Assam 2009 - Posoowa

(One)
She sometimes thought, she was
becoming unfit for this world. Too
much of sensitivity and emotion had
turned her into an ice doll that would
melt away one day. Before her eyes
everyone was racing away, getting
ahead... and a mute spectator to that
competitive race was an ice doll, one
that was melted by floods of
meaningless sentiments and
unnecessary emotions. One day the
sunset in the Brahmaputra had made
teardrops fall.... one day waking up at
midnight she saw the moonlight
through the window on the first floor
of her dormitory. That enchantment
too had moistened the pillow.... One
December morning the sight of thick
patches of fog had caused a relentless
flow of tears...No one could ever assert
her rights in this manner.
An individual like she could carry a
smile on the face along with silent tears
and suppressed screams. Even now she
was smiling. But she had not succeeded
in expressing her own thoughts and
senses. “Arre baba, you are very
gorgeous. Just a few adjustments and
you’ll become a super model,” Jish said
encouragingly. Jish was Jishnu, from
Dhemaji. Having learnt photography
outside Assam, he had now opened a
studio in Guwahati. Various
newspapers and magazines carried his
photographs.
Hearing Jishnu, Nira tapped lightly on
the table: “Why can’t you do it, Kis
How many girls have the height and
figure that you have I am not at all
exaggerating.”
She did not know...she did not know
many things. She did not know about
Naomi Campbell, Ritu Beri. Cupid’s
bow, jaw bones...all these phrases she
had heard from them. They wouldn’t
let her go, they wanted to turn her into
10
Roots beckon
by Monalisa Saikia
a model. That too, like Naomi
Campbell. They wanted to change her
name. They would teach her everything
else – walking on the ramp, how to talk
... everything. She got annoyed
sometimes.
“Look Kis, listen to me...”
“Nira, my name is Krishnangi...
Krishnangi Gohain. Why you address
me as Kis I don’t....” she said in a
complaining tone.
“Out of affection, Kis, affection. Like I
address Jish or Aadi.” Nira looked at
Aditya, who smiled. Once they used to
address him as Putala (doll). She still
calls him Putala. She could accept the
change in Nira and Jishnu, but not in
Putala. Did he too want her that way
“Nira is right, Kis. There’s no point in
hesitating now. You’ll see how your
career takes off.”
She looked into Putala’s eyes. After
looking at them she could say nothing,
let alone protest. For many years now
she had been waiting to go deep into
those eyes.
(2)
They, that is, she, Nira, Jishnu and
Putala had studied together at Cotton
College. Putala hailed from
Jamugurihat, Jishnu and Nira from
Dhemaji; and she was from Sivasagar.
They majored in English. They used to
always stick together – at freshmen
meets, farewell meetings, Saraswati
Puja at the dormitories, college week.
They would hang out at Mahamaya at
Panbazar and have tea and snacks. The
others would give her an extra sweet...
“Eat Krishna, develop some flesh. Or
else the wind from the Brahmaputra
will blow you away to some far-off
place.”
Jishnu used to be always annoyed with
her. How could she do well in her
studies with such a lean and thin
physique! They would buy her butter,
ghee, and cashew nut. Jishnu had a
small camera that he had gotten from
his elder brother. He would take
photographs of the fishing boats on the
river in the hazy light, the bare trees
during the month of Phagun, the wintry
fog, the birds flying in the distant
horizon that appeared as small dots.
Aditya would recite poems.
Navakanta’s poems were his favorite –
Do you remember the poet in the rainy
night, Arundhati They would listen
attentively as he recited in his sonorous
voice. They would walk along the ferry
dock at Uzanbazar up to the hill near
Raj Bhavan. In the summer evenings
the wind blowing in from the river
would dishevel Nira’s long loose hair.
As Jishnu’s camera sprang to life at the
sight of the ‘classic beauty’ and clicked,
Aditya would say: “Beautiful, just like
Sunil Gangopadhyay’s Nira.”
Nira, Nira Pegu. This Mising girl used
to be a special person in the entire
college because of her long dark hair,
because of her colorful mekhelachadar.
Seeing her dresses Indrani
Maam would often say to her: “Do bring
me a black dress, please. Your dresses
are so beautiful. Who weaves them for
you”
“My mother,” Nira would say and her
small eyes would twinkle. Once during
the Puja holidays she brought two sets
of mekhela-chadar. One set was black
with flowery patterns of different colors
and the other was green. She gave the
black set to Madam Indrani and the
green one to her. “Hey Blackie, you like
green, don’t you! This is for you from
my mother. You know what, it is easy
to fool you people. Our womenfolk
have boxes full of such dresses.”
She was really beside herself with joy
receiving the green dress. She wore it
to the function at the end of the college
week. Putala sat near her throughout.
“Please Krishna, let’s go outside.
There’s such a bright moonlight.” They
came out of the auditorium.
Enchantment had engulfed the church
at Panbazar, the Dighalipukhuri,
Curzon Hall, Nehru Park... everything.
Putala teased her: “You look like a
dream princess in that green dress.” She
POSOOWA • June 2009