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A forgotten melody( part -III)

Continued From Part -II

With the melody complete, Arun felt a sense of closure—not just for his grandfather, but for himself as well. He realised that he no longer wanted to return to his old life of monotony. Music had rekindled a fire within him, and he was determined to keep it alive.

Arun decided to stay in Chandanpur and open a small music school in his grandfather’s memory. He wanted to share the joy of music with others, to help them find the connection that he had rediscovered. The school quickly became a hub of creativity, attracting students from all walks of life.

As the years passed, Arun’s music school grew, and so did his reputation as a musician. But more importantly, he found a sense of fulfilment that he had never experienced before. He had found his true calling, and in doing so, he had found himself.

The story of Arun’s journey spread far and wide, inspiring others to rediscover their passions and reconnect with their roots. The completed melody, “The Melody of Life,” became a symbol of hope and healing—a reminder that it’s never too late to find your true path.

Arun’s story touched the hearts of many, both in India and around the world. It resonated with those who had lost their way, reminding them of the importance of following their passions and staying true to themselves. The blend of Indian classical music and universal themes of love, loss, and self-discovery made the story relatable to readers everywhere.

And as Arun played the final notes of “The Melody of Life” on stage one evening, he felt the presence of his grandfather beside him, smiling with pride.(End)

Rajat chandra Sarmmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

26/08/2024

Mail ID: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com

Instagram : @rajatchandrasarmah5

A Journey to Kaziranga National Park

Henry and Margaret had always dreamt of an adventure. Married for over forty years, the couple had traversed much of Europe and America, but their wanderlust led them to a desire for something more exotic. So, when they stumbled upon an article about Kaziranga National Park in Assam, India—home to the renowned one-horned rhinoceros and the majestic Royal Bengal tiger—they knew it was the next destination on their list.

They arrived in Assam in early November, eager to explore the vast and vibrant landscape that promised to be unlike anything they had ever seen. The air was crisp and cool, a pleasant contrast to the oppressive summer heat they had left behind. Their journey to Kaziranga National Park started with a drive from the state’s capital, Guwahati. As they travelled, they were greeted by a kaleidoscope of lush green tea gardens, mist-covered hills, and vibrant local markets.

Upon reaching the park, Henry and Margaret were awestruck by the sheer beauty of Kaziranga. Spanning approximately 430 square kilometres, the park boasted a diverse array of flora and fauna. Tall elephant grass swayed gently in the breeze, and the air was filled with the melodic calls of exotic birds. The couple checked into a quaint eco-lodge that blended seamlessly with the natural surroundings. The wooden cabins, set amidst verdant gardens, provided a rustic yet comfortable retreat.

That evening, as they sat on their porch sipping Assamese tea, the distant roar of the Brahmaputra River was a constant reminder of nature’s omnipresence. Their host, Mr. Dutta, a knowledgeable and passionate conservationist, briefed them about the park’s ecosystem and the challenges it faced, especially during the monsoon season when the river swelled and inundated large parts of the park.

The following morning, Henry and Margaret embarked on their first safari. Their guide, Rajiv, was a young and enthusiastic naturalist with a deep love for the park. They set off in an open jeep just as the sun began to rise, casting a golden hue over the landscape to the elephant riding point. Rajiv dropped them there and both of them took the Elephant ride to visit the park. The Mahut ( the elephant handler) can speak good English as he used to take foreign tourists for the safari. They started the tour and the mahut goes on explaining. Margaret asked him one question after another.

The couple’s first encounter with wildlife came in the form of a herd of elephants. Henry marvelled at their sheer size and grace as they moved through the tall grass. Margaret, an avid photographer, clicked away, capturing the gentle giants against the backdrop of the misty dawn.

As they drove deeper into the park, Rajiv pointed out various species of birds, including the Great Hornbill and the Crested Serpent Eagle. But the highlight of the morning was their sighting of a one-horned rhinoceros. The massive creature grazed calmly by a waterhole, its armoured body glistening in the sunlight. Henry and Margaret watched in silent awe, appreciating the tranquillity of the moment. They soon saw a lot of barking deer buffaloes and wild pigs. The mahout told them that the wild pig is a dangerous animal and to keep their distance from them

The couple’s quest to see the Royal Bengal tiger, however, proved to be more elusive. The Mahut explained that tigers were solitary and territorial creatures, often hard to spot due to their nocturnal habits and the dense foliage of the park. Undeterred, Henry and Margaret signed up for an evening jeep safari, hoping that dusk would bring them better luck.( TO BE CONTINUED)

Rajat chandra sarmah

Guewahati 07/06/2024

Mail ID: rajatchandrasarmah@ gmail .com

Rekindling Old Flames: Navigating the Streets of Nostalgia”(PART -II)

PARA-II

The challenge of negotiating with vendors unwilling to reduce their prices became a defining feature of this transformed marketplace. With each attempt to haggle, the vendors stood firm, their expressions unyielding as if their resolve mirrored the unrelenting march of time itself. The echoes of past transactions, where a friendly banter often resulted in a favourable deal, now seemed like distant melodies drowned out by the cacophony of rigid pricing structures.

A paradox unfolded as vendors were bound by a commitment to profit margins and fixed prices, and no reduction in prices was offered leading sometimes to discarded unsold rotten items to dusbin. Once teeming with life, the market’s alleys now bore witness to the wasteful aftermath of a commerce system that prioritized margin over sustainability. Piles of neglected produce and neglected meats, a stark contrast to the lively exchange of goods, spoke volumes about the challenges faced by both sellers and buyers in this evolving economic landscape.

The very essence of market dynamics seemed to be at odds with the fundamental principle of supply and demand. The disconnect between vendors unable to adjust their profit margins and customers grappling with the burden of inflated prices created an uneasy atmosphere, shrouding the once-thriving marketplace in a veil of economic tension.

As I observed this paradoxical dance of commerce, it became evident that the heartbeat of the main market was caught in a delicate rhythm—one that oscillated between the nostalgia of a bygone era and the harsh realities of a present where affordability became a rare luxury. The dichotomy of abundance coexisting with waste cast a poignant shadow on the very foundations of this market, urging reflection on the sustainability of a system where the pursuit of profit often overshadowed the essence of community and shared livelihoods.

Once, we used to visit this place even when we did not have to purchase anything, but for the vibrant ambience of this place, always like some festivity was going on. Had our evening snack, getting one or two vegetables, some groceries and some fish or meat. But we spent a lot of time here gossiping. There was a trailer shop almost at the entry to the market and the owner Santosh da, was soon become our friend. We never forget to visit his place when come to the market. He is an information treasure house and can talk about all the beautiful girls seen in this area or we are attracted. We all were bachelors then, and Santoshda is giving us all the leads to follow up. He was a respected person in the market community and we took advantage of his worldly pieces of information, sharing a single tea into three to four cups and gossiping goes on till we return to our house happily. I went to Santosh da’s shop to meet him . he is getting old but has the same lovely smile. He immediately recognised me, offered me a chair and sent his assistant to bring some tea for us. We went on gossiping and all the old happy moments were coming up taking me to the distant past. My pleasant experience dragged me today to this place after such a long time. so many happy moments that bring avalanches of nostalgia to my mind

As I continued my journey through the labyrinth of the main market, the noticeable changes in the last decade unfolded like chapters in a rapidly evolving story. The most striking transformation lay in the landscape itself, where the once-familiar market now stood overshadowed by the imposing rise of new concrete structures. These structures though become useful for an enlarged space but the original beauty of the place has gone. Their sleek facades seemed to symbolize the market’s evolution into a modern commercial hub, a far cry from the simpler times of open-air stalls and makeshift awnings. One vendor, who had been a fixture in the market for decades, shared her reflections on the changes. With a wistful gaze, she recounted the times when her stall was a familiar meeting point for neighbours. Now, amidst the sea of faces, recognizing familiar ones became a rare feat, and the sense of community that once defined the market seemed to dissolve in the crowd.

The mismatch between the population surge and the outdated infrastructure manifested in the strain on basic amenities. The narrow lanes that once accommodated strolls now resembled a bustling ant colony, with people jostling for space. The lack of proper waste management led to alleys littered with remnants of hurried transactions, a stark contrast to the meticulous cleanliness of the past.

The influx of these new structures not only altered the skyline but also brought with them an unintended consequence—the prevalence of dust. left an undeniable mark on the air, mechanising the human mind and transforming the once-fresh breeze into a gritty reminder of the market’s metamorphosis. The dust, like a silent witness, settled on the colourful produce and fresh catches, and the human mind, a visual testament to the clash between tradition and progress.

Amidst the dust and concrete, the heartbeat of the market persisted, but the rhythm had shifted. The air, laden with nostalgia and progress, hinted at a future where the market, rooted in history, was adapting to the demands of a changing world. The once-familiar alleys, now adorned with towering structures, reflect the resilience of a community determined to navigate the delicate balance between preservation and evolution.

As I meandered through the transformed labyrinth of the main market, my observations and feelings became an intricate part of the unfolding narrative. The nostalgia that had initially embraced me now mingled with a sense of bittersweet acceptance, as the market’s metamorphosis unveiled both its charms and challenges.

The vibrancy of the market, once a comforting constant, now bore the weight of change. The introduction of concrete structures and the surge in population had shifted the very dynamics that had shaped my memories. Amidst the hustle and bustle, I couldn’t help but reflect on the challenges faced by both buyers and sellers in this evolving environment.

What was once a leisurely visit now required strategic planning, with the search for a parking spot becoming a prelude to the actual shopping experience? The market, once a haven of convenience, now demanded a level of patience and persistence that tested the resolve of even the most dedicated patrons.

As the market pulsated with life, it became a reflection of the delicate dance between nostalgia and progress. The challenges faced by buyers and sellers were not just economic; they were cultural, social, and deeply intertwined with the identity of the community. The market, once a simple transactional space, had become a stage where the complexities of a changing world played out in vibrant hues, each interaction a brushstroke in the evolving portrait of the main market.

Amidst the dynamic backdrop of the main market’s transformation, a character emerged – Dona, a seasoned vendor known for her unwavering commitment to tradition. Clad in vibrant attire that mirrored the diversity of her goods, she stood at the heart of the market, her stall adorned with the colours of these places.

Dona’s story became a microcosm of the market’s evolution. Her wrinkled hands, weathered by years of tending to her stall, told tales of resilience, but her eyes reflected a quiet apprehension in the face of change. She embodied the bridge between the market’s past and its uncertain future.

Dona caught between the echoes of her heritage and the demands of the evolving market, faced a dilemma that mirrored the broader challenges. Would she stand firm, holding onto the traditions that had defined her stall for decades, or would she adapt, acknowledging the economic realities that threatened to erode the foundation of the old culture and tradition of the market itself?

The market, once a space of commerce, now became a battleground for ideals, a place where the very essence of identity hung in the balance.

As the economic disparities and infrastructure challenges clashed within the tapestry of the main market, conflicts surfaced like ripples in a once-calm pond. Dona’s stall, standing at the crossroads of tradition and progress, became the epicentre of the storm. Buyers, driven by the burden of high costs, confronted vendors, demanding a reevaluation of pricing structures. The narrow alleys echoed with passionate debates, emphasizing the urgent need for adaptation.

The infrastructure challenges compounded the turmoil. The once-charming lanes, now clogged with dust and crowds, strained under the weight of increased commercial activity. Parking remained a precious commodity, a symbol of the unpreparedness of the market to accommodate its growing popularity. The clashes of opinions and the visible strain on the market’s facilities created a tense atmosphere, challenging the very foundations of the community.

Dona, faced with the stark reality of economic disparities, found herself contemplating the delicate balance between preserving tradition and embracing change. The vendors, too, began acknowledging the necessity of adapting their pricing models to sustain the market’s vibrancy. Talks of infrastructural upgrades circulated, raising hopes of a more accommodating space for both buyers and sellers.

Proposals for infrastructure improvements gained traction, supported by the understanding that a modernized market could retain its cultural essence while meeting the demands of the contemporary world.

At the heart of this evolving narrative, the community found itself at a pivotal moment of reflection. The market, once a timeless hub, now stood at the threshold of transformation. What was at stake was not merely the affordability of goods or the availability of parking spaces; it was the preservation of a cultural legacy against the backdrop of progress.

The main market stood as a symbol of resilience and adaptation. The conflicts had laid bare the complexities of navigating change, and the community found itself at the cusp of defining a future that balanced heritage and modernity. The impact on the community was not just economic; it was a collective introspection that rippled through generations.

with a sense of anticipation, leaving room for further exploration and contemplation. The next part of the narrative held the promise of resolution, where the community, with its unique blend of tradition and adaptability, would shape the destiny of the main market. As the market’s journey continued, it beckoned the community to embark on a collective odyssey, navigating the ever-shifting landscapes of commerce, culture, and community.

( END)

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Rajat chandra sarmah

14/03/2024

Mail ID : rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com

Rekindling Old Flames: Navigating the Streets of Nostalgia”(PART -I)

As I stepped into the vibrant chaos of the main marketplace after what felt like an eternity, a wave of nostalgia engulfed me, carrying me back to a time when this bustling marketplace was more than just a shopping destination—it was a sanctuary for the necessities that shaped our daily lives. The air, heavy with the scent of myriad spices, teased memories of yesteryears when every visit to this market was a journey woven with familiarity and tradition.

The panoramic view that unfolded before my eyes was a canvas of life. The market, adorned with its vibrant stalls and animated chatter, sprawled out in a kaleidoscope of colours. The fish section exuded the briny scent, foul to the some, where silvery catches lay in abundance, tempting the discerning buyer. Across the way, the mutton and pig stalls hinted at culinary delights waiting to be crafted, promising succulence that only the choicest cuts could offer.

Amidst this symphony of aromas, the vegetable market stood as a testament to the earth’s bounty, with an array of vibrant greens and colourful produce that seemed to whisper tales of fertile lands far beyond the market’s periphery. Above it all, the aroma of seasoned meats mingled with the earthy fragrance of fresh vegetables, creating a melange that defined the essence of this historic marketplace.

The main market, with its labyrinthine lanes and energetic vendors, held a historical significance that transcended the mundane transactional nature of commerce. It was the heartbeat of the community, the pulse of daily life, where the act of buying essentials transformed into a communal ritual that bound generations together. We, the friends, then bachelors, went from the office to a particular restaurant, run by a few very charming young ladies. They were the attraction, and evening, getting a seating place was difficult. From there we normally go to a fish vendor, an old lady with a pink cheek and white hair bundled in a nice bun. Surprisingly, she always wears very clean dresses and knows us very well. once we brought fish from a different vendor which she noticed, and she gave us some very good words, after that, we never tried purchasing fish other than from her ..she was like our grandma and always had a cute smiling face.

After coming to this place after so long, I stood there, absorbing the sights and sounds of the market. There were not many changes took place during these periods. I couldn’t help but marvel at the memories etched into the very fabric of these crowded alleys. Each stall seemed to have its own story, narrating the ebb and flow of life, the changing seasons, and the unyielding spirit of a community that had woven its existence around these humble marketplaces.

This was not merely a market; it was a living archive, a repository of shared histories and enduring connections. With each step, I embarked on a journey through time, traversing the market’s labyrinth to unearth the echoes of bygone days and rediscover the essence that had made the main market the quintessential go-to place for essentials.

the mutton and pig section, the air resonated with the rich, savoury aroma of seasoned meats, tempting passersby with promises of culinary delights. The origins of these succulent offerings could be traced back to the pastoral landscapes of Assam, where skilled hands raised livestock with care, ensuring only the finest cuts graced the market stalls.

Moving on, the beef and chicken section hummed with the rhythmic cadence of life, as vendors proudly displayed the fruits of their labor. These offerings, too, had made their way from the lush hills of Tripura, where cattle roamed freely, and flocks of chickens flourished under the open skies.

As I navigated through the lively tapestry of the main market, the sections for fish, mutton, pig, beef, chicken, and vegetables unfolded like chapters in a vivid story of sustenance. The fish market, adorned with glistening silver treasures from distant waters, echoed with the energetic calls of fishermen haggling over their prized catches. Each variety told a tale of the brackish rivers of Assam and the Ilish fish a favourite of the residents came from Tripura and Bangladesh, their origins painted in the scales that shimmered under the vibrant sunlight. I was looking for our grandma, and ultimately, I located her when she shouted at me. I was very happy to find her. Now she is not selling fish, her daughter is doing that job. but she supervises everything. After the meeting, she must also recollect, a lot of old stories and she goes on to speak, about how people have changed.No helpful attitudes, she summarised. She asked about me, and my family like a close friend wanting to know, I was so happy After talking to her, I went to our favourite restaurant. It was still not office closure time and, I got a seat. the same girls were there though they must have now married. One of them identified me said hello, and asked where I am nowadays. I told her that I was no longer in service and just come here to see my favourite place. She gave a meaningful smile.

However, amidst the symphony of commerce, the vegetable market stood as a local testament to the fertile lands surrounding localities. The vibrant hues of greens, reds, and yellows painted a picture of the region’s agricultural bounty, with farmers from the local areas contributing to the colourful mosaic. Unlike their meat counterparts, these vegetables didn’t embark on journeys from distant states; instead, they were a celebration of the fertile soil that sustained the local community.

What truly set the scene ablaze with vibrancy was the enchanting sight of the market being predominantly run by women and girls, their presence a mosaic of strength and grace. Their laughter echoed amidst the chaotic symphony of bargaining and banter, and their faces, adorned with the telltale signs of a traditional habit, painted a charming picture of cultural heritage.

The market’s heartbeat was the rhythmic crunch of betel nuts between their teeth. As these resilient women and girls tirelessly managed their stalls, their pink-cheeked smiles and lips stained a vibrant red told a tale of resilience, a symbol of their enduring spirit in the face of daily challenges. Amidst the hustle and bustle, the market emerged not just as a marketplace but as a living canvas, where the convergence of Assam, Tripura, and local traditions harmonized in a dance of commerce and culture.

Yet, amidst the vibrant charm of the main market, a shadow danced on the fringes of the lively scene—the high cost of goods. The once-affordable essentials now bore price tags that seemed to defy gravity, soaring to heights that tested the resilience of even the most seasoned buyers. Bargaining, once a spirited dance between buyer and seller, now resembled a tightrope walk on the edge of unyielding prices.

The challenge of negotiating with vendors unwilling to reduce their prices became a defining feature of this transformed marketplace. With each attempt to haggle, the vendors stood firm, their expressions unyielding as if their resolve mirrored the unrelenting march of time itself. The echoes of past transactions, where a friendly banter often resulted in a favourable deal, now seemed like distant melodies drowned out by the cacophony of rigid pricing structures.

Rajat chandra sarmah

8/3/24

Mail ID : rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com