17:53 hrs IST, Tuesday, the 20th of October, 2009
There’s
a political parade snaking its way forward on the lane in front of my
house, the leaders shouting their voices raw with (the usual) “jobaab chaai, jobaab daao”s.
I am standing on my balcony, looking at the throng of bodies, most of
them in various stages of disinterestedness. Some, in fact, are casually
laughing and chatting amongst themselves, as if they’re out on a
leisurely evening walk. I am looking at them alright, and yet I am not..
The vision that forms in front of my eyes is of a sweltering July
mid-afternoon, that time of the year when uncountable droplets of sweat
form on the forehead and roll down to the chin before a handkerchief can
be whipped out. I remember that
procession very well, that group of students of all shapes and sizes,
all streams and ages, all backgrounds and upbringings.. I remember the
parched throats, the ringing slogans, the raging fires in the hearts of
the hundred strong army of youth at 86/1, College Street.. I remember
the awe that passers-by regarded us with, the look of surprise on the
taxi-drivers’ faces at the sheer volume of our incensed voices, our
frenzied clapping of hands, out stamping feet.. And as the train of
people vanish round the bend, and as memories fade, one slogan lingers
on.. "Loraai loraai loraai chaai, / loraai korey baachte chaai ! / Ei loraai lorbe k ? / Tumi, aami, aabar k…"
