Non-erotic The Scarface I Hated by Trambak

[Ramesh_Rocky]

At Netarhat, he gradually developed an ardour for the people who were oppressed by the vicious combination of politics, the absence of education and extreme poverty. He started meeting them regularly and while interacting with them, he found his true passion for life.

Life among that stratum of the society whose back was to the wall!

This obsession of 'undoing the wrong' consumed him fiercely and there were like-minded people who understood his fascination towards his cause. It was like going back to his student days at the University.

My mother was slightly worried because the prevailing political atmosphere was complicated. This area and adjoining Bengal had already seen bloodshed amongst the factions of the leftist movement. The Naxalite strongholds were still active, though at a lower scale. The revolutionary ideas among the youth and their reaction to any provocation were too recent for comfort. The ideology of 'haves and have-nots' was very strong and fringe groups were taking advantage of the chaotic situation.

But, Dr Indranath was composed of sterner stuff. He remained apolitical but intensely married to his thought processes. He would meet and explain his position to anyone who had powers to intervene and bring about a change. On the other hand, he interacted extensively with the local people especially the youth, who was angry and wanted quick solutions to their problems. These young boys and girls were constantly provoked by the disgruntled elements to the anthem of 'guns and bullets'. He reasoned with them to shun the path of violence and his perseverance worked to a large extent. Slowly, the Government too realised the importance of this man and the role he could play in normalising frayed nerves. He was included in many local programs that apparently were poor-oriented but the politics behind all these were still shallow.

Meanwhile, I was growing up and I was five years old when I first joined the college in the first standard. My mother had prepared me well and I was ahead of all my friends. No one was surprised since my father happened to be Dr. Indra. Very few spoke about the contribution of my mother except one man, my father himself. There was a tremendous bond of love and understanding between them without any show of outward affection. I can understand it now, since the time you have come and enriched my wretched life."

I held his fingers tightly and asked, "How was your relationship with your father?"

He paused and thought for a while. He said, "My father loved me a lot. He would take me to the jungles and show me different trees and tell me about them. He used to show me butterflies and moths. Once, he showed me a snake discarding its skin. He was very fascinated but I was scared".

"Did he tell you stories?" I asked.

He replied with a smile, "Not very often. And when he did, he spoke about the difficulties of life and how we were much better off than others. His stories spoke about struggles and retributions that I did not understand. No, he did not tell me stories that a child likes to hear."

We kept quiet for a while. I gently nudged him, "Then?"

He said looking wistfully, "I won many prizes that year. My father was very embarrassed. He felt that his son was cornering all the glories. At the end, he did not allow me to participate in the remaining competitions. I could not understand the reason. My mother consoled me and explained that if only one boy wins everything, the others get de-motivated and many boys and girls who came from very poor background needed to be encouraged. I still did not understand, but my mother's voice somehow made me understand that there were more important things in life than winning prizes."

Imran paused. Somehow, I was feeling miserable for him. Deep down, despite the arguments, I felt that this wasn't justice. Imran too was a child. Was he supposed to understand all this?

I looked at him, he didn't notice my moist eyes and continued, "It was the January of 1980 and it was bitingly cold. People were dying in our area of 'cold wave'. There was no food, no warmth and no hope. My father during these days remained perpetually out of the home, running to government offices to get something done. But, actions were elusive. My mother remained busy with my impending final examinations.