S E C O N
D I M P R E S S I O N |
GUEST COLUMN
Down the memory lane
kESHAB KHATRY
It is indeed a rare piece of luck for
any struggling journalist to have the chance of writing in a paper that has a host of
readers who can't be taken for granted. The fact that "The Telegraph" is of an
academic nature with a learned audience adds up to my tension. Still, I deemed it
necessary to hastily grab the chance of penning down this extremely witty and good-humored
column, Second Impression, which has always been written by the chief-editor himself.
To start with, what can be better than a
piece of ironic anecdote that still haunts my mind? Digboi is a small town in the state of
Assam, India, green and dotted with small hillocks with beautiful bungalows which date
back to the colonial India. It is often referred to as the Oil City, since it has a very
modern oil refinery, which was established in 1901 and has the distinction of being the
first oil refinery in the whole South Asia. It is in this beautiful tiny city that I did
my B.A. from.
I must admit that lack sociable qualities for
which I always had to live alone in a single room during my college days. This room was
all in all—my living room, my bedroom and my kitchen. The other day I was quite in a
hurry to leave for my class. I was not in a position to miss the class since it was the
class of my favorite lecturer on my favorite subject. So, I hastily set for preparing a
handy course of my lunch. Whistling a tune, I joyfully chopped the vegetables into the
finest pieces. Having finished it I was ready to lit the kerosene stove that used to
produce the sound of busy factory. Then took place this unusual piece of once in a life
time joke. Alas! I had no matchstick, I became blind in rage with the empty match-box in
my hand! I swore and fumbled. More so as I was pretty aware of the empty purse in my
pocket. I did not have a penny. I could not ask for one from my neighbors for I was not on
talking terms. Now, I was left with only one option—to violently shake my hands into
the air and rest in peace. No money, no neighbors. What else could I do to fill my
stomach?
My funny friend Mr. Limboo turned up at about
2 p.m. to inquire about the reason of my absence from my favorite class. He saw my
puckered face, could smell something wrong, and gave a sly smile. As soon as I related the
matter to him, always giggling as he was, he rolled on the sandy floor and fell into a
violent fit of laughter. When he was tired of laughing, he handed a fifty-rupee note and I
went to a nearby shop to buy a matchbox, the thing I valued the most on that particular
moment, more than food, shelter and cloth -- the three universally acknowledged basic
needs. Another twist occurred at the shop when I was denied the matchbox for want of
change. The shopkeeper said, "Fifty-rupee note for a mere match-box?" So,
returned to my humble abode and had to stay calm with the fine jokes of Mr. Limboo. |
