Silent night

8th October, 2001
Spring...Dussehra

A small time big delight for me…
Generally a staunch Bengali like me desires to spend Dussehra or Bijoya Doshomi in Kolkata…with family and friends...amongst bhashan and dhunuchi naach…amongst Dhakis...slowly peaking up their amazing beats…with all the memories from your childhood passing you by…you stand quietly in the crowd…observing…enjoying…reminiscing your school days…first night out with your friends…your first crush…your first loss…it comes back to you…

But somehow, I felt restless…something was missing in the air, festivity was there…huge monumental pandals crowd the city streets, millions of people on road, last minutes shopping in Gariahat bazaar, late night meeting in clubs, frenzied discussion about who will eventually win the first prize in Pandal decoration, joys, laughter everywhere….but still that homely feeling, relentless adda with your friends, a place where you can be your own...that was missing...

My parents were in Rishikesh...most of my friends were busy with their IIT, JEE preparations…

I packed my bag…folded my bedding…and decided to walk again…

Now, here I am, standing near the old dusty Mahatma Gandhi statue in Almora main chowk…
Lights just fading away in horizon…they create beautiful shadows on the deodar covered roads…they remain silent…calmness everywhere…

But there seemed to be a silent anticipation everywhere…the old rickety porter…the little school girl…the little kid on the other side of the road who sells breads…the fat grocery man near the bright’s corner…everyone seemed to be excited…though reluctantly…
They ought to be excited...today is Dussehra…

I walked down the narrow path down the gully...trailing bushes guide me to the main road…

Almora has a fabled Dussehra celebration, entire towns lit up in colors, lights in the evening… music played…narrating the tales of Lord Ram-Sita…tales of old folklores…tales of Gods and Demons….these celebrations are echoing part of the old mountain towns…they have very little to celebrate…for them life was and still is a simple story of yesterday, today and tomorrow….

Procession would be coming towards the Gandhi chowk via old bazaar…
Perfect photo OP for me…
I took out my old cannon camera and started moving towards the bazaar.
It is small market place… stoned carved floors…throbbing with people…

I waited…slowly crowds built up…from all parts of the society… old, young, middle aged, men, women kids...all…bright clothes...youthful exuberence all around me...
Slowly the procession was coming towards the middle of the bazaar…it will stop there for 15 minutes…
I gaze intensely…
Glistening…enchanting scenes…huge cart…two young kids dressed as Ram-Laxman…
Behind them an aged Pujari holding a mike…people were showering rose petals…smells of delightful incense stick...flowers…jasmine mixed with cold mountain winds…gives me a high…its evening...

I took a deep breath….
But I needed to take a good camera angle…but from where to take…
I looked up…I was standing on the staircase of small two storied wooden house, nicely carved…small wooden window…open...
A pair of beautiful kohl lined eyes curiously peeping outside…

Suddenly...the eyes focused on me…
Few seconds passed…
I was transfixed…I wanted to see the owner of the eyes…so desparetly...
A beautiful voice, asked me “Aap Ashram main rahte hai na?”…“Are not you staying at ashram?”

I nodded…but how does she know…I wondered
I was getting restless…I wanted to see her…She was standing in darkness…aloof...silently observing the crowd passing by...

She again said “I live in the house opposite to it…”. She was silent…procession now ten meters away from the narrow lane in front of me…
She said again “If you want to take a nice snap…come towards the balcony”

I walked towards the staircase…spring in my limb...moved up and there was I...standing on a small balcony…on a side of small bazaar...overlooking the procession...

But I am standing opposite to an angel…her kohl lined eyes had a smudged look...mixed with a lost romanticism and loneliness…innocent...she was lost in something...

She was again speaking to me…but…but I could not hear her…procession now exactly opposite to the window…her voice got drowned in the chatter…thousands of people moving along with the procession…like the pied piper of Hamlin…they are following the gigantic statues of Ravana the demon God…Its their night to celebrate…the sound, lights, non-stops songs, laughter, joys…

The silent night slows spreads over the sleepy old Almora...
Let them celebrate…Let them take their joys with them...I will take my memories with me...