Shuvashree Chowdhury's Blog, page 15

‘Seeking an Emotional Blanket of Kash Phool’

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A designed drive into the late September sunset,
on Sunday — two days after Mahalaya
that now awaits autumn and the festive season;
on stretches of Kolkata’s eastern highway
flanking quilts of ‘kash phool’ — resplendent
under a blue sky stretched taut, awaiting rain.

Where a man with tackle patiently awaits a catch,
that he may take 6-7 koi home as a day’s work:
to savour Sunday dinner with his wife and children,
having chosen to pursue his hobby in isolation —
as in coronavirus lockdown one needs space away from family — seeking solitary entertainment!

PS: For more photos please visit my Facebook author page Across Borders

#kaashphool #autumn #kolkata #emotionalhealth #poetry #kolkatadiaries #drive #mahalaya #bengali #bengaliculture #bengalicultureandtraditions #poetrycommunity #kolkataphotography #fishing #sunset #coronaviruslockdown



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Speaking on Things that Matter

This is with reference to the current happenings, relentlessly covered for months, by Indian media, especially the Tv channels…

I’d like to take the sides of Kangana, Rhea and Sushant: versus the gallery audience commentators – Shobha, Jaya, Swara, Urmila, Tapsee, Sonam, Anurag, Arnab, Navika, Rajdeep.
May I…all you politically motivated, lethal social media warriors? Or have I to choose and cite my affiliations, to take a stance on any issue!

1. In my view what’s happening to Rhea in terms of the aggressive media hounding is grossly unfair. She’s an accused, but not yet a criminal, even if we think she is. Then she’s lost someone she loved…till it’s proven otherwise! Does she deserve this absolute crucifixion till it’s proven! We’re ensuring that she pays the price for all our bottled up frustrations and aiding the media in laying her bare!
What if she isn’t guilty of murder! How many of us can vouch for the fact that we’ve never personally known someone who does drugs, in some capacity or other, even if we did or didn’t help him/her procure it?

2. The absolutely barbaric, humiliating and degrading attitude meted out to Kangana, by demolishing her house and office in today’s supposedly advanced and civilised world is just as shocking, as the coronavirus lockdown having befallen us, seemed last March!
Then one after another, people get up and hurl some abuse or other at her. She’s not supposed to react…or the fact that she has the strength and
guts makes her less of a woman…does it!
Kangana made the much maligned threat speech to Uddhav Thackeray after she was mentally and emotionally raped in public view, but we must crucify her for the use of ‘Tu’ without having any sensitivity to read her emotional state through her facial and body language when she couldn’t even speak without the words chocking her! I had tears in my eyes…
I’m known to be sane and mature, but trust me, I’ve faced only a little of this public and political humiliation as I’ve written about it in earlier posts…but in her place, I would actually wish to take out the machine gun and go on a tirade on those smirking hooligans…even if that would be suicidal! That’s how strongly I felt about it…because I have faced it!

3. Sushant’s soul would be dying a million deaths, for the humiliation he’s facing now for his one weakness that was worsened by the circumstances of his life, but which has now overruled his reputation and career and all we could have remembered him for!
A man goes through a tough time in life, in his case a series of circumstances and he’s not supposed to be depressed without our branding him a mental health patient!
A young man in public life, falsely implicated for molesting and raping his colleague cannot even become depressed? Neither must he be effected by all the professional snubs and malignant write ups on him or that after all his talent and hard work, he was never awarded or even shortlisted. Yet he’s supposed to be a sensitive artist and an actor of worth! How are we going to find this perfect mix of sensitivity and toughness, in one person…
How many of us, even the toughest, haven’t gone through depressing phases in our lives, and resorted to some emotional prop! Many even go and get addicted to spiritual gurus and their dictates in trying times and lose their own thinking for life and just become mere ghosts of gurus!

After ten years of struggle…this after losing my job at the peak of recession in 2010, to a bunch of callous publishing industry people who did not have the respect in keeping their words: though I risked my 20 year career to deliver on my words of handing over a manuscript, made me very depressed…very depressed indeed. Then last month at an E Litfest, out of 13 authors, only my video was deleted…after a public airing…So though my event went off well and several people appreciated it, I felt spurned and could not write a word for 2-3 weeks! Even though I neither smoke, drink other than socially, or take drugs – how can I not relate to a man who has been brought to the ground by circumstances! But now all we see is an addict!

I still have so much to say…but will save the rest of my views for my next books!
Please visit my facebook author page Across Borders for details on my books and more…

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#feminism #patriarchy #moralstrength #sensitivity #speakingup #inspirationalbooks #empathy #workingwoman #literaryfictionbooks #sushantsinghrajput #kanganaranaut #rheachakraborty #mediatrial #journalism

A Political party vis-à-vis Tv channels frenzy

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Another political drama, that I inadvertently found myself in the thick of, was in the year 2005, in Kolkata. This was after the one I’ve narrated, among the varied experiences from my working life in my book “Existences” that I’m pasting below, that happened when I was with a top airline.

This incident I’m going to relate, happened after Durga Puja, when I was working for a reputed pan India jewellery brand. We had several ongoing marketing schemes at the time, reflected through billboards all over the city, also on every print and tv/film media channel. I had personally been on different Tv channels, both Bangla and Hindi, speaking and promoting our USP of the highest level of purity of gold in our jewellery, even demonstrating the same through random Karat metre readings, and of course promoting the brand in general.
I had landed at the Kolkata airport from an official trip to Bangalore, where the company has its headquarters. On the taxi ride home, intending to drop off my baggage and freshen up before going to office, as home was on the way, I received a call on my mobile from my office.
A senior staff, sounding quite agitated, abruptly told me, “ Ma’ am, the Park Street Police Station OC would like to talk to you.”
“What are you doing in the police station now?” I blurted, quite rattled, but there was only silence at the other end of the line.
“Madam, I’m from the Park Street Police Station,” the baritone stated, “I’m here at your office to inform you that a procession of 200-300 members of the “Gold Handicrafts Saviour Committee” (I loosely translated the Bangla name now) are currently marching with banners and shouting out aggressive slogans against you. They are all coming over here to meet you.”
“What? Meet me…but why…what for?” I said, then forcefully added, “Is this supposed to be a joke or what?”
“This is no joke ma’am. They claim that you have directly ‘kicked their stomachs’, by stifling their livelihood.”
“Sir, what are you talking about…” I retorted irritably. “What is this drama…what have I done to them…must be some mistake! But well, if they want to talk, I’m willing to listen to them.”
“We have obstructed the procession, marching all the way from Dharmatala at the Free School Street crossing…should we send the full force to you?”

I was pretty irritated by what I perceived as a provocative, mocking and condescending attitude, but in a calm voice I stated, “I’m on my way from the airport, and will be there in office in 20 minutes. Please bring only 3-4 of their representatives to my office and we can discuss.”

After the instruction, disconnecting my mobile in a rattled frame of mind, I immediately dialled my regional office, then the head of operations at the head office in Bangalore, and briskly narrated the weird position I was in. I was still having difficulty believing it myself, yet from both sides of the hierarchy, very calmly and with much faith I was told to go right ahead and meet the rebellious procession’s representatives to first figure out what they wanted from us. But though my seniors had immense faith in me, just as they had shown me since I joined the company and for which this has been my most gratifying work stint, even more than the airline, I was of course extremely nervous. The very idea of 200-300 people marching up to meet me in my office in Camac Street, even in the presence of my quite large team before Diwali and the police forces…it was a daunting thought to meet those whose livelihood I had apparently slashed!

But the meeting with the leaders, which was centred around our brands transparency of processes and candid assertions that was to soon change the culture of gold and jewellery buying in India, went off rather well and politely so, with 3-4 senior cops as intermediaries to every point, on my request. This political committee a wing of the ruling CPIM party then, wanted us to pull off all our TV, Print and Radio advertisements on our education on the need for transparency in the purity of gold purchased that happened to highlight the lack of transparency in the local production process, which was used to mixing a lot of alloys vis-à-vis our 22k or 18k pure jewellery, also that our Diamonds came with certificates on the clarity, colour and size, which was exchangeable at appreciated prices like no other company did at that time.

It was after the police and the group left, after I had served them tea/coffee and our always used Chocolate Bourbon biscuits; that several TV channel crew dropped in without warning. Out of which two channels were supposedly specialists in sting operations, that I wasn’t aware of. They harassed me, throwing abrupt, ridiculous and provocative questions, leading me on with words and sentences to suit their planned narratives, while I tried to answer nonchalantly into one camera mouth piece shoved at my face after another. I began to feel like I was a suspect who was about to be media tried and put behind bars, as a cruel witch who had slashed people’s stomach/bread and grabbed their sustenance. I tried to be as calm as possible thinking that if I was honest and forthright these Tv journalists would treat my words with respect.
But suddenly I began to feel I was being framed as the questions began to get personal, like they needed to throw my flesh to the waiting audiences on that evening’s prime time, who would bare me and then pounce on every inch of my unsuspecting plight for their quota of entertainment.
But I realised this, only after a senior staff, who had been trying to signal to me for a while actually sternly blurted out to me, “Ma’am please DO NOT say anything more…these are sting operation channels and are just trying to provoke and heckle you. You are Live!”
I just froze, shut up, turning my back involuntarily, frightened and humiliated by the immensely disrespectful attitude – like I was a thief, a bank robber, a suspect who would soon be arrested!
The first thought that came to my mind as I was shutting myself out from these crocodiles trying to get more of my flesh, was the gaping and shocked face of my father…he was always so proud when I came on television! But this, in case he chanced upon it, would destroy him, before he knew what was going on…
What was I paying for…escalation in TRP of the channels our company never advertised in…an innocent looking chorni is great entertainment!

On Divine Blessings & Destiny.

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On my birthday, on 23rd August, via facebook, my author page, and instagram posts, I illustrated my gratitude for the blessings in my life, from acclaimed people of this world, also my parents and god. It’s copied below.
But let me share with you now, the profound truth about these varied support and blessings, lest you think that I’m attributing everything I’ve received – to blessings and divine support only.
Perseverance is the key to receiving the blessings of god that you attribute to destiny or good luck.
Each time I handed over a copy of my book to every one these people, they interviewed me long – close to an hour or more, before agreeing to read it. They had enough books they might read. In the meetings they did not ask me about the book, but details about my past two decades of work experiences including my inspirations, motivation behind my writing and the book.
It was only after reading the book that they called me back for another visit at least, to quiz me on various aspects of the book before they lent their support. As each of the concerned people were lending me their lifetimes reputation. I did not have the canopy of big branded publications to support myself but all that I now stand for in person from my life’s experiences.
I have even been personally interviewed by several resident/city editors on my work experiences, before they agreed to give me publicity/coverage for my book and kindly so in their main pages, even page 3 if difficult to squeeze into others.

The most memorable one of these meetings was an hour’s interview with the ex resident editor of Kolkata TOI in his office, who sadly passed away a couple of years ago, who told me, “I won’t have the time to read your book before the launch event. But I will have it covered for sure, just SMS me at 1 pm on the day…I’ll send a reporter over.”
They then covered my launch in their news page…as the topic fit in well. But now can I attribute it only to my good luck and blessings!
Lt. Gen. Raghavan insisted on meeting me at the Gymkhana Club, Chennai – inspite of Mr Muthaiah’s strong reference and Barun Chanda met me twice at his residence, inspite of Victor Banerjee’s powerful recommendation.

Now also let me share why I did not give up after my exasperating experiences with numerous publishers with regards to my books. The books were read in part or full, and after several communications between us, rejected by editors who were around 25-30 years or younger. So either they looked at the viability of my book only from the bandwidth of their youthful perspectives or didn’t have the ability to convince their marketing departments. I did not meet anyone personally to be able to convince them.

With each book except the poetry, I sent my manuscripts to the top executives in all the top listed publishing houses, but as is their protocol, they sent it to those at the base of the chain to decide the fate of a debut writer.

Meet me at: Pentaomnia, E-Literary Fest

Dear friends,
Sharing the link for this live session with me that’s for an hour. Please join in with Google Meet…You can copy and paste the link below:
https://meet.google.com/vkb-hkrg-ozn

Pentaomnia is the students body of the Lovely Professional University…website: https://www.lpu.in/

I will also be releasing my new book, details are here: https://shuvashreechowdhury.com/2020/08/16/trouvailles-my-moments-of-yugen-my-new-poetry-book/

Anyone, anywhere in the world can join in by downloading the Google Meet App, and logging in from any internet device whether phone or laptop.
So while I might not get to know you’re there, your presence will give me much moral support…and I’ll be happy to know your views and continue to take questions that the moderator might not have considered, on my facebook timeline, instagram or on the comments section here.
Warm regards,
Shuvashree

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@champ.readers.association @pentaomnia @leadingtrails @lpuuniversity

#booklover #books #lifecoach #champreadersassociation #leadingtrails #lifeexperineces #workingwomen



#pentaomnia #lpuuniversity #lpudiaries #lpudiaries

“Trouvailles: My moments of Yūgen” – My new Poetry Book.

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My new Poetry Book, releasing by next week…this is the author photo along with the blurb and author note…will share the cover soon. It will be available globally on all book sales platforms, both in print and e-books.

“Trouvailles: My moments of Yūgen”

by Shuvashree Chowdhury

‘To Chance Encounters and Mysteries of the Universe’

Trouvaille (origin French) means a chance encounter with something wonderful, a windfall, a lucky find. Whether its stumbling across a hidden back street, discovering a quaint cafe, or connecting with a local during a journey — the joy they bring is what you call trouvaille.

Yūgen (origin Japanese) is a profound and mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe and the sad beauty of human suffering — an awareness that triggers emotional responses too deep and powerful for words.

Trouvailles: My moments of Yūgen is Shuvashree Chowdhury’s second collection of poems. They are crafted from the physical and mental journeys she undertook to find herself. One moment she is navigating the ghats and galis of the holy city of Banaras; in another she is gazing at the mighty Kanchenjunga from Darjeeling and Kalimpong; one moment she is experiencing the calm of Rabindranath Tagore’s Santiniketan; in another she is walking along the Hooghly in pastoral Bengal. Then there is travel — in the form of contemplation — undertaken during the Covid-forced lockdown.

The poems are not so much about the destinations, but a fresh way of looking at places we already knew about. They are an optimistic and positive reflection on life and death; love and relationships; resilience and rejection.

SHUVASHREE CHOWDHURY is the author of four works of literary fiction including novels Across Borders and Entwined Lives; a collection of short stories Existences; and a book of poems called Fragments. She spent over two decades in the corporate sector, in senior managerial capacities with top companies before turning a full-time writer. She lives in Kolkata.

 

Author’s Note

One sultry evening during the lockdown, imposed on mankind by COVID-19, when one travelled mentally rather than physically, I chanced upon two words. I not only liked the sounds of them, but they also seemed to accurately describe the nature of my travels in the recent times — physical as well as in the form of contemplation — that resulted in the lines you will read in the following pages.

Trouvaille (origin French) means a chance encounter with something wonderful, a windfall, a lucky find. Whether its stumbling across a hidden back street, discovering a quaint cafe, or connecting with a local during a journey — the joy they bring is what you call trouvaille.

Yūgen (origin Japanese) is a profound and mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe and the sad beauty of human suffering — an awareness that triggers emotional responses too deep and powerful for words.

So there, that explains the title of this book.

I like to think of myself as an explorer of life, a seeker, and a creator of flow. I believe that it is only through flow that you find a connection to your genuine self and that you then begin to live fully. Thus, I have been on a poetic journey to self-awareness and inner healing, an ongoing journey to find and connect with my true purpose and authentic self.

After years of working in demanding corporate jobs, juggling work, family and relationships, I often found myself questioning why I was doing what I was doing, wondering if there wasn’t more to all of this, and if I was missing some bigger purpose. Unsettled by watching those around me live without flow, struggling to find their balance, happiness, and health, my journey as a literary fiction writer began in 2010.

Travel has been a big component of my explorations on the meaning of life — often converting to poetic expressions —in my sense of relating to my inner and outer world. Curiosity on one’s self is the gateway of understanding our own sufferings and blockages that hinder us from living our truth. Inner exploration can be a deep and life-changing experience.

Through these poems, I invite readers to journey with me, to find inner connections, harmony, and flow. My goal is in creating a safe cruise for one to explore and discover one’s inner peace, courage, strength, and ultimate potential. I hope to inspire and motivate people to live in a place of self-love and acceptance, thus inculcate the inner strength to never give up. In doing so, we can begin to find our inner peace while cultivating compassion in our outer interactions.

“One’s destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things.” — Henry Miller

“Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.” — Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet.

A brief on my first book of poems written since 2007, that started my inward journey, is below…

Fragments is Shuvashree Chowdhury’s debut collection of poetry. It is an intuitive journey into various aspects of the human experience — love, passion, jealousy, joy, spirituality, and death. The poems engage deeply with the world — turning each heartfelt moment in the hands like fragments of a broken mirror — to examine with keen intelligence, the light passing through the countless shards, towards self-realization. The poems convey insights with a perceptiveness that is at once brilliant and sumptuously lyrical, vivid, and kaleidoscopic, in a language that is elegant. The poetic journey gradually transcends into a serene, spiritually uplifting zenith — weaving its way upstream through the rocky riverbed of the spirit — the soul quivering, often crushing emotional currents.

Fifteen poems from Fragments, in a staged reading, were recited by veteran theatre artists of the reputed group — Madras Players — the oldest English language theatre group in India, in 2015 for their 60th year celebrations. The poet also read poems along with the actors. Alongside eminent international poets, she has read from her collection at important literary festivals, including ‘Poetry with Prakriti’ (Chennai) in 2016 at Stella Maris College, Madras Christian College, and several others. Two of the poems from this collection are also published in the Sahitya Academy anthology – ‘Modern English Poetry by Younger Indians’– selected and edited by Sudeep Sen. Recital of a poem from this collection, also won her the ‘Pride of India: Online Talent Hunt 2020: Winner, Poetry Competition’

 

#poetry #poetrylovers #varanasi #banaras #kashi #darjeeling #lifeanddeath #loveandrelationships #resilience #contemplations #kanchenjunga #kalimpong #shantiniketan #bengal #poetrycommunity #poetrybooks #literaryfiction #inspiration #goingwiththeflow

‘Across Borders’ – a historical literary fiction: Indian Independence Day – 15th August.

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On the occasion of India’s Independence Day, the 15th of August… Excerpts from my novel Across Borders, in the words of my protagonist Maya…

I quote V.S Naipaul here, from his book “India: A Million Mutinies Now” which aptly describes my attempts to define Maya in the novel –   “She was still part of the story she had told me, over two or three meetings. She was full of the emotions of it, and unable to see in it the historical progression that I thought I saw.”

Chapter 1 :  That day in 1948, Kalpana and I left to cross over to another life with Ronjit uncle across the Pakistan border. There was no Bangladesh yet and was not going to be for a long time. Mihirpur is a small town near the city of Dacca, in erstwhile East Pakistan, currently Bangladesh. I was about to transcend the border of my childhood. After the age of eight, I was sucked into adulthood like quicksand. It would only be fifteen years hence that I would again cross the border, back into India. After my graduation in 1964, I would return to work, marry, raise a family and live the rest of my life on the Indian side. A few years later, in 1971, the home that I grew up in was to become a part of Bangladesh, no longer of East Pakistan, as when I would leave it. As the country was re-contoured into Pakistan, Bangladesh and India ensuing much turmoil, so did my life across its border in developing three distinct identities – childhood, adolescence and adulthood – get chiselled by the rough hands of time and experiences… 

Chapter 2:  It was nearly three days, before Ma got a first glimpse of the woman who had displaced her in her husband’s life. That morning Ma was by the well behind the house, putting the clothes to dry on the line. She saw a face just above the sari she had hung. Ma froze in recognition, a dagger passing through her heart, taking her breath away. Thereafter she felt no pain, no anger, not the slightest twinge of jealousy. Numbness had taken over, rooting her to the ground. This is how she would feel about this woman — anaesthetized, till her dying day. This woman had usurped Ma’s position as wife, robbed her of the status of the lady of the house, relegating her to becoming a stranger in her own home. Slowly regaining composure, Ma became acutely self-conscious of still wearing sindur on the parting of her hair, and the shakha, paula and loha around her wrists.  

Why was she still adorned in the symbols of marriage of Bengali women, when her marriage was in reality dead, Ma pondered? The shakha (shell bangle) mirrors the qualities of the moon, implying that a woman remains serene and calm; and the paula (coral bangle) is beneficial for health. The loha (iron) signifies that a relationship assumes the qualities of iron — to become tough and enduring, which hers had failed miserably to do. But then, she would continue to wear these visual signs of her extinct marriage till the death of her husband. So what if these symbols had proven ineffective in warding off the biggest threat to her marriage – another woman? Ma now looked closer at Baba’s second wife. She was wearing the identical symbols of marriage, except hers shone brighter from newness and perhaps from requited love, unlike hers. 

Chapter 4 :  At the very outbreak of the riots, Sudeep arranged for Kalpana and Swapnil to leave for Calcutta immediately. He would not take any chances with their security. I was able to convince him telephonically of my need to stay back, promising to leave right after my exams. He himself stayed back in a refugee camp, in wrapping up his business for a few more months. The evacuees from Vishnuganj who took shelter in two mills as reported by The Pakistan Observer were 24000, though the unofficial estimate of the evacuees was 150,000. As I learnt of this in the safety of my Muslim friend’s house, knowing that Sudeep was in that count, I fervently prayed for his safety and reunion with his family. I constantly fought my fear of being brutally murdered if detected to be a Hindu. It truly was the acid test of my ability to fight any threat life would pose thereafter…

C hapter 5 :  My mother’s helplessness in the face of father’s treachery always came to mind in times of indecisiveness like this. It propelled me to stay on in Dacca, in spite of the arsonist mood I was enveloped in. Though I was to never literally take up arms, I was intrinsically combating with life itself. How then could external forces deter my battle to win a good life, to hoist the flag of my success in front of my father? Therefore education and resultant economic autonomy I chose over the security of life at the time, deciding to leave East Pakistan only on completion of my final examinations. My personal experiences of the riots still give me the shudders. Even now, I wake up from sleep after vivid dreams of the violence, breaking out in a cold sweat as if I were in the midst of it… 

Chapter 6 :  After the outbreak of the riots and attacks on a number of girl’s schools and hostels, it is difficult to pre-empt what may happen next, so all of us girls have vacated the hostel. However, of the twenty-two of us, only four of us who are Hindus, are in actual danger of our lives, if detected. As our truck rolls out into the neighbourhood, we can hear agonizing screams, as people are running crazily pushing one another, overturning wheelbarrows of fruits and vegetables, trampling over the crushed as well as fresh ones they might have just bargained hard for. There are small to large fires everywhere, with a putrid burning smell mixed with that of blood, sweat and fear. People are running arbitrarily — not sure in which direction. They are unsure of who is killing whom, not even aware if the man running alongside is a potential slayer, to escape the vandalism that has erupted on the streets.

There are lungi clad men on the trot, with lathis, daggers, spears and burning torches, against the fading light of the setting sun. All shutters of shops are either closed or are being frantically pulled down, as those late to react will be looted and ransacked, lucky if they can manage to save their lives. People are making a dash for shops or godowns still open, in a bid to hide, not sure if they should stop to pick up a wailing child separated from the mother in the frenzy. There are partially burnt hulks of cars, serrated holes in place of their windows and windshields, dotting the city like campfires in a National Scout Jamboree amidst pitched tents, silent witnesses to the mass destruction and massacre. Thick smoke is wafting about, heavy with the stench of burning flesh, tyres and charred cars, buses and rickshaws.

There are pools of blood on the pavement, where a man might have been beheaded with one flash of a machete. The body, its skin ashen in death, has perhaps been removed by relatives or shop assistants after the rioters have moved ahead. Ambulances and police jeeps are rushing past, their blaring alarms merging jarringly, the red lights blinking furiously. Hospitals are thronged with the dead and the wounded; their mortuaries being combed in search of loved ones, in earnest prayer that they are not found, giving hope a chance to linger. Photos of missing people have been taped on walls of markets and stores. By now, trips to newspaper offices clutching photos taken at weddings — whether the missing person’s own or attending that of loved ones, is forming queues…

 Chapter 10: On completion of their schooling, I plan on my daughters attending college from home in Calcutta. So we can now live truly as a family, after the years of mere vacations together. But to my surprise, Dipanjana, now in her eleventh standard, shows a keen interest in going to college at Delhi University. She manages to impress upon an unwilling Sanjana, who has just completed her twelfth standard, to proceed to Delhi. Initially I try to dissuade them, disappointed they do not want to stay home with me and Nayan. But having wished for them to be independent, strong and decisive women, sending them to boarding school at such tender ages to achieve the same, I cannot complain now. Thus I relent, escorting them to Delhi myself; decidedly to admit Sanjana to the college I had worked in for long… 

After dinner, all the first year students, referred to as Freshers, are made to assemble in the lawn in front of the dining-hall. The second and third year girls standing facing them, size up each of the new students. Then the Freshers are made to introduce themselves, thanking the seniors who interrupt each one making personal digs, addressing them as Ma’am… 

By the time Dipanjana joins the following year, having obtained above the high grades required for admission, ragging is more absurd. She is at times sent with her classmates to the nearby Kamala Nagar market, to fetch a broom and bucket, dressed in the mismatched salwar-suits, with the three braids of oiled hair.  They are not allowed on their feet anything other than bathroom slippers, that too only the Bata Hawaii chappals. Even when they step outside their college, they are to address every senior of Delhi University as Sir or Madam, wishing them the time of day. Once few girls including Dipanjana are sent out on the University streets with a bowl in hand, to beg at bus stops the way common beggars do. The ragging at the college for day-scholars lasts about a week, but at the hostel it continues for months. The Freshers abhor being ragged to begin with, but in time drop their resistance, and enjoy themselves. In fact they get smarter day by day… The more rules were imposed, the smarter the girls got in breaking them, till detected.

  The newspaper reviews/media coverage of Across Borders are all in the link below:

https://shuvashreechowdhury.com/2013/09/13/the-telegraph-reviews-my-book-across-borders/

My set of four books, including two novels, a collection of short stories and one of poetry, is my attempt to vividly depict the socio-economic position of women in pre-partition/pre-independence India – since 1940, to the current day. I reined in all of my two deacades of corporate experiences to chose the topics – societal issues, the attitudes and mindsets, that I wanted to depict, and then used my repertoire of personal and professional stories to illustate them. I have used locations pan-India, from north to south, east to west.

However the most minute plotting and detailing has gone into depciting and then breaking the male stereotypes, through real life examples. In my view, as depicted in every chapter of my books, patriarchy has always been a choice people made over generations – to find their secure haven in; rather than break free from its chains – be it male or female. Those who firmly decided not to be bound, found a way to break free. There’s always a way out of unfairness atleast to some extent…first break your own mental chains. Never compare your weeknesses to other people’s strengths!

All the books,  both in print and e-book/digital versions, are available globally in every country, on online sales platforms like Amazon, Barnes and Nobles and several others…also, in bookstores pan-India.

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#independeceday #partionofindia #literaryfictionbooks #patriarchy #feminism #breakingmentalbarriers #positionofwomen #workingwomen #positionofmen #breakingstereotypes #bangladeshliberationwar #literaryfictionauthor #kindlebooks #novels #poetry #shortstories #empowermentofwomen #womanempoweringwomen

 

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Stand Up To Live

“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.” – Henry David Thoreou: My views precisely, and why I took till after half a lifetime to become a writer…

“You see when you join a new job, your equity falls to zero or so at the start, that is why you tend to want to return to your comfort zone and a growth certainty” said the middle aged, elegant looking man with curly hair and steel rimmed glasses.

… please read the rest of this post below.

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#literaryfictionbooks #novelist #poet #poetry #lifeexperiences #inspirational #inspirationalbooks #pentaomnia #kindle #lovelyprofessionaluniversity

Shuvashree Chowdhury

 “How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.” – Henry David Thoreou.

I’ve spend about two decades, as it was expected at several of my work assignments – in motivating and inspiring people to perform to excellence. This was in often being handed charge of the weakest or most troublesome ones – with ‘attitude problems’ as was commonly termed, in the system. But I’ve always looked at, preparing my wards not just for the job at hand but for a lifetime – by trying my best to instill ethics, values, drive, and ambition in them, to succeed and soar in life. This was by respecting each one, even when the organization and external training departments would give them to me as a last resort before showing them the door, either due to poor performance in the tests or misbehaviour. This after…

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“Trouvailles: My moments of Yūgen”

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Sharing a sense of my new Poetry book…“Trouvailles: My moments of Yūgen” …

that would be my gift to the word, as I step into my 50th(49) year later this month.

Destiny Delayed, or is it Denied.

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The sun strained to look at me

just a few more moments –

through window grills of thickets,

with it’s tired bleary eyes.

As it slowly slipped into a coma

under a blanket of clouds,

forcing it into the deathly folds

of the gaunt Hooghly at night –

that has lost its immunity now

after four months of lockdown.

It hasn’t eradicated Coronavirus,

which still spreading like wildfire –

is burning up economic life;

yet again testing the resilience

of the city of joy – Kolkata,

a land that history has bellied;

cyclone Amphan mocking its plight!

Yet with arms full of sunny warmth –

it’s always taken in destiny’s denied

since the times of two partitions,

or for that matter neighbourhood strife!

PS: An initial draft of thoughts from this evening’s visit.