DEAR RAJU.................

............There was great apprehension (my wife not formally dressed for the auspicious day of Id) in our hearts as we neared Taratola, on our way to your home. The road condition was so treacherous that Piku and myself almost felt that the possibility of the visit going off well may be quite limited. But I really wanted to meet you - a much awaited meeting after a span of almost 27 years, leaving aside the two batch get-togethers and your visit to my mother's sraddha ceremony. I really wanted to rediscover you in your own surroundings and on reaching your place and as we warmed up to the coffee, I found the apprehension gone and we just started talking like old times.

Raju, I would say the informality of the whole visit was its real charm. Myself on the jhula, Piku and you on the sofa and your wife, Ruma on the carpet....... just talking and talking without any measures, inhibitions....... guidelines. It was pure talk (like pure deshi ghee) that rarely has a place in the modern civil society.

No doubt your wife is an excellent cook, the biriyani was too good but what really touched our hearts was the love and care with which Ruma packed the food for our son. I believe that such cranky behaviour is only acceptable from the wife of a dear friend of mine............

PRIYA NARRATES HER STORY

I'm Priya Sarkar, aged about 17 years and hindu by birth. I come from a family consisting of my father Sambhu Sarkar, my mother Saraswati Sarkar, three brothers and one sister. We lived in the village Jaitara in 24 parganas(N). I was the youngest among my brothers and sisters. My father had a collective earning from a cycle spare-parts shop, five generators on hire and monthly rents from three other shops besides the family business of puffed rice. My father left for Mumbai when I was only three years old, in search for a better job and better prospects.

My mother developed a relationship with one of my father's friends during his absence. Her marriage which was already under much strain broke up. My father remarried after three/four months and had two sons by this second marriage.

My father's cousin sister then took me away to the Andamans, citing better study prospects but she actually made me work in her home there as a maid servant for the next five years. I was then only nine years old and disillusioned as I was, I ultimately convinced my aunt to send me back to my father. On reaching my parental place, I once again got admitted to school and continued my studies till class V.

I was around 14 years and very immature and my step-mother would always physically abuse me. Oneday, one of my friend's mother took pity on me and offered me a job in Kolkata. I thus left my father's place only to be sold by that helping lady to another woman in Kestopur, a suburb of the city of Kolkata. That woman married me off to her impotent son, Dipankar Sarkar, who worked as a labourer with a local marble contractor. I had to live a life of torture and shame for the next two years.

Unable to tolerate the intense physical abuse, I ran away to my natal place but my father sent me back to my in-laws. I once again returned to my father's place and this time for good. My father in the meanwhile had built a house at Jaguli, 24 parganas(N) and I was much relieved to secure the work of a house maid in that area.

But fate had other strange things in store for me. My step-mother decded on a match for me with a 40 year old man who had already been married twice before and had a four year old daughter too. I ran away again to Hanspur on the pretext of visiting a mela. My elder brother brought me back from Hanspur but father was in no mood to give me shelter and threw me out of the home. I had no other alternative but to start looking for a domestic help job.

Nirapada Mondal, an elderly neighbour promised me to find a nurse's job in Kolkata. I trusted "Nirapada kaku" and his wife "Radha kaki" and accompanied him to his sister-in-law, Amala's house at Sovabazar, a famous red light area in the city of Kolkata, where I was sold again. I was thus forced into the sex trade from the very first day and had to entertain four to five clients each day. I stayed at the brothel for twelve to thirteen days, during which time I managed to build up a friendship with the cook who helped me to escape from that place. I managed to reach Habra station and ultimately join my home at Jaitara. Women's Interlink Foundation intervened at this point and with the help of the local police at Gaighata, brought me to NIJOLOY on 22.04.06.

The stay at NIJOLOY has been beneficial for me. I have managed to overcome my initial depression and tried to pursue my studies with renewed interest after the many counseling sessions during these three years.

I have been recently been promoted to class VIII. My interest in the finer arts, particularly dancing have culminated in successful stage performances with my friends under the guidance of "Shyamal Sir", our favourite dance teacher. I have also won prizes in recitation and sports at my school.

21% CRAZY !!! THAT'S WHAT I AM

Very recently, I took this particular test on the net that showed I'm 21% crazy. I do agree that probably it is a very conservative estimate of my self and have thus endeavoured to find 21 such situations / items that do definitely influence and shape my life for good or bad.

My list includes.....................

1. Going out without my handkerchief

2. Unpolished shoes

3. Banians that are not really safed

4. The times I carry an umbrella and it refuses to rain

5. It always rains if I wear a certain shirt

6. PROFUSE SWEATING

7. Doing things I don't like

8. My living space in disarray

9. Cleaning my father's room / bathroom

10. When my wife dumps her clothes anywhere and everywhere

11. Unable to locate important documents / telephone numbers

12. Unable to fix a simple gadget like the telephone

13. When internet bills are never within my budget

14. When banks charge irrationally and I put in innumerable reminders

15. PEOPLE WHO ARE DECEITFUL / PEOPLE WHO LIE

16. People who stand in very close proximity in public conveyances

17. People who occupy ladies seats / seats for senior citizens and the disabled in public

conveyances and feign ignorance

18. People who don't keep words / People who don't deliver

19. When forced to work under an incompetent superior

20. The nagging pain in my left leg

21. MY REPEATED FAILURES TO BREAK THE SHACKLES OF CHAIN-SMOKING

..............................and the craziest part of the story is that I'm such a person who sweats a lot, has been chain-smoking for the last 33 years and is forced to interact with people who are full of deceit and lie at almost every possible opportunity.

I DO NOT THROW AWAY MY OLD CLOTHES

I am very particular that old and discarded clothes belonging to me and my family members that are not torn or damaged in any way, are stored in the staircase-room of my house. I have always believed that in our country where clothing material is a costly commodity, these can be used by that section of the populace who don't have the means to buy the same.

The belief has grown within me like an epidemic and with increasing age, I keep sincerely collecting the clothes and have personally carried off such items to a care home located along the E M Bye Pass, in big luggage cases and oversized carry bags, when the collection becomes too large to be retained any longer. It gives me immense satisfaction and happiness to see the girl inmates of this particular care home accepting my meagre and insignificant gift with great gutso and use the same in all their eagerness.

BARE BUT BEAUTIFUL

What is more important in life ? Roots or Branches ?

IF ITS RAINING, IT MUST BE MY BOOTS !

The weakest part of my outfit are my shoes. Surely there must be adequate reason behind such claim. I have gradually developed a great phobia about footwear. Nothing seems to suit my feet. I have tried out cheap ones, expensive ones, designer ones, trendy ones, hardy ones, nameless ones - but all meet the same fate and I have to discard these within months. This reminds me of a visit to my opticians, who once told me that my eyebrows are also not at the same level ! It seems that from head to foot, I have problems.........designer problems.

No matter how carefully I walk, my new shoes will develop wide horizontal stretch marks within days of use. These marks gradually widen and I am unable to hide these even with my vigorous shoe polishing (I love to polish shoes and always end up polishing my father's, son's and my wife's shoes and chappals besides my own) activity and that naturally demoralise me. So it is just a matter of time before my new shoe starts resembling an older one.

And if its raining, God help me. All the mud will be at the tip of my shoes, like the one in the picture. I polish my shoes half-heartedly and soon if it rains the shoes go back to their previous state. I feel disgusted and angry. I have observed that no other humans suffer from this peculiar plight. Perhaps they know how to walk...............how to walk in the rain !!

WHEN THE LITERARY BUG BIT ME

1981 was an eventful year. A group of medicos of the CNMC 1978 batch, Debadipta Das, Gautam Pal Chowdhury, Swapan Mukhopadhyay and myself brought out this 21 page little bi-lingual literary and cultural magazine "KAHLAR", meaning a lotus. It was a dream come true. I was throughly involved in designing the coverpage, editing the english section, honing my writing skills, proof reading at the New Alipore press and of course raising funds from our batchmates to meet the printing expenses. I had even carefully kept the wooden block of "KAHLAR" as a memento for a great period of time, but had eventually misplaced it somewhere.

My writing efforts cuminated in prose pieces like "Palkee-Palkee-Palkee" and "Sekaler Bigyapane Ajab Kolkata", the last named article written in the bengali in the second and last issue of the magazine. I also wrote "Loneliness" under the pen-name of Munmun Roy. I was also instrumental in taking an interview of the noted poet, Mr Arun Mitra.

The next year (1982) we brought out the college literary magazine, where I was responsible for editing the english section and in designing the coverpage of the magazine. I still feel we did an excellent job. The cover picture was taken by our friend, Sanmoy Ganguly. It was here I wrote an essay titled "The History Of Young Mr Charnock" and a poem called "A Wish". In the mean time the bengali cultural mag ORCHID, published my poem "Chanda"

The 1983 SANKALAN published my small story, "The Perfect Salesgirl". I graduated the same year and became so much involved with my internship that it put a temporary stop to my literary spurt.

FORMATION OF THE GROUP - "DOCTORS WHO TREAT THE UNDERPRIVILEDGED"

Joining FACEBOOK on 21.08.09 on a hunch has proved to be an eventful experience in my life. Till date I have forty eight friends across the globe, irrespective of gender, age group, education and profession with whom I will be networking in the future. The list of friends will keep on growing with the passage of time and emboldened by this inevitability, I have gathered strenghth enough to reorganise some of my ideas that have long struggled to see the the light of the day into new constructive formats that may be shared with my new friend circle. Thus my own blog space - lemmeemptymymind.blogspot.com and the new group of "DOCTORS WHO TREAT THE UNDERPRIVILEDGED" have been born.

I am much indebted to Jahanara, who has believed in me and has been the first person to show courage and join this group (besides me as its creator) on the very first day of its existence. I expect the group will appeal to all like-minded people who will help me to build it up through their long association, constructive support and active participation.

Long live the GROUP.

THE DURGA PUJA IS JUST THREE WEEKS AWAY !

The Durga Puja is only just three weeks away ! Today while returning home in the late afternoon hours, I was stranded, jostling for space under the narrow shade of a closed tea shop. The murky sky above had suddenly disintegrated into an outburst of shower but I had enough time to click this picture of an upcoming pandal near the "Karunamoyee Kali Bari".

I was returning from a visit to CHILD CARE HOME, one of the two care homes run by Women's Interlink Foundation. On my way out I ran into Sandhya , an older inmate of the home who came in to show the salwar suit she was tailoring for a younger member of the place. There was a big smile of satisfaction on her face. She was happy, the puja was almost there.................... The same happiness flooded my heart and ignoring the weather I walked towards my home in the drizzle.

LAILA KHATOON TELLS HER STORY

My name is Laila Khatoon (name changed). I am a seventeen year old muslim girl but they also call me Bindiya, the auspicious mark on the forehead. My father Mhd Kurban Ali was a mason and we lived in Deula village, Sardarpara in Diamond Harbour. Ours was a big family with three brothers, three sisters and my father who was an alcoholic. My mother had died a few years back. The earnings were insufficient to maintain the family and I had to leave school after finishing class II.

I was so disgusted with life that I ran away from home about three years ago and while on the run, I struck up acquaintance with a lady who drugged me and took me to the Pune red light area. The lady sold me to a "malkin" and I had to service clients for almost seven months.

I was very much resigned to my fate and was instrumental in trafficking another girl named Saheeda. All of a sudden a police raid took place and I was among those taken into custody. They sent me to Nanapet Home in Mumbai and from there I was transferred to Mandua Home. I never really liked those homes. Those homes were so different, in an alien land and was much relieved when I was again transferred to the Sanlap Home in my part of the country. My inner self never accepted the situation I was in. I was later transferred to NIJOLOY (a care home) on 05.03.07. The situation did not help me much and initially I could not adjust to the new surroundings. My whole self was in conflict.

I was not ready to stay at NIJOLOY. I was very rude and loud in my behaviour and ended up fighting with almost everybody in the home. I underwent regular counseling sessions and gradually my nature underwent a transformation. Now I speak softly and understand the economic need to enter a profession. I have taken up tailoring and block printing in my vocational training classes. I definitely prefer tailoring and one day dream to become a master tailor. Doctor uncle has promised to buy me a sewing machine, if I can learn the art well within three years. I would also like to join the non formal classes and continue my education from where I had left off. When I will earn a lot of money in the future, I will go back to my family. I miss them very much.

In my almost two years stay at NIJOLOY, I have not gained in weight but in experience and when doctor uncle asks me how am I, I say doctor uncle. I'm fit and fine.

APARNA, AN INMATE OF NIJOLOY TELLS HER STORY

I present the narratives of a select group of five children, who were victims of trafficking and sexual abuse and had come to stay at the care home "NIJOLOY" (Your Own Home) in the recent past. Incidentally, I am the "doctor uncle" who is responsible for their physical and mental wellbeing. Presently there are about 100 inmates like Aparna, Laila(Bindiya), Reshmi, Priya and Pala. I have allowed the children to narrate their own true stories and as such, these narratives not only reflect the inhuman pain, helplessness, physical and mental trauma that these young girls have been subjected to but also how with the passage of time, counseling and the utilisation of educational, health and vocational training facilities provided by Women's Interlink Foundation Kolkata, they have been successful in reconstructing their shattered identities at the care home, "NIJOLOY".

I'm Aparna Mondal (name changed), a hindu, born on 01.01.92, in the village of Jamtala, Sunderbans, 24 Parganas(S). My father Rakhahari Mondal is an agricultural labourer and my mother Kousalya works in a brick-kiln. I have an elder sister and an elder brother. We all worked in the same brick-kiln and I was a class IV student at Gangadhar Palli Sishu Siksha Kendra, when I left my studies about five years ago to start on this new life. Together we earned about Rs 250 per day and were a happy family.

My parents gave me in marriage to Monoj Naskar, an agricultural labourer an year ago in 2008, when I was about 16 years old. My two months stay with my in-laws was very traumatic. I was subjected to much mental trauma and survived four attempts of poisoning on issues related to dowry.

I ran away from my in-law's place and went back to my father. My parents did not allow me to continue my work as they feared repercussions from my in-law's family who had already lodged a false police complaint in my name. At home, I was bored with my the then way of life and was finally much relieved to accompany a neighbourhood aunty "mashi", who promised me a beautician job that would fetch me Rs 700 per month.

We crossed the river, reached Canning and then took the train to Kolkata. I enjoyed the bus-ride from Sealdah to Sovabazar, where the "mashi" put me up in a lodge. The good lady bought me some dresses and that was the last I saw of her. I expect I was sold the same day to the owner of the lodge , whom I never saw.

It was very fortunate that a police raid took place that very night and I was taken into custody with some other girls of my age and then handed over to Cini Asha (a NGO working with trafficked girls). I was later sent to SUKANYA GOVT HOME, where I stayed for two months. While staying at that home, I had the opportunity to join THE GREEN POLICE but couldn't continue the job as my in-laws were on my lookout and could physically harm me. I was then shifted to NIJOLOY on 18.11.08.

I really enjoy my stay at NIJOLOY and my loving house mother, Nilima Roy (Boro Ma) has really made things comfortable for me. I have joined the cooking and canteen training from 12.01.09 and am really looking forward in becoming an excellent cook in the near future. As I am too old to join the regular school, I will also attend the non formal classes at the home. I hope to rejoin "THE GREEN POLICE", after my case is settled and I go back to live with my parents.

MY WIFE HAS A PHOBIA FOR THE NET

Piku, my wife has a phobia for the net.

I ask Piku why does she have such a fear. She never comes out in the open. But I guess she has a fear of the unknown. I have been instrumental in creating an e-mail ID for her. paramitaroychowdhury1964@yahoo.co.in. She never operates her e-mail. Piku says she can't handle a computer.

I still guess this is not the true reason for her phobia. She has heard a lot of stories about the wrong usage of the net. Her mind is full of stories about sex on the net. Our son, Sinchan who will complete 19 years this october and a first year student of civil engineering at BE College Shibpur, is also an avid user of the net. Piku fears that both her son and husband will be lost.

AN AUTO-RICKSHAW RIDE TO REMEMBER

I generally reach my workplace by 9-9.30 in the morning. Today it was already 8.30 and I was still on my home turf looking for an empty auto-rickshaw on the nearby main road to take me to the Tollygunge metro station...........I was late, out of luck and in a damn hurry. The autos came bursting at their seams and I just had to keep on waiting, cursing my bad luck. Then suddenly this particular vehicle materialised in front of me like magic and to my astonishment also stopped to pick me up. Only a single male occupant sat on the back seat. I gratefully took my seat at the back, giving him a casual glance.

He was boy aged about twelve years. The expression on his face made me look at him once again. He was a case of down's syndrome. I guessed his parents must have contracted the autowallah to take their child to a nearby school meant for such special children and as usual the person had taken the liberty of earning some extra money on the way to the school. The boy who was least concerned about all such happenings only seemed to be much absorbed in following the time on his wristwatch.

I thought the watch was a fake, but no, it just clocked 6.05 as I reached the metro station.