ARA’S CHILDHOOD SPUN ON A GRAMOPHONE

ARA’S CHILDHOOD SPUN ON A GRAMOPHONE

18-OCT-ENG 5

RAJIV NAYAN AGRAWAL

ARA-----------------------------If, today, amidst the ear-splitting music of DJs outside Durga Puja pandals, you were to catch the faint, crackling, sweet melody of a gramophone, know that you have been transported back to the Ara of 1975.

In those days, the true star of the pandal wasn’t the idol of Goddess Durga, but the black gramophone placed before it.

A black record would spin on its platter, the needle would settle, and then the song would ring out: "Duniya ka mela, mele mein ladki, akeli..." (A fair in this world, a girl in the fair, all alone...)

And that was all it took! For us boys, busy playing *gilli-danda* in front of the pandal, our feet would begin to dance all on their own.

A marvel that was strictly off-limits to touch.

To us, the gramophone was nothing short of a NASA rocket. How could sound possibly emerge from that black disc spinning on the platter? We would hover for hours around the technician. He would scold us and shoo us away—"Hey, get lost! You’ll break the needle!" But who was listening? That very crowd was our childhood.

There was one common thread in that crowd: everyone was a boy. In those days, even the mere presence of a girl near a pandal was considered a 'big deal.'

But every crowd harbors a spark of rebellion.

And in that very crowd was Phool Kumari.

Phool Kumari from MP Bagh. She is 55 years old today. Since her marriage, she has lived in Asansol, but the moment she speaks on the phone, she transforms back into the Phool of Ara.

She recalls, "The melodies were sweet, but the lyrics struck a chord deep within. Hearing 'a girl in the fair, all alone,' I couldn't help but wonder—were they singing about me?" "In those days, there were many restrictions on girls. That is why I would deliberately dress in boys' trousers and shirts, and slip right into the crowd of boys. I would spend hours just watching the gramophone."

She says with a laugh, "For a girl to be amidst a crowd of boys—that in itself was a passion."

Today, we have DJs and laser lights, but that innocence surrounding the gramophone is gone. And perhaps that is why stories like Phool Kumari’s remind us that 'Ara' is not just a city; it is a feeling—one that remains alive even in Asansol.