Ishita Bhaduri's Internete Neel Akaash | Ekush Shatak, Kolkata

Reviews, Vol I, Issue IV

The eye-soothing azure and slate-blue sky with fleecing white clouds on the cover of this tab-sized book of poems in Bangla by Ishita Bhaduri, a well-known poet of the eighties from Kolkata, promises some tranquil good-reads within its covers. The gems that glisten from the depths of this book shows how adept Ishita Bhaduri is in maintaining crispness and freshness in her writings in Bangla, and her renowned capability of capturing thoughts and moments in just a handful of words.

There seems to be a glimpse of the Sky in most of her poems. The Sky is the Poet’s canvas where she writes and draws letters and alphabets. This is where ‘naked words dwell’ on her palms. She ‘creates them in a magical mystery’. She ‘lathers and bathes them, puts clothes on their body’, and then makes them ‘float in the moonlit river’ or ‘become rainbows in the sky’.

In this collection of poems the Poet has woven a fabric of individual poems where images, themes and frequent repetitive forms play along with each other in an intricate manner. And I believe readers will require reading the book as a whole for full appreciation, although at the same time I would definitely add that browsing randomly from one poem to another also brings in its own rewards.

Some poems portray the inexorable demands and pressures of an urban environment and the turmoil within oneself, as in the following -

Ekti bishonno jibon uthe elo shunyo theke

Nasto faler mato

(A mundane life rises upwards from the void

  Like a rotten fruit)

Or in …

Ghorir knataa chhutchhe, jeno ashwamedher ghoraa

Athacho jibon, hang hoye porey ache, dastolaar baaraandaaye

Sthir sthaanubot

(The clock sprints as if an Ashwamedha horse

While life…with its hung status lies on the tenth floor verandah

Inert unmoving)

And also in…

Vaan o vonitar chaadorey dhaakche samporko

Kuyaashaar moto.

(Relationships cover up under wraps of conceit and pretense

Like a sheet of fog)

The Poet lightly touches on what she sees and feels using all five senses. The writing is nuanced and the Poet accepts, at times with a weary resignation, the challenges of the ups and downs in relationships, as we see in the following lines-

Ei sab jadiguli atikrom

Kore uthi jadi

Tobei madhyaanye chandramaa,

Aar aporaanhye jogeshwari

(If I can overcome all these if’s

Then moonshine in the noon

And Raga Jogeshwari at sundown)

And…

Ei ghare kaaro upostithi ter pai ami

Shartobiheen aamaar sange thaake se saaraakkhan.

Dingote paari naa choukaath taai

Ei ghar chhere jete paari naa paap-ghare kono.

(I feel the presence of someone in this room

Who remains with me always unconditionally.

I cannot cross the threshold

And leave this room to enter the evil’s den)

And also …

Samporko sesh hoye gele

Andhokaari bnaache

Nirob raktopropaate

(When relationships end

Darkness remains

In silent bleeding waterfalls)

The Poet demonstrates divergent yet engaging writing styles in these gem-like poems. The present encounters the past and both reflect upon each other. One can imagine the Poet exploring with her eyes and her soul the varied intricacies and the pains of parting, separation and death. There is a lot of depth to the poems and I feel most readers would be impressed by the subtleties, as in-

Rajanigandhaar kaache nato, shapath niyechi aami

Tomaake aakaash debo, tulip debo protidin

Osthe tomaar gethe debo halud golaap.

(I bowed to the tuberose and vowed

I will give you the sky; I will gift you tulips everyday

I will set yellow roses on your lips)

Or …

Dik paribartan hoye jaachhe

Gantobyo sorey jaachhe

Haat duto dhorei aacho

Takhono.

(Directions change

Destinations shift

Your remain holding onto my hands

Still then…)

Ishita Bhaduri’s poetry is never blurred or indefinite. One finds a clear presentation of whatever the Poet wishes to convey. The simplicity and directness of speech, the beauty of the rhythms, individualistic freedom of ideas, effective use of poetic language and metaphors, the artful application of sound and meaningful words stimulate images similar to those produced by visual art.

Bolechhile baasor saajaabe naditeere

Brikkharopon utsabe niye jaabe bolechhile...

Bolechhile, tumi bolechhile....

(You promised to set up the floral nuptial by the riverbanks

You promised to take me to the tree-planting ceremony

You told me so…)

Baidyutik chullite dhukio naa aamaay

Vaasiye dio samudrajale

Jeno roye jaai jaler niche coral paathore.

Do not shove me into the electric furnace

Set me for immersion in the seawaters

To remain underneath among corals and pebbles.

Ektaa mrityu. Bole gelo kaal

Je manushtaa chhilo aajanmo paashe, aabege o avyashe je mukh aajo

Seo chhilo naa konodin aamaar

(A death. Yesterday called in to say

The person who remained by my side lifelong

That face still in habitual actions and emotions

He too was never mine)

Her poems constitute a series of questions that readers might be willing to do some self soul-searching before relating to themselves.

Ichhe korlei paaro

Vaasiye ditey stabdho aakaash?

Antohin shunya dupur?

Vaasiye ditey velaaye korey dukkho jomat?

(If you wish can you

Wash away a stunned sky?

An infinite blank noon?

Float away clotted grief?)

Ghumiye ghumiye buker modhye khnujcho ki tumi?

Jyotsna, naki swapno bneche thaakaar?

Vorer aaloye chnaader haashi, sakaalbelar dhun?

(What are you searching in the bosom in your sleep?

Moonshine or dreams to remain alive?

The lunar smile in the lights of dawn, the morning melodies?)

This gorgeous little book makes a lovely gift for a poetry lover or an easy introduction for a poetry novice. For a wider and universal readership I wish both the publisher and the poet jointly take up the project of translating the book into English.

For the last couple of days that I had been reading and re-reading the poems I strongly believe that readers like myself, will dip into this book time and again, only to discover something new, to find a different take to elicit a fresh view of life, love and relationships.

Reviewed By : Soma Roy

Soma Roy (b.1959) translates from English to Bangla and vice versa and also from German. Some of her translations have appeared in magazines and e-zines like Indian Literature (Sahitya Akademi), Wild Violet, Choreo Mag  Durbasha, Pyrta etc. Two books of poems translated by her, Marigold Moments and Rabindranath need special mention. Email:somaa1@gmail.com

The Very Best of Ruskin Bond: The Writer on the Hill / Rupa Publications

Reviews, Vol I, Issue IV

The Very Best of Ruskin Bond: The Writer on the Hill, a  selection of  fiction and non-fiction of Ruskin Bond, strings together the most lustrous pearls from  Bond’s  quintessential  stories  based on  landscape, ghosts, crime and investigation, history   and  autobiography.  The collection consists of two broad sections; fiction and nonfiction which are further categorised on the basis of when and where the stories were scripted.

‘The Thief’s Story’,  first story under fiction section,  1950s: Dehera,  is a penetrating  narration  by a thief, “a successful hand at an early age of 15” , who earns  kind Romi’s faith  and shelter in his home with his infectious smile, only to be tempted to steal his money one night. What follows is a tormenting conflict of choice between an opportunity to be educated by an honest and kind man and a ruthless betrayal and future as a thief. Amid the darkness of night and torrential rain the thief reaches railway station with an idea to flee the town with the stolen money. However, he could not move as the train arrives and leaves the platform. The sight of Romi sleeping innocently disturbs him; his dishonesty melts under the recollection of trust, empathy and affection.  The efficacious portrayal of complexity of an adolescent mind coming to terms with the world, stoic and empathetic protagonists ready to forgive the common human frailty and a vindication of affection and friendship are feature of Bond’s stories that immediately sink in.

Stories under 1960s and 1970s: Mapplewood Lodge, Mussoorie, provide us with different flavours: ‘Master ji’ is a humorous account of the narrator’s school teacher who is arrested by the police for selling fake certificates. The narrator who had all along taken this teacher’s help for Hindi is surprised to learn that he actually taught Punjabi. ‘The Kitemaker’ regrets the loss of  leisurely profession and pastime such as kite making.  ‘Most Beautiful’ questions the notion of beauty and ugliness in the context of a mentally retarded adolescent whom the narrator befriends.  ‘The Cherry Tree’ illustrates Bond’s pet theme - relationship between man and nature that grows in intensity with time like any other relation. ‘He said It with Arsenic’ is an engaging murder mystery involving the writer himself.

‘The last Time I Saw Delhi’ is autobiographical and marks a key realisation for the narrator that he  can never come to terms  with Delhi as his place  and his Mother’s  new family  as  his  family.

Though lucky to have born in bucolic surrounding the children inhibiting a hill side are not as fortunate as children in the plains in terms of the means they can access.  They are tried both by poverty and geography .Notwithstanding, they are hopeful, pleasant, hardworking and aspiring. ‘The Blue Umbrella’ and ‘A long Walk for Bina’ under 1980s and Onwards: Ivy Cottage ,Mussoorie, elucidate this predicament of the  village children of hillsides together with  the increasing tension between nature and human in the wake of the latter’s  invasion of the  former.

‘Once upon a Mountain Time’ in  1960s and 1970s: Mapplewood Lodge  consists of   diary entries of 1973 that   bring to life all the  fragrance,  hues, and resonance  of the mountains  as the writer’s observation  flutters  from quiet and still trees to chuk -chuk- chuk of night jar, from Sir Edmunds’s disturbed bowel to Bijju’s sturdy feet, from whistling thrush’s orgy in the pool near his cottage to rains, from leopards to dogs, from profusion of leeches and   bloodletting to them to new arrivals, from scarlet minivets to drongos bullying insects.  The writer’s frequents between   natural and human world, mapping constantly the changing equation between the two.          

‘A Case for Inspector Lal’ is an uncanny detective story. Inspector Lal though successfully investigates the murder case of Rani at Panauli, he fails to disclose the name of the murderer; a girl of 14 years. The inspector feels strange sympathy for this girl who commits the crime in self-defense. The story testifies that human nature is much more mysterious than any murder mystery.

The Non Fiction section, under two headings 1960s and 1970s: Mapplewood Lodge and 1980s and Onwards: Ivy Cottage , begins with  accounts  of certain historical figures whose life epitomise high drama, adventure and romance. “Colonel Gardener and the Princess of Cambay”  is a really delightful story of  romantic union of a European adventurer  Gardener, an admiral in British Navy; later served the Maratha chief Holkar,  and a Mohammedan Princess of Cambay. “Lady of Sardhana” reconstructs the story of the first and the only Catholic ruler of India whose life was “a succession of love affairs, intrigue and petty warfare.”

The last half a dozen non fictional accounts are recollection of incidents from the writer’s lonely childhood, school life; friendship that molded his perception. Some of these vignettes also introspect his creative process and philosophy. Certain characters, incidents episodes and settings seem to recur in many stories. Nevertheless, such repetitions are not only pardonable but serve as intriguing links in a selection covering the corpus of a writer’s work..

Bond looks at the human, animal, flora and fauna with same inquisitiveness, empathy and intimacy and sadly hints at how humans have violated the trust of Birds and animals. His vignette on trees and birds are the most beautiful rendition of his closeness with nature. In ‘Great Trees of Garhwal’ one gets a glimpse of the unique relation:

Some sounds cannot be recognized. They are strange night sounds, the sounds of trees themselves, stretching their limbs in the dark, shifting a little, flexing their fingers. Great trees of the mountain, they know me well. They know my face in the window; they see me watching them grow, listening to their secrets.

‘Birdsong in the Hills’ also takes the reader on a virtual tour to the jungle abuzz with the  chirpings of the exotic Himalayan birds and scintillating with their  lofty colours. ‘Ganga Descends’ seeks to understand   the “mild sort of controversy” between “serene green Bhagirathi” and “fretting and frothing” Alaknanda. All the stories are marked by an amazing picturisation of natural beauty of the hills the vivacity of which  is enhances with references to related facts and  amusing local legends. Bond weaves the binaries;  Nature /human, Adolescence (childhood)/adulthood, Hills/plains demonstrating  a clear inclination to the former. His portrayal of hills and valleys, trees and rains not only engages mind’s eyes but drenches all the senses leaving a lasting soothing effect. The stories exude an unmistakable spiritual bonding of the writer to his surrounding and the reader is almost entrances with the dreamily real   portrayal of the same.  An immensely readable book, it holds magic for everyone; and is particularly rewarding for children anticipating adulthood, adults wanting to revisit their childhood, nature lovers and travelers.

About the Columnist: 

Dr. Jindagi

Assistant Professor, 

Communication Skills, 

Dept. of Applied Sciences, MSIT, New Delhi

GODDESS by Laura Powell/ Bloomsbury

Reviews, Vol I, Issue IV

This piece of work by a very mesmerizing writer is surely a thriller and tells a story very different about an alternate London. The pen which was the cause behind the germination of an equally wonderful piece of writing “The Burn Mark” is once again the soul behind “The Goddess”. An aroma of suspense and hidden emotions swirl throughout the plot, a sense of fear and unwanted revelation can be felt in every line and in every word of this story which unfurls a completely new London in wrappers of secrets one after the other. A mixed feel of ancient era and a wonderful blend of modern times really take you to a different world much deeper into the plot. As you delve inside into the story, you start questioning many logical things and on the other hand start answering the unanswered questions. There is also a quest for love; in case you are looking for that but there also it arises some serious and intelligent questions which can guarantee to trigger your brain nerves. At first glimpse the plot may seem a slightly messy in parts but as you go on turning the pages, the hazy picture becomes clearer and you start exploring more and more and there lies the real beauty of this novel. It has that excellent potential to bind the readers and compel and persuade them to think independently on various issues raised by the protagonist and aided by various characters in the book. It tries to disclose as well as conceal the secrets of the cult which is somehow not right. Underneath plot there are many questions and themes which are so great that you cannot retrace yourself from appreciating their richness and feel their essence in today’s context.

The plot revolves around Aura, who leads her life as a handmaiden of Artemis. She is completely unaware that the life she is leading is how much privileged and luxurious. She also does not have any realization that the life outside the sanctuary is immensely difficult and poverty and grief stricken. She has no idea how bad things really are and it is like a heavy shock for her until Aiden the male lead introduces her to what is going on inside the sanctuary and outside, in the society. The whole scenario is crafted in London and is beautifully paced up throughout the plot except for those few areas which can obviously be ignored to preserve the greatness of this novel which serves for the readers of good taste. How far a society goes to prevent civil unrest? Power corrupts but can it ever be given up? Can a priestess ever be free to find love? All these and many more questions are raised very systematically without eroding the true layer of the elements which make up a classic novel. One of the most important things with this literary flower which has blossomed from the mind of Laura Powell is that it does not revolve around many locations but still it can stand if not tall then equal to novels which has lot of destinations involved. The plot has been so well organised and wonderfully researched that all the happenings seem to be real. Readers can also find it in the author’s note at the end if they desire to find more which I can say with assurance that they will. One other exciting feature of this story is that the corruption rooted through the water of religion in the heart of the city is exposed by a heroine this time.

If you are there on a hunt for a different and sensible taste for novels then by picking this one you can surely end up your hunt that too quite satisfactorily. I, on my behalf can assure all the readers that if you are looking for a piece of work which takes all human emotions necessary for a good novel and still raises prominent issues through questioning almost everything and opens the knots of mystery one after the other, then nothing matches parallel to this flamboyant flow of courage and delicacy portrayed on the canvas of a beautiful story.

Reviewed by Partho Mishra

A wisdom sharer interested in creative thoughts and innovations, especially in areas of rich literature, applied physics and computers and technology. Also a freelancer in all these related areas.

twitter handle- @UNIMANULLARDUKE

e-mail id -parthomishra016@gmail.com

Don't Let Him Know by Sandip Roy / Bloomsbury India

Reviews, Vol I, Issue IV

“A secret's worth depends on the people from whom it must be kept.”

― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

Voices come and voices go, but rare are the voices which stay with you. They linger in your head making a space for themselves for evermore. Such is the voice of Sandip Roy in his debut novel Don’t Let Him Know. Hailing from the backdrop of Calcutta and ranging to the U.S. (published by Bloomsbury India) it is the story of a family whose members hold different personal secrets throughout their lives, trying to keep it enveloped within their heart by hiding it from others (the others, who are their own). Trapped in the complexities of love, responsibility and personal emotions, it is an intriguing tale, engaging the lives of multiple generations.   

The narrative begins with an unnerving conversation heading between Romola Mitra and her son Amit who has recently discovered a part of an old letter, the last page in fact, hidden in an old address book. He considers it a love letter from a long-lost lover of his mother, finding it signed by an unknown, without any address. According to the note, it is a man from past who tends to profess his affection for the recipient and at the same time shows his regret on being betrayed.

“Romola sat there in Amit’s armchair slightly stunned. After all these years how could she have been so careless? She knew she had saved the letter, unable to destroy it the way she should have years ago. She remembered reading it and rereading it, each word striking her like a sledgehammer, cracking her open over and over again. She had always meant to throw it away, shred it, but somehow she never could. She had hidden it instead – stashed away like a secret pain. But she had never meant Amit to see it.”

However, the truth is revealed in the next chapter when the readers find out that this letter was written to Amit’s father Avinash who has recently passed away. Avinash was, in reality, a gay man who married Romola, to fulfil his responsibility as the only son of his family, keeping his true identity concealed.  

It happens in Illinois, U. S., when Romola Mitra, the newly wed wife of Avinash comes to know about his secret affair with his childhood friend, Sumit, when she accidently opens the wrong letter while waiting for her first letter from home in India. Although, Avinash never gets any hint about the secret of his wife, who once upon a time romanced a dashing filmstar, Subir Kumar.

Whilst these larger than life seeming secrets, there linger many other secrets related to various other characters of the narrative too.

While the tale telling takes place in series of fast forward technique, the detailed description of Roy’s intriguing characters and captivating situations prove alluring, keeping the readers glued, until the  narrative ends from where it began –

Don’t let him know she liked them best

For this must ever be

A secret, kept from all the rest,

Between yourself and me.

- Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Sandip Roy is Senior Editor at the popular news portal Firstpost.com and blogs for the Huffington Post. He has been a longtime commentator on National Public Radio’s Morning Edition, one of the most listened-to radio programmes in the US, and has a weekly radio postcard for public radio in San Francisco Bay Area. He is also an editor with New America Media. Sandip has won several awards for journalism and contributed to various anthologies including Storywallah!, Contours of the Heart, Out! Tories from the New Queer India, New California Writing 2011 and The Phobic and the Erotic: The Politics of Sexualities in Contemporary India. Sandip lives in Kolkata. 

Reviewed by Varsha Singh

Yamini Prashanth - In the Valley of Creativity

Reviews, Vol I, Issue IV

“All glory comes from daring to begin.” says Ruskin Bond in his book Scenes from a Writer's Life. However, the glory becomes far more glorious when you dare to begin at earliest; alike this thirteen years old girl, Yamini Prashant, who has made her life notable at a very tender age by becoming one of India’s youngest published authors.

Yamini wrote her first book Mishti (published by Unicorn Books) when she was merely eleven, an age when children think of far different things than this girl. Mishti is the journal of a daring girl with same name, who is a complete tomboy by nature. Set in a small town in central India, the story speaks about her simple yet interesting childhood, her neighborhood, her friends, her interests, the attractions of a small town and some of her greatest experiences and escapades.

Yamini’s writing capability is not amateur in any sense, as she skilfully holds proper grip over her characters, plots and narrative essentially. The factor which interests us the most in her writing is her seriousness, her detailed observation and candid portrayal of ideas and emotions, which are usually left unnoticed. Yamini is one of such talents who carry the unique flair of making simple things look extraordinary.

According to Yamini, “To me "Mishti" is just the life of a normal girl. It is my imagination of a perfect childhood and a perfect life. "Mishti" is inspired by Ruskin Bond. I am a huge fan of his and love the way he makes an ordinary person's life look so extraordinary and lovely. I wanted my main character to be simple yet, fun and interesting.”

Yamini’s second book is a collection of 20 short stories entitled Granny’s Stories published by Tiny Tot Publications. This book revolves around two children who are spending one of the most memorable weekends with their granny who lives in a beautiful beach house, but all alone. The children and granny undertake some pretty routine outings- to the grocery store, library, and the sandwich shack- but the most touching and interesting part of their trip is attached to the stories that granny shares with the kids. Although, this book is meant for 7-9 year old children, yet it must be read by the readers of all age group to understand the tender emotions which are somehow getting lost in the hullaballoo of modern lifestyle.   

In words of Yamini, “My passion for writing comes from my love for English and books. It gives a lot of satisfaction when you are able to convert your ideas into words and when you write you just get transported into another world. Your characters are moving all around you and you are both the spectator as well as the wire puller. I love to use different words, especially to express humour. Sometimes, sheer boredom steers me towards writing. When I've finished reading all the books at home, when my studies and homework are all done and dusted, when there's nothing even mildly interesting on television and the weather is awful outside- that's when I sit on my laptop and start working on my book. Being the hyperactive girl that I am, the only option left is some sort of creative work.”

Yamini has recently garnered the honour of becoming the youngest TEDx speakers of India and at present she is on the verge of launching few more of her creative writings. Keeping in pace with her life, she is slowly and gradually, with acute honesty towards her creative zeal, climbing the stairs of significance and recognition. 

-Varsha Singh, Managing Editor, Reviews

Vihang A. Naik's City Times and Other Poems / AuthorHouse, U.K.

Reviews, Vol I, Issue IV

City Times and Other Poems

A Must Read Pack of Poems with Five Blank Pages 

Prof. Vihang A. Naik, an inspiring teacher, a good translator and widely published, anthologized award winning contemporary English poet, was born in Surat, Gujarat on September 2, 1969. His collection of poems Poetry Manifesto (2010) Making A Poem (2004), City Times and Other Poems first published in 1993, Gujarati collection of poems Jeevangeet (2001), set the stage for his success. He also translates poetry written in Gujarati language into English, His poems have appeared in Indian Literature : A Sahitya Akademi Bi-Monthly Journal , Kavya Bharati , POESIS : A Journal of Poetry Circle, The Journal of The Poetry Society (India) , The Journal of Indian Writing In English , The Journal of Literature and Aesthetics and many more.

The City Times and Other Poems by Prof. Vihang A. Naik is a philosophical pack of poems, divided in six segments, i.e, “Love Song of a Journeyman”, “Mirrored Men”, “The Path of Wisdom”, “Self Portrait”, “At the Shores” and “City Times”. The uniqueness of the collection is that every title is nicely woven to its poems. The title of every segment and the poems do not harm the message of the poet rather both stands still with the poet, like in, “Love Song of a Journeyman” is a travelogue of fancies and feeling of the poet, carries seven poems and every poem tells a unique tale of the journey of poet’s imagination. The poet has exhibited a different poetic style in the very first poem. A reader can comprehend the intuition of the poet at the tail of the poem. The first song is all about the poet’s first surreal imagination…Your upholding downward look/ Dimpled shyness/ warmer breath/ Transparent eyes/ Flickering flames/ Ankle play. The interesting thing about the first poem of this section is that if a reader reads this poem from tail to head rather from head to tail, it does not affect the imagination of the poet. The message remains crystal clear. The expressions of the other six poems hover over the poet’s inner feelings and unmasked reality of the world. The poem, “The world shrinks within…”, “How long…”, “Time preaches mortality…”, “You broke petals….”, “The flower devoid of colour…”, takes a reader to the shores of reality where man has lost his way to humanity. The poet unpacks the book of absurdity which ends in nothingness and repeatedly warns his fellow beings not to take the road which leads to nowhere.

…There

the road unwinds,

where

you’ll pick up

the race

and melt away

in the noises

of a city

whose streets

lead you nowhere.

The second section of this collection is titled; “Mirrored Men” comprises seven poems. Appropriately titled section throws light on the multi masked man of the modern world. The poet tells that how a man pretends to be wise and gives speeches and lectures to others to follow. In poems like, “Chameleon is not that great”, “Man as he is...”, “He is different behind …”, man has been portrayed  as a true image of folly, vice, error, deceit and what not. The man of the modern world has lost the value of truth and has become diabolic in nature. The second section is all about the changing colours of a man whose outer is different than his inner. They are actually two persons in a single shell.

He is different behind

his words of cream

and butter, it serves

his purpose. His language

curves like dark night

of desire, takes turns

with ambiguous intent…

The third section is titled, “The Path of Wisdom”. It comprises seven short poems. After going through it, one can say that these are the words of wisdom because the overall message of the section is appealing it takes a reader into a state of wonder that how can a poet be so appropriate and exact while writing the words of wisdom. Every poem of this section really gives us a glimpse to the philosophical probing of the poet and compels a reader to ponder over his next move in the game of life.

Listen! Death knocks

at the door

of your heart

or for a moment, imagine.

You may

open

then to enter

into life

really lived.

The next section, “Self Portrait”, consists of a very short poem and five blank pages, a unique approach of the poet. He gives a free space to a reader to register his feelings on these five blank pages or the poet himself feels blank because he begins the section as “I wake up to see my Self”, followed by five blank pages and ends with a phrase “discovered beyond thought”. After carefully going through this section, a reader concludes that they are not merely five blank pages, they are actually five appropriately titled books without the story and the responsibility of filling these pages has been put on the shoulders of a reader.

The fifth section, “At the Shore” contains seven beautiful poems. All the poems in this section deal with the poet’s sense of alienation and inbetweenness in the busy days of modern life.

The last section of this collection “City Times” is a collection of seven realistic poems. What remains interesting here is how the poet shows broken image of materialistic city life. The poet, Vihang, beautifully sketches the wicked city weather and atmosphere which has burnt down humans beings within, “memory stirs/the mugging parrot/cute companion/who died/by the sun’s/ scorching fireballs/even he had refused/to learn from men/parting/member’s name..”. The poem, “A Sympathiser for Underdogs” gives us a detailed description of our underdevelopment, poverty, naked population and blah blah… “from naked palm/the lifeline leads/to the skin/unclean/heart line/to half covered body/it strikes anyone”. The poet portrays  a symbolic character of a beggar who represents the sordid material greed and the mechanicality  that has crept into the behavior of people living in modern/metropolitan cities. He further qualifies the central idea of the poem as:

our cities

have scores of them

they catch hold

stick to you

first

you

look around

away

then inwardly

an

introspection

they do not

leave you so easily

they shall shower

blessings

hurriedly…

The poetic onslaught on city life does not end here it further goes on. The poem, “City Voice” comes up with more lethal diction:

the gray haze distorts

noises of broken rhythm

railway tracks rattle

the wheel

strikes on road

look for signal lights

in crowded smoke

an old man coughs

the illness

of his age…

       or:

an inspired child

sketches

of nuclear war

the world shivers

a polluted planet

the ganga screams

for help…

The poet shows how wicked politics and opportunism tarnished the age old tradition of values, beliefs and customs. Such wickedness did not only harm the purity of thought but went even further to cause division and disharmony among fellow human beings. The collection, “City Times and Other Poems” covers all the universal themes. After reading this wonderful collection, one feels the divine relief and absolute satisfaction. The poet has succeeded in presenting a valuable gift to his readers which answers many difficult questions and reveals the truth about many mysteries.

Reviewed by Waseem Majazi

Research Scholar, Department of English & Foreign Language, Central University of Haryana

Antardwand - The Inner Conflict|Special Column

The Voice of Innocence 

By Purnojit Haldar

Reviews, Vol I, Issue IV

Painting Courtesy - Early Childhood by Donald Zolan

“Did he who made the Lamb make thee?”

 -‘The Tyger’, William Blake

[The title of this article is ostensibly inspired by ‘Songs of Innocence and Experience’ by William Blake, a poet of unparalleled vision who lived in the 18^th century London.]

Blake’s desperate plea to an indifferent mankind for rescuing ill fated children resonates in the air as we still witness children of our times, their innocence getting marred by worldly malice. To counter the incursion of the ‘evil’, Blake invoked the spirit of a ferocious Tiger in a child. Children of our times are on the verge of losing their innocence to experiences that lead to a chasm of vicissitude.

A few weeks ago, I went to a barber to get a shave. You must be aware how awkwardly the footpaths in cities like Kolkata are occupied by people with varied professions. I met the barber at such a place on the pavement just outside our hostel. An old rickety chair, a few bottles of lotions, shaving creams and mirror against the wall were the only things that formed his shop, with no shed or cover over the head from rain or sunshine. Some of the customers did refuse to sit without an arch. The barber arranged for some bamboo poles and sheets of plywood and plastic to form something that resembled a thatch.

On the open side of the footpath to the right, the bus drivers parked their vehicles, which helped the barber’s shop separating itself from the road for the time being.

The barber charged Rs. 10 for performing a shave. Just next to the shack, there was a cot on which the bus driver and conductors rested after having the midday meal at some wayside hotels where the filthy dust flew in. A stench from the hotel leftovers invaded the area mercilessly. This was where I saw the kids taking a nap on the cot, sharing with the rest of the bus staff. The men talked seedily, puffed at fags and uttered slangs at times, clearly not a place for kids who looked to the world with eyes wide open, surprised at everything they saw and learning from everything they heard. The barber’s kids sat on the cot after returning from their morning school, waiting for the food their mom would bring. As they sat, people looked at the kids furtively, sometimes with glances that proclaimed paedophilia or disapproval. And the father somehow couldn’t manage another place for them until he was done with his business of trimming and it was time to go home.

  

Usually those kids had nothing to do except for sleeping on the cot or playing inside the parked buses while their father works. Next time as I approached the barber, I asked him about his kids and their schooling. The kids studied at a nearby Hindi school, in addition to going to tuitions. But the barber seemed an unhappy man as he spoke, since the school did not teach in a proper way and all they knew were English alphabets, numbers and a few words. At this, I proposed to teach them and start over right from scratch. The father agreed to this. I took them to a secluded spot inside our hostel to teach as well as save from the uncouth glances. The textbooks they brought consisted of tough lessons. I decided to explain things carefully. But this was not really an easy going. The kids were sweet and they took interest in what I was going to teach them. Explaining from their “Paryavaran” book (“Paryavaran” means Environment) was often difficult, mostly because they had never seen a woodpecker pecking at a hole in the tree, or a chameleon licking the air, or a hippo wallowing in mud.

I thought about the lucky kids who have access to the 4^th generation digitized classes. How neatly and adroitly the teacher could show images and videos of every creature and thing to the learners! And here I was, fidgeting about how to make them not only know things about nature but also make them see and feel. They had no TV to watch a cheetah chasing a gazelle or dolphins wagging their tails merrily on Animal Planets or Discovery Channel. Sad it was, for the heart of this metropolitan city is no longer made of nature but bricks, wires, skyscraper buildings and shopping malls. The city does not seem to have a place for nature and kids like that. I simply couldn’t arrange for a feasible way of talking nature into them, which seemed a terrible loss to me as a teacher.

I thought it would be rather a better idea to ask their father to buy them a slate-board so I could draw pictures of the flora and fauna to make the environment lessons interesting and explain the interdependence bonding nature and us. But the father could not afford it and I had to forsake the plan, unable to buy them one by myself.

  

Later as I pondered furthermore, I found that there was a huge, invisible chasm they were growing up in. The father had managed to provide them with minimal education. But what lies next is uncertain. No doubt, these kids were in a better condition than those who lived and fed at the railway stations, lacking the basic amenities kids need. But what could possibly be the future of these kids? I did not know. The boy might end up being a barber just like his father and the girl would work in some households or simply get married. With their non Bengali upbringing at home and Bangla everywhere else, these two kids vacillated between two languages and cultures at the same time. I checked on their mother tongue and was surprised to see how they had started to speak the names of fruits by their Bengali names, oblivious to their Hindi counterparts.

Over the weeks, the kids started to like me and consider me a part of their small world. Their jubilant faces reminded me of kids of my own villages whom I missed all the while and even more deeply I remembered my childhood days of fishing with a patch of cloth or making ‘firkis’ out of Banyan leaves, the secrets of which I was delighted to share with them.

While the NGOs work for the slum dwelling kids everywhere, these kids born to a part of a larger non Bengali families who migrated to a different state have remained uncharted. There are not much provisions available from the State Government. Seriously! What is the world actually coming to? A whole range of kids are going to turn into trash, unattended to their basic rights and requirements despite being in a metropolitan city. And the encroachment of an ‘evil’ version of kids will do away with all ‘songs’ of their ‘Innocence’ and ‘Experience’. It’s time we begin rethinking about it, because the smiling “Chimney Sweepers” and the ‘meek Lamb’ cannot survive in such a vicious world.

“So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

There is little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head

That curled like a lamb’s back,

Was shaved, so I said,

‘Hush, Tom! Never mind it,

For when your head’s bare,

You know that the soot

Cannot spoil your white hair”

[‘The Chimney Sweeper’: William Blake]

  

About the columnist: 

Purnojit Haldar is a poet and freelance writer, hailing from Malda, West Bengal. He currently lives in Kolkata.  To follow his blog, click www.purnojithaldar.blogspot.in