We do not realize how old we grow as a year passes by. May be the spirit of living the life doesn’t make us aware of the process till our salary cheques reduce to half while retiring at sixty or so. At an age close to thirty, half of the average span of man, I feel spooky as well as excited to write this little piece as I inch closer towards one year older. January has always been the month of feasts for me: it brings the New Year, the Magh Bihu and a few birthdays. You do not realize the essence of these as long as you are home. Things begin to change when you are posted somewhere else at work; at the time of these annual events, you terribly miss those gatherings and foods. May be, with caresses of Time, you get used to it, but somewhere, there still remains a pothole which you may think of filling during your leisure. Over the past few years, staying away from home during Bhogali Bihu has been more than often. It was so lacking for the first time: no pithas and laddoos. But, friends and colleagues around lightened the moments. At times, when I missed the pitha from Assam, there was someone from Kolkata, who bought some sweets. When I missed the coconut and sesame laddoos, it was another one from Bhopal who brought some dish. In fact, the concept of ‘fest of the feast’ never died away. It is because I believed in joys, and the people around me too.
These things seem so general, right? It is for the body that we work, and nothing else. Life is once as long as we cannot transfer our memories into the next if it exists. But who cares for an afterlife? All the differences we have created among ourselves are like hymns of the Evil. We speak of equality, but love to watch news of communal clashes. Why? Because our minds have been programmed to believe in judgements set by people. The government launches schemes on abolition of caste, but people find their pride in honour killings. At a time, when Indian technology can be used for solving the problems of the country, we fight for virtual theories and made-up stories. The saddest part is we do not follow our hearts which must have beat for the right reason at least once! Most of us scored well in Moral Science in schools, and were happy to write on how morality must be, but we failed to take the values with us.
Rupam Goswami is an Assistant Professor at Birla Institute of Technology and Science Pilani, Pilani Campus, India. He has done his doctoral research at National Institute of Technology Silchar, India. He keeps interest in poetry, films and art. His poems have appeared in Enajori, Indian Ruminations, Criterion, Miracle, horizon and many souvenirs and magazines. His book "The Moustached Poet- a few pots" of poems is an anthology of 50 poems composed by him and was launched worldwide online in January, 2015