First Rains of the Monsoon: A Collection of Short Stories

In Marquez’s novel, ‘Memories of my Melancholy Whores’ I came across a line, “Sex is the consolation you have when you cannot have love.” This line lingered on in my mind even after I had finished reading the novel. I wrote a story and named it, ‘mosumira prathama barsha’ (First Rains of the Monsoon). I begin the story with this line of Marquez. The story was published in a special issue of Jhankar. Many friends and readers liked the story and telephoned and written me their words of appreciation. I made this the title of my collection of stories published recently by Bharat Bharati, Sutahat, Cuttack.

I am often asked how I write. There are two aspects to this question. First, how do I get the idea/plot for a story or for a novel? A writer may get the idea anywhere like while reading a book as I have mentioned above, or from an event/incident he comes across, or from newspaper or even while looking at a picture.

Often I am provoked when I come across something I cannot digest or approve of, but unable to do anything. My helplessness drives me to write and I, perhaps, get the things done in the story what I cannot do in real life and also I express what I intend to. When the story is appreciated, I believe, the stand I take in the story is also appreciated and I feel encouraged to write more. An example is the story “pheribaku manaa” (Not Allowed to Return; this is the second story of this collection). I have been watching the Naxal movement since my college days or from the days of Charu Mazumdar (died in police luck up in 1972), Jangal Santhal (became an alcoholic, died in 1987), Kanu Sanyal (who hanged himself in 2010), etc. Now also I watch the news of surrender of naxals, assassination by the naxals of persons allegedly suspects of being police informer or destruction of mobile phone towers/ damage of the machines/equipment used for construction work in the naxal affected areas, the kidnappings by the naxal and government’s negotiations and compromise, etc. Pheribaku manaa is a story about a young person who has entered into the movement and cannot understand, and questions the logic behind all the murders and destruction perpetrated by the naxals. This story is appreciated by many including a retired judge who had sent an encouraging letter for the concern shown and stand taken in the story.

The second aspect of the question, particularly asked by my friends and colleagues of the organisation I work for or some other friends and acquaintances, is how I can get time and also think of an idea or a plot to write considering the onerous duty I have to discharge as part of my job. Of course, a person finds time to do something he likes / derives pleasure in doing. I feel I have something to say and I say in form of stories or novels. If for some reasons I cannot write for a week or a fortnight I get restless. I shall stop writing when I feel I have finished saying what I had to say and I have nothing more. Time and pressure of the job are no constraints. I answer to them that the person who is addicted to drinking, or loves womanising gets both time and means to get the bottle or a woman for his pursuits, so do I reach the plot, make the time to think and write.

My friends and readers are of the opinion that the characters of my stories are real and the stories are based on facts/real events. They relate a character to someone they know or we both know. Sometimes I take it as a compliment, but sometimes I feel it an accusation. A few years back when my novel ‘asapurna kahanira anya ek charitra’ (A Character of an Unfinished Story) was published, many readers allege almost with certitude that the story was written on some particular persons. The story was about a woman singer and a lyricist. One of my writer friend names a person relating to a character whose name I heard from him for the first time. A politician, an ex-minister reading the novel alleged that the story was based on the life of one of his politician-friend. In the novel there was reference to corruption in Indira Awaas Yojana (Indira Housing Scheme). After my politician friend told I remembered that there was scam in Indira Awaas Yojana in the constituency his friend represents. A few days back reading my last short story collection (Gabhira Nidrare Iswar: the God is in deep sleep) a senior bureaucrat alleged that what I have written are not stories, but actual events I have recounted, that have occurred in the lives of certain important persons. When my story shesachithi (the last letter), the first story of this collection, was published in a magazine, a woman telephoned me to say the story was an event that must have happened in my life during my youth. I had to explain to her that the main protagonist of story is an aged person, but I am not that aged. Sometimes the compliment/accusation amuses me, but sometimes it also pains.

But the reactions, both compliments or accusations, encourages me to continue with my writing.

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