sometimes rarely I share my writings and get some comments. I re-read what I wrote. I also clarify some mistakes. At times I am obsessed about my obsessions and I would like to hide. I am playing.
It is truly impossible for anyone to comprehend what I write. My words are simple everyday use no look up for meaning is required in Dictionary. Yet given my images floating before me, them cannot be seen by any besides me any time.
I cannot be comprehensible. In other words, I am my singular reader or audience.
My meaning of my words are images from my childhood; my lonely walks around my surroundings at different times of the day and seasons. My adventures and fears and presumed creatures of wilderness or entities without physical form.
There was a rivulet where I used to go sometime. This was the only flowing water nearby. The water had no depths even during rainy seasons. I could cross it even as a child not even teen.
Some students of my class used to come to our morning school. I am told they carried their books and copies on their head. I used to swallow their stories. In my high school I had many fellow students coming from all over the town. Some from far away villages. Some were older than me. One or two were already married. Our school started with me. It was set up by one Saha Babu who was vice principal and Principal of Day High School. He was childless. He used to teach many batches of students Mathematics at home . He also set up a Kali Mandir in Simjhuri, an adjacent village. It was a village of Santhals. They had ability to make huts from mud with attractive colors and painting on walls and doors and roof with hays. They were farmers. We learnt many things from them. The art of making many rice products. They also could make sugar jaggary and crystals from cane, palm, and dates. There were weekly markets. Market was very thrilling experience. Open market was attractive place to be.
It is truly impossible for anyone to comprehend what I write. My words are simple everyday use no look up for meaning is required in Dictionary. Yet given my images floating before me, them cannot be seen by any besides me any time.
I cannot be comprehensible. In other words, I am my singular reader or audience.
My meaning of my words are images from my childhood; my lonely walks around my surroundings at different times of the day and seasons. My adventures and fears and presumed creatures of wilderness or entities without physical form.
There was a rivulet where I used to go sometime. This was the only flowing water nearby. The water had no depths even during rainy seasons. I could cross it even as a child not even teen.
Some students of my class used to come to our morning school. I am told they carried their books and copies on their head. I used to swallow their stories. In my high school I had many fellow students coming from all over the town. Some from far away villages. Some were older than me. One or two were already married. Our school started with me. It was set up by one Saha Babu who was vice principal and Principal of Day High School. He was childless. He used to teach many batches of students Mathematics at home . He also set up a Kali Mandir in Simjhuri, an adjacent village. It was a village of Santhals. They had ability to make huts from mud with attractive colors and painting on walls and doors and roof with hays. They were farmers. We learnt many things from them. The art of making many rice products. They also could make sugar jaggary and crystals from cane, palm, and dates. There were weekly markets. Market was very thrilling experience. Open market was attractive place to be.
My sister was teacher in a primary school behind the kali temple. I used to go there often whenever her rickshaw did not come. I used to collect bamboo sticks from the village for making fishing rod and flutes. My flutes were all out of tune. There was big mango Grove near by that had some resident person to look after. At least once in a year there used to be big storm. We all children would enter the Grove and collect mangoes in bags.
When I was grown up and visiting my childhood town, I would go out riding my brother's cycle and re-discover the place again. In my childhood I used to go for stone and pebbles collection to nearby hills. They used to blast the hills with dynamite and make smaller pieces with stone grinding machine. There were two kinds of rocks that I used to collect. One is with glassy quartz teeth. The other that could start a fire. When stone is hit with iron metal spoon, it would emit a spark that is caught in cotton lace in a bamboo hollow pipe.
We were inventors of games of all kinds. We just needed a ball. We even improvised ball with clothes, hay, paper, wool, flower and what ever. We also used to invent bats and rackets. We once floated a steel boat from lake. Tried to repair the same and ride. Once it got so overloaded with so many of us that it sank. Fortunately nobody drowned.
Now a days I watch films in Netflix. With rustic wilderness. I have even gone for boy scout hiking tours into wilderness. I did not get the touch of Nature that I got once from my township in my childhood days.
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