Anamika Adhikari

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
William Wordsworth
(1770-1850)

This issue is dedicated

to our hope for the future,
for youth
And for those
who are no longer young,
to memories
and to gratitude

 G
M? , L A
, S ,
L M, &5

4, 4

Hindol
Year 4, No. 4

, 1419

Editorial Team :
Chittaranjan Pakrashi, Jayanti Chattopadhyay,
Malabika Majumdar, Maitrayee Sen,
Ajanta Dutt, Nandan Dasgupta

January, 2013

Guest Editor:
Akshara Suhasini
Back Cover:
Jyotirmoy Ray
Front Inside Cover:
Anamika

E-46, Greater Kailash-I,

New Delhi-110048
ohetuk.sabha@gmail.com
98110-24547

ISSN 0976-0989

S
^ S
-630, M? , ~-110019
92131344879891689053

Back Inside Cover

Akhila, Askhita, Taposhi
Artists:
V.S. Rahi
M.A. Jomraj
Swaroop Bhatia
Mimi Radhakrishnan
Young Artists:
Kamalika Banerjee
Arijit Sengupta
Bharat Lama
Anamika Adhikari
Saumaybrata Deb
Photos:
Arjun Dasgupta
Satyaki Saha
Sourabh Sengupta
Debangana Chakravorty
Arjun Chakraverty

Comics:
Somak Sengupta
http://www.scribd.com/collections/3537598/Hindol

S
4
7
12
20
31

S

,
&5
M [13]
S

32 Rudrendra P. Ghosh Retrospective of a Painter

-
Special Youth Supplement

38
44
52
65
79
84
89
92
94

? L

S M -
G M
ij -

Maitrayee Sen
Arjun Chakraverty
Swarnali Goswami
Monojit Lahiri

The Remarkable Sanyasi

Child or Adult?
Tainted (poem)
Children's Films - Orphans in
Fantasyville?
55 words
Writing Historical Books for Children
Princess of Beans - a story
The Krishna Key - Book Review

99 Ipshita Dasgupta
101 Subhadra Sen Gupta
105 Subhadra Sen Gupta
112 Kajari Sengupta

From school students

115 Akshara Suhasini
116 Amrita Endow
117 Taposhi Pathak
120 Aditya Pathak
123 Tanmay Kumar
124 Somak Sengupta
126 Ahona Chatterjee
128 Srimanta Mitra
129 Aliya Tuzhilin
132 Ayan Mrinal

Sitara-e-Shujaat
My definition of being Classy (poem)
Children are Special (poem)
Gulliver in Liliput - a play
The Love of my Life
The Golden Pen - a story
At the Fair
Evolution (poem)
Survival
In the Leaflets of History - historical fiction

e ,
S L
, e
, -e
8 S

S ~ q

~
e
23
>
q G/
e
" ?
- Q
c ,
, +
ij s

..
1954
, M S 1953

, 1419

V
S q 1965 R
S e Q


|
, (,
-L
e G
26i G
e e&
q V
~ , e e

, - [ d g ]
~
~ ,
-
q
f S ML
- S

S e
|
, G
'
~

, 1419

S
i P

~ e
e
- i e
e
eS : =
,
5 ~
,
e ,
La
,
V X
, L d/ Sn
, , y
P
G L d
, &
, & La
,

, 1419

It is time.
It is time to stop blaming others.
It is time to take responsibility.
By tolerating verbal and visual abuse
we encourage worse.
We can either be pro-active today,
or we can choose to tolerate
and deserve the society we live in.
So let us do it together, you and I:
Do not buy from those who
advertise women as objects.
Reach out to the models for their support.
Do not ignore those who use abusive words
denigrating mothers or sisters,
- tell others about them.
Do not send texts and emails derogatory to women.
It is not cool.
It is time to stand up and be counted.

, 1419

S
Dear Editors,
Received Hindol (October, 2012) and went through most of the pages
fast, except the Special Supplement section which I am going to do at
leisure. The reason for this super fast feat in reading the book (to me it
is a book, not a magazine any more, leave alone calling it a Little
Magazine) is that I find this issue un-put-downable - Nandan's
presentation of Meghnadbadh Kabya, a long journey through many
issues now, still appears amazing, and I really marvel at his commitment,
and dexterity in handling such an epic project - more so as I had a
chance of reading it many years ago as a part of my BA studies. The
incorrigible romantic in Krishnadi is perceptible in the story of Hidimba,
Pakrashi Meshomoshai's daydreaming, other stories by authors whom
I personally do not know, the short sketch of Manto, another romantic,
even the one and half page narration 'Mummy, tu bhi bach gayi', all of
these bring a whiff of fresh air. Hindol is definitely cerebral, especially
when I consider what I would have done in that spare time if I didn't
have it with me, but so unassuming!
I wish to share with you that after reading the "Letters to the Editor"
I too went through the same predicament as Mr. Mani Roy of
Chittaranjan Park. We, the readers have been spoilt enough, by not
only receiving Hindol free of cost, but also getting to read it without
making any effort, literally home-delivered. Please accept my little
contribution as the subscription for the coming year.
November 6, 2012

Sumita Sengupta
Delhi

S | 1419 |
22 Z f | &Q
& &
^
L
&5
25.12.2012

, 1419

9
S , qX
aspect &
: , ,

~

L

22.12.2012

1
U A ,
1952-53,
1819 v
S-S taboo
v



e L = e
[, -, ]
v+
S ,
c A
- ,
I , M
M q */

, 1419

10
...
--
L -

,
v

2
, , e /
/

, a, g, M
~ ,
q S


-
-
V ?
/ ' ,
k ? a ,

, e ,
-, | , , k
q -
, /
M
~

&5

, 1419

11
3
e g
, e - , y
26
y 80- q &26
~ ,
, & Q /
5, e M
& ,

U U P ,
e , ,
,
Z&

e 26 R
~ S
,
5 ~,

L
,
26 &
,
S ,
,
(

e e KI

~

, 1419

12

e M S q =

5L g D
X S
, , M,
g M S
e e
La
+ g
e
e

1978 1979 q g
S S S


e , e ,
D S e e

e e

, 1419

&
g v
,

M , v q S
c v ,

v 26

c ,
M v
v , ,
g ; , 26,
, e
,
g e e

L
X &, e 1951
c
g n M ,
e,
& g n
26,
26 n
M,


1980 1981 e
a g F
26,

, 1419

13

14

, G
,

&

=
,
, q
q
g e
&
c
,

k ,
&Q
, c
e gQ &Q
, ,
F , c ,

n ,
,

La
g e
D
c ^& q
, G g M
e
c

, 1419

g q ~ 263 ,
q,
L
, , G

G (
e e
e
q,
y
a " i e "
, L ,
G ,
" q M
M
" , q ,
q , i , ,
26 5
,
M
&
" 7 ,

, La ,

[ q], e

, 26
,
,

, 1419

15

16

,
q


q ,

, q
, vL
q e gQ
,
L

k ^ , 26

e e g,
k
q
&, = & S
,
& S
& & S& c
q g,
&S g

, `
&
: ,

e

, ,

, 1419

, 26
, , N


g , V


c

, , ,
, , 26
=
& S c
S
[ , ]
=
=
e
, ' ,
I
KI : ,
' a
' 26 a a, ,

,
, P
S
,

,

, 1419

17

18

, ,
,
,
,
g
: ,


M, G




A
^
& ^
w

e ,

26
26,
R 5 `
`

[=
x ]

, 1419

19

HINDOL
is grateful for your generous support*

KRISHNA DUTT
P.S. MUKHERJEE
A.K. GANGULI
TAPAS CHAUDHURI
SOUMYA MUKHERJEE
MANDIRA MITRA
SURINDER KUMAR
DURGABARI SOCIETY
SUMITA SEN
SUMIT SEN
HIMOTPAL NANDI
KAMAL KUMAR MITRA
KAMALIKA SEN
JYOTIRMOY RAY
DEBASHIS DAS GUPTA
ARJUN DASGUPTA
We are also immensely grateful to the numerous others
without whose steady support we could not have survived

*of Rs. 5000/- and above

, 1419

20
Rudrendra Prasad
Ghosh
Rohini, Delhi

Retrospective of C.R. Pakrashi

- a Visionary Painter

An apt description of the life and work of the nonagenarian painter

of Mr. Pakrashi's calibre, who has devoted his life-time pursuing varied
interests and yet epitomises gentleness, is never complete without
superlatives. Mr. Pakrashi made his fame as a philatelic designer,
having won three all India competitions and having designed more than
50 postage stamps in India and abroad, but continued using the canvas
with skill and imagination. If he still had time to spare, he picked up
his pen and wrote interesting stories and anecdotes using Delhi the
city as a backdrop. In this context it would be worthwhile taking note
of the artist's sojourn with brush and colour for some seventy odd years
purely as a hobby while earning his bread and butter elsewhere.
Mr. Pakrashi belongs to that generation of Bengalis of the capital
city who persistently promote the Bengali genre to his 'probashi'
brethren. This metropolis he has made his second home after
transporting himself from Mymansingh (now in Bangladesh) via
Calcutta, where he had his art education. Interestingly, in his
professional years he worked as a graphic and industrial designer,
having also trained at NID. Age has not diminished his enthusiasm in
this direction. Today he is an editor of this little magazine 'Hindol',
that champions the cause of Bengali literature alongside promoting
diverse art forms.
Mr. Pakrashi himself recounts that his inner potential as a painter
was discovered by another noted painter Sri Bimal Dasgupta and it
was on his insistence that he picked up the paint-brush. After his

, 1419

Retrospective of C.R. Pakrashi - a Visionary Painter

retirement as a Government servant in 1982, Mr. Pakrashi took up

painting more seriously. While keeping his liaison with nature, his
paintings span a range of passions with diverse forms depicting her
contours in vibrant colours and often highlighting it symbolically with
alphabetical forms.

, 1419

21

22

Retrospective of C.R. Pakrashi - a Visionary Painter

It was indeed a pleasure to be present at his retrospective painting

exhibition sponsored and organized by the All India Fine Arts & Crafts
Society, New Delhi from 22nd to 28th November 2012. The fortynine paintings that were exhibited included a lithograph- print depicting
rural Bengal dated 1943. As a young artist he began as a pure realist,
which was in tune with his time and generation. Mr. Pakrashi has felt
his way through different stylistic genres, which include usage of water,
poster, acrylic and oil colours. He has traveled with ease and grace
from the 'real' to the 'surreal' journeying from a simple depiction of
nature and then moving on to represent the Tantric symbolic form and
entering the mood of an abstract painter creating visual effects with
colours.
The painting 'Shiva Temple' of his native place in Mymansingh is
a beautiful realistic painting. Some of his early creations that are in
realistic form depicts his love for nature. He has painted the flow of
a river, the peaks of snow-capped mountains, rocky beds and spouting
fountains, inhabited villages and cities and so the canvas continued to
become wider. As the years passed on, the artist never rested without
making stylistic innovations. Almost at the twilight stage of his career,
Mr. Pakrashi let his brush eloquently move towards the surreal.
The content of Tantra is in general cryptic bordering on to the
abstruse where geometric symbolism is used as an accessory. The form
and content of Tantra as an art-form has adequately intrigued
Mr. Pakrashi, and in the series 'Yantra' he has tried to image these
intricate symbolism in acrylic medium.
One could describe the versatility of this painter's use of surface
where he seems to be equally eloquent using paper or canvas. Of the
content, the series that begins by illustrating the origin of the cosmos
has a unique gradient of being speculative in a philosophical manner
of speaking. While painting different forms in different media, his
masterly bold brush-strokes of colours leave an impression of
exploration or explosion, that had taken place millions of years ago in
the vast 'Space', while stabilizing the process of placement of this
planet-'Earth' on its orbit in the Universe. An audience may please refer
to his painting titled 'The World in Forming' series. The 'wet-treatment'
of different colours, followed by rapid brush-stokes, precisely
represents the liquid form of Earth at initial stage, gradually moving

, 1419

Retrospective of C.R. Pakrashi - a Visionary Painter

towards shaping, settling

and turning into a
stabilized form to be
homogenous to generate
the signs of life on its
surface. The series of his
paintings on 'Hope' also
follow similar treatment, in
order to transform vibrant
and energetic rhythm into
an abstract theme.
A remarkable example
of the artist's transportation
from the real to the surreal
are depicted in the work
titling 'Patches with
Cracks' in water colour.
The patches of colours and
the cracks on the tonal
surface give modern and
KRISHNAKALI
graphic representation of a
landscape. This treatment leaves in my mind the impression of the
works of a legendary painter - Shi Krishen Khanna's depiction of
landscape paintings. Mr Pakrashi's treatment of colour is bold and
realistic. I wish the artist would have done further experiments with
this type of treatment on 'Nature'.
His painting 'Krishnakali' in acrylic medium romanticises a virgin
beauty and stands out differently from all the other displays. The artist
has used tempered green on her face and the background of fresh
foliage in a hued tinge of yellow landscape to depict the maiden's
modest and meditative mood.
Our panning of the works of Mr. Pakrashi would remain incomplete
without mentioning 'The Glorious Gulmohar' that stands out in its
imposing style as well as its content. This is one of his recent works.
The usage of vibrant colours such as vermillion red show that even as
he has got on in age, his creative appreciation continues to dwell in
the ever youthful spring season.

, 1419

23

24
&5
-1, ~

M
[13]

,
,
S S
,
L , M
, L M
--
, X
f

1856 ^
M SL &
1860 c y
2 x -
y
M c
y

L
Q
Z

, 1419

(


` - , E , I- ,
^ ( 1860 Jerusalem Delivered

U P [ ] 5 U
L C S
k
+ C S
C X
S X
26 S S
(Hypnos) ^
& Se
M ,
&

(Saturn) L, -a
(Publius Virgilius Maro) - q ij
R C

& ~ Book I-
the Sire omnipotent
Penned them in caverns dark, and o'er them piled
The bulk of lofty mountains, and a king
He gave them, who by settled bond should know
To grip the reins, or slacken, at his word.
[ - James Rhoades)

, 1419

25

26

'king' (Aeolus) ^


Twice seven fair nymphs of matchless mould have I,
Of whom Deiopea, fairest formed,
In lasting wedlock will I knit with thee

- :

Then answered Aeolus: "Thy task, O queen,
Is to search out thy pleasure, mine to do
Thy bidding: of thy grace is all I own
Of power, this scepter, and consenting Jove;
Thou set'st me in the banquet-hall of heaven,
And mak'st me ruler of the clouds and storms.

U
U ^ , < ,
So having said, his spear he turned and thrust
Against the hollow mountainside: the winds
As in compact array, where vent is given,
Rush forth and with tornado scour the world,
Swoop on the sea, and from its sunken bed
Upheave it whole in one wild onset, east,
South, and southwester with thick-coming squalls,
And roll huge billows to the shore. Anon
Rises the creak of cables, cry of men:
Clouds in a moment from the Trojans' eyes
Snatch heaven and day; black night broods o'er the deep:
Skies thunder; the air lightens, flash on flash;
No sign abroad but bodes them instant death.

&- S
Z [ 2, 3] g
S M a -
f , ^
S

, 1419

& &
U ,
^ S , ^
Z
UU
,
/ , /
e-e e-
~, -e ee /
f ,

-. y

,
,
, ,

~
[ 2, 1] -S U
Se
X 7 ^
M , ^
, f

, e 26
, ,
;
, , ,

, M

e-e
?/
:, ,
f

-,
, - ,
, e
,
,
:, , ,
,

-

G s
M ,

, 1419

27

28

5
i ,

Book XIV- ~ C
, C ,

a (Girdle of Love)
^
^ M
Then Sleep answered, "Juno, great Queen of goddesses,
daughter of mighty Saturn, I would lull any other of the gods
to sleep without compunction, not even excepting the waters
of Oceanus from whom all of them proceed, but I dare not
go near Jove, nor send him to sleep unless he bids me. I have
had one lesson already through doing what you asked me, on
the day when Jove's mighty son Hercules set sail from Ilius
after having sacked the city of the Trojans. At your bidding
I suffused my sweet self over the mind of aegis-bearing Jove,
and laid him to rest: meanwhile you hatched a plot against
Hercules, and set the blasts of the angry winds beating upon
the sea, till you took him to the goodly city of Cos away from
all his friends. Jove was furious when he awoke, and began
hurling the gods about all over the house; he was looking more
particularly for myself, and would have flung me down through
space into the sea where I should never have been heard of
anymore, had not Night who cows both men and gods protected
me.
[ - Samuel Butler)

Z [
2, 2 3] y : XL
f f
|
y ,
f f
c

, 1419

- ,
P

S e q
: , ,
, , , /
- , ,
^ ij ,
- -
, y ,
f
, ,
, -,
- S

, 7
,
, , -
, , ; ,

, f, , ,
, Q/

, /

........ ,
,
,
...................
Z-- Z
,
/ .......

^ ,
^
e
/
When she had completed her oath, the two enshrouded
themselves in a thick mist and sped lightly forward

"What do you want that you have come hither from Olympus
- and that too without neither chariot nor horses to convey
you?"

, 1419

29

30

ARTIST: KAMALIKA BANERJEE

- +
* ,
+,
q, ,
, , f
f ,
, ......

a ,
, 26
With this the son of Saturn caught his wife in his embrace;
whereon the earth sprouted them a cushion of young grass,
with dew-bespangled lotus, crocus, and hyacinth, so soft and
thick that it raised them well above the ground. Here they laid
themselves down and overhead they were covered by a fair

, 1419

cloud of gold, from which there fell glittering dew-drops.

Thus, then, did the sire of all things repose peacefully on the
crest of Ida, overcome at once by sleep and love, and he held
his spouse in his arms

/ a
.......... ,
, -

~ , -
,
-, ,
-
26 e/.....

.... S/
........... ,
, ,
- , ,
, , , -
-- -

g Z As a reader of the Homeric Epos, you will, no doubt, be

reminded of the Fourteenth Iliad, and I am not ashamed to
say that I have intentionally imitated it - Juno's visit to Jupiter
on Mount Ida. I only hope I have given the Episode as
thorough a Hindoo air as possible.
* * *

,
/ ,

-
S- s L -
L


,

- [Publius

, 1419

31


Ovidius Naso - ] q ij - 15

- [ S]
e - 14 V
S
: : :
y
, , - ,

ARTIST: ARIJIT SENGUPTA

32

, 1419

... y
Say, Muse, what outrage to her power the cause,
Or angered why, the Queen of Heaven

I -
Sing Heav'nly Muse

L [] Z y O Muses, O lofty genius, now assist me!...

[L - Charles Eliot Norton)

y
Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that
brought countless ills upon the Achaeans

y Tell me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero who traveled far and
wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy

2

Z + se
e
,
L c

! '
La
*
e ( y
f

^
, Captive Ladie -S ,
S ~
And how the Wanderer of the wood
Came home - but came to solitude And in his grief sought her in vain
O'er mount - in cave - by fount - on plain...

, 1419

33

34

Or - how like to the sunny tide,

Of ocean rolling far and wide,
The Curu came in all his pride,
And led the mighty and the brave,
But led them to a bloody grave,
When on the fiercest fields the sun,
Hath ever shrunk to gaze upon

S& (
f [ ] S M
q
- ,


-

,
,
- -

,
G M
,

e 5
Z-ZiZ
g XS

[S]

, 1419

35

S
S
y M S
f f ,

,
:

S- S
+ S



L -g
L, g &
- g
&

--,
Q =
+ ~
-
- ,
q,
G

, 1419

36

This issue of
HINDOL
is supported by
ARJUN DASGUPTA
in memory of his grandfathers
BIRESH CHANDRA DASGUPTA
and
HEMENDRANATH ROY

,
M M

, -
&
+
, - ,
-

, 1419

37

The rest of this issue is

for young people, some
of it having been created
by them. For this, we
thank not only them, but
their families too who
helped them flower. We
also thank our young-atheart friends who
contributed pieces for the
young, both in Bengali
and English.

ARTIST : SAUMAYBRATA DEB

, 1419

38

M? , ~

M 26
S M
S U L


+
, ` ,
+ , , L M
s e U
e
+ M &Q :
-S ,
, =
x-factor S
ijX
, = L
, S para
e e
, +
V : L

, 1419

, q, , ,
&
! ~
S S
, M
q e

L L
Q M f ,
[
S ]
^ M
M dictation 26,
dialogue 26
f S
wL
/
N , (
= M?
M? :
a M g
V
ICS N ,

La , R
t G |

- c
q x
,
X

, 1419

39

40

, &

=
S X
c
Sn ,

La

M :

26 -
,
q Sn
X X M

e
S y = ,
,
M
X :
S S X X
7 S
F ?
M S G
M S
c 26

, ,

, 1419

Z S q
selection interview
c k
k M
,
, (S ...
X

'

, ,
,
G q
&

U
, c

q X

: +
+

f M

y e
U c
q
M ij +

, 1419

41

42

,
, c ,
R g , U
&
q , R g
R g basic education + X
S q
, e q

, q
| S |X q
,
q L 26i+
S , R
q +

q X
M M +

e , q
, g
M X + ,
,
, m
, , ,
&

Z, S


,

, 1419

q -
Xi x =
,
~ , , -
+ 26 +
, X 26
S S

q y
S , ,
, & S Dennis the
Menace Calvin- , ,
2 -


U
i ,
, | =
M

,
XM : 26

, 1419

43

44

&,

1
q ,
g The Invisible Gender s 26 q-, ---
X , e
M =
,
2
G g ,
S

-
~ 26 ,
&
:
- & 26 ,
26 , c
M -,
- ... , , ,

, 1419

26 &
c ,

q p
& | (
S-- &
| c [Boarding School- ]
,

[ q Q,
&] V [ ]
'Sweet' , :
(
&
, ,
Gij N
3
ijML , c g
q
(pair) ,
-Sn , c Q -
Q
ij,

... q q (
d 26 S ,

[ ~] , y
adventure , ,
c 26 S :

, 1419

45

46

e Q

26 - c V

26 - --

- qq
[ ]
-
, Q
M ,
e A -
c M
Q
Q
q
{j | e-e
, q c

{j S 26
26 f
26 c {j ,
- 26 |
-
ij ,
... : traumatic
{j c
S
26 26
O - 26
26

, 1419

G- S

^ O -
, a , a , , ,
, S - q
S p
i , q ,

M-M S
q S M ,
M
7

S X M
26, M L La
26 M
-

4
n
q n M , -
,
n
, S
n
n q
- , &
: ,
M q :

, 1419

47

48

, :
&
, ,

M M ,
n- - - - ,
MQ (f
S , | ,
[ ]
5
, : L
q , |
L- ,

^ 4- qS ^ M
L &

L , , q M , ,

i
| ij
e e : q
, S S

f
e c
La |
c
S
, L []

, 1419

e - S
ij -
e - , ,
- ,
Sn 26 Sn [ |
L ] , 2 -,

Sn |
-
=La II
, M
26 La - V
, q + X
|
6
e... ,
,
- ,
S S
q - disciplining, schooling, conditioning,
regimentation.

caste gender- M pL &

, SL a
, | , ...
L
^ ' ,
(superstructure) M (economic base)-
, X (mode of production)

, 1419

49

50

... (revolution)
, Z , M M
&M ... X La - 2
,
q q , (
, Victoria
Victorian era S &

, ij
,
d , R...
Competition capitalism
26 ,
C ...
7
, a
q

i
, c
-
q -
S
L, -
, +
i i ,
,
M ML

e

, 1419

51

ARTIST: V.S. RAHI

, 1419

52
? L
e

S M

q | S
2



S ,
I ,
, S

v


&


L
i
gQ

, 1419

S M

KI & M

E KI E q - =
,

q



M





&

g
&

,

S
X
~ g q


L

, 1419

53

54

S M

q ,

v v q
G
^


e ,

KI KI
'
C C '
(

v &
,
, v
q S ,
e
;
,
,
,
-
- -
U U ,


e

, 1419

S M

q ,
, :

2
q
S
26 -
y

g
i
e L
S
q
, S

I
C 'KI C
E C E
y 26



e ,
S
26
L
v
v
q S

, 1419

55

56

S M

'
KI
: q ,

g C
S U
,

- A '
' '
- A
'
'

- ,
? -
& ?
&
Z
=
& ,
, &

&
L ,
M
& M
M

, 1419

S M

S
M S

S
q
,
q
g e , D
, ,
, , , , q , ,
, &

26 C-
26





26

e
y
~ /


,

,
, (L
X ,

, 1419

57

S M

,


G
,


g




~

c ij
26
,

c


Q ,
S




q

c

ARTIST: M.A. JOMRAJ

58

, 1419

S M

g
g g g
~
= `
{
g
~
g -
,
26

F

F &




q


&

, 1419

59

60

S M

- -
e &
- ,
, ,
-
M
{ , ; ;
,
L S

,
La

& &

e

, e, ,

F


,
M

M ,
26 c

q &5

, 1419

S M

, ,
( &5 ,


i i
, ,
,
S

q

,

26


,
26

L ,
26 e




M ,

!

s !

, 1419

61

62

S M

g

g
,
,
g M 7 c
, ,
,
La
La
La

, M ,
, L , ,
,
S

g
La
g S
q

S ;


L

q

,

, 1419

S M

&
, , =
, & ,
&G ,

e
&5
&
& & ,
&
,
,

,
26 26 -
M
, & q



q
A M G
26
G
M
,

,
&5 S
q
! , La&

, 1419

63

64

S M

I ! !
F U
&G F
s
! ^n
26 ~
, ,
e 26,

g
: ,
,
&5
La
g

&5
&5
,

e &5


s e

, 1419

65

M? , ~

G M

M , L q
i
i i 26
q Q Q
M 26 26 +
U Q ,


S c M
Sn S , `
S ij


S Z S G U a
e
G S
L S S
, G
i i G-
d

, 1419

66

G M

,
; U

e
i ,

: e
gQ , S
p 2
g ,
p
S L ij G
X
G ^ a,
a ij ^ S ij
1] g [], 2] [], 3] |n
[7], 4] [], 5] |n []
a S - [6],
- [7], g - [8],
7 - [9], 7 Se - wn [10], 7
^ - [11], - S [12],
^ L - S [13]
a
e
S ij nU
G L, L S L G
M S a a
Z a , X S

^ X [14]

, 1419

G M

S X [15]
X [16, 17]
X 16 [18]
X [19, 20, 21]
qS [22] Q
G L 5 X ,
L
a L
q|n S
:

,
R ,
g M

e
X G S
ij L G
L
G g ^ L vL
^
G X
X w SX U
S XS
^
, S
U
G
SX ^ X

G

, 1419

67

68

G M

,
M X
e ^ =S +
M S =S
X
X O
X q S ? O S
? q O ii
N S S X

S SX 26 M
O
^ L
O SX L
O L ^
X O X q G
G y
i
a
,

X a Z
, ,
ML
S
G
G
X y

G
e X y , Z q

, 1419

G M

S fM
P
G , < s
i
X S

~ G S ~ G +, , X
-G
L

26 e
,
7
p ,
qS ^ 7
e ,
L ,
S L S
f
e
L + & i
M y

X q w S a
M XS , = w U
e
L X
U e +
F

, 1419

69

70

G M

q
, S , 26, X M
, q a Sn i X G
S S

G G f
ij f f S
, f L
L ,

Se =
o X
Z aS e
| Z
Z ^ f
L L Z
SL ^ f
f & ^ M
L ^ R ^
eX , P

^ ij q
L S S
U & , 7
^ G L Z
^ L a
7 a :
S c
, ^
26

, 1419

G M

5
G : 5 , g e X
G R
c M 26 7
& M + S +
Z q
^ ^ =S
S La , c La
G Z L
S M
, M :
M
M+ 7
:
X
L X L ^

^ X
L e w
X ^
L
X S SX
S , M
L i


X e X X
L &Q ^ S S
d O
| G ^
S ,

, 1419

71

G M

ARTIST: V.S. RAHI

72

S , = M
5 e S X
&Q

, 1419

G M

Z G L
, ,
^ y ? a
M e X M 7
S Z

^
^ Z
e e S
^ M ~
X 26
c 26


S ^
X , ^ ,
e S %
, S , U S
S
, ,
^ O
O e G Z
XS Q ^
26 ,
L
^
,
,
, Z , S
y
y X

, 1419

73

74

G M

y , ^ ,
S ^ S M
S ,
5 ~ y ? ,
, L X
q
XS ? ? = G &
, =G & & S

X
5 5 e
7 M = 26 g
5, , w e y
^ S q q ^
Z , G
G e

, c
S
, ^ ^
^ : M ,
G y , =
S , ^
^ bL Z
^ X
Q S

wn
26
e e e f

, 1419

G M

e
^
Se *
S Q
c S ij S +
, S+ M , S
M S
M , S wn
ij = Z Se wn e

: wn
, c :
X
S X :
wn S Se
L c
Z,
, q X G

M S
(M
wn X ?
, : 5 wn
e S
Q : La
Z
e
Se wn : : wn
, Se S
wn S L :

, 1419

75

76

G M

^ =S
X e
5 O ij
= G ^ =S S
Z a
X ,
5 M
X g O Q
M e G S
S G | O,
S
, & q
O G S
,
O
a a O
a L
,
G G L L

Z
G ^
O
O pa
O |
| pa , a
O M a , a
c a G
a M , , M
L M L G
^ , L ^

, 1419

G M

X ij
e, S

G M , L
L L- 26 L L
L
L 5 L
e L
g :
L Sn X q
,
, 26 ,
X g L
7 L M ,
f , L
X M L
7 , wQ
V ? Q ,
L L L G,
G L
e
Z a
, , X U
a ~ L
5

, 1419

77

78

G M

w X
, q ,
, G L
/ = M L
i Q
X g :
, ` , ^ ( L
O
8 g
G
, ,
M L ij
q L , w


XU ,
c q
-
-

S
1 2 G i
L L


X
f
The Mahabharata - Gopidulal Mukherjee

, 1419

79

M? , ~

ij

I
-
, -
,
,
,
M
:
, ,
(L /
c , , {
..., e e
, ,
26 ,
, e
v
,
SX c
, , , i
& ...

, 1419

80

ij

MM
,


c/ @
, s,
M
, S ,

,
ij , ...
, q
ij /

, 1419

ij

L vL ,

- U-, ,
,
...
S Z
26 26 U ,
,

d
` S
-
/
, ,
ij ... , ..
ij
M UU
...

, 1419

81

82

This issue
of
HINDOL
is supported
by

LALITA & DEBASHISH DAS GUPTA

One man, when he has done a service to another, is ready to

set it down to his account as a favour conferred. Another is
not ready to do this, but still in his own mind he thinks of
the man as his debtor, and he knows what he has done. A
third in a manner does not even know what he has done,
but he is like a vine which has produced grapes, and seeks
for nothing more after it has once produced its proper fruit.
As a horse when he has run, a dog when he has tracked the
game, a bee when it has made the honey, so a man when he
has done a good act, does not call out for others to come
and see, but he goes on to another act, as a vine goes on to
produce again the grapes in season.
MARCUS ANNIUS VERUS AURELIUS
(Roman Emperor: A.D. 121 - 180)

, 1419

83
FACE-SCAPES: Satyaki Saha

Eet (brick) alian Saloon - Calcutta

Ahilya Bai Ghat - Benares

, 1419

84
Maitrayee Sen
Greater Kailash I,
Delhi

The Remarkable Sanyasi

Take up one idea. Make that one idea your life - think of it, dream
of it, live on that idea. Let the brain, muscles, nerves, every part
of your body be full of that idea, and just leave every other idea
alone. This is the way to success, that is the way great spiritual
giants are produced.
You are the makers of your own fortunes. You make yourselves
suffer, you make good and evil, and it is you who put your hands
before your eyes and say it is dark. Take your hands away and
see light!

Inspiring and stirring words indeed! Do they sound familiar? probably; and some of you may also know that they were words spoken
by Swami Vivekananda - perhaps one of the greatest Indians ever born.
Swamiji was born on January 12 1863 in the affluent Dutta family
of Calcutta and was named Narendra, endearingly called Naren. His
father was Biswanath Dutta, an attorney-at-law in the High Court of
Calcutta, well versed in English and Persian literature. His mother was
Bhuvaneswari Devi, a gracious lady, deeply religious and steeped in
Hindu tradition. Naren was greatly attached to his mother, remaining
so throughout his life, and believed himself indebted to her for all his
finer qualities, as is evident from his writings.
Under the guidance of his gifted father and saintly mother, he grew
up to be a remarkable boy, excelling in music, gymnastics and studies;
learning about the Hindu deities from his mother, he developed a strong
love for Siva, the God of renunciation. A sunny tempered but extremely

, 1419

The Remarkable Sanyasi

restless child, full of exuberant energy, his mother at times would have
to resort to putting his head under the cold water tap while chanting
Siva's name, which inevitably had a calming effect on him. Born with
a yogic temperament, he used to practice meditation from his boyhood,
and was particularly drawn to the life of the wandering monk.
When Naren entered high school, his teachers and classmates soon
recognized his exceptional intelligence. He took to studies, including
English, in all earnestness, but used his inexhaustible energy in many
other activities also like organizing amateur theatrical groups and a
gymnasium and taking lessons in fencing, wrestling, rowing, swimming
and other sports, trying his hand even at the art of cooking.
A boy of remarkable courage, straightforwardness and simplicity,
he was completely devoid of fear or superstition. He would never
accept anything said by others without finding the truth for himself
and reasoning it out. All these qualities became stronger as he grew
older. Adherence to truth against all odds remained one of his greatest
traits.
After passing from school, Naren enrolled in Presidency College
of Calcutta, later joining Scottish Church College where he majored
in Western philosophy and the ancient and modern history of different
European nations. His memory was so prodigious that he could actually
assimilate an entire book in only three days. Naren acquired a
remarkable method of reading and memorizing a book. To quote his
own words:
I could understand an author without reading every line of his
book. I would read the first and last lines of a paragraph and grasp
its meaning. Later I found that I could understand the subject
matter by reading only the first and last lines of a page.
2

When at the threshold of youth he passed through a period of

spiritual crisis and was tormented by doubts about the existence of
God. Hearing of Sri Ramakrishna about this time he went to see him
and straightaway asked him, "Sir, have you seen God? Without
hesitating a moment Sri Ramakrishna replied, "Yes, I have. I see him
as clearly as I see you, only in a much more intense sense."

, 1419

85

86

The Remarkable Sanyasi

Thus began a unique teacher-disciple (guru-shishya) relationship,

which found fruition in the establishment of a new monastic order.
Soon after this, Naren heard an inner call for a greater mission in his
life, and in 1890 set out on a long journey of exploration and discovery
of India as a wandering monk.
During this journey across the length and breadth of the country,
he became filled with a deep sadness at the appalling poverty and
backwardness of the masses, and he was perhaps the first religious
leader to realize and say openly that the real cause of India's downfall
was the neglect of its masses. His heart wept for his country and its
people. He realized that the greatest and immediate need was to provide
food and other bare necessities of life to his poverty stricken
countrymen, to regenerate the youth and uplift the women of the
country and to take steps to improve their physical stamina; it was
necessary, he said, that they should be taught improved methods of
agriculture, village industries, etc., that they had to be infused with
courage, compassion and faith in themselves. Life giving inspiring
messages poured out of him wherever he went.
He knew money was necessary for all such projects, a large amount
of money indeed, and this was one of the main reasons for his decision
to attend the Parliament of Religions at Chicago, when he came to
learn about it, to seek financial help from the rich of America for his
project of uplifting the masses of India and to bear to them the message
of his guru Sri Ramakrishna; for he believed that America needed that
as much as India needed their money - this was his 'Mission to the
West'.
The world knows only too well how, at the age of only 30, Swami
Vivekananda arrived in Chicago - a completely unknown and penniless
monk - without a single letter of introduction whatsoever. It will be
well to remember that at that time the two great countries across the
Atlantic - India and America - had very little contact indeed and knew
hardly anything about one another. This is a measure of his courage
and faith - in God and himself. It was also on the eve of this historic
journey that he was given the name Vivekananda by his friend the
Maharaja of Khetri; the name by which he has been known all over
the world since then, a name that did India proud.
Surely we can all imagine that scene in the great hall of the Art

, 1419

The Remarkable Sanyasi

Institute of Chicago where the Parliament of Religions was inaugurated

on September 11 1893. Yes, it was a 9/11, exactly 108 years before
the infamous 9/11 - when the world was shocked by the horrendous
act of terrorism in America.
It was indeed a moment of pride and glory for India when the
young Swami Vivekananda, seated among some of the greatest
intellectuals of the time - rose to address the 7000 people present in
the hall. When he spoke his famous first words, "Sisters and Brothers
of America.." all the 7000 men and women of the audience, as if
moved by some unknown emotion, rose as one, clapping - an applause
that continued for two full minutes.
Almost overnight, by the power of his words, his wisdom, his
magnificent and radiant personality, Vivekananda became the most
popular and sought after speaker of the Parliament, so much so that
his life-size cutouts appeared on the streets of Chicago and passers by
paused before them to bow in respect.
This was the beginning of his amazing journey, a story of endless
faith in God and himself, indomitable courage in the face of all
adversity and relentless work for the welfare of humanity. He toured
tirelessly in Europe and America, spreading the message of his guru,
in the process establishing the Ramakrishna Mission in India and the
Vedanta Society in America.
This year we celebrate the 150th anniversary of Swami
Vivekananda. Born in 1863, he left this world in 1902 when he was
only 39 years of age, worn out completely by the way he drove himself
relentlessly in pursuance of his life's mission. But people like him never
die; they live on through their work, their ideals, their messages. His
message of faith and courage, compassion, integrity and hard work
has inspired many generations and will surely continue to infuse
inspiration in many more generations to come.
Strength is life, weakness is death. Strength is felicity, life eternal,
immortal. Infinite faith, faith in God, faith in yourselves, and
strength are the only conditions of success.

, 1419

87

88
WATER-SCAPES: Sourabh Sengupta

Lal Dighi - Calcutta

St. Xavier's College - Calcutta

, 1419

89
Arjun Chakraverty
Greater Kailash I,
New Delhi

Child or Adult?

Do we really grow up or do we just learn how to 'act' in society?

How does one define growing up and being mature? Is it the way one
talks to people? Is it the way one dresses in public? Is it the way one
stops all childish naive habits and moves on to more 'mature' ones?
Agree to disagree. As a child, I had always been fascinated with
the world of superheroes, comics and super powers. Like every other
5 year old, I too used to run around in a red cape and a blue suit and
red underwear on top of the suit (ahem...please don't ask me where I
got it) with a huge 'S' on my chest pretending to be the caped crusader
'Superman'. Did people think I was crazy? Naaaathey just appreciated
my enthusiasm 'cause welllet's face it I was 5 or 6 years old. So
you dress up like a superhero, you dance and prance around in a red
cape, (moments I am reminded about by neighbors till this very day
and am extremely embarrassed every single time) but it didn't end there.
This love and fascination for superheroes kept on bottling up within
me over the years and one day I realized that I wanted something more.
Something to remember my moments, something like a tribute to my
favorite characters. Hence, I realized; I just had to have the toys for
all of my favorite characters, or as we sophisticatedly call them today:
'Action Figures'.
During the early 90s, every time I used to enter a toy shop in
Kolkata, I always made my parents get me at least one He-Man or GI
Joe figure (as they were the hot sellers of the 1990s) and in the event
I was denied one, the tears and whining knew no end. One always

, 1419

90

Child or Adult?

likes to believe that such hobbies and behavior lasts only for a while
and with age gradually fizzles out, and honestly it didbut just for a
while. School, studies, exams and 'Unit Tests' primarily governed my
life till I was 15 but my love for Superheroes and comics never died.
I became an ardent collector of comics and always found myself
wanting to own at least some kind of souvenir of all my favorite
characters.
When I reached my teens, along with comics a new obsession
called 'Gaming' (Video and Computer games) became a new craze that
people started raving about. The sad part of it all was that nothing
lasted forever. A comic always ended and a game was always beaten
(that's what we say when we finish a video game) and then I used to
miss the virtual and imaginative journey I underwent with my favorite
characters. I was so passionate about the whole idea that I wanted to
own a part of the whole experience so that every time I walked into
my room, I would be reminded of that ecstatic time I had while reading
the comics or playing the games.
The comic world saw many changes, newer comics and
superheroes were introduced, virtual console gaming experience
changed and was taken to a whole new level. Life in general and many
things changed for me, but what didn't change was my passion for my
old hobby. When I turned 23 a wild thought suddenly hit me. The way

, 1419

Child or Adult?

I saw it, there was only one way I could always relive the joyous
memories...I had to own at least one Action figure of all the characters
that had become a part of me. This was the inception of my wild and
(to some extent) insane hobby. I became a collector of sorts. I started
ordering figures of each and every character that had in some way or
the other left an impression on me. The figures are different these days,
they are more detailed, bear more resemblance with the actual
characters, are much more expensive but however, let me be extremely
clear about this; these figures were and are NOT available anywhere
in India. I had done immense research on this and after a lot of mail
exchanging, bargaining, deal making with vendors from all around the
world, I started importing my little empire of Action figures. Be it my
favorite Playstation 3 game character or a favorite movie character or
a comic hero, I started collecting them all. Though expensive, it was
an immensely satisfying hobby. I have a huge glass display at my place
to show it off to all visitors and friends. It is my personal space, my
sanctuary, my collection that I'm extremely proud of. I googled to find
out if I was the only retard to invest in such foolishness but to my
surprise, saw hundreds of others who did the same, and to my
amazement, people didn't think that it was immature or foolish, but
had actually coined a term for such people: 'MATURE
COLLECTORS'.
Socoming back to the question..Do we really grow up or do we
just learn how to 'act' in society? How does one define growing up
and being mature? Is it the way one talks to people? Is it the way one
dresses in public? Is it the way one stops all childish naive habits and
moves on to more 'mature' ones?
In my case...I leave the answer for you to judge.
(Arjun is a mechanical engineer by degree, a project manager
in the power sector by profession, a comic lover by interest
and a mature figure collector by hobby. In short, a mysterious
blend of individuals, all packed in one.)

, 1419

91

92

Tainted
Swarnali Goswami
There stood a fresh canvas
Untouched and pristine,
Ready to take on any impression
Stark white, so inviting
A smear of black paint
Which it couldn't resist,
Laden with poison
Coloured with deceit
With deft strokes were put
Generous dashes of scarlet,
Rich with untold sins
And a fiercely guarded secret
The midnight blue reflected
The recesses of a conniving mind,
What it seemed on the surface
Was not what it was inside
And envy in shades of jade
Dominant traces that will never fade
Along with splashes of fiery orange
Hard hitting like uncontrollable rage
Temptation appeared in curves of purple
The alluring exterior a clever bait
To trap the unsuspecting admirer,
And lead him to the gruesome fate

, 1419

93

One look at the picture,

And the bold colours all over
Were catching the eye
The dark, sinister side
No one noticed the specks of white
Or how pure it had once been,
The innocent soul which now
Had undergone severe malign
The smeared stains can only be lighter,
But traces would always remain
The only escape being absolution,
Which was impossible to attain

, 1419

ARTIST: ANAMIKA ADHIKARI

94
Monojit Lahiri
Alaknanda, New Delhi

Children's Films Orphans in Fantasyville?!

Rolling out a 1 billion plus population automatically means that

we have a gigantic kiddies club across all stratas of society. We are
also the proud manufacturers of the largest volume of movies on
planet earth and of course everyone is fully aware of our movie-madness
& craze for movie stars! This bimari is truly infectious in a democratic
way because it embraces masses everywhere, cutting across all religion,
language, caste, creed, colour & social barrier, in frightening fashion.
Superimposed on this very scenario is the strange, sad & shockingly
shameful plight of a genre that should have got at least a fraction of the
spectacular hi-fives so generously given to commercial cinema but
didnt. Result? On one end lies a world buried amidst an embarrassment
of riches, while on the other lies a world living in the shadows, rejected,
neglected, overlooked, ignored, unattended, uncared & frequently
dismissed by the merchants of muck as sideshows. A disfranchised
(in popular imagination) territory with all the formal & official
trappings required for fulfilling the political correctness quotient,
children films, alas, continues to garner precious little respect, attention
or recognition it deserves.
The reason is simple. In India, mass-entertainment is Bollywood,
which means stars. In this format, where do children feature, except as
props? Also (like art cinema) there has never been any conscious attempt
to promote childrens films as a separate and special category that can
entertain, enrich & empower in one fell swoop. It is an area that is
popularly perceived as residing in the education slot or fairy tales/
fantasy space & hence dumped wholesale in the tray marked

, 1419

Children's Films - Orphans in Fantasyville?!

Bachhalog! Way back in the fifties, Satyen Bose did make the
inspirational Jagriti & Raj Kapoor, Boot Polish - splendid films blending
childrens issues with social comment - but the follow up wasnt really
encouraging. Sure there were the absolutely adorable Irani sisters
(Daisy & Honey) as very popular child stars of their time & later the
wonderful Raju Shrestha the Mehmood-aper, Junior Mehmood & Baby
Guddu all with a fan-base of their own but children-based films were
few & far between. Critics point out to a mixture of fear & nervousness
to tread that area on the part of film makers convinced that there is
no real market for serious childrens films. That apprehension
continues, although when you look westwards to our baap Hollywood,
classics like King Kong, Wizard of Oz, Sound of Music, Mary Poppins,
Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang, E.T., Children of Heaven (among others) leap
to the mind enchanting us with their charming narratives. In recent
times, the Home Alone series was an amazing example of childrens
movie, totally grabbing universal audiences, across the globe.
The first serious breakthrough in this genre - amidst the hi-decibel
star-studded Bollywood fare - came from the person who truly defines
creative courage & continues to put his money where his mouth is
Aamir Khan. Totally zapped by Amole Guptes fantastic script of Taare
Zameen Par, he bankrolled the film with a Rs 12 crore budget, directed,
produced & promoted the film like one possessed - & hit the bulls eye,
whammo! Mesmerising audiences wherever it played & transforming
its bucktooth lead child-star Darsheel Safary into a Rs 80 lakh per film
& 50 lakh per endorsement celeb, Taare Zameen Par pulled in a cool
Rs 140 crores and showed the clueless B-town gang what passion,
conviction & ability can achieve when herd-mentality & risk-proof
thinking is ignored! Although a creative misunderstanding saw Gupte
let go TZP, Gupte for his turn proved his creative worth as script
writer & director in his next venture where he went the distance with
Stanley Ka Dabba. A critical and commercial success, the film garnered
appreciation winning awards as well. Hot on the heels of his SKD
success, Gupte is planning his next children film, Sapno ko Ginte Ginte.
Meanwhile, the other two Khans inspired by Aamir? flung their
hats into the ring with their respective children- driven projects, King
Khans Rs 150 crores Ra. One (the superhero fantasy flick), delighting
kids [but putting off adults] to fetch mixed responses. Salman Khans

, 1419

95

96

Children's Films - Orphans in Fantasyville?!

much more modest - and focused Chillar Party (directed by UTV

SPOTBOY s then head honcho Vikas Bahl & Nitesh Tiwary) hit the
target bang-on to pick up the National Award as well as loads of
appreciation & a healthy ROI. Unlike earlier times, new categories
engagingly made can now exist across genres. The multiplexes have
created an audience pool that is forever ready & waiting for new,
interesting content covering every type including childrens cinema
says Bahl. Further, tax exemption, a lack of expensive stars & a budget
of a little over Rs. 5 Crores, has ensured that Chillar Party is the new
template to follow for directors to power this exciting, rewarding &
lucrative movement.
However, post TZP there have been flops as well. Aladin,
Paathshaala & Bum Bum Bole had to be peeled off the ceiling, because
kids as core audiences will not be taken in by anything you chuck
their way. Scripts not genres need to be re-scrutinised & reviewed.
Storytelling is critical but without being preachy, consciously childish
or talking down to them says Ravi Chopra, whos kiddie spookie
Bhootnath, with the Big B, was a big hit. Bahl puts it down to the
delicate balance between entertainment & message with a sense of
fun. Most importantly, there needs to be that critical element of
innocence, difficult to explain but easy to identify.
So will Chillar Partys success mark a new beginning for children
of a lesser god? Film makers doubt it. Although corporatization has
brought in funds for the industry, this category has seldom been lucky
because the mega weekend openings dont feature & the money boys
are mostly fixated towards the direction. Tokenism, yes but serious
moneyunlikely. Even for a super successful film like I am Kalam,
the maker lamented the lack of support from the Children Film Society
towards releasing the film. For a film that has scooped up 9 awards
across film festivals around the world, I was forced to take a loan
against my house to release Kalam rues Nila Madhab Panda. Shocking,
right?
How long will Childrens films remain in this orphaned state? When
will a Chillar Party or a Kalam be celebrated, not with lip service but
flush funds to power this movement? When will respect & recognition
come to this genre? Your guess is as good as mine

, 1419

97

ARTIST: SWAROOP BHATIA

, 1419

98
DELHI-SCAPES: Debangana Chakravorty

Qutab Minar

Jumma Masjid

, 1419

99
Ipshita Dasgupta
Chittaranjan Park
New Delhi

55 Words

Toddling
Rubbing his runny nose with the back of his hand, he ran towards us
with unsteady steps, just like any toddler would do on sighting his
favorite toy
Eyes agleam like a greedy cat's
Just that this time we were stuck at a traffic signal and he carried in his
hand packets of incense sticks
Rusty Notes
The rusty notes of his gramophone filled up the air as she stared at the
photograph.
Across a glass pane of separation, they held each others' gaze and smiled
at the reflection of their dreams.
Frustration. Angry Tears.
The insatiable contentment of silently shared lives across an
unbridgeable divide between life and death hugged her.
Reflection
She sat in front of the mirror, scrubbing away the glass pane in a religious
frenzy.
Harder and harder till her knuckles bruised.
Some thought she had an obsession with cleanliness.
Only doctors knew that dementia made it impossible for her to reconcile
with the image of an indifferent stranger locked up inside her mirror.

, 1419

100
SAND-SCAPES: Arjun Dasgupta

Murud Beach - near Bombay

, 1419

101
Subhadra Sen Gupta
Safdarjung Enclave,
Delhi

Writing Historical Books

for Children

I did not choose to write historical fiction, the children made me

do it. Once at a workshop for kids, I asked them, what were the subjects
they hated most in school? Number three in this unpopularity contest
right after Hindi and maths was history.
I was very surprised because history was one of the few subjects
that I had enjoyed in school. After all, history is stories about people
and how can a child dislike that? It is about voyages of discovery,
beautiful queens, greedy ministers, conspiracies, betrayals and such
surprising things like an old man who walked for 400 miles to make
salt and start a revolution. How can this be boring?
The children gave me the answer. They showed me their textbooks
that had been written by historians who had forgotten their childhood a
long time ago. And written in such a humourless, solemn, pedantic
style that even the most enthusiastic and imaginative teacher could not
make them interesting.
On top of that the syllabus is huge. A child of twelve struggling
with science and maths also has to know Ashoka's religious policy and
all the sections of the Minto-Morley Act. More importantly nothing is
done to engage their imagination. So they are given the dates of battles
but no one describes the weapons that were used by the soldiers. They
know the year when Shahjahan became king but no one tells them
what the peacock throne looked like.
As I began to research for my stories I discovered that all this
information is easily available but for some inexplicable reason they
are not used by our historians in the textbooks. The focus is completely

, 1419

102

Writing Historical Books for Children

on political history and what they often do not understand is that political
concepts like democracy or economy are not easily understood by a 12
year old. So children memorise the answers and promptly forget
everything after the examination.
In our education system everyone is always talking about what
children should know, no one thinks about what they can comprehend
or would like to know. Making history complex and dull means children
rarely choose to study it in higher classes and we are producing
generations of historically illiterate young people who blindly believe
anything our politicians tell them. They will repeat our mistakes because
they have no knowledge of our past. They are losing touch with their
roots and their sense of identity and pride in being Indians.
So I began to write as a response to the challenge from these children
to make history interesting. The plots of my first batch of stories were
nothing out of the ordinary except that they were rarely about kings
and queens. I found it much more enjoyable to write about bad tempered
bawarchis and shehnai players, pigeon trainers and qawwalli singers. I
was amazed at the response I got from my young readers. Suddenly,
wonder of wonders, my writing was cool!
People think writing historical fiction is difficult, actually if you
are willing to research a little, it is not. My plots are nothing unique
and my characters are not extraordinary, what makes my fiction different
is the detailing. I put in all that the textbooks leave out - all the vivid,
colourful details of life, especially the lives of ordinary people. I tell
them all the things kids want to know and historians ignore - how did
they travel? Did they get homework in school? What did they eat for
breakfast? What games did children play?
For children the people of the past remain cardboard cut outs
because they never come alive in textbooks. They never feel
Chandragupta Maurya, Jahanara or Robert Clive were real people. So
I tell them that Akbar had a droopy moustache, long hair and a limp.
That he was passionately fond of mangoes and loved to fly kites. That
Krishnadeva Raya wrote poetry and Samudragupta played the veena.
That Ashoka rode horses without saddles and was in fact a Bihari from
Patna and probably chewed paan. The last piece of information once
led to a lively discussion about whether Ashoka could have looked like
Laloo Prasad Yadav!

, 1419

Writing Historical Books for Children

I also enjoy challenging and confusing my readers. I mix real people

and true episodes with fictionalised ones and that makes the kids wonder
where history ends and my imagination takes over. So Bishnu the dhobi
singer learns music from Tansen and Raza stitches an angrakha for
Akbar. Then I get a lot of frowning questions that begin, "Is Bishnu
real?"
I think historical fiction is the smartest way to get children interested
in history. You seduce them with a good story and the information is
absorbed painlessly. You talk about Mahatma Gandhi's false teeth and
they will read on about his religious tolerance without a protest. In fact
what makes them go back to a book is the information. They are curious
about how architects planned the Taj Mahal and they are fascinated by
information on how they built boats or made kite string.
At workshops they ask me politically incorrect things like how
battles were fought, the kind of weapons used or how criminals were
executed in ancient India. One bunch imagined a firing squad of archers
decapitating a villain and I will not give you the gory details. Children
are like sponges for information; you just have to make it interesting.
Then they go on and read more and try to find mistakes in my books!
I taught myself to write historical fiction by reading the books of
the great Sharadindu Bandopadhya and his subjects ranged from Kalidas
to Vijayanagar and reading him I realised that historical fiction can
capture the flavours of our land like nothing else can. Of that sharp
earthy smell of the first monsoon shower, the taste of cool coconut
water, the sound of temple bells and the call of the peacock. Our history
is full of such dramatic visuals - of soldiers riding out to battle, a stone
carver creating an image and courtesans dancing in palace halls.
Many people ask me why I continue to write for children. It is
primarily because very few writers are doing so. There is a big demand
for books on history and so publishers are very kind to me! Also there
is nothing as satisfying as writing for the young because they come to
you without any artifice or pre-conceived judgment. Fortunately for
me, kids are never polite and they always have an opinion and I listen
to them. They tell me when I am making them laugh and when I am
boring them to tears. They never say that a book I wrote is "nice",
adults do that.
What is the most heart warming about children is that if they like

, 1419

103

104

Writing Historical Books for Children

your book then you are their Best Friend Forever (or BFF) and I have
an inbox full of their badly spelled emails to prove it. Right now I am
in correspondence with a 10 year old who read my biography of Ashoka.
He is fascinated by the story of James Princep who cracked the Ashokan
script in the 19th century. Unlike what parents and teachers say, I find
it very easy to get them interested in history but then I am focussing on
the people and their stories, something that children want to know.
Children are the best readers in the world and when they come
rushing towards me with faces bright with excitement and surround
me in a noisy throng, then all the hard work and agonising is worth it
all.
(Subhadra Sen Gupta writes fiction and non-fiction for
both adults and children, often around history.
She also writes travel books.
Her books are published by Rupa and many others
and are easy to order on flipkart.com, infibeam.com or
landmarkonthenet.com type Sen Gupta separately.
One of her stories follows.)

ARTIST: M.A. JOMRAJ

, 1419

105

The Princess of Beans

Madhura's long fingers hovered thoughtfully over the baskets of
flowers for a moment. Then she picked a jasmine and a marigold, swiftly
wove them into the garland and then picked a deep red rose, sniffing
happily at its fragrance. Madhura was making a garland for her favourite
god, Lord Vishnu. Every morning the first garland she made was always
for Him.
She was sitting in her mother's flower shop, a small space with a
thatched roof, piled with baskets of flowers and bowls of incense. Their
shop was the busiest in the street because it was closest to the gate of
the Vaikuntha Perumal Temple in the royal city of Kanchipuram. The
tall, arched gateway led to the newest temple in the city that had been
built recently by their king Nandi Varman. It led inside to a beautiful
shrine where in the sanctum stood her favourite god - Lord Vaikuntha
Perumal, that is Lord Vishnu in the form of the king of the universe clad in golden garments, glittering with precious jewels and wearing a
tall gold crown.
Her mother had taught her to always string the first garland of the
day for the god. As she said often to Madhura, their livelihood depended
on many pilgrims coming to worship at the temple. Madhura liked to
think that the garlands she made were all laid at his feet. Every morning
she and her mother came to the shop with baskets of brightly coloured
flowers - red and pink roses, creamy white jasmines and orange
marigolds and bunches of green bel and banana leaves. They sat at the
shop and threaded the flowers and leaves into fragrant garlands and
pilgrims going into the temple bought a basket of garlands, rose petals,
incense sticks and an earthen lamp that they offered to the god.
The shouts of the palace guards made her look up, 'Here comes the
princess,' thought Madhura, eagerly leaning forward to look, 'she is
early today'.
As she watched, her eyes bright with interest, Princess Jayalakshmi
got out of her palanquin and came walking slowly down the narrow
lane. As always she was going to the temple for her morning puja.
Madhura's hands lay still holding a half strung garland as she sat
mesmerized, staring at the royal procession. The palace guards came

, 1419

106

The Princess of Beans

first, carrying shiny spears and wearing tall turbans. Behind them the
princess came strolling along, surrounded by her companions and they
were followed by a row of maids carrying large silver platters filled
with flowers, fruits and incense.
Madhura carefully studied what the Princess wore that morning - a
long skirt in green silk embroidered in gold, a short blouse and with a
golden veil sheer as gossamer floating around her shoulders. Madhura
was nine and she guessed that the princess was may be twelve or thirteen.
'What a pretty necklace!' thought Madhura in wonder, staring at
the princess' gold necklace that was made by a row of tiny pendants
shaped like mangoes set with red rubies. Then she took a closer look at
Jayalakshmi's face and thought as she did every time she saw the
princess, 'Why doesn't she ever smile?'
As Princess Jayalakshmi swept past she did not notice the little
girl in the flower shop who watched her with such wide eyed admiration.
Madhura would have been thrilled if the princess had smiled at her but
she never even looked her way. Princesses were too important to notice
poor garland girls.
"Amma," Madhura turned to look at her mother. "Why is the
princess coming to the temple every day? She never did before."
"She is to be married soon," her mother replied as she sold a garland
to a customer and then counted the coins. "I heard that her mother, our
Queen Rajyalakshmi wants her to do the puja for a month. She is praying
to Lord Vaikuntha Perumal for a happy married life and lots of sons."
"I wish she would come to our shop," Madhura said dreamily. "I'd
weave a special garland for her made only of jasmines and red roses."
Her mother laughed, "Stop dreaming child! She is Princess
Jayalakshmi, daughter of King Nandi Varman, of the great Pallava
dynasty. They have gardens in the palace and maids to string garlands.
She would never come to our shop for flowers."
"Why not? Aren't our garlands pretty?" Madhura frowned.
"It's not that. It is because we are poor," her mother's eyes were
gentle as she looked into her daughter's wide eyed face. "The rich and
the powerful do not notice poor people like us. They just walk past like
the princess does. They never see our faces, they never talk to us"
"Why not?"
"I don't know. You'll have to ask a princess one day."

, 1419

The Princess of Beans

"She wears such pretty clothes and jewellery," Madhura looked

down at her simple blue cotton skirt all faded after many washes, "but
have you noticed Amma, she never smiles?'
"May be princesses are not supposed to smile," her mother's quick
laugh told Madhura that she was teasing. "You'll also have to ask her
that."
Madhura tied a string of jasmines around her hair and said briskly,
"If I was a princess I would smile all the time!"
Later, while her hands were busy stringing the garlands, her mind
was busy with her thoughts, 'The princess is so lucky! She wears a new
dress every day and even changes her jewellery. She has maids to do
all her work and friends to play with. And she must eat such delicious
meals - the best rice cooked in ghee, fresh fish from the sea and desserts
like payasam filled with raisins.'
She thought of the small thatched hut in which they lived, with its
hard earthen floor on which they slept on thin woven mats. 'In the
palace she must have a big room, a soft bed and a pool to bathe in. She
wouldn't have to walk to the river to bathe.'
That evening Madhura and her younger brother Sivaraman waited
for their father to come back from work. He was a weaver and worked
in one of the workshops that made silk saris for the royal household.
Then as the family sat down to eat their simple dinner of rice, sambar
and a beans and coconut dish, Madhura said suddenly, "If I was a
princess I would never eat beans."
Her father gave her a startled look, "Who's a princess?"
"Madhura has been watching the Princess Jayalakshmi every day,"
her mother explained. "I think she wants to be one too."
"If you become a princess, then I'll be a prince!" her brother said
with a wide grin. "Prince Sivaraman! Wonderful!!"
As the others began to laugh Madhura said stubbornly, "What's
wrong with wanting to be a princess? I'm sure she leads the happiest
life in the world!"
"Aren't you happy?" her mother asked curiously. "I thought you
were."
"I would be Amma, if you were a queen!" Madhura explained
patiently. Mothers never do understand do they? "The princess is so
lucky she has Queen Rajyalakshmi as a mother! The queen buys her

, 1419

107

108

The Princess of Beans

silks and jewels and she never walks in the heat and always travels in a
palanquin. And she doesn't have to make" Then she stopped, noticing
a sudden flash of sadness in her Amma's eyes before she went back to
eating.
"Ah!" said her father solemnly, "so it is all your Amma's fault!"
"Ummm not really Appa" Madhura took a quick look at her
mother's bent head and then had to admit. "Amma can't really help it."
"Then stop dreaming of being a princess," her mother said firmly.
"What is so bad about your life, will you tell me? Why do want to be a
princess?"
"If I was a princess then I wouldn't have to eat beans. That is why!"
Madhura protested, holding up a handful of beans and coconut. "I just,
absolutely and totally hate beans!"
"Aha!" her father nodded, "Now I understand! It's all about beans!"
and the look in his eyes told her that her Appa was not going to let her
forget this and she was right. He grinned at his wife and announced,
"Our princess Madhura hates beans! Remember that! No beans in this
house!"
"What about me?" asked Sivaraman plaintively, "I like beans Appa!"
From then on, her father and Sivaraman began to call her the
Princess of Beans and it made Madhura absolutely hopping mad. 'No
one understands me,' she brooded, sitting gloomily in the flower shop,
'they just know how to tease and laugh. What is so wrong about wanting
to be a princess?"
One morning a few days later, as the princess was going past,
Madhura turned to look at her mother and discovered that she was
busy at the back of the shop. She crept out and followed the royal
entourage into the temple. They entered an open courtyard and then
walked through a pillared corridor that led to the main shrine, where
the priests stood at the door to welcome the princess. They led her
inside to the sanctum where the image of Lord Vaikuntha Perumal stood,
surrounded by the golden glow of tall brass lamps and wreathed in
incense smoke.
'Will she pray at all the three sanctums?' wondered Madhura because
this was a very special temple. There were three sanctums, one on top
of the other with three different images of Lord Vishnu. On the ground
floor He is sitting on a throne like a king, on the first floor He is standing

, 1419

The Princess of Beans

and blessing everybody and on the third He is reclining as if at rest.

Madhura liked the standing image the most, it had the kindest face.
A small crowd had gathered to watch and the royal guards pushed
them back roughly and made them stand in the hallway. Madhura stood
on her toes and managed to catch a glimpse of the princess standing
before the god holding a handful of flowers as the priest raised the
many flamed arti lamp and began to chant the mantras. Madhura leaned
against the cool stone of a pillar and looked around happily. She liked
temples, the smell of incense and flowers, the clang of bells and the
raised voices singing mantras. There were images of Lord Vishnu
everywhere, carved on the pillars and placed in niches of the walls.
"So when is the wedding?" a man spoke next to Madhura and she
turned to see the two royal guards standing on the other side of the
pillar.
"Next month. Our princess is going far, all the way to Thanjavur."
Madhura's ears perked up and she crept closer to listen.
"I hear the queen is not happy about the princess being married
into the royal family of Thanjavur."
"And neither is the princess."
"But what can they do? The king decides and the queen and princess
obey."
"They say the Thanjavur prince is much older than our princess
and already has two wives."
"Poor little princess. I heard from a maid that she cries often and is
also scared of going so far away."
"But she will have to obey His Majesty."
A thoughtful Madhura wandered back slowly to the shop. Later
when the princess went past on her way back to the palace, she looked
at her sad face and thought, 'Thanjavur is so far away! She may not
come back to Kanchipuram for a long time,' her heart thudded with
sympathy. 'Imagine going so far all alone and then not seeing her Amma
and Appa, for years and years'
That evening Madhura was helping her mother cook dinner while
her father and Sivaraman were lounging around watching them and
cracking bad jokes. As she chopped a pumpkin she said, "I went into
the temple after the princess today"
"Oh that's where you went!" her mother turned to look at her. "I

, 1419

109

110

The Princess of Beans

was looking for you. Next time tell me before you leave."
"What was the princess doing?" Sivaraman wanted to know.
"I saw her do the puja and then I heard two palace guards talking.
They said the princess will have to go to Thanjavur after her marriage."
Her mother was busy cleaning a plate of rice, carefully picking out
small stones and pieces of husk. She raised her head and widened her
eyes in this very dramatic way, as if she was worried, "Oh no! Now
would you want to follow her and get married and live in Thanjavur
too?"
"No Amma, I won't." Madhura said patiently. Why don't adults
ever let her finish what she is saying? "I don't want to ever leave Kanchi,"
then added with a small smile, "Unless you come with me."
Her mother gave her a thoughtful look, "Do you think the queen
will go with the princess?"
"I know she won't but then wouldn't the princess miss her?"
"Of course she will. And that is why I'm going to marry you to a
boy who lives right here in Kanchi. So I can see you whenever I want."
"What if Appa wants to send me far away?" asked Madhura
anxiously, remembering what the guard said about the queen having to
obey the king.
Her Amma turned to glare at her Appa, "Just let him try!"
Her father shrugged, "I always obey your Amma. Didn't you know
that? So I'll find you a boy in Kanchi and also make sure your motherin-law never cooks beans."
"Here we go again!" Madhura glared at him. "Appa can't you think
of anything else except beans?"
"How can I?" his grin widened. "As your father, I'm the King of
Beans remember? And your mother is the Queen" and then he and
Sivaraman laughed so much Madhura wanted to hit them. Instead she
put her head into her hands and pretended to weep and that made them
all laugh even more.
That night over dinner, her father had some exciting news. That
day a royal minister had come into the weaver's workshop and bought
up all the saris for the princess' wedding. So all the weavers were given
a special bonus of a month's salary and next evening they were all
going shopping.
"I want a red skirt," said Madhura, very excited, "with a gold

, 1419

The Princess of Beans

border."
"Can I buy some marbles?" asked Sivaraman.
"Do you think we have money to buy a new rice pot," her mother
wondered, "a brass one?"
"Yes!" smiled her father. "And we'll get new thatch for the roof
and may be build another room. I'm feeling rich today!"
"Then we'll also have dosais at the food shop," her mother said
happily, "and I won't have to cook."
"And a bowl of payasam too!" added Sivaraman with a hungry
grin.
That night, lying on her mat, Madhura dreamed happily about red
skirts and marbles, dosais, and payasam, jasmines and roses then as
she was about to fall asleep, she thought, 'It's not bad being the Princess
of Beans.'
~~~~~~~~~~~~
A historical note:
The beautiful Vaikuntha Perumal Temple still stands in
Kanchipuram in Tamil Nadu. It was built over twelve hundred years
ago by the Pallava king Nandi Varman II. It is one the oldest temples of
India where worship has continued unbroken since the eighth century.
This story is fiction and Princess Jayalakshmi and Madhura, the
flower girl are imaginary characters. I did buy a basket of flowers at
the temple gate from a smiling little girl with big, dark, heavy lashed
eyes and pink ribbons in her curly hair. She is my Madhura.

ARTIST: KAMALIKA BANERJEE

, 1419

111

112

THE KRISHNA KEY

Ashwin Sanghi
464 pages
Rs. 250.00

Disappointing but informative

says Kajari Sengupta

The Krishna Key is the third bestseller written by Mr. Sanghi, most
widely known for a series of complex potboilers based on religion,
history, politics and specialized fields of research. A psychic killer sets
off on a mission to get hold of a mythical treasure that belonged to
Lord Krishna. He believes he is the last avatar of Lord Krishna and,
due to this stance, is used by several evil and influential people to meet
their selfish ends. A history professor, Mr. Saini, undertakes several
trips across North India in a frantic effort to save the so-called treasure
in time and to determine what it actually is.
The plot is no doubt seamless and tightly paced, but it bears too
close a resemblance to that of Dan Brown's novel Angels and Demons.
Mr Saini's character is an Indian version of Robert Langdon. The murder
scene near the iron pillar in the Qutub Minar complex is strikingly
similar to the murder committed in the middle of St. Peter Square in

, 1419

The Krishna Key

Dan Brown's novel. In fact the story contained in The Krishna Key
becomes quite predictable at times. Often one is left wondering about
the basic common sense of the protagonists as they seem to be repeatedly
taking the wrong steps, as if to ensure that the maximum number of
people get killed and the sensationalism is somehow kept alive. When
the long and protracted wild goose chase finally ends, the reader is left
disappointed. After chapters of brainstorming about a certain stone idol,
the story concludes with Saini declaring, "Our collective energies make
miracles happen, not the stone idol."
The plot unravels at a steady pace and the rush of events ensures
that the reader's attention does not flag, but it fails to strike a chord as
it lacks emotional depth and offers nothing more than the titillation of
suspense and high drama. The numerous murder scenes can be read
through as nonchalantly as the description of a mundane breakfast.
Even the love affair that suddenly sparks off between the professor and
a female police officer is hardly convincing as it contradicts the first
half of the book where the officer is hell bent on catching Saini and
bringing him to book.
However, in spite of its obvious flaws, the book is worth a read, as
every page has loads of knowledge to offer. Apart from presenting many
new and controversial facts on various subjects, it also narrates the
entire story of the Mahabharata. By reading this one book any common
man can gain an in-depth knowledge about Krishna's life, The Indus
Valley civilization and the significance of Mount Kailash. Mr. Sanghi's
extensive research and the way he has integrated it all in his plot deserves
appreciation.

, 1419

113

114

The following pages are

creations by school
students as are the pictures
on both the inside covers.
We are proud to have
15-year old Akshara
Suhasini as Special Editor
for this section.

ARTIST: BHARAT LAMA

, 1419

115
Akshara Suhasini
Greater Kailash I,
New Delhi

Sitara-e-Shujaat
The star of courage
I didn't know and I still don't know how to react to 9th October's
newspaper. I only remember a mesh of emotions engulfing my head.
How could they? Oh well, they just did. But how? In cold blood,
that's how.
But even that justification didn't seem enough. No justification will,
I suppose. Whatever Malala Yousufzai has done has just inspired us,
made us believe, and shaken us. The mere fact that a 14 year old wanting
to go to school can be seen as a threat by a group of extremists who are
known for things more terrifying than shooting an innocent girl in the
head. This heinous act does not enhance their stand, it exposes their
weakness and fear.
To think that she is my age just ends up inspiring yet humbling me.
Education is a powerful thing. And I salute you for dedicating your
energy and passion to it. Sitting unperturbed in classes, we forget the
lessons of courage taught to us since KG. Thank you for reminding us
that. Mankind often needs reminders, even though it's not something
we're proud of.
I have nothing else to say but this:
Malala, we are all behind you. You are our honour. Wear your badge
of simplicity and courage and keep challenging the world. By the time
they try to put you down again, there will be millions more they will
have to shoot. Keep fighting. Keep writing. Keep smiling. You have
very pretty eyes.
"Jo na jaane haq ki taqat,
Rab na deve usko himmat"
- Noori

, 1419

116

My definition of being Classy,

Sophisticated and Refined
For most, the definition of being classy
Will start with Prada and end with Gucci
And for those wanting sophistication
They'll turn to fashion which is gripping the nation
Last of all the devotees of refinement
Will find themselves in spoken English's confinement
But for me the definition is my grandmother
Albeit classy and refined as any other
She values more than anything
The beauty each person carries within
For her, the fashion translates to a white sari
And her favourite mall will be a thakurbari
In spite of all these unfashionable notions
Everyone finds her beautiful with her serene emotions
She's always helping people with a smile
And her patience has been well-known for quite a while
In her opinion, true beauty comes from the soul
And a heart which is happy, helpful and whole
Amrita Endow

, 1419

117

Children are Special

When God created Man and Woman
He was satisfied with his creation.
But only work and work was there,
Tension and boredom hung in the air.
His assistant Angel felt the need for assisting
When he saw that on Earth laughter and fun were missing.
Humans had no lively company,
Only silent plants and creatures so many.
So he spoke to his Master of this sad condition,
God pondered a while and said,
"Aha! I know how to improve this situation".
Let mankind have its own offspring
Who will bring joy
And add colour to their living.
A creature that I will make with the greatest care
One that will be sweet, jolly and fair.
With its cute looks and nature so mild,
The most special of my creations will be a child.
With a smile of innocence
And a twinkle in the eye.
The child will make life worthwhile.
So God started making children from that very day
And thus they are special even today.
Taposhi Pathak

, 1419

118

, 1419

119

Story & Illustration: Somak Sengupta

, 1419

120

GULLIVER IN LILIPUT
a play by Aditya Pathak
Characters: Gulliver, a young boy. His father. His mother. His brother.
The King of the Liliputians. The Queen of the Liliputians. The Prime
Minister of the Liliputians. Soldier. People of Liliput. King of the
neighbouring island.
Scene 1
(A fisherman's home. There are some utensils and plates on the table
laid for four. It is early morning, with the rooster crowing. Gulliver and
his father enter from two sides of the stage. Gulliver has just woken up
and is rubbing his eyes. His father is carrying a fishing net and a basket
of fish that he puts down on the floor. They sit down at the table.)
G : (Yawns) Good morning father!
F : Good morning son. Slept well?
G : Yes father. Dad, I have a question.
F : Yes son, tell me.
G : Father, when can we go on a voyage again?
F : How did you know son? Actually, I was planning one for
tomorrow itself!
G : Oh father! Where are we going this time?
F : Umm.. OK. We'll go to the South Sea Islands of the Pacific Ocean.
(Gulliver's mother enters with a steaming pot.)
M : Breakfast is ready. Come along everyone!
(Gulliver's brother enters and all sit down to eat.)
B : Why is Gulliver so excited?
F : Don't ask him. He may burst with excitement.
(All laugh)
M : Well, what is it? I too want to know.
F : Well, I'm taking both the boys to the South Sea Islands tomorrow.
G & B : (shout) Yayyyy!

, 1419

Gulliver in Liliput

Scene 2
(Deck of a fishing boat. Father is steering.)
B : This is so cool. It's the first time I've been on a voyage.
F : What about you, son?
G : Oh father, you know I always feel special on a voyage.
(Father and sons tell jokes and riddles. Suddenly there is a big
gust of wind.)
F : Hey, hey, what's happening? (He steers frantically) Oh no, we
are heading for that rock! Oh no, we are going to crash! (Boat
starts sinking. Father and sons are swimming.) Hold my hand.
You too, Gulliver
Gulliver?Gulliver? (shouts) Gulliver!.Gulliver!
B : Brother, where are you? Brother!Brother!
(Gulliver exits from one side of stage, drifting. Father and brother
exit from other side, swimming.)

G :

G :

PM :
Q :
G :
K :

Scene 3
(Gulliver is lying on a beach. He awakes and tries to get up but
finds himself tied to the ground so tight he cannot move.)
What is happening Why can't I move Oh, I'm all bound up!
Who did this? Where am I? Oh my, I'm so hungry Help,
father! Help!
(Squeaky voices. Some tiny people climb onto his chest. All are
6 inches high. Some are on the ground. They are gesticulating
and saying something. Gulliver struggles in fear. The tiny people
start shouting.)
What strange place is this? Where have I come?(shouts) Why
have you tied me up?
(One of the tiny persons signals to the others to be quiet and
starts speaking. But his squeaky voice cannot be understood.
Gulliver starts to try to break his ropes. The tiny men fire on
him. The leader makes them stop and speaks through a
loudspeaker.)
Wait, our King and Queen are approaching.
Who are you Sir?
I am Gulliver. But where am I?
Sir, you are in the kingdom of Liliput and I am the king. Now

, 1419

121

122

Gulliver in Liliput

what are we to do with you?

G : Look, I'll make a deal with you. If you set me free, I will not
harm you. Do you accept?
(King and Queen consult in whispers.)
Q : OK, we accept. But we have a condition. Our neighbouring island
kingdom is about to attack us. We have tried many times but
cannot defeat them. We will release you but please help us.
G : OK, I agree to help the people of your country.
(Some tiny people search Gulliver for weapons and find only a
hanky and a pocket watch. Just then, a soldier comes running.)
S : Your Majesty, we are being attacked!
K : Release Gulliver. All the tailors of the kingdom, stitch an armour
for him.
(Gulliver rises. Enemy ships approach.)
G : What!? These are the ships? I thought they were toys.
(He scatters the ships and finds the enemy king.)
G : Here, Your Majesty, this is their king. Please forgive him.
K : OK. I forgive him. Gulliver, you can also go home now. Mr.
Prime Minister will help you.

G :
PM :

PM :

Scene 4
(Same as first scene. Father, mother and brother are sitting in a
sad mood. Gulliver rushes in followed by the Prime Minister of
Liliput.)
Father! Motther! See who is with me!
(Everyone jumps up.)
Our Most Royal Majesty, His Excellency the Emperor of Liliput
and all its surrounding islands asked me to help Gulliver come
back home. He has saved our kingdom from the attack of our
neighbours. We are grateful to him and he is a great friend of our
land.
Oh son! You went to Liliput! Thank you tiny man for bringing
our son back. We are so happy!
(bowing to Gulliver) OK then Sir! I must leave now and hope to
see you in our land again.
(Prime Minster leaves and everyone hugs Gulliver with great
joy.)

, 1419

123

The Love of My Life

Tanmay Kumar
Patel Nagar, Delhi

ARTIST: SAUMAYBRATA DEB

"Change your activity to football or something", words spoken by

a music teacher trying to get rid of some students. There it was; that
was the first time a child of 9 found his first love - Football. This was
9 years ago, which pretty much defined me as who I am. After years of
playing, learning and watching I
have come to realize that football
is not about who runs the fastest,
who shoots the best but it's
something deeper; above these
mere physical traits - I found heart.
When you love you tend to
fantasize. I did the same. Some
think of playing with the best like
Messi and Ronaldo. My dream was
to tackle them from the impossible
angle. Getting it right would be
better than to win against them.
Over the years, you find
similarities with the people around
you and your heroes. I found Messi
in a little place called Patel Nagar, in a
boy called Saagar. He had this amazing ball
control. The guy would have the ball and
people around him working 24/7 wouldn't matter to him. He'd never
bother who won but he made sure you did your best. Then there was
this guy Sahil - he could think of the most creative strategies and moves
and then perform them without hesitation, always with a smile, not to
humiliate the others but because he loved doing it.
I owe everything I know to everyone I've ever played with or against.
For every experience, I respect them.
So find your love, find your sport and never let it go.

, 1419

124
Somak Sengupta
Gurgaon, Haryana

The Golden Pen

Mr Manoj Kumar was teaching us trigonometry, and I sat in the

last bench staring blankly at the board. Not a single word seemed to be
registering in my brain. All of a sudden a golden speck of light flicked
past my eyes. Instinctively I started to search for the source. It was
Manik sitting two benches ahead of me flaunting a beautiful golden
pen. The pen had a beautiful scaly covering, with a perfectly sculpted
King Tut on top. It was the handiwork of a true artist, each and every
bit of it was perfect. The eyes were outlined perfectly in black and
seemed to be looking straight at me. As I admired the pen, Manoj sir
suddenly came up and stood before me. He shouted, ''Babloo! Are you
through with these trigonometry sums?'' Seeing me looking all confused,
he was sure I was not paying any attention. I spent the rest of the period
standing outside the class giving silly smiles to the giggling and
sniggering passersby.
My mother was a history lover and she always found rare artistic
things very interesting. As the period drew to a close, I rushed across
the class and confronted Manik. '' Manik,'' I panted, ''where on earth
did you get that amazing pen?'' Manik replied that it was a gift from his
aunt who lived in Cairo. I told Manik I would dearly love to show it to
my mother, but Manik smirked and said that the pen was too expensive
and that he couldn't afford to let it out of sight. I kept pleading with him
the rest of the day and, at the long last, he agreed to lend the pen, but
only in exchange for my favorite game C.D. Keeping the pen carefully
in the secret pocket of my school bag, I ran out - it was the games
period, the last period of the day.

, 1419

The Golden Pen

Soon the bell rang, and I headed straight home. I literally ran all
the way and, as soon as I reached my door, I yelled at the top of my
voice, "Ma, Ma, come here quick. I have something to show you." My
heart skipped a beat as I reached for the pen kept in the hidden pocket.
The pen wasn't there! Nervously, I turned over the bag, shook out all its
contents on the floor, and searched frantically for the pen. My mother
rushed forward, asking what had happened. Without uttering another
word, I rushed out and ran back to school. But alas the gates had closed
by the time I reached. There was no chance of checking whether I had
left it in the classroom. With my head hanging down, I returned home.
Lunch was laid out on the table, but the rice just wouldn't pass down
my throat. I wished the school gates would never open again.
I spent the rest of the day thinking what to say to Manik and how to
replace the rare object that Manik had trusted me with. The thought of
the golden pen also filled me with sorrow. In fact, I had fallen in love
with the beautiful art piece and losing it was like a deep personal loss.
Having slept very little at night, I got myself ready for school. It
was late and I had to hurry, but my movements had somehow slowed
down. Within, I was unwilling to go.
With my heart beating heavily, I entered the classroom and sat
down quietly without looking at anyone. Suddenly Manik came up and
picked a casual conversation with me quite cheerfully. I could hardly
look at him or respond to his words. As he spoke, I kept trying to find
the words to break the sad news to him. But just as I opened my mouth,
Manoj sir entered the classroom and everyone stood up with a loud
'Good morning'. Manik hurriedly returned to his seat. Manoj sir started
off once more with trigonometry. I tried to concentrate and began doing
the sums one by one. I glanced sideways at Manik, and to my utter
astonishment, I saw him writing with the same golden pen I saw
yesterday. I forgot all about my sums and gazed at it as if mesmerised.
Every curve and every feature, including the beautiful engraving of
King Tut at the top, were the same. It surely was the same golden pen.
As I looked, it all became clear to me. Manik must have quietly picked
up the pen from my bag when I was away during the games period. I
lost my temper and felt like rushing up and giving him a good beating.
What a dirty mean prank to play! All of a sudden Manoj sir boomed,
"Babloo, are you through with the trigonometry sums?"

, 1419

125

126
Ahona Chatterjee
Greater Kailash I,
Delhi

At the Fair

This is an incident which I don't think I'll ever be able to forget.

it happened in 2005 in the month of February. My friend Mumu and
I had gone for a fair where there were many food stalls which had
varieties of really yummy stuff to eat like momos, pizzas, pasta,
noodles, pao bhaji, cholle kulcha, gol gappa, ice creams, candy floss
and I can go on. There were shops which were full of awesome
accessories. There were many rides too like train rides, and the cup
ride where you have to sit inside the cup and the cups turn and you
come out feeling very dizzy. There was bungee jumping, a giant wheel,
a bouncy castle and more. Mumu and I first went into the cup ride
and came out feeling very giddy. After that we tried to shoot balloons
but sadly couldn't aim at even one balloon properly. Then we went on
the bouncy castle. After that we had candy floss and took a break.
After a while, we decided to go for a ride on the giant wheel. This
giant wheel was a bigger version of the traditional nagoredola, but
not the mechanical giants that you see in amusement parks. Our
mothers went off to look at handicrafts and jewellery like always. So
when our turn came, we sat together on the wooden bench, nervous
but excited. Many other kids climbed on to it too. When it was full,
a couple of men started turning the giant wheel manually. It started to
revolve and gathered momentum, and it was so much fun. From the
top of the giant wheel we could see the whole fair. We were thoroughly
enjoying the ride.
Suddenly we heard several screams from the chair above us. We

, 1419

At the Fair

looked up and saw that a small boy of about 5 years was crying loudly
because he was scared and wanted to get down. The boy's parents who
were down below began to get totally frantic. They told the men turning
the wheel to stop it immediately and let him out. But the wheel was
turning at such a terrific speed that it was of course impossible to stop
it suddenly. The boy also started sliding in his seat in fear. So the people
who were turning the wheel decided that one of them would climb up
the pole which was next to the swinging chair and stop it from above,
while the others would try to stop it from down below. One of the
men started climbing up, but the kid misunderstood this process. He
thought that the man had come to carry him down so he hung out of
his seat, and reached out to his rescuer. The man tried to stop the boy
from hanging out, and in the turmoil, the worker lost his balance and
went downwards. His head struck against the pole and he fell on the
ground unconscious. His forehead was bleeding very badly.
At last the wheel was stopped and the boy was carried out. His
parents took him by his hand, paid the other worker for the ride, and
walked off. The manager of the fair called the ambulance and the
injured man was taken to the hospital by some onlookers. But the part
that really bothered me was that a man got hurt trying to stop the giant
wheel so that the child could get off, and his parents just walked off
instead of helping the injured person. Besides, why did they let such
a small boy ride alone on the giant wheel anyway?

, 1419

127

128

Evolution
An old chap by the name of Darwin once said,
That humans evolved from monkeys
And I'd still say we haven't evolved just because
We can do things with greater ease
Humans - they jump when they're happy,
Cry when they're sad,
Kill others when they feel crazy
And break things when they're mad
They strive to become posh; polished,
Eat food with their knives and forks
But deep down in their heart
They want to use their hands just like dorks
Monkeys will never learn to recognize
Themselves in a mirror, they say.
But when humans take a look in the mirror,
They sure do know all about themselves, don't they?
And when they don't get what they want,
Just like most primitive apes,
They say they never did, and
Dismiss them as being sour grapes
Monkeys sink into a foetal position
When they're having lice or sucking on cherries
And how different are we from them
When we're engrossed in our blackberries?
It's ignorant to say men are better than monkeys
For they too play their parts
And monkeys, I say are much cooler 'cause
They don't hold grudges in their hearts
Scientifically though we might've evolved,
But at the end we're just the same
Because years have passed and when at fault,
We still refuse to take the blame.
Srimanta Mitra

, 1419

129
Aliya Tuzhilin
New York, USA

Survival

Sneaky, skulking, gray, filthy, soiled, disease infested, unnerving

sinewy tails, but they're not as bad as rats. A mouse is not as bad as
a rat. Nothing is as bad as a rat. Especially an albino rat with big glassy
red eyes and a nervous temperament putting it on its guard to bite you.
I know what I'm talking about. I worked with them in a lab. I picked
them up by their tails and dropped them like hot potatoes in their cage
before they had a chance to turn around and chomp my hand off.
Except, they can't chomp. Their mouths are far too small for such feats.
But do not underestimate the mouse. The one that dashed out of
the gap between the hallway bookshelf and the utensil cart today was
a speedy little rapscallion. Like a bullet train it glided swiftly and
soundlessly and all I could see was its gray brown shadow as it
disappeared into the dark unknown under the cart. And as I saw it I
shrieked so loud that my father immediately ran out of his room and
I had to tell him that it wasn't anything catastrophic; and when my
dad realized what was scaring me he rolled his eyes since he knows
how paralyzed I am by mice and he knew that I was going to go into
emergency mode where I would hardly walk around the house, confine
myself to a nice raised surface where I would sit for hours. And he
was right. I ran to my bed and curled myself up into a tight little ball
and stayed there the rest of the night.
So here I am on this four by seven foot island of safety in the
middle of no man's land where mice reign supreme. I am thirsty, and
would really like some water now, but cannot and will not get any

, 1419

130

Survival

since my dad has left the apartment and I cannot walk around it in his
absence. I will wait. I will wait until he comes back to get water. I
should not have eaten those salty chips.
I don't know what my dad plans to do with the mouse. I suppose
he is going to kill it. Good. Please get rid of the mouse so that I can
get off my bed. I am really thirsty and this is getting kind of tiresome.
I am thirsty and would really like to get my phone, which is in the
living room on the coffee table next to the couch. Under the couch is
another dark hiding place for the dark little mouse. Perfect. it would
blend right in. And if I were to go get my phone, I might be standing
right next to the creature and it may run out and over my feet and into
some other dark crevice. Oh god, if it ran over my feet I would die.
I would literally die on the spot and they would probably have to write
"died out of fear of a mouse" in the area where it says "cause of death"
on the form where they would have to record my pathetic demise. If
that's at all how they go about the business.
Ok, I am now ridiculously thirsty and I really want my phone so
that I can call my dad and tell him to come home. Oh no, I think
someone is calling me now. Oh no, I should go get my phone. Okay,
here's the plan. I'm going to dash out of my room into the kitchen where
there will hopefully be a filled water bottle, then sprint to the living
room coffee table and back to my room all, hopefully, without any
unpleasant encounters. Ok, ready? One, two, three, eh one more time.
One, two, three, go!
Mission completed. I have successfully procured one water bottle
and one phone. Good. But I did have to stand in the kitchen for a whole
two minutes, shitting myself with fear, while I filled up a bottle. We
must keep an emergency stack of filled bottles in the future. This could
all be over if I called the building management and asked them to bring
the exterminator tomorrow. And the exterminator would close up the
series of tunnels I suspect the mouse has carved through the wall
between my room and the living room. He would close up the mouse
hole that opens up this series of tunnels right next to our dining table,
where the mouse can snatch any morsel of food that falls to the floor.
And when he did this I could leave my apartment and go for a walk
or hang out with a friend or buy a cup of coffee across the street and
wait for it all to be over. I could return to my apartment in an hour and

, 1419

Survival

never have to think about the mouse again, except for how nice it is
that I can walk about freely.
But I wouldn't stop thinking about it, because somehow, over the
course of this night, I have come to accept the idea that a mouse is as
alive as I am, as alive as any of my friends, as alive as my parents,
and hurting it is unthinkable. And if I were to hurt the mouse I would
take a life, stop a heart, cease the slow rhythmic breathing of two lungs,
immobilize four legs, maybe even kill a mother and orphan her litter.
And without her, the litter would have no idea how to survive and
would never find any food, and slowly wither away and finally one
day they would be running across the street from one pile of recycled
paper to another, hoping to find some worthwhile garbage somewhere,
until they, one after another, would slow down and give up, literally
dead in their tracks. Though I would not see this, I would imagine it,
so no. I will not kill the mice. I will continue sitting on my bed out of
fear and making quick supply runs around the house. And maybe,
slowly, I will get used to them, and no longer be afraid, and we will
cohabit this apartment in harmony.

, 1419

131

132
Ayan Mrinal
Patparganj, Delhi

In the Leaflets of History

He had met Hitler only once when he had gone to Berlin. The
very sight of him, pale, small and highly unattractive, had made him
uneasy. He lay wrapped in a bundle of musty blankets, savouring the
sight of the mist engulfing the small hillocks surrounding his tiny
home. He coughed. The cold, the mist, the post snowfall slush brought
back a plethora of memories, the very memories from which he had
tried to distance himself.
"Having finally got Austria under our wings, I am honoured to
promote our excellent officers on behalf of the Fuhrer himself" The
SS officer's medal glistened on his coat sleeves. He was glad that he
had finally been promoted, and felt how great it was to be recognized.
As he marched off to his camp, a couple of tears drifted down his
cheek, and then those light blue eyes were dry once more. His work
had paid off. But who was he working for? Was he truly satisfied?
The song of the birds gradually stopped and was replaced by the
wild rustling of the leaves outside. He quickly got up and shut the
windows. A massive storm was on its way. As the cold of the night
clawed its way in, he lit the fire and then switched on the radio. His
favourite, pianist Keith Jarret, the young American was playing his
music. He loved the sweet notes of the piano so much. At the same
time these very notes reminded him of his days as a young soldier,
silencing the cries which resonated in the gas chambers. Noises of
emaciated prisoners screaming, not knowing what they were waiting
for still filled his ears . Suddenly he found himself sweating

, 1419

In the Leaflets of Hisroty

profusely, but his limbs in a complete state of paralysis. Images of

distraught families pleading with him to save them from the chambers,
ran like a movie in his mind. More than 40 years had passed, yet the
sights, the smells and the cries of the death camps frequently crept
up to catch him unawares. They seemed as real today as they had been
in the past. Sometimes they seemed larger than life, and they were
forever growing. He started up, switched on the light and took a sip
of water.
As a young man, like all other young men, he had joined the army.
He liked the excitement, the rush of adrenalin coupled with the fear
of the unknown. His first major posting was in Treblinka. Hundreds
died at his command. They were either gassed or shot. At times, they
were experimented upon. Even though he felt perturbed by cruelty in
such proportions, he could not do very much to ebb its flow. It was
all in the air around them, the smell of victory, death and power.
Days in the concentration camp had taken a toll on his body. The
atmosphere was grim, the rooms reeked of rotting flesh and there was
no real source of entertainment, except to see the prisoners shudder
as they walked towards their end. At first he could not bear these
cruelties, but as he got promoted, a sense of immense power caught
firm hold of him, and every breath came out mingled with authority
instilled in him.
Stephan Vronberg had studied literature at the prestigious
Humboldt University. Then Hitler came - and with him came absolute
rule. Freedom of speech or expression was curbed, and Vronberg
became a mere pamphlet writer in the ranks of the SS. He was not
really an anti-Semite person at all. In fact before the emergence of
the Third Reich, he had had quite a number of Jewish friends.
Vronberg hated Hitler and his fanatical ideas. But like many Germans
he too remained silent and let Hitler do his job. The mass killing of
Jews and Gypsies had shocked and shaken young Stephan but he had
been powerless to do anything.
1944 came to an end, and Germany's victory was out of the
question now. The Third Reich of Hitler continued to crumble surely,
and there was a growing disquiet within the State. Some wanted their
Fatherland to be ruled by a government acceptable to the Western
Allies in order to stop a Soviet invasion. Others found Hitler to be at

, 1419

133

134

In the Leaflets of Hisroty

his weakest and saw an opportunity to overthrow him.

The noise had re-emerged. It was a strange noise. He asked Martha
about it, but she never seemed to hear it. He did not know how to
describe the noise. It was not accompanied by any visual images. It
made him distinctly uneasy. Was it a noise of a screaming mother or
the sound of a feared silence, or was it just the naked power of a
gunshot?
It had taken them months of contemplation and planning. But now
they were ready. Vronberg switched on the light of his garage and
displayed the equipment in front of them. The bomb was a haphazard
entanglement of wires attached to a timer.
Munich was preparing enthusiastically for the arrival of their dear
Fuhrer. There were humungous posters of Hitler pasted all over the
city. It was a city brimming with celebration.
Then he came, lit his cigarette and took a deep puff. He came over
to Vronberg and tightly held his hands, and looked straight into his
eyes. Through the cigarette smoke, he could see a sense of hesitation
in his partner's face. It was all coming back to him. His eyes became
moist. Intricate details of that day were forming like a scene from a
play.
"Sir..Sir the water is hot; you can have your bath now," someone
said. But she didn't get a reply. "Sir?" She raised her voice several
decibels above normal and only then could she manage to get the
attention of her ageing teacher. "Oh oh yes. Yes, Martha, I am sorry.
Umm, the water is ready eh? Ok I'll be there right away."
He had managed to be a part of Hitler's entourage on its way to
Munich. The morning was grey, and the weather was unexpectedly
turning turbulent. From the corner of his eye he glanced at Hitler
joking with another officer. Hitler's hair was sticking to his forehead,
and his large Bavarian overcoat was placed on a seat next to him. The
other members of the convoy were busy making themselves available
to their Fuhrer. Each and every one of them looked menacing like tiny
copies of their Fuhrer. Only Hitler seemed to sit in full stature,
dwarfing everyone else.
The plane stopped midway, to refuel as usual. Hitler was still
joking with the others; or were they making fresh plans for further
killings with the Fuhrer? It was now or never. He checked beneath

, 1419

In the Leaflets of Hisroty

his seat and knew the bomb was intact. He made an excuse of feeling
breathless and got out of the plane.
Adjusting himself between the blankets, his mind lingered on that
sullen day. Each and every detail of the happenings of that day was
still fresh in his memory The chatter of the convoy; the sound of
the propellers; Hitler in his large Bavarian coat; the bomb. Everything
came back to him.
The plane blew up in a matter of seconds. The whole convoy
perished, and almost nothing was left of the plane. But alas, once
again one person came out with just a few minor injuries. Demonic
Mr. Hitler was still alive.
Everything around him and inside him was churning like a
whirlwind. He was frightened. His body shook all over. Fear, mingled
with disappointment, gripped him.
His thoughts wandered to the aftermath of the incident. This time
he saw someone they called Vronberg's torturous death in public. His
miraculous escape to the Baltic Islands came next, where a few years
were spent in hiding behind a different name, a different life.
He had boarded the next train to the German border. Their mission
had failed.
Now he could smile. It had been 30 long years and he had
desperately tried to forget all this. And he smiled again. He knew he
would never be able to forget the excitement or the pain.
Being on the run was an extremely tough process. The Nazis had
captured him and were ready to ruthlessly kill him. He could not
believe he had escaped. He kept thinking they were looking for him
and could never feel safe. They were always there, the predators
searching for their prey.
Amazingly he had fled to South Africa on a ship, a completely
new person-- Mr. Edgar Linz, from a small village in Austria. In South
Africa, he lived all by himself and taught German.
One of the greatest assassination attempts on the Fuhrer was, is
and will always remain a mystery to the world because no one knew
who the man was. He was perhaps Edgar to many, but no one knew
his real name, his background or his history.
For his colleagues back in Treblinka, he was just a small time
officer. There was nothing special about him, nothing out of the

, 1419

135

136

In the Leaflets of Hisroty

ordinary. He was just another SS officer amidst hundreds of others

who had faded into oblivion. But here in Oudtshoorn, South Africa
his homeland for more than 30 years, he was the gentle teacher whom
his students loved. Nobody knew much about Edgar's background, and
perhaps no one really cared.
As the night descended once again, he lay down on his bed reading
Gandhi. Just for that brief moment, the queer noises and images
miraculously stopped. He wondered - could the contentment of the
present ever completely mask the troubled past?
Blomkvist Steinman was a disturbed man lost in the never ending
leaflets of history.

, 1419

Taposi Pathak

Akshita Basu

Akhila Misra

Year 4, No. 4

ISSN 0976-0989

Chi-Giri-E
Jyotirmoy Ray

Alumni of Sibpur Engineering College, Jyotirmoy Ray took up formal

training in painting while pursuing higher degrees in metallurgical
engineering from Pittsburgh, USA in the 1950s. Extensive trekking in the
Himalayas, the rain-forests of India and other naturals environs in many
places of the globe in search of the soul of nature led him also to develop an
abiding taste for the birds of the world. Other than his sketches and
paintings of landscapes, cityscapes, figures, animals and birds, he
acquired expertise in the art form of Chi-Giri-E during his stay in Japan
exceeding 20 years the art of painting without paints or brushes by
pasting torn paper. He calls the above 'painting' Welcoming the New Year.