About the Book NEFA and I: Moi aru NEFA (Me and NEFA, now changed to NEFA and I) was first published in the original Assamese in the year 2000. It is primarily an account, in the autobiographical mode, of the work Indira Miri did as the person given the responsibility, in 1947, of starting and spreading modern education in the then North-Eastern Frontier Agency. Written nearly fifty years after she left NEFA, this is a vivid document of amazing courage determination, intelligence, imagination and love of the people she was chosen to serve, shown by a woman in her late thirties. She narrates her story with simplicity and effectiveness without either pretence or false modesty. The main narrative is preceded by a fascinating account of her life before NEFA. In a way, the book is also a tale of the ethical transformations that have taken place in our times. Also, some of what she says, particularly on the importance of native language and the decisions she took on language in the newly opened schools, have crucial philosophical, ethical and political significance for us today.
About the Author Indira Miri (1910-2004) was educated in Shillong, Kolkata, Ahmedabad and Edinburgh. She married at the age of 23 and became a widow at the age of 30. During her widowhood, she won a scholarship to go to Edinburgh University to study for a degree in Education. On her return from Edinburgh, she was appointed, in 1947, as head the Department of Education in the then NEFA. The book is the story of her extraordinary work in NEFA. She is survived by two sons.
Preface I step into my ninetieth year, I realize that my present Ah has no meaning, my past is real and my future void.
Look at my present today: My faculties have become feeble-almost inert-I have lost my hearing, eyes have become dim, my mind incapable of thinking, my arms and legs almost motionless.
And the future: I wait for the end, my feeble heartbeats the only sign of life. When the spring of life has dried up, when the pleasures of life have turned dull, the only thing that sustains a little life is remembrances of the past and the remembrances, ironically enough, seem to light up what remains of the path to the end.
The past-who says the past is dead and gone? The past is real. It is memories of events past and of the dead who were close to me that give me the strength to write the following pages-my failing faculty notwithstanding.
In my youth, I never had the thought that the past is the only reality. It is the past that keeps one alive till one's last breath, gives one the sense of who one is. I am who I am because of my past. As long as I have a sense of who I am, my past cannot be parcelled out and put away. Of Course my memories are scattered in some disarray in the Homain of the past.
**Contents and Sample Pages**
