Reflections - A Journey Through Life

Don't doubt reality..it's him For decades I didn’t read any serious literature, for that matter I hardly read any literature. Most English and Bengali classics I finished by then (that was what I thought), encountered only thrillers near at hand and got disenchanted. I sampled the state-of-art Bengali literature religiously for a few years by going through the leading Bengali literary magazines. Ultimately I had to give up – no more, no more. The times must have changed terribly for the worse when no further worthwhile literature is being written anymore – I concluded. Many years later by sheer chance I chanced upon The Hungry Tide by Amitav Ghosh. I had heard Amitav’s name as a renowned writer, that’s all. Casually I started reading again after a long long time. The beginning felt a little dull, but I carried on. At that moment I didn’t have any other compulsions. Slowly the storyline tightened up, the small chapters, interleaved events gradually hastened o...

‘High in the pine forests of the Spanish Sierra, a guerrilla band prepares to blow up a vital bridge. Robert Jordan, a young American volunteer, has been sent to handle the dynamiting. There, in the mountains, he finds the dangers and the intense comradeship of war. And there he discovers Maria, a young woman who has escaped from Franco’s rebels. For Whom the Bell Tolls is Hemingway’s finest novel, a passionate evocation of pride and the tragedy of the Civil War that tore Spain apart.’ …thus ran the blurb on the back cover of the classic. Reading it the second time, I savored its taste. I read it slowly, every evening. The characters waited for me and came alive soon after I immersed myself in the story each day after coming back home. When I finished it, I couldn’t put it out of my mind. Now and then I could see the various scenes, feel the emotions of a moment. And my mind went on evaluating it. Nowadays I have become specially interested in literature. There are a lot...

Cold old and thoughtful My son has turned 16. Pulling his legs I call him, hey, sweet sixteen or sometimes I start singing in my hoarse voice, ‘I am sixteen, going on seventeen….’ And always he smiles embarrassed, ‘Oh, you are incorrigible.’ He is a thinking type of person with a ready smile. But this evening he seemed a little away. His face was a shade longer than usual. There was a trifle delay in his answers to innocuous routine questions. I thought to myself, this man has turned a bit cold. Like most men of my age, I do not readily find occasions that would make me especially happy. Routine day follows another routine day. A list of jobs to be done now, then or never is constantly updated at the back of the mind. A tussle goes on continuously between the drabness, worries, bits of joys and rare exhilaration. Age slows you down. The flames of the candles which lighted up all around only a few years ago, extinguish one by one. My mind could feel the approaching darkne...