
History was my favourite subject in school. While my friends nurtured dreams of becoming doctors and scientists, I quietly revelled in the past glory of my nation and daydreamed about a historic rebellion that would help my trouble-torn state of Assam break free from all shackles.
And the only person who helped keep my dreams alive was my senior, Siddharta Baruah. A Buddhist by birth but a communist at heart, Siddharta hated terms like ‘Third World’. It was he who taught me that we were born in a cursed era — a free nation dominated by civil strife, insurgency and poverty. But it
Those days I hardly understood what communism was all about; yet the idea of a classless society excited me. For me school was the world and my teachers the greatest of all dictators. It was during that phase when, tucked inside his Das Kapital, I found a bookmark of Che Guevara. I liked the face instantly, and my belief in the revolution grew stronger.
I still remember the day when I was very upset because my class teacher told me to opt for physics. I was adamant though and knew for sure that nothing would replace history. I even thought of leaving school if I was not allowed to take up the subject of my choice. It was Siddharta again who came to my rescue. “You don’t leave a place you love, no matter how much you hate its leaders and their ideas,” he said. “If you don’t approve of something wrong, try and change it.”
Finally, my class ten results were announced. I got a distinction in history and could hardly wait to give him the news. I rushed to his hostel room but found it locked. There was no sight of him for another week. Then one day I met his friend, Gagan, who told me that Siddharta had left India. Three years I came to know that he was in the US, doing his MBA from Syracuse University. The news stunned me.
But by then communism, and Marx too, had become history for me.


