Roots from Shillong, Raised in Silchar

Authored by Poireitomba Huidrom

Barak Bulletin’s take on civic journalism in Silchar has impressed me, reinforcing something I’ve always believed—this town has its own unique charm. I want to stand my ground and maybe make an effort for the younger crowd to perceive Silchar as more than a town with just infrastructure and never-ending developing projects.

My connection with this town runs very deep, as my mother’s side of the family lived here before; my parents eventually settled on the outskirts of Ramnagar. I spent most of my early schooling years in Shillong, earning the comical label of Shillong’er chele (Shillong boy). Ironically, I picked up Sylheti in its most raw and unfiltered form at a very young age. Only a few close people have heard me speak it aloud. Unlike many people I’ve met, I never felt embarrassed about this part of my identity, even when I moved to Bangalore for college. Interestingly, I met several people from Silchar who hesitated to mention their hometown. But I was always eager to explain its nuances—the tea gardens, the history of Polo as an active sport, the easternmost corridor, and how Silchar Bengali (Sylheti) differs from Kolkata Bengali. My friends were often fascinated to learn that this small town had a medical college, a National Institute of Technology, a central university, an airport, and a train station. I know that most of the readers would still debate Silchar’s credibility as a developing city. I believe the whole column about issues in Silchar addresses them properly, and I leave it to the rightful authorities to solve them.

Twenty years ago, Silchar had a pretty strong distinct character (I still believe it does), and it was more a town than the current identity of an emerging city. The whole market would start from the Bridge in Tarapur, where every shop would be lit up with grandeur, and the roads were cleaner and less jammed up. Back then, the best Rasagullas were found opposite the station at Radha Madhab Mistan Bhandar, and early-morning hot puris weren’t from Purvanchal in Ramnagar. The streets bustled around Capital Point, with buses departing for Shillong and Guwahati in the early mornings and late nights. Devdoot was just a cinema hall, and Central Road was known primarily for its bank. Bhowal was the go-to medical store, and G.K. Patao was the biggest dealer for cycles. The streets were filled with hand-painted cycle rickshaws, while autos were considered a luxury to travel on. Parking was never an issue, and owning a private vehicle was a status symbol. My family had a Premier Padmini with an ML registration, which often landed in trouble with the local traffic police.

The roads were cleaner, a bit greener and less dusty. Even though there was no dedicated footpath as such, I never felt the need as it was decent enough to walk and navigate throughout the whole town. Premtala was still emerging, while Sadarghat, Janiganj, and Fatak Bazaar were the town’s main wholesale markets. For a six-year-old me, Rongpur was where distant relatives lived, and a trip to the main town was a well-planned weekly affair. Ambicapatty, Hospital Road, Bilpar, Ranghirkhari, and Link Road were just extensions of the town, a bit blurry in my childhood memories.

Perhaps the biggest milestone for Silchar wasn’t the inauguration of the broad gauge—it was the arrival of Vishal Mega Mart, which gave people their first taste of what a modern town looks like. Back then, Nahata Textile was what Goldighi Mall is today, and names like Jeetu Market, Ismail Market, Ellora Market, and Barak Market were familiar to everyone.

Even today, to truly experience Silchar, one can curate an hour-long playlist and embark on a walking journey from Silchar Station to the National Highway point. Covering roughly 5 km, one can also explore the many pockets of hidden identity this town has to offer.