Tuesday, March 14, 2023

JOURNEY OF AN ECCENTRIC, IMPULSIVE, WEIRD STOIC

 

“Look onto him – He is a weirdo and all the time looking at me with blank, scared eyes as if I am going to eat him!” – This comment was made on a parent – teacher’s meet of my school to my mother during my transition from class II to class III. The comment from the class teacher at the age of six for the first time introduced me to myself and I thought may be its true that a gigantic human being like my late erstwhile class teacher can actually eat a lean, docile, numb school boy like me.  I also thought may be Nature has given her that power to eat me up.

The introduction was in the form of a reflection of another person about me to my parent in front of me. This one statement created a plethora of self doubt about my own identity about myself at a very early age. Later on, when I have thought about it, I have felt privileged to receive such an identity labeler at an early age as it helped me. In a way, that was the starting point of a reflexive, immersive, self centric, narcissistic journey within me to actually start searching myself through words, ideas, creativity, stories and plots. I started to search stories about myself at an early stage because I started to become doubtful about my existence at an early age of six when kids generally enjoy the childhood. The self-absorption had to find out new ways of writing through Bengali texts, alphabets, expressions, drawings, sketches, lyrical rhyming (called Chhoras) and I will use them to self- hum a melody internally. I created a whole new world for myself in my diaries in which I existed along with my own characters in that world of my diary.

That world was preserved in my little diaries (there were many of them) and often I was creating those worlds of mine frequently when I was travelling in Lal Gola Express to Krishnanagar or in Bidhan Express or Black Diamond Express to Durgapur. Krishnanagar and Durgapur used to be my Mashi’s and Pishi’s house. A movement in train to these places meant to me an entry into a whole new world and not always like Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. I was always in tears when after seven days I had to leave Krishnanagar (my Mashi’s daughter) or had to leave Durgapur (my Pishi’s daughter) after a month. I was too vulnerable in everything and everywhere at the same time. The moment I departed from my world which was created in the train during the journeys’ to Krishnanagar, Durgapur and I came back to Kolkata, I was in pain and more self immersed to write through my diary pages. Often, my mom or whoever will accompany me in the train journey, very un-harmfully wryly comment that – “Look onto our child author with the diary pretending to be a thinker on the window side of LalGola Express”.

But I was not an author or never been an author for that matter. I was in my world of vulnerability shaken with the crisis of existence and trying to find out a meaning of  self – absorptive expressions through my diary pages. Many times, I will write gibberish lines like montage of a sketchy draft for pages with no meaning of a plot or a story. But yes, there was a story in each line of them. That practice still continues and my journey of this crisis of existence still exists and has got more acute over the years. With a larger crisis of existence, more story books of LUCY Trilogy, Hema (The Measure of Central Tendency), Shapno (Pink Gender, Pink Gender Extended) have been born. More characters are coming up every day.  However, I am only running short of time in a span of 24 hours. But the gibberish, chaotic expressions of music, academic papers, journals, books are rising more everyday and more deviation from the central tendencies are happening. But the future looks not to be gentle and will only lead to more such characters even though a time of 24 hours will become short for not an Author but an Expressionist with An Identity Crisis of Vulnerability.

                                                                                       

Disclaimer:  To be published in a magazine soon

No comments:

Post a Comment