On The Way To Samode Palace - Does Tourism Really Benefits Locale?

I had no prior booking in Samode Palace Hotel. I just wanted to take photographs of inside and outside the palace. But going in an off-season, I was hopeful that if I want, maybe I’ll get rooms; if not, then I will come back.

So with that hope, on 17/06/13 morning I made a phone-call at Samode.

The first surprise in store for me was a reply from Samode which informed me that there is a cover charge of INR 1000 for those who are guests or tourists not staying in the Palace Hotel but just want to visit it, see the palace and take photographs). This cover charge also includes lunch.

That means whether you want to have the lunch there or not, but you have to shell out this cover charge of INR 1000 if you want to take a single click!!

My wife was forbidding me to visit Samode; somehow something was pinching her mind. It was me who still insisted in visiting Samode.

On 18/06/13 we started. To our surprise, we found that Samode is not at all a part of Jaipur city. It’s located around 40 Kms away from Jaipur!! You have to travel via Sikar Road (better known as NH-11 i.e. the Agra-Bikaner Highway), come down to Chomu (around 32 Kms from Jaipur), now go down from the highway, turn right under a flyover of the highway, travel 9kms further to your right via a state-highway (also called Ajitgarh road), and then reach a dilapidated, old ancient gate situated on left side of Ajitgarh road. There you need to leave the state highway and enter this gate.

Do also note that this last 9 kms stretch is quite desolate (of course condition of this state highway is nice), only one petrol pump of BPCL close to the gate, no shop for car-tyre-puncture repair, not even any shop to purchase a bottle of water. How this road will look like in evening or night is anybody’s guess.

We took petrol in the BPCL pump. The owner of the pump asked where we are heading to. We replied Samode Palace. He asked whether we have any prior booking there. We replied in negative. He smiled sarcastically and said “Sir then be also prepared to come back immediately. This palace nowadays host lots of huge marriage ceremonies and parties. In case if one such party is scheduled today, there is a possibility the door of the palace will be closed. They do not allow external visitors (unless they have booking) to visit the palace during any of these parties when the entire palace is booked by the wedding party; as the same will invade the privacy of the marriage party.”

This is the second surprise. Then why the cover-charge??

Now comes the third surprise. Once we leave the road and enter the dilapidated, old ancient gate, we land up in a cobbled, brick-lines, potholed, undeveloped road lined up on both sides with extremely dirty, poor village-like set-ups. Signs of poverty and listlessness stamped everywhere. Is this Samode Village? Graffitis and Signboards written on the entrance of some houses like “Real Gamstones sold here”, “All Cradit / Dabit Card Avalable” (I replicated it, note the spellings, what quality of shopping will you expect here?); but the surrounding and the set-ups is a complete mismatch with those proclamations; it resembles a surreal scene taken straight-out of any other ordinary Indian villages woefully short of development and nourishment…is this what we meant by Samode??

We thought we have landed in wrong place, that’s why we asked at least 4 people inside the first gate, they all confirmed “yes this is Samode village, move ahead further, Samode Palace will come.”

Listless gatherings of people crowding the roads hampering our drive further, even I started feeling nervous. Anyhow, stubbornly I drove up the road which now takes a steep upward turn. We crossed a second dilapidated, old gate, the road turns narrowed, worse, it seemed we are entering a narrow dirty village-path which resembles more of a backward village in western UP (I am posted in this region right now and travelled the interiors extensively) than a so-called “traditional, ethnic Rajasthani village.”

We decided enough is enough, we have already travelled enough-interior, and I turned back my car from the next nearest turn where I got some space to maneuver my vehicle and moved in reverse direction towards Jaipur.

I have seen wonderful, beautiful pictures and photographs of Samode Palace Sheeshmahal in the beautiful book “Forts and Palaces of Rajasthan” which inspired me to go there. I do agree that the Palace, once reached, will be a nice place to stay. It’s located on a hill-top and may command a nice view of the hills and the nature surrounding it. It will definitely have nice frescos and pictures inside and will be a photographer’s paradise. But reaching the destination itself is such a daunting task, that half of your enthusiasm will get dampened there itself. And the sight of the surroundings that dots the approach road gives an impression that Samode may be earning a lot thru’ tourism, but whether any portion of this earning is getting percolated for development of the local region is very doubtful. Its pretty depressing to note that one leaves in a luxurious at the top of the hill in the palace but just down below, in the shadow of the same palace there is so much poverty and dirtiness. Does tourism really encourages local development?? Or all the money gets hidden under a false veil of poverty?

May be majority of the tourists and guests who come for hosting the big Indian weddings here (which seems to be a major source of revenue for Samode) all comes in cushy SUVs and they hardly feel or look at this surrounding. For them what matters is reaching the destination, have fun, then go down again pulling up the black glass of their chauffeur-driven SUVs, so you don’t get the feel of the surrounding locales. 

Or is to so that we are deliberately keeping our villages near heritage palaces poor, so that the tourists in season will visit as “ethnic Indian villages” and shoot photographs of their daily grind of life as ethnic photo-shoots?”

For the first time in my road-travels in Rajasthan I felt uneasy here. I’ve drove to Kumbhalgarh and reached there in midnight in peak-monsoon; but never felt so down there. Even villages and settlements lining up the approach of Deeg Fort near Bharatpur did not portray such a pathetic site. And nowhere did I hear of any cover-charge of INR 1000/- for taking photos with compulsory lunch. And will you turn back a guest who travels a long-distance to see a palace just for the sake of saving the privacy of other guests? Anyway this may be the hotel-policy and after all it’s a hearsay.

Do remember Samode is a remote location, where once you are in, nothing much to do except the palace only, and the approach road is remote, with only one petrol pump, no car-repair mechanic shop, no tyre repair shop, no market and not even any medicine shop nearby (I think all these will be available 9 – 10 Kms away in opposite direction all the way back to Chomu).

I again reiterate that this review is not to criticize or belittle the Samode Palace which may very well be a beautiful palace, a gorgeous place to stay once you reach there, once you are in. But as a tourist, whenever you visit a place, you must beforehand be aware of the pros and cons of the surroundings as well. In case if one suddenly feels unwell in night or evening, you may have some options if you are staying in or near a city. But in a remote location as this, options will be limited. Most of the times, travel-brochures will not highlight these minute issues for obvious reasons. But for tourists, such small relevant details are very important. Hence I put up my experience up here for benefit of all. The final call is of course yours.

Valor of a Mother

Valor of a Mother – Probably a True, Well-Known Incident

In southern tips of West Bengal, near it’s Bay of Bengal washed south sea-shore, there lies a dense forest region called The Sundarbans.

In the fringes of this forest, in a village-hut, one evening, a young rural housewife was cooking supper.

Her child, an infant, was lying on a worn-out blanket, safely tucked out beyond the range of the burning earthen-chullah, the infant was lying behind the lady.

The lady was lost in her own thoughts. Her husband, a professional honey-gatherer is away inside the forest for the last one week with a group of same professionals from the same village.

Sundarban is infamous for it’s famous man-eating, cunning, huge and menacing tigers, called the Royal Bengal Tigers. Every year, almost every group of such wood-cutters, honey-gatherers, fishermen, who depend on Sundarban forest for filling up their belly, who ventures deep inside the forest, loses one or two persons who fall victims to these man-eaters.

Their wives, mothers, sisters at home bid them adieu tearfully when they leave. Some returns, some never. Who’ll come back and who’ll be gone forever nobody knows. Even the rivers and canals inside the forest are full of massive man-eating crocodiles. And also there are pirates who loot and kill these poor villagers.

Probably the lady was too imbibed in these thoughts and deeply worried about her husband’s state of affairs as there was no news for the last one week that she did not hear a soft, silent sound that indicated a gentle pushing of the weakly bolted door of the hutment.

The next instant, there was a thunderous roar and with a bang the weak, loose door literally de-bolted and  broke apart as the startled lady sprang to her feet and stared almost face-to-face in the closest range at a full-grown male royal Bengal tiger, the putrid warm breath of the same touching the lady and the baby on floor who’s now crying loudly, calling helplessly for her mother.

The tigers’ gaze was at the baby on the floor who for the man-eater is a lump of soft, tempting lump of delicious flesh almost ready for it’s dinner. The lady, stunned and dumb-fixed at the initial shock, could somehow follow the tiger’s gaze and read it’s intention immediately.

What followed next has now entered into the folklore of untold braveries of this forestland. As the beast moved towards the baby with an intention to pull it, it’s tail facing the lady, the mother, she forgot everything and grabbed the tail of the beast and pulled it hard with all the strength of her feeble, malnourished body, shouting and exclaiming at the top of the voice alarming all other villagers “Tiger…Tiger…Tiger is taking away my baby..my poor baby…please save us..!!!”

Touching the tail of a tiger is probably beyond the thought of the bravest of the brave. Going or standing near a man-eater is in itself a fearsome proposition, leave along even touching it’s tail. And here was a situation in which a mother, in an effort to save her child, was pulling the tail of the beast really hard, stretching the tail fully, and the beast is roaring menacingly and both the tiger and the lady are rapidly moving in full circles with the tiger in a desperate effort bending backwards repeatedly in a circle to catch hold of the lady; in the process it’s attention from the baby has got completely diverted.

A group of villagers standing outside the house witnessed this unequal battle which continued for a while; shouting they were, banging their sticks; but these efforts are nothing in front of a badly insulted, humiliated man-eater, who probably never imagined a poor human being will ever touch it’s tail, leave alone pulling the same and moving in circle with him, harassing him so long and depriving him of the delicious pray.

Finally the inevitable happened. The furious maneater managed to grab and clung his teeth and jaw ferociously on the waist of the lady whose grip on the beast’s tail loosened in extreme pain of it’s bite, snatched and lifted her up like a piece of fish fresh out of river in the jaws of a riverside bird, jumped – almost floated out in air crossing the accumulated milieu of people around the house and vanished in the deep dark abyss of the surrounding dense forest with the brave mother’s body still dangling down from it’s mouth, her one last gaze fixed at her infant child, now lying safe and unscathed on the floor. That was the last, finale, ultimate consolation of a brave mother. 

The Exams

The Final Letter:

Mechanical Operations was a vast, very boring subject in Chemical Engineering discipline, quite befitting it’s name. Still students need to mug it up and pass somehow. No choice. You get one supplementary, can sit again, with twice a supple you get a year back, the 3^rd one will land you straight out the college right there in the streets fending for yourself.

In a sultry June night, Anurag, a 3^rd year student of Bihar, in his single-seated NIT hostel room at around 2 am somehow completed mugging up the huge quantum of notes, staggered to toilet, came back, had a glass of water, climbed the metallic-cot which goes in the name of bed and was planning to doze off. But he jumped right back from the bed and stared at the floor, his gaze fixed near the door of his room. A piece of paper lies crumpled near the gap at the door-bottom. It seemed someone has slithered it beneath the door.

Anyhow, not able to remember whether he noticed it or ignored it when he went to washroom and ignoring that thought right now, he picked up the folded paper and opened it. A line is handwritten, scribbled hastily in it in Hindi which translates to “Best of luck for your exams, study hard, I’m going.” (Tum log poro, main jaa raha hoon).

The handwriting is familiar to Anurag and the tone of the letter left him half-perplexed but set alarm-bell ringing in his mind. He banged out of his room, banged the door of his next-room neighbor Alok (also from the same state), who was also studying late and awake. He immediately opened the door. Anurag showed him the paper. The next moment the two boys ran towards the corner room of the lobby, which was dark. They kicked the door hard, it was closed from inside. Aloke pushed the only window of the room facing the lobby, it was loosely bolted, hence opened up. They gaped and stared inside, shocked.

There was nothing left for them to do, it was already too late.

Tears welled up in Anurag’s eyes..”I knew, somehow I knew…that’s why I called up at his home yesterday and asked them to come immediately, at least during this semester time…but…nobody cared, none listened” he couldn’t finish, his voice choked, he sobbed.  

Aloke’s eyes was almost glaring in darkness, fists clenched he growled..”Why crying like a enunch? WHY??? We have endured too much. We’ll now take out all our bedrods and raid the m**fucker professor’s house before dawn and put these rods inside him in his bed. This is his 3^rd victim. Now we’ll make his family cry for him.”

By this time, the entire hostel is wide awake. The aftermath till next seven days was very common and inconsequential for this topic (e.g. student unrest, breaking of all furnitures in hostel, en-masse attack / morchas / dharnas / strikes / fast-unto-deaths in the department and campus, targeting the professor with bedrods, calling the police, post-mortem, flashing the news in paper, adding some color to it (adding a girlfriend angle and a failed love-story), deceased family members visiting campus for funeral and making a scene out of Rudaali there – lucky that time there was no mobile phone else somebody would have shot and posted the same in facebook). Finally, a false case was put up against the professor by the remaining faculties of the department who were also equally shocked, the professor was suspended for a period, then an inquiry was held, in the inquiry he boldly defended himself saying “I can’t permit an ineligible student to largesse out a degree per-se just for the sake of getting him passed out and bagging a job”. Whatever it is, soon the case fizzled out and the professor is reinstated. That particular hostel-room was permanently sealed. Nothing so great about it.

*

Before the room was sealed and cleaned up, a post-card was found inside the drawer of the study-table. Anurag and Aloke hastily hid the postcard. The content of the post-card was shared by the deceased student with his two best friends a few days’ before; they were aware of it; however absorbing the full impact of that letter was beyond the level of maturity of these two 3^rd year engg students when they read it first time, but now they could understand, hence hid it before it lands up in the hand of police:

“Bhaiyya, we’ve gone thru’ your letter and we do understand that you’re distressed, you find the subject very difficult, but how can we help you we can’t understand. Your father has no job, as you know here there is no employment, once he has lost both his legs, he’s now dependent on us. Mummy had not studied and married early. We only have a few piece of land, as you know, we had to sell a part of it to finance your studies there. My parents are scared of me as they look at my face, thinking of my marriage and my dowry. Your younger brother is looking after the piece of land that we have. This piece of land on which our hut remains and you yourself is our only hope. Bhaiyya, the whole family is looking at you, that you’ll pass out and get a job, so that our family will get relief, so that I can continue my studies. If you break down, what will happen to us, where shall we go? We are so much dependent on you. If you think you are getting victimized, kindly meet the authorities, kindly meet the professor, catch his feet, request him, inform him that you are very very poor, you need to pass the exam, get the degree, so that you get the job and we are faced from starvation. Sorry bhaiyya, I can’t understand even if one of us happens to come there, how can we be of any help for you. And this is after all consequence of your own deed. We did not ask you to give proxy for your friend in the class of that professor; when you knew he was so egoistic, why did you do that misadventure? Why couldn’t you think of the consequences of your act that may land you and all of us in this misery? We’re poor we can’t afford to be mischievous, we need to be serious. Please study seriously, please request the professor to forgive you, please catch his feet. We don’t have enough money to come to your place right now.”

(Of course the letter was written in Hindi, gist of the matter translated here)

The Unknown Ailment:

The Moments of No Return

Part-2:

The Unknown Ailment:

Around 8 years ago, one fine morning, in a small residential co-operative society in an industrial town, a retired old man from a PSU started feeling a sharp pain at the right side of his belly.

Living together with his elder son, daughter-in-law, wife was also living (a municipal counselor), younger unmarried son, both sons well-employed, all members well-educated, it looks like a happy upper-middle class well-knit family. Hence the eldest member, the man immediately consulted his eldest son, who was employed in a PSU steel plant. They took the father to the steel hospital, supposed to be the best in the entire district. They did a MRI scan and found nothing. Asking the old man not to worry, they said it may be simply acid, gas, gastric etc and asked him to be cool and resume his regular morning and evening walks.

The old man returned deeply perturbed as the pain has not subsided at all. He confided with his old time collegues who advised him to consult the old physician of the government hospital who was once a good friend of this old man.

He visited that old physician in afternoon, who frowned on the MRI report and asked the man to do a thorough re-check-up.

In evening, over supper, when the man discussed this issue once again to other family members, the responses were as below:

Wife : “You seems to be a bit paranoid nowadays, as you are retired now, have nothing to do, one small ailment here, one pain there, why to worry so much? When body is there, pain will be there. Can we escape pain? Why don’t you go for brisk-walking like, say Mr Sarkar or say Mr Roy is doing?

Eldest son : “Baba, don’t think too much, it’s a simply gastric problem, actually you should not take any non-veg at this age, and after dinner every night better take one zinetac. It’ll surely subside, no problem.”

Daughter-In-Law: “Baba, it’s nothing serious, my mother also had a burning sensation for around one month in her stomach, then she consulted a doctor, who gave her an antacid, and some food restriction, it automatically subsided. So please don’t keep much attention on it.”

Youngest son : “Baba, why don’t you also read Bhagvat Gita or Ramkrishna Kathamrita in night? These you know gives lot of mental peace? And I think it’s time you may start Satsang as well.”

The old man looked at the faces surrounding him and started having a strange gut feeling of hollowness and loneliness. These are the very people for whom he struggled lifelong and built up this house where all of them are sitting right now and staring at him in a strange manner.

*

The next morning a new problem occurred as the old man started to have a pricking sensation in one of his legs. The pain in belly-side has aggravated into a burning sensation. Coupled with this, there is a general feeling of numbness, weakness, feverishness.

His family-members showered him with lots of morale-boosting advises. However, in afternoon, he overheard a hushed conversation between his wife and daughter-in-law as he was going to washroom, feeling restless:

“See what I feel, the old man now needs psychological help. It’s called “buro boyshe bhimroti (illusions in old-age)”. The old humbug is now having all sorts of illusions of illness. Actually nothing has happened, but he is inventing these sicknesses and attracting our attentions.”

“Ma..you’re absolutely right, in our college also we read in psychology course that in old age people feels alone and they seek attentions. Moreover they feel insecurity about death and disease and always imagine that something is afflicting them. Baba is having the same problem. If it is not controlled strictly right now, he will create serious problem for all of us, more so for you.”

“That’s why I feel we should immediately consult a …or what’s the need of consulting…I think there are certain homes and asylums where they take this types of patients…”

“But ma, if baba is sent there, who’ll take his pensions, sign the bank papers, all these house papers…”

“That you needn’t worry, being a counselor I can surely move something, I am not an infirm like your Baba…house papers are all in my name, bank account is joint, I am his nominee in pension…so nothing will be lost. Moreover, after all, why I have entered municipality? For fun? These are very useful source of funds in emergencies.”

“I think ma you are really wise and foresighted…”

The conversation continued late. The man moved away, slowly, silently, inside the dark corridor leading to the washroom. The afternoon sun was gradually setting in horizon and the hazy darkness of dusk was engulfing the corridors of the apartments. Lights were yet to be turned on, which made the onset of dusk even more depressing.

*

He came up slowly, stressfully, to the roof of his house. A strange feeling flooded his mind, a strange sense of melancholy cry, there was no tears in his eyes, but tears well up within heart. This is something none else will understand, only those who has undergone these will realize this sense of extreme sense of hollowness. At these moments, the corners of the parapet-wall seems to be extremely attractive, and a feeling of hurt engulfs one’s mind, it mutters silently inside..”So that’s it…when I was there, none of you understood me; let me go away, when I won’t be there, you’ll miss me, cry for me, feel my absence dearly and recall me dearly.”

Agreed this is an illusion. In this merciless, ruthless, pitiless, worthless planet, no one remembers / recalls the departed ones after funeral. But there is no stoppage, no prevention of a badly bruised soul to temporary slip into his own world of merciful illusion.

*

There were lots of hue and cry that night in that otherwise sleepy and impersonal co-operative locality. Police came, so as friends of both the sons. Police took photographs of the dead-body of the old man and the location on the concreted surface in ground besides the garden where it was lying in a pool of blood. His family members were both aghast and terrified, pleading with the police that there’s no any reason for any of the family members to push the old useless man down the roof. The wife was exclaiming again and again that the old man was suffering from depression although he was having everything and was taken good care of. Very soon, the local MLA (a good friend of the counselor lady) also arrived in the scene. By late night it is ensured that death also becomes a mere statistics. The family members now became busy in searching for a good Hindu priest who’ll come and sanctify the place next day – after all it’s an unnatural death.

*

PS : During the post-mortem, it was detected that the person was having a malignant and benign tumor in brain which was actually pushing against some of the nerves that stimulates some region of one’s belly, legs etc. But that was of no significance now. 

RIP – poor soul.

The Moments of No Return

The Moments of No Return

Part-1:

The Hand-Held Rescue:

17 years ago, a then-young tourist went for a trekking from Gangotri towards Kedar Tal in Garhwal. They stayed overnight at an avalanche-prone camping site named Bhoj Kharak. Next morning they were supposed to move-ahead but at dawn got completely engulfed in a white-out (a familiar phenomenon at heights where white dense cotton-like cloud masses rises from the lower valley and gradually fills up the upper valley. These forms potential thunder-heads and later on may further intensify in heavy snowfall).

The tourist got panicked and nervous. Fortunately he had an experienced Garwhali guide who coolly judged the situation, calmly held the hand of the tourist and said..”Sir, no problem at all, nothing doing, we are going down to Gangotri now itself. It’ll snow heavily ahead and I’ll not take you there with me. It’ll be risky for both you and myself as well. Alone I can come back, but not with you. I understood your panic. We’ll go down, rest assured, as long as I am with you, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Anyway they went down safely, in between there were some hiccups, some slippages on slippery glaciers as the visibility was near-zero and the tourist was nervous, but once the guide, and in one occasion the porter saved  the tourist.

Finally after they descended to Gangotri, the tourist was furious. It was all bright sunny there. The sky is hazy blue. The ominous mass of cloud which they encountered at 12000 feet elevation now looks so innocuous-looking floating mass of usual autumn-cloud floating listlessly in the blue sky, it’s hard to believe that the same cloud could have caused a potential fatal consequence for all. Oblivious of his predicament a few hours before, the tourist started blaring to the guide “You rascal, idiot, Garhwali cheat..!! You knew very well that it’s nothing, no problem, it could have cleared a few moments afterwards, no snow, no weather problem, but you were in a hurry, you robbed me a life-time chance to see Kedar Taal but you’ll charge my full money, paisa to wapaas nehi karoge, will you return the money?? You people are..** …..” et al.

The guide was a veteran of many expeditions (he left GMVN long-back and currently based in Swiss Alps). He listened coolly, composed, absorbed everything. When the tourist finished, he stood up and gently pointed out to the distance in deep mountains from where they descended a while ago. The mass of cloud has already blackened at distance. Then moving towards the tourist he replied…..

“Look Sir, a few hours ago we were inside that cloud. You were covered all around in white-out, your visibility was zero, you were feeling helpless, trembling, panting, nervous. Had you been alone, you would have been frozen to death by now, or would have turned delirious and jumped yourself out in the deep gorge out there. There was no escape for you. At that height when it snows heavily – you see it has already blackened – snow has started already – and it was one of the most treachereous route with deep gorge at one side and no track on the steep hill-slope, you yourself slipped twice – had there been no hand-holding for you today, you would have met your own fate – and that was a sure and certain death by now.

But now, as you are out of danger, holding my finger you came out of it, you are seeing the danger from a distance, detached from its consequences, you are now seeing the brighter, positive side of it, the beauty of it and ruing the loss of not seeing what you missed; and firing the very same man who have saved you, rescued you from a helpless situation a few whiles ago.  But I don’t blame you. You plainspeople are always like this, you don’t know what we in hills say – Never believe the 3 Ws (Wine, Women and Weather). I rescued countless people like you from such hopeless situations and when we came out, I got only gaalis like what you are giving to me now. Sir, it’s very easy to feel helpless and clueless when you are ALONE in a hopeless situation. It’s also equally easy to pass judgments, give advice and show expertise from a safe distance once when you either came out of the danger or when you have never experienced such hopeless situations. Trust your hand-holders and always keep one in your life. People like you will always need us for your own survival.”

A Critical Lack of Understanding & Empathy

I am deeply perturbed.

Telling “RIP” is the best and easiest solution. So to say solution.

But the frequency of RIP has increased alarmingly these days.

I know and sense somehow the soul of departed Jiah Khan and Rahul Singh and also Shyamal Bhattacharya will meet each other on the road to beyond the river of live to the unknown eternity. Somehow their destiny is crossed.

But what it takes to finally decide these souls to mark an end and say “I give up” (a la 3 idiots where none understood the protagonists).

I think (and I know surely) it is their surrounding people only who did never understand them. May be they all had a different dream. Someone wanted to be a successful actress, but deeply compassionate and soft within, was going thru’ a bad patch, was looking for a solace, but surrounded by highly ambitious near ones who might have continuously egged on the poor soul for success and more success which was not come by immediately, dejected and frustrated “gave up.”

Someone might have bagged a seemingly cushy job and had dreams when joined from campus but found the office life completely and starkly different from what was imagined the day at appointment letter was received. But there was none to relate these pain, these woes. None will understand. Family will say “Beta, aisi nokri nehi milti, please don’t leave this job, please stick to it, it’s a tough world outside, you are our only hope…..”…and none will understand the inner turmoil that goes on inside the person…any hint if it comes outside people will say..”oh, he is depressed, better to consult a…***…and there will be medical board…” but none will understand that the person is hale and hearty..what he/she needs is a bit of empathy, a good friend, a good listener, someone who understands and who empathizes..not a professional empathizer…but someone with no stakes. Alas…there will be none…

Someone might have rose from the ranks and today near his retirement is still doing shifts (night shifts..does anybody know what is the agony of shifts, where it wrecks havoc in your body and mind?)…might be there was an appeal to relieve him from this relentless 8/16/24 hrs merciless shifts even at a senior grade…and when the same is not listened…its definitely the best to move out…early morning cool bridge is pretty dangerous especially when you are coming back from a hard shift in workplace..that’s why many of the accidents happen to shift-people after they go back from night in the early morning…it’s an eerie thing to note that when the sun rises and a new day/dawn begins..for many soul that’s the time to say good-bye to this earth and live for an unknown destination…never to come back again.

When I was going for my drawing sessional exam in 4^th semester, in a similar early morning, near the Durgapur LPG bottling plant turning, I saw a cycle in mangled condition and a body lying near, the face and the head and the throat portion is squashed into a mangled mass of flesh, from distance it looked as if this portion is covered with a red colored cloth. I could only see this much, but the image got etched inside. Who was he? Coming back from shift in night? Or going to work in morning? Whoever he was, he started his journey for some destination, ended somewhere else.

Needless to say I almost got a supplementary in my 4^th semester drawing exam and passed with grace marks. That was the first time I saw dead-body on road due to accidents. Afterwards, I ‘ve seen many, many more on highways, NH2 in my previous tenure at Mathura when they were building this road to 4 lane, and somehow have to come accept this fact..life is meant for an untimely end one fine day when none will expect you to bid adeu to all..come what may whether you voluntarily give up or forced to.

And there are indeed times when you do fascinate the…..it is better to stop here.