In the summer of 2013, when I had just transferred to my new secondary school (one relatively closer to home), I requested that I be given a bicycle to use for commuting to and from school, tuition, and extra classes. Because the father was always busy with endless chores, and because I was forever known to be an independent kid in our household, the wish was fulfilled. That’s when a cute baby pink Lady Bird cycle with a front basket entered my life. Twelve years down the lane, I’m an overweight adult, but surprisingly, I still pull a lot of compliments on how toned my legs are, and I think the hundreds of hours I’ve spent cycling through the streets of Duliajan over the years have a lot to do with this particular feature of mine.
Since I’m in the mood to overshare, and (I’m assuming) you’re all ears, it might be appropriate to reveal right now that, fortunately or unfortunately, a bicycle continues to be the sole mode of independent transportation that I’ve ever mastered. It’s the winter of 2025, I’m now a Research Scholar, and that’s just how things are. In today’s pursuit of reliving my time at Duliajan, I’d like to rely on the sturdy support of the handlebars of my two-wheeler, the magic cycle, my Lady Bird.
I want to talk about the sixth of February 2016, when a very dear friend invited us all to have a small birthday celebration at the local Puchka stall near the A Type quarters (the lane that leads straight to Nehru Maidan). Winter was slowly disappearing, the days were gradually becoming longer, the air was still chilly, especially if on a two-wheeler (irrespective of whether it’s a cycle or bike), and life was beautiful. I was in eleventh grade, soon to be a Class XII student. I remember that I wore a yellow shrug (a hand-me-down from my sister) and a multicoloured tank top underneath (a gift from my sister) with black jeans and felt very proud of how beautifully the colours of my outfit complemented each other [Sidenote: I remember this trivia because this evening holds a warm place in my heart].
All my friends have clear instructions to make day plans (even today) if they want me to be a part of them. The logic being, my part of the town is without street lights, and returning home post-sunset becomes challenging (not for me, obviously…because I’m a pro) because my mother worries that a fast-moving truck might hit her child, and I don’t like getting her all worked up about this. Anyhow, this friend too was mindful of the timing, and the entire girl gang met at around 3:30 pm for the much-awaited birthday treat. I parked my cycle at a friend’s house (someone close to Duliajan Club) and from there went our tolli of ultra loud teenage girls, gallivanting through the clean and green streets of Duliajan…talking, gossiping, laughing, singing, and unknowingly creating more gossip stories that would be discussed at school the following day. I remember grinning from ear to ear on my ride back home; it was one of the finest evenings I had spent in my hometown - a core memory from my high school days. This was also the famous DSLR phase, and almost every outing we had back then involved clicking cute pictures in the camera of that one friend who owned a DSLR. We would then eagerly wait for our friend to give back our respective pendrives at school the next day, and by evening, the best pictures from the lot would make it to our Facebook pages (Insta wasn’t a thing then)!
It’s funny how we outgrow our childhood dreams, preferences, and homes, but somehow associate happiness with the same old things entrenched in our memories. In this case, all it took for me to feel happy then was a plate of Puchka and a packet of chips that my friend had bought for us! Even today, when I crave puchkas, or pass by a puchka stall on a breezy evening, my brain takes me back to this chilly evening from 2016, when I shared laughter and stories with my friends!
Life in Duliajan comes with facilities and privileges, especially if you’re lucky enough to live in the colony area, but in essence, our lives here are slow and cocooned. We live in our small little world of friends and acquaintances, and despite many people telling you otherwise, gossip brings joy to most of us! Even with the limited worldly exposure, the city grows on you. However, there is a deep-seated loneliness in the Duliajan way of life that not many of us talk about. It's that slow, and often undetected slip from quiet moments of solitude to an aching loneliness where even the blue skies and canopied trees of the town fail to satiate the soul. That being said, I think we love Duliajan still, because a large part of our days here are spent socialising, hosting loved ones, eating fancy meals together, going for morning and evening walks, and graciously embracing (if I may be so bold) and redefining tiny bits of this township life.