I
realised for the umpteenth time that life is like a Subway sandwich (the one in
which you put all the veggies and the sauces). No matter how meticulously you
try to eat the thing, without the sauces or the vegetables being dropped on the
tray, all you meet is heartbreak. A drop of sauce will fall down, break its
crown and a slice of lettuce will come tumbling after. So what? You will still
gobble up the entire thing, burp and feel happy in the end. Right. In the end, we
do things that make us happy.
I
did many.
I
am also writing after many many days.
That makes me happy.
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In
the midst of the smoke and soot, one of the happiest things that happened was
the Kolkata Book Fair. I visited boi mela
with my parents. Just the three of us (I wish the sibling was here too).
Baba
had an unusual way (unlike most parents) of Book Fair visits. He would take me
along with him, we would be together for some time and then he would ask me to
explore on my own. This started very early in my life and so far as I remember,
I was in class 6 or 7 when this ritual started. He would rummage through his favourites
while I would be left on my own, choosing and picking what I liked. Since there
was no cell phone, he would fix a time when we would meet near the Guild
Office. Baba’s mantra was: “If you ever feel you’re lost, just find your way to
the Guild Office and make an announcement. I will find you.”
We
were there in the Book Fair for more than 6 hours that day. The Publishers’ and
Booksellers’ Guild office was still there. But not a single missing-person-announcement
could we hear! “Bansdroni theke eshecho Babloo; tumi jekhanei thako, Guild
Office er shamne chole esho. Tomar Baba–ma ekhane opekhha korchen” has
disappeared into oblivion. When we were very small, one such announcement and
the grip around my father’s fingers would tighten. Where have all these
announcements gone? Mobile phones picked them everyone. :(
In
addition to the Eiffel Tower of new books he would buy every year, Baba also
bought used and old books and magazines. His children turned out non-exceptions.
I remember my brother buying a second-hand Shakti Chattopadhyay book from
College Street which was author-signed!! At the book fair, I find old magazines
fascinating. Every year, I make sure I buy some. More than the articles, what
amaze me are the advertisements on print. This is this year’s favourite of
them of all (an advertisement by the Central Tea Board) published years back.
Someone was right. In simplicity, lies the ultimate sophistication.
There
were a few more. While Keo Karpin and P.C. Chandra still exists (the animated
woman in the latter replaced by Deepika Padukone and the likes), this
simplicity and warmth has gone hibernating. Similarly, ‘Lungi’ advertisements
and ‘biscuits in tins’ are obsolete (Of course, fancy cookies in tins are still
available, but I am offffviously not talking about them). And, you know what! All
these magazines were published at a time when my parents didn’t even complete
the first decade of their lives (between 1960 to 1964, that is) :D
Old
books also remind me that some of the publishers have come out with reprints of
the originals. The original covers, fonts, size of the book are all kept intact
and published afresh. ‘Pagla Dashu’, ‘Toontoonir Boi’, ‘Haw Jaw Baw Raw Law’
are some of them. Preciousness!
Baba
used to buy books. And buy more books. When his arms gave in, he would keep the
packets in one particular (friendly) book stall and say “egulo rakhben, ami
aro kine phirey shob eksathe niye jabo” (Take care of these books, till I
come back). Packets would be deposited in several installments and in the end,
those would be distributed among all his family members who would carry 6 to 7
packets each and come back home. This year, he was not the only one who did
that. Genes!
Genes!
In at least 4 shops, Baba and I discovered, while billing, that we have chosen (separately,
of course) the SAME books. What goose-bumps-filled coincidences they were! To add to the thrill, ALL those books were
rare/unusual books. I was about to keep them away, when Baba pointed out,
“Don’t. Keep one for your house as well”. So we bought one copy each. While,
we secretly felt happy at the concurrence of our choices, I think we both
gobbled up the lumps in the throat at the thought that we live in two different
houses.
But
then, Book Fair always has happy things in store that dilute all lumps in the
throat. In one of the stalls, I found this book on Gorky. The picture instantly
reminded me of Apur Shonshar. And, that drew a smile.
I
also feel immense joy in discovering small pockets of ‘entrepreneurship’ in the
midst of these huge events. Every time there is a match at Eden Gardens, there
are people who make quick money by painting Indian tricolor on the cheeks. Five
for a single cheek, ten for two. One such at the Book Fair is covering the
newly bought books with cellophane (read molat). People dump their bags
full of books and these gentlemen constantly put jackets around them. (picture
on bottom left).
The
huge display of art on the ground also makes a very happy sight. The dominance
of Rituporno Ghosh and Suchitra Sen over Ma Durga, Rabi Thakur and Uttam Kumar
in terms of portraits was this year’s highlight. I make it a point that
alongside books, I buy at least one piece of art from the fair. The umbrella
(picture on top left) was this year’s loot. Hand-painted patachitra on
‘K.C. Paul-er chhata’.
I
did not notice the Benfish stall this time. I saw ‘Fish Fish’ selling like hot
cakes, sorry fish. One fish fry was for 80 Rupees. Baba whispered, “Had it been
Benfish, I would have said, ‘What will you eat?’. The prices at Fish
Fish make me say, ‘What!! Will you eat?’“. :)
Because
Book Fair and Valentine’s Day are next door neighbours, I didn’t miss the
chance of impressing that special someone. “Shohag” is Artist Ramananda
Bandopadhyay’s personal diary of words and art on print. “Protikhhon” (the
stall from where I bought it) had a Pandora’s Box of collection. Rarest of rare
books, diaries, and paintings. Abanindranath Thakur’s diary in which he penned anecdotes
for his grandson was also on print. He used the diary as a scrap book and each
page had either paper cuttings or self-sketched pictures to make it interesting
for the grandson. The print is an EXACT representation of the same. *put-me-into-the-ventilator-moment*
To
make my situation worse, the owner decided to offer a discount of 35% on the
books, instead of the usual 10% for some his chosen customers. ;)
To
add to the happy things, a slice of “chhelebela”
made its entry into my book shelf in the form of Nonte Phonte Somogro. :D
Good
things come to an end. So does the Book Fair. What remains is the Kolkata
Police placard which guides you with right ‘directions’….towards the book fair.
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