Story of a Stolen Pen

 

 

I have weakness for two things: books and pens; and this weakness has been with me since my school days. My school was located around sixty kilometers from the nearest town. I would come to the town when I had some money with me, just to buy a few books. In the college and university days, I had, sometimes, skipped my afternoon tiffin for books.

My favourite place to spend my time has been always a book stall. While travelling, I love to visit the book shops in the bus stand or railway station or in the airport. I have purchased many books from these shops and I while away my time with a book while travelling. I buy books almost every month. I may buy three books at a time, might have read two and I would buy another three books. The unread books get piled up. When I retired from government service, I politely declined an offer for extension of my job by the government for two more years, inter alia, to read the unread books.

In my impressionable age, I had dreams of a house with a library. Of course, I have a library in the house; I spend most of the times here.

The other weakness has been pens. I buy different pens, of course, within my affordable limit. I cannot buy costly pens like the PM is rumoured to be using. When I was in class X (1974), I came across a made in China wing-sung pen in the nearest market to my village. The pen then cost Rs. 12/. Twelve rupees was not a small amount then. I would like to give an example to measure the value of Rs.12 in 1974-75: in the hostel of Bhadrak college where I was studying intermediate science in 1975-77, the mess charge was Rs. 60 per month, i.e. for minimum sixty meals. That means, the cost of the pen was equivalent to twelve meals. I was in proud possession of a wing-sung pen. Now while surfing Amazon I chanced upon wing-sung pens; the cost is Rs. 900 for three pens.

                                                        (Wing-sung pens)

One of my friends had presented me a pilot pen of Japan make. It was a lovely pen; black body with golden cap. She got it from her uncle who was working in a ship and travelling foreign countries. Of course, it was understood, she got the pen to present me without the knowledge of her uncle. I lovingly kept the pen, did not use. The pen was in my suitcase under lock and key.

I was staying in West Hostel of Bhadrak College and sharing the room with four students. Of the four, three were my seniors and was my batch mate. He was in the first-year, commerce. Let’s call him Bipra. His classes were in the morning, but ours were in the day. We went to class after ten in the morning. His classes ended by eleven. He was alone in our room the whole day. He had contrived to get the duplicate keys of all of our suitcases.  He was stealing articles and money when we were in the college.

One day he was caught. He admitted stealing. He wrote an undertaking not to steal in future, and promised to return whatever he had stolen from us. He returned the articles and money he had stolen, to others. But he did not return me the pilot pen. He told he would return me later. He told the pen was in his village; he would bring the pen next time he went to his village.

One day he said, “They are our seniors, but you are my friend. Will you be angry, if I tell you something?”

“Ok, tell,” I said.

“I can’t return you the pen.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You are getting angry. You see, your pen was stolen, you never expected to get it back. It’s a different matter you caught me staling and I admitted…”

“So what?”

“In fact, I have presented that pen to my girlfriend. Please try to understand. Can I tell her I have presented the pen that I had stolen from a friend, and ask her to give me back?”

He had a point. I heaved a sigh and had to forget the pen.

Bipra was a kleptomaniac. He started stealing again and was caught stealing. He was expelled from the hostel. I lost the pen and also my kleptomaniac lover friend.

I was surfing Amazon and I came across a similar pilot pen. The cost of the pen now is rupees four thousand plus.

*****

 

 

Morning Walkers

 

(In the park after walk)

 

“Few people know how to take a walk. The qualifications are endurance, plain clothes, old shoes, an eye for nature, good humour, vast curiosity, good speech, good silence and nothing too much.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

I started morning walk religiously after I was diagnosed with diabetes in 2009. I had unitary tract infection (UTI) and was running with high fever. The fever did not remit after taking medicines.  The doctor advised me to go for urine culture and various tests including blood sugar test. My blood sugar level was detected high. He prescribed medicines for UTI after he examined the urine culture report and also medicine for diabetes. I took medicines for UTI, but waited for taking medicines for diabetes.

My doctor friend, writer Dr. Sriprasad Mohanty, was, at that time, working in MKCG medical college and hospital in Berhampur. I rang him up. He advised me to wait till he came to Cuttack at the week end. He examined my test-reports, told me not to take medicine for high sugar level in blood; instead, he advised to regulate my food habits, avoid sweets and starchy foods, and go for morning walk every day, at least, for forty or forty-five minutes a day. After two months of following his advice and restrictions on food, he told me to test blood. His reasoning; if I took medicines and also followed the instructions on food and walk, the effect of the latter we could not know. I followed his instructions and after two months I got tested my blood sugar. It was normal. I continued with morning walk and tested my blood sugar, at least, once in six months. My sugar level was remaining normal.

I did not take medicines till 2014. After that, I had to take medicines since blood sugar level could not be controlled with regulated food habit and morning walk only. Stress and work pressure in the office told on my body and mind.

                                             (Morning walker at a breakfast meet)

Morning walk became for me a habit and later, an addiction. If for some reason, I did not go for a walk in the morning I felt uneasy the whole day. If I had been on tour or travel to other places, I would find time to go for morning walk. Before I came to stay in Bhubanswar, I was in Cuttack. I would wake up early, finish my morning ablution and start for walk by six in the morning. I would cover the Jobra anicut which is a few metres less than two kilometres.

                                            ( After walk, at a tea stall, Cuttack)

In Kalinganagar, Bhubaneswar where I am a resident, I go for walk every day to the Abdul Kalam Park, also known as Baga (crane) park every day.

Most of the morning walkers form into groups. They walk together, discussing and chitchatting, and also sit for a few minutes after the walk. Sometimes, they relax or add to pleasure, by taking tea at the stall behind the park; physical exercise as well as unwinding, if one has any kind of worry.

Our morning walk group consists of engineer, academician, geologist, administrators, bankers and police officers. Of course, all have retired. We are having ample time. Sometimes, we organize picnic. Someone or other of our group host breakfast or evening tea. What calory we loss in the walk, perhaps, we replenish in breakfast or evening tea.

                                          ( morning walker in an evening Khatti)

The topic of discussion in the group depends upon the contemporary events; maybe literature, general election, Russia-Ukraine or Israel- Hamas wars, inflation, love of the young people without fear or live-in relations, corruption in government works and of the political parties, colony politics, in other words, anything on earth. Since the members have come from different background and having varied experience, they contribute to the discussion and make it lively.

The walkers return happy after the walk and wait for the next morning to join the group and walk.

*****

                

Why I Write

 

 

A writer often faces this question; why he writes, by an editor of a magazine or in a panel discussion by the moderator in a literary meet, or even he also sometimes asks this question to himself. The question compels the writer to introspect. Recently, an editor of the Sunday literary page of a newspaper asked me this question.

I used to write stories or poems when I was in school or college; those were published in hostel or college magazines or in regional magazines having little circulation. Then, I was pleased to see my name in print only.  Later, I started writing seriously; writing became part of my life. I continued to write, and if a few days passed without I being able to write something, I felt uncomfortable; even I often fell ill. Now when someone ask, why I write or when I ask this question to myself, I think, I have, perhaps, something to say; and I express what I want to say in writing. I want to share with others my points, I want to incite readers’ feelings, stir their minds. 

I was born in 1959, twelve years after India attained independence, and brought up in a poor surrounding. My teachers in the school were all born before independence. They were directly or indirectly influenced by the ideals of freedom struggle. They had some kind of idealism, imbibed during their childhood, school or college days, and I believe, their idealism had some impact on the students like me.

Influenced by a teacher with leftist leanings, I worked for a leftist party even when I was in the school. I participated actively in the elections held in 1974, and campaigned for a CPI candidate. I wandered in the villages, mingled with common people; the farmers or daily wagers, and persons in penury. I witnessed inequity and injustice that existed in the society. I felt one among them, developed a kind of rebelling attitude. The rebelling attitude, I believe, is still with me, and I cannot accept all that was there in society and I think, that non-conforming streak in me is reflected in my stories and novels.

                                   (Published in an Odia daily, SAKAALA)

In the socio-economic conditions I grew up, I could not think of anything except going for a government job. It may appear childish or irrational now that, then I had a dream; I could influence opinion of the people by my writings, and contribute to bringing in a social revolution. I would do my job and at the same time, I would write, not stories and novels, but serious essays and features in the journals and newspapers, and mould public opinion.

After I joined government service, I learnt, an employee could not write anything critical of government policy. One senior officer of the organization I was working in, told, even if you wrote articles not critical of the government, sometimes anti-establishment views would creep in unconsciously and land you in trouble. Your senior officer, out of jealousy, might nurture a grudge and create problems for you, even for an innocuous piece.

I was disappointed. The job I was supposed to do was not to my liking; that was not giving me self-satisfaction. I was dissatisfied, anger simmering within. One day, my wife and children had been to my village; I was alone in my room. I wrote a story and the next day, I sent to a magazine. The story received readers’ appreciation; I received a good number of letters of praise. I continued to write.

I have received appreciation from the reading public; and also, the officers and employees of the organization I worked for have condemned me. Both appreciation and condemnation amused and have inspired me to continue with my writing.

*****

Tulip Garden, Lal Chowk and Elections

 

Black clouds covered the sky over Srinagar when we landed in Sheikh UL International Airport. It seemed there would be downpour of rain any moment. We rushed to the Tulip Garden. The Garden opened for public view during March-April, almost for a month. The Garden, at this time of the year, was the main attraction for the tourists.

I had seen tulips in the cinemas only. I remembered the song ‘dekha ek khwab to silsile hue, dur ek nigaho mein he gul khile hue’ of the Amitabh-Rekha starrer movie ‘Silsila’, picturized in a tulip garden. It started drizzling when we entered into the garden, and after a few minutes the rain poured. We bought an umbrella and wandered in the garden with the umbrella over our heads.

The next place we were to visit was Lal Chowk. This was a historical and much talked about place in Srinagar. Influenced by the Russian revolution, the leftist leaders fighting against the rule of Raja Hari Singh had named the quadrangle, Lal Chowk. Jawaharlal Nehru unfurled national flag here in 1948, Sheikh Abdulla stood by his side. All the parties, including the separatist leaders, held their political meetings here. Clock tower was set up in the Chowk in 1980.

This was my third visit. First time, I went to Srinigar to attend the GST law drafting committee meeting. PM Narendra Modi was scheduled to visit at this time. The Hurriyat Conference had called for a bandh in protest against the PM’s visit. Curfew was imposed; we were hardly allowed to come out of the hotel. Second time, I had been to attend GST Council meeting held in Srinagar in 2017. The meeting ended before lunch on Friday. I wanted to visit Lal Chowk in the afternoon. The liaison officer, security officer (Every delegate was provided with a security officer) and the driver of the car discussed in Kashmiri language. I could sense from the tone of their discussion, they were reluctant. I said, “If there will be any problem by going there, we shouldn’t.” The liaison officer said, “Sir, today is Friday. There will be speeches after the Namaz and the people may cause trouble after they come out of the mosque.” We did not go to Lal Chowk; instead, I went to see and buy, if I liked, Kashmir hand loom and handicraft goods. The next day, in the morning newspapers, I read there were demonstrations and stone pelting after Namaz in Lal Chowk.

The rain continued. The day before the day we left for Srinagar, the temperature in Bhubaneswar was above 43 degrees Celsius; the temperature in Srinagar was 13. Cold wind along with the rain shivered the body. I had not put on sufficient winter dress to beat the cold; we returned to the hotel. The next day we went to Gulmarg.

We went to Gulmarg, Pahelgam and Sonemarg. We were six families comprising twelve persons in our group. Of the six, two families had wide experience in travelling. Besides important places in India, they had visited Singapore, Dubai, Bali and Europe. In the fourteen-seater bus we were travelling, they dominated the discussion. Their main topics for discussion were on two; food at different places and eulogy for the PM. The rest were in agreement with the second subject. That, only because of Prime Minister Modi, Kashmir remained with India, the people of Kashmir were starving, they got jobs only for Modi; we could move in peace and without any kind of fear only for Modi, etc. Another person in the group remarked, if Modi stayed in power another ten years, Pakistan occupied Kashmir would be part of India also. He saluted every soldier on duty when he came across and said, “We travel in peace only for them.”

              (With friend Paresh Patnaik, enjoying Kahwa)

One sight a traveler from outside J & K could notice was the armed personnel guarding and patrolling the streets and establishments; armed forces were there in every three hundred or five hundred meters, covering almost entire Kashmir.  In the month of April, by the time we left Srinagar, the army had two encounters eliminating a few terrorists and, in the action, a few soldiers and civilians were injured. If all was all in Kashmir, the situation was normal, why armed forces were there in the entire state and the army had to encounter on a regular basis?

The elections in J & K were to be held in five phases. The day we reached Srinagar, on 19^th April, J & K went to polls in its first phase. The second phase elections were scheduled to be held on 26^th. But we were surprised to notice there no sign of an election in the state. No posters on walls, no bike rally, no procession, nothing, not even any political meeting. We never heard anywhere any kind of discussion on election.

I asked two of my friends of Kashmir about the absence of any kind of campaign for election. One, a retired bureaucrat said, “The people of Kashmir are unconcerned about who formed the government in Delhi. They have the least interest whether BJP forms the government or the opposition parties, at the Centre. Elections to the Assembly or local elections generate heat. But no political party of J&K promises any freebie or free schemes. They don’t bribe the voters. It’s a different matter, around ten percent voters go to vote voluntarily, the rest are taken to the booths and forced to vote.”

The other friend said, “Both Hindus and Muslims are dissatisfied with abrogation of Article 370.  They are afraid, they will lose their land. Outsiders will also take away a share of jobs in the government. Previously, J & K students were only eligible to compete for jobs in the state. But after establishment of Ram Mandir, the attitude of the Hindus seems to have changed. They are now inclined towards BJP. It’s true what Marx has said; religion is opium for the mass.”

                     (At Lal Chowk, in the evening)

A friend came to my hotel to meet me the day before we left Srinagar for Bhubaneswar. The rain had stopped; the cloudless sky was clear. I requested him to take me to Lal Chowk. He took me in his own car. The Chowk was crowded; business was going on. Everything seemed normal, though army personnel stood with their rifles, and were alert.  The clock tower renovated and lighted looked marvelous. First time, J & K was going to polls after abrogation of Article 370. I asked my friend, “What’s the impact of Article 370 on the coming elections in Kashmir?”

He did not reply; evaded my question.

(With Majdeed Ul, a friend from Kashmir)

*****