I am in Daltonganj this April. My father is posted here.
You know where Daltonganj is?
Most people don't.
It is the headquarters of Palamau District in Jharkhand. Nowhereland. I know. Oh yeah, by the way, its now called Medininagar. They changed the name because the administration feels that Raja Medini Rai is a more suitable hero for this town to commemorate than the anthropologist E.T Dalton.
In yo' face, British Raj and Edward Tuite Dalton. We have our own heroes now.Sort of.
This is what the busiest area in Daltonganj looks like.
Nothing to really rave home about. But well, this is what most small Indian towns are like. Daltonganj is sleepy. It is small. This town is a relic of the colonial era. A half-dead testament of the faded grandeur of the British. One of the many ganjs dotted around North India that are named after some long dead British officer no one cares about.
I lead a strange ''brown sahib's daughter'' existence here. Quite different from the one I am used to in Ranchi. I grew up in a similar situation in Hazaribagh but almost eight years in a compact little flat in ''big city'' (it is a capital, OKAY!) Ranchi had made me somewhat forget all of that. The official bungalow is old and beautiful. There is a fleet of domestic help waiting on us and a beautiful green garden with trimmed hedges and summer blooms.
Despite all this, I feel there is a certain beauty in this town's insignificance. Because it is in these small, insignificant, godforsaken ''chotta shehers'' that most of India lives. We talk about throbbing, living, pulsating cities where cultures meet and minds ignite and hearts break and lives collide. Few people remember that it is in the ganjs, nagars, purs and baghs that real stories are made. There is a beguiling stillness to them but underneath this humdrum cloak lie lives and stories screaming to be heard.
You just have to listen.
You know where Daltonganj is?
Most people don't.
It is the headquarters of Palamau District in Jharkhand. Nowhereland. I know. Oh yeah, by the way, its now called Medininagar. They changed the name because the administration feels that Raja Medini Rai is a more suitable hero for this town to commemorate than the anthropologist E.T Dalton.
In yo' face, British Raj and Edward Tuite Dalton. We have our own heroes now.Sort of.
This is what the busiest area in Daltonganj looks like.
 |
| Choumuhan Chowk, Daltonganj |
I lead a strange ''brown sahib's daughter'' existence here. Quite different from the one I am used to in Ranchi. I grew up in a similar situation in Hazaribagh but almost eight years in a compact little flat in ''big city'' (it is a capital, OKAY!) Ranchi had made me somewhat forget all of that. The official bungalow is old and beautiful. There is a fleet of domestic help waiting on us and a beautiful green garden with trimmed hedges and summer blooms.
 |
| Daltonganj residence |
Despite all this, I feel there is a certain beauty in this town's insignificance. Because it is in these small, insignificant, godforsaken ''chotta shehers'' that most of India lives. We talk about throbbing, living, pulsating cities where cultures meet and minds ignite and hearts break and lives collide. Few people remember that it is in the ganjs, nagars, purs and baghs that real stories are made. There is a beguiling stillness to them but underneath this humdrum cloak lie lives and stories screaming to be heard.
You just have to listen.
My parents spent almost eight years in this town back in nineties. I have little memory of that time.
''It hasn't changed much in the past twenty years.'', remarks my mother.
''It hasn't changed much in the past twenty years.'', remarks my mother.
It will probably not change much in the next twenty as well, I think.
Pictures:
#1-Google
#2-Self
A fine piece. :)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Kriti. :*
DeleteYou bothered to comment here as well! I love you. <3
Yay. ^-^
DeleteYou captured the essence,a well written piece.
ReplyDeleteThat means a lot coming from someone like you, Bhaiya. Thank you. ^_^ :)
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