Barapani Diary 

My job as an air traffic controller needs me to be posted at small and very small practically non-existent airports for a certain duration of time. In year 2011, one such posting led me to Barapani, an airport around forty kilometres away from Shillong. An entirely different world where from around thousand arrival departures at Delhi airport there was a lone flight to control, that too the flight played truant and missed our airport many days! In the place where my toddler grew up amidst nature, I read, wrote, introspected, reflected, and missed my husband at times!

Check out all episodes of Barapani Diary – https://www.storyberrys.com/category/series/barapani-diary/

A peek into the city (Part 7)

January chill set in with fanfare, a little bit of drizzle and the new year ushered along. Another year, adding up to the number. As I get reused to my office chores after my vacation, just gives the feeling another year passed by and I stand here without achieving much. Yes of course ‘achievement’ is relative. Anyways blogging isn’t about achievement stories rather I’d talk of the little gathering we, most of the office goers had, in the city of Shillong on new year’s night thanks to the promotion of my colleague and his enthusiasm in getting us all together for a treat.

I, with my limited vision, expected a gathering at the nearby lake resort and didn’t imagine we would move to the city late in the evening. With this expectation I left my little one at home, it was only when we crossed Orchid ( the lake resort) I realised we were moving to the city. An initial pang of leaving my little one behind. How late I will be.. and what if I get stuck in the traffic fiascos I have heard of then I sat back and relaxed. It was then I understood after many days I was going on a drive without my little bundle in my lap and I wasn’t continuously worrying about the little one vomiting in the next curve of the mountains we cross, without ripping my head off if the anti-vomiting medicine is going to work or not.

Here I was on the outskirts of Shillong at this time of late evening, pine trees zoomed by the window. Bhupen Hazarika’s ‘Shillongore godhuli’ ( Dusk of Shillong.. my naive translation) , ‘Sitore semeka raati’ ( Moist winter night) echoed in my head and a whiff of freedom lingered on in the sultry evening. FM radio too churned out beautiful Lata classics, reminding me of Delhi FM gold and the lovely numbers at night.

I have hardly ever seen Shillong at night. The working women’s hostel I used to stay at earlier, gates closed at seven in the evening. The dinner bell rang at 8 sharp. I can’t help remembering women and girls of different shapes and sizes, from different states of India, aged between 20 to 50 all queuing up in the dining hall for a bowl of watery dal to be sipped with rice and two spoons of sabzi. After that some would gather for a gossip, younger lot mostly loitering with the newly acquired mobile phones, (and would you believe it charging phones was not allowed as it would enhance electricity bills.. and how the girls managed not less than a miracle.

Another group rushed with mugs of water for brushing and another beauty regime because the water supply if at all available would stop exactly at eight and then lights to be switched off by eleven. Though I remember lighting candles after eleven and finishing thrillers. 

My Shillong nightlife apart from candlelight adventures or gossip with my roommate night ended blissfully at eleven.. sometimes I stared out the window and watched the deserted footpath near the church showing no sign of life. But this time was different, new year and the whole city dressed up. Lights everywhere, all restaurants filled, long queues outside. As we waited outside, I marvelled at the women’s outfits- both traditional and modern. Their matching belly shoes, toddlers and teenagers in beautiful boots. I remembered the pink pair of boots I bought for my little daughter and was glad that I did.

The city and its people looked different from the village near my airport and its people. Maybe the age-old difference between the city and the country. Irreconcilable differences. In the crowd, I noticed the bus conductor who comes to the airport. His little daughter tied in his back draped in a traditional shawl but for some strange reasons, he refused to reckon me. Should I give him the benefit of doubt he did not see us, the group of fourteen odd people? Well, new year anyway.. and he has the liberty to reckon or unreckon the people he pleases. Though he would wave to me enthusiastically whenever we met at the airport, and exchange some pleasantries. Somehow with the good food, I  tasted the feeling of being an ‘ outsider’. The city with its wide arms accepts anyone and the country shuns itself from everyone. Only work or a necessity which opens the doors, at least make some perforations in the concrete wall.

We came back and my bundle squealed and rushed into my arms. A good beginning to the year, some freedom, some bond. I hugged my bond tight and took her inside shielding her from the chill.

Soma Bhattacharjee

SHILLONG – NEW YEAR