Our Funarena!

Late Ramen Sarma Death strikes its victims in varying forms. Sometimes it takes one unawares. Sometimes it makes one embrace death second by second. It's not known why a particular kind of person deserves a certain kind of death. It stalks, always; be it in terms of diseases, accidents or any natural or unnatural causes. When I lost the youngest of my beloved maternal uncles that was a kind of an experience I was desperate to share with all. He had only minor ailments like pain in the legs, of course, apart from well-controlled diabetes and moderate blood pressure. Ramen Sarma worked as public prosecutor in the district court. He was always a cheerful person and cracked jokes or mimicked funny lines at every encounter we had. He had been my all time favorite since childhood days. He was a happy-go-lucky one. He never bothered about what to eat or what not to eat and spent more than his salary-always. He was a renowned stage actor and also acted in a few Assamese feature f

Late Anjali Barua (Biju Baideo) She was preparing for the marriage of her youngest son to be held within a few days. That day was really hectic. She visited nearly fifty households around the city and extended personal invitations to them. She reached home just before eight in the night. She was not at all aware that the stalker had entirely different designs ready for her. A unique plan at that. She was a bubbly girl from childhood days and was immensely popular. She was also a talented singer. Though she did not pursue it to professional levels she never left it either-continuing to perform in private sessions and family functions. She got married to a business stalwart and immediately set about putting her new home in perfect order. Her home was always abuzz with guests and relatives from all sides and of all connections. The one storied bungalow was lovingly named 'canteen' by many due its staggering hospitality at any time of the day or night. Slowly she got

The way death claims its victims is as normal as it is unique. One wonders who writes the scripts for some of the victims who perish without knowing why. These scripts are always most inhumanly creative, cruel beyond imagination and most horrendously instantaneous. True, one would never know the when-how-where of one’s last earthly activity, but one has the right to know at least why there is discrimination in the scripts, and this question we had raised earlier also. Of course, the answers would never come. The youngest member of the family had all the right to be excited at the coming event. It was too early for him to get unduly concerned about the ways of the eternal stalker named death. His earthly existence began just about six years ago, and every small or big pleasure entertained him thoroughly. And this time it was big. His father was planning to buy a car. He was doing the countdown one month in advance making or revising future plans every single day. Why him, no on

The local landlord was known for his fastidiousness. Although some would like to term it eccentricity. Whatever it be he had been extremely choosy in finalizing his clients. He had several small flats for rent in his building, and he always preferred non-local hassle-free renters in his own unique way. His terms and conditions were very clear, if not transparent. Guests staying overnight were a strict no-no; water with a predetermined litre limit given only once, mostly in the dead of the night; main gates would be locked at 10 pm every night and anyone coming late must inform in advance; CCTV cameras in the campus observing irregular activities and playing or singing of loud music not at all preferred. By profession he and his wife were teachers, and maybe he took his profession too seriously. He had three young children, two boys and one daughter. One of his flats was going to be vacated soon and the word spread easily by mouth in the small city. Normally he engaged a broker

The first head turned. Its eyes were focused on the entrance of the busy roadside restaurant. The owner of this crucial part of the anatomy had sharp features and other delights too. He was short, rather emaciated, of dark complexion and had a Charlie Chaplin mustache. This latter addition gave the face that belonged to the canine variety a comic look. It was evening time and the air was thick and suffocating with peak hour traffic. The first head as we will call our hero hereafter was waiting at the bus stop, and the deliberate turning of his head away from the coming buses backwards to the restaurant naturally attracted some attention. Its taut positioning and the intent gaze emanating from it appealed to the curious instinct of a lot of fellow commuters. More and more heads started turning in that direction. The ever increasing number of heads didn’t exactly know what to find or what to expect there, but their collective curiosity was constantly fueled by the und

The city bus was not overcrowded, but most of the seats were occupied. So I had to take a seat meant for senior citizens on the front left side of the bus. An elderly lady was occupying the window seat alongside me. To add to my peace of mind two seats meant for the senior citizens and differently abled persons were still empty.  So there was no immediate danger of losing the seat. After the first stop one senior citizen boarded the bus, and to my surprise instead of taking the empty seat ahead came straight to me mumbling something. I pointed to the seat on the front rows indicating that he might as well occupy it. The elderly gentleman did not budge and muttered something again. I thought I heard the word ‘madam’ and so surmised that the lady on the window seat was known to him and that he wanted to give her company for the ride. Without much of a protesting mind I obliged him, and to my luck one of the seats on the last rows just got empty. Instinctively I kept on watching t

The night vigil prolonged almost into the wee hours. We were perched on the wooden balcony of the forest bungalow hoping against hope to have a darshan of the uncrowned king of the jungle. The darkness was impenetrable and the air was still. Except for the night forest sounds and the thin cackle of the river flowing behind the bungalow there was absolute silence. We were asked to look for a pair of luminous glows coming out of the thick forest beyond into the open courtyard in front of the bungalow. We were told that the animal’s eyes burn at night and that they normally prowl around the bungalow—not for hunting, only for maybe an evening stroll. We were a little scared too if the animal tried to jump into the balcony. However, we were given assurance that the height was good enough, and the animal never becomes aggressive unless provoked dearly. Finally, we had to give up and agree with the general opinion that the animal is rarely sighted there since years. That was a long t