The Barpali Days

This blog is the Facebook of Barpali which picturise its "life" and "culture". It was a "palli" or a village a century back where the all time great Oriya poet swabhaba kabi Gangadhar Meher had taken birth. Now this bustling little town is renowned world-over for the weaving of Sambalpuri ikat handloom fabrics. Agriculture is its prime economy. And when you happen to visit this little town don't miss to taste Chaul bara.

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Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts

Nov 30, 2017

12:01 AM

Pan Dukan [Betel Shop]



As such I am a vegetarian, milk is the only animal produce that I consume. Neither I am addicted to any sedatives, be it alcohol or tobacco in any form. This afternoon after having a sumptuous meal I had a temptation to chew a pan. I went to the pan dukan or the betel shop at the Tehsil Chowk, but I was turned down by the store keeper saying there is no pan pattar or the betel leafs. I went to the neighbouring two more stores, but to my surprise the outcome was the same. I became sceptical why do at all we call these stores as pan-guda or pan dukan, when they are no more selling any pans. There hanged only rolls of gutkha packets, while the stores are being littered around by small empty pouch of gutkha.


Over the decades the Pan eating culture has been completely corrupted with the advent of the Guthkha industry. Until a decade back I had seen how after handing over a pan the vendor would fold his both hands and do the Juhar or Namaskar to the customer while expressing his gratitude.


I do recall the glorious years of pan eating culture that we had in Odisha. It was the year 1983 then I was a student of 7th Standard in P.R.High School at Balangir. We were residing in Suth Pada. At the Chowk or the intersection of the roads there happen to be a pan dukan. It was owned by Khaira Behera. He might have inherited such unusual name for the vocation that he was engaged in. In Oriya Khaira means catechu. It is the substance that is extracted from the acacia trees. Catechu is applied on surface of pan leaf along with the lime while making a pan. This substance is used to dilute the harm caused by the lime either to the gums, teeth or the tongue. Not only that, his two children were endowed with strange names. His son’s name was Labang which in English called clove, whereas  daughter’s name was Ilaichi that means cardamom. Both these spices are essential ingredients to make pan.

That pan vendor Khaira was a peculiar man. He was a middle age person and inherited the business from his father. His shop was a large rectangle wooden box elevated from ground at around three feet. Next to the store there was a wooden plank fixed to two wooden columns that were rooted on earth. On it there would be placed the daily Oriya Samaja news paper for the customers to read. The wooden plank was basically for the customers to rest when he prepares the pan.

When a customer would order a pan, Khaira would pick two pan leafs from the bunch rolled neatly in a wet cotton cloth. He would deep the leafs in clean water stored in a bucket. Then he would pick the scissor and cut the lower end of the pan leafs. While holding the petiole of the leafs with the fingers of his left hand, he would start applying the lime (chun) and katha (catechu) with the thumb finger of the right hand. While applying these two essential ingredients on the leaf he  would start his talk show. He would ask the familiar question “Janicha ken ?” Whch means, do you know ? And this début question raises a lot of curiosity in the mind of the customer to know what the issue could be. He would talk everything that exists under the sun and about the solar eclipse too. Then Indian television broadcast media was at the nascent stage. There seldom happen to be any talk shows in the Door Darshan. Arnab Goswami the Caesar of India’s television news was yet to set the goal of his life. That pan vender Khaira happen to be the anchor of the gossips. Mostly the issues on which he used to talk  was on test cricket and movies. But the debates used to be louder when the issue was politics during the election campaigns. Apart from all this, he used to talk about the domestic issues of every house of the street, but it was spoken softly while whispering on the ears.  
  

There used to be a good flow of customers to his shop. Few would rush in a cycle. They would park the cycle and come to the stall. The customers would lift the circular tin box in which bhang would be kept. Bhang is prepared by mixing the powder of tobacco leafs along with lime. They would sprinkle this powder in their palm and put it in their mouth. This substance happens to be a freebie, to attract customers to his stall.

Khaira use to maintain a note book, where he would write down the names of those customers who would take the commodities on credit, without paying money. Each page of the notebook carried the names of the debtors. He used to write down the figures of 5p, 10p, 25p and 50paise. But when the aggregate would reach the limit of Rs.10/-, he would stop giving things on credit. From that point his debt recovery drive would start. He was sending his school going son Labanga in a cycle to recover the money. Only if the public sector banks of India would have followed such business ethics of a school dropout like Khaira, than Vijay Mallya the flamboyant Indian businessman could not have swindled Rs.8,191 crores from our banks and fled to London.


Whereas today every corporate is vying to endorse their products through the pan shops, let it be the mobile recharge vouchers, DTH coupons or lottery tickets. Just ask for anything under the sun and they ought to serve you.


NB : This blog doesn’t promote consumption of tobacco in any form let it be its use in pan, guthka, bidi or cigarettes.

E.Kiran Mohan (the writer)
C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)
Tehsil Chowk,
At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029
Dist. Bargarh, Orissa, India
Cell # 918249314972

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Jan 5, 2017

11:34 PM

Ladoo Chor

 [The charming story of how the school kids collects money on the street to conduct a Ganesh Puja. Read to know how the Ladus they collect for the Lord get stolen]

These days the movement of school kids is restricted narrowly within the four corners of their homes. All day long they are addicted to playing games either in the cell phones, tabs, laptops or computers. There is little physical movement of these boys. As a result they turn out to be lazy lumps. Whereas I belong to a generation who grew up virtually while playing on the street mud of Odisha, during 70’s and 80’ of the last Century. When school was over, our only playground was the  street of Suth Para in Balangir.

One evening my friend Chakka(which literally means a Sixer in Cricket) asked me to accompany him to attend a preparatory meeting of Ganesh Puja that was going on at the street club. I refused to go as I wanted to play on the street. But he instigated me saying they would be distributing Singhadas(Samosa) along with the fried green chilies at the end of the meeting. Another friend seconded the opinion of Chakka saying, no harm to bag free snacks because that stuff belongs to Lord Ganesha himself. We might be around five kids who entered the club and set on the floor obediently without gossiping. This etiquette of ours was in sharp contrast to the usual behavior that we were displaying in the class room of the school. This meeting was conducted by the senior fellows most of whom were either school dropouts or college students.


The leader of the club greeted all the attendees in an informal way. Unlike today in those days things were not managed in a professional way.  He told only five days left for the Ganesh Chaturthi celebration. Immediately he said “this year we  shall compete with our neighbour street Radharani Pada. We are building an idol of Lord Ganesha that would be bulkier than theirs, apart from that we shall erect a tent that would be taller than theirs”. All of us rejoiced by clapping to the proposal. Another committee member stood and presented the budget of expenses that would involve for conducting the function. He said it’s an emergency situation. They talked how to raise the funds. Since every committee member is either a college student or an unemployed youth, they have to collect the money from outsource to conduct this celebration. They asked us (the kids of the colony) to give a helping hand while decorating the stage. Jubilantly while raising our hands, we the kids said “Yes we will, we will”. When the meeting was over they distributed to each attendee four Ampro biscuits along with the tea. In those decades for many of my friends even getting biscuits was a luxury since most of them hailed from poor Schedule Caste families. When the meeting was over, happily we dispersed from the club.

Early next evening we the kids gathered at the junction. A puja committee member asked us to take charge of the booty collection point while he wanted to go to the pond for an ablution. He handed over to us a money collection booklet carrying some vouchers.  He asked us to collect Rs.2/- (Rupees Two) from every four wheeler vehicle that enters the town, whereas to forgo the two wheelers, be it the mopeds, scooters or the bikes. He showed where to put the vehicle number, name of the driver and the amount to be collected. He asked Lambu the betel shop owner at the square to keep a watch on us. We took the possession of the booth as if the Indian Army commando guards an outpost at the international border of the country.

For the first time in life we were delegated with such a huge responsibility. We were watching to catch a fish for almost ten minutes or so but no motor vehicles came, as unlike today those days vehicular traffic was scanty as the Indian economy and the society was in the doldrums. Then we spotted a bike coming towards us. We said lets catch at least a small fish, when there are no big victims in the pond. When the bike neared we waved our hands to stop. The rider halted his Royal Enfield Bullet and stood. He was a hefty man and asked “kaen hela bo” which literally means “What happened?”. I said “Ganesh puja Chanda dia” (give the money for Ganesh Puja). He was furious and asked me “Whose son are you?”. I was hesitant to reveal the name of my father as he seemed to be familiar with our town Bolangir. I kept quiet, fearing if he informs at my home I would get a thrash from my father. He asked us, do you know Rugdi Para? Mere mention of this street name of Balangir sent chill in our backbone, because in those days the people of that street were notorious killers. During the broad daylight they were stabbing and lacerating people on the streets. We lowered our heads. He kick started his bike and went towards the town saying in Oriya “ajikar janam chua mane hero banuchan”(todays’s new born kids are becoming heroes).


After a while a blue Mahindra jeep approached we stood on the road side and waved our hands to stop it, but it fled. With an irritation I said “hebo sala bhagla”. My friend Deba said Jeeps mostly belongs to Government Departments and they will not give money. Wearing our half trousers and half sleeve shirts we were sitting on the ground. We gathered the caps of cold drink bottles that were scattered around the pan dukaan. We picked pebbles and hit at these cold drink caps of Thums-up, Limca and Gold Spot while venting out our anger. Then a friend raised the alarm saying “hey there coming a bus”. While waving our hands we tried to stop it. But it too went away. As if monkeys, we were jumping and shouting “hebo sala bhagla, kukur bhagla”. While watching us Tingalu (which literally means a boaster) laughed loudly while pointing his finger towards us. Helplessly we looked towards the pan shop. Tingalu kept the empty cold drink bottle in a wooden crate and fled in his bicycle while taunting us. With a sense of remorse I rested my two hands on either side of my waist and took a long breath. The pan shop owner Lambu Behera raised both his hands. While showing his palms he tried to console us. In a while Lambu called us and asked “Did you learnt how difficult it is to earn money?” He opened the cap of one of the glass jar containing Parle candies. He gave each of us one red toffee of 5 Paisa and said when things do not work try it differently. Out of dejection my friend Marsad kicked a bamboo that was lying near the shop. As it was a cursive bamboo, the tip of the bamboo turned towards the main road. I went ahead and lifted one end of it and asked Marsad to hold the other end. I asked him to follow me. We took the long bamboo and placed it across the road.


 In a while a truck approached the tool booth that we were guarding. When it neared us I asked Marsad to lift the bamboo. The truck lowered its speed and made a halt. I looked towards rest of our gang members who were watching us from the pan dukaan. All of them jubilantly shouted “Oyeeeee” and ran towards us. From the cabin the truck driver asked “ki hua puttar?” (What happen boys). We said common give us money, give us money. Calmly he asked “But for what ?”. We said Ganesh Puja chanda. He said “I travel across  India, should I keep on giving money every village and town that I enter? He was adamant. A friend told me “This driver seems to be a Muslim. Their God is different than ours; hence he will not give money”. Instantly the driver opened the door and jumped from a height of around five feet. He was a tall man near about six feet and well built. We all the kids stepped backward. While embracing his moustache he said “I am a Sikh and very much an Hindu, tell me what you boys were saying”. While stammering I said “Cha…..Cha…..Chanda”. He asked “Yeh tumhara Baap ka rasta hey kya (Does this road belong to your father?” Marsad gathered the courage to say “We don’t know who built this road. But this is our road as it passed through our home”. The other friend seconded saying, “This stretch of road is ours as we grow while playing every evening on this street”. While listening to our answers instantly the anger of the driver evaporated. While folding the long sleeves of his Kurta (loose shirt) he said “I travelled extensively in the Chambal Ghat, but neither Phulan Devi nor her gang of dacoits ever dare to hedge my vehicle and whereas you boys did it”.

He asked “Ok tell me boys why at all you do Ganesh Puja” ? With an enthusiasm we said if we pray Lord Ganesha then we will pass the exams at one go without failing. With a sense of amusement of a true Sardar he said “abe gadhoon(you donkeys) if you want to pass exams than sit at home and study text books instead of collecting money on the street”. He looked towards the cabin of the truck and shouted “Oye Chote !”. From the left window of the truck his assistant a young boy with a bun of hair on his head peeped out saying “Ji Malik”. The driver said “piche ja, ek gola phek” (go to the back and throw a bomb). We were fear stricken, because with the assassination of Late Prime Minister of India Indira Gandhi, nationwide Sardars gathered ill repute. Very diligently in a fraction of a minute his assistant climbed to the back of the truck. From there he said “catch it Sir”. He threw a brown object. The driver caught the circular object and handed over to us saying “Tell your Ganesha this coconut has been gifted by Tony Singh”. We were relieved from the anguish that gripped us for a while due to scare of a bomb.



One of my friend Deba said “But our Lord Ganesha does not eat coconut. He likes only Laddus”. The driver asked “Laddu ? ahha! Where I could get the Laddus” ? We pointed our fingers towards a sweet stall across the road. He asked us to follow him. We all walked behind him jubilantly. We reached Puran Petu Sweet Stall. Trays of different sweets were displayed in a rack. At the center yellow laddus were displayed on a tray, layer by layer. On looking at them our mouth started watering. Tony Singh asked the shop keeper to pack half a kilogram of Laddus. Then he asked the sweet stall owner to distribute one Laddu to each of us. Smile transcended in our faces. All of us were given one Laddu each. We gulped our share of Laddus with greed. The driver paid cash to Puran Petu, the sweet stall owner. Tony collected laddus packed in a news paper bag. We followed him till the truck to bid the adieu. On reaching near the truck the driver handed over us the packet of Laddus and said these are for your lord Ganesha. He asked us to write a ticket for Rs.2/-. We felt ashamed. We said its OK, now you can go. But he was adamant. He forced us to accept Rs.2/- and collected a ticket in exchange of it.

We told Tony Singh we are the savior of this street and to inform us in case he ever face any trouble while travelling on this route. He stepped inside the bonnet and started the engine. He waved his hand and left. We carried the packet of Laddus and cheerfully went to our akhada (club). We delivered the packet of sweets to a member of the Puja Committee. With disbelieve, he opened the paper bag to check if at all we are speaking the truth. But his eyes sparkled when he saw the yellow laddus inside it. He counted 24 of those Laddus and said to keep the packet intact in the wooden rack. He said Ganesh Chaturthi is four more days to go and to be vigil, so as no one should steal even a single piece of it. Those days in India refrigerators were not commercially viable, so none of our homes used to have a fridge to store eatables.

Next evening after collecting money at the booth we went to the club and submitted around INR 12 to the cashier in charge. Out of curiosity we went to check the cupboard. The packet was there, but its paper was torn. The bundi (fragments) of the Laddus were strewn around. When we counted there were only 21 Laddus left, instead of 24. We looked at each other faces to know where rest of the three Laddus has gone and who the culprit was? We reported this serious matter to Karta, the head of the puja committee. Karta gave his final verdict. He said, whosoever the culprit if won’t confess, than he will fail in the upcoming Half Yearly Exams. He uttered the names of each boy and asked who has stolen them? But we kept quiet. On questioning Khoj he kept on gazing towards the rack instead of answering. The Karta asked to Khoj, “Was the culprit you? Because while answering you are looking towards the rack instead of making an eye contact”. Khoj said look at the hole on the paper bag. Why at all we will tear the paper bag, instead of opening it with our fingers to steal the Laddus. It might be a mischief of a rat. Karta said, it’s a point to be pondered. He reached to the conclusion saying rat is a pet of Lord Ganesha and its OK if the Laddus were ransacked by any rodent.

And we were virtually waiting for the results of half yearly exams. Fortunately none of us failed. I too passed the exams by securing a wholesome 36 (thirty-six) percent of marks in aggregate.

Cell +918249314972
E.Kiran Mohan(The Writer)
C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)
Tehsil Chowk,
At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029
Dist. Bargarh, Orissa, India

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Jul 12, 2016

8:37 PM

The Art of Fart


I recall an event of my school days during the ‘80s of the last Century. Then I was a student of Class 8th of the historic Prithiraj High School of Balangir. We had our Christmas holidays. On 2nd January our school reopened. Outside the school campus my batch mate Tingalu Bagarti spotted me. He was the notorious boy of our class. I use to be associated with him so as at the time of need he will safeguard me from the senior students of the school. I expressed my anguish to him, that I have not done my home work of the mathematics. He said “Just fart, when you can’t solve your math”. I was clueless on whatever he said. I wanted to know what does he mean, but he laughed loudly and ran towards the school gate.

The first class of the day was mathematics. The teacher entered the class room and took the attendance. Now I started shivering. In life I was never a topper in the class. I used to be a mediocre student, but was always obedient. I was occupying the front row of seats. The teacher made the students stand one after another and asked to show the notebooks. When my turn came I was shivering. I stood, bow down my head and told, haven’t done with the home work. He raised his stick and pointed its tip towards me and asked to stand on the bench holding both the ears with hands. By the time I took the elevated position as directed by my class teacher Taklu Sir, I sensed a bad smell. The teacher shouted, who the hell it is and if not attended the toilet since the day school was closed.

I recalled the brief conversation that I had with Tingalu just before entering the school. I looked towards Tingalu seating on the parallel bench. He smiled and looked towards the teacher as if an obedient student. Taklu Sir scratched his bare head with the fingers and asked me to seat and went to the corridor to take a fresh breath. When the class was over I expressed my gratitude to Tingalu. He said in the morning he had taken basi pakhal with raw onion. He asked if I have done the homework of science subject. I asked, but why ? He said in the lunch hour he would go home and will equip his stomach even with a more powerful punch i.e. Basi Pakhal with muli, the radish.

Whatever the food or drink we consume would come out of the body in one or the other form. The solid substance comes out as excreta, while the liquid portion comes out either as urine or the sweat. On the other hand the gaseous form is emitted as flatulent.  Fart occur when the gas that was generated in the intestines get discharged through the anus. In India the act of farting is considered as a taboo in the civic society. If somebody farts with a noise then people around looks at him with an annoyed face. So it tempts people to fart without letting others know it. But certainly people get alert if the fart emits bad odour.

Note : The pupil shown on the image are different from the characters narrated in this post. At places fictional names has been used to safeguard the dignity of the persons.

WhatApp# +918249314972
E.Kiran Mohan(The Writer)
C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)
Tehsil Chowk,
At/PO. BARPALI – 768029
Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India

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Jun 16, 2016

2:06 PM

Mango mania

[The charming story of school kids invading a mango grove to steal the raw mangoes]

It was the year 1983 and then I was a student of Class 7th of the historic Prithiviraj High School of Balangir, Odisha. Though I used to be a below average student in studies, but was always loyal and obedient either to the teachers at school or the parents at home. It was the month of April and the summer holidays has just begin. Unlike the present generation of kids, during the 80’s of the last Century we did not had many options to play games. There were no video games, cell phones, tabs, computers or lap tops to play electronic games. We had to resort to play outdoor games only, that involve physical movements. But we the kids did not used to have much sports equipments be it either a football, cricket bat or badminton racket to play, since most of my friends were from the poor families. Our parents were keeping a strict vigil on our movements as during the noon hours of April and May in Western Odisha the temperature surpass 45 (°C) degree Celsius. They did not wanted us to be victims of summer heat stroke.

We were a gang of around eight friends who were always playing together. One of my close compatriots whom I calls as Marsad proposed to invade the mango grove that exist on the Sonepur road. We planned to raid the grove at noon hours when our mothers would go to sleep after partaking lunch. Out of the eight only four of us had cycles. I agreed to take a friend along in my bicycle with the condition, he has to pedal the cycle while I will seat on the front beam. On the state high way we raid our bicycles. The road was empty because of the summer heat. In those years vehicular traffic was scanty, because people did not used to have personal vehicles. My Marsad instructed us to park the cycles behind a bush and to walk final lap silently without causing any noise. And we just followed his instructions cautiously. Finally we reached our destination.

It looked something like a forest. There were as many as twelve to fifteen trees bearing raw mangos. We were about to invade the mangrove as if dacoits, but our gang leader Marsad halted us. He raised his hands and asked us to seat on the ground. We followed his instructions obediently. He said there is an old watchman who is guarding this mango garden. If he catches any of you, than he will rupture your bones into pieces with the thenga (thick stick) that he carries. He choosed three out of us to lead the mission. He said Mankad, Hanu and himself will climb to the top of the trees to pluck the mangoes. While Deba, Luku and myself will stand at the bottom of each tree to gather the fruits. And the rest two will be vigilant on the outskirt. And these two boys have been entrusted with the most important job. When they notice the watchman coming they will raise the alarm to the tune of a cuckoo bird saying “koooo……..koooo……..koooo”.

I followed Hanu to the garden. He choose a massive tree and halted before it. He removed his sleepers and touched the trunk of the tree and folded his both hands while closing his eyes. With his head he touched the tree. He paid his obeisance to the tree so as he should not fall accidentally from the top. Then he looked towards me. I raised my both hands to say be careful. With articulate movements of his limbs in half a minute he climbed the tree. While standing on the tree he located the branches of the tree that carry fruits. He went to one edge and plucked a few raw mangoes and started filling his knicker pockets. Then I spotted him biting a mango and eating it. I lost my temper. I raised my voice saying “kshhh…..kshhh……….”. Hanu looked towards me. With my hands I instructed him to throw one mango. Instantly he threw one raw mango. With much pleasure I picked the mango, but was disappointed to find it was bitten by Hanu. In a vulgar language I said “sala mankad (monkey) you are giving me a bitten fruit”. I asked him to get down so as I would climb the tree. But he laughed saying, one who sleep on the lap of luxury of an air cooler at night can never climb a mango tree during the day. I threw the raw mango back at him. But it missed its target and fell back on the ground. Hanu laughed at me. I was getting impatient. He dropped yet another mango. I was reluctant to lift the second mango, but he said it’s a good one. I believed on the voice with which he said and went to lift it. It was comparatively a bigger green mango. From the pocket of my knicker I took out the salt rolled in a news paper piece that I carried from home. While dripping in the salt I eat that mango. It was so sour in taste. I shouted back at Hanu. He said the most sour raw mango turn out to be the sweetest when ripen. I asked, does that mean I have to wait in this humid weather until the mangoes ripe. He said,  go to the grocery store and buy “aam papdi”. 

While I was relishing the raw mango Hanu screamed from the tree. I thought it to be yet another prank of this notorious kid. I asked him not to raise the voice, the watchman would come and catch us. But when I looked upward Hanu was moving further towards the edge of the branch while shivering and stammering. I noticed a monkey was approaching him. I shouted from the ground, “a mankad ja bhag, a mankad ja bhag” (hey monkey you get lost). But it kept moving forward.  Hurriedly I picked a rock from the ground and threw towards the monkey, but it missed it’s target. It was non of the fault of the monkey, rather we invaded his territory. While shivering and moving backward the leg of Hanu skidded from the branch of the tree and he crash landed on the ground from a height of around 15 feets. I rushed to the spot to lift him. He was crying while saying “a Maa go, a Maa go” (Oh mother ! Oh mother). Other friends also gathered. Hanu was crying insistently while checking his left hand. We made him seat on the cycle and returned to our street. First we went to drop Hanu at his home and we all returned to our respective homes.

At late evening when I went to street to play, I found Hanu was walking bare body while his hand was striped in a white bandage. I went to ask his wellbeing. His younger brother said Hanu’s left hand has been fractured, because he fell while riding the cycle. I looked towards Hanu with concern and he smiled back at me. I asked him in which grocery store I can buy the aam papdi ?  He said buying a pack of aam papdi with the stolen money is easier than stealing mangoes from a garden.

WhatsApp# +918249314972
C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)
Tehsil Chowk,
At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029
Dist. Bargarh, Orissa, India

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Feb 5, 2016

10:22 PM

My tryst with a barber of Barpali


Apart from the career and the money that he earns, a man is identified either for the muscles that he builds or for the moustache that he grows. Incidentally I am not an achiever on any of these four aspects of the life. When I was in Class 12th moustache started cropping on either side below my nose. Often while studying in the classroom or at home, my fingers would cuddle the moustache unconsciously. While standing before the mirror and dressing the hair, I used to measure the length of my moustache by counting the teeth of the comb.

Entire life I never attended any co-educational school. So on entering DAV College at Titilagarh (Odisha) I had the urge to have a girl friend. But unfortunately there was only one girl student in the entire Commerce faculty, since this was not a preferred subject for the girls during the 80’s of the last Century. I had a batch mate in the college by the name Santosh Sahu. Though he was of short stature, yet he possessed a dense moustache. He was active in all the college activities, whereas I was shy by nature. He said, “Kiran if you want to impress any girl of the art stream thanyou need to have an impressive moustache”.

As per his suggestion once or twice I remember even applying hair oil skin-deep on the follicles of the moustache to make it dense and long, but to no avail. Likewise the well groomed moustache of Laxmi Narayan Hota the reporter of Sambad at Sambalpur makes me feel envy.


At the age of 25 or 26 I was someone who was very much conscious about the outer looks of self. But with the passing age the charm has faded. Now at the age of 44, I am least alert either about the dress that I ware or the way I dress my hair.
I know many men for whom shaving is a daily course of action. As a ritual they religiously spend around 15 minutes to half an hour every morning for the upkeepment of their hair loom. For them moustache is a sign of masculinity. But I am very much averse to all these activities. My tryst with the shaving started with the use of single blade razors during the late 80’s. Many a time I injured myself while shaving. But during the mid 90’s things got convenient with  the advent of 7’0 Clock twin blades. With the purchase of these expensive twin blades though I got relief from the injuries to my throat or the cheeks, but my wallet started bleeding.

There are a set of vocations to which you are incarcerated. For example the services of a lawyer, a doctor, an insurance agent, a housemaid or be it your barber are highly indispensable. You just can’t change these persons whom you have hired at your own will. It is not just for the valuable services that they render, but for the reason, they posses certain sensitive information about you and your family, which if spilled would adversely damage your dignity in the society.

My father by profession is a paediatrician. He is someone who talk scantily even with the family members. He is a man born with just a few words. By nature he is very strict and highly discipline. Even the attendee of the patients fear to ask him any questions about the diagnosis. He seldom speaks anything even with my mother, except asking either for a cup of tea or to serve the breakfast, lunch or dinner. But this regulation is not imposed on a barber of Barpali who is attending him for the past 26 years (ever since 1991) uninterruptedly. While applying the shaving crème on the cheeks and creating the foam he would start the weekly news bulletin with his familiar question “Jaincha ken ? ” Whch means, do you know ? And this début question raises a lot of curiosity in the mind to know what the issue is. While shaving the beard or cutting the hair of my father, he would talk everything that exist under the sun and about the solar eclipse too. He in fact is a living encyclopaedia of Barpali. As a reward he keeps on gathering lot of commodities, be it the physician samples, new year calendars, used wardrobes, even guavas, bananas or the berries of our garden. I depend solely upon this barber to size my moustache, since till date I have not learnt how to trim it. This man is highly unhygienic. While shaving he would bring his nostril so close to my face, that I could sense his breathing. Once I even lost the height of tolerance when he belched loudly on my face.

Two years back my Dad gifted me a battery operated Philips shaving machine. But I kept it unused in the cupboard for long three months, since I am someone who is averse to the use of new age gadgets. He warned me to return, so as he could gift it to a cousin brother of mine. Immediately I went to the grocery shop and purchased a set of two Everready pencil batteries to operate it. With the use of this machine life became simpler.

One day Esha my daughter spotted a few strings of grey hair near my ears and clapped while saying “Hey hey hey ; mor Nana Buddha heigala ; ha ha ha; mor Nana Buddha heigala” (Hey hey hey; my father became an old man; ha ha ha; my Father became an old man). With a sense of dismay I went to check the mirror, but consoled myself thinking so what if my hair is greying. It is greying since I left with hair on the head. Thank God at least my situation is better than my friend Sushil Mittal. He is an IES (Indian Engineering Services) qualified professional and works as a top notch General Manager (Engineer) of  Bharat Broadband Network Ltd (BBNL). He avails the best perquisites ever given by Govt. of India, be it the accommodation and vehicle. And on retirement he will be entitled for a lifetime pension. But the irony is that he turned bald by the age he turned 40. 

 I am naive to any activities that is related to shaving. Incidentally the only aspect of it to which I am addicted is inhalation of after shave lotion.

 PS : Barpalidays would like to express thanks to artist Saroj Rout for clicking the cover photo 
kiranbima@gmail.com
Cell# +918249314972
E. KIRAN MOHAN(The writer)
C\o. Dr.E.R.Rao (M.D),
Tehsil Chowk,
At\PO: BARPALI – 768029,
Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India.

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Apr 22, 2015

1:04 PM

Hoo Chook Chook



[The charming story of a three year old kids's enthusiasm to travel in a train]

My three years old daughter Esha could be the most mischievous kid on this earth. She makes everyone breathless at home with her constant pranks and nagging. Roughly it takes one hour on the part of Esha’s mother to feed her the routine meal. While feeding the rice and daal her mother makes her ride the bicycle in the lawn. She   narrates different jungle stories to feed every morsel of grain to Esha. But Esha’s favorite set of stories are that of trains. She is fascinated by the gigantic diesel locomotives that pulls the long set of compartments. It is almost three decades ever since the steam engines has been phased out from the tracks by the Indian Railways, but even as on this date in common parlance a train is referred to as “hoo chook chook” by the grand-parents while narrating the stories of trains to the grand-children.

Esha firmly believe these trains belong to her Hari Mawa (maternal uncle). Because it is Hari who do come from Raipur to pick Esha and her mother to take to her maternal grand-parents home. On return once again it is Hari who drops them back at Barpali in a train. Esha happen to travel in trains in the dead of the night, because Puri-Durg Express pass through Barpali at around 2.10AM. As a consequence Esha never able to enjoy travelling in a train. In the last two years, twice we made long distance journey in trains. The first one was to Goa and the second one was to Darjeeling. Since both the occasions were in summer I made the tickets reserved in the two-tier (second class) air-conditioned berth cars. One way it takes around 36 hours to travel to these distant places in a train from Odisha. But Esha unable  to enjoy the journey since the AC compartments are the insulated one. She unable to see the world outside the train compartment. She had to spend long two days inside the compartment, as if a kid spends her time in a class-room while obeying to strict discipline that is being imposed in a school.

Before the onset of this summer we had our trip to New Delhi. It was the maiden trip of Esha and her mother to the home of my younger brother Karun who lives at New Delhi. We traveled in a non-A/C three tier sleeper class compartment. We boarded the Samta Express at Titilagarh railway station around noon hours. Weather was pleasant. In sharp contrast to her usual temperament, Esha was jubilant for the reason she would travel in a train. Prior to catching this train, many nights she shared with me her wild imaginations about trains.

As we alighted from one train at Titilagarh for boarding Samta Express Esha picked my wheel-laden suitcase and pulled it on the platform. I was relieved thinking Esha is now grown-up and could take her own responsibility in life. Every by-stander on the platform looked with amusement as she was pulling a suitcase which might be weighing more than her body weight. While following us one college girl even took a running video of Esha as if a paparazzi with her smart digital phone. Her video might have gone viral in the Whatsapp and Facebook by the commuters. They might have thought, how cruel as the parents of this little girl don’t even hire a porter to lift the luggage.

At noon hour we boarded the Samta Express at Titilagarh without much inconvenience. As I was arranging our luggage beneath the two berths that has been reserved for us, Esha settled herself near the window and told me “Nana eta mor jaga, mui ene basmi” (Its my place and I seat over here). From the window she was gazing at the goods train embarked on the other track. All of a sudden she clapped  saying “amar train chala, train chala” (Our train is moving, its moving). I patted on her shoulder. Even without looking at me she pushed aside my hand with irritation, as that disturb the pin-pointed attention with which she was looking at the other train.  While holding her chin with my right hand I turned her head  towards the platform on the other side. Then she realized it is not ours, but the other train which is moving. She was baffled saying “haaain….”.

Soon our train left the platform. While keeping alive my personal belief, I turned my body posture towards the direction the train was heading. I folded my hands and prayed to my lord to make the journey safe and fruitful.

As the train galloped at an higher speed there came a spree of hawkers. The first one was a tea vendor. While shouting “Chai…..chai…..chai….” he keep on walking ahead even without looking at the commuters. I called him saying “Oye…Chai…chai..”. But he did not hear me. The second hawker was carrying a bucket full of mineral waters. But as he saw a kid of three years old, out of the bucket he pulled out an orange drink bottle to instigate Esha. Moving my eyes I told the vendor to walk ahead. The third one was a news paper vendor. He did not care to stop because he knew this girl can’t read any news papers. The fourth one was an ice-crème vendor. When he saw Esha he stood and loudly said ice crème,  ice crème. Esha looked towards me and pointed her finger towards the ice crème. I had to obey. 

[Kendu fruits]
After a while an old tribal lady came holding a bamboo basket. She had lot many tattoos all over her hands and  legs. She was vending a kind of forest fruit called Kendu in Oriya. They looks like chikoo, but small in size. I wanted to buy them, but Esha denied as she never tasted this kind of forest fruits. She is one of the species out of the new genre who are being curtailed from the roots of the mother nature. I asked the lady to give just one fruit, to which the lady obeyed delightfully. I removed the big seeds it carry inside it and gave the skin-thick little pulp  to Esha to taste. Esha raised her eye-brows and asked the lady forwarding her little hand “aru de” (give more). 


As the train galloped at a higher pace Esha asked her mother “Maam maam banai de”. Her mother prepared the milk bottle for her. While holding it, she caught a sleep on my lap. After two hours our train entered Chattisgarh. Than a boy entered our compartment holding a chain laced monkey. He was collecting money from the passengers. When Esha’s mother embraced its head, the monkey jumped to her lap and set. There was a commotion and Esha waked. Esha wandered who this on her mother’s bosom. She felt unsecured as her space has been occupied by someone else. She shouted “tui ja bhaag, eta mor Ma, mor Ma” (You get lost, Its my mother, my mother). I gave Rs.10/- to that boy and asked to disembark from the train on the very next halt, to which he obeyed. 


At Mahasamund a TT (Train Ticket Collector) came wearing a black coat to inspect our tickets. He occupied the seat # 41. Esha was hesitant to look at the TT wearing an un-friendly black coat. She shouted it’s my seat, you go…. you go…. But the TT smiled at her and asked, “If it is your seat, than show me your ticket”. She told in the school bag she kept lot many tickets of varied sizes. The TT asked, Whose kid is this ? I handed over our ticket and the ID proof to the TT. He verified the ticket and left saying to Esha “Listen girl I could allow you to travel without ticket for another two years, until you turn five years”.

At evening our train reached Raipur. Esha’s grandparents and her Hari Mawa came to station to meet us. Her Hari Mawa gifted her two plastic jars of chocolates. Her trip was fruitful even before reaching the destination. At night on finishing dinner, as a habit she told me lets go up stair and sleep. I asked her, do you think it’s our home at Barpali. But Esha’s pointed her finger towards the upper berth. She wanted to occupy the upper berth so as she can play over there. But I said, “No. It is not safe for youngsters to be there”. She was adamant. While sobbing she caught the sleep.

It might be 12 past midnight I woke-up to go to the loo. I found Esha was seating near the feet of her mother, while her mother was sleeping. I asked Esha, “What is the matter, why don’t you sleep ?”. She said “Shhh……. Am guarding that airbag”. I asked, why ? She said, her   teddy bear is in it, “thief will come and take away”. I comforted her saying, “even the thief went to sleep, it is only you who is awake”. I patted on her back until  she caught the sleep.  

While at home she need to be awake every morning for going to school. But in the train she wake-up herself early next morning, just to play around. Since this train don’t have a pantry-car at Mathura station I got down to buy two plates of lunch. The man on the counter delayed to dispense the change. The train started moving. Esha was watching me from the window. She started shouting “Nana jaldi asa train jauche, train jauche” (Father come fast, the train is moving, its moving). I ran holding two disposable plates carrying food in it. I able to safely enter the compartment. By the time I went to our seat Esha was loudly sobbing “mor Nana rahigala, Nana rahigala” (my father left, my father left), while her mother and the co-passengers were trying to console her. Never before I had seen her either crying or searching for me.

At evening our train reached Nizamudhin Railway Station of New Delhi. Esha’s Karun Chachu came to receive us. We disembarked from the train. Like the rest of the passengers I pulled the luggage, but Esha carried home the rich experience that she gathered from this Ohh Chuck Chuck journey. For next couple of days, she keep on narrating about this train journey to her cousin brothers Jay and Om while at New Delhi.

WhatsApp# +918249314972
kiranbima@gmail.com

E.KIRAN MOHAN(The writter)
 C\o. Dr.E.R.Rao (M.D),
 Tehsil Chowk,
 At\PO – BARPALI – 768 029,
Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India.  
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