Delhi October2026 and a Déjà vu

 

In an empty car with hundreds of Police barricade , and megaphone Police announcement and sirens I lurked out of my Connaught place with  Gandhij’is big Dandi Yatra sculptures ---and all the diplomates office then around four five Kilometres of utter silence , My Saradraji driver (originally from Amritsar) knew the ways via which we can lurk out to the India International Centre my National Scientific Conference venue.

It felt like life of December 2019 2019 to 2023, as a clinical microbiologist, I had to leave home every day for long hours  ; at first, I drove through the nuke and corners of Rajasthan on such empty roads as rapid response to finding a new case  (Bharatpur , Jaipur , Dholpur ,Bayana etc), then on after one Day when the Lock down opened up – I drived down from Bharatpur Rajasthan to Patna with family and two small kids in 2020 just a days after locked down restriction was lifted. 

At that time, Patna looked full of people, but soon the 2^nd wave hit like anything; the Hospital I work in was declared a COVID hospital, and for about two years (almost), driving in Patna (which requires a lot of skill) was easy because of empty repad due to Covid. 

 

And today, as I type in a remote hotel in the heart of India-i. e. Connaught place, Delhi .  I came here for a scientific conference as a technical expert. Typing this down, I intend to keep it an objective observer’s viewpoint. Mind you, it's not for causality or any viral material, just a snapshot of random strangers.

 

8th October

 

Landed in Delhi on 8^th, the atmosphere looked normal, Randomly I asked my Ola Driverji what was happening and how the atmosphere was.

This one question gave him food for a whole one-hour lecture; he said he is a Dalit. They have been subjected to torture for the last two thousand years, and it is always bad for them, and this time it is worse, and had he not two daughters to feed and marry off, he would have gone and protested by stripping off in protest side. .

Then he said something that is of very higher intellect : Now I don’t see any one with that connection with mass who can bring positive change …look at Buddha , Jesus , Prophet Mohamad , Gandhi or our Ambedkar ji.

I wondered … 

After checking in at the Hotel in Connaught Place and some conference duty, I thought of walking a bit to the Inner Circle from my Hotel as it is the most happening place of Delh. Inner circle was was about 1.2 km from Hotel , and I intended to walk, but an auto Wala cought my confusion and smiled.

“inner cycle tak chor du sir?

I know this Delhiwala habit: once you make eye contact, they will extract their goal from you, but as I got a bit lazy and wanted to know the mood, hence said okay. He asked me to sit inside auto and  drove his auto to the  a Gas pump line present on that very place  and requested me with folded hands that he would do his Bouni (Start of Business) with me …so I had to wait for about 20 minutes for the gas to be filled (I would have reached  walking till then). To kill the wait I asked him the ice-breaking question

: “Mahol kaisa hai?

This chap had the complete opposite POV to the 1^st Driverji I met . Summary of his lecture and viewpoint was : “I am Maharaj of UP, Yogiji ek dam Debardast Hain; he has straightened UP like anything. These cockroaches are antinational; they should be clubbed in the street. 

 

He also asked counterquestion 

where I am from. When I said Guwahati, he asked his pro bono questions, 

:" Assam, Nagaland same state hain kya?

: Nagaland me Nanga sadhu rahte hain kya?

: Saap Khate hain kya, 

etc etc

I have been used to such questions for the last two decades, and hence I answer diplomatically with a smile at his innocent queries.

Inner Circle had all the sirens, megaphone, buzzing; the amount of chahal-pahal was reduced to 25% of any given day (I have visited this place after about three or four years); 50% of the shops were closed, and the rest are also complaining about the protest thing with the common phrase 

:“Business thap ho chuke hain yaar….”

 

9^th October :

 

Took a cab to Lodhi Garden, where the National Conference of Microbiologists and Parasitologists (which I was part of) was held. The conference went smoothly, with fruitful deliberations until 6 p.m.pm then started some VIP movement as at the same venue, Rupa Books was inaugurating a book by Mr Veerappa Moily ex cabinet -minister, was to be opened in that very auditorium.

I promised to meet two of my very senior colleagues at 8 p.m. and had some time to kill, hence I walked through the beautifully curated convention complex  called India International Centre. Its curated paintings and books, and saw an Poster of an English play being staged at that time with free entry and decided to stay back . The audience kept pouring in, mostly elite Delhi class (by cloth and aura) and a lot of white audience . The  average age of  audience was about seventy . Many of them were in wheelchairs, with walking sticks. Before the play was about to start I went to the washroom, and a housekeeping staff made a sarcastic comment in my ear (I think he was right thinking me to be a mango people not a Leutens people ) 

“Yeh log sab Murgo ko Gali dene wale log hain sale…

I still can't comprehend what he meant. 

The play was preceded by the felicitation of two high-profile figures, and one of them happened to be a common face of 10 PM prime time news channel and she has been representing ideologies across the whole spectrum (Left, right, centre) ever since she entered the one of eight to ten box people who used to shout together in News channels after 9 pm. In her speech, she thanked the people and actors for coming to the theatre in the time of political turmoil and doom scrolling.

And after ten to fifteen minutes of drama , she lurked out of the hall, aided by some guys who looked like her bodyguards. Maybe the housekeeping staff was referring to stuff like that –I am thinking while I am typing the incident out.

By that time, the road was getting congested, with a lot of sirens.

Maybe it is my PTSD --- post-COVID experience; any sirens give me tinnitus for a long time.

 

But as I gave commitment  to my seniors,  I would come to greet him –Till then  the internetnet was getting a bit murky, I wasn’t was not able to find  my destination properly .I generally am a bit apprehensive of Delhi strangers, and many a time they will try to cheat you with some extra money, but  once you could connect a Delhiite will help you (if he is not a professional  thug), and in this strange time with absurdity on all fronts (customer and  vendor alike) asking for help isa errie situation. 

An auto Wala bhaiya came forward to help me find the location , as jam was approaching he was busy maneuvering his auto via gullies of Delhi , hence there could not be any discussion with this bhaiya. 

                              

I met my seniors , I am associated with both since last two decades-and blessed to have many scientific ventures, we mostly talked on academics and other staff , both of my seniors had inhibition about all those hulabaloo that has been happening ---how can Antinationalism be given a hawa by some so called podcaster and leftist thinkers was their major concern.

 

While coming back to the hotel at night, I got the vibes that something massive is going to happen the next day, where I am supposed to be speaking on a scientific topic (and thanks to procrastination, I was yet to give my final touch to my slides ). With all the confusion like how to reach Lodhi Garden from CP, by passing Jantar Mantar, with barricades at every turn, no one allowed, no internet, no public movement; hence, slept over without opening my laptop.

 

October 10, 2026

 

Morning looked chaotic –internet was not working from evening.  From Hotel to the Conference venue places were not having internet, Hotel breakfast was delayed as staff had to walk a long distance to reach their workplace, As reaching conference venue was a key problem and started to get call from many from 7.30 am from venue to reach fast.  

: It is better you come via back of hall and walk”.

 Seeing all thee I decided to take help of Travel desk of the Hotel –though will be little costly, A British elderly couple were booking cab ahead of me, they were accompanied by a local guide who stated  he walked seven  kilometre to reach the Hotel. The couple seemed to have come for medical tourism and wished to visit a Hospital for which they needed a hotel cab, they were counselled that this visit might take longer  as situation is unpredictable, the couple had no Indian money, and WIFI operated card swipe system were also  showing glitches.

Seeing all this I intended to take a cab from the hotel to reach the conference site, though it was exorbitantly costly …and the girl at the travel desk suggested it would be better to take it for the full day, as you never know how the day will evolve, as she herself also had to walk 5 kilometres to reach the hotel (that day hotel breakfast was not ready on time). I was hesitant to spend double the amount and willing take the risk (by booking on way only)

: “Your choice, sir “

I could see all the bell boys, Housekeeping , security personnel, and foreign visitors talking excitedly and voraciously amongst themselves (Vote, Kanun Byabastha, Cockroach, Internet  were the common words I heard)

Eventually, I paid double and booked the cab for the whole day (to reach and come back from the conference venue, which is hardly six kilometres away)

The conference started on time (with half of registered member on that day) and one of our students who had her poster presentation at 11 am  arrived at 12 pm. She left her hotel near the airport at 8.50, got stuck in traffic, and after walking past the barricade, she had to walk about 1.5 km to reach the venue. My (half prepared) talk went smooth , no one could make out that I worked less than otherwise I should have.   

The conference finished on time. And I could find one  benefit of internet Jamming in the conference : the quiz was unbiased; otherwise, back in the audience, people Google the answer and whisper loudly, which breaks the inquisitiveness and sanctity of any quiz. 

 

Usually, outside the auditorium you get a lot of autos, or can book a cab in 3 minutes. But with the internet down and not a single vehicle running, only two or three people were seen on those posh roads—it was like a curfew on road. 

Now the exorbitantly priced hotel car came handy, as a few young students and female doctors had little idea how to get out of this maze to their respective Hotel. I asked my Sardarji chauffeur , who happily navigated all of us to  places where random taxis and autos were waiting, and eventually all got a vehicle to required destination. I somehow navigated back to the hotel in Connaught Place, and only the hotel Wi-Fi gave me any idea of what was happening in Delhi.  

I had plan to meet one more  senior, but it wasn't possible.

Still, I decided to take a walk down memory lane in Gole Market, one of the areas I frequented when I first came to Delhi in 2006 . I was Jobless for a month or two and had nothing to do, and when I visited (parasitise) my friend working in RML. Then Gole market was a place I used to frequent. The place looked almost the same even after two decades , but that day  only 10 or 15 shops were open; some people were talking among themselves. Announcements echoed all around, which made the situation feel creepy. Another problem I faced during the lockdown was that dogs and Monkeys suddenly took over the street and market. And somehow I get creepy when I am alone in the street in such a situation. I found one shop –took some tea. A female CRPF lady was also buying food from the shop and complaining that there was no internet, which made it difficult for her to pay. As UPI and internet were not working, I thought of visiting an ATM. The wait was unusually long, as many others were in line. Once I entered, a voice in the ATM corner shouted, 

: "You are identified; please remove your helmet for proper identification (AI? CCTV? Big Borther ? don’t know what)." 

I didn’t have a helmet. Still, I removed my spectacles and felt satisfied when I saw the machine had at least disbursed my money.

Then walking back to the hotel, all the streetlights were blinking, with lots of sirens, as if there was a fire…In an empty car with hundreds of Police barricade , and megaphone Police announcement and sirens I lurked out of my Connaught place with  Gandhij’is big Dandi Yatra sculptures ---and all the diplomates office then around four five Kilometres of utter silence , My Saradraji driver (originally from Amritsar) knew the ways via which we can lurk out to the India International Centre my National Scientific Conference venue.

It felt like life of December 2019 2019 to 2023, as a clinical microbiologist, I had to leave home every day for long hours  ; at first, I drove through the nuke and corners of Rajasthan on such empty roads as rapid response to finding a new case  (Bharatpur , Jaipur , Dholpur ,Bayana etc), then on after one Day when the Lock down opened up – I drived down from Bharatpur Rajasthan to Patna with family and two small kids in 2020 just a days after locked down restriction was lifted. 

At that time, Patna looked full of people, but soon the 2^nd wave hit like anything; the Hospital I work in was declared a COVID hospital, and for about two years (almost), driving in Patna (which requires a lot of skill) was easy because of empty repad due to Covid. 

 

And today, as I type in a remote hotel in the heart of India-i. e. Connaught place, Delhi .  I came here for a scientific conference as a technical expert. Typing this down, I intend to keep it an objective observer’s viewpoint. Mind you, it's not for causality or any viral material, just a snapshot of random strangers.

 

8th October

 

Landed in Delhi on 8^th, the atmosphere looked normal, Randomly I asked my Ola Driverji what was happening and how the atmosphere was.

This one question gave him food for a whole one-hour lecture; he said he is a Dalit. They have been subjected to torture for the last two thousand years, and it is always bad for them, and this time it is worse, and had he not two daughters to feed and marry off, he would have gone and protested by stripping off in protest side. .

Then he said something that is of very higher intellect : Now I don’t see any one with that connection with mass who can bring positive change …look at Buddha , Jesus , Prophet Mohamad , Gandhi or our Ambedkar ji.

I wondered … 

After checking in at the Hotel in Connaught Place and some conference duty, I thought of walking a bit to the Inner Circle from my Hotel as it is the most happening place of Delh. Inner circle was was about 1.2 km from Hotel , and I intended to walk, but an auto Wala cought my confusion and smiled.

“inner cycle tak chor du sir?

I know this Delhiwala habit: once you make eye contact, they will extract their goal from you, but as I got a bit lazy and wanted to know the mood, hence said okay. He asked me to sit inside auto and  drove his auto to the  a Gas pump line present on that very place  and requested me with folded hands that he would do his Bouni (Start of Business) with me …so I had to wait for about 20 minutes for the gas to be filled (I would have reached  walking till then). To kill the wait I asked him the ice-breaking question

: “Mahol kaisa hai?

This chap had the complete opposite POV to the 1^st Driverji I met . Summary of his lecture and viewpoint was : “I am Maharaj of UP, Yogiji ek dam Debardast Hain; he has straightened UP like anything. These cockroaches are antinational; they should be clubbed in the street. 

 

He also asked counterquestion 

where I am from. When I said Guwahati, he asked his pro bono questions, 

:" Assam, Nagaland same state hain kya?

: Nagaland me Nanga sadhu rahte hain kya?

: Saap Khate hain kya, 

etc etc

I have been used to such questions for the last two decades, and hence I answer diplomatically with a smile at his innocent queries.

Inner Circle had all the sirens, megaphone, buzzing; the amount of chahal-pahal was reduced to 25% of any given day (I have visited this place after about three or four years); 50% of the shops were closed, and the rest are also complaining about the protest thing with the common phrase 

:“Business thap ho chuke hain yaar….”

 

9^th October :

 

Took a cab to Lodhi Garden, where the National Conference of Microbiologists and Parasitologists (which I was part of) was held. The conference went smoothly, with fruitful deliberations until 6 p.m.pm then started some VIP movement as at the same venue, Rupa Books was inaugurating a book by Mr Veerappa Moily ex cabinet -minister, was to be opened in that very auditorium.

I promised to meet two of my very senior colleagues at 8 p.m. and had some time to kill, hence I walked through the beautifully curated convention complex  called India International Centre. Its curated paintings and books, and saw an Poster of an English play being staged at that time with free entry and decided to stay back . The audience kept pouring in, mostly elite Delhi class (by cloth and aura) and a lot of white audience . The  average age of  audience was about seventy . Many of them were in wheelchairs, with walking sticks. Before the play was about to start I went to the washroom, and a housekeeping staff made a sarcastic comment in my ear (I think he was right thinking me to be a mango people not a Leutens people ) 

“Yeh log sab Murgo ko Gali dene wale log hain sale…

I still can't comprehend what he meant. 

The play was preceded by the felicitation of two high-profile figures, and one of them happened to be a common face of 10 PM prime time news channel and she has been representing ideologies across the whole spectrum (Left, right, centre) ever since she entered the one of eight to ten box people who used to shout together in News channels after 9 pm. In her speech, she thanked the people and actors for coming to the theatre in the time of political turmoil and doom scrolling.

And after ten to fifteen minutes of drama , she lurked out of the hall, aided by some guys who looked like her bodyguards. Maybe the housekeeping staff was referring to stuff like that –I am thinking while I am typing the incident out.

By that time, the road was getting congested, with a lot of sirens.

Maybe it is my PTSD --- post-COVID experience; any sirens give me tinnitus for a long time.

 

But as I gave commitment  to my seniors,  I would come to greet him –Till then  the internetnet was getting a bit murky, I wasn’t was not able to find  my destination properly .I generally am a bit apprehensive of Delhi strangers, and many a time they will try to cheat you with some extra money, but  once you could connect a Delhiite will help you (if he is not a professional  thug), and in this strange time with absurdity on all fronts (customer and  vendor alike) asking for help isa errie situation. 

An auto Wala bhaiya came forward to help me find the location , as jam was approaching he was busy maneuvering his auto via gullies of Delhi , hence there could not be any discussion with this bhaiya. 

                              

I met my seniors , I am associated with both since last two decades-and blessed to have many scientific ventures, we mostly talked on academics and other staff , both of my seniors had inhibition about all those hulabaloo that has been happening ---how can Antinationalism be given a hawa by some so called podcaster and leftist thinkers was their major concern.

 

While coming back to the hotel at night, I got the vibes that something massive is going to happen the next day, where I am supposed to be speaking on a scientific topic (and thanks to procrastination, I was yet to give my final touch to my slides ). With all the confusion like how to reach Lodhi Garden from CP, by passing Jantar Mantar, with barricades at every turn, no one allowed, no internet, no public movement; hence, slept over without opening my laptop.

 

October 10, 2026

 

Morning looked chaotic –internet was not working from evening.  From Hotel to the Conference venue places were not having internet, Hotel breakfast was delayed as staff had to walk a long distance to reach their workplace, As reaching conference venue was a key problem and started to get call from many from 7.30 am from venue to reach fast.  

: It is better you come via back of hall and walk”.

 Seeing all thee I decided to take help of Travel desk of the Hotel –though will be little costly, A British elderly couple were booking cab ahead of me, they were accompanied by a local guide who stated  he walked seven  kilometre to reach the Hotel. The couple seemed to have come for medical tourism and wished to visit a Hospital for which they needed a hotel cab, they were counselled that this visit might take longer  as situation is unpredictable, the couple had no Indian money, and WIFI operated card swipe system were also  showing glitches.

Seeing all this I intended to take a cab from the hotel to reach the conference site, though it was exorbitantly costly …and the girl at the travel desk suggested it would be better to take it for the full day, as you never know how the day will evolve, as she herself also had to walk 5 kilometres to reach the hotel (that day hotel breakfast was not ready on time). I was hesitant to spend double the amount and willing take the risk (by booking on way only)

: “Your choice, sir “

I could see all the bell boys, Housekeeping , security personnel, and foreign visitors talking excitedly and voraciously amongst themselves (Vote, Kanun Byabastha, Cockroach, Internet  were the common words I heard)

Eventually, I paid double and booked the cab for the whole day (to reach and come back from the conference venue, which is hardly six kilometres away)

The conference started on time (with half of registered member on that day) and one of our students who had her poster presentation at 11 am  arrived at 12 pm. She left her hotel near the airport at 8.50, got stuck in traffic, and after walking past the barricade, she had to walk about 1.5 km to reach the venue. My (half prepared) talk went smooth , no one could make out that I worked less than otherwise I should have.   

The conference finished on time. And I could find one  benefit of internet Jamming in the conference : the quiz was unbiased; otherwise, back in the audience, people Google the answer and whisper loudly, which breaks the inquisitiveness and sanctity of any quiz. 

 

Usually, outside the auditorium you get a lot of autos, or can book a cab in 3 minutes. But with the internet down and not a single vehicle running, only two or three people were seen on those posh roads—it was like a curfew on road. 

Now the exorbitantly priced hotel car came handy, as a few young students and female doctors had little idea how to get out of this maze to their respective Hotel. I asked my Sardarji chauffeur , who happily navigated all of us to  places where random taxis and autos were waiting, and eventually all got a vehicle to required destination. I somehow navigated back to the hotel in Connaught Place, and only the hotel Wi-Fi gave me any idea of what was happening in Delhi.  

I had plan to meet one more  senior, but it wasn't possible.

Still, I decided to take a walk down memory lane in Gole Market, one of the areas I frequented when I first came to Delhi in 2006 . I was Jobless for a month or two and had nothing to do, and when I visited (parasitise) my friend working in RML. Then Gole market was a place I used to frequent. The place looked almost the same even after two decades , but that day  only 10 or 15 shops were open; some people were talking among themselves. Announcements echoed all around, which made the situation feel creepy. Another problem I faced during the lockdown was that dogs and Monkeys suddenly took over the street and market. And somehow I get creepy when I am alone in the street in such a situation. I found one shop –took some tea. A female CRPF lady was also buying food from the shop and complaining that there was no internet, which made it difficult for her to pay. As UPI and internet were not working, I thought of visiting an ATM. The wait was unusually long, as many others were in line. Once I entered, a voice in the ATM corner shouted, 

: "You are identified; please remove your helmet for proper identification (AI? CCTV? Big Borther ? don’t know what)." 

I didn’t have a helmet. Still, I removed my spectacles and felt satisfied when I saw the machine had at least disbursed my money.

Then walking back to the hotel, all the streetlights were blinking, with lots of sirens, as if there was a fire…

Creepy!

I reached the hotel, locked myself in, and started typing my experience objectively.

11 October 2026

Now I am typing it from New Delhi airport. Today, it seemed the internet was working, and more shops were open. I booked a cab to meet a friend on the route to the airport. But in the way I saw Bangla Saheb Gurdwara was fortified with hundreds of Police and paramilitary forte (80s d Déjà vu )

In the car I sat besides the driver and asked the question again 

“ Hal kya hai aaj ?“

This time driver gave an balanced answer;

: Sir, we get up in the morning, start our work, earn some 600-100o munafa and take our roti and sleep ; this is what I want, but now I have a feeling that there needs to be regular reshuffle of power.

I met my friend and his family after a long time and was introduced to his active octogenarian Father in law. He is a young jolly men , practices jumba , walk ten thousand step briskly and also do two hour work out at  Gym, in his explanations he briefly discussed the Zen G , he said these gen G have , everything , they don’t have analytical ability and gets hijacked very easily . As they are not able to accept hard work, they become renegade .

Hopefully, I will board my flight to my workplace now, and I think I wrote everything  objectively, without any judgemnt . 

One feeling I can share is that COVID-19 time was  stressful for all , and the whole thing felt  like revisiting those times.

 Creepy!

I reached the hotel, locked myself in, and started typing my experience objectively.

11 October 2026

Now I am typing it from New Delhi airport. Today, it seemed the internet was working, and more shops were open. I booked a cab to meet a friend on the route to the airport. But in the way I saw Bangla Saheb Gurdwara was fortified with hundreds of Police and paramilitary forte (80s d Déjà vu )

In the car I sat besides the driver and asked the question again 

“ Hal kya hai aaj ?“

This time driver gave an balanced answer;

: Sir, we get up in the morning, start our work, earn some 600-100o munafa and take our roti and sleep ; this is what I want, but now I have a feeling that there needs to be regular reshuffle of power.

I met my friend and his family after a long time and was introduced to his active octogenarian Father in law. He is a young jolly men , practices jumba , walk ten thousand step briskly and also do two hour work out at  Gym, in his explanations he briefly discussed the Zen G , he said these gen G have , everything , they don’t have analytical ability and gets hijacked very easily . As they are not able to accept hard work, they become renegade .

Hopefully, I will board my flight to my workplace now, and I think I wrote everything  objectively, without any judgemnt . 

One feeling I can share is that COVID-19 time was  stressful for all , and the whole thing felt  like revisiting those times.

#DelhiOctober2026 #DéjàVu #JajabarDiary #দিহিঙৰপৰা #Jajabar #যাযাবৰ #ভ্ৰমণদিনলিপি #TravelDiaries #BackToMyRoots #MomentsAndMemories

 

Death of a Storyteller, But Not the Story 📜🥀

 

A couple of months ago, I visited Orchha in Madhya Pradesh, not far from Jhansi in Uttar Pradesh.I remember standing before an enormous fort-palace—a fascinating blend of Rajput grandeur and Mughal elegance. The signboard read: Jahangir Mahal.I was puzzled.Why would Emperor Jahangir stay in this remote corner of Bundelkhand? The locals could not tell me much. "It belonged to some Rajput king," they said.That king, I later discovered, was Vir Singh Deo Bundela.

And then Google led me to a darker, more fascinating story.In 1602, Prince Salim—the future Jahangir—was locked in a bitter struggle with his father, Akbar. One man stood firmly in Akbar's camp: Abul Fazl, the emperor's closest advisor and author of the Akbarnama.Salim saw him as an obstacle.So he sought help from Vir Singh Deo.Near Narwar, Abul Fazl was ambushed and killed. History records that his severed head was sent to Salim.Akbar was inconsolable after hearing of the death of his trusted friend and advisor. Many historians believe the tragedy cast a long shadow over his remaining years.Years passed.Salim became Emperor Jahangir.Vir Singh Deo was rewarded with the kingdom of Orchha and built this magnificent palace—Jahangir Mahal—to commemorate the emperor's visit.

Standing in its courtyards centuries later, I could not help wondering:Was this palace merely a monument to friendship?Or was it also a silent reminder of a murder that changed the course of Mughal history?Yet there is one more irony.Abul Fazl died before he could complete the Akbarnama.But the manuscript refused to die with him.Later, the remaining part of Akbar's story was completed by another scholar. In the imperial Kitabkhanas, scribes and calligraphers copied the text by hand.Thus, the story of Akbar endured.Jahangir did not destroy the book of his father's trusted friend. Instead, he wrote his own memoir, the Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri.Yet today, for many readers and history enthusiasts, it is the Akbarnama that remains the more beloved companion.History, it seems, has a habit of repeating itself.Akbar lost his dearest companion and was heartbroken.Jahangir too would face sorrow in old age.Sorrow may be inevitable.Loss cannot always be prevented.

But perhaps the choice of friends, advisors, and companions—that is where destiny quietly begins to change.And the strangest twist of all is this:The palace still stands.The empires and dynasties of both Mughals and Rajputs are long gone.But Abul Fazl still speaks.His Akbarnama survived its author.Perhaps books possess a strange immortality.They outlive their authors.Sometimes, they even outlive the emperors who feared them. For the storyteller died.But not the story. ✒️✨

Bhupen Hazarika’s Cinema and the Unfinished Question of Identity

 

As we mark the birth centenary of late  Dr Bhupen Hazarika, the bard of the Brahmaputra. This voice gave emotional vocabulary not only to Assam but to the idea of human belonging across borders. His song “Manuhe Manuhor Babe”(“Humen tfor one another”), and its Bengali and Nagamese renderings, articulated a humanism that travelled effortlessly across linguistic and national borders. Whereas “Bistirno Parore” (“O wide riverbank…”), later reimagined as “Ganga Behti Ho Kyon” by Gulzar, the river itself becomes a witness, questioned for its silence in the face of human suffering across the country. They are still hunting moral inquiries.

Yet, Bhipen Hazatrika’s cinematic imagination — where many of these questions first took visual form — remains less discussed. I was reminded of this not while listening to a song, but while standing before a poster at Aideu Cinema (named after Aideu Handuqe, the lead of the first Assamese movie Joynmotee in 1934) Hall in Guwahati. The poster was of Lotighoti(1966). The poster, stylised in bold, theatrical, and modern theme, seemed like a fragment of an unfinished thought.

The poster reminded me of a Sunday afternoon of the 1980s, when I watched the film as a kid in Doordarshan’s regional slot. We used to watch whatever aired. And when it carried Bhupen Hazarika’s voice, it had an intimacy that needed no explanation. The movie flashed through my mind. I remember I did not enjoy Lotighoti (confusion and Chaos) that time: no dhisum dhisum, or real entertainment for a child like me. Described as a comedy, the movie turned out to be a satire, a genre I was not acquainted with. Now we find the movie was self-reflective and a bit unsettling for the time, just as the poster itself was. It opened with “Asomiya holu buli eman nuwari” (“Not more can be added for Assameseness...”). It was merely a song; now the lyrics reveal themselves as a question of my multiple identities fighting with each other.  The storyline followed a group of Assamese enthusiasts who travelled to Kolkata to make an Assamese film. Their intention was earnest: to include every symbol, every song, every visible marker of identity. But the protagonist (Bijay Sankar), with the Bard's POV, reflects on the paradoxes. While including everything, the movie risked losing its storyline, and it never quite materialised.

Lotighoti appears less as a story and more as an act of introspection — a culture looking at itself without certainty. In one unforgettable dramatic recitation, the protagonist self-reflects on the essential question with the still-popular track "The Fierce Storm Questions Me" —Tell me, what is your desire? The other songs also linger in the gullies and towns of Assam even today, asking what a man wants “Xohoxro jone mok prosno kore” (“A thousand people question me”) or the melancholy of a lonely life “Moi aru mur xa” (“Me and my shadow”) — where the artist stood face to face with himself reflecting on the essential question of identity and path. At the same time, it records the adjustment we make with songs like “Jibon tu jodi abhinay hoy” (“If life itself is an act”). Beneath the humour lay something more enduring — the anxiety of representation itself.

In many ways, these questions were not Assam’s alone. They echoed a larger Indian concern: how does a people define itself without reducing itself? How does identity remain alive without becoming rigid?

Long before regional cinema became part of India’s national cinematic conversation, Bhupen Hazarika was already exploring these questions through film. His early work, such as Era Bator Sur (1956), explored the folk tunes of the north east with a realist approach. Contemporary to Pather Panchali, the emergence of this movie reflected the broader awakening of Indian cinema to its own cultural landscapes. This visual artistic state of Bhupen Hazarika, as detailed in this poster, also remains overshadowed by his lyrical depth and charismatic voice. It is a reminder that his imagination was not confined to a single medium. His association with M. F. Husain's Gaja Gamini reflected his ease in moving between artistic worlds.

Amidst uncertainties that made identity an everyday reality rather than an abstraction, Bhupen Hazarika’s voice remained a constant presence — not narrowing Assam into exclusion, but expanding it into shared humanity. Standing before that poster on that day, in his centenary year, it feels less like an artefact of the past and more like a mirror still held up to the present.

Because somewhere within it, the question remains.

Not only for Assam.

But for all of us.

Metaphore -in this mad world

The word metaphor hit me while watching Il Postino (The Postman), a 1997 movie that shows poet Pablo Neruda, living in exile, teaching a simple mail carrier about poetry and Metaphor. Its a love story with cinematic brilliance

Lately, however, the world itself feels like a metaphor for world events unfolding as if power has decided to speak only in the language of inevitability, extraction, and dominance.

The world has gone insane, or a Historic vicious cycle is being repeated every 75-150 years... the pattern is the same in history, though the radius of the cycle time is not exact. 

With dramatic scenes and news coming from all corners of the world (Venezuela, US, Middle East, Asia), the face and form of Daniel Day-Lewis, the oil digger from There Will Be Blood, no longer feel fictional.

At the height of his power, he declares:

“I am the third revelation.”

As if history, faith, and morality have all culminated in him.

Hope the ending has a similar pattern 

The old digger seen standing alone in the ruins of his triumph, he says:

“I’m finished.”

Perhaps that is the final metaphor of our times —

that when power replaces purpose,

when extraction replaces empathy,

the end doesn’t come as collapse…

It comes as emptiness.

Thankfully, no one can say that Venezuela influenced  Marish , my just-finished novel.in Assamese 

মন যায় (Mon Jai) Zubeenda me and Assamese people

 

I was inside a conference hall in Puducherry, attending a national conference of microbiologists, when the news popped up on my mobile screen. I fact-checked, re-checked… and found it was true.

My talk was over, but I was supposed to interact with peers and finish some official work. Instead, I returned to my Hotel. That night, sitting by the sea at Rock Beach, his memories kept coming back to me over and over again…

It could be in 1994. I remember a hoarding in Ganeshguri — a comic-style poster of Mon Jai, a movie under production, with Zubeen saying: “I wish to make money, I wish to make movies, I wish to…”

It struck a chord with the wavelength of my own youth.

I too wished to make movies.

I, too, wished to write songs and screenplays.

I, too, wished to do experiments in Physics like Niels Bohr.

But by that time, I was a proud first-year medical student, just a fresher in college.

Zubeen appeared like a comet in the Assamese music scene. Around 1992, when I was preparing for my High School Leaving Certificate exam, I had a habit of looking at the covers of new books and new cassettes. One day, I spotted the photograph of a thin, spectacled Zubeen on Anamika. I couldn’t buy it immediately, so I borrowed it from a friend and duplicated it.

The songs were smooth melodies. My favourite was Pritir Xubaxe (The Fragrance of Love), with lyrics by the legendary Hiren Bhattacharya. Within a few months, all the songs became viral across Assam. The older generation was sceptical, but for us, it was new magic.

In 1992 itself, I watched his first live performance at Dispur Bihutoli (now inside the Secretariat campus). My first impression was unimpressive — a skinny figure, with bamboo-like legs in tight jeans, and mannerisms of a roadside Jorhatiya Romeo. I was struck by how ordinary he looked compared to the extraordinary voice that had already become our companion.

Then came Maya — another superhit. Soon, every young Assamese aspiring musician was imitating him.

The rise, falls, and reappearances and rediscoveries. 

Zubeen became a machine of mass production. As a self-styled “pseudo-intellectual,” I carried some inhibition against an icon with such mass appeal. But he kept coming back, again and again.

At one point, after signing with Sony Music, he stopped live performances for 2–3 years. But when he returned to George Field, I was there too. This time, he was sober, sang from his heart, and connected with everyone.

Then tragedy struck with the untimely death of his sister Jonki in an accident. The whole of Assam cried with him. Later, at the Brahmaputra Beach Festival, he re-emerged, singing a duet originally started by Jonki and completed posthumously. It was a profoundly moving moment.

In parallel, I too tried to pursue my Mon Jai alongside medicine. I became an amateur playwright and director (now retired from that), though the film we wanted to make never happened. I built a career as a microbiologist, medical teacher, and, to some extent, as a writer. Yet, I often felt I never truly fulfilled my Mon Jai the way Zubeen did.

Zubeen’s Mon jai 

Zubinda ventured into films — writing, directing, and acting. The movie quality may not always have been perfect, but he gave our small Assamese industry the star power it needed. His collaborations with professional directors, especially Munin Baruah, remain iconic. Who can forget the songs of Hiya Diya Niya? They are companions for Assamese hearts everywhere, inside and outside Assam.

I personally disliked the flood of VCD songs and the raucous crowds they attracted at Bihutolis and picnics. Sometimes, Zubeen’s public comments bordered on megalomania. And yet, he would occasionally return with a sober, innocent face, like in the movie Dinabandhu. How could the same Zubeen suddenly look so pure, so fresh?

Meanwhile, he found his place in Bollywood as well. I remember watching Gangster in Dibrugarh when Ya Ali was already a chartbuster. I watched the movie in Dibrugarh, Assam, without any expectation. Still, the moment Zubeen appeared on the big screen, the entire hall erupted in joy. It was another “comeback” moment for me.

I left Assam in 2006 and watched Mon Jai (the movie), which was much delayed in production. Zubeen’s character in it symbolised the desperation of Assamese youth at that time. So many dreams (mon jai, mon jai) but so few avenues. The protagonist takes a destructive path — a warning about roads from which there is no return.

This happens with every artist who connects deeply with the people.

Bhupen Hazarika, too, was commodified, and we all cried again and again when he left us. But Bhupenda had mentors like Bishnu Rabha and Jyoti Prasad Agarwala. Their ethos shaped him, even if they had passed away long ago. Zubeen, by contrast, had no such guiding force. His lifestyle, habits, and occasional political flip-flops — which I never understood — perhaps reflected an unguided Mon Jai. And tragically, it has led to a fatal result.

A reflection for us all

I personally saw (!) him last in 2018, I was on a flight as an external examiner to Assam, he was seated in front of me ... and my ego refused me to wish him.... as a redemption, I am sitting in my Hotel and not willing to go back to the conference Hall for today till I finish this writing

Zubinda lived as he wished (mon jai), and in doing so, became the voice of our generation. His journey is both an inspiration and a warning.

In this transitional time, when definitions of everything are rapidly changing, we must learn to guide our emotions with an upright ethos. That may be the rightful way to live a life — a way that balances Mon Jai with responsibility.