Bhaskar Chakrabarty’s Diary—1982: A Selection
1/1 Gist. A political journalist is more than a prostitute. 1/1 a poem is a deer with a dream in it. 1/1 Defeat becomes us. 14/1 Piku-Sadgati— incomparable, incomparable 29/1 If you want to catch a thief, kick the police. 30/1 Kamalda’s painting exhibition—academy of fine arts. 3/2 Orphee. This Cocteau film I had probably seen ten years ago. Watched it again today. Timeless classic. Kamalda’s painting exhibition. 5/2 Jule et Jim. Incomparable. Kamalda’s exhibition over. 10/2 Have to bring such a kind of laughter into grasp that nothing will ever make it fade. 10/2 A man’s body lying in this room, burnt to death. 19/2 Akaler Shondhane. How a good film can be ruined, Mrinalbabu shows at the end. Weight – 70 kg 5/3 Is it because I have been able to love that I am suffering so every day? 17/3 They read quickly, badly, and pass judgement before they have understood.—J.P.S. If the poet relates, explains , or teaches, the poetry becomes prosaic; he has lost the game.—J.P.S. 19/3 I must admit that I have never written any political poetry. But still, if someone calls any poem political, I will not be surprised. 22/3 Lochandas Karigaar is a memorable experience. 7/4 Bought a book for Rs. 50. Sinned. 8/4 You can’t be misguided. 12/4 Sinned again. Book. Rs. 21.40. Adalat o Ekti Meye. 22/5 A procession of abortive poems. 1/6 Life is good. Very good. Death, not so much. 6/6 When everyone is running after money, I am writing poetry. No money if I fall ill again. How long shall Sejdi manage. 9/6 I will awake from within one day. Illumined, incandescent. Feels as if I am walking around in unknown, uncharted country. Relationships are getting denser—hesitantly. By no means am I lonely. 14/6 Huge trouble. Too many letters to write. Must list name and date from now on. We don’t have any secretary. 21/6 Learning to use words slowly, with time. Terrible poverty. 26/6 Truly, my deepest secret poems are like the light of imagination, running in a moment from hither to thither. As if I have really been blessed with a gift of two wings. How grateful am I to life. 30/6 After every single poem, one has to stir in suspicion and examine it closely—whether it is a poem indeed. 2/7 55 poems in 6 months! Never in my life. 4/7 Perhaps my shorter poems are buried under my prose-poems. Wrong thinking. Disrespectful. 6/7 Modern Times. Classical touch of a genius. 24/7 No letter even today! Everyone’s busy? 27/7 Reality, simplicity and humanity with superb imagination. B. C. 28/7 Have coughed the whole night. Who can survive so many cigarettes? 29/7 We never came to thoughts. They came to us. H. Not liking coffee house. We are too late for the God and too early for the Being. H. 2/8 One has to love even being swindled in life. 3/8 Alone at coffee house. Extra tension. I should live with children. Have not graded any examination script the whole day. Don’t know why, but I have never worked towards a lucrative job, marriage. Today, perhaps, I have inched pretty close to marriage. Discomfitting. 4/8 Hotel. Afternoon, 3.05. Daal-rice. Fried fish. 9/8 After a trillion years, this birth. She was my mother. He, my father. My young brother, sister, didi. A few friends. And then, just vanishing into the wide yonder. Again will not see them for many trillion years. This mystery beckons me today. 9/8 Exhausted. Need a break for a couple of days. Somewhere deserted—rest. Trysting with song—Santosh Sengupta, Dhiren Mitra and Ramkumar. 10/8 Common people’s words needs to be conveyed simply to the common people— Did the political parties ever realize this? Ever? 11/8 Let there be no vacuous optimism in my writing. 15/8 One more insignificant day. 18/ 8 If the front door is bolted, smash it to smithereens. Munna has fever. I feel it coming too. 24/8 Ceaselessly, to stand upon a rickety, tremulous life and write poetry. What excrutiating poverty. 25/8 So weak I have become. Continuously thinking of ma. 26/8 Be calm be calm just be calm. 27/8 This life I have wasted by writing. Had I not written, this life I would have wasted more. Terrible poverty. Losing joy in life again. Any which way, must rummage among the daily nuts and bolts of life for happiness. Must. 29/8 Spending since morning. 30/8 Weight—68 kg 2/9 Idiot! Learn how to lie. You will be happy. Have I to lie in order to be happy? 4/9 Why don’t those who want new kinds of writing from me go to the stationary shop? Coffee House. 7/9. Theory of rebirth. A consolation to earth-loving humans. These days the young ones engage in opinion-mongering. For me Bibhutibhushan’s Ichhamati is no less than And Quiet Flows the Don. 9/9 I painfully realize today that there is nothing I can do other than writing poetry. 15/9 Can we not ever get the vast star studded night into language, into poetry? Being my own friend and my own enemy I have done, continually, so many plain chores, wishing to die silently. 16/9 In every moment of life, rejection entangles us. One has to accept it. One has to love more. Anger, excitement– I must eliminate from life. I have forgotten the habit of walking on roads. Have to start afresh in a quiet way. 17/9 I have always played with danger since childhood. Paying the penalty for that today. When Sejdi, too, tells me to write prose, I feel really anguished. 20/9 Greed, I must win over. Restraint, a valuable gift. Impassivity, stay with me. Beware. Disquiet ahead. 22/9 Someone who slipslides away from another