Write me letters, will you?

"Write me letters, will you?" he whispered in her ear, tightening his grip around her waist and pulling her closer. Her hair bore no fragrance that day, a testament to the hectic last four days she'd endured, filled with numerous guests for lunch, dinner, and even high tea until yesterday. Tomorrow marked his departure.

"Will the letters reach you? Do they even have a post office there?" Her hesitations were genuine.

She had written letters to him earlier, during the academy days, when he wasn't allowed to keep his phone. The place he was heading to now stood as one of the most challenging terrains in the country, if not the world. It was difficult to arrange for something even as basic as fresh food there. Letters from loved ones became as important as food for them. Food for the mind and heart, that all was well.

In a world where handwritten letters are overshadowed by digital communication, he cherished her letters. There was a unique charm to them and an irreversibility once the pen had scribbled the words from her thoughts. There could be no immediate editing as she easily did in emails and text messages.

Her letters were beyond mere words and sentences she wrote. The doodles along the margin, the pressure of the pen, the gaps between two words and the slant of the letters, told him a lot more. He could even tell if she had been eating while writing or if she had been crying. Emails and text messages could never give him the pleasure of reading all the words and lines she had decided to cut and scribble on. 

"Yes, they have a system. Your letters will reach me. It might take more time than usual though, so you better start writing as soon as I leave. I don't want to miss out on our evening chai talks..." he said, as he put his name on the last packed trunk.

A place I won't forget!

“Are you sure about this?” I asked Oindrila as we bounced and jounced our way in a rattling car through the subtropical jungle of Meghalaya. My heartbeat increased with the increasing elevation of the road as we moved into the interiors to reach Shnongpdeng, a small village on the border of Jaintia and Khasi Hills near the Indo-Bangladesh border. Whether it was due to the breathtaking view of the transparent river Umngot on my right, that my heart raced, or the Sal, Teak and Betel Nut Jungle on my left or if it was just the fact that our driver was a teenage Khasi boy who replied with only a ‘yes/no’ and some unintelligible Khasi dialect or a wide smile when asked any question; I would never know.
 

The Khasi Jungle

Where was he taking us? Was it safe going like this with a strange boy in a land that spoke a language we didn’t know? Why is he smiling so wide? What if he is a tribal taking us to sacrifice in a ritual? Why is our mobile catching no network? Are we in the right car?

The archetypal rolling hills. The image is unclear due to dense fog.

Oindrila and I had no idea about the existence of Shnongpdeng when we were planning our Meghalaya trip. We had no certain plan, though; we did know we would be exploring new places. So when our taxi driver in Cherrapunjee mentioned a place where we could see riverbed eight feet under through ‘crystal clear water’ and camp or home-stay with a friend of his, we decided to go. Otherwise a skeptic, I was really uncomfortable with the idea of so many unknowns but what is an adventure without a little risk!

The car slowed down to a stop as we reached the end of the road. Getting out of the car, I stood still. In front of me was a dense forest sprawling the archetypal rolling hills of the north-east Indian terrain.  The green of the trees gave the river below its own color, making even the finest emerald look modest. Devouring each scene I stood there feeling paralyzed by a mysterious force of the creator. Involuntarily my hands folded as I bowed and thanked the nature for showing itself to me in such grandeur and sought permission to stay amidst it for a while. I think the hill gave me a smiling nod.
 

The view is far better with the naked eye. My phone camera hasn't done justice to it.

The crystal clear river water below the hills.

The only mode of transport within Shnongpdeng.

View from the bridge (as can be seen in above picture). Though it seems like the boat is almost moving on the riverbed, it was good 5ft below the water level. Which of course was crystal clear!

And thus I spent the next two days on the river bank in a bamboo cottage fed by a loving Khasi family that housed us. The driver boy turned out to be the son of the Sarpanch of Shnongpdeng who loved hosting guests. We didn’t share the language but not once did we feel difficult to communicate. Preparing to leave two days later, I realized, how often we take life for granted and how underrated being alive is.

With the family that hosted us and Mickey(in the cap), the driver boy.

Separation: fauji type!

From a government quarter
to a cosy abode
Decorating and redecorating
adding bits of my soul

It was not easy to un-decorate and un-home
With low spirits and blue funk syndrome
I have cried a little
With each frame taken off the wall
Crockery and glassware
"Careful, they don't fall!"
Packed and bubble wrapped
in a trunk, "away with all"!
The bedsheets and curtains
Some handpicked, some gifted,
Ironed and folded, entrusted
to the care of naphthalene ball

Brittle memories, in iron boxes
locked and tucked away
To sit in the corner of dusty old rooms
Until the next posting, a hope looms ...

But till then I will cry, I ain't brave
My eyes will run dry and I will crave
For those memories and emotions
That I have locked with a piece of my heart
In every silver trunk, that I have had to part

I will pray for its safety
and of all such trunks
That were packed with heavy hearts
With the memories and prayers
of each home they left in the hope
To be opened again, someday
To make another government quarter
A warm home to stay ...