Crazy Musings And Journal Entries Of A Lazy Author – Sabarna Roy

Sabarna Roy is a much awarded, critically acclaimed bestselling author of 6 literary books: Pentacles; Frosted Glass; Abyss; Winter Poems; Random Subterranean Mosaic: 2012 – 2018, and Etchings of the First Quarter of 2020. He is the lead author of a technical book, which has been published from the European Union and has been translated into 8 major European languages.

He has been awarded the Literoma Laureate Award in 2019, Literoma Star Achiever Award 2020, Random Subterranean Mosaic: 2012 – 2018 won the best book of the year 2019, the A List Award for excellence in fiction by the NewsX Media House, Certificate for The Real Super Heroes for spreading a spirit of positivity and hope during the COVID-19 Pandemic from Forever Star India Award 2020, the Certificate for Participation in the Indo Russian Friendship Celebration 2020, and the Literoma Golden Star Award 2020: Lifetime Achievement.

The snack items (any one of them at a time) that I would revel in during my childhood in the winters in Ludhiana after a long game of cricket used to be: Aloo Tikki [sometimes home-made, sometimes from a street vendor in the Model Town Market]; Jala-hua Shakkarkandi (Sweet Potato) Chat [always from a street vendor outside the Gurudwara near the Model Town Market], and Pineapple Pastry [from Ahluwalia Sweet Shop in the Model Town Market].

Omelets prepared by my mother used to be a delicacy, rarely eaten elsewhere. In my younger days at home I would mostly resort to a double-egg omelet (at times twice a day) – prepared with utmost care by my mother with onions, chilies, tomatoes and some milk and stirred in a glass bowl till the mixture started foaming and frothing. While the outside was tan-fried in white oil and became fluffy and billowy on the pan tossing from this side to that side, the inside would remain somewhat soft, and as you cut it with a knife or a spoon and fill up your watering mouth with a morsel of the omelet you were swinging between the happiness of a fried egg and a semi-cooked molten-soft egg. Nowadays, at home I will only have a single-egg (with yolk, of course) omelet (you cannot have the soft portion in a single-egg omelet, and the art of making omelets is no longer in the domain of the cooks working at homes) and at hotels during breakfast (of the egg white variety). I love omelets to be eaten with butter laden crisp hot bread toast or with hot musurer dal poured over steaming rice.

Andrologists and anthropologists, both would concur with supporting scientific evidence, that the human male sexuality is programmed by Nature to exploit all available resources for instant gratification and that when aroused their nervous system gets blurred about the idea of consent. Thankfully, human civilization started with matriarchy (so we have an idea what the other universe can look like; in fact, matriarchy changes women too in radical ways when compared to as they exist in patriarchal societies). However, as men took over the means of production (how they took over is also interesting history) and extended their anthropological outreach with building up of nation-states and institutions, patriarchy took over except in a few far-flung ancient tribes. The concoction of neo-capitalism and patriarchy is lethal and the human male today has reached a stage, where, because of continuous transgressions of its tribe, it might gradually escalate to and reach a violent stage where their phalluses could be surgically annihilated (and, rightly so: remember the climax of the Swedish film The Serpent’s Way by Bo Widerberg in 1986) by a large group of converted fatalistic feminists who have been at the receiving end of the human male’s constant search for instant gratification. I do not think the human male can be corrected in any considerable way in the environment of hyper-greed that we live today. To me, a relative way-out is to return to zero-development, primitive, matriarchal society, which reins in ecological and emotional balance. But such a return is not possible at this juncture of human civilization. What can be the legitimate aims of the #MeToo movement then? Coming out in the open as early as possible. Public naming and shaming of the perpetuators. Making an effort to cut-off the concerned man’s sources of income (this requires concerted effort). Zero tolerance of such men in public offices (this requires concerted effort). To form networks, support-groups and chains of cooperation and dialogue. Also, allow confessions, reformation and rehabilitation of perpetuators. But the perpetuators in most of the cases are powerful men who suffer from a mania to protect their names instead of suffering from remorse. These are happening and making certain critical changes in the urban spaces. What about the moffusil towns, suburbs and rural spaces? These are where class and caste matrices are running havoc. There is very little, almost nil, #MeToo here.

Where are you

You had said:

Some of the saddest moments of our lives are also some of the most illuminating moments of our lives But the flicker of the light goes unseen Some of the most beautiful faces that we see are also some of the most sinister masks of hideous minds But we rarely understand the interplay of shadows lurking behind the floating layers of beauty These are the words that you had said when we had met last Playing hide-and-seek inside the frozen ambience of the Government morgue We counted faces, navels and fingers immersed in shiny flakes of ice We spent innumerable days and nights inside the morgue

Hiding and finding

Hiding and finding

Hiding and finding

Whenever we came across each other in the darkness – was there a sparkle in our eyes – for we kissed each other – deep and ferocious kisses – breathless kisses

And then you got lost amongst the din of the universe

I remember our childhood years

Played with stones, pencils and erasers, dry leaves, cheap jewelry and aromas

Where are those days when adolescence got morphed into quivering years of longing and lust – all of a sudden followed by deathly silence and stillness of years as if nothing moved in the universe

You remember the night – that moonlit, smoky, windy night – when we went out on a slim boat on the river Hooghly

The night I tasted your darkness

The night I longed for my life to end

For I mistook myself to be the master of the universe

Now I am dead meat

I am dead forever

My mind has turned into an indecipherable rock

My soul has turned into an indecipherable rock

My body has turned into an indecipherable rock

Where are you

Are you gone forever


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