Apology

[** Readers are requested not to think the story as a self-flattery. Though I am sure they will understand at last the actual aim of this story]

I went to Ishwarpur when I was five years old. It was five hundred kilometers away from my hometown and I went with my parents by train. A long journey by train, especially for a long tour, was like a precious gift to me in that age. I love to travel. The scene from the train of the outside became familiar to me but when I used to play, enjoy my loneliness; those trees and vast field made me nostalgic.
I love hills. Ishwarpur was not in the lap of hills but the atmosphere was quite comfortable; charming coolness prevailed in the air. Actually my preference of traveling lied on the charming and cool weather. In that age, the beauty of the nature charmed my mind but somehow physical comfort was more important!
We were not alone; another family accompanied us. Ranjit Kaku, his wife Suchanda Kakima and their son- who was also five years old- Ratnadip were our companion. Ranjit Kaku was a colleague of my father. Then he was not working in the same office with my father and was transferred to Rashikpur. However, being a very close friend he kept contact and one day my father proposed that we, the two families, might go for a trip. He agreed to it and so it happened.

As we reached Ishwarpur, hotel booking was the first thing to be done. We proceeded through the congested lane by a taxi. Several rooms were rejected, as those were not good enough to provide us comfort! At last, two A.C Deluxe rooms were booked. Ratnadip started to jump on those beautiful and comforting beds and I, feeling inferior to him, remained silent.
“Come on! Enjoy”, he proposed.
“No, it’s ok”, I replied.
Now Suchanda Kakima rebuked him.
“What’s going on Babai? It’s not your home.”
“Oh, Chanda! Let him enjoy, it is the age.”, Ranjit Kaku said, his voice was cool and casual.
“It’s not the proper way of enjoyment. Is it?”
Ranjit Kaku did not reply. But Ratnadip was no more in the mood of jumping and making fuss.
However, my father interrupted, saying, “Ranjit, let’s clean ourselves and then we will go out to see if we can reserve a TATA SUMO.”
I went to our room, cleaned my face and then took a bath. The water that was showering on me was very much soothing after the train-journey.

When my father and Ranjit Kaku returned after reserving the car we went to visit the city. We fixed the idea of sightseeing for the first day. After visiting museum, zoo, botanical garden, we came to visit a temple. It was famous for its architectural beauty. Some foreigner also came. Their exotic appearance and behaviour and genial smile made me eager to talk to them. But there was no way. A boy of five years, belonging to a Bengali Medium school, has to suppress such a desire! But it was not so hard for Ratnadip whose schooling was from an eminent English Medium School. With the help of his parents he conveyed many words to them; they smiled, laughed aloud and at last a woman kissed him. I stood helplessly. I got hurt, lost the joy of tour and my eyes lost the sparkles of hope. Then we visited some other places too but an extreme dissatisfaction I bore in my bosom.
“Why are you looking morose, Swarna?”, Kakima asked me.
“No, no! I am quite all right.”, I lied.
The pleasant atmosphere, the hills, and the company of dear and near people—nothing could pour joy to my aching heart, it bled. I remained quite silent throughout this journey of morning.

In the evening we all looked fresh and exuberant. If the time passes gently when you are in anger or sorrow, it is a blessing. I forgot all sorrows that I had in the morning.
“Are you well, Swarna?”, Kakima asked.
“I was never unwell at all Kakima”, I said, smiling.
“No, no…don’t think yourself to be very clever. Any problem was with you in the car”
I smiled awkwardly.
“We are going for a shopping. Would you like to come with us?”, she said.
“Is dad not accompanying you?”
“Yea, we all are going. Won’t u?”
‘Why not?”
“Then be ready quickly”
I got ready. I thought that I would ask my mother to buy some good toys for me.
We went to a big shopping arcade. Various shops were there. My father and Ranjit Kaku bought some shirts for Ratnadip and me.
“Do you like it?”, my father said, handing me a red shirt. I had a casual glance on that and nodded.
Garments do not interest me. My mother bought a handbag, made of fine Italian Leather and Kakima bought some cosmetics, like mascara and sunscreen lotion. I felt bored and asked my mother in a low voice—“Why don’t we go to the toy shop?”
“Wait!”, she replied coldly.

Now Ranjit Kaku started to look here and there anxiously. Seeing it Suchanda Kakima asked-“Hey, what happened?”
“Where is Babai?”, he replied, saying the word ‘Babai’ in an afraid and helpless tone.
A shrill yell came out of the mouth of Kakima. Her eyes soon became wet with tears. My mother also looked here and there anxiously. Ranjit Kaku ran towards other shops and my parents also did the same. I accompanied Kakima. She embraced me heartily and burst out into tears. I stood with a stupid silence and found no word to console her. After a while Ratnadip was found near a toyshop.
At first, Kakima looked at him affectionately but soon her eyes sparkled with anger and said--
“Be quite, can’t you? See Swarna. He is not a naughty boy like you”

We went to a colourful toyshop. Different toys were there like mobile phones, railway engines, talking birds and merry-go-round. These all were electronic toys. Some lovable teddies also attracted my eyes.
“Ma, I want the mobile phone”, I pleaded expectantly.
She seemed to be deaf to my words. I patted on the hand of my mother to draw her attention. When she looked at me I expressed my childish desire. She paid no heed to my words and my father glanced at me coldly.
“Ma, I do need that phone”, I shouted at last.
The anger in my father eyes dazzled me and my mother told me in am unfriendly voice, “It’s a public place. Don’t shout, otherwise…”
I kept quite. At last they bought a small teddy for me. I saw that Kaku and Kakima were buying that phone, some big teddies and various other toys for Ratnadip.
“Why don’t you buy anything for Swarna?”, Ranjit Kaku asked my father.
“Only this one is enough”, my father said, handing me the small teddy. I handed it to my mother disgustedly and morosely.
“Ok. Let me buy something for Swarna”, Kaku said.
“No, no, Ranjit. No need to do that”, my father replied. The hope in me that brightened after hearing the words of Ranjit Kaku lost its glee again. I saw Ratnadip, smiling and looking at me superiorly. I stood like a dumb and deaf boy. THE GLANCE IN HIS EYES RENDED MY HEART. I closed my eyelids.

In that very night, the silence creped in my blood. I lay awake with an unknown and unfamiliar suffering. I did not know why I felt so, may be I was jealous. Yes, very jealous indeed was I! I heaved useless sighs of my pain. Tears rolled down and no welcome relief sprang up.
“What’s the matter with you, Swarna?”, my mother asked.
“Nothing, Ma.”
“I know what the problem is. Now you will not understand but one day you will surely do.”
I did not reply.

In the morning it was found that the temperatures of my body is abnormally high.

-------------------------------------

Years passed. I understood the problem and forgot these nightmarish moments of my past. After ten years I went to their home. In these years Suchanda Kakima bore one little girl. I saw that Ratnadip became very much introvert and bookish. I could not believe the contrast at first. He did not utter a single word till the last day of us in their home.
On that last day I sat in a room of the second floor. A popular novel was in my hand and I was reading it. He tiptoed into the room and said in a low voice—“ Swarnadip…”
I looked at him, thinking that at last he cast off his inertia.
“Yes?”, I said.
“I need to talk to you on a serious topic.”
“Tell me, why are you hesitating?”, I said, trying to keep my voice very friendly.
His bright eyes dimmed. After a few seconds, he pronounced in a low voice of apology—“I am sorry.”
I was puzzled, as I do not have any idea on which he was speaking.
“For what?”, I asked.
“Don’t you recollect the memory of the days of Ishwarpur?”

I got startled. The immense hate I had for him, flickered for a moment and then it blew off. He left the room without talking to me any more. ‘Ratnadip’—I tried to call him by his name and wanted to tell that I had no hatred for you, but…. I couldn’t, I couldn’t speak any more. I lost my capability of speaking. MY HEART RENDED FOR THE SECOND TIME.

The Kind Critic

Mr. Rajat Sen, the eminent author and critic was in his room. He held a burning cigarette in his right hand and the mild smoke in his mouth gave him a pleasing effect in his mind. The odour of burnt tobacco reached the core of his sensation, stimulating his feelings, nerves and sinews. He was tired after writing a book review of a new writer. The new writer was the cousin of his dear friend Ashish Chakrabarty. Let us see what happened before.

‘“Rajat, Riju, my cousin, you know, nowadays became very much interested in short-story. A very good writer, hmm… Didn’t you see his last story which was published in ‘The Story-teller’?”’
“I missed it, I think”, Mr. Sen said casually.
“Oh, you missed a great story Rajat. It was superb in style, in language, in construction, in theme, in…”
“In fine, in everything, I guess?”, Mr. Sen said it, smiling contemptuously.
Mr. Chakrabarty smiled, satisfied. “Now you got it”, he said and continued, “I’ll be glad if you write a book review of his new novel, ‘Ferocious Love’, he shouted at last, leaving the sofa.”
“Nonsense!”, he said in a low voice.
“Sorry?”
“No, nothing. I’m sorry Ashish. Take your seat, be quiet.”
“You are not saying that you are going to refuse me, I think?”, Mr. Sen asked anxiously.
“Extremely sorry. I didn’t like the name.”
“Oh, come on. It’s love, the never-ending love in the air. Oh, the soothing one, oh the coolness of ice-cream, the passion of joy, the ardent, tormenting, irresistible sense of…”
“Ashish, I’m serious. Stop it!”
“Please, Rajat. He is my only cousin. I promised him that….”
Mr. Sen thought a bit. Ashish helped him a lot when he was in hospital and was suffering from a serious a disease of lungs. He started to think what to do, biting the nail of his forefinger.
“Please, please Rajat. He will be very much disappointed if you refuse. You please read it once. I know you’re a busy man but…”
“Ok, all right. I will write. But I must be fair.”
“But he is a new writer, Rajat. He needs some…”
“It’s enough, Ashish. You may go now. A good novel and a good writer must have sense of humour, sympathy and true love. I don’t know whether your cousin has it or not. But you must have a limit of request and a certain level of courtesy. Now, I’ll be pleased if you leave me alone.”, Mr. Sen said disgustedly.
“Ok, ok, Bye, good day”, Mr. Chakrabarty left his house disappointedly.
“Strange behaviour. What happened with him?”, Mr. Chakrabarty thought.





So, he now heaved a sigh of relief.
“Oh, finish! I finished it”, he continued, ‘…just nonsense. When will these young-folks understand that love doesn’t mean attraction toward anyone’s body? Love is to love the inner one, the impalpable sensation that prevails in everyone. When will they know that…”
The telephone started to ring. His thought-wave smashed against this sound. He frowned at the telephone, saying “Nonsense”, the only familiar word he knew to express his disgust. Then he rushed towards the telephone, held it and said in a serious gruff voice, “Who is it?”
“Hello, I’m Subarna, friend of Suparna. Will you please…”
“She is not in home.”
“But she told me to call at 11 am. And I think I’m hearing her voice, now. She should be in your home, Mr. Sen. Please check it”
“What? Am I a liar?’
“I didn’t mean that but I just want to…”
“Shut up!” He hung up.
His wife Suparna was rebuking her little son Piklu. He was of nine years. She came hurriedly, hearing the shout.
“What happened? I heard my name. Anyone called me?”, she said giving a strange look.
“Oh, here you are. Where is my lunch? My train will depart at 1 pm. I must leave as soon as possible”, he said disgustedly.
Sriparna smiled awkwardly and then replied, “I’m making it ready. Just a minute.”
“I’m living in a hell. None thinks of others, very few people read good books. My God! Yesterday, even Piklu told me that his aim is to be an engineer. Oh, God! Save me.”


When the launch was finished Mr. Sen came outdoors hurriedly. He held a handkerchief in his right hand.
“Oh, it’s terrible hot here”, he said, wiping out the sweat of his face and the shouted, “Ricksha---w”
A rickshaw-puller, aged probably 35 years, came and taking Mr. Sen he started to pull the rickshaw.
Now he lit another cigarette and started to smoke. Having a pleasant puff at it, he muttered, “Hmm, these new writers never think of the poor”. Having another puff he continued, “… hmm! Of the poor. See this rickshaw-puller. Oh, this poor fellow! What a tormenting life he leads! Be it bitter cold or the sizzling summer-day they work hurriedly. For what? For a little money.” He wiped out the sweat of his face and again continued, “..Yea! For a little money. Why people don’t be a bit generous? Why the government is not paying heed?”


The railway station was very near to his house. He handed 3 rupees to the rickshaw-puller. The man complained, “5 rupees, sir. The fair is 5 rupees.”
“What? I come here regularly and pay only 3 rupees”, he said the word ‘regularly’ as a habit.
“You come regularly at the railway-station, sir?”, the man said, smiling.
Mr. Sen said, stammering a bit, “ N-no! Actually, I… I mean… I come very often”
“No, no. It’s unfair. The fair is…”
“Damn it!”, Mr. Sen proceeded, his shirt wet with perspiration. It was a scorching noon.
In the platform, he met some of his fans. These ardent fans mobbed him to take autographs. A blind beggar asked him for alms. He gave 1 rupee and again busied himself in giving autographs with great satisfaction and happiness. He muttered, “We, the authors, live only for this joy. Oh, ‘what a joyance rains upon me’ when I see these people. Ah!”
It was 12.50 pm when he was aware of the fact that his train would depart after 10 minutes. He rushed to the A.C first class coach hurriedly. The drooping figure of that beggar who was sitting in the platform prevented him to enter into the coach. Only 2 minutes were left in his hand as he had taken enough time to find his compartment. However this busy man, this sensible man became a bit disgusted when he saw this man. So he said-
“Oh, you nonsense! Let me in”, he shouted.
The blind man understood with his sixth sensory organ that someone is standing nearby. He held his hand up to take alms.
Now Mr. Sen, a very sensitive and generous man, kicked the man in his back and shouted in a louder voice, “You scoundrel! I gave you and you are asking again!! And also not paying heed to my words, not letting me in!”. He entered into the compartment angrily.





This poor fellow of the platform was not only blind but also deaf.

Luxurious Idleness

Yes, luxurious idleness.


It is hard for me to tell about the origin of the name. It may seem to you a bit eccentric. Probably, I named my feeling with my own ideas.
Our ideas are colourful. In our loneliness we paint our ideas, our thoughts with various colours. And our ego, mentality-- everything is a result of this painting as I think.
May be, I could tell it ‘Luxurious Loneliness’. The marvel of all marvelous ideas, generally takes its origin in loneliness and idleness. This gives us time to weave a web of our thoughts. Now, let me come to the point.


As a student, I was very lazy. Generally, I spend my time in reading storybooks when I should be at my study. This writing too, is written during my test examination! And when I get bored reading my lessons, I spend my time in luxurious idleness.

What is it? Nothing special. Just spending my time in idleness. It seems to me very luxurious. I spend my time staring at the tube-light or at the lizards. Or sometimes I just lie on my bed stretching arms and stare at the white roof. On that I see many spots, sometimes that becomes my world, my world of imagination. And, sometimes I spend my time gazing at the perseverance of the lizards. What a colossal perseverance they have!!


My luxurious idleness sometimes reminds me of Ruskin Bond’s story, ‘Upon an Old Wall Dreaming’. The thought that one of my favourite writers spent his time in doing such a lazy and childish work, gives me comfort. His Aunt Muriel used to tell about him, “He’ll come no good”. And in the next paragraph Mr. Bond wrote with his great sense of humour and sarcasm- “ And how right she proved to be!” None tells me such disheartening words. Now I realize the story a bit better when I spend my time in luxurious idleness. It helps me to discover what I am.

But I wonder, if such a notable event would occupy a little space in my diary!

For My Writings in Bengali

Visit:
http://swarnadip.6te.net

Journey from Joy to Sorrow

A moment comes when the world seems
Not a place of human-heart
When at night the sweet dreams
Become painted with weary art.

I bear nostalgia in my heart
For the long past dreamy days
Such sorrow always makes me inert
For ‘Road Not Taken’, untouched lays.

Smoke and scorching heat is all
In such claustrophobic place
But oh! What joy drizzles on me
When the sun shines in Her face.

Sun shines on the leaves and lea
Godliness prevails in me
Closing eyelids to meditate,
Drizzle of joy casts off all hates.

Magical Spree

What a feeling creeps to my heart
When your name cools my face!
What a palpable joyance now springs
If I perceive you ultimate trace!

I go the darkness, closing my eyes
The dark of all darkness I see
We, the two heart, are now one
I see in such a magical spree.

The sound of silence deafens me then,
I forget the earth, I forgive the queue
Your shining eyes dazzles my sense,
What harms if I die for you?

Dreamy Tales

Ah! Charming joy, you make me crazy
My tender heart now beats no more.
You touch me at my feelings core
When the outer world becomes so hazy.

The soft, heart-warming aroma of rose
I can feel in such a night
My untold passion becomes bright
When I smell it with my inner nose.

Then I close my eyes and see
Expanding my heart so far
As if comes the touch of Her
An eternal trance works in me.

My all sweet dreams flicker and say,
“If they come, we’ll pass away