My other ambition. I want to leave here. Just want to leave. Infact, GRE and TOEFL are ahead. I have no hope if he can’t clear both. It must rot here. This music, art, free thought – I will create my own separate world away from these. I will buy a Harley Davidson bike. Going out on weekends like Vikings. I will take the tent in the backpack. I will stop at the desired place. I will spend night after night watching the Milky Way in the clear sky. In fruit, it means to go for a long walk when the ground is covered with yellow leaves. In the evening I will return home after cooking, take a hot shower and sit with coffee in hand. I will buy a whole turkey from the supermarket for Bar-B-Q. In winter, I will cut the snow and take the car out of the garage. My other life will begin in that country, outside of all these busy work and trivial ties. I love the wide range of sacrifices from this great reformation here. Then work again. If you want to work there, you won’t need the greedy, greedy, sugarcane political grandfathers here. My talent can be used. Only talent and hard work. That’s it! What else do you want? I don’t care about recognition. Not even the world-ruling dollar. I want a house in that big country. A house of your own. I will work in that house without an air of sadness. a lot of work
For that first I have to go away from this place. in a new place I need a completely different environment. This country is far away – I want to escape from this family first. Everything is so relaxed in our house. If someone speaks loudly, the mother will look, with pitiful eyes. Dad will be upset. Nothing will reach the grandfather. The tune of Dashami floats in the air of this house all the time. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. Mother does not understand, I am not responsible for grandfather’s condition today. He made this himself. I am a great catalyst. Father is silent. It’s Dada that just doesn’t tell me anything. They do not understand, I am Shami. I don’t want to be a warrior. didn’t want I don’t like to sing. Nice to hear. I am a completely different boy. But I am not cruel, mindless. I have always been an intruder in this Manipur family. So these days, it seems that the continent called America is calling me by the hand.
When I went to eat, I saw that grandfather was sitting alone at the table. Eating a little rice, mixed with milk.
— Where is the rest?
— Parents will eat later. I was hungry. So I’m eating.
— Seki! He was driving me crazy by chasing me for so long.
At that time, Hari’s wife went with tea-muri. Dada looked at me surprised to see us, I said
— got the head. I will not eat anything else today. You have now eaten rice, what will you eat at night?
I will eat rice again.
Grandpa started laughing.
Well, isn’t he angry with me about Tithi? Or all forgotten? Is that possible?
Going on a trip tomorrow night. Let’s see! If I go, I will talk to my grandfather. He will be found there alone. Really, how long do we go on a trip? Meanwhile, father says that one should not go to the mountains during the rainy season, etc. There is also the problem of holidays. One or the other will become pale. There is only one hope, when grandfather said it will go. Mother is very weak now. Just thinking about grandfather. But to tell the truth, I also really want to go on a trip. very However, if the visa interview date falls within those days, it will not be allowed. (Bengali Novel)
“Religion is based, I think, primarily and mainly upon fear. It is partly the terror of the unknown, and partly the wish to feel that you have a kind of elder brother who will stand by you in all your troubles and disputes. Fear is the basis of the whole thing – fear of the mysterious, fear of defeat, fear of death”. These words of Russell were written in my father’s notebook. In a yellowed ‘goodboy’ notebook – in Dad’s exquisite handwriting. I took a picture of the leaf and posted it on Facebook.
My father’s name is Farhan Siddiqui. Addressing father as ‘you’ is the rule of the Siddiqui family – mother said. But Farhan Siddiqui can’t be anything other than ‘you’ to me!
My mother’s name is Iravati Mitra. My name is Randeep. Randeep Siddiqui. I do not accept this ‘Siddiqi’. Rather, I can’t agree. I am also the child of ‘Mitra’ mother. So why should I carry ‘Siddiqi’? That said, there’s also no reason to think I’d want to be an ‘ally’. I am an outsider to Mitra, Siddiqui. I heard that the mother along with the father were expelled from the father’s house, for the crime of marrying a Hindu girl. And the mother had no home. Psidida could only survive if she chased her mother away, and eventually she did.
I heard from my mother that my uncle Ramzan Siddiqui was the leader of Jotdar clan in Birbhum. The only son of Ramzan Siddiqui, the owner of a large property – my father. The distance of their Jaltungri village from this Manipur is about fifty kilometers. In that village, everything from primary school to health center was built under his supervision. The main source of wealth of the Siddiqui house was farming and mortgage business. Later they bought two rice mills in the area. The poor people of the village used to approach Siddiqui’s house in case of danger. It is heard that this is the custom for the last hundred years. The only son of this family, my father is Farhan Siddiqui. Ramzan Siddiqui was not a diplomat enough to understand that his acquaintances did not allow father’s father to enter Ushke, father’s father in Obari, in order to reduce the monopoly of the Siddiqui clan if he could be removed.
Farhan used to draw great pictures from a very young age. Always talented in studies. After finishing high school, Farhan moved to Kolkata. Admitted to Govt College of Fine Arts. He met my mother in Kolkata. However, I do not know the details of parents’ love and marriage. The problem that Farhan has, is actually the problem of adapting forever! City-life has some curses. The teenager from Jaltungri could not escape him. First he fell into the grip of dry addiction. Friends act as catalysts in these cases. Farhan was no exception. Then he drowned himself in alcohol. In addiction he discovers a stark obsession. Gradually alcohol became his constant companion. Learned college. Getting married – this place is like the missing link for me. How and what happened – I did not know everything clearly. So there is still immense curiosity.
Father is not very remembered! As far back as I can remember, Dad used to sit at home all day with a cup of tea on the table by the window, reading a lot of books. He used to draw pictures. We had only one room in that house. It is a continuous long house. Shaped like the English letter ‘I’. One side was cooked. Eat on the other side. My parents used to rent that small house in the alley of Kamardanga. There were two windows in the room. His father’s easel was next to him. Baba loved watercolors. What beautiful birds were also painted on the windowsill. I was taught to hold a pencil since then. He used to say, Gugababa and Gugababa, let’s play colors. I used to say – colors play in swing. you don’t know anything Dad used to laugh – we have swings all year round.
— So why don’t mother’s students sing ‘Laglo Je Dol’ throughout the year?
— Hey! Those who have colors in their houses, their songs, pictures are mixed. They don’t need to sing separately. you know
Dad used to call me ‘Gugababa’. Gupi Gain and Bagha Bin together. I still vaguely remember these things. And with fear, when this Rang-tuli father used to return after drinking, he remembered all those days. Then there was only screaming and yelling. fight Sometimes the feet would slip into the gutters on the side of the road. Mother used to go and fetch it. i used to cry I screamed and cried. Mother stopped. He said everything will be fine in the morning. I used to wake up in the morning and see my parents talking while drinking tea or my mother sitting in the ritual, beside my father shaking his head to the rhythm of the tune. This is like an illusion. As if it came like this. No one drank alcohol and screamed. No one fell into the sewer. It is as if the music is always on the melody. (Bengali Novel)
At noon, father used to sit with pictures. Once again, father’s friends would come. The conversation would accumulate. My mother gave up trying to put me to sleep. Picasso, Vinci, Raphael—all these names came to mind. Mother used to make tea for them. In the afternoon it was necessary to listen to music. Mother used to wash her body then. Mother wore a wide bordered cotton saree. All those shores would smile on the blue, sandalwood, white colored land. Mothers don’t tie their hair most of the time. Still did not bind. What a beautiful mother! As evening came, the panic would begin. I was afraid of my father. It’s like a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde thing. In the evening, it was as if a demon possessed such a wonderful person. Only horns and teeth could not be seen, this is what! After I was born, my father didn’t touch alcohol for quite some time – said my mother. Then start again. Basically it falls on friends, but I don’t believe it. I couldn’t forget the day my father died no matter how hard I tried.