Speaking of 2007. Then class eight. There will be phones in hand, all this was not bad. In fact, if my relatives sent me to buy something like this at home, I would wait for the retailer to come back after the purchase, when my parents would tell me to leave it to you. Submission. Another was the gift of grandparents during fairs and pujas. It was the arrogant pocket money of a muffsball middle class house for children like me. These included shooting games, buying lattu, fuchkabilas, the fun of pumping bicycles, buying a greeting card for specialties and the ghost of the STD booth. This last one has to be looked at carefully. At that time, 'Kaun Banega Crorepati' was going on at Star Plus. The special importance of General Knowledge and the phone of friend is slowly eating away at the ears of the middle class to make the dream of crores of rupees come true. The people of that time must also remember the temptation of ‘Ghar pe baithke lakh rupai ka sawal’. On the way back from tuition, I used to go to Shubhdar shop to do Xerox. There was also an STD booth. And in our batch, Samar has won Feluda three times. By then his throat was broken and Adams Apple was making a divine move. Samar was Amitabh Bachchan of our neighborhood as soon as he pressed the handkerchief on the receiver and went towards the ditch. One of the places where we could spend our pocket money and have fun was to mimic this voice and call different numbers and Samar would say - G Namaste, May Amitabh Bachchan, Kaun Banega Crorepati - he said. This dialogue and then, Apka Vasurpo, PC's grandson, Dadaji Ka Poti, if these relationships are in permutation combination, then Kellafte. The rest of us still did not break our throats. The girl's throat was not sore. It was going very well. Once upon a time, we started using such a phone to return tuition and entertainment, a middle-aged man picked up the phone. After saying ‘Ji Namaste ..’ Khatir went on. Then as soon as your sister Mahima is sitting in the hot seat, the lady on the other side shouted in excitement - I mean, where have you been all this time, Manu! Tell me where you are first - we have more fun. And what a fortune, it was Nadu's turn to speak in the girl's throat that day. The woman is getting increasingly confused as to what she is wearing. A few seconds story. Then suddenly he broke down in tears - Manu, you called like this, and today you are so arrogant? You left, you never came back. Tomorrow my mother and I will burn your grandfather and come back. Whatever money you have won, let's go. Then he was heard saying 'Give me, give me', the grandfather was coming towards the landline. And without a moment's delay, he fell asleep and left the phone. The phone came from that number without keeping it. ‘Manu please, Manu মান’ is the end of Shubhada. The end of our entertainment and moral education is there. These horrible memories haunt our friends even today. While reading Alokparna's 'Dastango', this story came out of the memory room without turning the first page. This is how the writing begins:
‘Once a phone call came.
Unknown number.
The sound of rain was heard from the other side to receive. Even after saying hello, the rain did not stop. '
Gradually the word goes that one day the throat of the rain stopped and came down ‘Hello’ from the other side, but that throat belongs to that character. It would be dishonest not to talk about the above reaction while reading. ‘Dastango’ is a scattering of scattered stories, events, accidents and fantasies that flow through the dialogue of the two characters. In the course of the conversation, it is known that the speaker of the normal script is a woman, but it is not clear whether the speaker is a woman or a man. But that's not a big deal. After the response, it is better to make an announcement before gradually moving towards criticism, as I think there is a misunderstanding in the current Bengali literary market about the concept of criticism. With the words ‘it felt good’, ‘this is awesome’, ‘this is just touched’, these are the reasons why, its analysis, hard work is gone nowadays. It is not possible to say 'it felt bad', otherwise it is a matter of maintaining goodwill. This disposition has been created, because the battle of reason and emotion over why it is good and why it is bad, which the reader deliberately seeks to tear himself apart, is no longer time, or unwilling to give. As a result, it's better to call a 'like, love, wow' reaction in the name of 'criticism'. But, I am reluctant to walk that path, because Alokparna herself wanted me to say something. And I'll be more picky when it comes to writing. And, as I write this, I mean, I'll have my personality here, that's normal. Therefore, I will consciously avoid words like 'I think', 'I think' because of self-excitement in the middle of words, and if I write, I will say it for the sake of saying it. Then, if that goes beyond personalization, the reader of this article will judge the universality of this statement. Which applies to any writing.
From this formula, the first words of Dastango's text-response - from the first sentence of the first page to the last line of the last page, the imbalance of this personification and universality is striking. Everything that comes up in a conversation between two people is sometimes familiar, sometimes personal, sometimes heard or known, sometimes seen and read. So what's left? Even something that will seem new. Which I have not heard or read before. That new thing is coming down, the crisis of this decade or the century, that is, the lack of a fundamentally new form, if left out, remains to be seen. Alokparna or the fog itself has not been able to remove the fog that has left a fog in the whole writing about how the writer sees it, how twisted or how simple his vision is, and where his vision is passing from there.
There are many pieces of events throughout the back and forth of the conversation. From one word to another, the reader can read it, and a silent listener of that conversation sits and looks at the faces of the two. But the fun of conversation is that when we hear a story from someone, if any of the place-time-characters of that story are unfamiliar or known, we create a world like ours and continue to see that narrator. Conversation becomes closer in two ways - as the space of one's own imaginary world and the space of the narrator begin to converge. And secondly, although there is a slight difference in the race of the listener's thoughts with the race of the speaker, that difference is when the same interval exists with time. That means space is urgent. Quantitatively. If you go too far, you have to fall in the cosmic order, if you come too close, there is a possibility of collision. So there is something heavy that needs to be kept away when approaching, which cannot be ignited by being away, but the gravity of being heavy relaxes from a distance and it also soothes the centrifugal force of approaching. Another distance feeds another proximity. Alokparna has repeatedly miscalculated in order to make a balanced model of the solar system in this booklet by placing this heavy and light object in place. Before moving from one event to another, the space that is needed seems to have been forgotten. And the smoothness of his transition, which he has to go through, has been disturbed again and again and has become a friend, like a regular ups and downs. From what I have said before about the rain conversation, there is a jump-off talk about a cousin-distant relationship. Why I had to read about the previous rain to get to this place, I do not get any passage. In most places this writing is flawed. Jump and jump and jump. Tragedy, tragedy, tragedy. Jumping from that grandfather of a distant relationship, standing himself in front of the mirror, starting from the unaware head, cutting and trimming, until only two legs fall off, then one day the right foot goes to the right and the left to the left. Comparison with sitting down to write by jumping from there. Comparing self-portraits and being in the mirror for a long time gives me a little room to think. But after a while it jumped towards the dream. There is a game of hide and seek going on. Your own childhood with your own big time. And while hiding from there, one died and rotted while hiding. There was no sudden death in so long. Here death sits in the middle of the jump of childhood and adult hide-and-seek scenarios. In a few lines, a different incident was called. With which the aforesaid conversation has no direct or indirect contact.
What happened?
‘- There were lights in the back of our house. They had a big shop in the market. Shitalapujo was done in spring. Khichuri and Labra could be eaten by sweeping the whole neighborhood. Once the dog fell into the huge drum of khichuri. No one was let go. For a year no wife in the neighborhood was pregnant.
- Why?
- It is said in the neighborhood, for a year now, he has been killed in doggy style by eating dog-khichuri. '
Before we get there, we need to talk a little bit about this jump. The reader may ask - why? Repeatedly this jump, this adrenaline rush, this shock, this ‘what if this sudden life came suddenly’ can’t have the elegance of a cheap lesson?
My answer is yes, of course. However, rape, indecency, theft and robbery in the daily newspapers make people tired. A few days later, the news of Ghanghata body fell asleep. With the body, with the eyes, with the atarangi of thought becomes his habit. The rules never upset like that. Repeated accidents, the way things once become part of the event. The way in which falsehood becomes a feature again and again, the way in which truth becomes boring again and again. And most of all, repeated natural disasters are no longer called weather forecasts of any place. The people of Cherrapunji go out with umbrellas like handkerchiefs in their pockets. Throughout the lesson, good thoughts, the tumultuous outlook of that thought, the chatter of the character who starts to tempt, the throat of the thought becomes cheerful, shortness of breath, omni or omni leads to another event, another thought. One chatfatani, another chatfatani leads. As a result, no fuss survives. One goes on to make the other unaccompanied. Every new event seems to be approaching, it is terrible. Not being able to get a chance to taste that horror goes the other way, and that causeless, directionless going.
Now the question may be - why? Could it not be that someone's life has gone from one disturbance to another and his goal is to divert?
A: Yes, of course. But, that chatter will be of a reader, that pain will be of the reader, to understand, it is very important to give time to enter the body of the reader. I was scared, my throat was getting dry, my water was getting thirsty, my throat was getting dry, and finally I died of thirst. How much have I been able to give a hint of my suffering in this whole journey? How much space did I give to the reader, or did I give myself time to hold the reader's throat? I mean, I was scared. What he was doing before, and what was happening after the scare, how I tried to find water to soak him after his throat was dry, how stubborn I was to survive before I finally died - that's my story. In its small details, my character emerges, my good and bad qualities are awakened, my desire to be and not to be is my love for myself থাকলে if there are no such things, there is only one good side - the reader's space of thought increases. Whatever he throws at that point of fear-thirst-death at any point he can draw a happy line.
If that incident of hiding can be taken for granted.
‘The one who was told to wait, died while waiting and rotted away.
- That thief ?!
- Yes.
- Then!
- I woke up and saw that it was none other than me. I was told to wait on the roof. And woke up.
- Fear of death?
- No, he killed unintentionally for fear of the police. '
Frightened, he saw the character, the speaker, who was dead. But at the beginning of this incident, it was said that his childhood and adulthood were hidden. The faces of the others could not be seen. So who died in childhood or adulthood? Who sees the frightened, for what reason? Not clear. And he wakes up without having to deal with it. Why? Fear of being killed and fear of the police. The fear of these two does not completely compliment anyone above all else. Before the arrest of the law, the issue of 'house of light' came up without looking at the nakanichobani of conscience as well as the zeal to escape from the people. The reader saw him die in a few lines without letting go of such a complex dreamy subject of speed and life.
The depression of fighting with oneself, seeing oneself repeatedly in death, engaging oneself in the death of another exists throughout the conversation. There the depression of this period, the classlessness of the intense instability of man, its deconstructive and destructive orientation come up again and again. But it comes up only as a statement. Only the surge of events is scattered. Before judging whether there is a mixture of rationality and emotion in it, Alokparna's writing as a friend is a little annoying in the context of a dog falling into a drum of khichuri in 'House of Light'. It is not known whether the dog survived or died, and that is what was fed. But the so-called 'this is the truth', is it my fault? '- Marca's statement is that for a year now, everyone has been following in doggy style by eating dog-khichuri. First, how the dog’s spirit entered that only the ‘doggy’ style came to mind, and the bringing of this absurdly irrational emotionally charged speech, set the mood of the lesson. Although there is a place for comic relief, it becomes a false joke. And the instability of thought was left out. This annoyance can be seen to calm down and go to the next page, to be happy in the house of light, to never hear any quarrel or scream, said the speaker. The TV was turned on whenever there was a problem at home and the volume was increased according to the severity of the problem. Alo's mother turned on the TV after Alo's brother died, Alo's result was not good, throw three things, came home and turned on the TV - nothing happened. Pretty much. Then? Why give a khichuri story to tell this? The relationship between TV and people's screaming or emotional restraint is not projected, and the incident goes the other way.
This achaman is going on. The occasional use of the ‘?!’ Sign in writing raises the question of whether it is unreasonable or not. This punctuation is only in the Inbox. The reason is that there is a rush to keep talking. The explanation of the coincidental use of question marks and exclamation marks is as follows:
‘- I opened a charity medical center with my friends when I was old.
- Social service ?!
- What else is that? "
The second word that can be completely extracted - ‘Social service? I mean, I don’t understand! ’Or‘ Say what! Social work? ' When two people are writing a message, it is both of them, but there must be some contradiction with the size of the book and the literary form. Oral literature and writing can sometimes be one, but they cannot be combined at all. If there is no such translation, the character loses, that is my personal opinion. This time, the author can tell whether the author Alokparna has done any experiment or not.
Here is a quote:
‘- How does illness become medicine… right?
- Exactly.
- You know, there's a lot of catharsis these days,
- Excitement? '
The word ‘catharsis’ comes and goes many more times after that. But are ‘catharsis’ and ‘romance’ one? The Bengali translation of Catharsis is 'Bhab Mokshan'. Aristotle said in his poetry about the goal of tragedy that the theatrical presentation would contain events that would evoke in the audience ‘pity’ and ‘fear’, the combined result of which would be the ‘liberation’ of feelings. The visitor will reach a calm, healthy mental balance. Sweating, crying, itching, any coin can be caught in this journey. Hair growth can be called a 'buy part'.
In the words of Aristotle, the tragedy that Alokperner speaks of in this article for the catharsis or salvation or purgation, means that he also thought of the seat of the spectator. That was space. But, wherever the reader is losing this space again and again, where the book is uninterrupted and the place to think bigger than that, I almost lose the place to fall from time to time. However, every tragedy, every event is a draft of a novel. Every thought was eager to open up one side of the pain and talk about the passage, just let them play a little. Whatever the reader thinks, and thinks wrong or right, one of the speakers comes to a conclusion or changes the context without giving him time to breathe. But by doing so, only one of the two speakers could become, the reader could sit up and obey his words. That could not happen, because the context changed direction again and again. There was no chance to hold the finger of the character.
The moon hurts me, the moon hurts. This aspect of neglect is also highlighted in the case of the book. The hair is straight, the hair is not straight - this mistake is not a big deal, but it is uncomfortable.
In the midst of an accident and the aftermath of a tragedy, one has to say why this imbalance is an imbalance - one of the special advantages of tragedy is that it can accomplish its purpose in the short term. The appeal is much greater than what is detailed and scattered, what is consolidated and concentrated. ’The booklet became a bit scattered as it condensed. The details of his integration and instability are as follows. The reader wants the writer's foresight, and wants a glimpse of the passage. The writer's thoughts then flourished. A man has suffered a lot in life, but he has not found a way out of it. Will he be saved by becoming a spectator of his own life by looking at his own life after seeing the tragedy of his suffering? This question has been bothering me since I finished this booklet.
So many good lines, thoughts, ideas, dreams just sit there. Potential. Zenkejunke. If you loosen it up a bit, it would be darker for the writer. But this book, if anyone wants, can be carried from one thought of the author to another writing unknowingly. Along with him, to the regular reader of Alokparna's novels, prose, stories, to those who want to know Alokparna, who want to shake the brain of Alokparna's thoughts as they wish, to him, 'Dastango' is Alokparna's thought-dictionary, thought-cell. These books have given me a closer look at other writings of Alokparna, past and future.
To understand that curiosity, you have to look at the pages of this booklet, which will not be a problem for you to go by train-metro-bus.