On Rabindranath Tagore-The Man Inside My Head: Of Love, Longing, Loathing and Hating the Bearded Man in the Month of May by Saptarshi Basu - FEATURED in Creative Non-fiction section of CHA : An Asian Literary Journal
Man
is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible
for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning
―
Jean-Paul Sartre
TORMENTED
SOULS
The nature of mankind has a striking similarity in one respect
– that we all love to destroy what we had once loved. Bitterly and madly. How
could you better explain the hindu-muslim riot as fallout of the partition. Innocent
people, irrespective of their religion had continued peacefully for thousands
of years. How come the nature of relationship was painfully dissected on the
table of Bengal’s soil on a single day?
My grandmother never had any answer to it. My grandfather
whom I had never met was forced to leave everything and search for a new home.
Home indeed is a peculiar word. The love, the patience, the effort and the time
invested building it up might be all destroyed in a single second. And then, as
Rudyard Kipling has famously said in his ‘IF’ poem –
And
risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And
lose, and start again at your beginnings
And
never breathe a word about your loss
I wonder if my grandfather had the endeavor of risking
anything. Or did have anything to risk at all. The complexities of Gandhian
politics were quite tough for his docile mind, I believe. And so, when the
great deluge began, though there was no Noah, only millions of hapless people
wandering for a new home. Home indeed is a peculiar word.
It was that time that the wander-bug had bitten my ancestor.
For I had heard scintillating stories from my Granma that my grandfather
absconded for his family life quite often. After he had set up something called
‘home’ in west Bengal, preferably Kolkata.
Marcel Proust once said ‘The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking
new landscapes, but in having new eyes’. Perhaps, the great deluge had offered him, I mean my
grandfather a boundless ‘new eye’.
With the advent of my youth, which is a form of chemical
madness as per F. Scott Fitzgerald I had been bitten by that same wander-bug.
Somewhere, deep inside my hearts of heart I believe it was in my grandfather’s gene.
The pangs of being a writer came much later accompanied by the usual remorse of
nothingness and solitude. As Gogol once said in his Dead Souls –
and
that a whole abyss separates it from the antics of the street-fair clown! This
contemporary judgment does not recognize; and will turn it all into a reproach
and abuse of the unrecognized writer; with no sharing, no response, no
sympathy, like a familyless wayfarer, he will be left alone in the middle of
the road. Grim is his path, and bitterly he will feel his solitude.
- TO BE
CONTINUED ( this is a copyrighted material)
Year 2002. 2nd year into the dreaded chase
called Engineering.
I was sitting in a smoky, ghostly room with fellow Mech-ies
enjoying rather a strong brew. Tranced into the ocean of Bengali renaissance songs,
we hovered in a make-believe happy little world. All sorts of topic, ranging
from girls in the ladies hostel to the ever increasing price of liquors were
being seriously discussed. I really don’t know how that name came to my mind.
It just came .Perhaps I was a bit high. And I started.
‘It seems…’ there was a pause. All looked at me with utter
disinterest. ‘The chaos in the world is perennial. And as per Naipaul… .’ I was
unable to complete my sentence when one of my friends popped up.
‘Chandrapaul’s brother?’ he looked at me with hazy eyes. ‘Did
he also play for West Indies?’ .I… somewhat felt being in midst of a curfew .No
one was there except for the burning flames which was lapping me up internally.
‘Hmm…I know re’ said another intelligent fella. ‘He played for Trinidad and Tobacco’.
Trinidad and Tobacco… Trinidad and Tobacco…it echoed quite some time inside my
alcohol-ed head till I went up. I left the room. The brew tasted bitter by now.
Many years later while reading Sashti brata’s my god died young (kind of his autobiography written at mere age of
28-29) I read of a similar situation.
S.B. (another S.B. mind it!) writes:
We
were at dinner round the marble table, some dozen faces in all. In between all
the inane chatter I managed to scatter my pearls. ‘We no longer live in
Wasteland,’ I said. ‘The ground is rich once again and Eliot’s voice is weak
with fatigue…..’
At
this point I was rudely halted by my eldest brother.
‘Who
is Eliot’ he queried.
I
felt stung. My orations ceased. I looked blank and cold.
I felt nothing much has changed. In all these years. My god died young was first
published in 1968. It was 2002 for me.
Life went on. Chandrapaul did
hit a few centuries after that and Naipaul was hit by a few controversies. The world
mostly remained the same. We completed our engineering with bruises and burns.
Jobs were rarer than girls. Slowly Naipaul retired temporarily to the dug-out
and Bill Gates appeared with his word (MS Word man!). I somehow crash-landed in
one of the country’s most esteemed software dressing room, oops! I mean
Software Company.
There by
heaven’s virtue and God’s grace I met an IT engineer cum Bengali Renaissance poet.
I was extremely proud to share our rented apartment with him. Off course others
were there, but he was the most intellectual artiste. Different he was in all ways. Our beloved cook who cooked
snakes and ladders provided vital information about the great soul. In those
troubled and poverty stricken times, the sole television set was the Kohinoor of
our flat. It helped us blue-ing our weekends with cheap source of entertainment.
I told you, troubled times it was! Now, this great soul and intellectual artiste never cultivated in blues .We
acknowledged it also. With his renaissance motive on high, it might falter him in
the path. Our respect increased manifold. Till it got punctured .Our snakes and
ladder cook had watched our respected friend to carry our Kohinoor to his room
and make the whole room blue. I felt it was his need of the hour and dismissed
it as a minor pimple in the face of our moon-ish friend.
Life went on. On
one such boring night I asked him about his best English novel (The beeest Eenglish
Novel, mind it!). I was waiting eagerly you know. It was like stealing some
diamonds from his ocean of intellect. When he scratched his French-cut and said
‘Hmm…there’s plenty…But…recently I liked…’ . ‘Which one?’ I shouted in my
excitement.
‘There’s a book called I too had a lovely story…nice
but one problem’. I felt stung. My orations ceased. I looked blank and cold. ‘What
problem’ I meekly asked. ‘The name you know…It should have been… I too had a dog story…so
much like our life…’. ‘True’ I said somewhat absent-minded.
From then I loved dogs. Still I love them. Whenever the
bar-man ask me, I have one constant reply. ‘Black Dog, 8 years’. Not a very old
dog you see, just 8 years. Couple of days back with my Dog on my table I was
unhappily shouting a few lines (Metallica was on their full pitch) to one of my
office colleague. ‘You know…Philip Roth is retiring…Sad...Isn’t it?’. He looked
at me surprised. ‘What has happened to you, Basu???…why are you lamenting for
an English cricketer…Is Philip in the recent India-England series?’
I felt stung. My orations ceased. I looked blank and cold. Life
went on. Chandrapaul did hit a few more centuries after that and Naipaul… perhaps
had retired in Trinidad and Tobacco.
- Saptarshi Basu *************** Saptarshi Basu, a Gold Medallist in Mechanical Engineering, has been in the IT industry for the last 8 years and he has worked for the top 3 IT companies of India (INFOSYS,TCS & WIPRO). However, writing has always been his first love and passion. His debut novel Love {Logic} and the God's Algorithm is now a national best-seller in Infibeam, a premier online store. His second novelAutumn in My Heart, published by Vitasta Publishing with Times group launched in november'11, has already created a lot of stir due to its theme on homosexuality. Visit his website for more information
Who were the Mayans? How did they predict a start of a new cycle?
Did Rig Veda talked about Mayans? What is the secret of the lord Shiva's trident petroglyph at Nazca desert of Peru? Was the great Imhotep of Egypt an Indian Sage? What did the templar knights found excavating the underground vaults of King Solomon's temple ?
What if 'AMAR KATHA' Lord
Shiva's doctrine of Immortality was in written form ? Depicted by some secret
symbols ? then...
Lord Shiva, the Destroyer, the
Creator, the Protector.
God of all Gods. King of the
Ganas. He had prophesied the life of every living being millions and millions
of years before. He had fought many a war to drive away the force of greed,
hatred and corruption.
Will HE REAPPEAR TO SAVE THE
WORLD?
Its 2020 now…
The CERN Large Hadron
Collider is about to unravel a dark secret on the mystery of matter.
An ancient Mayan formula
on electronic tablets echoes a warning of events in future.
Only the ONE can save
the world.
Lord Shiva….
As per Mayan Calendar, the world is running in the
Age of Aquarius and on Dec. 21, 2012, the day of the annual winter solstice,
the Sun will rise roughly over the center of the Milky Way galaxy which may
lead to the end of the world. They say it will start on Dec. 12, 2012 and
everything will be destroyed by Dec. 21, 2012 in period of 9 days.
For now we know 2012 it’s a hoax!!!
The Mayans recorded time in a series of cycles,
including 400-year chunks called baktuns. It's these baktuns that have led to
rumors of an end-of-the-world catastrophe on Dec. 21, 2012 — on that date, a
cycle of 13 baktuns will be complete. But the idea that this means the end of
the world is a misconception. In fact, Maya experts have known for a long time
that the calendar doesn't end after the 13th baktun. It simply begins a new
cycle. And the calendar encompasses much larger units than the baktun.
Who were the Mayans? How did they
predict a start of a new cycle?
Did Rig Veda talked about Mayans? What is the secret of the lord Shiva's trident petroglyph at Nazca desert of Peru
As per Vedic literature, The end of the world is prophesied
to happen at the end of theKali Yuga.
So, when will the world end?
The
One who carries the blue blood in his veins has the secret to awaken Rudra.
The
prince who had forgotten it all! The
last Naga Prince on earth!
In
a compelling mythological thriller, blended by history, spiced by legend and
transformed by myth, the painting of Blue Mountains and Rudra’s tears are the
only key to awaken the greatest Lord on earth…
WILL THE WORLD REALLY END?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------|| READ SAPTARSHI BASU'S FIRST NOVEL
- AUTUMN IN MY HEART PUBLISHED BY TIMES GROUP ( TIMES OF INDIA)
Saptarshi Basu, a Gold Medallist in Mechanical Engineering, has been in IT industry for last 8 years and has worked for the top 3 IT companies of India (INFOSYS,TCS & WIPRO). His Novel , AUTUMN IN MY HEART published by Vitasta Publishing with Times group launched in november'11 has already created a lot of stir due on causes of broken heart and homosexuality.He does motivational speaking and was invited from Jaipur Engineering College and Research Centre (JECRC) to address their Annual National Tech-Fest Renaissance -March, 2012.
Saptarshi Basu also does screenplay writing for movies and writes columns for some online magazines .
The novels have been widely reviewed by media in leading newspapers like The Hindu, Times of India, The Telegraph, Mumbai Mirror, Political and business Daily and others.
