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Harobelavadi, or any other name

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“Where are you from?”

“From a remote village.”

“Oh! I see.”

Every time I was asked this question, the conversation stops here.  And I always expected that the person in front of me will ask my village name; or, maybe the location at least. Then, after twelve years of living in a city, I have realized that nobody cares about your village name. Indian villages do not need a name. To you, these are all the same. To you, it is a nameless, remote, unrelated, not participated in society, subhuman, unsophisticated, faceless place. Continue reading

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Arunachal: The land of rising sun

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The Inner Line Permit – Arunachal House

“When are you going?” “I have my flight tomorrow morning, sir.” The clerk at the Kolkata Arunachal House looked at me with a blank face. Then he mocked at me. I was not aware that traveling inside my country demands so many documents for identifications and verifications. They looked at my documents as if those are fake. They asked me purpose and duration of my stay. After waiting eight long hours, I got my visa for Arunachal. Continue reading

The Happiest One: A travelog on Bhutan

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A Traveler’s Inn: Bhutan Crossing

“The immigration office of Bhutan is closed. Government holiday.” They told us before we reach for our papers. The train was already late for an hour and a half and we rushed to the Bhutan immigration office at Jaigaon from Hasimara station. As the office closed, we went for lunch. Then we checked the room. It was a nice cozy room with warm sunlight. We took the room for Rs. 1050. Right now, sitting on the sofa, I am writing this to you. The last sunlight falls on my pen. It created a nice shadow over the yellow toned handmade paper. Spending the afternoon is easy here. You just have to sit beside the window and watch people from different parts of two countries. The Bhutan gate is standing still as a symbol of the last Himalayan monarchy. Continue reading

Toy Train: A scattered nostalgia

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“Kuuuuu… JhikJhik-JhikJhik-JhikJhik-JhikJhik. Kuuuuuu…”

 

“The small blue train will take you to the Queen of the hills.”

“It has a steam engine. The original James Watt ones!”

I have grown up listening to the myths about Toy Train, a legendary train that will take you from the mundane plane land to Darjeeling, the queen of the hills. Continue reading

Nakhoda : Portrait of a Mosque

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“Jaffar az Bengal, Sadiq az Deccan;
nang-e-deen, nang-e-millat, nang-e-watan”

 

Moulabi Saheb recited it to us in a desolate tone. He went to the days of despair when Siraj Ud-Daulah, the Nawab of Bengal faced his darkest day in the garden of Palasy. The darkness was so colossal that it immersed the history of sub-continent into an abyss. The verse means “Mir Jafar of Bengal and Sadiq of Decan are disgrace to the faith, disgrace to nation, disgrace to country.” Continue reading

The Little Momo Shop Of Her

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Day: Unknown,

or, I lost track of it.

Inside our small hut, a music from another continent is playing. I could not understand one word of it. This is not the first time, but not inside a small hut of a silent valley, nor with the friends from another continent.

A little while ago, three of us went for a small walk. We stopped by the little momo shop where I have visited many years ago in a similar winter night. Continue reading

Varanasi, A memoirs

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A city you will find life and death together. People come here to forget his past and become a saint. People come here to close the last chapter of their life. I have stayed two nights in a hotel inside the alleyways of Bangalitola, Munshirghat for only Rs400/- a night. They even haven’t registered my name, address, mobile number, anything. Officially I did not exist for two days. Continue reading