Saturday, January 12, 2013

A hefty price tag!



Mayong is situated in Marigaon district of Assam, on the banks of Bramhaputra, 40 kilometers North East from Guwahati. Now evolving as a tourism hot-spot and archaeology pilgrimage, it once was the Land of Black Magic. Or as they say, for some people, it still is.

It was a cloudy night of September 2000. Monsoon was splashing into already waterlogged and empty streets of Calcutta, but brothels of Sonagachi were flowing with buzzing crowd. Sonagachi, one of the largest red-light districts in Asia, was reportedly employing roughly 11,000 sex workers. On one of the dimly lit nooks of Shobha Bazar, a man was standing restlessly near an awkwardly parked van. Regulars to places like these would have easily figured from his body language that he did not belong there. He didn't. He might be a rookie in the business, but the stuff he got was top notch. He just made a last call from his phone and was anxiously waiting for the other party. A woman was stepping down from the nearest multi-story building, accompanied by three huge men. Mashi, that was how you address a brothel owner in Bengal. "Nomoshkar Mashi, kemon acchish?", he asked glibly. "Bhalo." replied Mashi dryly. "Brothel owners are not very good at reciprocating greetings, are they?" he thought. One huge man passed a suitcase to him. He opened it, counted the money, nodded in agreement, and opened the door of van. Three huge men lifted a half asleep, extremely young girl from van and took her to the building. "You seem to have quite an eye. What a sweet little thing you have got there. Keep working with Mashi and you will see yourself going places." Mashi said. "I will. Bhalo thakben!" he said with much better confidence, smiled and left.

Bishnuram Sarma was new in Mayong. In past, under Bishnu's leadership as General Duty Officer, the coastal guards had run series of operations to successfully bring down smuggling on Indian shores. He was born in Assam but years of service all across India had made him a stranger in his own land. Recently, his wife Indira and 10 year old son Hiren arrived from Chennai. "It's been two weeks since I arrived and you couldn't even get us a maid? Do you want me to give advertisement in newspaper?" Indira was tired and frustrated. "Chennai was much better. Told you, we should have bribed officials and got you transferred somewhere else. Did you see Hiren's school? It stinks like a toilet. Never thought he had to study in a place like this." She was losing control. "I tried a lot, you could get a goddamn Malana Cream here, but maids? No way. For some stupid reasons, nobody wants to keep maids or any servants for that matter. Fucking idiots!"  Bishnu replied angrily. "Everyone thinks everyone else is a voodoo magician. Ignorant bastards. Can't even spell a word, but ask them to put a spell on someone, and they will do it in a minute!" This maid search did not last any longer however. After one week of desperation, Bishnu somehow managed to find Joyantee. Quite and quick, Joyantee was just the kind of maid every housewife would want to have. Eighteen, full of youth and blossom, just the kind of woman men like Bishnu would want to use. Bishnu's trained eyes didn't take much time to spot Joyantee's fascination towards Bollywood. On one day, when nobody was around in the house, Bishnu made his first move.

"Ever seen Bombay?" he asked Joyantee. "Only in movies. I always see myself as a movie star in dreams. But dreams are dreams Babu, there is no place for girls like me in Bombay." replied Joyantee. "Poor child! Let me talk to your mother about this new drama school in Bombay. Here. Take this money and buy some new clothes and books on acting." Bishnu passed few hundred rupees to her. "Everyone has a right to dream and with a proper training, anyone can become a star. Do you know Rekha was a village girl once in her life? And look where she is now. I see you have great potential to enter into Bollywood. With a little bit of help from me and from your family, you could start a new life there. All you have to do now is convince your mother. Destiny has given you a chance, don't waste it!" A ray of hope, you don't have to be an expert to see that in somebody's eyes. "I won't Babu. God bless you! I work at some other houses too and I don't get the same respect from men there. All I see in their eyes in hunger, Babu.  I guess respecting women is what they teach at other places." Delighted with the thought of new world, Joyantee left for the day. Bishnu knew that the fish has lured into a trap, what he didn't know was he wasn't the only one aware of it. As luck would have it, Indira had overheard their conversation. Let's just say, this wasn't the first time she had seen the real side of Bishnu. Not that she did not know of his motives, she simply did not have guts to speak about it. "God knows when is he going to stop doing this. Nothing good happens to people like him. I just hope his behavior wouldn't be the reason for our debacle one day!" she said to herself. 

One week after this incident, Joyantee started skipping her work. When asked, she gave lame excuses. Apparently she was asking too many questions about the drama school and its authenticity. Bishnu could not give her satisfactory answers, and would often start a minor quarrel on any random topic.  Soon curious arguments started turning into heated exchanges and one day reached the level of abuse. One day Joyantee said furiously, "I know what you are doing Babu. Do you think I am stupid enough to let you take advantage of me and send me to a place where god knows what's going to happen! There is a word for people like you, it's called dalaal!", Bishnu went berserk and almost attacked her. "I offered you a seat in that school and this is how you pay back, you filthy bitch! You don't know who are you dealing with. I am not finished yet! One day you will repent those words of yours. Get the hell out of my house. I will cut you into pieces and feed them to dogs if I see you here again!" he fired her on that day. Many weeks passed after that and just when Indira thought Bishnu forgot everything, news broke that Joyantee has been kidnapped and the police were on the lookout. Before they could even start a proper investigation, Joyantee's tortured body was found dumped near a crematorium with some incense sticks, flowers and blood. Witch hunting was not new in Mayong. Many similar incidents were reported earlier. Indira was puzzled as to why Bishnu - an educated man - would do this. Bishnu on the other hand was furious because of the stupidity of Mayong people. Joyantee's death just costed him a fortune. Only a seasoned human trafficker would know the price of eighteen year old Assamese girl. "Only if villagers here had a small thing called brain in their heads, this wouldn't have happened. I could have forcefully sent her to Bombay, but now dumbasses screwed this up." He had to start from all over again now, it was always hard to find young girls as gullible as Joyantee. But just like in any other profession, patience was the key here. The next most important task for him was to find a new maid, which surprisingly did not take as much time as he had anticipated.

Puspalata was weird. As a maid and as a general personality. Good that Indira didn't ask Bishnu's opinion before hiring her as he would have definitely rejected Puspalata. Short, old, awkward and always disorganized was how he would have described their new maid. Contrary to what most maids would do, Puspalata chose her own employer, she came by asking for work at Sarma's house. She was much cheaper than Joyantee, albeit not as good, but worth the money. Plus being less attractive was a best bet considering Bishnu's recent adventures. One thing that Indira didn't really like about Puspalata was her abnormal behavior. At times she spoke of her husband as a strongest man and other time she would curse him throughout the day, calling him eunuch. That day Indira was cutting vegetables and Puspa was making rotis and suddenly Indira cut herself. "Ouch! this hurts a lot. Very deep cut!" Indira was about to run some tap water to cleanse the wound, when Puspa pulled Indira towards her and put injured finger in her mouth. When Puspa cleaned that wound with her tongue she let her go and said, "Blood is life, madam. Don't waste it like that. People kill each other for lands these days, one day they will kill each other for blood. Blood is life ma'am, blood is life!"  There was something terrifying about what she did. For a moment Puspa looked like a bloodhound, quenching her thirst. She was weird earlier, devilish now. Indira stepped aside without saying anything and went to dress her wound. She thought about it later on but then neglected as yet another weird gimmicks Puspa played. For a time being, Indira was just happy that she didn't have to go through the pain of finding a maid all over again. Hiren's birthday was coming and Puspalata was going to be of great help in serving guests. "Hiren, what a sweet kid he is!" thought Indira. Hiren was born 10 years after her marriage. Only she and Bishnu knew how many doctors , babas and sadhus did they see and how many gods they worshiped for their first child. In their visit few years back, her gynecologist referred them to a male infertility specialist. Turned out that there was no chance of them being parents again.

"I want you to know Hiru, that you are the best thing happened to mom and me. We love you, son. And we will always be there for you. Promise that you will never leave us alone." Bishnu was drunk. No doubt he was creating a scene at the birthday party, but there was a reason behind it. Indira vividly remembered the day when Hiren was admitted to the hospital for kidney infection. The dialysis worked for a while as a temporary solution. His kidneys were too fragile to survive and transplant was the only option. Kidney transplanted from an adult donor into a child has greater chance of success, and so, Bishnu stepped up. Any father in the world would have done that for his son. From that day onward, Bishnu saw his own rebirth in Hiren. Simply put, he meant the world to Bishnu. Unfortunately, Bishnu wasn't the only one acting strange on that day. Puspalata was equally excited about Hiren turning eleven. When no one was seeing, she hugged and kissed him multiple times. When Sarmas were busy talking to guests, she took Hiren out in the gallery. The galley was facing West and the waxing gibbous moon was appearing much bigger than its normal size.  It was cold and quiet, you could hear the sound of wind passing. "Two more days Hiren and I am going to give myself the best gift ever." she said happily. "Which gift Puspa aunty? Can I get that too?" asked Hiren innocently. "A chocolate dear, I will bring you a chocolate from the city. Different kind of chocolate. For now, accept this gift from me." She applied vibhuti (ash powder) on his forehead and said, "This is a sacred ash. It will keep you away from all kinds of black magic." "What is black magic, Puspa aunty?" asked Hiren. "Don't be so impatient kid, the day is not far when you will find that out yourself!" Puspalata replied in a bitter tone. A sense of achievement passed through her sadistic face. Two nights after that, on full moon, she went to Guwahati's Kamakhya temple and offered a young pigeon as sacrifice. And yes, as promised she brought a hand made chocolate for little Hiru.

"My driver is on leave for his daughter's wedding, and he won't be back for a month. I need someone who can drive. Do you happen to know anyone, Puspa?" Bishnu asked. "Gajen. Gajen Kumar. He stays next to our house. He used to work as a jeep driver earlier. But then jeep owner had a fight with RTO officer here and the officer closed his business. My husband knows Gajen." Gajen's name came out in a jiffy as if he was always on Puspa's mind. "Sure. Let me meet this Gajen of yours." Bishnu left. Gajen happened to be a tall, young man, roughly around 30 years old, with looks that would make women drool over. No wonder women wanted to be near him all the time. He talked of Puspa with great affinity, the kind which you don't have for your neighbors. Bishnu asked Gajen to join work from the next day. Some days passed and suddenly Puspa started skipping. It had been around 4 days since Puspa showed up at work. Indira sensed something terrible and thought of paying a visit to Puspa's. She had to ask around for directions to Puspa's house. After going through countless winding muddy and dirty trails, she finally reached near a house somewhere in the slums of Mayong. Women were washing their utensils in front of the house and kids were playing in that water.  None of the kids were left alone, it seemed like parents kept a keen eye on their kids as they were playing. Puspa's door was unlocked. Indira went in. It was a dingy place and nobody seemed to be home. She went further inside and just when she thought of calling Puspa out, she saw her and Gajen in bed together. Puspa was moaning in ecstasy as Gajen was pleasuring her. Indira for once thought of leaving, but the lust took over morality. "Gosh! Look at him, who would not want to have a man like that!" She almost said that out loud. Gajen looked at her, Puspa didn't seem to notice her arrival though. There was an animal like passion in his eyes. Gajen continued, as he was gazing deep in Indira's eyes. For years, nobody looked at her like that. It was as if Indira was feeling him, inside her. It was embarrassing but at the same time it felt right because the distance between Indira and Bishnu had increased so much over the years that they did not find each other attractive anymore. Somewhere out there, Indira was looking for a man who would make her feel like woman again, and she wanted that man to be Gajen. "Is lust ever worth breaking up marriage? No, never. For god's sake, I am a wife and a mother." Breaking relation with Bishnu is probably the last thing she wanted, at the same time she was aware that keeping hands off of Gajen wasn't easy either. She left Puspa's house in hurry. On the way back home, she started thinking about Gajen. When their eyes met, it was as if Gajen knew every single thought that was running through her mind. Nobody could read women better than him. Indira wanted to stay away from Gajen, but harder she tried, closer she went. She came to know from Puspa about his family and that he didn't get a chance to study further because of family commitments. His sister and mother had lot of respect for the man who took care of them after his father's demise. He might not be the richest guy but he had all traits of a man woman would go crazy after. "If had I been ten years younger, I probably would have asked him out!", thought Indira. Love for companion was not the only thing lacking from her insipid relationship with Bishnu. She had absolutely zero respect for Bishnu because of the heinous crimes he was committing over the years. Had it not been about Hiren's future, she would have left him long time back. At Puspa's house, Gajen was lying sideways, thinking about what just happened. He was quite sure that he had struck a chord with Indira.

Things were not going smoothly after Hiren's birthday. Once on the crossroad, he mistakenly crossed a well lit earthen lamp with lemon, chillies and vermilion. Few days later, he found some of his clothes missing. Once when he was asleep, he could feel somebody cutting his hairs and then nails. Nothing significant happened after that except he started waking up in night with a jerk and fear. He happened to eat a chocolate that Puspa once gave him which tasted more like ash. After some days, his complexion started turning gray and then dark. Most of the times he never shared these things with anyone. At times when he did, both Bishnu and Indira ignored him, calling him stupid and blaming TV serials for his fantasies.  It went on until one day when he fell sick with high fever. He was admitted to the hospital and doctor treated him for typhoid. After a week or so things became normal and he was discharged. Even if Hiren was feeling much better, in the back of his mind he always thought that something bad is going to happen. Indira had hard time convincing him that he was safe at home. A month passed quickly and he started going back to school. Just when everything was going fine, on the evening of seventh day of the month, Hiren left school for home. He was about to cross the street when someone smothered him by a napkin with a strong smell. It was the beginning of a dark and endless night, one that Sarma family should have never seen in their life.

Hiren woke up with a terrible headache and blurry vision. He found himself in a place which was not at all like home. He was sitting in a chair, probably in a dark and cold cottage, at a remote place outside of village. A bearded, half naked Shakta (priest) was sitting across him. Behind Shakta was the great statue of Mother Godess Durga. Shakta was chanting continuously and was offering aahuti in the agnee-kunda. Hiren was extremely frightened. He had heard about these rituals from friends but never imagined that one day he will be the part of it. "The sacrifice will be made at midnight, on the day of Ashtami, the eighth day of 10-days autumnal Durga Puja. This human to be sacrificed is sent by God. If anyone tries to see this act of sacrifice, evil will be bestowed upon him by the Mother. Offerings like these are the only way to appease Durga Mata. You should wait until midnight and offer your prayers to the goddess. It is after 15 days, you shall conceive a child!" Hiren looked around and was shocked to see Puspa who did not have the guts to look Hiren in the eye. She was standing quiet, chanting Durga Mata's names. Puspa had been keeping a watch on families with 10 year old kids. She was told that if she offers a Narbali of a 10 year old to Mata, in return Mata would bestow her blessings and she would conceive a boy. Everyone in Mayong knew about people like her and that was the reason nobody wanted to bring a maid or unknown person in their houses. What could she do? How many more years should see suffer the pain of seeing other kids, and not having someone of her own? Why is she the only one depraved of the magic of giving birth? She waited patiently until the midnight. Hiren was made to wear a garland of red flowers and his forehead was colored with a mixture of kumkum, haldi and ash of a dead person. To keep things quiet and less painful maybe, he was sedated. "This is the same sword my forefather used for years. It has the magical power of Mata and had never disappointed a true devout. May the light of her blessings shine upon you, Puspalata." said the Shakta. A huge sword came out, cutting through the human flesh. Bitter feeling of cold and eerie silence of death settled over the cottage.

Hiren's sudden disappearance caused havoc in the village. Bishnu and Indira lodged a police complaint. Quick phone calls were made. Bishnu, his neighbors and friends started searching for any traces at school, playground and all possible places Hiren might have visited. Nothing helped. "You should see a tantrik. He would know the whereabouts of Hiren." said one of the neighbors. Indira and Bishnu wanted to try every single option. It did not matter if seeing a tantrik was superstitious or not. It did not take much time for them to find the house of Bej Tilak. Tilak conformed the stereotypical image of a tantrik. Long tangled hair, saffron robe and bloodshot eyes. Bishnu showed him a photo of Hiren. He moved his jhaad phoonk apparatus over the photo and closed his eyes. After chanting spells of kaal diksha, udaan, paas, mohini and haranluki which are almost extinct these days, he started speaking. "It's too late now. We have lost him. You should have seen me earlier. 20 kilometers East from the Mayong Central Museum, in the outskirts, you would see a Durga Mandir. Jungle starts from there. If you walk around 1 kilometer inside, you would see a small cottage. Hopefully, we will get Hiren's body there." "You are a moron. How dare you say that about my son!" Bishnu was agitated. They were about to leave when Bishnu's cell phone rang. "We have just found a dead body near the jungle, it could be Hiren. We need you for here the identification." It was the police. Bishnu stood in a stunned silence. When Bishnu and Indira saw that beheaded body, all hell broke loose. They became numb. Such was the loss that they could not even speak to each other. They had lost the best part of themselves and they knew nothing would bring that part back. Indira did not cry, not a single drop. "What did I do to see a day like this?" she mumbled to herself. She recounted years since Bishnu started his dirty game and felt a sudden anguish. "We are being punished because of your atrocities over last 12 years. What is worst than the death of dearest one? Sad part is, we lost a life which hasn't even... " Indira gasped, looked at Bishnu in contempt and walked away. Bishnu did not stop her, for he knew that his son paid a heavy price for his misdeeds. "What is worst than death? Attending the funeral of your own son, who was not even old enough to understand intricacies of life..." he was weeping in agony as he spoke. The police filed a case against Puspa, who was convicted for a murder and was reported missing from Mayong. They also caught hold of the Shakta. A team was set up to investigate the matter, and they were looking for evidences. The law would have taken its own course and justice would be served, except neither Bishnu nor Indira was interested in the outcome. A death had separated them and changed their lives forever.

A figure was attending Hiren's cremation from a very long distance. Today he was sad again, probably even more sad than last time. His heart was heavy with memories and eyes were full of tears. For years, he had been waiting for this moment. Twelve years back he met a girl in the clan of black magic practitioners. They fell in love and decided to get married. Just when they thought of doing away with necromancy, Bishnu kidnapped and sold the only girl he loved, leaving him shattered for rest of his life. Today he took away someone, and in return broke two lives forever. He thought he would be overjoyed at this moment, his life finally had served some purpose. But he was wrong. There was a chasm of emptiness in him. Only self repentance could have filled that void. "I must be proud of myself today, after putting an end to the innocent life. How sweet is the revenge when you don't want it anymore?" he asked to himself and disappeared in the darkness. There was no going back to Sarma's house ever again. Instead he took a bus to Delhi. On the next morning, he enrolled himself as a volunteer to Shakti-Vahini, a Delhi based NGO doing monumental work against human trafficking. On his first day, he made a donation in the memory of Kanchan and took the oath of fighting against trafficking.

Gajen wouldn't have used Puspa as a pawn in this dirty game if Bishnu hadn't sold his love of life in the bazaars of human flesh. He wanted to teach Bishnu a long, hard lesson that life does not come with a price tag. He indeed taught him that, and as a result created two worthless, broken pieces of flesh. All they had to do now was to go through the ordeal of carrying the burden for rest of the life.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

I try to move on

I open Times of India's website and search for the word 'rape'. Since I live in a very well connected society, I get many hits. In every search the word rape remains same, what changes is the place, time and age of the survivor. While I am writing this post, I see three news - 23 year old girl gang raped and dangerously injured in Delhi, 5 year old girl stolen and raped in Bidar and 25 year old girl raped and set on fire in Siliguri. I close those browser windows, try to imagine what kind of ordeals these girls must have been through, close my eyes in utter shame, sometime shed a tear or two. Thinking "There is a lot of shit out there on Internet", I try to move on.

I walk from my house to the bus stop. There is a huge school ground in front of my house where school kids play during break time. While passing through, I hear a wayward kid playing sleazy Bollywood item number on his expensive phone. He and three of his friends follow a group of four girls. Unable to resist their hormonal power surge, they decide "Teri wali woh, meri wali yeh". I imagine myself being a shy kid in school, thereby forgetting and ignoring everything that is happening around me, I try to move on.

Bus stop is very close, a few stretches away. After a while, I am on the bus. Some gentlemen give their seats to ladies and I see a ray of hope somewhere. "Respect, is still there, my friend" I tell myself. On one stop, I see a bunch of hooligans getting on the bus. After a series of long stares, they pass some nasty but discernible comments about a girl in the crowd.The girl, being wise and experienced, ignores them and tries to find some place so that she can't be seen face to face. Someone from the group moves closer to her, accidentally drops coins on the floor and makes illicit contacts while picking them up. "Why did the conductor allow such people to board the bus?" Unable to answer this question, pretending this as a normal act, I try to move on.

I reach office. The only sane and sophisticated place where I always wanted to spend my day. One of those rare places where I could see educated, well behaved individuals. I work for some time. After a while, I feel like taking a leak, so I go to the restroom. I and my colleagues wait while a girl cleans up the toilet. Totally aware of our per hour wages and importance of time, she tries to wrap things up as soon as possible. But while leaving, she makes a mistake. She drops her detergent bottle on floor and hastily picks it up and leaves. Within a flash of a second I see gentlemen reacting over her cleavage while she was correcting herself. Some whisper "Kya maal hain!" while they are answering the nature's call. "Come on, this is just a lighthearted moment, why make a fuss?" my inner voice tells me. Calculating how much work is left to be finished and how much time is remaining, I try to move on.

I am home after a tiring and frustrating day at work.I turn on the TV and choose some random channel. It runs an advertisement with a disclaimer - Do not attempt this at home. A handsome dude drives his car recklessly. Enamored by his manliness, an extremely beautiful seductress gives him lusty looks. The dude, apparently confounded, has to go through the painful task of choosing between the car and this mystery girl. "This must have doubled their sales!" appreciating the mastermind behind this ad, I surf channels again. There is a discussion going on about violence against women. Interesting, I think to myself. One of the participants is this woman who has been gang raped last year, and yet seeking justice. Two of the perpetrators are still on the loose and nobody seems to be interested in further investigation. In the meanwhile, she looses her job, social life, relatives and all but a very few friends. "Rape is not just a physical trauma, it's mental, social, psychological stigma", says one of the participants in discussion. "Absolutely! look at her, she has two kids to take care of, this is going to be extremely difficult". I say it out loud. Confirming the last conclusion - rape is equally bad as death, I try to move on.

I see myself as a father of this most beautiful and loving daughter. I see my life, full of light and joy, away from all black shadows. She grows up very fast and one day I had to drop her to the school. I suddenly remember everything that happened throughout the day and my dream breaks down. "This must be because of all stupid thoughts around me" I say this and try to move on.

Castration followed by 10 hours of porn followed by capital punishment? I am all for it. Just like all of my knee-jerk reactions, I think this will solve everything. Stricter laws, sweeping reforms on violence against women will be a great start. What about the good old sanskar we had? It's up to us, isn't it?

Oscar Wilde, one of the wisest men, once said "Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood". It is for us to find out - "can there be love without respect?"

That was my dream, and what's yours ?

Amen.








Sunday, March 20, 2011

एक्सिडेंटल डिस्कव्हरी

"(आय) नेल्ड इट !", आपल्या नवीन कम्प्युटर कीबोर्डच्या लाल आय - कि वरून दिमाखात बोट फिरवत रॉय उठला. " सलग १० तासाच्या एक्स्ट्रीम कोडींग सेशनमधून विजयी होऊन बाहेर पडण्याचा आनंद काही औरच. तुम्हा मिडल-क्लास क्लेरिकल कामं करणाऱ्या, ५ - १० हजार रुपड्यासाठी साहेबाची हांजी हांजी करणाऱ्या सरकारी नौकारांना नाही कळणार." आजूबाजूला पडलेल्या कोक , चिप्स, बियर , सिगारेटच्या पाईल मधून अडखळत बाहेर पडताना कामवाल्या बाईने लिहिलेली चिट्ठी त्याला सापडली. "म्या उद्या येनार न्हाय. पोरगी पोटशी हाय. डागदर म्हनला उंद्याची तारिक हाये..." "शिट, चीप वर्कर क्लास साला, कारणच पाहिजे दांड्या मारायला. उगाच नाही ह्यांच्या नशिबी धुणं भांडी येत. डिलीव्हरी डेट अशी लॉटरी मिळाल्यासारखी अचानक येत असते का कधी ?" तिसऱ्या मजल्यावरच्या खिडकीतून खाली बघताना समोरच्या रिक्षावाल्याच पोर त्याला गटारीतून क्रिकेटचा बॉल काढताना दिसलं. आपण काहीतरी घाणेरडा प्रकार करतो आहोत ह्याचा किंचितही विचार न करता ते पोर पुन्हा खेळायलाही लागलं. "कसं होणार याचं ... खर तर रोगराईला हेच कारण आहेत. ह्यांना कितीही पैसे द्या, सुविधा द्या, कधी सुधारणार नाहीत. पोरांना सांभाळायची औकात नाही तर काढायची ... " तेवढ्यात सेलफोन वाजला - अलेक्स कॉलिंग - "डोन्ट वरी अलेक्स, आय टूक केयर ऑफ इट. वुई शुड बी गुड नाउ..." आपल्या आयफोन वरच्या स्क्रीनवर खेळता खेळता रॉय पुटपुटला - "ह्या यु-आय वाल्यांना काही काम नको. इनमिन ३-४ बटण दाखवायची. १० - ५ क्लिक इवेन्ट लिहायचे पण त्यातही मिजास ह्यांची. अरे डेडलाईन कशी असते ते आम्हाला माहित खर तर. काम आम्ही करणार, क्रेडीटसाठी ही लोकं पुढ ..."

एव्हाना दुपारचे २ वाजले होते. आंघोळ करून रॉय खाण्यासाठी म्हणून उडुपी हॉटेलमध्ये गेला. अण्णानी आपलं नेहमीचं गिऱ्हाईक असल्याने "जारे पिंट्या, सायबांना काय पाहेल ते बग" असा हुकुम सोडला. "सॉफ्टवेयर इंजिनियर, आणि तो पण एका एम-एन-सी मध्ये म्हणजे काही साधी गोष्ट नव्हे. समोरच्या कुलकर्ण्यांचा मंदार मेक्यानिकल इंजिनियर असूनही आज १५ हजार महिन्यावर काम करतोय. ते सुद्धा फिरतीची नौकरी करून. नशीब आणि खडतर कष्टाचं फळ आहे कॉम्प्युटर इंजिनियर होणं ..." समोरच्या टेबलावर बसलेल्या दोन बायका (सरासरी शिक्षण इयत्ता ११ वी, सरासरी वय ५० वर्षे ) वेळ जावा म्हणून तोंडाच्या वाफा दवडत होत्या "आमचा संजू यंदा बारावी पास झालाय, काही झालं तरीही बाई मी त्याला कॉम्प्युटरलाच घालणार आहे. बाकीच्या फिल्डमध्ये आता काही राम उरला नाहीये." या दोन बायांचा हा संवाद नकळत रॉयच्या मनाला सुखावून गेला. ऑर्डर येईपर्यंत टाईमपास म्हणून शेजारी ठेवलेल्या अंकावर त्याचं लक्ष गेलं - आजच्या अंकाबरोबर पहा विवाहेच्छुक मुलामुलींसाठी रेशीमबंध ही पुरवणी. तुमचा प्रतिसाद कळवा, मुलामुलींचे पत्ते, फोन नंबर मिळवा. मासिक अंक फक्त १०० रु. मध्ये उपलब्ध ! पुरवणीवरच्या सुंदर मुलीच्या चित्राकडे पाहता पाहता त्याने नकळत माहिती वाचायला सुरुवात केली. "ब्राह्मण हवा, पोटजात कुठलीही चालेल, शक्यतो कोकणस्थ असावा, उच्च शिक्षित असावा, कॉम्प्युटर इंजिनियर चालेल, पुण्यात घर असावे, मोठ्या कंपनीत उच्च पदावर नौकरी करणारा असावा, निर्व्यसनी - मनमिळावू - जबाबदार .... " शब्दागणिक रॉयचा स्वताबद्दलचा रिस्पेक्ट आणि इतरांबद्दलचा तिरस्कार वाढतच होता. एक्स्पोनेन्शिअल ग्रोथ सारखा... शेजारच्या टेबलवर बसून बिडी मारणाऱ्या आणि डाव्या हाताने फुर्र फुर्र करत कटिंग पिणाऱ्या माथाडी कामगाराकडे शेवटचा "डीस्गस्टिंग .." लूक देऊन रॉय निघाला.

"बघतो मी आई. ऑफिसमध्ये विचारतो. मला २ दिवसाची सुट्टी काढून जावं लागेल." आईशी फोनवर बोलताना त्याला नाही म्हणायला पटकन काही कारण सुचलं नाही . आजोबांच्या पेन्शनच्या कामाला त्याला तालुक्याच्या ठिकाणी जावं लागणार होतं. बऱ्याच वर्षात रॉयने आजोळी चक्कर मारली नव्हती. कारणच नाही पडलं कधी. आधी अभ्यास आणि आता नौकरी - त्याला कारणांची कधीही कमतरता नव्हती. कर्जत तसं तालुक्यापेक्षा मोठ गाव, पण रॉयला पुणं सोडलं तर बाकी सगळ्यातच काही ना काही उण दिसायचं. बसमधली ती प्रचंड गर्दी, गावठी धोतर - सदरे - फेटे, त्यांचं दुनियाभरच सामान पोत्यात भरलेलं, बसच्या मधल्या भागातच पसारा मांडून बसलेल्या बायका आणि त्यांची रडकी पोरं. सगळं कसं किळस आणणारं. एशियाडने जायचा प्रश्नच नव्हता, ती कर्जतला थांबायला तर पाहिजे ना. जाण्याआधीच परत कधी येऊ असं झालं होतं रॉयला. ५ - ६ तासाच्यात्या छळातून कशीबशी त्याची सुटका झाली. कर्जतला धुळीचा लोट मागे उडवत ती बस एकदाची थांबली. घरचा वाडा विकून आता बरीच वर्षं झाली होती. स्वताच्याच आजोळी परकं वाटायला लागलं होतं. "ते तहसीलदारांच्या ऑफिसला कसं जायचं ?" शेजारीच उभ्या असलेल्या, त्यातला त्यात सभ्य वाटणाऱ्या माणसाला रॉयने विचारलं. "लाम हाय इतुन. तलाठ्याच्या हापिसला जीपड पकडून जावं लागतं. त्या वडाखाली मिळल बगा तुम्हास्नी गाडी." सभ्य माणसाने दोन दातांच्या फटीतून १२० - ३०० ची पिचकारी मारत सूचक उत्तर दिलं. रॉय जीपजवळ जाऊन थांबला. "तलाठी हापिस, तलाठी हापिस, १ शीट, १ शीट " एका सीटसाठी जीव काढणाऱ्या त्या ड्रायव्हरची तो वाट पाहायला लागला.

"अय पोरा, अय अय ... सूद आली का नाय अजून ? हिकडं बघ ..." एक अनोळखी माणूस एका हातात फोडलेला कांदा आणि दुसऱ्या हातात पाण्याचा तांब्या पकडून रॉयला उठवत होता. "तुज्या जीपला आक्षीडन झालाय. बाप्पाची किरपा म्हणून तू तेवडा जिता राईला." रॉयला शॉकमधून सावरुही न देता त्या माणसाने सगळे डीटेल्स सांगितले. "आर म्या म्हनतो हिकडं डोंगरावरच्या देवीला साडी नेशिव. येक वन बी न्हाई तुज्या आंगावर. चमत्कारच म्हनायचा." आयुष्याची ही असली भयाण क्षणभंगुरता अनुभवायची रॉयची ही पहिलीच वेळ होती. नम्ब होण काय असतं हे त्याला आता कळत होत. जे काय झालं ते सगळं विसरून जावसं वाटत होत त्याला. समोरच दारूचा गुत्ता दिसला, क्षणाचाही विचार न करता तो आत गेला. "कौन कम्बक्थ बरदाश्त करने के लिए पिता हैं, हम तो पीते हैं सब कुछ भुलाने के लिए ..." आतल्या गड्याला एक "चपटी" ची ऑर्डर देऊन सगळ्यात अंधाऱ्या कोपऱ्यात जाऊन रॉय बसला. एरव्ही चकचकीत टेबलवरती बसणाऱ्या माशिचाही राग राग करणारा रॉय आज देशी दारूच्या गुत्त्यात, कडवट विषारी वासात, अट्टल दारूड्यांमध्ये बसला होता. "काय दोस्ता, पैलीच पारी वाटत..." अतिशय घाणेरड्या वासापाठोपाठ एक मद्यधुंद पण गंभीर आवाज आला.एक ३५ - ४० वर्षाचा माणूस त्याला हसत विचारत होता, जणू काही त्याला हे असं जगण माहीतच होतं - नेहमीचंच झालं होत.

"पहिली म्हणजे ? तुमच्यासारखं रोज इकड पडलेला नसतो मी..." रॉयने चिडून उत्तर दिलं. पलीकडच्या त्या माणसाला कोण जाणे ते उत्तर फारच लागलं, दारूचा इफेक्ट असावा कदाचित. "पोरा, तुला म्हाईत नाही काय बी अजून. शिकला सावरलेला दिसतोयस, तुम्हा पोरांना ४ आकडे काय मोजता आले, त्या डबड्यापुढ बसून बटन काय दाबता आली, लय आक्कल आली असा वाटतं का काय ?" "कुणाच्या तोंडी लागतो आहे मी ... " रॉय पुटपुटला, तितक्यात तो माणूस रॉयच्या समोरच येऊन बसला. "माझं नाव संपत. असा बायल्यावानी काय बोलतु ? मर्द असशील तर मह्याबरोबर चल, तुला दावतो कुणाच्या त्वांडी लागतोयस ते ..." आता मात्र रॉय घाबरला. उसण अवसान आणीत म्हणाला "कुठ जायचं ?" " कुठ म्हंजे ? धंद्याचा टाईम हाये. दवाखान्यात चल. तुला दावतो कुट जात असतो म्या दारू ढोसून ते." का कोण जाणे, रॉयला संपत बरोबर जावस वाटलं आणि फारसा विचार न करता तो निघाला. कुठेतरी संपतच्या बोलण्यात सच्चाई वाटली त्याला. दारू पिऊन लोकं नेहमी खरच बोलतात हे खरोखर खरं असेल असं त्याला वाटलं. गुत्त्यापासून थोड्याश्या लांब अंतरावर असलेल्या सरकारी हॉस्पिटलमध्ये संपत रॉयला घेऊन जात होता. हॉस्पिटलच्या दारातच दोन बायका हंबरडा फोडून रडत होत्या, एकीचा नवरा आणि एकीचा तरणाबांड मुलगा अपघातात वारला होता. समोरच उभा असलेला पोलीस इन्स्पेक्टर संपतला पाहताच "नवीन केस हाये, सायबान रिपोर्ट लौकर मागितलाय. पटापट उरक ..." असं म्हणाला. नुसतंच मान हलवून "हो " असं म्हणत संपतने रॉयला बरोबर येण्याचा इशारा केला. पोलिसाला पाहून दारूच्या नशेत असताना सुद्धा रॉयच्या आतला सुसभ्य आणि सुसंकृत माणूस "पोलिसाच प्रकरण आहे म्हणजे जरा चार हात लांब राहिलेलंच बऱ.." असा व्यावहारिक विचार करत होता. हॉस्पिटलच्या एका निर्जन कोपऱ्यातल्या रूममध्ये एक डॉक्टर संपतची वाट पाहत होता. आत आल्या आल्याच डॉक्टरनी संपतकड एक कागद दिला, "सुरु कर" असं सांगितलं आणि त्यानंतर रॉयने जे काही पाहिलं त्याने त्याची नशा खाडकन उतरली...

संपतने पांढरा गाऊन घातला होता आणि शक्य तितक्या निर्विकारपणे तो त्या डेड बॉडीवर हातोडा चालवीत होता... "माय जॉब सक्स ..." असं म्हणण वेगळं आणि अनुभव घेण वेगळ हे रॉयला आता कळत होत. पोस्टमॉर्टम करणाऱ्या माणसांच्या बाबतीत त्याने आधी ऐकलं होतं पण ते पाहायला सुद्धा मिळेल असं वाटलं नव्हतं त्याला. काय न्याय असतो ना देवाच्या दरबारी सुद्धा ? जिवंत माणसाच्या शरीराची चिरफाड करणाऱ्या डॉक्टरला मान सन्मान, प्रेताची चिरफाड करणाऱ्याला अशी वागणूक... दुसऱ्या माणसाबद्दल, तेही थर्ड क्लास काम करणाऱ्या माणसाबद्दल इतका विचार करणं त्याच्या स्वभावात बसत नव्हतं. साधारण अर्ध्या तासाने संपत रूमच्या बाहेर आला. आता त्याचीसुद्धा धुंदी उतरली होती. रॉयच्या डोळ्यात खोलवर बघत म्हणाला "पोट आहे, करावं लागत. तुला वाटत असणार बेवड्याला दारूपायी पैशे लागत असतील, म्हनून काहीतरी काम करतुया... बरोबरे तुझबी. बैलगाडी जशी बिना वंगचालत न्हाई तसा मी बिना दारूचा चालत न्हाई. चल घरला चल, चा पाजतो..." एका झोपडीवजा घरात गेल्यावर संपतने मुलीला चहा करायला सांगितलं. "हिच्यापाई जगतूया बास... बाकी काई बी न्हाई. बापजाद्याची जिमीन व्हती, भौबंदकीत तीबी गेली. दारुड्याबरोबर कोन ऱ्हानार, बायको सोडून गेली. गावातले लोक शेन घालतात त्वांडात, बायकुला संभाळता नाई आलं म्हनून. आता हिला शिकवायची हाय, लगीन करून द्यायचा हाय. पैका लागतो सगळ्याला, म्हनून हे सगळं. गावात दुसर कुनी असलं काम न्हाई करत. पन म्या म्हनतो भीक तर नाई ना मागत, जवर आंगात रग हाय, तवर म्या हे करनार. काम सोप्पं न्हाई ते, येक दिसात न्हाई केलं, तर मुडद्याला हात न्हाई लावता येत दुसऱ्या दिशी. एका मुडद्यापाठी २० रुपडे, असा भाव हाये माझा. " हे सगळ ऐकत असताना रॉय स्वताची त्या माणसाबरोबर तुलना करत होता. पहिल्यांदा कदाचित दुसऱ्या कुणाची डेडलाईन महत्वाची वाटत होती. अवरली रेट म्हणजे दुसरं काही वेगळं नसतं असंच वाटलं त्याला. "तू शहरातला हायेस, क्यामप्युटर चालवत असशील..." रॉयची तंद्री मधेच तुटली.. "हो बरोबर आहे, मी कॉम्प्युटर इंजिनियर आहे. पुण्याला काम करतो. घरी आई, बाबा, आजी, आजोबा असतात. इकड आजोबांचं पेन्शनच काम होतं म्हणून आलो होतो." चहाचा शेवटचा घोट संपवत रॉय उठला. (वाटलं नाही हे सगळ शिकायला मिळेल म्हणून ... ) मनातल्या मनातच रॉय पुटपुटला. "पुण्याला आला कि फोन करा, भेटू परत ... " आपला फोन नंबर एका चिठ्ठीवर लिहून देत रॉय निघाला. पेन्शनच काम संपवून घरी जाताना त्याला पहिल्यांदा कर्जतविषयी आपुलकी वाटत होती. कम्प्युटरच्या १४ इंच स्क्रीनच्या बाहेरसुद्धा एक जग आहे, आणि त्यातही संघर्ष आहे हे त्याला कळून चुकलं होत...

त्याच्या घराजवळच्या उडुपी हॉटेलमधल्या त्या माथाडी कामगाराबरोबर, चकचकीत कपड्यात एक कटिंग आणि एक सिगारेट मारताना त्याला पाहण आता कॉमन झालं होत !

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

शिव्या ... शाप की वरदान ?

भाषासमृद्धी असा काहीतरी शब्द खूप लहानपणी, दहावीत असताना कुठेतरी वाचला होता. तेंव्हा कोण्या एका विद्वानाने भाषा कोणत्या गोष्टींमुळे व्यापक बनते यावर एक खूप मोठा प्रबंध लिहिला होता. जशी प्रत्येक रिसर्च पेपर वाचताना होते तशीच मळमळ मला तेंव्हा सुद्धा झाली होती, आश्चर्याची गोष्ट म्हणजे मला तो विद्वान काय म्हणत होता हे समजत होतं. आणि त्याच्याही पुढे म्हणजे मी बऱ्याच मुद्द्यांवर त्याचाशी असहमत ही होत होतो. पण त्या काळी माझ्यातला लेखक हा लेखक कमी आणि मार्कांसाठी हपापलेला विद्यार्थी जास्त असल्याने तेंव्हा मी फारसा विचार केला नव्हता, प्लस तसे रसग्रहण टाईप चे प्रश्न बोर्डाच्या परीक्षेत येत नाहीत असं "२१ - अपेक्षित" मध्ये लिहिलंही होतं, त्यामुळे त्याच्यासाठी वेळ देण्याचा काहीच संबंध नव्हता. आज वपुंच्या काही गोष्टी वाचत होतो आणि साईड बाय साईड विचारही चालू होता तेंव्हा मात्र मला रहावलं नाही आणि मग लिहायला घेतलं.

माझ्यामते कुठल्याही भाषेची खोली किंवा समृद्धी ही त्या भाषेत असलेल्या शब्दांनी मोजली पाहिजे. तुमच्या भावना तुम्हाला सहजतेने , अवघड शब्दांच्या कुबड्या न वापरता आणि अचूकपणे सांगता आल्या की ती भाषा समृद्ध, असा साधा रुल वापरला पाहिजे. शक्य तितके कमी व्याकरणाचे नियम, मामुली शुद्धलेखनाच्या अटी, आणि ऑटो स्पेल चेक / करेक्शन असलेली भाषा माझी सगळ्यात आवडती भाषा असेल. मराठी भाषा ही बऱ्यापैकी आवडत्या भाषेंच्या गटात येणारी ... कारण एकच - मराठीत असलेला असाधारण शिव्यांचा शब्दसंग्रह ! महाराष्ट्रातच बघा ना - खानदेश, विदर्भ, मराठवाडा, मध्य महाराष्ट्र, कोकण ... प्रत्येक ठिकाणांनी आपली स्वतंत्रता जपली आहे. प्रत्येकाच्या शिव्यांचे कर्ते आणि कर्म एकच, पण सर्वनाम आणि विशेषनामांचे उच्चार आणि ढंग वेगळा, क्रियापद वेगळी - आपली स्वताची एक झलक दाखवणारी. काहींमध्ये ग्रामीण चावटपणा आहे तर काहींमध्ये शहरी सुबकता. काहींमध्ये मराठवाडी ठसका आहे तर काहींमध्ये मालवणी मसाला, काही ठेवणीतले शालजोडे मारणार तर काही सरळ तोंडावर बेछूटपणे सत्त्याहत्तर कुळांचा उद्धार करणार. काही "च्यामायला इंग्रजीतल्या शिव्यात काई दम नाई भो" असं छाती पुढे करून ठसकावणार तर काही "एफ - वर्ड्स" वापरण्यात आनंद मानणार. शिव्या देणं हे चांगलं की वाईट हा वेगळा मुद्दा आहे पण शिव्या देण्याची ताकद देणं ही त्या भाषेची खूप मोठी खुबी आहे असं मी मानतो.

मला सांगा - शाळेत असताना तुमची कधी मारामारी झाली असेल तर कोणत्या शब्दांनी तुम्हाला भांडायचं बळ दिलंय ? बालचित्रवाणीमध्ये ऐकलेल्या शब्दांनी की फटका खाल्ल्यावर त्या क्षणी मनात आलेल्या शिव्यांनी ? आजही जेंव्हा भारतात पाकिस्तानकडून दहशतवादी हल्ले होतात तेंव्हा पहिला शब्द काय येतो मनात ? "निषेध" की दुसरा काही ? खरं सांगायचं झालं तर शिव्या माणसाला माणूस बनवतात - त्याच्या मधलं animal instinct जागं ठेवतात. निसर्गाने दिलेल्या देणगीतली भावना नावाची गोष्ट दुसऱ्यापर्यंत पोहोचवण्याच काम करतात. पण जगातल्या अनेक दुसऱ्या चांगल्या गोष्टींप्रमाणे त्यांच्याकडं आजही वाईट नजरेनेच पाहिलं जातं. आजही शिवीगाळ करणारा माणूस हा अशिक्षित, असभ्य आहे असं समाजात मानलं जातं. वास्तविकत : शिव्या देणारा माणूस त्याच्या मनातलं सगळं बोलून दाखवत असतो, याचाच दुसरा अर्थ तो मनात काहीच ठेवत नसतो, याचाच तिसरा अर्थ तो "पोटात एक आणि ओठात एक" टाईप लोकांमध्ये येत नाही असा होतो.

आपल्याला ज्या सिस्टीमने शिकवलं आहे, त्या सिस्टीमच्या झापड लावलेल्या नजरेच्या बाहेर सुद्धा एक वेगळी दुनिया आहे हे जरा बघा एकदा. वर्षानुवर्ष लोकांनी सांगितलेल्या आणि आंधळेपणाने स्वीकारलेल्या गोष्टी बरोबर की स्वताला पटतं ते बरोबर हे बघा विचारून स्वताला. बघा एकदा शांत डोक्याने आणि स्वच्छंदी मनाने विचार करून ...

Friday, July 03, 2009

Tandoori night

Yesterday - Thursday, July 02, 2009 will be remembered as The Miraculous Day in the history of 207 Main Street. With the grace of Almighty and under the veteran guidance of a room mate Sushrut, coupled with a supreme power of world wide web; I cooked the first dish of my life -Tandoori Chicken. For those who do not think it as an extraordinary achievement for me, I will have to share some glimpses of my past.

I came to Binghamton in August 2008 and since then till yesterday I haven't cooked a single dish. I know, this is not something to be proud of but my room mates are so caring that they did not allow me to cook for last two semesters. Or if you see from other angle, they did not want to take risk of "swallowing" the food that I cooked. You see, medicines and clinical checkups are very costly here. This doesn't mean I was not helping in kitchen - but I was more of a rookie , just another guy who can "cut" vegetables, onions and anything for that matter. But now, I could be the most important person in the kitchen - someone who understands howto's of cooking. With this feather of "cook" in my hat, a sense of independence passed my mind. I felt like a free man after getting my first job, but the feeling of seeing myself as a cook was much stronger. Now that I can stand tall on my own feet, I don't have to listen to the blabbering of Sooraj, Sachin, Anurag and Rohan. No longer I will be known as a man who eats boiled eggs all (any ?) time !

I got a kind help from my room mates in this venture and also this link was really helpful in setting up the oven's temperature and adding some extra seasoning that we might have missed. This was the first time I learned that cooking is not difficult, it is more of an art than a science or a mundane task. All you need is a help of some hands, a really good recipe, and most importantly - a good heart, a huge appetite, a stomach (if you understand what I mean) and taste of a food lover ...

Looking forward to cook more ....

Appreciations, Encouragements, Teasing, What's so great in it ? like comments ... Welcome !