I woke up 3:10 AM today (4/12/2011), almost unknowingly andunwillingly. I glanced down through the window to gauge what time it couldpossibly be. To my utter surprise, the night was awaiting me with a gift of aglossy carpet of fog, despite it being tormented by a humid day. It wasn’tnatural, I could instantly guess. The smog vomited out by the neighboring ZuariIndustries was the culprit.
However what good the ‘fog’ did was that it reignited my wishto write about my paper mill, Nagaon Paper Mill. I belief this place hascaptured the place of almost a temple in my heart. But then what’s so specialabout those fogs and a paper mill?
I have grown up in an industrial township, and a verybeautiful one for that case. The effect of the blazing production might metedout by the biggest paper company of the Subcontinent and a completely introvertyet picturesque nature outside made a strange coexistence and diffused into oneanother so effortlessly.
I still remember the misty days when I used to wake up at 5-6AM (unlike nowadays when I wake up at 1:30 PM!) and the industry would stillroar with its majestic grumblings and siren piercing through the spine-chillingcold. It captured the emblem of a powerful guardian in my childhood psyche.Somehow it became the lifeblood of the entirety of Jagiroad.
Another added benefit that this mill doped me with was that Iwas meant to live in a ‘rainbow’ township; with people from a motley of states rightfrom Odisha, Bihar, UP, WB to AP and even Kerala. I think more people from mycolony speak Hindi than Assamese itself. This has imbued me with the feeling ofa broader sense of India. I can bet, I have eaten as much Idlis for breakfastas any Assamese Pitha or an Aloo Parantha. Everyone in my neighborhood getsequally poignant when a Saikia family leaves or a Rao leaves.
As I wrote sometimes before also, I may not feel that much connectedto Assam nowadays; but still my childhood memories are a treasure, a treasureto die with, embracing.