Colours of life: A book review

Deba Prasad Misra

&

Dr Arunav Barua

‘Colours of Life’...what would you infer from this title that stays  with you? Perhaps that life has colours? Or, perhaps, the varied colours of life conjoin to give us what we call life. Blue, for loneliness, grief and sorrow. Red for amour and love, yellow for the joy of moments, and green for all of nature that we are blessed with. The title itself is myriad in its interpretation, and one feels that it is the work of a poetic genius who must have come up with this title. While the title may be interpreted as per personal choice, what Brigadier Ranjit Borthakur, the author of the book, has managed to imbibe in his book is nothing short of exemplary.

A reader going through the contents would be immediately taken on a journey where he meets different versions of himself: moments where he was naughty, as in school, and a strict teacher would correct him, sometimes by slapping his cheeks (which is no longer allowed), as in ‘Third Sir’, and the acceptance that the slaps he received actually led to the discipline he later imbibed and that he was, actually, thankful for having been slapped! The book begins with the anecdote ‘Sense of an Ending’, where the reader is transported to newspaper obituaries and the fact that many of us do read these obituaries only to find familiar names, sometimes. The story goes on to detail how his friend dies of liver cirrhosis and that the writer sometimes has guilt pangs about the fact that he himself had gifted liquor to his friend who had died. This is but a human emotion, the honest, conscientious element of guilt, even imagined, has on us.

Before we delve further into the stories, each containing a memorable parable about life that is sometimes relatable and sometimes pragmatic, we need to understand the man behind these narratives: Brigadier Ranjit Borthakur (Retd). He is a prolific writer who has also authored three books in Assamese apart from this epoch-making book, ‘Colours of Life’. He was an alumnus of Goalpara Sainik School and completed his qualification of further education from the reputed NDA (National Defence Academy). His book, ‘Colours of Life’, is not just a collection of stories but is an epigrammatic, aphoristic collection of anecdotes that use the minimum words for maximum effect. His tales often leave us searching within ourselves for that part of us that he has touched through his recollection of memories which have served him well as anecdotes. His tales are all true, all events that have transpired in his life, and most are such that we can all relate to. Whether he talks of the use of the mobile phone with strict instructions from his wife not to use the same while riding, or having left his wife at a stand, believing that she was behind him on his scooter, his stories sometimes elucidate jest and laughter but are true to the fact that many of these incidents have happened with us too.

We are reminded of how the internet has made its indelible presence amongst us when he recalls how his son and his friends, in a rented place in Pune, encounter a live cobra. Before the incident, the writer would often admonish his son for using the internet, but it so transpired that one day, on the verandah of his son, they encountered a live cobra, and only upon searching the internet did his son find a snake tamer, who they proceeded to call and who captured the snake, without any requirement of payment, thus leading the writer to accept that the internet has its uses. Another fond memory that the Brigadier takes us on is the telegram, once an important tool of communication, though now almost extinct. The telegram used Morse code to code messages, and they were later interpreted. What happens here is that a school friend at Sainik School, Goalpara, receives a telegram for him to report to the Service Selection Centre at Abalpur. This leads to a flurry of happenings where the student tries to find where this ‘Abalpur’ is. While consulting various resources, he learns that there is no such place and only ends up being confused. Thankfully, his principal realises that it is an encoding and decoding error and what was interpreted as ‘Abalpur’ should have been ‘Jabalpur’! This saved a military career, for the student who had received the summons went on to retire as an air commodore, and a great faux pas was averted.

While there are amazing gems that this book throws up, I was particularly fond of stories like ‘Window Seat’, where our (I believe all of ours) preference for the proverbial window seat of a bus, train or any crowded vehicle is brought up with pros and cons of the same. ‘Washing Instructions’ takes us on a journey where we seldom, if ever, read or follow the washing instructions on our clothes, thus the futility of the same.

This whole book is a pleasure for the reader, whether serious or casual. The book is one which you cannot put down without wondering where the next tale will take you. All stories are actual incidents in the writer’s life, thus making it even more readable. I believe, though, that the conclusion of the book is a coup d’état. The last story, or anecdote, as you will, is the most important part of this book. At a time when secularism is being questioned and religious extremism holds sway, the book ends with the tale ‘Humanity Above All’. The tale starts with a misunderstanding when a certain Colonel Gogoi was called to have a discussion for some booking in Tawang, but he was not available to receive the call. When it was surmised that he must be in church, the reaction was, “Oh! I did not know this. What made him convert? ”. The reply was that he had not converted to Christianity or any other religion, but because he was the commanding officer of a Naga battalion, and most Naga soldiers were Christians, he had gone to church. “In the Indian Army, an officer follows the religion of the troops as long as he is posted in a particular unit. Of course, he has full freedom to practise his own religion as well.” Muslim Army officers invoked the blessings of Lord Badri (of the Badrinath temple) by personally travelling to the shrine. We learn of the Sarbha Dharma Sthal (an all-religion prayer place) in the new military cantonments/stations. Thus ends what, for this reader, was a revelation of incidents that take you to memory and personal similarities in the lives we have led. Perhaps we have something to learn from this excellent collection of incidents; perhaps we all need this Sarba Dharma Sthal, not just in the army but in our lives, to understand that we are but human. We are all brothers in the same nation, regardless of our colour, creed, language, or religion. We hope that the book will be appreciated by all sections of readers. It is published by Wissen Monk Publishing and Events Pvt. Ltd., Kaliram Medhi Road, Panbazar.

The reviewers’ writers can be reached at:

1. 6000377716

2. 7578914637