Relative of man…..

If I am not a teacher- I will be a magician!
But a different type of magician-here the magician’s stick will be the pen- or more precisely in this era of technology- a computer.
I will love to be a magician with a rare capability of entering inside the mind of human- human emotion, human life, human struggle and more importantly- human endeavour against all odds.
When I was a little kid I started reading classic works from some of the Bengali writers. One of them was Tarasankar Bandopadhya. His ‘ Akhraier Dighi’ (Lake at Akrai) castled such a magical spell on me that I was unable to sleep properly for a couple of nights when I first read it. The story revolves round a father son duo- the father was a “fansure” (a kind of robber who murders the passers by strangling). The tender son was uneasy with the work at first but soon he too became an expert robber. One day the old man faces the sword of Nemesis- unwillingly he killed his own son. Her daughter in law who was the eye witness of the murder gave witness against her father in law. The concluding judgement of the judge concerned still mesmerizes me whenever I recollect the lines.
When I first read Anda Halt (the egg station) I still feel shiver down my spines. The time line of the story is towards the concluding part of Second World War. A temporary station was there near a hamlet for facilitating the official movements of soldiers. One day a soldier threw a coin to an inquisitive child looking at the foreign soldiers with gleaming eyes. That was just the beginning. The number started to increase. The writer- our storyteller however had a slight satisfaction that the headman was still to come-to this marching army of beggars. but one day he was shocked to notice that the old man was there in the villagers awaiting the arrival of the train-and perhaps awaiting for something more. But the train didn’t stop that day, Second World War has ended-they are going to their homeland.
The train disappeared. And left an entire village full of beggars!
I was angry with myself- why I could not write about the people in such a way.
I still feel the same feeling-but do not get the same enthusiasm. will I ever be able to write the word of the soil-will ever be the relative of the men from the soil through my words?
Perhaps the mind has died long ago!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s