The Magic Ring - Dog and cat - A Thadou Folk Tale retold

Once upon a time, there lived a poor widow and her son. The boy worked hard to help his mother. One day, as he was going to market to sell a cock, he found a python trapped in a net. Some Kabuis had set the trap. Seeing the helpless python, he felt sad. He made a plea to the Kabuis, "Please don't kill it. Set it free. You can take my cock in its place." The Kabuis took his cock and freed the python.
With no money to buy food for himself and his mother, the boy returned sadly. On the way, a stranger stopped him and said, "Don't be afraid. I am the python you saved. I owe you my life, dear friend. Please come to my house. My mother will be pleased to see you. She will give a big reward to you." The boy was surprised and confused. The stranger went on, "Don't accept anything. Just ask her to give the ring she wears. Not knowing what to do, he simply followed the stranger. They reached a big lake. The stranger spoke, "Friend, my family lives inside the water. We shall have to dive." Before the boy could turn back, the stranger caught his legs and pulled him in the water. A little later, they reached a spot where there was a huge mansion. They went inside. There, he found the stranger's parents waiting for their son. After listening to the story, the parents were very happy. The mother said gratefully, "You have saved the life of my only son. I am extremely pleased. The house is full of valuable wealth. Take as much as you want." The boy was unable to speak. Seeing this the son spoke, "Mother, he is very poor. If you want to reward him, please give him the ring on your finger." "My dear, he can have whatever he wants but I cannot give him the ring," replied the mother. "Mother, I am your only son. He saved my life and you cannot give him even a ring! It seems that your ring is more precious than my life. I will go and fall in the trap again. Let those men kill me. I don't want to live anymore." The mother was worried. She immediately gave the ring to the boy, saying, "Nothing is more precious than the life of my son. Take the ring". The son felt happy and said "Come, I will take you to the surface of the lake". On the way, he told the boy that it was not an ordinary ring, "It is a magic ring. When you make a command, it will provide whatever you want. But be careful. Keep it a secret," he continued. As soon as he reached home, the boy asked his mother to serve food. The mother took out empty plates and scolded him for not bringing food. Then the son went into the kitchen and ordered the magic ring to bring the choicest dishes for them. The mother was surprised to see the tastiest dishes in front of her. In this way, with the help of the magic ring, they began to live happily.
One day, the son requested his mother to go and ask for the hand of the village Chief's daughter for him. The mother approached the Chief, "O great one, please give your daughter in marriage to my son." The Chief laughed, "Look at yourself. You are a poor widow. How can you dream of your son marrying my daughter?" "My son will make your daughter happy and comfortable, O great one," replied the mother. The Chief wanted to humour her. He said, "If you want my consent, bring a big bull, a sack of gold and a diamond necklace tomorrow morning. Only then, will I say yes." The mother returned home sadly. She told her son about the Chief's demands. Her son laughed, "Mother, be ready to go to him tomorrow morning." At midnight, he ordered the magic ring to build a mansion with several servants. He also ordered the ring to provide all the things the Chief demanded. In the morning, the Chief was surprised to see the widow with all the things. He could not refuse now. Thus the widow's son and the Chief's daughter were married. As they lived happily many people were jealous of them. One day when they visited the Chief's house, a servant stole the ring. On discovering the loss, the son felt sad. He called his dog and cat near him, "Find my ring. Don't come back until you find it." The dog and the cat went in search of the ring. They searched for days but did not find it. Tired and exhausted, they were lying on the ground when a rat came out in search of food. They pounced on the helpless rat and said, "We are hungry, we have to eat you." The rat was frightened and said, "Please don't eat me. I will do whatever you say." Then they said, "Promise us to bring back our master's lost ring. We will spare your life." The rat promised and went off in search of the ring. Soon, the rat found it hidden in the servant's cupboard. He quietly took it out and gave it to the dog and the cat. They were happy. Soon, they started arguing on who should take the ring to the master. "I will carry it half way through and you carry it for the remaining half", said the dog. The cat agreed. The dog took the ring inside its mouth. As they were crossing a river on a floating log of wood, the dog saw a fish swimming nearby. Immediately, he started barking. The ring fell into the water. The fish swallowed it and swam away. They were helpless. They sat on the bank of the river and thought deeply. Suddenly, they saw a pair of otters going to the river to catch fish. They immediately pounced upon the otters and threatened to kill them. "Please don't kill us. We will do whatever you want us to do," pleaded the otters. "Go, find the fish which swallowed our master's ring. We will spare your lives." One of the otters dived into the water and caught the fish. He gave it to the dog and the cat. They split open its belly and found the ring there. They washed it in the river and kept it on a stone to dry. A kite suddenly swooped down and flew away with the ring. They were helpless again. Then they caught a lynx from the jungle and ordered it to find the kite. After climbing many trees, the lynx found the kite and the ring. It was soon returned to the dog and the cat. Now the cat put the ring round its tail and they hurried to their master's house. "Our master will be delighted," said the cat. "He will reward us with sweets and other good things to eat," added the dog. "Let our importance be felt in the house. We will wait outside. Only when our master calls us and offers us the sweets by himself, we will eat," suggested the cat. "Yes, it will show how much he loves us," replied the dog. Both agreed and returned home.
The master was delighted to see them. He was overjoyed to see his ring. He ordered his servants to serve the choicest food for the two. The servants brought delicious food and called them. However, they did not enter the house. They were waiting for their master's call. The servants called them again. But they did not respond. In the meantime the aroma of the delicious food tempted the dog. He could not resist it any longer. He started eating. After finishing his share, he started eating the cat's share too. The cat was very angry. He slapped the dog and scratched his face. They began fighting. Hearing the noise, the master came out. He asked, "Why are you fighting? What is the reason?" They remained silent. But, ever since that day dogs and cats have continued to fight whenever and wherever they meet.
* This is a Thadou folk tale retold and is part of text book prescribed for High School student in Manipur under Board of Secondar Education Manipur (BSEM). This was webcasted on December 28th, 2009.

Industrial Attachment @ Airtel

Airtel Corporate Office, Gurgaon

OJT And Weekly Reports

Its been two weeks since we left Nagpur for our two months long On-Job-Training. I was told Delhi had a pretty hot time this year. We seem to had brought the rain along with us. Its raining hammer and tongs now and on more than one occassion, so far, I got drenched on my way to and fro to ITO where the initial schedules are going on.

The best part of the OJT is that we could sleep for long hours now. Back in the Campus, we barely had 6 Hrs of sleep, except of course, for the weekends. Since we don't have to rise up at 6 am in the morning, things are better on this front. But we also seemed to be held by a long rope. Because we have to make sure we complete our daily shcedules and also fill them up accordingly. The lure of weekend is also disrupted by the need to send our weekly reports latest by the following monday.

A change is always welcome. We miss the timely breakfast and meals at NADT. We miss the connectivity through the net also. Yet, walking in the corridors of ITO, it is an experience of real job at hand. One has to get a feel of it sooner or the later and the sooner the better. In life, ups and downs are part of it. We hope to come out of this experience enriched and equipped.

Inauguration Of Induction Course:62nd Batch IRS

Monsoon Musings

The number "Marwa Blues" by George Harrison generates a serene feeling.Of being all alone in the midst of a deep jungle.Iam saddened the academic session at the proposed Jawaharlal Nehru Institute Of Medical Sciences(JNIMS), Imphal is not taking off this year.But even if it could materialise next year, it is a great way of looking into the future.
The next few weeks will be a rigorous one for Officer Trainees at the National Academy Of Direct Taxes (NADT), Nagpur.Second Home Test begins on the 31st of July and after a short break the First Departmental Examination will start tentatively on the 21st of August.
The old cowboy movie "Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid" is a good one.It stars Paul Newman in his heydays.One great movie that seem to have all actors Dutch is "Blue Book".Going back to the World War II times in the Netherlands, the character 'Rachel Stein' is much loved.Though at times one is too sad to see her predicament, her role is colourful.

Rain And The Music

A pleasant change which has set in recently is the rain. The downpour has raged of sort for more than two weeks by this time.It is only by now that we got to know we have lot of companions in the campus.The rain has chased out different reptiles out of their comfortable holes. We spot many dead snakes on the paths run over by vehicles.Crabs are also seen crawling tirelessly once in a while.
Recently i got hold of some very fine music from the library and friends.One of my most favourite song is "I got my mind set on you" by George Harrison.I really love the pace, tune and lyrics.Mr. Big also happen to ring out many lovely songs."Goin where the wind blows","Seven impossible days", "To be with you", etc.These great songs make you lively and give thrill

With Friends At FRI, Dehradun

Sunday Morning Calls

The water from the overhead tank is pretty hot even at the start of day. Friendly breeze during the night have not succeded in cooling it. As floods of warm water from the tap touches my face I can feel it. The burning sensation tells me the potency of solar energy. It’s not that I have not realised this earlier. I always make sure I store ample water in the buckets to cool it down. The room attendant unaware of such precautionary measures had exhausted them while going about her chores a little while ago. In my fury I almost cursed her. I held my tongue in time. It dawned on me it was human err, not manifest intention. Illiterate and deprived, such nitty-gritty would have been the last thing on her mind.
As the first few mugs of warm water flowed over my body I nonetheless began to feel fresh. The music on the radio played slowly in the distance. I realize it was Sunday morning. I also realize I didn’t get a call from home. I also make note of the fact that this has been the way for sometime now. The thought transports me to life few years backdated. Those were the days of waiting for the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel”. Both at home and elsewhere, things were not rosy. There were smiles occasionally; they were followed by quietness.

Sunday morning was a long wait. Someone from home would call me up; Mom, most of the time. Only she had the guts to present things in black and white. It was usually not a leisure call. More so, if it falls in the beginning of the month. The foremost topic being the support from home. The message would either cheer me up or teach me to be more patient. I acknowledged the difficulties and absorbed the adverses for the bulk of such instances. I also remember the times when I had to just talk back at Mom out of frustration. But despite everything, I cannot remember Mom crying once.
There were also Sunday mornings of different sort. Those mornings when the phone was dead silent. Time was due but the calls were not forthcoming. The silence was in a way more unbearable. Even when the need could not be met, the “ventillation therapy” helped. I also remember Brother calling up sometimes which became more frequent later. I recall how I could make out from his voice and tone it was ‘positive’ or ‘negative’ before he began to speak. He speak less so the cue was important. If the Sunday morning went well, the weekdays were productive and peaceful. If not, there arose lot of distractions and required extra effort to concentrate on studies at hand.
Everybody wanted to help. Almost everybody was helpless. We consoled one another trying not to hurt ourselves in the process. There was compromise in our use of words. I was asked to study hard but told politely Civil Services was only a dream. I agreed to take other exams as well but gave my heart and soul to the Civil Services Examination. In the end, it seems I didn’t break my vows. I kept my words. From the precincts of the Parliament Of India to the National Academy Of Direct Taxes. The journey has been a humbling experience. God has been so good even as He seem so unrelenting to many prayers. There are lesser Sunday morning calls now. Even if there are, they are not the same anymore. Going through my reminiscence I wiped the last trace of moist from my body. I came out of the bathroom humbled. All for a Sunday morning bath.

The Ghosts Of IIT,Delhi:Was That A Hallucination?

-Joel Mangboi Haokip

I bet , and hardly anybody would be in confrontation with me. Supernatural, is the unprofitable but the most alluring theme.
I still curse the day of 13 April 2009 when I was supposed to meet Mr. Amitabh Tripathi from the Deptt. of Mathematics at IIT, Delhi. This was in connection with asking him few mathematical problems related to my Course and Mathematical Olympiad questions. My best pal, Gaurav insisted to come along but I requested him to stay back. It was around 6 pm and most of the students had left for their respective hostels as most of the classes got over by the time.
After letting my friends to wait for me in front of the Textile Deptt., I proceeded towards Maths Deptt. It is on the second floor of the main building which is known for its architectural marvel. Once you enter inside, you have a feeling your are at a strange place. It is so haunted and seems to be singing the serenade of solitude. When I started walking across the road, the cold waves seemed to be chilling down my spine. There was no one at the gate and I entered the building.
Once you move forward there is a staircase that guides you to the second floor. I climbed the steps and then I proceeded toward Deptt. of Mathematics. It was a lonely corridor in which I was listening to my tapings of shoes and heavy breathing. The atmosphere really made me nervous. But I kept myself hopeful to meet a living soul and then to become my normal self. But my misgivings yielded to be true. The door of Maths Deptt. was locked. A strange silence descended over the alley. The 40 Watt bulb was glowing dim.
I suddenly heard footsteps. I was relieved. At least I would meet someone. The person introduced himself as the peon. He was sturdy-built with shabby clothes. His eyes were bloodshot. He switched on his 6-Cell Eveready torch that was enough to make me blind for 3 days. When I asked him the reason why the Deptt. was shut, he said I would come to know very soon. With a mysterious smile he moved on. The confusion of the jiffies made me swooned and now I wanted to come out of the place somehow. But then again I decided to wait for some more time in order to get more information.
As I was sitting, I could see three figures emerging from the dark at a distance. They were crooning, and later it changed into echoes. They seemed to be singing a math rap. The song was something like this, “Get the dead ducks, just for ten bucks.”
Now it was totally unbearable for me to stay at that place any longer. I made a headstrong, and in hurry, I had to avoid a collision with an almirah. I could see a feeble light toward the main entrance and ran with full might. At the gate, I saw the peon. He was having a wicked smile. I was not in a position to say anything. I slowly realized that it was no mere illusion or say, hallucination.
Later, one of my friends told me that the ghosts of great mathematicians like Lucas, Nuton and Russell love to pay a visit to the Maths Deptt at IIT Delhi. I still patronize under the effect of the adage “If you believe in ghosts, you don’t need evidence.”

A Park To Remember

As I traverse back and forth from my workplace to my home, I routinely pass by a park by the roadside. It is not the best park for one. I have seen better parks in a number of places. Parks which are well maintained and nicely kept. Some admirable for their sheer size. Some with touches of history showcasing beautiful monuments. Some chiseled in the latest modern avataars. But there is something about this park which endear it to me. Not the beauty of the grass and perhaps not the few people who chatter within the confines. Such space do however offer priceless peace to the residents of a crowded city.

As I could not avoid a glance whenever I pass by, it somehow began to engage my mind. I started searching my heart as to what make it special to me. Actually, there is nothing significant about the park. It is not well tended and so bears a dilipidated look.The grasses have almost dried up for want of care. The benches in the park are dirty and mostly empty. Rust has also set in and thereby repel visitors. The ground is strewn with litter making it unhygienic. In case they cannot be termed as encroachments, there are unauthorized structures on the boundary fencing. But despite the lack of beauty, the sight generates an inexplicable feeling. This set me into the thinking mode.

The park has a rather odd shape. It is triangular. There are residential flats facing the park on the left side. Minicure trees stand randomly here and there. There are rows of eucalyptus trees on the far end and right.Vast swades of wilderness seem to extend beyond it. It does not matter from where I observe. I do it often from the auto that connects me to the metro station. At other times, the metro feeder bus gives me a better view. Still, on rare occasions, a walk down the road allows me with more time to dwell.It became a recurring phenomena for quite sometime.Gradually, I realize what captivated me to the park was nothing extraordinary.It was just that the sight of the tall eucalyptus trees and the view beyond bore uncanny resemblance to the countryside where I was born and bred. What beholded me infact was the thought of home. The sights and sounds of the lovely countryside.

In course of time, the whole lot of thing brought something poignant to my mind. It reminded me of my humble roots. It brought back memories of childhood bliss. It tells me the present state of things were not dreamed of at one point of time. That I should not get carried away. That I should not lost my way in the woods. It is subtle to recall here the enlightening words of the Emperor of Japan in the concluding moments of Edward Zicke’s The Last Samurai “ And now we are awake. We have railroads and canon and western clothing. But we cannot forget who we are or where we come from”. And we can always find ‘A Park To Remember’ by the roadside to remind us.

P.S: This piece was written when I was working in Lok Sabha Secretariat, Parliament Of India, New Delhi.

Flying With The Times

The last time I paid a visit to the pristine Loktak Lake, dubbed the largest freshwater lake in the whole of North-East India, was a good ten years ago. The National Integration Camp had just concluded in Imphal. Taking forward the bonding we had developed during the past few days, those of us from Imphal, Ukhrul and Churachandpur districts decided to extend the rendezvous. That’s how we landed in the midst of the beautiful environs. The expansive watermass besides providing home to the endangered Sangai served many other purposes. Many fisher-folks sustain themselves by the daily catch. It also act as an absorber of pollutants that is ever on the increase. Most notably, as I continue to relish the ambience of the place, I was struck by a thought. Sendra, the small hillock that house the Tourist Lodge and which also enable an almost complete view of the lake, was a downright inspiring and rejuvenating place to write. May be reason why there is so much romance in Manipuri writings. No wonder the much-loved Khamba-Thoibi story belongs here.

Those were the days when I hardly stepped out of home. The occasional trip to Imphal for filling up requisite forms for entrance test to the Regional Institute Of Medical Sciences (RIMS) and visit to my Aunt’s place were some citable mobility. Life for the most part was confined to Churachandpur, my hometown. Nevertheless, life was not that insipid. I was rather preoccupied with youth activities of the Church, causes espoused by philantrophic organisations and piling works at home. Of course, I had many things to read as well. My elder brother had accumulated a lot of stuffs worth reading and I made full use of them which stood me in good stead even today. Novels, Magazines, Comic-Books, Fornightlies, etc. Evening times were even better with a run in the football field where age matter less and much satisfaction derived from a good day of play. And as darkness settle in, the breeze of the countryside made one feel there couldn’t be better place on earth to be at that moment of time. Those were the days when one had to still go to school in uniform.

Shillong was cool and taking Biotechnology as a graduation subject was no fun. Whereas most friends at St. Anthony’s finished their classes by lunch time, those of us in the Science stream had to log it out till late hours. Something to do with the practicals and projects. The only silver-lining is that hard work became an ethic that has been imbibed. One very enriching experience was my stay in Stephen Hall, the college boys’ hostel. Almost 52 different ethnic communities from the seven states of North-East and elsewhere stayed at that point of time under the same roof. When the NAAC members came to accredit the college with a ‘4 Star’ grade, they were more than enthused and pleasantly surprised. Another poignant change was the climate. Home being quite the warm type and Shillong bordering on the chill. One more offshoot of the change of place was the nostalgia of being away from home and slight transition in lifestyle.

The pursuit of career brought me to the arid town of Hisar. A fledgeling University became my home for two momentous years. I was put to some real tests. Acclimatising myself to the burning heat was one. Gelling to an entirely new culture was another. Soon, my Hindi too, made a steady progress from incorrect mono-syllables to acceptable odd sentences. Duststorms from the Thar was quite a frequent visitor and everyone used to have a tough time once in a while. Among other things, I find it hard to erase my association with a person here. That of one of my teachers. From my first day in the Department, she donned the role of an elderly friend, mentor and guide. It was like finding an oasis in the mid of a desert. She reminded me of how, though scant, kindness and noble virtues continue to exist in this world. The study visit to Shimla, Kullu, Manali, Rohtang Pass, Manikaran, etc during my stay there was something with no reason to regret but only sweet memories to carry forward.

A senior Civil Servant who retired as Secretary to the Government Of India once asked me why people from North-East come mostly to Delhi for their higher education or other pursuits while there are many other cities and towns in India where the same needs could be met in equal measure. I told him, “ Sir, it’s not that people do not go to other places but Delhi is the preferred destination because it is the Capital of India”. He nodded, ‘’ That is a very good answer ”. At some point in history, all road headed towards Rome. It may not be that true but on similar lines, Delhi fed and bred me for the next many years. With Hamdard giving comfort and shelter, a short stint at AIIMS, and JNU and DU campuses being favourite weekend stop-overs, Delhi brought vigor and exuberance. Even now, home being far away, a visit to Delhi is like home-coming.

When I had to come to Nagpur to join the Academy, the cross-over from a homely boy to a somewhat widely-travelled fellow had made its impact. At least one full circle has been covered. I was not too overly worried about how to reach Nagpur and henceforth the Academy. I did try to get in touch with the Course Team and sent a mail too. When I found no NADT placards at the train station, I waited for a few more minutes but soon did not hesitate to come on my own. The auto wore a somewhat dilapidated look and I felt a little shy but that was just a passing moment. The food in the Bangalore Rajdhani gave me such a bad stomach I was not able to admire the campus on arrival. The reception at Lumbini and the Telecom Centre were the first to bear my footprints. Those were the initial days when it was not so comfortable to go to the Officers’ Mess alone. It did not remain so for long. Right from day one, the way things has been done ushered in a sense of belongingness.....a feeling of being in an extended family. Again in campus parlance, Taxing also has lively bouts of Intax. The Academy in no time became a ‘ home away from home ’ and as before, I go on “ Flying With The Times ”.

( This article was published in 'Akademi Kriti', the Annual Magazine of National Academy Of Direct Taxes, Nagpur )

As You Like It

Dad possess a tendency to execute things funnily. Such conduct has become more pronounced in recent years. Signs of the gradual return to ‘Second Childhood’. I presume. And on numerous occasion, these incidents have been a pivotal source of flawless laughter and hilarity. It has made him much endeared, loved and adored. Narrating brings the warm far from his fold in “everyman’s land”.

This happened on my last visit home during the summer vacation. Folks were busy preparing, packing, patting for my departure. All the while, Dad never involved himself deeply, preferring to observe from the sidelines. The situation was welcome. Dad meddling in the affairs mean something going wrong. Suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, he grabbed the bottle containing dried-crushed meat and began his adventure. He took a spotless paper, sticked it to the bottle and wrote something. Glued to the chores at hand, he was not paid much attention. Then out of nowhere, Bem burst out into uncensored laughter…….’ the bottle on her delicate hands’. All began the ‘free for all’ mouth-widening teeth-showing exercise. I enquired what the matter was all about.

Atop the bottle was written, ‘CAW MEET’. Dad’s intention was to print ‘ COW MEAT’. All had a hearty laugh. A minor error. Yet, it regaled us for the day. ‘Life Is Beautiful’. My initial reaction was speculative. I opined there was a Citizen’s Welfare Association (CWA) meeting and Dad was engrossed with it. Lo!! Ironically, it was something related to ‘Mother Dairy’……the salted dried meat. The silver lining ?. I was stationed in Haryana at that time ( The Land of Orthodox Vegetarians ! ) and noticing a bottle inscribed ‘Cow Meat‘ would not have been the most palatable encounter for the denizens. Let’s assume, Dad being an ex-military patriarch knew the travails of being too honest with one’s culinary habits. Whatever the intention, it was a blessing in disguise. The ‘content’ was a great hit among my hostel inmates and friends. I had a nice time relishing the delicacy with them. And for a moment, I was home again.

Father was no exception. Scores enroll in the ambit of his genre. The fledge-ling tales are equally entertaining. An acquaintance once received a letter from his dad. He addressed ‘Patel Chest’ as ……Guess what? ‘Peter Chest’. Well, Dad. We do have a Christian background. Pun intended. Someone call it yet ‘Battle Chest’. Wow!! Still, another Oldie committed a hysterical blunder. Addressee belong to Hans Raj College. The college name has been subjected to sporadic distortion. Once addressed as ‘Hons Ray’ and on another occasion as ‘Hans Rak’, the addressee was left dumbfounded a couple of times. Eventually, all these incidents contribute to the merrier moments in an otherwise vapid life.

Laugh all the time you can, while you can, when you can. Face challenges in life with a smile. There is HOPE in the LORD. Laugh at the grand Oldies and ‘Oldas’ now. Some day, your very turn will ultimately arrive. Your progenies meting the same jocularity to you. When that reckoning hour come, take your chance and play the dice well. Make your mark and don’t hesitate to leave a lasting impression. Experience a fruitful endeavor. Uniquely. As You Like It.

Whispers In The Wind

On securing a seat for my post-graduate studies in a university in Hisar, a typical dusty north Indian town, my first priority was to complete the admission formalities. As expected, I also landed in one of the large hostels stationed on the campus. The next agenda interestingly was to locate a church if ever there was one I inquired about it from my new classmates. Ajay Moond, a local student assured me of one downtown. That was music to my ears.

Not long after, we took advantage of an ‘off day’ and began our frantic search The rickshaw was the best mode of transport in such circumstances and the bumpy ride something I won’t forget in a long long time. After an uncomfortable drive past crowded market lanes, scented with foul odours and a blend of deafening noises, we somehow reached our destination. It was an old church dating back to the heydays of the British Raj ; not large enough though for a big town whose inhabitants savour pride in calling it a ‘city’.The church surroundings doubled up as a cemetery. Tombstones and memorial stones dotted the landscape. One particular structure caught my attention. On close observation, the history of the place was laid bare. The site was the province’s burial ground for soldiers who died during the revolt of 1857. And to imagine such stories were meant only for textbooks! Well, the point is,I found a homely church which dons a saintly name. St. Thomas Church,Hisar. Even if I was the sole christophile in the whole university, I unearthed something for comfort.The humble church at the other end of the modest town.

I recall a funny incident which happen that day.As we were loitering around the church, an elderly man approached us. I briefly introduced myself and took pains to impress the man with my polished talk. Then came the turn of Ajay, my Haryanvi friend. ”What about you? What is your name?”, the old man prodded. The next few moments shocked me to hilarity. Instead of simply giving an honest answer, Ajay of all people fabricated his bio-data. ”Iam John. I come from Mizoram”, replied Ajay nonchalantly with a dignified poise. Ajay?…..John?.I was in dilemma what got into his head.There was hardly a need for a lie there. What amazed me more was the way in which Ajay put up the act. He was so accomplished.It was indeed pathetic to witness him fooling the old bloke. By all account, the oldie was not convinced. He had years of experiences behind his back. Moreover, Ajay’s accent and appearance absolutely betrayed him. Feeling embarrassed, I hurriedly dragged Ajay from the church and bundled him into a waiting rickshaw. We soberly made our way back. Traces of Supppandi.

Some months later, I was in my third semester.As was the wont, there was a departmental study tour. Only this time, the outing was centered on the pristine hill-state of Himachal Pradesh. Shimla, Kullu, Manali, Manikaran, Rohtang Pass, etc. were on our itinerary. On the way up, I caught a glimpse of Solan, of “Kya Kehna” fame vis-à-vis Preity Zinta. As we venture out to discover Shimla the next afternoon, what gradually unravelled was a lasting moment to cherish. In the heart of the capital, on one of the most frequented public squares, stood a grand church. The famous Christ Church,Shimla. I thanked God in my heart that a church had to stand there for all to see. When all I had observed so far spoke of other lesser things, the towering church once again reminded me of the ceaseless presence of the Lord. For a while, I forgot everything else. Immersed in the wamth of the place, I murmured a silent prayer. I am not sure of the exact words anymore. But one thing is beyond doubt, they came ……….” Straight from the Heart ”. Solemn. Like ‘Whispers in the Wind”.