BULLET SANJIB CHATTOPADHYAY PDF

Results 1 – 16 of PANCHISHTI SERA HASIR GALPO. by SANJIB CHATTOPADHYAY . Sahityer Sera Galpa (Sanjib Chattopadhyay). by Sanjib. Sanjib Chattopadhyay (Bengali: সঞ্জীব চট্ট্যোপাধ্যায়) is a Bengali novelist and writer of short stories. His style is characterized by use of short satirical. 26 sept. Forum de la guilde pve La Table Ronde sur le server Earthquake.

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After a long time I have returned to my childhood land. Nowadays I live in a distant foreign country. What would I do? I had to go where fate took me to. I have come for several days; my mind was desperate to come for last few days. No relatives of mine live here now. My father, mother, uncle, aunt, my elder sister. No one is alive now. There are some families all the members of which die. Their friends, relatives — all. Gossiping in crowd with all, eating puffed rice with mustard oil, bell sound from the worship room, delicious scent from the kitchen — all these types of happiness are barred by their fate.

I am one of those. Death has took away all of my near and dear ones. In this vast universe, I am totally alone. All I have is a heap of stories. Story of my father, story of my mother, story of my elder sister. If I knew how to write, how many things I could have written! This place of my childhood is on the bank of the Ganges.

Our school was also on the bank of this Ganges. The school is still existent; but what happened to it! It must have been a long time since it was painted last. It is time of summer vacation now. I have entered into it through the gate. No one to stop me. The room for those guards is near to the gate. When I was a student here, Ramadhor lived in this room, and lived Keshoram, his brother.

The two were very good fellows. In summer, our school used to have morning shifts. There were two jasmine trees in the two sides of the gate. In morning what a fragrance they spread! The two trees are now no more. It is unlikely that Ramadhor and Keshoram would live till now.

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They too must have left this world.

Ramadhor used to sell boiled gram and chickpea. My father used to give me one anna every day.

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I used to eat gram and chickpea with that one anna in a green sal leaf. With chili and onion. The taste is still stuck in my tongue. Who can forget the taste of childhood? No morning shift now, no Ramadhor, and no children to eat gram and chickpea.

Ramadhor was a quiet man, a worshipper of the god Rama. He used to laugh all the time. The locked room reminded me of all the memories with them. Does anyone live in this room now?

Along the small stoned path, I stopped in front of the entrance of the building. Not swept for chattopashyay long time. A marble plate in the right wall. The names of the alumnae who became famed in their later life are inscribed in the plate. No names after fifty. I read the whole plate. Then entered into the building. Large classrooms in both sides. Doors of blind plates. Queues of benches inside. Heaps of dirt beside the windows. Standing there, I was hypnotized. Visualized that the room was full of students — boys.

I was sitting on the second bench. In chhattopadhyay was Kumudbabu holding the class. At first, he was checking our attendance in the register book.

The Return by Sanjib Chattopadhyay

I can hear the sound of the chalk used to write on the board. The sound of the falling duster on the table. He would write a drill of simplification. I would be called for very soon — come to the board. He looked at me with intense amazement in his eyes, if I could do that.

He would say, very good.

I had big hopes with some of you! Suddenly the chalk broke. One side of the blackboard is slightly down. We too were used to writing these. My classmate, Kishor used to draw very beautiful cartoons; I have heard that he is now in Paris.

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He is now in a very big job cnattopadhyay Foreign Service. Who knew Kishor would be such a big man! Almost regularly, holding his own ears, he had to remain standing in the class for misdeeds. He was sharp at misdeeds. In their jolly mood, our teachers used to say him, Kishor, if you could use this talent of you in studies, who else could stop you?

Sanjib Chattopadhyay

I recalled an incident of a random day. Satyen used to sit just in front sanjih Kishor. The habit of Satyen was that he used to run after the teachers just immediately after the classes were over and ask them a question — any question. He intended to show how enthusiastic and good a student he was! What an eagerness of him for knowledge! We regarded that as an extra-curricular activity of Satyen. On that day the last class of history was just over.

Dwijenbabu was just approaching towards the stairway for chattopahyay second floor, while Satyen was running after him as usual.

A long rope was tied to the back of his pant, and an empty can of tin was tied to the end of the rope. As he was running the can was making unbearable sounds. Like the fire alarm.

The whole class was laughing out loud. Hearing the alarm-like sound of the can, Dwijenbabu was running to the stairway. The Headmaster came hurriedly. Even till now Satyen did not understand the real matter. Why the sound was. He was running up through the same chagtopadhyay as Dwijenbabu did, and the empty can started making that noise more severely. This time the headmaster caught Satyen by his hair and started beating him mercilessly.

Why are you beating me? I was just sanuib to know about the internal affairs of the Sepoy Rebellion. Ramadhar came and saved Satyen. He untied the rope and the can. Kishor at that time became the most attentive student.