When I was a little child, every night I tormented my parents for 2 songs and 2 stories. My grandmother wasn’t spared either. Since there weren’t such gorgeous picture books as we have today, most stories were shared orally. Even then there were some stories that struck deeper than the others. And perhaps I asked for them more often than not.
Stories from my own childhood were largely forgotten until the time I decided to rewind. As I retraced the steps gathering stories that were orally told me, I regretted my inability to read in Bangla. So I had to settle for English translations of Thakumaar Jhuli and Pagla Dashu in an attempt to reclaim my childhood. But reading a text in English and recalling a story told orally in Bangla doesn’t evoke the same fuzzy feeling as re-reading an old copy of Agathie Christie. What it does however is recreate a sepia-toned memory that comes in flashes. Read More