Bibhutibhusan Bandopadhyay and his Hemingway-styled narrative "Chander Pahar"-- a story that won him innumerable accolades from readers of all ages--is a complete life-enriching experience. It is a book in whose chapters you relieve history once written, probably in the medium glow of an evening lantern, by one of the greatest writers of all time. I never so much could find proper words to appreciate the story, and how I feel after every time I finish reading it. So, to taste this fascinating narrative down to the bones, I have decided to start translating it. An official translation of the book does exist in the market; yet, it is more my personal initiative to pay this wonderful author my humble homage. I cannot tell you how amazing it felt when I found myself searching for the right words, losing myself in the labyrinth of plain Bengali colloquialisms, and ultimately, hitting on the right phrase and settling a puzzling sentence. I have never considered myself as a translator; but now I see that translating texts is as much fun as drooling over them. Since it all amounts to the same thing--writing for fun. As open-minded as I am today, I can tell you without the slightest doubt in my mind that I am unsuitable for the world. I dwell in my own secluded nook--which is currently the cemented floor of my patio--and fill page after page with absent minded eccentric thoughts. Yet, there is so much fun in the whole process that now I can say that I am ready to give up a prospective career just for the fun of writing. I haven't discovered the joys of writing in this crazy, open-hearted way before; and now, suddenly, I feel a door has opened up and I could see myself drawn out of the clichéd imago of life that we are all born to be either homemakers or semi-formal career ladies. Well, I frankly do not care how stupid people think I am becoming with every passing day because I have started living a part of my dream in my own daily life. Nowadays, I do nothing but wake up every morning and pen down the morning ramblings, then indulge in a jorum of mountain-high knowledge by reading some of my favorite authors, and then, after lunch, I get back to my own stories, as stupid as they are, I try to polish and edit them, after that, around evening, I finish my daily work and head with bull-eyed attention to the television set. Frankly, there is nothing extraordinary in the procession of events in my day, but I somehow feel life should be this way--natural and unsharpened.
. Fall is in the air and the drying leaves and emaciating trees with almost-barren branches have become the pivotal point of my interest. I am thinking of grabbing a fair-sized pumpkin sometime this week and taking a thousand pictures of the tree just outside our apartment drooping under the weight of abundant yellow leaves.
Everything looks so magical this time of the year.
Anyways, so much for today; let the void prevail and let the ticking clock fill my life with the sweetest rhythm of the day:-)
Chao.
