a qualification for that too, help came in the form of online research on various TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) courses. Took me three months to decide on one (there are quite a few certificate courses) and a whole grueling month to finally become a qualified teacher.

Lesson learnt? Quite a few.

It is never too late to make a career switch. Some wise person once told me, “Nothing is worth throwing ‘alive’ time after dead” Every minute you spend doing something you hate is a minute you take away from doing something that you love. In the end, no, actually right from the beginning, it should be about knowing what makes you happy. I could have been actually earning by now had I been in India with an MCA, but I know deep in my heart I would have been dying everyday. I am yet to start teaching professionally, but even the thought makes me feel liberated. And the most important thing? Keep your options open all the time. Who knew that after six years of slogging to get two degrees, the thing that finally is going to get me my bread is my education in an English medium, a voracious appetite for books (boosts vocabulary like nothing else), my love for singing Western songs (again, improves pronunciation like nothing else) and a month-long course in teaching?

As I approach my final semester of the five years law course, one thing that I have realized is that one of the biggest sacrifices one makes, is when you cannot pursue what you want. The biggest irony of the Indian educational system and the whole work marathon is- reap results or you will be thrown out of the race . Somewhere contemplating over these facts and trying to achieve the ever unachievable balance between vocation and avocation, pushed me to pursue my hobby i.e writing as a full time career.
I give a lot of credit to my law school as it was here where I realized that writing was my passion. Juggling with written assignments every semester kept me busy and I came across this unbridled need of mine that was to express and write. Two years back when I decided that I would take up journalism as my full time profession I was bombarded from all the sides as I did not fit the criteria of a product of a law school- to work in a good law firm and earn well. During the internships which I did very ardently I realized that law was not meant for me , I always wanted to venture into arts , cinema , fashion and culture. During the years at law school I developed a skill for writing and that gave me a rare opportunity of combining my two passions lifestyle and writing. The biggest hurdle was to get a journalism internship, I did get internship at two of the national dailies of India, giving me a good enough exposure, experience , opportunities and influence to go on and stand by my decision. Getting an internship in a whole new different field is an ordeal but I guess where you have a will you do have a way, I did internships and did get to learn a lot. I also started my own fashion blog which has suddenly become a beautiful haven for me and whenever I am tensed I write about fashion and movies.
Since past one year I have developed myself as a writer and as a researcher which are two very important tools to be a good journalist. The biggest weapon that an individual is vested with is an introspective attitude . A more maturer and a happier way of living would be to accept yourself , satisfy your intellectual needs and interests and try and make a concrete path to achieve it.
People today talk of responsibilities to one’s society, one’s family and loved ones but the biggest responsibility that one owes is to himself. As a lawyer I was taught that I cannot be oblivious of my actions and expressions and true responsibility of a journalist would be to be responsible to what he/she expresses be it in any media form.
 I am still working to be a good writer and I’ll always have to. The decision of being a journalist compels you to observe and think in a very diversified way , as a journalist you cannot be opinionated you have to be narrative and that minute difference comes with time. You cannot define what good writing is , one cannot be a good writer but one can only evolve as a writer . The stories can be good but the expression is always on the verge of improvement and that is the biggest lesson that I have learned since I began writing.
But the tragedy is that people in India are still not very encouraging towards writing for a large number of people. Journalism is still a very futile job, but the reality is very different. Today media/journalism has become a very dynamic field . According to me it always was, but as dissipation of information was always required ,now the means have changed.
 Changing a career is certainly not an easy decision, as until and unless one can fit into that stereotypical box of society where you have to earn a lakh , have a blackberry and own a Mercedes you don’t belong to the average set of people , but I have never complied to that definition of average. As a journalist I have realized that one defines an ‘ average ‘ and a ‘normal life’ for one’s self.
I am still in a nascent stage , approaching the end of my law school, trying to get a journalism degree , trying for a good journalism school but all I can say is writing anything is like rediscovering your self
All I have gathered from my past is never to be driven by other’s choices , stand strong by your decisions and keep learning from your surroundings as you never know even a freckle might have something in store for us.

Anupam Dabral dabbles in his blog and you can read some of his works in  http://anupam-fashionapprentice.blogspot.in/

A fore note-  Though we love to spread good will and cheer among you all, we also endeavor to bring before you opinions or write up on any matter of social or political relevance . So though Spring (our theme this time) is a time for rejoicing and everything new we would like to share a matter of utmost importance…hence this article……

During our random search about any thing on Spring , we came up with the word Spring Fever and that led us on to here. Please don’t be fooled. This has very little to do with lovers or fever as in Malaria, instead it is a clear cut case of Spring time blues (yes, just like the winter blues)or spring time depression, but our matter of concern is not secluded to Spring fever only, rather it encompasses or attempts to encompass, a greater concern.

But first let us share with you some depressing facts about err… Depression, for that is our cause of concern in this beautiful lovely time of Spring. You are happy, pleased, hopeful , eager , …but some of you out there might not be, which is a serious matter. A very, very serious matter.

So first the facts, just in case you do not agree with us about Depression being a matter of concern

Facts

• Depression is common, affecting about 121 million people worldwide.
• Depression is among the leading causes of disability worldwide.
• Depression can be reliably diagnosed and treated in primary care.
• Fewer than 25 % of those affected have access to effective treatments

At the worst Depression may lead to suicides, a tragic fatality associated with the loss of around  850000 lives every year.

(statistics- courtesy WHO)

And that  we guess cuts a very grim figure.  This is not a scientific discourse on the features,causes or treatment or even the pathophysiology. Rather this article is about the approach to the commonest problem of the world. We in Fried Eye felt that more than writing in detail about it, which we are sure will be found in numerous well written articles over the net, it is the approach that should be dealt with.

Depression is so universal that each one of you out there must have encountered it, in your life or maybe in some one’s who is near or dear to you. Everyone from eight to eighty year old may have suffered a bout of depression or may have been suffering from it periodically since a long time, But usually other than a frown of concern or a sigh or maybe a pep talk ,or at the most a shopping spree or a movie, we do nothing. No, this is not a How To article, because it is not that trivial to be dealt by a step by step manual .

It is simply a problem that needs an acknowledgement and a determination to do some thing about it , be it yours or some one else’s.

Why do something about it, you might ask. Because it is discomforting for one , but most importantly you would not like losing yourself or someone you love to the disease , physically or in mind, will you? Would you want your desire to live life fully be sapped away gradually by a state of mind? Yes there is a complete chance of losing oneself to it if neglected , in ways more than one- all horrible, where as timely help will make a big difference in the outcome and recovery.

And take our word , you will acknowledge it only when you  will be able to identify it. It is easier to admit that you are depressed yourself, rather than identifying the same in others while ironically it is easier to advise someone that he or she needs help rather than admitting that about yourself.  So what we have is a catch 22 situation.We know when we are depressed but we are not ready to accept that we might be needing help; We know that we need to advise help to others but that too is not done as we are simply blind to the signs of other’s depression. Or maybe the rat race of todays world hardly leaves us in a state to see things less cynically. Maybe our stigma on mental disease is one of the reason, but depression is not madness and again insanity isn’t something to be scorned or be in denial . Half the job is done by simply seeing , understanding and acknowledging that help is needed.

Though being a  support and comfort helps, but mostly it might not. Though there is an underlying reason for depression, mostly it might not have. Though it might be a singular episode but in all probability it might be a long standing one. Whatever be the type , frequency, the signs cannot be ignored. No matter how tiring or exasperating it might be to deal with one, you cannot shut your eyes and leave it like that hoping it to pass away on its own for though it passes off by itself, at times, it usually remains.

Many a times we may feel that we can deal it ourselves. Many a times we believe in unburdening ourselves as a solution but not necessarily, is that a remedy. Sometimes it is beyond ourselves , beyond our humble means to get things right and that is when we need to acknowledge that we need help and a determination to come out of it. We need to ask for help. Asking isn’t a sign of helplessness, a weakness rather in a twisted away it is in fact a show of strength that you are determined , that you are ready to fight it with some help of course. Taking help does not make you sick or invalid in any way. It just means that you still have a will to live in your own terms and to get well soon.

Mostly it gets ignored because we choose to ignore it both in ourselves and in others. And often it gets ignored because we do not know what to do next. If it is causing discomfort or disabling your life in any way then it needs to be dealt with in priority basis.  Even WHO stresses on the mental health in its definition of health. Hence your psychological well being is as important as your physical well being. Please don’t ignore the signs however trivial or irrational it may seem. And once you have realised it please don’t hesitate to just reach out for help.. for yourself, for your friends.

The discovery of oil

 Fried Eye Notes- A happy Rongali Bihu to all our readers. We thought that going back in time to a notable historical event ofAssam, would be a good way to remember our rich legacy as well as the treasures that nature has bestowed on us. And so we present before you a brief history of how Digboi and Oil came to be etched in the archives.

Digboi is situated in the north-eastern region of India and is famous for the discovery of oil during the nineteenth century. It is a small town located in Tinsukia district of Assam and still retains the ambience of the British. The place attracts visitors for its scenic beauty, spacious bungalows, oldest refinery, National Oil Park, War Cemetery, Digboi Club and the eighteen holes Golf Course.

According to records, a group of engineers from Assam Railways and Trading Company were extending the railway track from Dibrugarh to Ledo in 1882. As there was no habitation around and the area was covered by dense jungles, elephants were used for doing the work. Accidently, they noticed that black mud smelling like oil stuck to their feet and the legs of elephants. The startled men started to explore by tracing the trail of footprints left behind and they discovered oil oozing on the surface.

It is said that the name of the place became ‘Digboi’ from the words “dig-boy-dig” which the Englishmen used when the labourers were engaged in the task of digging crude oil. In September 1889, the first oil well, locally known as ‘Well No. 1’ was dug and in 1899, Assam Oil Company was formed. In the year 1901, the first refinery in Asia was set up at Digboi. The oil field produced around seven thousand barrels per day during the period of Second World War.

At present, Digboi is the Headquarter of Assam Oil Division of Indian Oil Corporation Limited. The oil town stands with pride with two features that are unique. First, for having more than a century old oil producing oilfield and second, for having the oldest operating oil refinery. The oilfield now houses an oil museum that displays the history of the town.

Geetima Baruah Sarma

Short description of the Author:

Born and brought up at Digboi, Geetima Baruah Sarma is a freelance writer, presently residing in Umrongso, Assam. She studied English Literature and her works have been published in The Assam Tribune, The Sentinel, The Arunachal Times, Indian Ruminations, Indian Review, Fried Eye, Enajori, 7sisters, Frog Croon, Bordoichila, The Hudaang and several websites and souvenirs. 

It’s a feeling like no other. When that parachute lifts you from the ground, it lifts you from the world that you are a part of. And for those few moments, it’s just YOU, soaring through the sky with the whole world beneath your feet. Nothing else matters.

Parasailing is one experience that everyone should have at least once in their lives. There is no other adventure activity that can give you such an enticing cocktail of emotions. You feel thrill, excitement, frenzy as well as fear, anxiety, nervousness-a plethora of contradictory emotions rolled together into a few action packed moments. It’s exhilarating as well as terrifying, all at the same time. No other sport like ballooning or gliding can give you such speeds and heights. And this is exactly what makes parasailing one of the most sought after events in aero-adventure sports.

It works on some very simple principles. The rider (sometimes two) is fastened to a harness that is attached to a parachute. The parachute is then attached to a vehicle (a boat, car or truck) with a tow line. As the vehicle slowly begins accelerating, air fills the chute and the parasailor is lifted up into the air, still remaining attached to the vehicle by the tow line. At this point the altitude the rider reaches depends on the speed of the vehicle pulling it along.

But the rush it gives you is something all together otherworldly. When you are all geared up and ready, awaiting your turn, all you can do is pray that you come back in one piece. But NOTHING can prepare you for that moment of lift-off. As your feet leave the ground, every bit of your apprehensions, fears and all your worldly troubles and worries are left behind as well. And what‘s left is just you, alone, and the whole sky is yours. Flying through various layers of the atmosphere, as if you are spreading your wings, is completely euphoric. You feel like you are on top of the world.

Parasailing requires a little formal training and most beaches and holiday destinations offer this activity. The ground assistants help you buckle-up the safety harness and take your position. They hold the guidelines of the parachute to help fill it up with air. The towing vehicle then slowly begins to move, taking up the tow line while ground assistants and the parasailor run forward with the rope. The parasailor should run a few steps with the rope taut, but should not try and aid the lift-off process by jumping or pulling up his/her feet. The parachute will do this on its own. No steering of the parachute is required either. As the vehicle will accelerate, the chute will catch the wind and increased pressure within it, lifts the parasailor into the air. For landing, the towing vehicle needs to decrease its speed, thereby slowly reducing the altitude of the rider, until he/she can either safely land in the water or place his/her feet (while running) on the ground.

Even though the inherent risks of injury are present, just as they are in any adventure activity, parasailing is still relatively safe and easy. It is a sport that allows you to break free of your inhibitions and be the ruler of the skies-a must have experience.

About the Author

Mishi Bhatnagar is an eminent analyst and loves to write in Travel & Tourism related topics. Her passion for adventure games has made her a big fan of adventure activities. She has been associated with Junoon Adventures, Bhopal since last few years.

8May, 1979, 8 pm.

All of a sudden she realizes something is missing, but cannot place what is that.

The marriage reception is in peak. Invitees are being served Dalda fried luchi, mixed vegetable, sweet chutney, curd and sweets. She is sitting in front of the ‘morol’ decorated with a beautiful butterfly ‘rangoli’ with one long mirror at the back and four plantain saplings at its four corners . The previous day the boys worked till midnight to make it. And what luck! They had not even reached their own houses when there was a violent storm. It was difficult to save the ‘rabha’ from damage as tin sheets were flying away from the roof and the heavy shower was creating water pools here and there. But the ‘maral’ was spared from nature’s rage as someone quickly covered it with a big bamboo basket. And now sitting in front of it, tired of smiling at each guest, she is wondering when all this will be over and she can straighten her back. The ladies sitting on floor mats near her are chatting and laughing, children running around playing their own games and she can see her busy family members moving in and out taking care so that everything went smoothly. Her friends, some of them coming from her home town Dibrugarh traveling six hours by bus and three hours by ferry, are surrounding her. The previous evening while bathing her in the ‘bei’ they sang ‘biya naam’ teasing not only her but all her siblings and sisters-in-law. She has three brothers and one sister, two sisters-in-law. This is her third brother’s house. They are holding the marriage here in Tezpur because the groom stays in the same town.

The matchmaking was by her colleague Bela ‘baideo’ one year ago. This one year they had written letters to each other regularly. She has taken the bundle carefully along with the other things she is taking to her new home. How will the new home be? Will she be able to make it a happy home?

“Ena, will you have a glass of milk?” Ma is there to look after her as always. Looking at her mother she feels a pang in her heart. After tonight she won’t belong to the ‘Bhuyan’ family anymore. Only memories… With the word memory, she has a sudden flash of what she’s missing. She had asked her “Majuda” to arrange for a photographer. But there is no sign of him. She sends for her brother. After ten minutes he comes. “Where is the photographer? I asked you specially to arrange for one.” Majuda says that the photographer was supposed to come. “I don’t know what is wrong” he says. “Please do something” she pleads. She knows that this brother of hers cannot say ‘no’ to her. He has always tried his best to make her happy.

Majuda is in a paramilitary service and has to attend different training courses in different places. Wherever he goes he brings things for her. Last month he went to Indore and from there he brought a shining set of stainless steel utensils, her name engraved in each piece. Her friend Mainu got two pairs of embroidered ‘mekhela sador’ from Calcutta. Her sister has gifted her a sewing machine. Juthika baideo has crocheted a beautiful shawl for her. She bought her main set from Guwahati. She felt very happy that day when she went for shopping in Guwahati, with her ‘Mami’.

Yesterday throughout ‘Jurun’ she continued weeping and Phulu bou’s cousin who dressed her up was continually whispering in her ear not to cry lest the kajal would be smudged. She does not understand even now why she had cried so much. She should be happy.

She is missing her father. He could not come so far because of his illness. She had always had long discussions and debate with him. She thinks of how he had helped her in preparing speeches. When will she be able to talk to him next?

Mou bou takes her inside. There are very few guests left. It is time for the groom to come. Just now someone coming from groom’s place said they are getting ready to come. So the ‘rabha’ has to be rearranged for the marriage ceremony. Her friends are making her ready for the marriage. Majuda enters the room triumphantly announcing he has brought a photographer. She gets excited. Thank God her wishes will be fulfilled! But what is this? Majuda is explaining to the people in the room that today in Tezpur there are more than twenty five marriages; no photographer is free; and the one he has somehow motivated to come has only three snaps left in his camera reel; and he cannot wait till the groom comes.

She has only three black and white photos of her marriage. That too without her husband.

7^th, October 2011, 10 pm

The grand hall is almost empty, except for a few groups of people, huddled up chatting and killing time till the groom arrives. She forgets for a while she is the bride. Her friends and juniors from the university surround her and they are all having a good laugh. Someone hands her a red rose that had fallen off from her bouquet. She takes the stem between her teeth and strikes a dramatic pose for one of the boys fiddling with his camera phone. “Ooh Sam, what are you trying to do here?” one of them giggles.

She suddenly sees her mother across the hall. Mamma looks tired, and worried. She wonders if her mother’s had any food and then remembers that because she is in a fast and so is her father, her mother had decided to go without food the whole day as well. She listens to one of her brothers sing paeans of the wedding buffet. “I had dinner thrice, mind you! The duck was awesome, and so was the chicken, the prawns and mutton” He rubs his belly to emphasize. She wonders how big a dent this whole dinner must have made in her Deuta’s pocket. She had told him it was maybe a little too much, but Deuta had insisted. This is the last wedding in the family after all.

She notices a few men dressed in traditional Assamese dhoti and kurta, each with a turban on their hand, and she wonders what they are doing here. She looks at her mother smiling mysteriously from far away and beckons Mamma near her with her eyes. “You know what these men are here for?” Mamma asks. She shakes her head, and Mamma replies, “This is a Gayon-Bayon group. They are here to welcome the groom party from the Mahabhairab Mandir to the wedding hall”. Her eyes widen in surprise. While the previous night, her parents had arranged for a “Likiri Ojah” team brought in from Mangaldoi and a local Bihu team to perform in her “Sangeet”, the Gayon-Bayon group is the icing on top of the already massive cake. She looks at her mother and in that one look, tries to convey just how grateful she is for everything.

Her father has changed into pator Punjabi and dhoti and has also wrapped a pator seleng, to perform the ritual of kanyadaan. She had always thought her father looked so dignified in that dress. Mamma suddenly says, “It’s time. Go get changed to your bridal dress” eliciting another “Oooo…” from her friends. Her Bou accompanies her inside and she changes into the gorgeous set of white and golden pator mekhela sador that her mother-in-law had gifted to her previously during the Jurun. Before she is done sticking the big red bindi on her forehead she hears someone saying “They’re here!”

She rushes outside her room to catch a glimpse of the groom party from the top of the building. They’ve brought fireworks from Barpeta that light up the balmy October sky. Ah, their names are burning in the sky now, she smiles. She finally sees her “dora” and realizes that photographers from both the groom side and the bride’s side are shoving each other to get better photos of the groom and everything that’s happening. Her Bou finally pulls her inside the room to get her ready.

A week later, around midnight at her husband’s home, the doorbell rings and her husband invites two men inside. These men hand over two sets of DVDs and two huge albums of the wedding photographs to her husband. He calls her to take a look at them. Aah, there they are. Their whole wedding, captured in 800 snapshots and four hours of video photography. She already has two sets of DVDs from her side, and another such album is lying at her parent’s house.

“How do I choose the best ones to upload on Facebook?” she wails.

Two generations. Two weddings. Thirty two years in between. Little did the bride in 1979 know she would be reliving her daughter’s marriage in 2011, again and again, laughing and crying each time she watched her daughter’s wedding video. And those three photographs? Scanned and stored forever in her laptop. One of these days she might just upload one of them to her Facebook timeline herself.

A joint write- up by the Mother Daughter Duo – Sankhya Samhita and Lipika Saharia

Neena had a smile on her face but tears welled up in her eyes. As she wound up the nth screening of The Body Guard with her friends, I could but sit there and wonder about the amazing effect the lady on the screen had on this bunch of fierce and workaholic ladies. A simple movie with a very familiar storyline could be made this interesting was in itself an interesting fact. Ladies and gentlemen, the lady in the feature film, with amazing acting and singing talents:

Whitney Houston.

Born Whitney Elizabeth Houston, on Aug 9th 1963, in the middle class neighbourhood of Newark, New Jersey, Whitney went on to be the most awarded female acts of all times. With guidance from her Gospel singer mother, she was influenced by music from an early age. By the age of 11, she was already performing in the church and growing constantly under the expert guidance of Aretha Franklin, who also happened to be her honorary aunt.

Early teenage years saw Whitney accompanying her mother to various clubs where she got her first opportunity to perform for the public. While growing into her music career, Whitney also tried her hand at modeling. Her lithe frame and very distinct girl-next-door looks got her the laurel of being the first black woman to be featured on the cover of Seventeen. By now a backup singer for Lou Rawls and Jermaine Jackson, Whitney was already on the road to musical fame while fortune awaited her as the most sought after teen model of the times.

After dealing with infinite delays and coping with initial failure, Whitney released her first self titled album in February 1985. Though starting with a lukewarm response, the album saw smashing success after a whole year after its release. With praises raining in from critics and fans alike, Whitney Houston stayed on the Billboard top 200 for a full 14 consecutive weeks. The album became an international hit going 13x platinum. Whitney Houston gathered the singer a total of seven American Music awards, a MTV video Music award and a Grammy nomination. The album till date is finds it place in Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums of all times and is considered one of the top 25 breakthroughs by USA Today.

Her second album, Whitney released in 1987 carried forward her legacy of success by going multi platinum and winning her a slew of awards including a Grammy. The release of successive albums would see the nascent singer mature and break almost all existing records.

The iconic The Bodyguard with a simple storyline but stellar performances by Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston, became a resounding success. The soundtrack of the movie is considered the biggest selling album by a female act of all times. Buoyed by the success of The Bodyguard, in the late 90s, Houston acted in more light scripted movies and also sang on the soundtracks. The Preacher’s Wife, received a lukewarm response at the box office but the soundtrack went on to become the largest selling gospel album of all times.

By the end of the Millennium, however, the singing sensation was fading. Marred by personal problems and suspected drug abuse, Whitney was ready to release a Greatest Hits album. Her marriage to singer Bobby Brown was full of controversies and soon Whitney would be labeled the Bad Girl of the music world. The next decade would see the star being erased completely from the memories of music fans. Whitney, the multi talented singer-actress, had disappeared in the dark fog of drug induced hallucinations. Whitney Houston was over and out.

But just as the world was ready to write her off, the fighter that she was, Whitney decided to make a final comeback to what she did best-sing. Supposedly rehabilitated and looking fresh and healthy, the iconic singer was over her problems with Bobby Brown. A comeback tour was in place and everything seemed set for one of the biggest comebacks of the decade.

Alas, on Feb 11, 2012, Whitney Houston, with her fantastic voice, musical and acting talents, her simple but charming looks and a slew of records, was found dead in her room at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. Keeping alive the legacy of the big names of famous musicians, Whitney passed away her immensely popular voice and her famous talents to the power of drugs. One of the most influential singer and actress of the times, who broke more records than any other female singer ever, was gone in a jiffy. The singer who every budding singer considered an idol and whose comeback was more anticipated than perhaps the rarest stellar phenomenon left the world with nothing more than memories, unforgettable songs and a mention in perhaps every award function ever.

Whitney Houston was not just a singer or an actress but also an activist and an advocate against apartheid and black rights. Rising from a sheer middle class background, Whitney stood for every word in her most popular cover, I’m every woman. Whitney Houston will always serve to be an inspiration for every aspiring singer and actor ever. Every fan would no doubt agree when I say, I will always love you.