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It is a tale in the song of an airman who leaves his camp and reaches the peak.​The Shillong Peak. Where Love feels him with a beloved.
Table of contents

I am also grateful to the memories of my younger days.

And to the pools and the plants; the cosmos fields and the orchids; sweet peas on the waysides of Mayurbhanj Palace; and the people with whom I lived and learnt in Shillong. Aspirations, when they outlast their expiry time, become crystals of special emotions. More than the memories they are. I have lent some of mine to Rohan, the male protagonist of this novel.


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But I gave him no part of my subjectivity. I keep that with me through a thousand missed chances and discoveries of my life. And that is the reason that in spite of me, Rohan does better.

The Homecoming – An escape to the city of clouds; Shillong

At the end of the book I envy him. Even slightly annoyed but with a triumphant feeling that it is after all not my story, though with a time machine I would rather it be.

Some beautiful people of Shillong of the seventies may find a faint or a well-lined reflection of theirs in the book. I plead with them not to sue me for wangling some parts of their time to fill up the zest of the seventies in my characters. I gratefully acknowledge beauty of their consciousness in my life. In my memories, in imagination, and in the book.

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I hope nothing in the book triggers uneasiness in their mind… … or.. But if that happens, my apologies are here in advance. I wish I could present the book in a better form. Failings of diction or of the language are all mine. The new trend in publishing takes editing in the commercial street. It seems, it is no longer a business of the publisher.

Hence this book comes to you without the professional support of editing. If destiny had its ways, he too had his will. His eyes set on the stars, Rohan Kumar Anand decided to topple the system or bang the quirks of fate that had so far only kicked him around. So what if he had his BA degree through correspondence course!

He now decided to be serious about his post graduation more than even a regular student, as he told Joseph K, his companion of the day from the book in his hand. He sat for a while on a stool inside the office and reflected on his life. He was very conscious about his vernacular education in a series of government schools where he learnt English alphabets in the Fifth Form.

All the guys in the class learnt a lot of English to pass the exam. Some, dodging Rohan on the way, had their names even on the merit list of the Secondary School Board that year. But merit or no merit; by the time Rohan finished his twelfth standard, he knew English more than others in the class.

Now, after five years of service in the Air Force, he knew it more than all his Section-mates. He yawned and concluded that it was because of the conversational norms of the Air Force, or his occasional conversation with the characters he pulled out of a number of books that he had read since his recruitment.

The characters spoke as much as their authors wanted, but he created tens of more dialogues. The alternate ones. Reading was his hobby, and talking while reading a compulsion, that had helped him grow in his self-esteem and ambition. Characters gave him a good company too. So much that he often became them. His joining done, he now had to think about his main purpose of seeking and getting posting in Shillong. About a week later, when he inquired about the location of the university in town, no one seemed to have had any clue.

But he knew, there was one; a newly established central university in Shillong. It was a good idea, he felt.

So the next day, when the three-tonner fitted with fixed benches came, he asked the driver, Will it be okay if I travel with you to the city! The driver was a corporal and senior to him. Else he would have jumped in the booth with a friendlier assertion. Are you off duty. Naturally, sir.

About Shillong

I am in the Signals, I mean Communications. Night duty, you know! So the day is off , he said with a business-like congeniality. Hop in; but help the kids at the next stop. I am a bloody servant of the Air Force and not of these brats , he muttered; not with any lethal conviction. Rohan walked around the front and got into the cabin from the other side. Big handlebar moustaches turned to inspect him. He saw the name on the breast tag: Nair P.

He recalled his days in Bangalore with colleagues like Hamza Thayyil, T. Nambiar, Thomas Verkey and Montoo Nair. He had gotten along well with them. He knew all the statistics of how many cousins each one had in the gulf; or the coconut trees or pepper climbers in their home fields. One even had a boat that ran on rent in the backwaters of Kumarakom! Nair thrust some power to the engine, and the truck moved up the hill.

Two ayahs, two mothers and five kids waited there. It sneezed and moved again. Nair started whistling a tune in the smugness of his settled routine. Suddenly, the moustaches turned straight and the mouth within asked the handyman, Whatz your naaaame? I am Rohan. Coming from where? Training Command Unit, Bangalore he replied softly. You need to have a new bank account then! Nair asked in a dead serious tone. Puzzled by the question at this time on the road, Rohan mumbled, Yes, well.

We all get and spend our salary in cash.

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So what!! You see. Nearest to the camp. You may try there, said PRP, again in a grave voice while pointing at a small building in the fenced-in project area. A sturdy board fixed near the building read in white letters over the sky blue surface: Central Semen Bank. PRP started humming the tune again. Rohan was not amused by the poor joke but he laughed to honour hilarity that came wearing moustaches. He gathered some wit and said, I am not that kind of a bull, sir. PRP drove on nonchalantly. Moustaches whistled again; the truck trundled on the winding road, and Rohan savoured every inch of beautiful landscape, the country houses, and delicate fair lasses with baskets on their back carrying anything that throbbed with life or with the freshness that grew on the terraces over the hills or the slopes around.