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Monday, September 3, 2012

Mizoram’s Wild Flower


On a gloomy evening in Theiva village, the melody of collective singing escapes the windows of a church. But the song is accompanied by loud unrhythmic drumbeats. A middle-aged woman, dressed in a cardigan and wraparound skirt, is seated in the front row of the church, banging a drum. After a few minutes, when those assembled find it impossible to continue singing their hymns, she is asked to stop. She mutters something under her breath, and keeps quiet for the rest of the service.
The prayers end. The worshippers now read out passages from the Bible. The woman chooses to maintain her silence. She just sits there, aloof, with closed eyes and clasped hands. This continues till the end of the service, when the bespectacled woman leading the sermon finally says ‘Amen’. The clasped hands drop, and her eyes open in excitement at the prospect of saying what she now must. Everyone speaks in unison, but Ng Chhaidy’s voice rises above the gathering’s. “Amen,” she shouts. At last, a word she knows.
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Chhaidy was born in Theiva, a little-known village of around 150 homes in Saiha, the southern-most district of Mizoram that borders Myanmar. It is the home of Maras, a sub tribe among Mizos who were once feared headhunters.
At the age of four, Chhaidy disappeared in a nearby forest, along with a cousin of the same age, Beirakhu. Beirakhu was found five days later, beside a stream. He was in a disturbed state, but alive. Chhaidy could never be traced. But last month, at age 42, she was rediscovered.
Locals say Chhaidy was taken away by a spirit in the forest. A day after the children went missing, there was heavy rainfall, which many thought a couple of four-year-olds would never survive. When Beirakhu was found, no one could understand what he spoke. Many suspected he was possessed by a spirit, and incapable of human speech. A day later, the boy recovered and spoke of a woman who found them, a woman who lived in the forest and gave them shelter and food at her house. But when the villagers took the boy to the spot, there was no sign of any woman or house.
Ng Chhaidy, however, was still missing. News of her first sighting emerged nine days after Beirakhu was found. Two Nepali woodcutters of a nearby village claimed to have seen a young girl with shoulder-length hair walking next to a tiger. The duo, however, were so shocked by the sight, they left the village. When news spread, Chhaidy’s father, Ng Khaila, visited the spot but couldn’t find her. “I kept hearing such stories for a while, that a young girl was spotted in some part of the forest,” says the 62-year-old Khaila, “But when I would go there, she would never be around.”
After a few years, news of such sightings in Saiha stopped. The villagers did not know it then, but these sightings were now being reported in the forests of Myanmar. On one occasion, as residents of Aru village in Myanmar told Khaila, two woodcutters caught sight of a ‘wild-looking’ woman, naked, long-haired and with long fingernails. When they tried to catch her, she attacked them with her nails and teeth. She had to be caged in a wooden box, in which the woodcutters took her around to nearby villages in Myanmar, asking if she belonged to any of them. But no one knew her, and before long, she escaped into the wild again.
Some years later, she started reappearing in those villages. “Perhaps she stopped being afraid of humans,” Khaila wonders, “Perhaps she wanted to return.”
Most villagers were afraid that border troops would not take too kindly to their housing a stranger, most likely an Indian national. But when she did find a home, she would run away after a few weeks. By then, the woman had started wearing clothes. Four years ago, she was spotted in Aru’s cemetery. She was starving and ill, and covered with her own faeces. A villager took pity on her state, and provided her with shelter.
Over the next few years, Khaila met a number of villagers from Aru who were travelling through Theiva. Almost all of them remarked on how he bore a sharp resemblance to the ‘jungle girl’ they had adopted. “After a point, I could not resist my curiosity anymore. I had to see if it really was my Chhaidy. I consulted Ngola [my wife] and other villagers, and decided to try my luck,” Khaila says.
He borrowed money from local NGOs, and after selling a few aluminium sheets that he had kept in reserve while building his house, raised enough money to travel to Aru to verify the claims. Along with six other villagers, he walked on foot for three days to the other side of the border. By the end of the third night, they reached Aru. “She did not seem to recognise me at first. But I had that strange feeling that this was my long-lost daughter. When I was alone in the kitchen, I suddenly felt two strong arms around me. It
was her. She was hugging me and calling me ‘Ippa’ (father in the Mara dialect),” remembers Khaila. The woman also bore two moles—on her left cheek and right thigh—that Khaila remembered his daughter had.
By the time she appeared in Aru, she already had a few possessions. Among them were two navy-blue shirts worn with buttons near the right shoulder. According to Theiva locals, these shirts appear Chinese. No community within close reach in either Myanmar or Mizoram wears such clothes, they say. This gives rise to the theory that in her many years of wandering around the forest, she might have walked right up to the Chinese border.
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When Chhaidy went missing, she spoke fluent Mara. When she returned, she had a vocabulary of only two recognisable words: ‘banana’ and ‘open’. As people in Aru discovered, she refers to urine as ‘banana’ and faeces as ‘open’. She would utter them whenever she needed to use the lavatory. On trying to communicate further with her, they learnt the meanings of three other words she’d often use, none of which means the same in any known dialect or language. She refers to water as ‘nam’, anything that flies as ‘jackey’, and soup as ‘appozee’. Over the four years she lived in Aru, she picked up another two words: ‘Inna’ (mother in the Mara dialect) apart from ‘Ippa’.
Surprisingly, for someone believed to have lived in a forest away from human habitation and bereft of any social skills, Chhaidy is not shy of human interaction, although her expressions of fondness are childlike. Almost three weeks after her return, when N Solomon Beihlotha, a local from Saiha, puts his arms around her in affection, she winds her arms around his head in a tight headlock. Beihlotha is a strong young man, around five feet nine inches in height, and Chhaidy is not more than four feet ten inches, but he has to ask others to rescue him. While two locals try to pull him away, she rains punches on his stomach, and lets out a deep, bellowing laughter. The locals smile and say that Chhaidy has taken a liking to his company and is expressing her delight.
When Chhaidy sits on sofas and benches, she often squats on them. She tries to communicate with hand gestures and mutterings, even when no one understands her.
She has also picked up a number of social gestures in Aru, although they appear to lack refinement. When a local she had befriended in Aru was crying at her departure, Chhaidy surprised everyone by consoling her. This, she did by roughly rubbing her hand against the friend’s face. When she is happy, she claps. But this is accomplished by striking her palms forcefully against each other, close to her face.
Despite her general good nature, she is also given to sudden mood swings. During a ceremony held at Theiva to celebrate her return, she got upset with an organiser when he tried taking off a part of the shawl that covered her face. She expressed her disapproval by jerking her head close to the man’s hand and trying to snap her jaws at it.
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Chhaidy’s is a case of what has come to be termed ‘feral children’. The phrase is used to describe children who have lived isolated from human contact since they were very young, typically as forest dwellers (if not held in captivity by people who chance upon them, as has happened in some cases). Usually, such children are found to be mentally impaired.
One of the best known cases of a feral child was that of The Wild Boy of Aveyron, who was captured in a French forest back in 1797. He was around 10 years old, but could neither walk upright nor speak. A physician tried to rehabilitate him, but without much success. Then there is the case of the Ukrainian girl Oxana Malaya, who came to be known as ‘The Dog Girl’. She was found in 1991 living with several wild dogs in a shed. She was only eight, and had lived for over five years with canines. She walked on all fours, survived on raw meat and barked like a dog. She is currently believed to be living at a home for the mentally handicapped.
In a more recent case, in July 2005, an almost seven-year-old girl in the US named Danielle Crockett (now Danielle Lierow) was rescued from her house. She had been confined in a tiny roach-infested room for years. She weighed only around 20 kg, could not speak, and was so neglected that doctors examining her termed her condition ‘environmental autism’. She now lives with foster parents, and despite undergoing rehabilitation, is still withdrawn and uncommunicative.
Chhaidy, on the other hand, has received no medical or psychological attention. She spends her days moving from home to home, playing with anyone, young or old, who seems interested. In Aru, where no mobile connectivity exists, locals would use their handsets to play music. Chhaidy has now come to understand that a phone can also be used to speak with people. She often borrows handsets from neighbours to speak into, holding lengthy conversations that make no sense. Sometimes, she has someone at the other end willing to humour her. Sometimes, she has no one.
She may be 42, but in many ways, she has only just begun to experience childhood and adolescence. She keeps her new possessions by a window. A bottle of metallic green nail polish, a plastic comb, tubes of moisturisers and fairness cream, and a maroon lipstick—all gifted by women in the village. When she wakes up every morning, she scrubs her face with cream, paints her nails—regardless of any grime underneath—and combs her long hair, which she has taken to tying with a hair band. It is only the lipstick that requires the assistance of others.
When she is in a happy mood, she turns especially sociable. Her new possessions play an active role in this too. She goes over to the houses of neighbours with her comb, for example, asking the women there to comb her hair. In return, she paints their nails.
She has also taken to performing a number of household jobs. She fetches water from a spring nearby and helps her mother cook. Apart from her vocabulary of five words (and the terms ‘Ippa’ and ‘Inna’), she has picked up a few other words as well. One recent morning, in response to a young Mara girl’s ‘Hallelujah’ whispered into her ear, Chhaidy sought out the girls’ ear to say a soft ‘Amen’. She also responds to ‘Parri’, her new nickname. In the Mara dialect, it means ‘wild flower’.
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Much has changed in Theiva in the 38 years that Chhaidy was missing. The village did not have a paved road to link it with the rest of Saiha then. Mizoram was still a part of Assam. And often during heavy rainfall, the Kolodyne River, which flows to the west of the district, would swell and cut Saiha off from the rest of the state. Now, there is a bridge.
When the current road came up five years after Chhaidy went missing, the village elders decided to move the village a few kilometres away, closer to the road. A few weeks ago, on a sunny Wednesday evening, a few villagers took Chhaidy to the old village cemetery, hoping she might remember her childhood. She had gone missing from the forest close to this cemetery, after all. Today, save for the graves and stone mounds erected by villagers as memorials, there is no indication that any hamlet ever existed here. Overrun by trees and large plants, and ridden with snakes and leeches, the former village has been reclaimed by the forest. Thickets of vegetation have to be cleared with a machete—done expertly by the team leader—for the troupe to make their way around the place. Everyone else just trails the man with the machete. Chhaidy, however, seems confident of herself. She breaks into runs, her legs hurdling over the largest of plants with striking strength and dexterity.
Over two hours are spent at the spot, but Chhaidy doesn’t show signs of any recollection. On the return journey, she decides to have fun. Ordinary leaves are made into whistles, sounds that echo deep in the forest, and berries employed as bullets to shoot at others. It is as though the jungle is one big playfield for her. It suddenly starts pouring, and, along with everyone else, Chhaidy rushes home. By the time they return to the spot, the rain has stopped and a warm amber sun is sinking into a nearby hill. Chhaidy runs towards it, waving her hands in glee.
From a distance, all one sees is the silhouette of an overjoyed woman. And all one hears are gentle grunts in a language no one understands.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Great Narayan Murthy"s views on late Sitting at office

It's half past 8 in the office but the lights are still on...
PCs still running, coffee machines still buzzing...
And who's at work? Most of them ??? Take a closer look...

All or most specimens are ??
Something male species of the human race...

Look closer... again all or most of them are bachelors...

And why are they sitting late? Working hard? No way!!!
Any guesses???
Let's ask one of them...
Here's what he says... 'What's there 2 do after going home...Here we get to surf, AC, phone, food, coffee that is why I am working late...Importantly no bossssssss!!!!!!!!!!!'

This is the scene in most research centers and software companies and other off-shore offices.

Bachelors 'Passing-Time' during late hours in the office just bcoz they say they've nothing else to do...
Now what r the consequences...

'Working' (for the record only) late hours soon becomes part of the institute or company culture.

With bosses more than eager to provide support to those 'working' late in the form of taxi vouchers, food vouchers and of course good feedback, (oh, he's a hard worker... goes home only to change..!!).
They aren't helping things too...

To hell with bosses who don't understand the difference between 'sitting' late and 'working' late!!!

Very soon, the boss start expecting all employees to put in extra working hours.

So, My dear Bachelors let me tell you, life changes when u get married and start having a family... office is no longer a priority, family is... and
That's when the problem starts... b'coz u start having commitments at home too.

For your boss, the earlier 'hardworking' guy suddenly seems to become a 'early leaver' even if u leave an hour after regular time... after doing the same amount of work.

People leaving on time after doing their tasks for the day are labelled as work-shirkers...

Girls who thankfully always (its changing nowadays... though) leave on time are labelled as 'not up to it'. All the while, the bachelors pat their own backs and carry on 'working' not realizing that they r spoiling the work culture at their own place and never realize that they would have to regret at one point of time.

So what's the moral of the story??

* Very clear, LEAVE ON TIME!!!
* Never put in extra time ' unless really needed '
* Don't stay back unnecessarily and spoil your company work culture which will in turn cause inconvenience to you and your colleagues.

There are hundred other things to do in the evening..

Learn music...

Learn a foreign language...

Try a sport... TT, cricket.........

Importantly,get a girl friend or boy friend, take him/her around town...

* And for heaven's sake, net cafe rates have dropped to an all-time low (plus, no fire-walls) and try cooking for a change.

Take a tip from the Smirnoff ad: *'Life's calling, where are you??'*

Please pass on this message to all those colleagues and please do it before leaving time, don't stay back till midnight to forward this!!!

IT'S A TYPICAL INDIAN MENTALITY THAT WORKING FOR LONG HOURS MEANS VERY HARD WORKING & 100% COMMITMENT ETC.

PEOPLE WHO REGULARLY SIT LATE IN THE OFFICE DON'T KNOW TO MANAGE THEIR TIME. SIMPLE !


Regards,
NARAYAN MURTHY.  


When Ray Met Kurosawa

Satyajit Ray’s account of his meeting with Kurosawa.....


On our way to Nara, a brief diversion had taken us through the woods where Rashomon was filmed. These were up in the mountains, and one could just as well have been on the Kalimpong Road. As I sat in the train, I thought of the woods, of the strange and powerful film shot there, and of my imminent encounter with the maker of that film: at the end of my journey lay a lunch appointment with Akira Kurosawa...

...As it turned out, the venue for the meeting was a Chinese restaurant in a quiet back street of Tokyo. ‘A favourite of Kurosawa’s,’ said Mrs Kawakita, my hostess and a close friend of the director...
Kurosawa turned out to be that rarity–a tall Japanese. He also had a stoop, with an appropriate humility to go with it, kindly eyes which a ready smile thinned into more slits, and a hushed and gentle tone of voice—all of which was in unexpected contrast to the ferocious image derived from his samurai films. But then, it is not unusual to find schizophrenics among people of the theatrical profession, and I knew Kurosawa had Samurai blood in him. I had visions of his unbridled other self, pitching into that scene of combat with all the controlled fury of a samurai himself.

I started by talking of Seven Samurai, which turned out to be both his and my favourite amongst his films. ‘It needs long and hard training to be a film samurai,’ he said. ‘There was so much about the samurai that was stylised—his ride , his run, the way he wielded the sword. A samurai would never be hunched over his saddle when charging. He would stand straight up with feet firmly on the stirrups...’
Kurosawa rose from his chair to demonstrate the stance of the charging samurai. ‘And about the sword—it wouldn’t cut at all if you only hacked with it. You would have to combine (more demonstration here) ‘a backing motion with a slicing motion. And when the samurai runs, his head shouldn’t bob up and down with his footsteps...’

I asked if he had any more samurai films in mind.
‘None’, he said. ‘And I doubt if I could ever make another one.’
Why not?
‘Because there’s such a dearth of horses now. You see, most of the horses used in films came from farms. But now farm work has been mechanised, and horses are bred only for racing.’

(With inputs from Open Magazine)

Friday, July 15, 2011

Every Indian is a diamond!!

As a kid, growing up in India, one is taught that the world's biggest diamond - the 'Kohinoor' was found in India but seized by the British when they ruled us.

It is a painful tale, embedded in my mind. That diamond is on display in the Tower of London.
As an entrepreneur, I decided to flip that pain and look at India with deep introspection. What emerged is the realization that India is actually the Biggest Diamond of them all - amazingly precious for any Entrepreneur!

Here is why:
D = Dedication
I met a senior director of AOL in the Bay Area a year ago and he narrated an interesting incident to me. His computer's online system suddenly crashed and he couldn't get it started up. In panic, he called the AOL 'Help Line' for help. His first call landed up in Dublin (Ireland). The gentleman on the other side answered and said 'Sorry Sir - its 5:01 pm here and my job is done. Try somewhere else'.
Frustrated he tried again. This time the call landed in India. There, a young boy who was working late into the night answered the call. He was polite, helpful and quickly resolved the problem. Just before the AOL director was hanging up the young guy asked him enthusiastically, 'Sir - I don't want to take up you time, but can you spare a minute more for me'?
'Go-ahead', said the AOL Director, a bit irritated at this unusual request.
The boy then explained to the Director that while working on the crash problem, he had simultaneously figured out why the Director's system had failed and what was needed to prevent such an incident from recurring. He was asking for permission to mail these instructions to the Director!
Ask an Indian professional in a Mumbai-Delhi office about our lifestyle. We work 12-14 hours, each day of the week, take calls at 3 am, work weekends, log on the laptop even when we are on Holidays and have 2 wives - the second being a Blackberry.
We are ravenous to prove ourselves and extremely dedicated to what we do.

I = Intelligence
We own the world's largest 'Army of Intelligence'.
Where on earth can you employ 100,000 fluent English speaking service industry workers (think Call Centers, Business Process Outfits) for just US $1500 monthly Salary?
The fact that English is the de-facto 'aspirational' language in India (my driver's daughter is learning it) and that 'Hinglish' (English mixed with Hindi) is now mainstream, we are producing a workforce that can invade any service Industry on the planet. All we need are the Majors and Generals (Zoho.com type Companies and Entrepreneurs) to invade the Business World.

A = Age Dividend
Nowhere in the world do you have 1 billion people, 75% of whom are less than 30 years of age!
In a famous experiment, a few computers were left unattended outside a Delhi slum. The hypothesis was that the computers and their parts would be stolen very swiftly. Instead, illiterate kids intuitively understood how to start up the PC, work the mouse and generally click and browse the computers.
The way I look at it, 'Digital immigrants' are folks in the 40s who are being forced to migrate to the digital media (Computers, Websites) late in their lives.
'Digital Natives' are those typically under 15, for whom intuitive understanding of digital media comes wired into the brains.
India has 750 million such Digital Natives!

M = Markets
Very rarely do massively populous countries like India exist who have massively underdeveloped local markets and export trade (as measured by per head GDP).
This provides entrepreneurs with amazing opportunities. They can focus on a booming local market or focus on creating a huge export business from India.
India resembles China 20 years ago - where local markets expanded hugely and then the success was repeated in the global export market.
Singapore, Hong Kong, Finland, etc, had very small local markets from the start and were forced to grow via exports. Russia and lots of the Eastern European economies today have booming local markets, but very low export momentum.
In India, the lands and the seas are for the taking.

O = Owners
In India, people are truly the masters of their lives.
Most of our Politicians are public jesters and thieves - forever screwing up, getting caught, being whipped in public media, replaced and forgotten. Even jailed once in a while.
While they play their Circus out, they don't interfere in Business and Entrepreneurship. Forget the bribes and red tape that you may encounter for heavy duty brick and mortar businesses, but in new age start ups, they have no role to play. This is very crucial when it pertains to media and its regulations.
In China, when I sold my Company Mobile2win to Walt Disney, we had to write to the Chinese 'Ministry of Culture and Information' detailing why we were selling and begged for their approval!
As an Indian entrepreneur, I was shocked to even ask permission to be able to sell my own Company. Of course, as we all know, it's impossible to create consumer media Companies in China without Governmental intrusion.
Another example - In China, you cannot hold rallies or meetings (even the biggest Multinationals) of over 40-50 people without prior police permission. During the Olympics, all large meetings were banned. This stems from a fear that the Chinese govt. has regarding public gatherings leading to unrest.
The fact that the government is non-interfering in Business in India is our biggest blessing.

N = Neutral Courts
The legal system in India is fair and it works.
In 2002 in Seoul, I met the CEO of Actoz Software - the global pioneer of massive online multiplayer games. In 2001, he had (unfortunately) licensed his game to a Chinese online games Company that very quickly cheated Actoz by duplicating their game and also not paying Actoz the committed royalty payments.
This Chinese Company grew very fast and became a giant and also listed on the Nasdaq. Its valuation today is U.S $2.5+Billion. Believe it or not, it also bought Actoz out at throwaway valuations since they had anyway bankrupted the tiny Company.
I asked the Actoz CEO if licensing his game to this Chinese Company was his mistake.
'No, Alok! That was not the mistake. Our blunder was agreeing with filing for arbitration in Chinese courts when we had a dispute with the Chinese Company. The day the case came up for hearing and the arbitrator realized that it was a Korean Company against a Chinese Company, he decided the ruling against us even before hearing the arguments'.
I was too stunned to react! (Ps - that's also a reason why lots of global agreements today settle for fair Countries like UK, USA, etc, for Courts of Jurisdiction).
In India, courts move fast for pressing matters. We recently sued a leading publication for not paying us and we received 80% of our money back with interest. Sure, courts can be slow but they are Just. Only in India can one file a case against the Indian Government for its Oil and Gas policies and be given a massively detailed hearing (ADAG against Govt. Of India and Reliance).
Let's also not forget that Enron was kindly protected by Indian laws when it went bust globally and that legal cushion helped Enron to wind down gracefully. In China or in Russia, its assets would have been seized overnight.

D = Destiny
Our faith in God and general 'fatalism' is actually a blessing in disguise.
Most Indians live with side belief in Luck and Fate. The Indian may be the COO of a large Company or a simple factory guard. This 'invisible hand' that we believe guides our fate (Keynes please pardon me) allows us to take lots of ups and downs with a smiling face.
Hence, the massive wave of crime and unrests one witnesses in booming markets like Brazil is thankfully absent in India, despite having almost similar income disparities and societal layers.
When jobs get axed or promotions are passed over or even when factories are shifted, we whine and protest, then let it pass and blame our favorite God. And thankfully we have over 500 different Gods to pick from!
The Kohinoor is nothing more than a large piece of Carbon sitting in a velvet box, guarded by hi tech security. The real Diamond is India - open, free and for everyone!

(This piece is taken from http://rodinhood.com and I want to thank its author for such a brilliant insight)

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

An eye opener from history

These are memoirs of another day, memories of another war. An autobiography written on sanchi paat (bark of a tree) nearly 200 years ago has opened a new chapter in Assam’s history and of the country’s freedom movement. It was not Mangal Pandey, but an Ahom prince perhaps who first raised the banner of revolt against the British in 1827, thirty years before the Sepoy Mutiny, according to recently recovered manuscripts.

The prince Gamadhar Konwar along with compatriot Dhanjoy Borgohain had organized a revolt against the British at Mariani to free Assam, a year after it was annexed by the British from the Ahoms with the signing of the treaty of Yandabo."

History must acknowledge Konwar's contribution to India's freedom struggle which came to light with the discovery of a 30-page 'sanchi pat' or tree bark manuscript two years ago," said Jintu Hazarika, secretary of a group formed to ensure that the prince received his due place in the annals of history.

The manuscript was written by Konwar's close associate Mokham Barua in Tai language in the form of a diary.It was lying with Barua's descendants for the last two centuries till it was discovered by a Tai teacher, Mridul Phukon from Deodhai village in Sibsagar district, Hazarika said.

Recovered recently from near Sivasagar, the memoirs belong to a king named Gamadhar Konwar, who is even now a little-known figure in Assam. But experts on Tai-Ahom history said they are reconstructing a priceless mosaic of facts, one which will reveal Gamadhar Konwar in a new light: as the first Indian to have started the freedom struggle against the British Empire, much before Mangal Pandey rose in rebellion in 1857.

Mridul Phukon, an expert on Tai language from Sivasagar, has translated the autobiography from the original Tai language into Assamese. It has also been adapted into a play to mobilize public opinion so that recognition is given to Gamadhar Konwar?s heroism.

Gamadhar, a close relative of Ahom king Pratap Singha, had set up his own kingdom at Nakachari in Jorhat district in 1828 and declared war against the British.
He managed to garner the support of tribal chieftains of the region. He also set ablaze a British armoury at Rongpur, now in Sivasagar district, and then fled to Nagaland.
The British kept Gamadhar’s mother under house arrest for several months in a bid to capture him. Gamadhar was later imprisoned by the British and sent to the Andamans in 1828.

Nothing is known about Gamadhar after he was sent to the Cellular Jail in the Andamans, known as kala pani then. Nor does the book mention anything further.
The autobiography in Tai language was written in 1828, two years after the signing of the Treaty of Yandaboo, which brought Assam under British rule.

Phukon said the 120-page memoirs, named Ko Mou Ko Bang (Moments of Life), was recovered from the house of one Bhabakanata Phukon of Sivasagar. Mridul Phukon translated the book into Assamese and Jatin Hazarika adapted it as a play.

Phukon said the play would be staged in Guwahati soon. “We are planning to take this play to Rabindra Bhawan in the state capital so as to publicise the fact that Gamadhar was the first in the country to stand up against the British” says Phukan.

Pointing out that there was nothing fictional in this drama, Phukon said it was a true story of one of the greatest sons of the soil who finds very little mention in the pages of history.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

I for Inspiration

I tell you people, it's not a walk in the park when it comes to writing ads. Writing ads that would please the people at one go. Writing that would be easy on everyone's ego. Writing that will wash away the pain inflicted on someone. Last time I wrote it did nothing of the above. I was actually sleepwalking on my notepad.

From colleagues to canteen boys to networking pals to roadside romeo juliets to traffic honkers to city hawkers to client tantrums to family dramas(small and big included), everybody influences. Influences the way you feel about it. Take it or leave it, when you sit down to wash away your sins on a notepad with the aquatic splashes of the blue ink, it takes time to get into the groove. To write. Rewrite. Getting the thoughts in and letting it out of the window. To abuse your thoughts. For me getting into the groove takes three lines or sometimes three hours. But then when it comes to work, you don't see the face of time, don't you?

For me writing has been a progression. Parents used to scold when I first discovered the art of writing on the walls. Making it dirty was fun back then! Writing small little birthday cards and imaginary letters to friends by the time I was in school. Scribbling notes for best friends. Writing poems and stories for school magazines. Waiting impatiently for handwriting classes. By the time I was about leave school, i had quit making notes for my friends. In college, writing love letters for seniors took most of the time. Souveneirs thrown in between. Plus letters to home. I am already soaked in hostel sentiments by now! I moved on. Moved on gladly sensing writing getting the better of me as time made its strokes. By the time I moved out of my hometown to India's capital city, perspective of life and how it behaves changed for me. The easy life I was used to had to be replaced with a more fast paced one. Of running around for a seat in the colleges. Running around to find a shelter. By now my writing ran away to someplace else! Vanished but thankfully, never conquered by anything else!

As the college days were nearing a slow death, the writer in me sprang within me. Spring. Spring. I was bouncing, dancing with my pen giving me company. My dancefloor was my table. Location still the same - India's capital city. Capital of chaos. Capital of cars. Capital of the capital letters that made me a writer out of me. On a serious note, I decided copywriting was my calling. People found it funny and looked at me like you know what!

Years rolled on. The pen still holds strong and might. Mightier than thou. I am writing ads today. Occasional poems and proses for few and most loved. Writing almost anything under the sun. From food to farms, technology to tantrums, bliss to billions - writing just goes on for me. A heady cocktail of inspirations pouring in from all the corners. As time posed new challenges, i have strived to take my writing along the way. The best part of being an advertising writer is that you can start from anywhere. Take a leap out of anywhere.
As I am writing this, the thoughts of writing a new ad is pouring in like cats and dogs over me! Drenched in this cold wave, waiting to sip a hot cuppa and wide awake to strike, I take your leave.
Hold on! The words haven't stopped in yet.