Wednesday, June 18, 2025

SIpra's Diary: "BEST SELLING. LITERATURE" .


                                       BEST  SELLING LITERATURE !

 In the library I see lot of books  marked with "best-selling" award.

I often think what's the criteria of  judging as' Best' to be awarded!.......

I don't  hold/agree that  special feeling  with  'many' of them.  

......Is it theme? language? reader's satisfaction?... or.......?

 

When I was sent first time as jaudge in the inter district school contest of recitation in India, I needed to  learn  and prepare myself to be judge.

  There were total 6-8 specially qualified  persons selected as judges. Each judge was given a paper-sheet  marked with separate column  for marking : i.g. Formalities/ time  /voice/ body-language/ poem/ intonation etc.  We gave marks with individual prudence in each column. At the end those papers were collected from the judges by chief   judge . Rank holders  were decided and awarded on the basis of calculating of  average marks given by the  selected judges.


     I don't know exactly the   system of America. But  still I have high opinion of this country which I wish to hold  on.

...Socrates once  commented that  in coming future wise would  hold their tongue to remain silent , so that  the ignorant don't feel inferior or insulted.

  Has  that  future mentioned by Socrates approached  now ?....


In the marketing business books are of course commercial product.But there must be specific criteria   to distinguish any "Creative art " from other commercial commodity product.   Creative art should never be  democratized.  

Per millennium how many Socrates, Plato. Aristotle, Leonardo,

 Darwin, Galileo or Newton  or Shakespeare  were  born  compared  to  bunch of Phds , even   Noble Awardees?

           

  I read the novel "Good Earth" of Pearl Buck  at the age of early twenty, almost  in my previous birth from  now.It was mini novel. I was   impressed so vividly  by the  very first chapter of  description  of   preparing tea that almost every morning  I visualize, (not only remember) :  how the tea-leaves unfurl in the boiling water of saucepan,    and spread  around  to  hide  /cover   water under the leaves ;the steam with aroma carried by air conveyed the message  of warm hospitality  to the other room where the old father-in-law with his friends were  chatting!

                       This is what  literature means! ...........

Which has the intrinsic power to  flow with the blood of the reader to mesmerize the mind!...Perhaps, since then I relish my regular  morning tea  from the memory of "GOOD  EARTH".

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Tuesday, June 17, 2025

Sipra's Diary: [ Rep] "POSTHUMOUS" + SPIRIT IN SILENCE. [poem]

 


Whenever I turn  pages of  my old copies or even loose piece of papers  while cleaning  my bookshelf, I find  out lots of my verses lay  scattered,  neglected  as orphans.  I  adopt some of them ,  which were  once rejected . Number of such poems have grown  huge . Some are really good but so esoteric that  I doubt  them as my own creation and ask  myself," is it  truly "I" from whose pen the verses came flowing?

However, I  have decided to take a project for the coming 2018  to collect best  20/ 30's  pieces of my choice together under the title  of
"Posthumous"  hoping for future publication ...and.... hmm....... dedicated to 'Dead Poets' Society !             


               Spirit- in-Silence 

            In Language,
            What can be more eloquent
             than  silence?
            However delicate 
            or complicated, 
             still-----
            Language seems merely  
            Designed apparel for feeling!

           More the feeling goes profound,
           More the speech looses its sound
           become  Super-sensitive but dumb!
            Like the primitive one of by-gone-days..........
           ...................

Sunday, June 15, 2025

Sipra's Diary: [ Poem ].............".FEAR"

Sipra's Diary: [Memoir.................. Anecdots behind Father's name ]

 

                                                        In Memory Of My Father


I was proud of the  name of my father :  his name was  Aniruddha  Majumdar .  Still now I feel the name is very much uncommon. .Lots of   memories  of  my parent  embrace me:from childhood to this late  adult. I will narrate some of them : Among them I will mention a story related to his name.

The last two years before retirement my father was almost bed -ridden  for acute pain of arthritis in both the legs; sometimes he used to even whimper out of pain .

Either ASM or porter used to bring lots of files from the office to my father for signature and spent time on discussions and  guidance  from my father.  My father retired as Station Superindent. It was summer vacation ; I  was  with my parent.  The postman came and asked my father to come and sign up registered mail . I told him "he is unable to get up ; Please give me so that he can sign up."

The postman hesitated to give me. 

"  see ,this is very important confidential   'registered'  mail."

" Don't worry .I will bring back the receipt for you soon."

I looked at the brown-colored long  envelope on which name and address was written by black ink. To my surprise ,  I noticed that in place of name it was written : " AmirRuddin Mazumdar.'After the signing I hand over the receipt to the waiting peon .Coming back to my father I asked him, ' Did you notice it was not  your name but a muslim-name  and still you signed?   Why ? I was then doing final year of B.A.  

Am I a daughter of muslim man?..................

Then observing my bewildered face, my father divulged the story,- quite interesting ! The first part of the story I heard more than hundred times but not the last mysterious part about   "Name." 

My father was not only first boy in study but also all -rounder in the class.  The name of his competitor  in  academic field was Kalikanando  Mitra .In the Final   School-Leaving Board Exam  (1926 )  Kalikanando  stood first in the district  by getting 530 whereas  my father  got 525 and became second;......  

My father always lost himself  in the blackhole of memory ( perhaps me too! ),.......... lamenting ,"It is only for the 5 marks!" Coming to this far a deadly silence swooped over the story.

He was sad ; In addition  my grandfather scolded him harshly . He left home for Calcutta without  telling anybody and took admission in Scottish Church college . He performed  there so brilliant that...very soon he sgrabed    the attention of the British principal : ......a handsome. smart  jovial boy, fluent in spoken English, good  in games and excellent as musician,  . He got  full scholarship throughout the study period...... But I don't know where did he manage his   his accommodation.

{I am thinking now where did he stay ? ...perhaps with his eldest brother who was  student of MA (Mathsematics ) in the University of Calcutta !....Not sure !

After finishing the College course my father came to Howrah Station  cheerfully to go back his home after two years ! As he was  proceeding to get train ,he noticed excited crowd and long que in front of a  Office.   Out of curiosity he came in front  of the que  to ask   the  uniformed security man what was going ;but somebody from the que pushed him  forward to thrush   inside the room ;my father found himself in front of a 'SAHEB'(White British who was the interviewer ).

The British officer raised his head from a big red-covered registry copy and asked,"What's your name?"My father though puzzled in an unknown environment and encountering with huge -figured white officer with pure English accent, dusted off his hesitation and answered smartly,

-"Aniruddha Mazumdar ", sir.

"Show your mark-sheet".

      Luckily it was with him in his bag  .He promptly produced it. The officer 's facial expression became bright .

"What is your hobby?

-"Umm,... playing football,  solving crossword puzzle, and reading biographies of great men ."

"Quite interesting !" He surveyed my father from top to bottom.

  "O.K. You can go now ." 

Looking towards the other officer he ordered ,"  "Take   his name, register him."

The other two bewildered  officers , who  were  fumbling the pages of  huge copy, said,

"Sir, his name is nowhere in the  list of applicants. We searched thoroughly...........

The officer 'ordered' in his baritone voice ",Write down his name in the first list, I say:  it is Amir Ruddin Mazumdar.........yes,  hurry up!

"  Call  the next ." 

My father heard the conversation while getting out of the room.  

He was sweating  partly in in nervousness and for  humid climate of  September. He hurried  to catch the train.


 As he reached near the wall of his  village home,  he could hear the bell   and  musical tone from the conch along with the  smoke and smell of  incense powder  in the air from our own ancestor's  home-temple; Sound of conch  indicates   the end of evening rituals ,distributing sweets as finishing touch .All members gathered  in the temple -yard in the evening . All the family members cheered to see my dad   in the temple yard  after   long 2years! 

Grandma  embraced  him emotionally and began to cry in joy ;  her soft   puffy palm rubbed  his head and face  several time; "What a sweet surprise to see you after such a long time !.It is an auspicious  full moon day ;...Within two weeks the great festival of Durgapuja !...you are grown up ,  look like a man !" she announced proudly .

My father  bowed down to god and then the priest before leaving the temple .

Then my  dad followed by  all family members along grandmother who announced  loudly,"see Ani has come back !"

Coming outside the temple he bowed down to all his elders . Grandfather ,too, blessed him warmly.  Cheers and joys overflowed the house . The  fragrance of "Seuly "(like jasmine) flowers in air reminded the festival of Durgapuja. My father enjoyed the warmth  of the family .

"But on that very week my father got the job-letter from the Eastern Railway to join next week in "Chandsi "which is now in Bangladesh.Then another wave of cheers in the family!My father was the third of six brothers ;but he was the first one to get prestigious governmental job in Railway .

My father saw his name as "Anir Ruddin" Mazumdar. in the job letter ! My father joined and continued his entire service   efficiently  up to retirement  with reputation as "Ani  Ruddin ." 

It stroke my mind why in all letters  my father was addressed as A.R. Mazumdar and never that super-elegant ultra-modern "Aniruddha"; but never needed to ask. Perhaps nobody knows uptil now  this history behind his name except me .

My ailing father told me on that day, 

"It seem to me some times that the job was offered to me as (surprisingly   without prior  applying,)  the  officer thought me Muslim,  though my interview was  also excellent.  The British  (on their  principle of  Divide &Rule policy )  preferred to employ a Muslim candidate than a Hindu.   It was hard  for him to correct once he joined as "Ani- Ruddin". He  tried  but found complicated.  

So my father had to leave home, missing to enjoy  the festival of Durgapuja. 

My  grandfather  was happy and proud of his son now.  Before my father left , he  informed my father that he wanted to fix his marriage  in the month of November with a girl of some reputed  family from near by village named "JOFLAI. "

"The girl is calm & quite , father is  a doctor, very humble  and widower .  So you must come back in November ,i.e.after two months)"

My father was not happy at all ! He was not prepared to marry  then .  He was an ambitious boy. But he was obedient and carried out his father's wish.

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Saturday, June 14, 2025

Sipra's Diary: ......."Father's Day" [ Memoir]

  Time that has crossed by.......

My father was the first hero in my life: A man of very distinctive personality, both in appearance and in nature. He was a great connoisseur of not only academic life but also  all sorts of creativity like music sports and game  (for girls also) which  was  quite  time ahead for him . He was frequently transferred due to  his job  in Railway service ; so we  had opportunity to travel many new places and people .  He was a joyful   person .His loud lough. created fountain  of joy and add  extra-flavor in life to any gathering or  festival.

His progressive attitude of western outlook along with blind faith in spirituality and  Hindu religion  blended together harmoniously made our family adorable in the neighborhood, in the town ,whether it was a small insignificant   place or commercially // politically significant town.

He had excellent capability of organizing. In his young age he was transferred to Vurkunda,  situated in Palamou district of Bihar. Palamou was famous for its scenic beauty: high hills, green forest, timber, farming of honey and country-liquor made of 'mou' fruit-plants along with wild animals like fox wolf and snakes; the native villagers were 'santals', mostly farmers and cattle owners.
  
 There was neither  any school( even elementary) nor hospital nor grocery shop .But perhaps geographical strategy was discovered  as great prospectus; so  the railway station became important. My father stayed here for  only 1 year. He was the first to introduce there  not only picnic and cultural function; but the greatest festival of Bengal, Durga Puja, Kali puja along with  just  start-up -sports Club ,Book-Club with the small   railway stuffs. The Railway neighbors exchanged books and magazines (which came to be known book-club) among themselves. 

I was then about four years.I remember my father  used to play badminton (perhaps in winter)and  then telequate (Ring) from February /March for windy weather . My father arranged the badminton court ,bats,net , feather-cork, Ring. Great pleasure of me and my brother was to pick up the cork when it dropped on the ground.;So we waited  outside the court eagerly for dropped-cork . Every time  we  two counted who scored more to 'pick up'! we treasured  the discarded corks to play in our  time with two pieces  of hard-cover torn from the old and used  hand-writing copies  as bats.

In the summer evening this badminton group used to play cards(either Breeze or Twenty-nine) in the frontside  veranda   under open sky until the  call  for dinner came up.It was 1948/49.. They played  in the hurricane light ;because there was no electricity even in the railway station. I enjoyed the elders' playing because I could stay outside under the sky even after the late evening . 

But soon the fun of  evening game  was stopped Because a calf was taken by a tiger (or wolf) from our close neighborhood,- less than half mile away.  It happened repeatedly 2/3 times. The panic rosed  higher when one of the 2/3 years old kid from the group of playing kids was taken away by the tiger  in the early evening .We heard the noise of screaming mother along with the other women and men  and kids . 

My father with the railway stuff went with log and torch in hand on the spot where 8/9 families lived in huts with their goats ,cattle ,hen ,duck etc. My father took decision that  from next day  four people by turn would guard the neighbourhood   by beating tin and drum  to make the neighbors alert and the tiger afraid Both. Also there was arrangement to burn  fire  surrounding the huts. 

All of them accepted the decision . No incidents happened during our   short time stay in that area after it. But we all kids used to enter inside the house  from the play field before the darkness of the evening set in. Both front door and backdoor  were closed right at  the evening without fail.

 I don't remember whether my elder brothers had any study time at the evening . There were only two bedrooms with L-shaped long covered -veranda which included the kitchen at the end point .

From the kitchen window I loved to see how the green hills at day-time would  turn  dark black  but at the base there were lots of bright flame  like Dewali and occasionally the sound of  beating  tin and drum along the fade sound of tribal song with the flute . I longed strongly to go there . I asked ,
"Ma, will you take me to the hill? I wish to see the opposite side of the hill; I think they had some festival : drum ,flame , vocal music  and also flute."
Ma:   It is more than two miles.We cannot cross that  hill, it is quite high for the elderly also."
"Ma, who has done that fire works like  flame of  bright candles ?"
Ma: There are many small villages at the basement of the hill ; It is not festival at all.  The fire, noise of drum keep the tiger away .  when tiger comes within close  distance they give a stinky smell ; instantly they beat the tin loudly  to alert and awake the neighbors."

 . In the  backside courtyard  surrounded by concrete wall ,  two/three  folding  cots  were spread where we lay after dinner  in the early night to enjoy cool air in summer. .Only father's cot was covered with a white sheet and pillow, side pillow .I  shared the cot with father and learnt  a lot lessons orally from father . My elder brothers always avoided my father in fear.

After listening the  tiger's story in our neighborhood ,I could not shut my eyes for a moment .I kept my eyes surveying the wall of backyard. 
With choaked breathing and pounding heart remained thinking,
 "what should I do if a tiger comes by jumping over the wall?" I waited when my father would order,
  "hey all get up!, our body is enough cool now let us go inside ."I would breath sigh of relief."

But used I used to like gazing at  the sky with moon and stars and floating clouds ,  mysterious shooting stars before the story of tiger haunted  me.

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Friday, June 13, 2025

Sipra's Diary: Poem >. "LAGNIAPPE"

 

           LAGNIAPPE:   Sipra Roy.
 
 In the new-age  of 'use and throw' society 

'Lagniappe' is a  forgotten term in prosperity,
.:  
 Unless we search meaning in the dictionary!

  
Bygone are those days of simple  life 

When small gift brought big smile!

In this age of extravagance, spilled-over-

Garbage box with  left over from the upper class 

Wait  for disposal  as "trash"to   ignoble mass;

The excess  as  'refuge'  from the privileged  class;  

Is sumptuous than  mere 'lagniappe' of back-days! 

        It is an universal  fact :

Interest is sweeter than the capital

So   'lagniappe'  was meant   for extra joy; 

But  if greed is too big to exceed the cornucopia 

Then  expectation  may  turn  into  frustration !

                                                                                   Lagniappe=   means "extra"& free [like gift]

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Sipra's Diary: EDEN OF SMALL WONDER

 

                                            TITLE: Eden of.  SMALL   WONDER by   Sipra Roy

Print>                                                             " Eden Of Small Wonder"

I picked up a slice from  my childhood memories with   images  of small  wonder.and ecstasy. I grew up in the loving care of joint family with many members  in India. 

We had neither TV nor even radio  in those days. But we were happy with periodical fair, festivals, circus, sports, magic, annual picnic  etc. Family itself was a mini-community with variety shows throughout the day . 

Besides family and friends ,I enjoyed nature closely. The smell of first rain-soaked earth  and  the rare view of rainbow always charmed me.

I was obsessed with the Beauty of the sky ,with the dazzling  sun, twinkling stars, and  wax and wane of  the silvery moon! when I was in grade 2, I learnt  that   the shape of  our earth is like an orange and it rotates  around the Sun ;I imagined that the earth 'rotates" like a ball;  So I wondered thinking that   why  like topsy turvy  the sky didn't come on the ground under our feet?  


 While traveling by train , it surprised me to notice that the moon also traveling with us ;and the outside trees lamp-posts and all other things were running to our opposite ; was it the same & single moon which  I could see  from everywhere?If it was so, then why my own house or neighborhood became invisible  to me when I went  far  away ? There were such a plethora of wonders to puzzle me !

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