I had a wonderful childhood in Digboi, a small
picturesque industrial town in Asaam. I am talking about a time in the fifties.
In early sixties, I left for college. My memory is of a carefree time, sans
worry, daily needs taken care of, a bit of studies and plenty of fun; some mischiefs
too. There were no fancy schools those days; no DPS or Carmel. We went to the
schools run by the company. There were several; of two categories mainly. The
primary schools catered to class III and IV; the high schools to class X. The
final school exam was matriculation. Funny, the word “matriculation” sounds so
ancient these days. There were three high schools. Hindi High School, as
the name implies, was Hindi medium. It was co-ed. Boys High and Girls High
Schools were Assamese and Bengali medium and were strictly gender centric.
There were other schools also like Vivekananda Vidyalay, Balika Bidya Mandir
and Soumar Bidya Peeth but these were not run by the company.
There were no school buses. We walked about a mile
to reach school. Due to a strange unwritten law, the girls used to walk on one
side of the road and the boys on the other. The girls walked silently and had
their eyes fixed on the ground in front of them. They would not even look at
the boys. The boys were noisy but would not normally talk to a girl. Talking to
girls was not considered “cool” those days. Sounds odd, right?
On reaching the 9th standard, I was
gifted a bike in recognition of my exalted status of being in a “higher class”.
But the so called status associated with being in the higher class did not
permit being seen in trousers. Khaki shorts and white shirts were the only
attire allowed in school. Trousers were allowed only while playing cricket.
Worse, the girls were forced into white saris or mekhla chadors, the moment
they reached class VII. Imagine they were just about 11 or 12 years old! And,
they were not allowed to ride bikes; it was a boys’ privilege. Grossly unfair
but those were the norms of the day. Later in my life, I saw many of these
girls in elegant attires, driving cars in several cities in India and abroad
with their husbands seated beside them beaming with pride. Digboil girls could
adjust themselves to any society, any situation. Any man who has a Digboi girl
as his wife should consider himself very lucky.
Being a very modest person, I shall refrain from
commenting about the boys.
Our teachers were strict but affectionate. Boys
High School had a sprawling playground. We played cricket, football and
volleyball. Annual debate was a lively affair. So was the annual prize
distribution. Traditionally, the general manager of the company and his wife
were the chief guests in the annual prize distribution ceremony. Top students
had the additional honour of being photographed with the first lady of the
town. It was really exciting to see the picture printed in the forthcoming
issue of “Batori”, an elegantly designed house journal of the company.
Security was not an issue. We walked and biked into
the oil field area at will. The gate would remain open throughout the day.
Trekking on the hills inside the field was an adventure we often indulged in.
On several occasions, I stepped on snakes and survived. The highest point in
the hilly terrain of the oilfield had a huge water reservoir, probably feeding
the entire town. For some reason, it was known as No. 1 tank. Riding the bike
all the way down the slope from No, 1 tank without the brakes was a thrilling
fun. I also remember there was an air raid shelter just at a level below the
peak, which was said to have been built during the Second World War. I had an
eerie feeling every time I entered the manmade cave. I wonder if it still
exists.
A few of my friends were daring enough to scale the
production derricks on narrow steel ladders. I was too scared to try and was
often ridiculed as a weakling. A humiliation I had no choice but to stomach. It
was an irony of sort that a few years later, destiny guided me to a profession
where I had to climb those structures in the course of my duty. I was still
scared but managed to hide my panic.
Inside the fenced market, Digboi Stores and Osmans
ran the finest bakeries in eastern India. They had a friendly rivalry and some
of their products were just exotic. My father bought me my first (fountain) pen
from Rakshits. It was a Pilot pen. I kept it under my pillow for a few days
lest it gets misplaced. I believe Rakshits have since been split. That’s a
pity! Ruksons sold fashionable attire for men. It was known to be expensive.
After receiving my first pay cheque from Oil India Limted in 1968, I rushed from
Duliajan to Digboi at the first opportunity to shop at Ruksons. I bought a
fancy shirt spending a princely sum of Rs 40. Panditji sold grocery. The old
man gifted a chocolate to my kid sister whenever my parents picked up their
grocery. One day, the old man was away and his son was managing the shop. Being
unaware of the privilege my sister was entitled to, he did not offer any
chocolate. My kid sister picked up a thick ruler and gave him a deadly nudge.
The mistake was rectified instantly.
Doss Book Agency and Haque Stores were located at
Charali. They sold books. We picked up our text books from either of these
shops. They also sold children’s books and magazine. Gobinda Mistanna Bhandar
was also located in the area. Club Store, located behind Digboi Club stocked
fancy bakery, meat and milk products.
A couple of years ago, I met a young engineer from
IOC, who was based in Digboi for a few weeks. Being oblivious of my background,
he gave a stunning description of the picturesque town and its exquisitely
charming bungalows with exclusive driveways. I listened carefully controlling
my emotions from exploding. He finally concluded by suggesting that I must go
there physically to appreciate what a beautiful town it was. I looked at him in
the eyes and said, “I already did; I grew up there”. Before he could grasp for
breath as his widening moth suggested, I excused myself and walked away.
I feel so nostalgic
reminiscing about these places. Wish I had wings and could fly over the best
habitat on the face of this planet to relive my childhood. It is a pity,
today I would be a total stranger in the town I have always considered my home.
2 August 2008
No comments:
Post a Comment