Omkar N. Koul
It is not easy to write an obituary of a person who has been associated with you for long; belonging to same academic fraternity- teaching, research and administration; and above all a trusted friend. We were classmates both in college as well as university for four years (1959-1963); we were in a sort of competition both in studies as well as in co-curricular activities. In college, both of us were elected to a literary club. He joined NSS (the opportunity I missed). He acted in a college play, and I worked behind the stage. We participated in literary activities in and outside the college/university.
He had an edge over me in several matters. In studies, he did better than me. He got the first rank in masters degree in the university. He got a job in the university and I left the valley for pursuing higher studies. Though living in distant places, we kept a track of each other. He kept working at the University of Kashmir holding different positions, and I had to change places and institutions: Agra (K M Institute), Urbana (University of Illinois), Patiala (Northern Regional Language Centre), Mussoorie (LBS National Academy of Administration), and Mysore ( Central Institute of Indian Languages). He was forced to move to Jammu as a result of political disturbances in the valley in 1990. Both of us retired from the positions we were holding in the same year. He settled in Jammu, and I moved to Delhi after retirement in 2001.
He is the first person to be awarded a D. Litt degree by the University of Kashmir. I was one of his examiners. His viva-voce examination was delayed by the university. His wife died of cancer. This was a big turn in his life. He could not come over this loss for long. He had to live alone in his house in Barnai, Jammu. He named his house parn kutir (a grass cottage) which ultimately turned out to be a place where he dedicated his day and night to writing.
There was a major turn in his academic activities. He had been a teacher of Hindi literature throughout and held different positions (from lecturer to professor) and headed the Post-Graduate Department of Hindi too. While in job, he had occasionally written and published papers in Hindi related to Kashmiri literature and culture.
The political events which resulted in mass exodus of Kashmiri Pandits to Jammu and other places in India and abroad, had a great impact on the whole Kashmiri Pandit community. The displaced persons from the valley started feeling cultural rootlessness in an alien environment. A large number of intellectuals, professionals, teachers and students took to activities pertaining to Kashmiri language, literature or culture. There was a boost in literary activities all around. Besides writing in Hindi, Bhushan Lal Kaul started writing in Kashmiri. As he had not published any book earlier, he asked me to write a foreword to his first two books: visthaapan ka sahitya (in Hindi) and Arzath (in Kashmiri). As a long-time friend, I was very hesitant to do so, but when he insisted I could not decline. I was highly impressed by his literary style in Kashmiri and his command over the language. I am glad both of his books were well-received. The book in Kashmiri got him the highest award of the J&K Academy of Art, Culture and Languages.
His other books in Kashmiri namely Vemarsh, Praznath etc. followed one after the other. After earning a name and respect in the literary world pertaining to Kashmiri, he was requested by a large number of authors, both young and old, to write forewords to their books, reviews, and review articles. He was requested by well-known authors to write review articles related to their works which were released in Jammu and Delhi. He must have written forewords, reviews and articles related to scores of books in Kashmiri and Hindi.
He was not only a prolific prose writer in Kashmiri, he proved to be an excellent orator in Kashmiri. An important activity he got involved in was his participation in various literary, cultural and religious functions and events. He made an enormous contribution by giving pravacans (religious discourses) at the religious and socio-cultural gatherings in temples, ashrams and religious gatherings in Jammu, Delhi and other places. He became a frequent speaker at the Bhagwan Gopinath Ashrams and other places. On his invitation, I attended one such function organsied by Gopinath Ashram in Delhi. I was pleasantly amazed to find out that he could easily capture his audience with his excellent oratory skills including modulation of voice and reciting of verses. He got loud applauses from the audience.
He had become an institution in himself over recent years, and was sought after by literary circles, religious and socio-cultural organisations. He edited Kashmiri section of the Khir Bhawani Times published from Jammu. Besides being associated with a large number of literary organizations, he floated his own organization too.
His sudden demise on February 16, 2009 after a brief illness has left a void in the socio-cultural and literary circles of Jammu which would be difficult to fill in the years to come.
February 20, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Wings to Fly
A short story
by
Omkar N. Koul
Born in a middle-class family in Mysore, Savita had never thought in her childhood that destiny will take her thousands of miles away from her home town. Not even a distant relative or an acquaintance of her had ever travelled extensively in India, not to speak of going abroad. Her mother was a Coorg and father a Kannadiga. She had inherited all the sharp features from her mother including an oval-shaped face, dreamy big eyes, fair complexion and long curly black hair. She was very much conscious of her beauty and liked to get compliments for it. She was very soft-spoken. She was of medium height, something she had inherited from her father, and always wanted to look taller. Her mother was a teacher in a private school and her father was an official in a local court.
She was always attracted by textbook images of far distant places in India and foreign countries. She was fascinated by the flying of birds and dreamed of flying like a bird to explore the skies. As a child, she liked to draw pictures of flying birds. She liked flying kites too. Being an ambitious girl, she dreamed of flying to far off places and build her career.
She kept her desires to herself and quietly waited for appropriate opportunities. She was good at her studies and worked very hard. She got good grades in her examinations right from high school to college. She got a merit scholarship for her post-graduate studies in biology. It was only during the days of pursuing her post-graduate studies that she learnt about the opportunities for pursuing her higher studies abroad.
It was merely by chance that she met Saurabh, who had come from the US on a holiday, at her friend's place. He was a tall handsome young man in his late twenties from Hyderabad working as an engineer in the US. He was looking for a girl to marry, and was attracted to her in the very first meeting. Savita talked about the possibility of her higher studies in the US. Saurabh assured her that he would look for the opportunities for her.
Immediately after getting her M.Sc in Biology in first division, she applied for her Ph.D. research at several places in the USA. Saurabh had provided her quite a few addresses. She got very good reference letters from her teachers who were impressed by her research potential. She got admission and a research fellowship at the University of Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania. Saurabh too lived in a place close to Pittsburgh. He helped her in completing all the formalities.
It was not easy for her to convince her middle-class parents to give their permission to travel abroad and live by herself in an alien land. They were very worried. Savita's teachers were somehow successful in convincing them. She prepared her travel documents.
She was received at the airport by Saurabh. He helped her to settle down in this alien place. He had found a one-bedroom apartment for her which she had to share with Kanta, another Indian girl doing her research in Anthropology. She was writing her dissertation and was planning to return to India in a few months. Kanta was engaged to Ramaoorthy, who was teaching in a university in Hyderabad. They were planning to get married on her return to India.
Savita and Kanta became good friends and shared the apartment happily. Saurabh would visit them on weekends and take them to different places in and around Pittsburgh in his car. Saurabh wanted to propose to her but couldn't do it for a long time. One Sunday, all the three visited Wheeling in West Virginia. It was in the premises of Palace of Gold, Saurabh and Savita were sitting in the rose garden very close to each other. Kanta was taking pictures of the temple. Saurabh mustered his courage and proposed to her. Savita was overwhelmed with joy, she quietly pressed his hand with a smile. She had wanted to hear these words for a long time. Saurabh kept on staring at her face, and Savita was looking at her feet. They did not notice Kanta who was watching both of them at a distance. Kanta came rushing over, smiled and leaned over both of them from behind and threw her arms around them. All of them laughed.
Saurabh's parents desired the wedding to take place in India at an early date. Savita wanted to complete her research work before getting married. Saurabh agreed to wait.
Savita had to register for several courses and did very well. After completing her course work successfully, she started working on her dissertation. She had to spend a lot of time in the laboratory. She got totally involved in her research and wanted to complete it as soon as possible. Her research supervisor Prof Thomas Spencer was a distinguished scholar of international repute, and an excellent teacher. He was respected by all his students and colleagues alike. Though in his mid-forties he was unmarried. Perhaps, he never had time for it. He would spend most of his time in the department and laboratory. It was a challenge to work with him. He would make all his students work very hard, and had very high expectations of his students. She was his first Indian student. He had two other foreign students one each from China and Japan.
His student from China, Lee, was about to complete her research work. She had got a good job in her home country and was planning to leave shortly after defending her dissertation. His Japanese student Machida was very bright and also very hard working. He had published quite a few papers in reputed journals. He used to work long hours in the laboratory.
Savita was highly impressed by the intelligence of Machida and the amount of hard work he was putting in. Machida was in his late twenties and had done his M.Sc from the same university with distinction. Prof Spencer had a very high opinion of his intellectual attainments. Machida would voluntarily come forward to help Savita in different ways. He helped her in her experiments and spent hours discussing her research work with her. Savita was indebted to him for his enormous help. He had rented an apartment in Hobart street but would spend most of his time in the laboratory.
Prof Spencer would occasionally take his foreign research students for lunch in different restaurants on the campus. He was fond of Chinese food. He liked Japanese food too. When Savita joined the department, one day Prof Spencer took all of them to an Indian restaurant. Savita didn't like the Punjabi food served there. She wanted to invite them to a South Indian restaurant. Prof Spencer suggested he would like to eat the South South Indian food provided it was cooked by her. Savita was very happy and invited them to her apartment for dinner on the next Saturday. Savita and Kanta cooked the food. Prof Spencer normally would discuss topics related to their research with them. But at the dinner hosted by Savita and Kanta, he made sure not to discuss research. Rather the conversations were about socio-cultural aspects of life in India.
Prof Spencer encouraged all his students to write research papers for publication, and for seminars and conferences. Savita was very nervous in the beginning about discussing her research work with him. She worked very hard and prepared several drafts of her papers, discussing them first with Machida, and later showing them to Prof. Spencer. He would read the papers and discuss each point in detail and make necessary corrections. This encouraged Savita. A paper written by her was accepted for presentation at an international conference to be held in New York. Machida's paper too was accepted. Both of them travelled to New York together in Machida's car. It was the first opportunity for Savita to present a paper in an international conference. A large number of well-known scholars from different countries were attending this conference. Prof Spencer had to chair a session in it.
Savita presented her paper in a session chaired by Prof Anderson, a well-known scholar from Australia. Her presentation of the paper was very good. The paper was appreciated by the chairman. There was good discussion afterward. She answered all the questions with confidence. After the session was over, quite a few participants of the conference discussed her research work with her. Prof Spencer also congratulated her. Savita was delighted.
In her heart of hearts she felt indebted to Machida for his help and the confidence he had created in her mind. The more she thought about him, the more she found him attractive. Though he was not very tall, he had a pleasing personality. His face looked boyish and innocent. He was very soft-spoken and had a nice smile on his face. Machida too liked Savita's company. While driving back from New York, they stopped at a beautiful resort. They had lunch together. They relaxed by the side of pool on easy chairs. It was here, Machida held her hand softly for the first time. Savita liked his touch and closed her eyes. Machida said with a charming smile, 'Do you know something? You are very beautiful.' Savita just smiled.
Things changed altogether. She was now spending more time in the company of Machida both in the laboratory as well as out of it. Machida would take her to different restaurants in the town for dinner. She visited his apartment too several times and tasted Japanese food. Machida too would visit her apartment very often. She cooked and served Indian food to him. She learnt more about Machida. He was the only son of his parents. His father was president of a private university in Japan. Machida was going to join the same university as faculty on his return to Japan. He wanted Savita too to join the same university, so that they can work together at the same place. It was a very complex problem. Savita was lost in her thoughts. She did not know what to do.
Machida defended his dissertation. He stayed on in Pittsburgh just for the sake of Savita. Savita was close to finishing her dissertation. Two months later, Savita too defended it. Both of them were awarded Ph.D degrees. Prof Spencer wanted both of them to continue to work with him as post-doctorate research associates in his new prestigious research project. The salary was attractive. Machida made it clear that it would not be possible for him to stay as he has decided to join the university in Japan. His father would not like him to delay any further. It was a hard decision for Savita to make. She had the highest regard for Prof Spencer and could not refuse his suggestion. At the same time, she was emotionally attached to Machida and her intentions were becoming clearer day by day. She simply said that it would take him some time to make a decision as she has to consult her family.
That night she had a long talk with Machida. He had proposed to her, and she was not clear how to come out of the mess she was in. She had been avoiding Saurabh for the last six months. She had the excuse of being very busy with her dissertation. Now there was no such excuse. After Kanta left for India, Saurabh could visit her just two times. He had found Savita very busy in her work. Saurabh wanted to ask her about her plans and tentative date for returning to India. Savita couldn't give the dates.
After talking to Machida for a long time, she made a final decision. She asked Saurabh to meet her next day. When Saurabh came, she mustered a lot of courage and told him that she respected him a lot and was grateful to him for whatever he had done for her, but she was not yet mentally prepared to marry him as she had decided to take a job in Japan. Saurabh was shocked to hear this. He couldn't utter a word. After a while, he got up and walked out of her apartment dragging his feet.
Savita quietly watched him leave. She had got new wings to fly away!
Providence
August 10, 2007
by
Omkar N. Koul
Born in a middle-class family in Mysore, Savita had never thought in her childhood that destiny will take her thousands of miles away from her home town. Not even a distant relative or an acquaintance of her had ever travelled extensively in India, not to speak of going abroad. Her mother was a Coorg and father a Kannadiga. She had inherited all the sharp features from her mother including an oval-shaped face, dreamy big eyes, fair complexion and long curly black hair. She was very much conscious of her beauty and liked to get compliments for it. She was very soft-spoken. She was of medium height, something she had inherited from her father, and always wanted to look taller. Her mother was a teacher in a private school and her father was an official in a local court.
She was always attracted by textbook images of far distant places in India and foreign countries. She was fascinated by the flying of birds and dreamed of flying like a bird to explore the skies. As a child, she liked to draw pictures of flying birds. She liked flying kites too. Being an ambitious girl, she dreamed of flying to far off places and build her career.
She kept her desires to herself and quietly waited for appropriate opportunities. She was good at her studies and worked very hard. She got good grades in her examinations right from high school to college. She got a merit scholarship for her post-graduate studies in biology. It was only during the days of pursuing her post-graduate studies that she learnt about the opportunities for pursuing her higher studies abroad.
It was merely by chance that she met Saurabh, who had come from the US on a holiday, at her friend's place. He was a tall handsome young man in his late twenties from Hyderabad working as an engineer in the US. He was looking for a girl to marry, and was attracted to her in the very first meeting. Savita talked about the possibility of her higher studies in the US. Saurabh assured her that he would look for the opportunities for her.
Immediately after getting her M.Sc in Biology in first division, she applied for her Ph.D. research at several places in the USA. Saurabh had provided her quite a few addresses. She got very good reference letters from her teachers who were impressed by her research potential. She got admission and a research fellowship at the University of Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania. Saurabh too lived in a place close to Pittsburgh. He helped her in completing all the formalities.
It was not easy for her to convince her middle-class parents to give their permission to travel abroad and live by herself in an alien land. They were very worried. Savita's teachers were somehow successful in convincing them. She prepared her travel documents.
She was received at the airport by Saurabh. He helped her to settle down in this alien place. He had found a one-bedroom apartment for her which she had to share with Kanta, another Indian girl doing her research in Anthropology. She was writing her dissertation and was planning to return to India in a few months. Kanta was engaged to Ramaoorthy, who was teaching in a university in Hyderabad. They were planning to get married on her return to India.
Savita and Kanta became good friends and shared the apartment happily. Saurabh would visit them on weekends and take them to different places in and around Pittsburgh in his car. Saurabh wanted to propose to her but couldn't do it for a long time. One Sunday, all the three visited Wheeling in West Virginia. It was in the premises of Palace of Gold, Saurabh and Savita were sitting in the rose garden very close to each other. Kanta was taking pictures of the temple. Saurabh mustered his courage and proposed to her. Savita was overwhelmed with joy, she quietly pressed his hand with a smile. She had wanted to hear these words for a long time. Saurabh kept on staring at her face, and Savita was looking at her feet. They did not notice Kanta who was watching both of them at a distance. Kanta came rushing over, smiled and leaned over both of them from behind and threw her arms around them. All of them laughed.
Saurabh's parents desired the wedding to take place in India at an early date. Savita wanted to complete her research work before getting married. Saurabh agreed to wait.
Savita had to register for several courses and did very well. After completing her course work successfully, she started working on her dissertation. She had to spend a lot of time in the laboratory. She got totally involved in her research and wanted to complete it as soon as possible. Her research supervisor Prof Thomas Spencer was a distinguished scholar of international repute, and an excellent teacher. He was respected by all his students and colleagues alike. Though in his mid-forties he was unmarried. Perhaps, he never had time for it. He would spend most of his time in the department and laboratory. It was a challenge to work with him. He would make all his students work very hard, and had very high expectations of his students. She was his first Indian student. He had two other foreign students one each from China and Japan.
His student from China, Lee, was about to complete her research work. She had got a good job in her home country and was planning to leave shortly after defending her dissertation. His Japanese student Machida was very bright and also very hard working. He had published quite a few papers in reputed journals. He used to work long hours in the laboratory.
Savita was highly impressed by the intelligence of Machida and the amount of hard work he was putting in. Machida was in his late twenties and had done his M.Sc from the same university with distinction. Prof Spencer had a very high opinion of his intellectual attainments. Machida would voluntarily come forward to help Savita in different ways. He helped her in her experiments and spent hours discussing her research work with her. Savita was indebted to him for his enormous help. He had rented an apartment in Hobart street but would spend most of his time in the laboratory.
Prof Spencer would occasionally take his foreign research students for lunch in different restaurants on the campus. He was fond of Chinese food. He liked Japanese food too. When Savita joined the department, one day Prof Spencer took all of them to an Indian restaurant. Savita didn't like the Punjabi food served there. She wanted to invite them to a South Indian restaurant. Prof Spencer suggested he would like to eat the South South Indian food provided it was cooked by her. Savita was very happy and invited them to her apartment for dinner on the next Saturday. Savita and Kanta cooked the food. Prof Spencer normally would discuss topics related to their research with them. But at the dinner hosted by Savita and Kanta, he made sure not to discuss research. Rather the conversations were about socio-cultural aspects of life in India.
Prof Spencer encouraged all his students to write research papers for publication, and for seminars and conferences. Savita was very nervous in the beginning about discussing her research work with him. She worked very hard and prepared several drafts of her papers, discussing them first with Machida, and later showing them to Prof. Spencer. He would read the papers and discuss each point in detail and make necessary corrections. This encouraged Savita. A paper written by her was accepted for presentation at an international conference to be held in New York. Machida's paper too was accepted. Both of them travelled to New York together in Machida's car. It was the first opportunity for Savita to present a paper in an international conference. A large number of well-known scholars from different countries were attending this conference. Prof Spencer had to chair a session in it.
Savita presented her paper in a session chaired by Prof Anderson, a well-known scholar from Australia. Her presentation of the paper was very good. The paper was appreciated by the chairman. There was good discussion afterward. She answered all the questions with confidence. After the session was over, quite a few participants of the conference discussed her research work with her. Prof Spencer also congratulated her. Savita was delighted.
In her heart of hearts she felt indebted to Machida for his help and the confidence he had created in her mind. The more she thought about him, the more she found him attractive. Though he was not very tall, he had a pleasing personality. His face looked boyish and innocent. He was very soft-spoken and had a nice smile on his face. Machida too liked Savita's company. While driving back from New York, they stopped at a beautiful resort. They had lunch together. They relaxed by the side of pool on easy chairs. It was here, Machida held her hand softly for the first time. Savita liked his touch and closed her eyes. Machida said with a charming smile, 'Do you know something? You are very beautiful.' Savita just smiled.
Things changed altogether. She was now spending more time in the company of Machida both in the laboratory as well as out of it. Machida would take her to different restaurants in the town for dinner. She visited his apartment too several times and tasted Japanese food. Machida too would visit her apartment very often. She cooked and served Indian food to him. She learnt more about Machida. He was the only son of his parents. His father was president of a private university in Japan. Machida was going to join the same university as faculty on his return to Japan. He wanted Savita too to join the same university, so that they can work together at the same place. It was a very complex problem. Savita was lost in her thoughts. She did not know what to do.
Machida defended his dissertation. He stayed on in Pittsburgh just for the sake of Savita. Savita was close to finishing her dissertation. Two months later, Savita too defended it. Both of them were awarded Ph.D degrees. Prof Spencer wanted both of them to continue to work with him as post-doctorate research associates in his new prestigious research project. The salary was attractive. Machida made it clear that it would not be possible for him to stay as he has decided to join the university in Japan. His father would not like him to delay any further. It was a hard decision for Savita to make. She had the highest regard for Prof Spencer and could not refuse his suggestion. At the same time, she was emotionally attached to Machida and her intentions were becoming clearer day by day. She simply said that it would take him some time to make a decision as she has to consult her family.
That night she had a long talk with Machida. He had proposed to her, and she was not clear how to come out of the mess she was in. She had been avoiding Saurabh for the last six months. She had the excuse of being very busy with her dissertation. Now there was no such excuse. After Kanta left for India, Saurabh could visit her just two times. He had found Savita very busy in her work. Saurabh wanted to ask her about her plans and tentative date for returning to India. Savita couldn't give the dates.
After talking to Machida for a long time, she made a final decision. She asked Saurabh to meet her next day. When Saurabh came, she mustered a lot of courage and told him that she respected him a lot and was grateful to him for whatever he had done for her, but she was not yet mentally prepared to marry him as she had decided to take a job in Japan. Saurabh was shocked to hear this. He couldn't utter a word. After a while, he got up and walked out of her apartment dragging his feet.
Savita quietly watched him leave. She had got new wings to fly away!
Providence
August 10, 2007
The Migratory Birds
by
Omkar N. Koul
Migratory birds do not require visa or any other documents to travel across political borders, but the migratory birds we are talking about require visa and travel documents to undertake this journey. They don’t fly in the sky like birds do, they travel in planes, trains and other vehicles. They have definite destinations to go and settle down temporarily. While birds travel away from cold to warmer places before winter sets in search of comfort, the migratory birds we are talking about are men and women who visit their kith and kin: sons, daughters, brothers and sisters for a maximum period of six months in each time slot during comfortable weather. Usually, they visit the places in early summer and return to their places before winter. This is the period they are away from the scorching heat back home. Unlike migratory birds, some of them do stay during the months of winter too. They are eager to visit their kith and kin, settled down in foreign countries. They too in return long to welcome them in their own homes and hearths.
It is real adventure for those, who visit new affluent countries for the first time. They enjoy first couple of months visiting some picnic spots, downtowns, grocery shops, pharmacies, and malls accompanied by their kith and kin on weekends. They watch them closely, driving their latest model air-conditioned cars, operate the automatic gadgets, wending machines, self-help machines in grocery shops, gas stations and making payments using credit cards. These are amazing scenes they would like to talk about back home. They fall in love with everything they see around them.
Gradually, they try to imitate their kith and kin settled in this alien environment, help them in daily chores, cooking using their age-old recipes, serving tasty food which their kith and kin love to eat, in doing dishes, in doing laundry, mowing lawns, watering grass and plants, trimming branches and plants, cleaning-up houses and packing the garbage boxes to be taken away by the city garbage disposal management once a week.
They love to baby-sit the children, if they are lucky to have them, while their parents are away on work, or on household errands. Within a short period of time, they adapt to its environment fully, and try to compete with their young kith and kin. They are genuinely attracted to this place and start dreaming of migrating to this place on permanent basis. They try to use the new acquired words in the alien language they listen spoken all around them. The children love them as they can afford to spend any amount of time with them. They try to communicate with them in English but have to use a lot of jestures to convey what they want to. They repeatedly give their blessings to the children they adore in their own mother tongue and get nods and smiles in return.
Soon after the loneliness sets in. They start feeling lonely, especially when they have to be alone for long hours. They feel lonely, when they don't see anyone walking in the neighborhood streets. They are lonely when they start staring at the concrete walls, furniture and household items. They try to seek the company of trees, plants, greenery around the houses where they live in solitary confinement for hours together. They find the nature too helpless, it does not console them. They turn on TV. The alien channels do not amuse them any more. They find news and documentaries irrelevant. The so-called entertainment dished-out from various channels is boring for them and do not divert their attention from the homes and environment they have left behind.
In the beginning they forget the days and dates, and now suddenly the calendars become very important. They gaze at them everyday and a number of times in a single day. They turn the pages of calendars and try to measure the distance between the dates with their tired eyes. They start counting the dates. They start eagerly waiting for the dates of their departure from the host country.
Last few days in the alien country brighten up their hopes. Their near and dear ones again find time for them. They accompany them to downtowns and malls for shopping. They buy presents put on sale for the members of their family and relatives they have left behind. The packing starts in new suitcases. Their eyes twinkle in hope again. Enthusiasm comes back. One day the packing is finally over. They pick-up their travel documents and overweight suitcases, and depart dressed in new clothes and/ or shoes. The farewell scenes are quite emotional. They again start missing something they cannot name. The migrant birds fly back in planes to their permanent homes. Some of them will return again in future.
Providence
August 2007
Omkar N. Koul
Migratory birds do not require visa or any other documents to travel across political borders, but the migratory birds we are talking about require visa and travel documents to undertake this journey. They don’t fly in the sky like birds do, they travel in planes, trains and other vehicles. They have definite destinations to go and settle down temporarily. While birds travel away from cold to warmer places before winter sets in search of comfort, the migratory birds we are talking about are men and women who visit their kith and kin: sons, daughters, brothers and sisters for a maximum period of six months in each time slot during comfortable weather. Usually, they visit the places in early summer and return to their places before winter. This is the period they are away from the scorching heat back home. Unlike migratory birds, some of them do stay during the months of winter too. They are eager to visit their kith and kin, settled down in foreign countries. They too in return long to welcome them in their own homes and hearths.
It is real adventure for those, who visit new affluent countries for the first time. They enjoy first couple of months visiting some picnic spots, downtowns, grocery shops, pharmacies, and malls accompanied by their kith and kin on weekends. They watch them closely, driving their latest model air-conditioned cars, operate the automatic gadgets, wending machines, self-help machines in grocery shops, gas stations and making payments using credit cards. These are amazing scenes they would like to talk about back home. They fall in love with everything they see around them.
Gradually, they try to imitate their kith and kin settled in this alien environment, help them in daily chores, cooking using their age-old recipes, serving tasty food which their kith and kin love to eat, in doing dishes, in doing laundry, mowing lawns, watering grass and plants, trimming branches and plants, cleaning-up houses and packing the garbage boxes to be taken away by the city garbage disposal management once a week.
They love to baby-sit the children, if they are lucky to have them, while their parents are away on work, or on household errands. Within a short period of time, they adapt to its environment fully, and try to compete with their young kith and kin. They are genuinely attracted to this place and start dreaming of migrating to this place on permanent basis. They try to use the new acquired words in the alien language they listen spoken all around them. The children love them as they can afford to spend any amount of time with them. They try to communicate with them in English but have to use a lot of jestures to convey what they want to. They repeatedly give their blessings to the children they adore in their own mother tongue and get nods and smiles in return.
Soon after the loneliness sets in. They start feeling lonely, especially when they have to be alone for long hours. They feel lonely, when they don't see anyone walking in the neighborhood streets. They are lonely when they start staring at the concrete walls, furniture and household items. They try to seek the company of trees, plants, greenery around the houses where they live in solitary confinement for hours together. They find the nature too helpless, it does not console them. They turn on TV. The alien channels do not amuse them any more. They find news and documentaries irrelevant. The so-called entertainment dished-out from various channels is boring for them and do not divert their attention from the homes and environment they have left behind.
In the beginning they forget the days and dates, and now suddenly the calendars become very important. They gaze at them everyday and a number of times in a single day. They turn the pages of calendars and try to measure the distance between the dates with their tired eyes. They start counting the dates. They start eagerly waiting for the dates of their departure from the host country.
Last few days in the alien country brighten up their hopes. Their near and dear ones again find time for them. They accompany them to downtowns and malls for shopping. They buy presents put on sale for the members of their family and relatives they have left behind. The packing starts in new suitcases. Their eyes twinkle in hope again. Enthusiasm comes back. One day the packing is finally over. They pick-up their travel documents and overweight suitcases, and depart dressed in new clothes and/ or shoes. The farewell scenes are quite emotional. They again start missing something they cannot name. The migrant birds fly back in planes to their permanent homes. Some of them will return again in future.
Providence
August 2007
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Are You Happy, Rosie?
Omkar N Koul
When Barack Obama took an oath as the 44th President of the United States of America, I immediately remembered Rosie, who I met first time at the University of Illinois canteen sometime during 1969. I joined her table with a cup of tea in my hand. She was a cute black African girl in her early twenties, slim, tall with big eyes. She asked me,
“Are you from India?”
‘Yes, I’m. How did you know?”
“Well, it is easy to say by complexion and features.”
“ I could be a Pakistani or an Afghan too!”
“But you are not.” She smiled.
I introduced myself and told her that I have recently come from India. She told me that she was going to complete her master’s degree by the end of that semester.
When she asked about my initial experience in the US, I told her frankly, it is amazing not to find women placed at top positions over here. Wherever I go, I find the officers are men, and the women are either secretaries or typists. She immediately agreed and added that it is worst for black people, both men and women, to find suitable jobs. After chatting with her for a while, I told her smilingly, I would like you to become the president of the USA. We have Indira Gandhi as the prime minister in India, why can’t you be the president of the USA one day. She had a hearty laugh showing her beautiful white teeth.
On leaving the canteen, when both of us where is an elevator, looking at my face, she said,
“Do you know something Omkar? You have piercing eyes.”
Patting her back softly, I replied instantly,
“It is the reflection of your eyes.”
Both of us laughed. Before parting, we decided to meet again. We met several times later. She invited me for dinner to her place one evening. She was a very lovely and affectionate person with very good sense of humor. While cooking dinner, she put on pop music on her stereo. She started shaking her legs and invited me to join her in dance. I told her I don't dance. She taught me a few initial steps. It was an enjoyable evening. Later over meals we talked about her plans after obtaining her degree. She wanted to teach in a school. We met occasionally before she finally returned to Chicago, her home town, after completing her master’s degree.
I have very sweet memories of her. I don’t know where she is and what she is doing?
I remembered Rosie during my last visit to the Brown University, Providence, in 2007, when I saw a black woman as the president of that university.
Now today when Barack Obama took an oath at an impressive ceremony in the presence of a large gathering, I was trying to locate Rosie among them on my TV screen. I just want to ask her,
“Are your happy Rosie?”
When Barack Obama took an oath as the 44th President of the United States of America, I immediately remembered Rosie, who I met first time at the University of Illinois canteen sometime during 1969. I joined her table with a cup of tea in my hand. She was a cute black African girl in her early twenties, slim, tall with big eyes. She asked me,
“Are you from India?”
‘Yes, I’m. How did you know?”
“Well, it is easy to say by complexion and features.”
“ I could be a Pakistani or an Afghan too!”
“But you are not.” She smiled.
I introduced myself and told her that I have recently come from India. She told me that she was going to complete her master’s degree by the end of that semester.
When she asked about my initial experience in the US, I told her frankly, it is amazing not to find women placed at top positions over here. Wherever I go, I find the officers are men, and the women are either secretaries or typists. She immediately agreed and added that it is worst for black people, both men and women, to find suitable jobs. After chatting with her for a while, I told her smilingly, I would like you to become the president of the USA. We have Indira Gandhi as the prime minister in India, why can’t you be the president of the USA one day. She had a hearty laugh showing her beautiful white teeth.
On leaving the canteen, when both of us where is an elevator, looking at my face, she said,
“Do you know something Omkar? You have piercing eyes.”
Patting her back softly, I replied instantly,
“It is the reflection of your eyes.”
Both of us laughed. Before parting, we decided to meet again. We met several times later. She invited me for dinner to her place one evening. She was a very lovely and affectionate person with very good sense of humor. While cooking dinner, she put on pop music on her stereo. She started shaking her legs and invited me to join her in dance. I told her I don't dance. She taught me a few initial steps. It was an enjoyable evening. Later over meals we talked about her plans after obtaining her degree. She wanted to teach in a school. We met occasionally before she finally returned to Chicago, her home town, after completing her master’s degree.
I have very sweet memories of her. I don’t know where she is and what she is doing?
I remembered Rosie during my last visit to the Brown University, Providence, in 2007, when I saw a black woman as the president of that university.
Now today when Barack Obama took an oath at an impressive ceremony in the presence of a large gathering, I was trying to locate Rosie among them on my TV screen. I just want to ask her,
“Are your happy Rosie?”
Monday, January 19, 2009
My Permanent Address
Omkar N Koul
I was born at village Bugam (Kulgam) in Anantnag district. Inhabited by about three thousand Muslim and six Hindu households, it had a primary school where I studied. From the sixth to tenth class in school, I along with other children had to travel on foot ten kilometers daily to attend the high school at Kulgam. The houses of all Hindus (except one) were on one side of the river Maav and those of Muslims on the other side. Another small river Vejinaar would join Maav near our house, thus forming a Sangam. The water level was deep at the river joint; we would bathe and swim at this place. Maav and Vejinaar would overflow with water during the time of floods. The rivers would present a frightening look. One could watch uprooted trees, branches of trees, and wooden structures afloat. When the river was used by the timber contractors to carry the timber from the hills downstream, it was quite a different scene altogether, providing an opportunity to children to join the planks to take a ride down the stream and have a lot of fun. During autumn, when there was less water in Maav, Muslims would catch fish on moonlit nights. Winter months were a lot of fun as the school would remain closed and we would play in snow, use charcoal to write slogans and draw sketches on frozen snow.
I have always been in love with my village. The more I stayed away from it, the more attracted I was to it. After my high school, I joined an intermediate college at Ananatnag (1957-59), about 18 kilometers away from my village. I had to share a small room at the top of a Muslim baker’s shop in Khanabal with two roommates. It was a unique experience of cooking (using firewood), cleaning, studying, sleeping in one room, and attending the college. I could afford to visit my village once in a fortnight by a tonga or a bus for major distance, and at times walk on foot when conveyance wasn’t available. A weekend at home was refreshing to play with school friends who couldn’t study further. It was good to have home-cooked meals. Two years later, I joined S.P. College (1959-61) in Srinagar for my B.A., and later the Jammu and Kashmir University (1961-63) for my M.A. Living in Srinagar was a different experience. I started living in a hostel, which was badly managed and later moved to a room rented by my uncle at Nai Sarak who had come to Srinagar for some training. Our kitchen, though in the same room, looked better with a kerosene stove for cooking, and a lone electricity bulb of a low voltage, which was to be switched off latest by 9 p.m. under the instructions of our land lady. After my uncle’s training was over, he returned to the village. M land lady proposed to provide two-time meals to me from her kitchen provided I give her 20 kilograms of rice from my home and pay a fixed amount of money to her monthly. I immediately agreed and provided her rice and money in advance for one month. She started serving me meals using the smelled rice from her ‘ration’ shop, and would cook the quality rice of my village for herself and her son. I did not like the food and had to discontinue this arrangement after a month.
I got a new roommate from a neighbouring village. We hired a two-room accommodation nearby. My roommate was an ‘intellectual’ companion. He used to write fiction in Urdu and would ask me to transliterate his love letters from the Urdu script into Devanagari for his girlfriend across the street, who could not read Urdu. I had to read her letters too to him. It made him a little uncomfortable, and he worked hard to learn the Devanagari script.
After my master’s degree, I moved to Delhi and settled down at Agra for my Ph.D. research work. I stayed in a hostel, ate in the hostel mess, and occasionally at a Dabba nearby. During the period of my stay at Agra for about four years (1964-67), I would visit my village in Kashmir at least twice a year. I would meet all my school-time friends, and take long strolls in and around the village. Later, I went to USA (1969-71) for further studies.
As a permanent resident of my village, I have a few ‘firsts’ to my credit. I was the first from my village to get degrees of B.A., M.A., and later Ph.D. I was the first from my village to visit the USA. This earned me a lot of love, affection from the village folk and friends. On my visits to my village, I would visit all the houses in my neighbourhood, and enquire the welfare of all. Many of my childhood friends would visit my house too to chat with me and to know about the life elsewhere. I remember, when I returned to my village after being away to the USA for about two and half years, there were unusual festivities at my house. Almost everybody from my village (men, women and children) visited my house, hugged me and showered their blessings and good wishes. I had become a special guest in my own village. Many people invited me to their homes. My job took me to Patiala for about sixteen years (1971-1987), Mussoorie for seven years (1987-1994), and Mysore for seven years (1994-2001) wherefrom I retired from the government service in 2001.
I always looked forward going to my village - my permanent address - for a longer and relaxed stay. The worst happened in between. My dreams shattered. I cannot imagine all houses and property my family owned have gutted in fire and razed to ground. I cannot imagine that my large room (15’x30’) with its carved window panes with coloured glass, appropriately called Aana kuth, does not exist now. I had decorated its walls with a number of framed group-photographs from my colleges and universities. I really miss looking at the lost treasure of those photographs and cherishing the memories of my student days. A huge collection of my books and papers (including diaries I wrote) were destroyed in fire. Indeed an irreparable loss!
I always thought my village is a unique example of communal harmony and brotherhood. This faith was slightly shattered when in early seventies under the banner of Jamaat-i-Islami a large group of youngsters (mostly from neighbouring villages) destroyed the temple of Ganesha in our village and threw stones at the houses of Hindus. Some officials and policemen from Kulgam visited our village next day to assess the situation. I saw first time tears in the eyes of my father while narrating the incident to them. The re-built temple was attacked again in 1986. As a result of holocaust and killing of some Hindu young men in the neighbouring villages, most of the Hindu families were forced to move out of Bugam in early 1990, and their houses were looted and gutted in fire later.
It may sound strange, in the heart of my hearts, I still consider my village as my permanent address. It is not lost yet. I visited my village in October 1989 last. This visit was quite eventful. On my arrival in Srinagar, I was stranded at my sister’s place at Karfali Mohalla during the three-day curfew as a result of the arrest of Shabir Shah. We couldn’t come out of the house as all the houses of non-Muslims were continuously stoned during nights, and days when the policemen were not in sight. I was very keen to reach my village. The curfew was relaxed for a short period early in the morning, I rushed to the bus stand at Batmaloo to board the first bus for Anantnag. All the passengers seemed to be frightened. It turned out to be another nightmare. The moment the bus reached Batwara, it was attacked with stones by a crowd raising slogans. Many passengers including me were injured by stones and the pieces of broken window panes. The driver demonstrated a lot of courage by speeding up the bus. It was a sudden shock to all of us. Some passengers, especially women and children were crying, others were rubbing their wounds and massaging the injured limbs. Everyone was trying to help another in whatever manner he or she could. The bus with broken glass panes moved on, and was stopped by police about ten kilometers before reaching Anantnag. The situation was very bad over there. This town and other neighbouring small towns were under curfew. I had to walk about 25 kilometers to reach my village avoiding main road and police. This turned out to be my last visit to my village with injuries on face and left arm. I left the village after three days when the situation was somewhat normal.
Though I visited Srinagar several times in last twenty years, I could not venture to visit my village. Perhaps, I am not bold enough to visit the village and to see the destruction of our ancestral property with my own eyes. I cannot, perhaps, face the village elders and acquaintances, whose love and affection I still cherish. I cannot probably face the youngsters who would not understand my ties with my village, my permanent address.
I had a long cherished dream to settle down in my village - my permanent address - after I retire from my service, and do whatever I could to help the people of the village especially the youngsters. Alas! This dream is not fulfilled yet.
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I was born at village Bugam (Kulgam) in Anantnag district. Inhabited by about three thousand Muslim and six Hindu households, it had a primary school where I studied. From the sixth to tenth class in school, I along with other children had to travel on foot ten kilometers daily to attend the high school at Kulgam. The houses of all Hindus (except one) were on one side of the river Maav and those of Muslims on the other side. Another small river Vejinaar would join Maav near our house, thus forming a Sangam. The water level was deep at the river joint; we would bathe and swim at this place. Maav and Vejinaar would overflow with water during the time of floods. The rivers would present a frightening look. One could watch uprooted trees, branches of trees, and wooden structures afloat. When the river was used by the timber contractors to carry the timber from the hills downstream, it was quite a different scene altogether, providing an opportunity to children to join the planks to take a ride down the stream and have a lot of fun. During autumn, when there was less water in Maav, Muslims would catch fish on moonlit nights. Winter months were a lot of fun as the school would remain closed and we would play in snow, use charcoal to write slogans and draw sketches on frozen snow.
I have always been in love with my village. The more I stayed away from it, the more attracted I was to it. After my high school, I joined an intermediate college at Ananatnag (1957-59), about 18 kilometers away from my village. I had to share a small room at the top of a Muslim baker’s shop in Khanabal with two roommates. It was a unique experience of cooking (using firewood), cleaning, studying, sleeping in one room, and attending the college. I could afford to visit my village once in a fortnight by a tonga or a bus for major distance, and at times walk on foot when conveyance wasn’t available. A weekend at home was refreshing to play with school friends who couldn’t study further. It was good to have home-cooked meals. Two years later, I joined S.P. College (1959-61) in Srinagar for my B.A., and later the Jammu and Kashmir University (1961-63) for my M.A. Living in Srinagar was a different experience. I started living in a hostel, which was badly managed and later moved to a room rented by my uncle at Nai Sarak who had come to Srinagar for some training. Our kitchen, though in the same room, looked better with a kerosene stove for cooking, and a lone electricity bulb of a low voltage, which was to be switched off latest by 9 p.m. under the instructions of our land lady. After my uncle’s training was over, he returned to the village. M land lady proposed to provide two-time meals to me from her kitchen provided I give her 20 kilograms of rice from my home and pay a fixed amount of money to her monthly. I immediately agreed and provided her rice and money in advance for one month. She started serving me meals using the smelled rice from her ‘ration’ shop, and would cook the quality rice of my village for herself and her son. I did not like the food and had to discontinue this arrangement after a month.
I got a new roommate from a neighbouring village. We hired a two-room accommodation nearby. My roommate was an ‘intellectual’ companion. He used to write fiction in Urdu and would ask me to transliterate his love letters from the Urdu script into Devanagari for his girlfriend across the street, who could not read Urdu. I had to read her letters too to him. It made him a little uncomfortable, and he worked hard to learn the Devanagari script.
After my master’s degree, I moved to Delhi and settled down at Agra for my Ph.D. research work. I stayed in a hostel, ate in the hostel mess, and occasionally at a Dabba nearby. During the period of my stay at Agra for about four years (1964-67), I would visit my village in Kashmir at least twice a year. I would meet all my school-time friends, and take long strolls in and around the village. Later, I went to USA (1969-71) for further studies.
As a permanent resident of my village, I have a few ‘firsts’ to my credit. I was the first from my village to get degrees of B.A., M.A., and later Ph.D. I was the first from my village to visit the USA. This earned me a lot of love, affection from the village folk and friends. On my visits to my village, I would visit all the houses in my neighbourhood, and enquire the welfare of all. Many of my childhood friends would visit my house too to chat with me and to know about the life elsewhere. I remember, when I returned to my village after being away to the USA for about two and half years, there were unusual festivities at my house. Almost everybody from my village (men, women and children) visited my house, hugged me and showered their blessings and good wishes. I had become a special guest in my own village. Many people invited me to their homes. My job took me to Patiala for about sixteen years (1971-1987), Mussoorie for seven years (1987-1994), and Mysore for seven years (1994-2001) wherefrom I retired from the government service in 2001.
I always looked forward going to my village - my permanent address - for a longer and relaxed stay. The worst happened in between. My dreams shattered. I cannot imagine all houses and property my family owned have gutted in fire and razed to ground. I cannot imagine that my large room (15’x30’) with its carved window panes with coloured glass, appropriately called Aana kuth, does not exist now. I had decorated its walls with a number of framed group-photographs from my colleges and universities. I really miss looking at the lost treasure of those photographs and cherishing the memories of my student days. A huge collection of my books and papers (including diaries I wrote) were destroyed in fire. Indeed an irreparable loss!
I always thought my village is a unique example of communal harmony and brotherhood. This faith was slightly shattered when in early seventies under the banner of Jamaat-i-Islami a large group of youngsters (mostly from neighbouring villages) destroyed the temple of Ganesha in our village and threw stones at the houses of Hindus. Some officials and policemen from Kulgam visited our village next day to assess the situation. I saw first time tears in the eyes of my father while narrating the incident to them. The re-built temple was attacked again in 1986. As a result of holocaust and killing of some Hindu young men in the neighbouring villages, most of the Hindu families were forced to move out of Bugam in early 1990, and their houses were looted and gutted in fire later.
It may sound strange, in the heart of my hearts, I still consider my village as my permanent address. It is not lost yet. I visited my village in October 1989 last. This visit was quite eventful. On my arrival in Srinagar, I was stranded at my sister’s place at Karfali Mohalla during the three-day curfew as a result of the arrest of Shabir Shah. We couldn’t come out of the house as all the houses of non-Muslims were continuously stoned during nights, and days when the policemen were not in sight. I was very keen to reach my village. The curfew was relaxed for a short period early in the morning, I rushed to the bus stand at Batmaloo to board the first bus for Anantnag. All the passengers seemed to be frightened. It turned out to be another nightmare. The moment the bus reached Batwara, it was attacked with stones by a crowd raising slogans. Many passengers including me were injured by stones and the pieces of broken window panes. The driver demonstrated a lot of courage by speeding up the bus. It was a sudden shock to all of us. Some passengers, especially women and children were crying, others were rubbing their wounds and massaging the injured limbs. Everyone was trying to help another in whatever manner he or she could. The bus with broken glass panes moved on, and was stopped by police about ten kilometers before reaching Anantnag. The situation was very bad over there. This town and other neighbouring small towns were under curfew. I had to walk about 25 kilometers to reach my village avoiding main road and police. This turned out to be my last visit to my village with injuries on face and left arm. I left the village after three days when the situation was somewhat normal.
Though I visited Srinagar several times in last twenty years, I could not venture to visit my village. Perhaps, I am not bold enough to visit the village and to see the destruction of our ancestral property with my own eyes. I cannot, perhaps, face the village elders and acquaintances, whose love and affection I still cherish. I cannot probably face the youngsters who would not understand my ties with my village, my permanent address.
I had a long cherished dream to settle down in my village - my permanent address - after I retire from my service, and do whatever I could to help the people of the village especially the youngsters. Alas! This dream is not fulfilled yet.
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