Anandalipi 2024 by Ananda Mandir

of Ananda Mandir

New Jersey

Anandalipi

A Magazine Published Annually by

ANANDA MANDIR

A Tax-Exempt, Non-Profit Organization

269 Cedar Grove Lane; Somerset, NJ 08873

Tel: 732.873.9821

Website: www.anandamandir.org

PUBLICATIONS COMMITTEE

Chairperson:

Debajyoti Chatterji, debsmee572@gmail.com

Assistant Chairperson: Subrata Bhaumik, bhaumik.subrata@gmail.com

Editor-in-Chief:

Amitabha Bagchi,amitabhanj@gmail.com

Executive Editor, Anandalipi: Subhodev Das, subhodev.das@gmail.com

Executive Editor, Ananda Sangbad: Debajyoti Chatterji, debsmee572@gmail.com (Acting)

Editors:

Subrata Bhaumik, bhaumik.subrata@gmail.com

Sushmita Dutta,sushmitadutt2@gmail.com

Amrita Kangle, amritakangle@hotmail.com

Nupur Lahiri,nupurlahiri@aol.com

Sophia Mitra, sophiamit@yahoo.com

Rahul Ray, bapi@bu.edu

Associate Editors: Ruby Banerjea, r_banerjea@yahoo.com

Advisor: Ashok Rakhit, ashokrakhit@gmail.com

Cover Design: Pradipta Mallick

About the cover:

A copyrighted landscape painting.

Technical Assistance and Layout: Nirmalya Prachanda

Compose: Mita Bhattacharya

Ananda Mandir’s Board of Trustees and Committees (2023-2024)

Officers

(Members of the Executive Committee are identified with asterisks against their names)

President: Anjan Lahiri (*)

Vice Presidents: Debajyoti Chatterji (*), Ashok Rakhit (*) and Jai Prakash Biswas(*)

General Secretary: Arun Bhowmik (*)

Treasurer: Sanchoy Das (*)

Assistant Treasurer: Pradip Majumdar

Other BOT Members:

Jayadratha Bhowmick (*), Prabir Biswas, Chanu Das, Nimai Ghose, Sajal Mukherjee (*), Biswajyoti Nayak, Nilotpal Paul, Mitra Purkayastha, Anup Rakhit, Uma Roychowdhury, Dipak Sarkar, Shyamal Sarkar, Rik Sen, Utpal Sengupta, Mita Sinha (*), Sankha Ghosh, Animesh Mozumder

Priest: Biswajyoti Nayak

Tagore Hall Manager: Kirit Dalal

Other Committees and Subcommittees

Award & Recognition

Ashok Rakhit (Co-Chair

Debajyoti Chatterji (Co-Chair)

Subrata Bhaumik

Susmita Biswas

Amitabha Bagchi

Dipak Sarkar

Jerry GaMarsh (Adjunct)

Maintenance

Arun Bhowmik (Co-Chair)

Chanu Das(Co-Chair)

Prabir Biswas

Pradip Majumdar

Communication

Jayadratha Bhowmick (Co-Chair)

Nilotpal Paul (Co-Chair)

Community Relations

Utpal Sengupta (Co-Chair)

Prabir Biswas

Constitution, Policies & Procedures

Dipak Sarkar (Chair)

Kamalesh Sirkar

Debajyoti Chatterji

Ashok Rakhit

Jai Prakash Biswas

Anjan Lahiri

Construction

Ashok Rakhit (Chair)

Prabir Biswas (Asst Chair)

Arun Bhowmik

Pradip Majumdar

Cultural Activities

Sajal Mukherjee (Chair)

Satyajit Bhattacharya

Arun Bhowmik

Suranjan Bhanja Choudhury

Mitra Purkayastha

Utpal Sengupta

Priya Das

Anshuman Goswami

Major Events Coordination

Jai Prakash Biswas(Co-Chair)

Anjan Lahiri (Co-Chair)

Subhrojit Dutta(Asst Chair)

Chanu Das

Joy Bhowmick

Nilotpal Paul

Soumen Deb

F inancial Analysis & Budget Management

Jai Prakash Biswas(Co-Chair)

Anjan Lahiri (Co-Chair)

Chanu Das (Asst Chair)

Sanchoy Das

Pradip Majumdar

Audit Committee

Anjan Lahiri (Co-Chair)

Suman Banerjee(Co-Chair)

Sanchoy Das

Food Arrangement

Jai Prakash Biswas(Chair)

Ruby Sarkar (Asst Chair)

Uma Roychowdhuri (Asst Chair)

Suman Banerjee

Tapati Bandopadhyay

Suparna Biswas

Shom Chatterjee

Sanchoy Das

Nemai Ghosh

Pradip Majumdar

Debasish Mukherjee

Santosh Mukherjee

Anupom Saha

Ujjal Sanyal

Subhrojit Dutta

Soumen Deb

Swati Deb

Animesh Mozumder

Fund-Raising

Anjan Lahiri (Co-Chair)

Jai Prakash Biswas (Co-Chair)

Debajyoti Chatterji

Dipak Sarkar

Krishna Bhattacharya

Surya Dutta

Krishna Dutta Roy

Biswajyoti Nayak

Ashok Rakhit

Nilotpal Paul

Anjan Lahiri

Sankha Ghosh

Humanitarian Activities

Utpal Sengupta(Chair)

Literary Discussion

Subrata Bhaumik (Chair)

Amitabha Bagchi

Membership Information

Jayadratha Bhowmick (Co-Chair)

Nilotpal Paul (Co-Chair)

Donation Collection

Bandana Rakhit (Chair)

Suparna Biswas (Asst Chair)

Kalyan Basu

Bimal Biswas

Sikha Chatterjee

Purba Lahiri

Mitra Purkayastha

Anup Rakhit

Dipak Sen

Supriya Sen

Tandra Bhowmick

Subhechha Paul

Puja & Religious Services

Biswajyoti Nayak (Co-Chair)

Mita Sinha (Co-Chair)

Rik Sen (Asst-Chair)

Chhanda Aditya

Rita Bhowmik

Susmita Biswas

Lopa Das

Soma Dutta

Rina Ganguli

Ambalika Mukherjee

Sharbani Mukherjee

Soma Rakhit

Ranjana Sanyal

Publication

Debajyoti Chatterji (Chair)

Subrata Bhaumik (Asst Chair)

Amitabha Bagchi

Subhodev Das

Sushmita Dutta

Amrita Kangle

Nupur Lahiri

Ruby Banerjea

Sophia Mitra

Rahul Ray

Strategic Planning

Ashok Rakhit (Chair)

Joy Bhowmick

Jai Prakash Biswas

Debajyoti Chatterji

Sumit Ganguli

Anjan Lahiri

Sajal Mukherjee

Nilotpal Paul

Dipak Sarkar

Kamalesh Sirkar

Youth Activities — K isholoy

Dipak Sarkar (Chair)

Youth Activities – New Programs

Sudipta Bhanja Choudhury (Chair)

Evergreen Club

Prabir Biswas (Chair)

Susmita Biswas (Asst Chair)

Debajyoti Chatterji

Sikha Chatterji

Writers Club

Debajyoti Chatterji (Chair)

Amitabha Bagchi (Asst Chair)

K itchen Maintenance & Food Safety

Sipra Bhol

Kirit Dalal (Co-Chair)

Uma Roychodhury

Ujjal Sanyal

Swati Deb (Co-Chair)

Soumen Deb

Tapati Bandopadhyay

Office Adminstration

Sanchoy Das (Co-Chair)

Rama Haldar (Co-Chair)

Anup Rakhit

Kirit Dalal

Rita Bhowmik

Susmita Biswas

Lopa Das

Soma Dutta

Rina Ganguli

Ambalika Mukherjee

Editorial

Dear Readers of Anandalipi

On behalf of the editorial board, I extend our heartiest Sharodiya greetings to you.

We are delighted to present Anandalipi, the flagship literary publication of Ananda Mandir, in both printed and electronic formats. In this edition, we have curated a diverse and captivating collection of essays, short stories, po ems, and personal experiences, written in both Bengali and English. Some of these articles offer valuable insights on global affairs from various perspectives. Regrettably, this edition does not feature a Youth Section unlike in previous years. I, therefore, strongly urge parents and mentors to encourage contributions from the next generations. Nonetheless, we hope that reading this magazine brings you as much joy as it did for us to compile it.

Ananda Mandir continues to serve as a guiding light for the Ben gali immigrant community in North America, supporting religious and cultural endeavors. Our temple hosts both public and private religious ceremonies throughout t he year, such as annaprashan (rice feeding ceremony) and marriages. Cultural events, including music, drama, and dance performances, take place at the Tagore Hall. Moreover, Ananda Mandir proudly organizes the annual Gayatri GaMarsh Memorial Award for Literary Excellence, along with various publications and regular group meetings, such as the Writers Club and Sahitya O Alochana (Literature and Discussion). The Evergreen Club of Ananda Mandir hosts engaging talks on important subjects like retirement, health, and leisure. Additionally, the club offers chances for seniors to connect with others and take part in diverse activities at Ananda Mandir.

I conclude with a hope of peace for our turbulent world and justice to its inhabitants who long for an amicable life.

Wish you a safe and happy year ahead.

Subhodev Das Executive Editor

Season’s Greetings

Sincere Thanks and Compliments to the readers, authors and editors of

and to

Ananda Mandir

for years of continued and critical support of our literary efforts!

President’s Message

In life people first seek ‘Financial Stability’, then they want ‘Recognition’ and then they seek ‘Belonging’. This is a modification of the famous ‘Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs’ modified for the Digital Age. Over the last several years, through the Covid Pandemic and beyond, Ananda Mandir has today established itself as a fulcrum of social connections for the community bringing to us tremendous belonging. We are collectively grateful for that.

Including the regular monthly Puja’s there are nearly 55 events organized on a yearly basis at Ananda Mandir. In addition, our Temple Priest, Bishwabhai, conducts almost 15 private pujas a month. This requires a tremendous amount of community involvement, volunteer efforts and of course funds. Thanks to o ur regular puja donations and the dedication of our donors through the Annual Fund Raising efforts, today Ananda Mandir has been able to pay back nearly 50% of the total loans that it had taken to build the Temple and the Tagore Hall complex.

In the years ahead we look forward to continuing to serve the community and for the community to become more closely associated with the various activities at Ananda Mandir. In addition to the various activities around Puja’s, we have Cultural events, Publications, the Ananda Mandir School of Arts, the Literary Club, the Evergreen Club etc. The full list of committees is available in the previous pages and on our website.

We look forward to everyone’s participation in continuing to strengthen Ananda Mandir as an institution and we thank you for your support and engagement over the years.

Anjan Lahiri President

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Content

English Section English Section English Section English Section English Section

Prose

 Roots Revive 

Amit Kar 118

 A Meditation on Rakhal Raja 

Bakul Banerjee 122

 Promotion 

Basab Dasgupta 126

 Teachers’ Day 

Binoy R Samanta 131

 Mona Lisa 

Debashis Roy Chowdhury 136

 The Souvenir 

Sanghamitra Roy Chowdhury 140

 An Ode to Sleep 

Mitrajit Mukherjee 146

 A Memorable Trip to Prague 

Mandira Chattopadhyay 150

 Dagha Baaz 

Tathagata Ghosh 153

 Pursuit 

Ranjana Sanyal 162

Poem 163 - 167

 Fire 

Vishnupriya

 Olderhood 

Vishnupriya

 Nickname 

Mandira Chattopadhyay

 Ode to the Beloved 

Mandira Chattopadhyay

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ANANDA MANDIR

a huge success as a center for Bengali culture and heritage!

~Ü˛ Ó§ˆÏhsˇÓ˚ §Ü˛yˆÏ° !ë˛ÈÜ˛

Ü˛Ó˚°yü xyÓ˚ öÎ˚ ~ÓyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê%˛

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ÎyˆÏÓy ˆòyöy ˆüyöy Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚

!ë˛Ü˛ Ü˛Ó˚°yü ˛õ%Ó˚%!°Î˚yÓ˚

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ˆåÈÔ ü%ˆÏáy¢ @ˇÃyü– ï˛yÓ˚

Ü˛yˆÏåÈ•z ˜ï˛!Ó˚ •ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ !ÓŸª xy!òÓy§# @ˇÃyü xyÓ˚ ÌyÜ˛ÓyÓ˚

ˆ•yüˆÏﬁê˛– ˆ§ Ü˛Ìy ˛õˆÏÓ˚ Ó°!åÈ– ~Ü˛ê%˛ ˆáÑyç áÓÓ˚

ÓˆÏ°ö

!ü‹Tc– !ö!ò≈‹T àhsˇÓƒ

ˆﬁê˛¢ˆÏö §!ë˛Ü˛ §üˆÏÎ˚ ˆê˛Δö Ìyü°– •%ˆÏí˛¸y•%!í˛¸ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ öyü°yü

ÓÓ˚yû)˛ü Ì%!í˛¸ Ó°Ó˚yü˛õ%Ó˚– ˆ•yüˆÏﬁê˛ ˆÏÌˆÏÜ˛ ÓˆÏ°•z !òˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°

ˆöˆÏü !Ü˛å%È ˆáˆÏÎ˚ xy§ˆÏÓöñ xy§ˆÏï˛ ~Ü˛ê%˛

ã˛yö Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈ Óy à,•ﬁÌy°#Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏç ÓƒhﬂÏ– xÑyÜ˛y ÓÑyÜ˛y ˛õÌ

ÜÑ˛yÜ˛Ó˚ xyÓ˚ ~ˆÏ°yˆÏüˆÏ°y ˛õyÌ%ˆÏÓ˚ Ó˚yhﬂÏy– ~ˆÏÜ˛ÓyˆÏÓ˚•z

ï˛yÓ˚y•z âÓ˚ §yçyˆÏï˛ ˆåÈyˆÏê˛y Óí˛¸ ü%ˆÏáy¢ !öˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÎ˚– Óy!Ü˛

§üÎ˚ ã˛y£ÏÓy§ Óy xöƒ Ü˛yˆÏç ÓƒhﬂÏ ÌyˆÏÜ˛ üyö%£Ï– ˆåÈÔ

ü%ˆÏáy¢=ˆÏ°y ~ü!öˆÏï˛•z §%®Ó˚ ï˛yÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ ~Ü˛§yˆÏÌ ~ï˛ Ó˚Ç

ˆÓÓ˚ˆÏäÓ˚ ü%ˆÏáyˆÏ¢Ó˚ ˆòyÜ˛yö ˆÎö xöƒ û%˛Óö ˜ï˛!Ó˚ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ˆÏåÈ–

ã˛!í˛¸òyÓ˚ ã˛yÓ˚ üyÌyÓ˚ ˆüyˆÏí˛¸•z ü%ˆÏáyˆÏ¢Ó˚ ˆòyÜ˛yö=ˆÏ°y ˛õ§Ó˚y

§y!çˆÏÎ˚ ÓˆÏ§ xyˆÏåÈ– ˛õMÈ˛y¢ ê˛yÜ˛y ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚Ü˛ •yçyÓ˚ ê˛yÜ˛yÓ˚ ü%ˆÏáy¢ xyˆÏåÈ– ï˛ˆÏÓ

xy°yòy Ü˛Ó˚y

•Î˚– ï˛yÓ˚ Ä˛õÓ˚ Ó˚ˆÏäÓ˚ ≤ÃˆÏ°˛õ– =ÑˆÏí˛¸y

Ó˚ˆÏä xyë˛y !ü!¢ˆÏÎ˚ !Ó!û˛ß¨ Ó˚ˆÏä Ó˚!äö Ü˛Ó˚y

•Î˚ ü%ˆÏáy¢=!°ˆÏÜ˛– ˆÓ!¢Ó˚û˛yà ˛õ!Ó˚ÓyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

˛õò!Ó §)eôÓ˚– ò!Ó˚o Óyäy!°

˛õ!Ó˚ÓyÓ˚=ˆÏ°yÓ˚ ~•z Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚Ü˛ üyˆÏ§Ó˚ xyÎ˚

§Ç§yÓ˚ ã˛y°yˆÏï˛ û˛Ó˚§y– ˛õ%Ó˚&!°Î˚yÓ˚ ~•z

xMÈ˛ˆÏ° !ü◊ çy!ï˛ ÓˆÏî≈Ó˚ Ó§Óy§– ÎyÓ˚y

ü%ˆÏáy¢ ˜ï˛!Ó˚ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ï˛yÓ˚y ˆåÈÔ öyã˛ öyˆÏã˛ öy–

xyÓyÓ˚ xy!òÓy§# Ä Óyäy!° !üˆÏ° öyã˛

öyˆÏã˛– xyÓyÓ˚ ˆåÈÔ~Ó˚ ÓyçöòyÓ˚ xy°yòy

ˆày¤˛#– Ó˚yhﬂÏyÓ˚ Ä˛õÓ˚ ˆòyÜ˛yö˛õyê˛ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏ°Ä

á%Ó §yçyˆÏöy çüÜ˛yˆÏ°y ˆòyÜ˛yö ˆö•z–

ü!°ö Ä xö%Iμ° ˆòyÜ˛yö ˆòáˆÏ°•z ˆÓyé˛y ÎyÎ˚ ~áyöÜ˛yÓ˚ üyö%ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ xÌ≈˜Ïö!ï˛Ü˛ §yüÌ≈

Shar Shar Shar Shar Sharodiya Gr odiya Gr odiya Gr odiya Gr odiya Greetings eetings eetings eetings eetings

To the readers, contributors, and patrons of Anandalipi and to

Ananda Mandir

Your encouragement and support over the years have been key to our literary efforts!

Subhodev

x!öˆÏü£Ï xyÓ˚ ~Ü˛y öÎ˚

í˛z•zÜ˛~ˆÏu˛Ó˚ ˆàê˛ê%˛ˆÏàòyˆÏÓ˚ ühsˇÓƒ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚

ÚÚ!Ü˛ ˆ• û˛y° ˆï˛y⁄ x!ú˛ˆÏ§ á%Ó !Ó!ç öy !Ü˛⁄ÛÛ

~Ó˚Ü˛ü ò%Û~Ü˛ê˛y ÓÑyôy àˆÏï˛Ó˚ ˛õÓ˚ í˛zÍ§y• •y!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ xöƒ çê˛°yÎ˚

!àˆÏÎ˚ à°yÓy!ç Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛y– !öˆÏçˆÏòÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸ˆÏï˛ ˛õy!ê≈˛ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏ°Ä

ÓyçyÓ˚ Ü˛Ó˚y åÈyí˛¸y x!öˆÏüˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ ˆÜ˛yö û)˛!üÜ˛y !åÈ° öy–x!öˆÏü£Ï x˛õˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ Óy!í˛¸Ó˚ ˛õy!ê≈˛Ó˚ ˆ¢£Ï !òˆÏÜ˛ ày!í˛¸

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ã%˛˛õã˛y˛õ ˆ§•z Óy!í˛¸Ó˚ Óy•zˆÏÓ˚ xˆÏ˛õ«˛y Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛y– xööƒy

ÎyˆÏÓ– öyñ ˆï˛üö •Î˚ !ö– üˆÏ° ÎyÄÎ˚y ˆåÈˆÏí˛¸ xö°y•zö ˆÜ˛öyÜ˛yê˛y ÷Ó˚& Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚!åÈ° xööƒy–

Óy ˆÓ˚ˆÏà xy=ö •ˆÏÎ˚ ày!í˛¸

!öˆÏÎ˚ ˆÓ!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚

~•z Ó%!é˛ ˛õ%!°ˆÏ¢Ó˚ ˆú˛yö xyˆÏ§– í»˛y•z!û˛Ç ~Ó˚ Óƒy˛õyˆÏÓ˚ xööƒy §yÓôyö# !åÈ° öy–

ô#ˆÏÓ˚ ô#ˆÏÓ˚ §yüy!çÜ˛ ˆü°yˆÏü¢yÎ˚ •z!ï˛ ˆê˛ˆÏö!åÈ° ˆ§–

ò%à≈y˛õ%ˆÏçyÎ˚ ˆàˆÏ°Äñ ˆ˛õåÈˆÏöÓ˚ §y!Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ÓˆÏ§ §üÎ˚ê˛y ˛õyÓ˚

Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛y– ˆﬁê˛ˆÏç xöƒï˛ü ﬁê˛yÓ˚ ï˛yÓ˚Ü˛y xööƒy– ˆ§ àyöê˛y

xyÓyÓ˚ !ç !˛õ ~§ ˆòˆÏá x!öˆÏü£Ïñ ÚÚöyÊ xyç ˆû˛yàyˆÏÓ

üˆÏö •ˆÏFåÈ– ày!í˛¸=ˆÏ°y ~Ü˛ê%˛Ä ~ˆÏàyˆÏFåÈ öyÛÛ x!öˆÏü£Ï

•zû˛yˆÏÜ˛ ~Ü˛ê˛y ˆüˆÏ§ç ˛õyë˛yÎ˚– §ˆÏD §ˆÏD çÓyÓ xyˆÏ§ñ

ÚÚˆê˛Ü˛ •zˆÏÎ˚yÓ˚ ê˛y•züñ xy•z í˛z•z° ÄˆÏÎ˚ê˛ñÛÛ §ˆÏD ~Ü˛ê˛y •y§ƒü%á

•zˆÏüy!ç–

üˆÏö ˛õˆÏí˛¸ ÎyÎ˚ñ xööƒy á%Ó ≤ÃˆÏÎ˚yçˆÏö åÈyí˛¸y ï˛yˆÏÜ˛ ˆüˆÏ§ç

!òï˛ öy– §Ó•z ˆÜ˛ˆÏçy Ü˛Ìy !åÈ°ñ Úò%ô ú%˛!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈÛ Óy xü%Ü˛

àƒyˆÏçê˛ê˛y Ü˛yç Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈ öyÛÛ •zû˛yÓ˚ üï˛ !ü!‹T ˆÏüˆÏ§ç xööƒy

!°áˆÏï˛ çyöˆÏï˛y !Ü˛öy ˆ§ê˛y x!öˆÏü£Ï xhsˇï˛É çyöyÓ˚ §%ˆÏÎyà

˛õyÎ˚ !ö–

ˆ§ÓyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛y àyˆÏöÓ˚ ˆ≤Ãy@ˇÃyˆÏü !àˆÏÎ˚ !òö §yˆÏï˛Ü˛ ˆú˛ˆÏÓ˚ !ö–ˆú˛yö §%•zã˛ xú˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆÓ˚ˆÏá!åÈ°– ﬂiyö#Î˚ ÎyÓ˚y

˛õÓ˚!òö•z !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚!åÈ°– xööƒy öy!Ü˛ xyd#ˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Óy!í˛¸

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆ§ñ ~Ü˛ê%˛ xyôê%˛ ≤Ã&!öÇ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ñ

xyÓ˚ ˆÓ!¢ ò)Ó˚ àí˛¸yÎ˚ !ö– çÓyÓ!ò!• Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ üyö%£Ï xööƒy

xöƒe Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚!åÈ°– Ü˛Ìy ≤ÃyÎ˚ !åÈ° öy ò%çˆÏöÓ˚– xÓôy!Ó˚ï˛

ˆ§˛õyˆÏÓ˚¢ö Ä ~Ü˛ ÓåÈˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ üˆÏôƒ !üí˛zã%˛Î˚y° !í˛ˆÏû˛y§≈ •ˆÏÎ˚

ˆà°– xööƒyÓ˚ ˛õˆÏ«˛Ó˚ í˛z!Ü˛° ˆÓ¢ çÑy•yÓyç– xy•zö

xö%ÎyÎ˚# ﬂf#Ó˚ ˆáyÓ˚ˆÏ˛õy£Ï Îy !òˆÏï˛ •ˆÏÓñ ï˛yÓ˚ xB˛ û˛y°•z

òÑyí˛¸yˆÏ°y– x!ú˛ˆÏ§Ó˚ ò% ~Ü˛!ê˛ Ü˛!°à ï˛yˆÏÜ˛ Ü˛ˆÏrê˛ﬁê˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛

˛õÓ˚yü¢≈ !òˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°– x!öˆÏüˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ ~§ˆÏÓ Ó˚&!ã˛ !åÈ° öy– ˆ§

ˆÜ˛yöÓ˚Ü˛ˆÏü !ÓÓy!•ï˛ xÓﬂiy ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ˆÓ!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚

ê%˛Ç Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚

ÚÚˆ• í˛yÓ˚!°ÇÊ •yí˛z •z§ !ò ê˛Δy!ú˛Ü˛⁄ÛÛ

ˆã˛!Ó˚Óœ§ü àyˆÏåÈÓ˚ §y!Ó˚– x!öˆÏü£ ~ §üÎ˚ ~Ü˛ Óƒyà !@ˇÃö!ê˛ !öˆÏçÓ˚ Óí˛¸ üyàê˛yÎ˚ !û˛!çˆÏÎ˚ !òˆÏÎ˚ ò%Û~Ü˛ê˛y ÓˆÏÜ˛Î˚y Ü˛yç ˆ§ˆÏÓ˚ ˆöÎ˚

~Ü˛ê%˛Ä !ÓÓ˚_´ •Î˚ öyñ xyˆÏ°y ˆöû˛yˆÏï˛Ä ÓˆÏ° öy–ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy!òö Óy !ò!òˆÏÜ˛ ˆú˛yö Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ §ÓyÓ˚ áÓÓ˚ ˆöÎ˚– !ò!ò ~Ü˛ÌyÈÙÈˆ§Ü˛ÌyÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ ~Ü˛ÓyÓ˚ Ó°ˆÏÓ•zñ ÚÚû˛y•z!ê˛ ˆòˆÏ¢ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ xyÎ˚ñ !Ü˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ~Ü˛y ˛õˆÏí˛¸ xy!åÈ§⁄ÛÛ !ò!òˆÏÜ˛ •zû˛yÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy

üyö%ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ ã˛yÄÎ˚yÈÙÈ˛õyÄÎ˚yÓ˚ xhsˇ ˆö•z– Ü˛áöÄ

ã˛yÜ˛!Ó˚ÈÙÈÓyÜ˛!Ó˚– Ü˛áöÄ ˆÓ˚yà ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ü%!_´–

˛õy!Ó˚Óy!Ó˚Ü˛ ¢y!hsˇ– Ü˛áöÄ ÓƒÓ§yÎ˚ í˛zß¨!ï˛–

•ˆÏÓ˚Ü˛Ó˚Ü˛ü ≤Ãy!ÆÜ˛yüöy Óy §%áÈÙÈ¢y!hsˇÈÙÈ§ü,!k˛Ó˚

çöƒ ü!®ˆÏÓ˚ÈÙÈüyçyˆÏÓ˚ xyçÄ å%ÈˆÏê˛ ÎyÎ˚ üyö%£Ï–

•ˆÏöƒ •ˆÏÎ˚ ˛õˆÏÓ˚ ï˛yˆÏòÓ˚ ã˛Ó˚ˆÏî– !Ó£ÏÎ˚!ê˛

§ã˛Ó˚yã˛Ó˚ •ˆÏÎ˚ ÌyˆÏÜ˛– çÎ˚ˆÏòÓ ºüîÜ˛yˆÏ°

ˆòˆÏá!åÈ°yü ÄáyˆÏö SÜ˛yäy° áƒy˛õyãÑ˛yˆÏòÓ˚

xy◊ˆÏüÓ˚ ˛õyˆÏ¢V ˆÓy‹Tü ï˛°yÓ˚ üy!ê˛ ü%ˆÏá !ò°

~Ü˛ ÓÎ˚ﬁÜ˛ ü!•°y– !çˆÏK˛§ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ çyöˆÏï˛

˛õy!Ó˚ ˆÓy‹Tüï˛°yÓ˚ üy!ê˛ §Ü˛° ˆÓ˚yà !öÓ˚yüÎ˚

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚– ≤Ãòyö Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ¢y!hsˇ– ~•z ˆÓy‹Tü ï˛°yÎ˚ 16 xyöy ò!«˛îy !òˆÏÎ˚ üy!ê˛ !öˆÏï˛ •Î˚– ˆ§•z

üöﬁÜ˛yüöyÓ˚ Ó˚Ü˛üˆÏú˛Ó˚ !¢Ó¢B˛Ó˚ ˛õy°˛ñ ˛õ!ÿ˛üÓD

ï˛yˆÏÜ˛ xyüÓ˚y x¶˛!ÓŸªy§ Óy Ü%˛§ÇﬁÜ˛yÓ˚

Ó!° öy ˆÜ˛ˆÏöyÊ ˆ°yÜ˛§ÇﬁÜ,!ï˛ˆÏï˛ ~áöÄ ~§Ó !ÓŸªyˆÏ§Ó˚ !ÓˆÏ¢£Ï ~Ü˛ê˛y çyÎ˚ày xyˆÏåÈ–

ÎyˆÏÜ˛ xyüÓ˚y üöﬁÜ˛yüöy Óy üyöï˛ ÓˆÏ° Ìy!Ü˛–

xyÎ˚öy ˆâyí˛¸y ÙÙÙÈ ˛õ%Ó˚yï˛ö ÓˆÏe´ŸªˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ˛õyˆÏ¢

~Ü˛ê˛y @ˇÃyü– öyü °yD%!°Î˚y– ˆ§áyˆÏö xyˆÏåÈ

ôÓ˚ˆÏüÓ˚ ü!®Ó˚– ü!®ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ !˛õåÈˆÏö ~Ü˛ê˛y àyåÈ–

ÄáyˆÏö ï%˛ˆÏ° Ó˚yáy xyˆÏåÈ Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚Ü˛!ê˛ xyÎ˚öy–

!çˆÏK˛§ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ çyöˆÏï˛ ˛õy!Ó˚ Ä=ˆÏ°y üyöˆÏï˛Ó˚

xyÎ˚öy– ÎyˆÏòÓ˚ ˆã˛yˆÏáÓ˚ §ü§ƒy •Î˚ ï˛yÓ˚y

°yD%!°Î˚yÓ˚ ôÓ˚ü ë˛yÜ%˛Ó˚ˆÏÜ˛ üyöï˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚– üyöï˛

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ xyÎ˚öy– ˆã˛yˆÏáÓ˚ ò,!‹T !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆ˛õˆÏ° üyö%£Ï

!òˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÎ˚ xyÎ˚öy– ÓyÓyÓ˚ ÌyˆÏö– xyÓyÓ˚

üyöï˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏë˛Ó˚

˜Ó!ã˛eƒ

ÎyÎ˚– xyçÄ– Ó˚yü˛õ%Ó˚•yê˛ ˆÓ˚°ˆÏﬁê˛¢ö ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ~Ü˛ê%˛ ò)ˆÏÓ˚ ~Ü˛!ê˛ çyÎ˚ày xyˆÏåÈ– ˆ§áyˆÏö xyˆÏåÈ Ó%üˆÏÜ˛ŸªÓ˚# ï˛°y–

§yôyÓ˚î ˆ°yˆÏÜ˛ ÓˆÏ° ÓB%˛ Óy Ó%B˛y ï˛°y– •yï˛ÈÙÈ˛õy ˆÜ˛ˆÏê˛ ˆàˆÏ°

xyçÄ Ó‡ üyö%£Ï Ó%üˆÏÜ˛ŸªÓ˚# üyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ üyöï˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚– üyöï˛

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Úüy!ê˛Û– xyÓ˚ !Ü˛å%È•z öy– üˆÏöÓ˚ •zFåÈy Ó%üˆÏÜ˛ŸªÓ˚#Ó˚ Ü,˛˛õyÎ˚

!òˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÎ˚ üy!ê˛– Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚Ü˛ ôyüy–üy§Ü˛°y•z ÈÙÙÙÈ üyí˛¸@ˇÃyˆÏüÓ˚

ÓyÓyÓ˚ ÌyˆÏö ˆÜ˛yöÄ §ü§ƒy !öˆÏÎ˚ ˆàˆÏ° ÓyÓyˆÏÜ˛ üyöï˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ •Î˚– üöﬁÜ˛yüöy ˛õ)î≈ •ˆÏ° !òˆÏï˛ •Î˚ àÑyçy– ˆÎüö xyDyÓ˚à!í˛¸Î˚yÓ˚ ¢y!hsˇÓ˚yü ÓyÓy Óy üˆÏÕ‘ŸªÓ˚ !¢Ó ü!®ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ !û˛ï˛ˆÏÓ˚ xÓ!ﬂiï˛

Ü%˛¢# Ä !û˛«˛y ÈÙÙÙÈ !Ó•yÓ˚# §¡±òyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ üyö%ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ åÈê˛

üyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ ˛õ%ˆÏçy !ÓˆÏ¢£Ï ô)üôyü Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ •ˆÏÎ˚ ÌyˆÏÜ˛– ~•z ˛õ%ˆÏçyÓ˚

§üÎ˚ xˆÏöˆÏÜ˛ Ü%˛¢# Ä !û˛«˛y üyö!§Ü˛ Ó˚yˆÏá– Ü%˛¢# •° !ÓˆÏçyí˛¸

§ÇáƒÜ˛ xyá !öˆÏÎ˚ xˆÏöÜ˛ê˛y åÈÓ˚öy ï˛°yÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y Ü˛Ó˚y •Î˚–

ÄáyˆÏö ÌyˆÏÜ˛ üy!ê˛Ó˚ ê˛ˆÏÓÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y ~Ü˛!ê˛ ˛õye– ˆ§•z ˛õyˆÏe

Ó˚yáy •Î˚ !ë˛Ü%˛Î˚yñ àçyñ ú˛°– ˛õye!ê˛Ó˚ ã˛y!Ó˚!òˆÏÜ˛ ô!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ ˆòÄÎ˚y

!Ó£ÏÎ˚!ê˛ˆÏÜ˛

ã˛yòÓ˚ ã˛y˛õyÎ˚– Ü˛áöÄ í˛z!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ ˆòÄÎ˚y •Î˚ ˆüyÓ˚à–ˆÎüö

öÎ˚ÈÙÈ~àyˆÏÓ˚yÈÙÈ~Ü˛yß¨ ì˛yÜ˛

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚– üyöï˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ àÓ˚&– ˆ§ •zFåÈy ˛õ)Ó˚î

ˆö•z–

!Ü˛å%È !Ü˛å%È §üÎ˚ ~Ü˛ê%˛ xyˆÏåÈ– xˆÏöÜ˛Ü˛y° Ü˛yê˛yÓyÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚

Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚y Îáö ˛õ,!ÌÓ#ˆÏï˛ ÎyÄÎ˚yÓ˚ñ üyˆÏö ˛õ%öç≈ˆÏß√Ó˚ xí≈˛yÓ˚

xyˆÏ§ñ ï˛áö ~Ü˛ê%˛ üö áyÓ˚yˆÏ˛õÓ˚ Óƒy˛õyÓ˚ •Î˚–

~áyˆÏö üyö%£Ï xyˆÏåÈ !Ü˛v !û˛í˛¸ ˆö•z– ~ˆÏÜ˛ x˛õˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

§yˆÏÌ á%Ó !ÓöˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ §yˆÏÌ Ü˛Ìy Ó°ˆÏåÈñ ˜ôÎ≈ƒ ôˆÏÓ˚ xˆÏöƒÓ˚

Ü˛Ìy ÷öˆÏåÈ– é˛àí˛¸y ˆö•zñ üyÓ˚yüy!Ó˚ ˆö•z– á%Ó û˛yˆÏ°y°yàyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛y ˛õ!Ó˚ˆÏÓ¢– •ˆÏÓ öy•z Óy ˆÜ˛öÊ ˆÓˆÏåÈ

˛õ%îƒÓyö

Ó#Ó˚Ó° öyˆÏü–

°y!ú˛ˆÏÎ˚ í˛zˆÏë˛ Ó°° ÈÙÙÙ xy˛õ!ö•z Óyò¢y• xyÜ˛ÓˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

òÓ˚ÓyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ xyÓ%° ú˛ç°ñ ˜ú˛!çñ ï˛yöˆÏ§öñ ˆê˛yí˛Ó˚ü°ˆÏòÓ˚

üï˛ !Óáƒyï˛ öÓÓ˚ˆÏbÓ˚ ~Ü˛ Ó˚bñ Ó#Ó˚Ó°Ê xy˛õöyÓ˚ ò¢≈ö

ˆ˛õ°yüñ !Ü˛ ˆ§Ôû˛yàƒ xyüyÓ˚– xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ Ó˚yç òÓ˚ÓyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ü%ˆÏá

xy˛õöyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛y Óí˛¸ ˜ï˛° !ã˛e !åÈ°– ˛≤Ã!ï˛!òö xy˛õöyˆÏÜ˛

≤Ãîyü Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Ó˚yç§û˛yÎ˚ ì%˛Ü˛ï˛yü– åÈ!ÓÓ˚ ü%áê˛y

ÈÙÙÙ xyˆÏK˛ í˛z!ö ÓyÇ°yÓ˚ öò#Î˚yÓ˚ Ó˚yçy !åÈˆÏ°ö– ÄöyÓ˚ öyˆÏü•z

~Ü˛§üÎ˚ çyÎ˚àyê˛yÓ˚ öyü •ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ Ü,˛£èöàÓ˚–

ÈÙÙÙ ï˛y xy˛õ!ö üyˆÏö ï%˛!ü ˆ§áyˆÏö !Ü˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛⁄

ÈÙÙÙ ˆï˛üö !Ü˛å%È öÎ˚– xyüyÓ˚ Ü˛ÌyÓyï≈˛yÎ˚ á%!¢ •ˆÏÎ˚ ü•yÓ˚yçy

ïÑ˛yÓ˚ Ó˚yç§û˛yÎ˚ xyüyˆÏÜ˛ ëÑ˛y•z !òˆÏÎ˚!åÈˆÏ°ö– Ü˛yç !åÈ° ˆ°yˆÏÜ˛Ó˚

üˆÏöyÓ˚Oö Ü˛Ó˚y– ˙ Ü˛yç Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ~Ü˛§üÎ˚ xyüyÓ˚

öyˆÏüÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ !ã˛˛õˆÏê˛ ˆà° ÚûÑ˛yí˛¸Û ¢∑ê˛y– !åÈ°yü ˆày˛õy°

ã˛w ≤Ãyüy!öÜ˛ñ •ˆÏÎ˚ ˆà°yü ˆày˛õy° ûÑ˛yí˛¸–

ÈÙÙÙ xy!üÄ ˆï˛y ~•z Ü˛yç•z Ü˛Ó˚ï˛yü– §¡Àyê˛ xyÓ˚ ïÑ˛yÓ˚

˛õ!Ó˚£ÏòˆÏòÓ˚ üˆÏöyÓ˚Oö Ü˛Ó˚y•z !åÈ° xyüyÓ˚ Ü˛yç–

ÈÙÙÙ !Ü˛ˆÏ§ xyÓ˚ !Ü˛ˆÏ§ñ ˆ§yöy xyÓ˚ §#ˆÏ§– ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚ xy˛õ!ö

xyÓ˚ ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚ xy!ü– xy˛õ!ö Ü˛ï˛ ˛õ![˛ï˛ üyö%£Ï– §ÇﬁÜ,ï˛ñ ú˛y!§≈ñ !•!®ñ Ü˛ï˛ û˛y£ÏyÎ˚ xy˛õöyÓ˚ K˛yö– xy˛õ!ö ~Ü˛çö

˛õy•z!ö– ˆåÈyê˛ˆÏÓ°yÎ˚

K˛yˆÏö ˆÜ˛yö ˆû˛çy° ˆö•z– xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ ¢yﬂf üˆÏï˛ ~ê˛y•z

ˆ§Ó˚y K˛yö– ï%˛!ü•z xy§° K˛yö#– ï%˛!ü xöƒˆÏòÓ˚ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛

xy°yòyñ ï˛y•z ü•yÓ˚yç ˆï˛yüyÎ˚ ïÑ˛yÓ˚ Ó˚yç§û˛yÎ˚ çyÎ˚ày

!òˆÏÎ˚!åÈˆÏ°ö– ˆï˛yüyˆÏòÓ˚ Ó˚yç§û˛yÎ˚ !öÿ˛Î˚•z xyˆÏÓ˚y K˛yö#

üyö%£Ï !åÈˆÏ°ö–

ÈÙÙÙ xyˆÏK˛ ï˛y !åÈˆÏ°ö– ˆ§•z §üˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ !Óáƒyï˛ Ü˛!Ó û˛yÓ˚ï˛ã˛wñ

àòyôÓ˚ ï˛Ü≈˛y°B˛yÓ˚ñ Ó˚yç˜ÏÓòƒ xyÎ˚%ˆÏÓ≈òyã˛yÎ≈ ˆày!Ó®Ó˚yüñ

Ü,˛£èyö® Óyã˛ﬂõ!ï˛ˆÏòÓ˚ üï˛ ˛õ![˛ï˛ üyö%ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚y !åÈˆÏ°ö– xyÓ˚ !åÈˆÏ°ö §yôÜ˛ Ü˛!Ó Ó˚yü≤Ã§yò ˆ§ö– ~öyˆÏòÓ˚ §y!ß¨ˆÏôƒ xyüyÓ˚

ç#Óö ôöƒ •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°–ÈÙÙÙ ÓyÉ í˛z_ü– xyFåÈy ~Ü˛ê˛y Ü˛Ìy xyüyÓ˚

ÈÙÙÙ xyüyÓ˚ xÜ˛yç xyüyÓ˚ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ û˛y° xyÓ˚ ˆÜ˛ çyöˆÏÓÊ

ï˛Ó% ÄöyÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ çyöˆÏï˛ ˆã˛ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°yü– í˛z!ö !ï˛öˆÏê˛ öü%öy !òˆÏÎ˚ çyöyˆÏ°ö ˆÎ Ä•zÓ˚Ü˛ü xyˆÏÓ˚y ˆÓ¢ !Ü˛å%È âê˛öy xyˆÏåÈ–

ÈÙÙÙ x§%!Óôy öy ÌyÜ˛ˆÏ° ~Ü˛ê%˛ Ó°ˆÏÓñ !Ü˛ ˆ§•z Ü˛yç Îy ˆï˛yüyÎ˚

xy§ˆÏï˛ ˆòÎ˚!ö– Óí˛¸ çyöˆÏï˛ •zFåÈy Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈ–

ÈÙÙÙ xy˛õöyˆÏÜ˛ çyöyˆÏï˛ ˆÜ˛yö x§%!Óôy ˆö•z Ü˛_yñ xyüÓ˚y

ˆï˛y ~Ü˛•z °y•zˆÏöÓ˚ ˆ°yÜ˛–

~Ü˛ÓyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ xy°%Ó˚ =òyˆÏü xy=ö ˆ°ˆÏà!åÈ°– xy!ü ï˛áö

ï˛yÓ˚ §yüˆÏö !òˆÏÎ˚ Îy!FåÈ°yü– xyôˆÏ˛õyí˛¸y xy°%=ˆÏ°y à!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚

Óy•zˆÏÓ˚ ã˛ˆÏ° ~ˆÏ§!åÈ°– xyüyÓ˚ ï˛áö á%Ó !áˆÏò ˆ˛õˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ–

ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ !Ü˛å%È áyÄÎ˚y •Î˚!ö–

üyö!§Ü˛ xyâyï˛ !òˆÏÎ˚åÈ–ÛÛ

öy

xyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛yÄ xy°%Ó˚ ˆÜ˛§– ~Ü˛ÓyÓ˚ •yˆÏê˛ Îy!FåÈ°yü xy°%

!Ü˛öˆÏï˛– Ó˚yhﬂÏyÎ˚ ~Ü˛ Ó¶%˛Ó˚ §yˆÏÌ ˆòáy •°– Ó¶%˛ê˛y !üã˛ˆÏÜ˛

ÓòüyˆÏÎ˚¢– xy!ü xy°% !Ü˛öˆÏï˛ Îy!FåÈ ÷ˆÏö Ó°°ñ ÚÚï%˛•z Î!ò

•yê˛ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ !Óöy ˛õÎ˚§yÎ˚ xy°% !Ü˛ˆÏö xyöˆÏï˛ ˛õy!Ó˚§ ï˛y•ˆÏ° xy!ü ò¢ ê˛yÜ˛y ˆòÓ–ÛÛ ò¢ ê˛yÜ˛yÓ˚ ˆ°yû˛ê˛y §ÇÓÓ˚î Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ˛õyÓ˚°yü öy– Ó¶%˛Ó˚ ≤ÃhﬂÏyˆÏÓ Ó˚y!ç •ˆÏÎ˚ ˆà°yü– ¢#ˆÏï˛Ó˚ §üÎ˚ñ xy°%Ó˚ ˆÎyàyö ≤Ãã%˛Ó˚ñ ú˛ˆÏ° òyüÄ Ü˛ü– ò% ~Ü˛ çyÎ˚àyÎ˚ òÓ˚òyü Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ çyö°yü

˛õyÄÎ˚y ÎyˆÏÓ– xy!ü ï˛áö xy°%ÄÎ˚y°yˆÏòÓ˚

âê˛öy=ˆÏ°y ÷öˆÏï˛ xy@ˇÃ•#ñ ï˛y•zï˛Ê !ë˛Ü˛ xyˆÏåÈ xy!ü ò%ˆÏê˛y âê˛öyÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy Ó°!åÈ–

Óyò¢y• xyÜ˛ÓˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ˆåÈˆÏ° ˆ§!°ˆÏüÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ üsf#Ó˚ ˆåÈˆÏ°Ó˚ á%Ó Ó¶%˛c !åÈ°– ï˛yÓ˚y §Ó §üÎ˚ ~Ü˛§yˆÏÌ ÌyÜ˛ï˛ñ

Ü˛yˆÏöÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ü%á !öˆÏÎ˚ !àˆÏÎ˚ ú%˛§ú%˛§ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy Ó°yÓ˚ û˛yö

Ü˛Ó˚°yü– ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ ü%áê˛y §!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ ~ˆÏö Ó°°yüñ ÚÚÎy Ó°°yü

ï˛y ˆÎö Ü˛yí˛zˆÏÜ˛ çy!öÄ öy–ÛÛ

ÄˆÏï˛•z Ü˛yç •°– xy!ü Äáyö ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ã˛ˆÏ° ~ˆÏ§ xyí˛¸yˆÏ°

òÑy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ üsf# ˛õ%eˆÏÜ˛ Ó°ˆÏï˛ ÷ö°yü ÈÙÙÙ í˛z!ö !Ü˛ ÓˆÏ° ˆàˆÏ°ö

ˆ§!°ü⁄

ˆ§!°ü Ó°° ÈÙÙÙ !Ü˛å%È•z öy– í˛z!ö Ü˛yˆÏöÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ü%á ~ˆÏö ÷ô%

ú%˛§ú%˛§ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏ°ö–

ÈÙÙÙ !Ü˛å%È öy Ó°ˆÏ° í˛z!ö ÎyÓyÓ˚ §üÎ˚ Ó°ˆÏ°ö ˆÜ˛ö ˆÎñ

ÚÚÜ˛yí˛zˆÏÜ˛ çy!öÄ öy⁄ÛÛ

ˆ§!°ü xˆÏöÜ˛û˛yˆÏÓ ˆÓyé˛yÓyÓ˚ ˆã˛‹Ty Ü˛Ó˚° !Ü˛v üsf# ˛õ%e

!ÓŸªy§ Ü˛Ó˚° öy– ˆ§•z!òˆÏö•z ÄˆÏòÓ˚ Ó¶%˛ˆÏcÓ˚ ˆ¢£Ïñ xyÓ˚

Ü˛áˆÏöy ÄˆÏòÓ˚ ~Ü˛§yˆÏÌ ˆòáy ÎyÎ˚!ö–xyÓ˚ ~Ü˛!òˆÏöÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy– ˆ§!òö Óyò¢y• á%Ó

Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ~Ü˛ê˛y !û˛«˛y ã˛y•z–ÛÛ

Óyò¢y• Ó°ˆÏ°öñ ÚÚû˛!îï˛y

ÙÙÙÈ

ˆÜ˛yö!òö ˆòy£Ï Ü˛!Ó˚ñ xyüyÓ˚ üˆÏöyö#ï˛ !Óã˛yÓ˚ˆÏÜ˛Ó˚y ˆÎö xyüyÓ˚ !Óã˛yÓ˚ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ö–

§¡Àyê˛ xy=!˛õå%È öy ˆû˛ˆÏÓ•z ÓˆÏ° !òˆÏ°öñ ÚÚˆÓ¢ ï˛y•z •ˆÏÓ–ÛÛ

!Ü˛å%È!òö ÓyˆÏò•z ˛õyˆÏÜ˛ã˛ˆÏe´

à!Ó˚ÓÓ˚yÄ üyö%£Ïñ §æyhsˇÓ˚yÄ üyö%£Ï–Ä˛õÓ˚ÄÎ˚y°yÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ˆÜ˛í˛z

!ﬂiÓ˚

!Óã˛yÓ˚Ü˛Ó˚y

!åÈ° á%Ó

ÄˆÏòÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ˛õMÈ˛y¢ ê˛yÜ˛y•z !åÈ° xˆÏöÜ˛ ê˛yÜ˛y– ÄÓ˚y Óyò¢y•ˆÏÜ˛ ˙ ê˛yÜ˛yê˛yÄ üÜ%˛Ó Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆòÄÎ˚yÓ˚ çöƒ xö%ˆÏÓ˚yô

Ü˛Ó˚°–

Óyò¢y• xyüyÓ˚ ã˛yï%˛!Ó˚ Ó%é˛ˆÏï˛ ˛õyÓ˚ˆÏ°Ä ~ê˛y

Ìy•zˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ üy§° e´ƒy¡õ xÓôy!Ó˚ï˛– ârê˛yáyˆÏöÜ˛ xyˆÏà

xy!ò !åÈ° §ÓˆÏã˛ˆÏÎ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈÓ˚ ~Ü˛ ÓyçyˆÏÓ˚– öyˆÏü•z ÓyçyÓ˚–

xy§ˆÏ° =!ê˛Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚Ü˛ •ï˛◊# ˆòyÜ˛yˆÏöÓ˚ §ü!‹T §üï˛° ˆåÈyR

üyë˛!ê˛ !âˆÏÓ˚ åÈ!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ !åÈ!ê˛ˆÏÎ˚– ˆòyÜ˛y!öÓ˚y §Ü˛ˆÏ°•z öyöy ÓÎ˚§#

Ó˚üö#– ﬂiyö#Î˚ û˛y£ÏyÎ˚ ÄˆÏòÓ˚ ÓˆÏ° Úú˛§y°yÛ– xy!òÓ˚

û˛ÛˆÓ˚ ÄˆÏë˛ öyöy !ç!öˆÏ§– §yÓ˚y §ÆyˆÏ•Ó˚ xyöyç˛õeñ Î!ò ˆüˆÏ° ˆï˛y ò%°≈û˛ üyåÈñ ü%Ó˚!à •zï˛ƒy!ò xyÓ˚ ˆò!¢ üˆÏòÓ˚

ˆÜ˛!ê˛ û˛yäy û˛yäy

!§D° üyòyÓ˚ ˆ§Ô!ü çyöyñ !öí˛z çy!§≈˛

xyç •*ò ~Ó˚ •y•zﬁÜ%˛° @ˇÃƒyç%ˆÏÎ˚¢yö ˆ§ˆÏÓ˚ü!ö– ﬁÜ%˛ˆÏ°Ó˚

!Ó¢y° x!í˛ˆÏê˛y!Ó˚Î˚yˆÏü ÓˆÏ§ Ó‡ xyˆÏÓà xyÓ˚ ﬂø,!ï˛ˆÏï˛ û˛y§ˆÏåÈ

§%ò#˛õyÓ˚ •*òÎ˚– xyç ÄÓ˚ ﬂ∫≤¿ ˛õ)Ó˚ˆÏîÓ˚ !òö– Ü˛ï˛ °í˛¸y•zñ

Ü˛ï˛ ˛õ!Ó˚◊üñ Ü˛ï˛ é˛í˛¸é˛y˛õê˛y x!ï˛e´ü Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ~•z !òöê˛y

~ˆÏ§ˆÏåÈ ÄÓ˚ ç#ÓˆÏöÊ üöê˛y ˆÜ˛üö !û˛ˆÏç •ˆÏÎ˚ xy§ˆÏåÈ

§%ò#˛õyÓ˚– ~•zˆÏï˛y ˆ§!òˆÏöÓ˚ Ü˛Ìyñ üyé˛Ó˚y!_ˆÏÓ˚ •ë˛yÍ ÷Ó˚&

ÄÓ˚ ˆ°ÓyÓ˚ˆÏ˛õ•zöÊ ÎsföyÎ˚ òü xyê˛ˆÏÜ˛ xy§!åÈ° ÄÓ˚–

x¡‘yˆÏöÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ ˆ≤Ãüñ ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ !ÓˆÏÎ˚ñ !ÓˆÏòˆÏ¢ ˛õy!í˛¸– ˆò¢ åÈyí˛¸yÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ á%Ó ï˛yí˛¸yï˛y!í˛¸ ÓòˆÏ° Îy!FåÈ° x¡‘yö– ÄÓ˚ xyò¢≈ñ xö%û)˛!ï˛=ˆÏ°y

e´ü¢É ã˛y˛õy ˛õˆÏí˛¸ Îy!FåÈ° §#üy•#ö í˛zFã˛y¢yñ xÌ≈ Ä

xyÓ˚ ˆﬂ∫FåÈyã˛yÓ˚– !öˆÏçÓ˚ ã˛yÜ˛!Ó˚ñ

ˆüˆÏö !öˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚ö!ö

•*òÄ ÓyÓ˚ÓyÓ˚ çyöˆÏï˛ ˆã˛ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ

xöƒ Ó¶%˛ˆÏòÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y ÄÓ˚ í˛ƒy!í˛ ÌyˆÏÜ˛öy ÄˆÏòÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ– ~Ü˛!òˆÏÜ˛ xˆÏÌ≈Ó˚ !ã˛hsˇyñ xöƒ!òˆÏÜ˛ x§Ω˛Ó üyö!§Ü˛ ã˛yˆÏ˛õ «˛ï˛ÈÙÈ!Ó«˛ï˛

§%ò#˛õy !òˆÏöÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ !òö– Ü˛yˆÏçÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ ˆÎê%˛Ü%˛ §üÎ˚

Don’t be silly Su! You know how important this deal is for me. Due date ~Ó˚

˛õyÓ˚ï˛– !öˆÏçˆÏÜ˛ ˆÓyé˛y üˆÏö •Î˚ ï˛yÓ˚ñ

°yˆÏà öyÊ “He just wished he could vanish from the earth!”

!ÓÑˆÏô!åÈ° §%ò#˛õyÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏöÊ Ü˛# §Ó≈öy¢Ê ~!Ü˛ û˛yÓˆÏåÈ •*òÊ Ä•z

ö‹T Ü˛Ó˚Ó xyüÓ˚y– Rather life is a treasure chest. We should fill it up with love and happiness.” Ó%ˆÏé˛ˆÏåÈ

üyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚

“Let’s collect the gem of happiness for our treasure chest Mom.” ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ üy xyÓ˚ ˆåÈˆÏ°Ó˚

!ÓˆÏ¢Ó˚ ò¢ˆÏÜ˛ ú˛!Ó˚ò˛õ%ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ @ˇÃyˆÏüÓ˚ ~Ü˛!ê˛ ˆåÈˆÏ° xyÜ˛yˆÏ¢

é˛Ü˛é˛ˆÏÜ˛ !Óüyö ˆòˆÏá !ÓﬂøˆÏÎ˚ xÓyÜ˛ •ˆÏÎ˚ ˆû˛ˆÏÓ!åÈ° ~

xyÓyÓ˚ ˆÜ˛yö ˛õy!á ÙÙÙÈ Ó˚yˆÏï˛ ˆ§ ﬂ∫≤¿ ˆòˆÏá!åÈ° ~Ü˛

!ÓÓ˚yê˛ àÓ˚&í˛¸ ˛õy!áÓ˚ñ ÎyÓ˚ !˛õˆÏë˛ ã˛ˆÏí˛¸ ˆ§ â%ˆÏÓ˚

ˆÓí˛¸yˆÏFåÈ... ˆ§•z ˆåÈˆÏ°!ê˛ !Ü˛ ï˛áö ﬂ∫ˆÏ≤¿Ä

ˆû˛ˆÏÓ!åÈ° ˆÎ ï˛yÓ˚ ˜ï˛!Ó˚ Ä!í˛¸Î˚y !§ˆÏöüyÎ˚

~•z ﬂ∫ˆÏ≤¿Ó˚ åÈ!Ó xÑyÜ˛ˆÏÓ⁄

1940 §yˆÏ° Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛yÎ˚ ﬁÜ˛!ê˛¢ ã˛yã≈˛ Ü˛ˆÏ°ˆÏç ˛õí˛¸ˆÏï˛ xy§yÓ˚ çöƒ ÓyÓy üy Îáö

ü,îy° ˆ§ö ÙÙÙÈ ïÑ˛yÓ˚

!Ü˛å%È ˛õ!Ó˚ˆÏFåÈò !öˆÏÎ˚ ~•z

xyˆÏ°yã˛öy–

~•z Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛y ¢•Ó˚ ïÑ˛yÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ !åÈ°ñ

~°ˆÏí˛yÓ˚yˆÏí˛yñ ﬂ∫ˆÏ≤¿Ó˚ ¢•Ó˚– !öˆÏç•z ÓˆÏ°ˆÏåÈöñ

ÚÚ~ ¢•Ó˚ xyüyˆÏÜ˛ í˛zˆÏ_çöy ˆòÎ˚ñ ≤ÃˆÏÓ˚y!ã˛ï˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚–

~Ü˛!òö ~•z ¢•ˆÏÓ˚ xy!ü ˛õÌ•yÓ˚y xyàvˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ üˆÏï˛y

ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚

òÑyˆÏï˛ ÓƒÌy– ÎsfîyÎ˚ åÈê˛ú˛ê˛

Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈö– üy ˛õyˆÏ¢Ó˚ Óy!í˛¸ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ~Ü˛!ê˛ ˆ˛õrê˛ ~ˆÏö

°y!àˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈö !Ü˛v ï˛yˆÏï˛ ÓƒÌy ˆï˛y Ü˛ˆÏü•z!ö í˛z˛õÓ˚v ≤Ãã˛[˛

çμy°y Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈ– ü,îy° Ó˚#!ï˛üˆÏï˛y Ü˛yß¨yÜ˛y!ê˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈö– Ü˛yß¨y

÷ˆÏö §%û˛y£Ï å%ÈˆÏê˛ ~ˆÏ°ö ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ §Ó á%Ñ!ê˛ˆÏÎ˚ á%Ñ!ê˛ˆÏÎ˚ ˆòˆÏá

~Ü˛ê˛y ê˛ƒyÓˆÏ°ˆÏê˛Ó˚ öyü !°ˆÏá !òˆÏ°ö Ü˛yàˆÏç– ˆ§ê˛y áyÓyÓ˚

§ˆÏD•z ÓƒÌy Ü˛ˆÏü ˆà°–ï˛ˆÏÓ §%û˛y£Ï çyöyˆÏ°ö ˆÎ ~•z Ä£Ï%ˆÏôÓ˚ ≤Ã!ï˛!e´Î˚y á%Ó §yü!Î˚Ü˛– !ï˛!ö ˆ§!òö•z Ó˚yˆÏï˛Ó˚ ˆê˛ΔˆÏö !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ÎyˆÏÓöñ xyÓyÓ˚ ú˛!Ó˚ò˛õ%ˆÏÓ˚ xy§ˆÏÓö ò%!òö ˛õÓ˚– ï˛áö xöƒ ~Ü˛ê˛y ÓƒÌyÓ˚

ﬁÜ˛!ê˛¢ ã˛yã≈˛ Ü˛ˆÏ°ˆÏç– •ë˛yÍ ˛õyˆÏ¢Ó˚ !Ó!”˛Ç ˆÌˆÏÜ˛

å%ÈˆÏê˛ ~ˆÏ°ö !≤Ã!™˛õƒy°–

Üœ˛y§÷k˛ §Óy•z çyöˆÏ°ö

åÈyeˆÏÜ˛

˛õ%!°¢ ˆ•í˛ ˆÜ˛yÎ˚yê≈˛yˆÏ§≈Ó˚ àyÓ˚ˆÏò §yï˛!òö ˛õ%ˆÏÓ˚

ˆÓ˚ˆÏá!åÈ°– §ˆÏD öyöyö Ó˚Ü˛ü ˆçÓ˚yñ û˛Î˚ ˆòáyˆÏöyñ ˆ°yû˛

ˆòáyˆÏöy–

˛õ%!°ˆÏ¢Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ áÓÓ˚ !åÈ° ˆÎ ü,îy° xydˆÏày˛õöÜ˛yÓ˚#

åÈyeˆÏöï˛y !ÓŸªöyÌ ü%ˆÏáy˛õyôƒyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ §ˆÏD °%!Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚ !ü!ê˛Ç Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ö–

Ä•z §yï˛!òö

!öüï˛°y âyˆÏê˛Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ–ˆ§•z §üÎ˚ ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚ ˆã˛yˆÏá ˛õí˛¸° ~Ü˛ •*òÎ˚!ÓòyÓ˚Ü˛ ò,¢ƒ–~Ü˛!ê˛ ü,ï˛ !¢÷ˆÏÜ˛ ˆÜ˛yˆÏ° !öˆÏÎ˚ òÑy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ xyˆÏåÈ ~Ü˛!ê˛ °¡∫y

§üÎ˚•z Ó˚&í˛°ú˛ xyö≈•y•zˆÏüÓ˚ ˆ°áy Ú!ú˛Õ√Û Ó•z!ê˛ •yˆÏï˛ xyˆÏ§–!ï˛!ö í˛z˛õ°!∏˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏ°ö !§ˆÏöüyÄ Ü˛ï˛ ¢!_´¢y°# üyôƒü •ˆÏÎ˚

í˛zë˛ˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚–

˛õˆÏÓ˚ !öˆÏçÓ˚ ≤ÃÌü !§ˆÏöüy ˆòáy !öˆÏÎ˚ à“ ≤Ã§ˆÏD çy!öˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈö

xy§ˆÏ° ÷ô% ˆã˛yˆÏáÓ˚ ˆòáy öÎ˚ñ üˆÏöÓ˚ ˆòáyÄ !§ˆÏöüyÎ˚ á%Ó

=Ó˚&c˛õ)î≈–

ç#ÓˆÏö ≤ÃÌü !§ˆÏöüy ˆòáˆÏï˛ ˆàˆÏåÈö ü,îy° ˆ§ö– Ü˛ï˛•z Óy

ÓˆÏÎ˚§– §ˆÏD òyòy– ﬂ∫ˆÏò!¢ ˆü°yÎ˚ ˆòáyˆÏöy •ˆÏFåÈ

ÚÜ˛˛õy°Ü%˛[˛°yÛ– ò%•z û˛y•z !Ü˛v ã˛!Ó˚ˆÏe !Ü˛å%È ú˛yÓ˚yÜ˛ !åÈ°

ò%çˆÏöÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ– òyòy!ê˛ Îï˛ ã˛ê˛˛õˆÏê˛ñ ã˛y°yÜ˛ÈÙÈã˛ï%˛Ó˚ Óy

Ó!°ˆÏÎ˚ÈÙÈÜ˛•zˆÏÎ˚ñ ü,îy° ï˛ï˛ê˛y•z §yòy!§ˆÏôñ ˆÓyÜ˛y Ä §Ó˚°–

ˆòˆÏá ò%•zû˛y•z ï˛áö !ú˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈö–

Óy!Ü˛ ¢Ó˚#Ó˚ê˛y Ü˛yê˛y ˆàˆÏåÈ–ÛÛ

ˆ˛õ!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ üˆÏöÓ˚ ˆòáy §Ω˛Ó •Î˚ Ü˛ƒyˆÏüÓ˚yÓ˚

í˛z˛õ!ﬂiï˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Ü˛ƒyˆÏüÓ˚y– ˆÎüö ÚÜ˛˛õy°Ü%˛[˛°yÛÓ˚

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚!åÈˆÏ°öñ ÷ô% áí˛¸ü ˛õÓ˚y ˛õyÈÙÈˆçyí˛¸y ˆò!áˆÏÎ˚–

ò,¢ƒÓ›Ó˚ üôƒ !òˆÏÎ˚ ˛õ!Ó˚ã˛y°Ü˛ ÷ô% Ü˛y˛õy!°ˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ ˛õy ˆòáyˆÏï˛ ã˛yö!öñ ˆòáyˆÏï˛

òy˛õê˛–

ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚ !§ˆÏöüy Óƒ!_´ˆÏÜ˛ !öˆÏÎ˚ öÎ˚ §ü!‹TˆÏÜ˛ !öˆÏÎ˚– ïÑ˛yÓ˚

Úáy!Ó˚çÛˆÎ˚Ó˚ ˆåÈˆÏ°!ê˛ ÷ô% ~Ü˛!ê˛ öÎ˚ âˆÏÓ˚ âˆÏÓ˚ ˆáˆÏê˛ áyÄÎ˚y

Ó!MÈ˛ï˛ !¢÷ ◊!üˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ ≤Ã!ï˛û)˛– ˆ¢yöy ÎyÎ˚ Úáy!Ó˚çÛ !§ˆÏöüy

•ˆÏ° ˆÓˆÏÓ˚yˆÏöyÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ üôƒ!Ó_ Óyäy!° Ü˛yˆÏçÓ˚ ˆ°yÜ˛ Ó˚yáˆÏï˛

û˛Î˚ ˆ˛õï˛– ~•z ˆï˛y !§ˆÏöüyÓ˚ Óy !¢ˆÏ“Ó˚ í˛zˆÏj¢ƒ

˛õˆÏí˛¸!ö–

Úü•y˛õ,!ÌÓ#Ûˆï˛ ≤ÃŸ¿ xyˆÏ§ Ó,k˛y üyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ üˆÏö ïÑ˛yÓ˚ öÜ˛¢y° xyˆÏ®y°ˆÏö !ÓŸªy§# ˆåÈˆÏ°Ó˚ ü,ï%˛ƒ !öˆÏÎ˚ ˆÎáyˆÏö ò%•z çyü≈y!ö !üˆÏ° ÎyˆÏFåÈ Óy!°≈ö ˆòÄÎ˚y° ˆû˛ˆÏä– ~áyˆÏö•z ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚ Ü,˛!ï˛cÊ §%ò)Ó˚ çyü≈y!öÓ˚ Óy!°≈ö ÄÎ˚yˆÏ°Ó˚

ü%á˛õye •ˆÏÎ˚ Äë˛y–ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ ô#ˆÏÓ˚ ô#ˆÏÓ˚ ã˛°!Fã˛e çàˆÏï˛–

Î!òÄ xyd!ÓˆÏŸ’£Ïî Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ !àˆÏÎ˚ ü,îy° ÓˆÏ°ˆÏåÈöñ ÚÚ...§Óê˛y•z

âê˛° ~Ü˛yˆÏí˛!üÜ˛ƒy!°ñ •yˆÏï˛ Ü˛°ˆÏü öÎ˚– ~ˆÏÜ˛ÓyˆÏÓ˚•z öÎ˚–

xyüyÓ˚ ≤ÃÌü åÈ!ÓÓ˚ SÚÓ˚yï˛ˆÏû˛yÓ˚ÛV ˆÓ°yÎ˚ Ä•z •° xyüyÓ˚

Ü˛y°ñ xyüyÓ˚ xôÉ˛õï˛ö–ÛÛ

!öˆÏçÓ˚ !mï˛#Î˚ åÈ!Ó Úö#° xyÜ˛yˆÏ¢Ó˚ ö#ˆÏã˛Û Ó: x!ú˛ˆÏ§ ï%˛ü%°

˛õÓ˚Óï≈˛#Ü˛yˆÏ° ÓyÇ°yÎ˚ ˆöˆÏü xy§y Ü,˛!eü ò%!û≈˛ˆÏ«˛Ó˚ !¢Ü˛yÓ˚

~Ü˛ ò¡õ!ï˛– •y!§á%!¢ ò%!ê˛ üyö%£Ïñ Óy•zˆÏ¢ ◊yÓî !åÈ° ÎyˆÏòÓ˚

!ÓˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ ï˛y!Ó˚áñ ï˛yˆÏòÓ˚ §%ˆÏáÓ˚ §Ç§yˆÏÓ˚ ¢!ö •ˆÏÎ˚ ˆöˆÏü xyˆÏ§

â,îƒ Ó˚yç˜Ïö!ï˛Ü˛ ˆ¢y£ÏîÊ åÈ!Ó!ê˛ ü,îy°ˆÏÜ˛ xyhsˇç≈y!ï˛Ü˛

˛õ!Ó˚!ã˛!ï˛ ~ˆÏö !òˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°–

ï˛ˆÏÓ ü)°ï˛ ˆÎ åÈ!Ó!ê˛ û˛yÓ˚ï˛#Î˚ ã˛°!Fã˛e çàˆÏï˛ ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚ áƒy!ï˛

åÈ!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ !òˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°ñ ˆ§•z åÈ!Ó!ê˛ !•!®ˆÏï˛– öyü ≠ Úû%˛Óö ˆ§yüÛÊ

!•!®ˆÏï˛ åÈ!Ó Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ !§k˛yhsˇÄ ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚ Óƒ!ï˛e´ü#– ïÑ˛yÓ˚

§ü§yü!Î˚Ü˛ ˆÜ˛yöÄ Óyäy!° ã˛°!Fã˛eÜ˛yÓ˚•zñ ~üö!Ü˛ §ï˛ƒ!çï˛

Ó˚yÎ˚Ä ï˛áö !•!®ˆÏï˛ åÈ!Ó Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy û˛yˆÏÓö!ö–

Úû%˛Óö ˆ§yüÛ ~ˆÏÜ˛ÓyˆÏÓ˚ xöƒ Ó˚Ü˛ü xy!DÜ˛ xyÓ˚ û˛yÓöyÓ˚

åÈ!Ó– û˛yÓ˚ï˛#Î˚ ã˛°!Fã˛e çàˆÏï˛Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ~üö ~Ü˛!ê˛ åÈ!Ó

ˆÜ˛yÓ˚y§ àyö ˆï˛y ~Ü˛çˆÏö àyÄÎ˚y ÎyÎ˚ öy– ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚ ÚˆÜ˛yÓ˚y§Û

ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚ û˛yÓöyÓ˚

!òˆÏÎ˚ ˆày¤˛#m®μ ˆ◊!î§Ç@ˇÃyü–

üˆÏôƒ

ˆÜ˛yÓ˚y§ ü,îy°ˆÏÜ˛ çyï˛#Î˚ ˛õ%Ó˚ﬁÜ˛yÓ˚ ~ˆÏö ˆòÎ˚ 1974 §yˆÏ°–

§yüy!çÜ˛ ÓƒDydÜ˛ ~•z åÈ!ÓÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ˆÏï˛ ˛õÓ˚ˆÏï˛ !§ˆÏﬁê˛ˆÏüÓ˚

!ÓÓ˚&ˆÏk˛ ÓƒD ÈÙÈ §yôyÓ˚î üyö%ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ ö)ƒöï˛ü ã˛y!•òy ˆÎ §üyç ˆüê˛yˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚ öy ï˛yÓ˚ !ÓÓ˚&ˆÏk˛•z ü,îyˆÏ°Ó˚ Ü˛ƒyˆÏüÓ˚y

åÈ!ÓÓ˚ ˆ¢ˆÏ£Ï ◊!üÜ˛ Ü,˛£ÏÜ˛ ˆÓÜ˛yÓ˚ Î%ÓÜ˛ Î%Óï˛#ˆÏòÓ˚ ~Ü˛§ˆÏD

Äë˛y– òy°y° xyÓ˚ ˆ◊!î¢e&Ó˚ !ÓÓ˚&ˆÏk˛–!ã˛Ó˚yã˛!Ó˚ï˛ ôyÓ˚y ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ˆÓ!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ ~ˆÏ§ ü,îy° Ó˚üƒÓƒD !•ˆÏ§ˆÏÓ åÈ!Ó!ê˛ˆÏÜ˛ ≤Ã!ï˛!¤˛ï˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ˆÏåÈö !Ü˛v §Ó åÈy!˛õˆÏÎ˚ í˛zˆÏë˛

xï,˛!Æñ öï%˛ö !Ü˛å%È

ï˛yí˛¸y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆÓí˛¸yÎ˚–ò)Ó˚ò¢≈ˆÏö ~Ü˛ §y«˛yÍÜ˛yˆÏÓ˚ ü,îy° Ó°ˆÏåÈöñ ÚÚxyüÓ˚y ÎyÓ˚y

Úû%˛Óö ˆ§yüÛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚!åÈ°yüñ ˆû˛ˆÏÓ!åÈ°yü ˆÓyô•Î˚ üye ~Ü˛!òö

ã˛°ˆÏÓ–... åÈ!Ó çö!≤ÃÎ˚ï˛y °yˆÏû˛Ó˚ ˛õÓ˚ ÓˆÏ¡∫Ó˚ !ï˛öçö ˆ≤Ãy!í˛í˛z§yÓ˚ xyüyÓ˚ §ˆÏD ˆòáy Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ÓˆÏ°!åÈ° û%˛Óö ˆ§yˆÏüÓ˚

üˆÏï˛y xyÓ˚Ä åÈ!Ó Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚y– xyüÓ˚y ê˛yÜ˛y ˆòÓ– xy!ü Ó°°yüñ

ÚÚû%˛Óö ˆ§yü ˆï˛y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆú˛ˆÏ°!åÈñ xyÓyÓ˚ ˆÜ˛ö Ü˛Ó˚Ó⁄ ~ÓyÓ˚

!Ü˛å%È Ü˛Ó˚Ó– xyüyÓ˚ ˛õåÈ®üˆÏï˛y åÈ!Ó Ü˛Ó˚Ó–ÛÛ

!âˆÏÓ˚•z– Úáy!Ó˚çÛ Ú~Ü˛!òö ≤Ã!ï˛!òöÛ ˆï˛y ÓˆÏê˛•z ~üö!Ü˛

ÚxhsˇÓ˚#îÛ Óy Ú~Ü˛!òö xã˛yöÜ˛ÛÄ ÷ô%üye ~Ü˛ ~Ü˛!ê˛ !Ó!FåÈß¨ âê˛öy öÎ˚– ≤Ã!ï˛!òö ç#Óö !ê˛Ñ!Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚

WE WISH A JOYOUS PUJA SEASON TO ALL MEMBERS AND FRIENDS OF ANANDA MANDIR

Dipak Sarkar & Shirley A. Sanderson

Óyàò_y

x˛õî≈y àyD%°#ñ ˛õ!ÿ˛üÓD˛

üOÓ˚#Ó˚ üy Îáö ˆÓ¢ û˛yˆÏ°y üˆÏö ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛öñ ï˛áö ÄˆÏÜ˛ ~•z

åÈí˛¸y!ê˛ ÓˆÏ° ˆ¢yöyˆÏï˛ö–

ÚÄ•z í˛zê˛Ü˛˛õy!°ñ !ã˛Ó˚&öòÑy!ï˛ •zÛ!ê˛ ˆï˛yüyÓ˚ ˆÜ˛⁄

ÙÙÙÈ Ü˛yˆÏ°y•z ˆ•yÜ˛ ôˆÏ°y•z ˆ•yÜ˛ñ ÄÛ!ê˛ xyüyÓ˚ ˆüˆÏÎ˚–Û

xyÓ˚ Óyò°ˆÏüâÓî≈y üOÓ˚# ï˛yÓ˚ !ã˛Ó˚&!öÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y ú˛ÑyÜ˛ ú˛ÑyÜ˛ òÑyï˛ ˆüˆÏ°

xyÓ˚ ï˛á!ö !Ü˛ üOÓ˚#

ÄˆÏÜ˛ ˆÜ˛yˆÏ° !öˆÏÎ˚ xyˆÏ‹T˛õ,ˆÏ‹T ˆòy°yÎ˚ öy⁄ xyòˆÏÓ˚ xyòˆÏÓ˚

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆòÎ˚ öy ÄˆÏÜ˛⁄ ï˛y•z üOÓ˚# Îy•z ˆ•yÜ˛ öy ˆÜ˛öñ

Î!ò ˆÜ˛í˛z ~üö Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚•z ò% •yˆÏï˛Ó˚ ˆú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆÓÑˆÏô Ó˚yˆÏá

öyÜ˛ñ

ˆåÈyê˛ ˆã˛yáñ òÑyˆÏï˛Ó˚ ú˛ÑyÜ˛ñ û˛yäy ày°ñ

!ã˛Ó%Ü˛ñ í˛zŒê˛yˆÏöy ˆëÑ˛yê˛ xyÓ˚ ˆê˛y° áyÄÎ˚y •y!§–

Îy ï˛y ~ˆÏE˛ÓyˆÏÓ˚– ï˛y ˆÎ ˆòˆÏáñ ˆ§•z ˆòˆÏáñ ~§Ó ˆï˛y xyÓ˚

üOÓ˚# ˆòáˆÏï˛ ˛õyÎ˚ öy !Ü˛öy– ÄÓ˚ §%®Ó˚ üö !öˆÏÎ˚ Ä ˆòˆÏá

~Ü˛ Ü%˛!í˛¸ ÓåÈˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ï˛ß∫#ñ ¢ƒyüyñ !¢áÓ˚ò¢öyˆÏÜ˛– Óƒy§ xyÓ˚

~ˆÏàyˆÏï˛ ã˛yÎ˚ öy Ä– ~•zê%˛Ü%˛•z Ü˛yú˛#– üOÓ˚# xy˛õöüˆÏö ÄÓ˚

ï˛yö˛õ%Ó˚yê˛y ˆê˛ˆÏö ˆöÎ˚–

àyˆÏöÓ˚ à°y!ê˛ û˛y!àƒ§ û˛yˆÏ°yñ öy•ˆÏ° !Ü˛ !öˆÏÎ˚ Óy ÓÑyã˛ˆÏï˛y

üOÓ˚#– §ˆÏÓ ò% ~Ü˛ê˛y xy°y˛õ ˆ§ˆÏôˆÏåÈñ ~üö

ÚÚüOÓ˚#ñ Ä üOÓ˚#ñ xyÎ˚ ~Ü˛ÓyÓ˚ ˆòˆÏá Îy

û˛Ó˚

üOÓ˚# ˆòˆÏá ~Ü˛ û˛oü!•°yñ û˛oˆÏ°yÜ˛ ÓˆÏ§ xyˆÏåÈö– üy xy°y˛õ

Ü˛!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ ˆòöñ ÚÚ~•z ˆòˆÏáyñ üOÓ˚#ñ xyüyÓ˚ ˆüˆÏÎ˚... xyÓ˚ üOÓ˚#ñ ~•z !üﬁê˛yÓ˚ ~u˛ !üˆÏ§§ ˆüöö– ˆï˛yˆÏÜ˛ ÓˆÏ°!åÈ°yü öyñ

xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ !öˆÏã˛Ó˚ úœ ƒyˆÏê˛ ~ÑÓ˚y û˛yí˛¸y ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛ö xˆÏöÜ˛ xˆÏöÜ˛

xyˆÏà–ÛÛ

•ˆÏÓÄ Óyñ Ü˛áˆÏöy •Î˚ˆÏï˛y ÷ˆÏöˆÏåÈ ˆ§– xï˛ üˆÏö ˆö•z

üOÓ˚#Ó˚– ˆ§ •yï˛ çˆÏí˛¸y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Ó%ˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈñ xﬂ≥%˛ê˛ﬂ∫ˆÏÓ˚

ÓˆÏ°ñ ÚöüﬁÜ˛yÓ˚ xyB˛°ñ xy!rê˛–Û

ÄˆÏÜ˛ ˆòˆÏá•z ò%çˆÏöÓ˚ ü%á ˆÎö ˆÜ˛üö •ˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÎ˚– ~ xyÓ˚

öï%˛ö !Ü˛⁄ Ü˛ï˛ üyö%ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ ~üö •ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ xyˆÏàÄ– üy Ó%é˛ˆÏï˛

!Ü˛v Ó°ˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚ö öy !Ü˛å%È–

ÄˆÏë˛ö û˛oˆÏ°yÜ˛– xyÓ˚ üOÓ˚#Ó˚ Ä Ä•z !ö!á° öyˆÏüÓ˚ û˛Î˚B˛Ó˚ ã˛üÍÜ˛yÓ˚ ˆåÈˆÏ°!ê˛ˆÏÜ˛ ˆòáyÓ˚ ˆÎüö ˆÜ˛Ôï)˛•°Ä •Î˚ñ ˆï˛üö

ˆçyÓ˚ ÓˆÏ°ö ÙÙÙÈ Úxy•ÊÛ xyˆÏÓ˚y !Ü˛å%È Ü˛ÌyÓyï≈˛yÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ñ üOÓ˚# Ó%ˆÏé˛ ÎyÎ˚ñ Ä

•ˆÏ°y Ä•z !ö!á° ÓˆÏ° ˆåÈˆÏ°!ê˛Ó˚ Óyàò_y– Ü˛ˆÏÓ öy!Ü˛ ˆÜ˛yö ˆåÈyê˛ˆÏÓ°yÎ˚ ò%•z üyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Ü˛Ìy •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°ñ 21 ÓåÈÓ˚ ˛õˆÏÓ˚ñ ˆòáy

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ !ÓˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Ü˛Ìy ˛õyí˛¸ˆÏÓ ˆÎáyˆÏö•z ÌyÜ%˛Ü˛ öy ˆÜ˛ö– üyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚

û˛y£ÏyÎ˚ñ ï˛y•z ~áö xyàüö– ï˛ˆÏÓ üyÄ ÓˆÏ° ˆòöñ ÚˆüyˆÏê˛•z

ÄˆÏòÓ˚ ˛õåÈ® •Î˚!ö ÎyˆÏÜ˛ ˆòˆÏáˆÏåÈö ï˛yˆÏÜ˛ñ ï˛y•z !ÓˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Ü˛Ìy •zˆÏÎ˚ˆÏï˛ ÎyÜ˛–Û ÓyÓy xyÓyÓ˚Ä ï˛#Ó û˛yˆÏÓ ã˛yˆÏÎ˚

âˆÏÓ˚ ˆú˛Ó˚y xÎ˚ö §Ó˚Ü˛yÓ˚˚ñ Ü˛yˆÏö!QÜ˛yê˛

ÚÚçÎ˚ ÓyÓy ˆ°yÜ˛öyÌñ xyÓ˚ !Ü˛å%È °yàˆÏÓöyñ ~ÓyÓ˚ xyüyÓ˚

xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛yÓ˚ !û˛§yê˛y Ü˛!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ òyÄñÛÛ ë˛yÜ%˛Ó˚âˆÏÓ˚ ÓˆÏ§ {¢yö

üˆÏö üˆÏö Ó°ˆÏï˛ ÌyˆÏÜ˛– {¢yö ~Ó˚˚ ÓÎ˚§ ˛õÑ!ã˛¢ñ ˆ˛õ¢yÎ˚

Ü˛!¡õí˛zê˛yÓ˚ •z!O!öÎ˚yÓ˚– Ü˛ˆÏ°ç ˛õy¢ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ~Ü˛ §ú˛ê˛ÄÎ˚ƒyÓ˚

ˆÜ˛y¡õy!öˆÏï˛ ã˛yÜ˛!Ó˚ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈ Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛yÎ˚–

ÚÚ!û˛§y ˆ˛õˆÏ° !Ü˛ Ü˛Ó˚!Ó⁄ §yÓ˚y«˛î áy!° !û˛§y !û˛§y

Ü˛Ó˚!åÈ§⁄ ~•z ˆï˛y ˆ§!òö Ó°!°

ˆ˛õˆÏÎ˚ ˆÏàˆÏ°

ÄˆÏë˛ö–

ï%˛!ü Ü˛Ìy Ó°åÈ⁄ Ü˛ˆÏÓ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ÓyÓy⁄ÛÛ

ÚÚ!Ü˛ xyÓ˚ Ü˛Ó˚Óñ ~ˆÏï˛y ˆï˛yÓ˚

ã˛y!•òy– Óyôƒ •ˆÏÎ˚ öy

ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛ ˆ˛õˆÏÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy Ó°ˆÏï˛ •°–ÛÛ

ÚÚÓyÓy §!ï˛ƒ Ó°!åÈñ ~•z

ˆ¢£ÏÓyÓ˚– xyÓ˚ !Ü˛å%È ã˛y•zˆÏÓy öy–

ÓyÓyñ ï%˛!ü öy ÓˆÏ°åÈ ÚÓ˚ˆÏî ÓˆÏö çˆÏ° çDˆÏ° ˆÎáyˆÏö !Ó˛õˆÏò

˛õ!í˛¸ˆÏÓ xyüyˆÏÜ˛ ﬂøÓ˚î Ü˛!Ó˚Äñ xy!ü Ó˚«˛y Ü˛!Ó˚ÓÛ–ÛÛ

ÚÚÓˆÏ°!åÈ ˆï˛y– ~Ü˛ˆÏ¢yÓyÓ˚ ÓˆÏ°!åÈ– !Ü˛v ˆï˛yÓ˚ !Ü˛ˆÏ§Ó˚ !Ó˛õò

üyñ ÓyÓyñ xyd#Î˚ﬂ∫çö §ÓyÓ˚ xy¢#Ó≈yò !öˆÏÎ˚ xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛y ˛õy!í˛¸

ˆòÎ˚ {¢yö–

ˆòáˆÏï˛ ˛õˆÏöÓ˚ê˛y ÓåÈÓ˚ ˆÜ˛ˆÏê˛ ÎyÎ˚– ˆÎ {¢yö ò%•z

ÓåÈÓ˚ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏÓ ÓˆÏ° xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛y ~ˆÏ§!åÈ°ñ xyç ï˛yÓ˚

xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛yˆÏï˛•z ˛õˆÏöÓ˚ ÓåÈÓ˚ ˆÜ˛ˆÏê˛ ˆàˆÏåÈ– Ü˛yˆÏåÈÓ˚ ˆ°yÜ˛çö

ÙÙÙÈ ÓyÓyñ üyñ xyd#Î˚ﬂ∫çöñ Ó¶%˛ Óy¶˛Ó ˆåÈˆÏí˛¸ {¢yö ~áö

NRI ~ÓÇ !ÓÓy!•ï˛– {¢yˆÏöÓ˚ ò%•z ˆüˆÏÎ˚– ò%•z ˆüˆÏÎ˚ ~áö

ﬁÜ%˛ˆÏ° ÎyÎ˚– {¢yˆÏöÓ˚ ÓyÓyÈÙÈüy ò%çˆÏöÓ˚ ÓÎ˚§ •ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ– xyˆÏà

ÄöyÓ˚y ≤ÃˆÏï˛ƒÜ˛ ÓåÈÓ˚ ~Ü˛ÓyÓ˚ xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛y xy§ˆÏï˛ö– ÓˆÏÎ˚§

~ÓÇ °¡∫y ˆ≤’öÎyeyÓ˚ Ü˛yÓ˚ˆÏî ~áö xyÓ˚ xy§ˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚ö öy–{¢yö ~Ü˛ Óy ò%ÓåÈÓ˚ xhsˇÓ˚ §Óy•zˆÏÜ˛ !öˆÏÎ˚ àÓ˚üÜ˛yˆÏ° ˆòˆÏ¢

â%Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ÎyÎ˚ñ ï˛ˆÏÓ !ï˛ö §ÆyˆÏ•Ó˚ ˆÓ!¢ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚ öy–x!ú˛ˆÏ§Ó˚ å%È!ê˛ Ü˛üñ ï˛yÓ˚ Ä˛õÓ˚ ÓyFã˛yˆÏòÓ˚ ﬁÜ%˛°ñ ˛õí˛¸yˆÏ¢yöy–{¢yˆÏöÓ˚ §%ˆÏáÓ˚

ÚÚ!Ü˛

ÚÚ§Ó%ç !û˛§y öyñ Äê˛y •ˆÏFåÈ !@ˇÃö Ü˛yí≈˛– ˆ§áyˆÏö °¡∫y °y•zö–

xyüyÓ˚ ö¡∫Ó˚ xy§ˆÏï˛ xyÓ˚Ä 20ÈÙÈ30 ÓåÈÓ˚– ï˛ï˛!òö ~•zû˛yˆÏÓ•z ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛ •ˆÏÓ– ~áyˆÏö xyÓ˚ û˛yˆÏ°y °yàˆÏåÈ öy

ÓyÓyñ ÓˆÏí˛¸y ~Ü˛y °yˆÏà üyˆÏé˛ üyˆÏé˛– ˆåÈyê˛ˆÏÓ°yê˛y û˛yˆÏ°y

!åÈ°ñ ~ˆÏï˛y ˆòÔí˛¸yˆÏòÔ!í˛¸ !åÈ° öyñ ﬁÜ%˛ˆÏ° ˆÎï˛yüñ ˆá°y Ü˛Ó˚ï˛yü

Ó¶%˛ˆÏòÓ˚ §yˆÏÌñ ˛õí˛¸yˆÏ¢yöy Ü˛Ó˚ï˛yüñ ï˛y•z öyÛÛ {¢yö Ó°°–

ÚÚxyÓ˚ ~áö ê˛yÜ˛y xyÓ˚ !@ˇÃö Ü˛yˆÏí≈˛Ó˚ ˆ˛õåÈˆÏö å%Èê˛!åÈ§ñ ~ˆÏï˛y

üö áyÓ˚y˛õ öy Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ÎyñÛÛ

ôÓ˚ !û˛§yÓ˚ ˆüÎ˚yò Óy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ !ò° öyñ ï˛áö Óy: =!åÈˆÏÎ˚ ˆÓ!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ Îy!Ó– ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ !öˆÏçÓ˚ Óy§ö !öˆÏçÓ˚y•z üy!ç§ñ Ó˚yß¨yÄ !öˆÏçÓ˚y•z Ü˛!Ó˚§ñ ày!í˛¸Ä !öˆÏçÓ˚y•z ã˛y°y§ xyÓyÓ˚

çyüyÜ˛y˛õí˛¸Ä !öˆÏçÓ˚y•z ˛õ!Ó˚ﬁÜ˛yÓ˚ Ü˛!Ó˚§–ÛÛ

ÚÚÓyÓy ~áyˆÏö ÄÓ˚Ü˛ü xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ ˆòˆÏ¢Ó˚ üˆÏï˛y ˆ°yÜ˛ ˛õyÄÎ˚y ÎyÎ˚ öy– xyÓ˚ ˛õyÄÎ˚y ˆàˆÏ°Ä ˆ§ê˛y xˆÏöÜ˛ áÓ˚ã˛y–ÛÛ

ˆòˆÏÓy !Ü˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚⁄ÛÛ ÚÚ÷ô% !Ü˛ ~ê˛y•z Ü˛yÓ˚î⁄ ï%˛•z ˆã˛‹Ty Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚!åÈ§⁄ Îáö xy§!åÈ!°

xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛yñ Ó°!° ÓåÈÓ˚ ò%•z ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ˆú˛Ó˚ï˛ ã˛ˆÏ° xy§Ó•z– xyÓ˚

xyç ˆòá⁄ ˆï˛yÓ˚ ÓyÓy üy ÄáyˆÏö ~Ü˛yñ ÄˆÏòÓ˚ ˆÜ˛yö òÓ˚Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚

Ü˛yˆÏç x!§§ ï%˛•z⁄ÛÛ

ÚÚöyñ ~áyö ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ê˛yÜ˛y ˛õyë˛yˆÏöyñ ÄˆÏòÓ˚ ˆòáyˆÏ¢yöyÓ˚ ~Ü˛çö

ˆ°yÜ˛ Ó˚yáy xyÓ˚ ˆú˛yö Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ~ê˛y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚y Äê˛y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚y åÈyí˛¸y xyÓ˚

ˆï˛üö Ü˛yˆÏç xy!§öy– ~áyˆÏöÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y üy•zˆÏö xy!ü ˆòˆÏ¢

˛õyÓ öy– ï˛yåÈyí˛¸y ~áyˆÏö ç#ÓöôyÓ˚y xˆÏöÜ˛ û˛yˆÏ°yñÛÛ

Óy§ö üyçyñ Ü˛y˛õí˛¸ Ü˛yã˛yñ âÓ˚ ˛õ!Ó˚‹Ü˛yÓ˚ ~=ˆÏ°y !ü§ Ü˛Ó˚!Ó– ï˛ˆÏÓ ˆ¢£ÏÓyÓ˚ xyÓyÓ˚ Ó°!åÈñ xˆÏöÜ˛ ÓåÈÓ˚ •°ñ {¢yö ~ÓyÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ã˛°–ÛÛ {¢yö xyÓ˚ !Ü˛å%È ÓˆÏ°öyñ ã%˛˛õ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ÎyÎ˚– Ä !öˆÏç•z çyˆÏööy

Ä !Ü˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ã˛yÎ˚– §!ï˛ƒ !Ü˛ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆÎˆÏï˛ ã˛yÎ˚⁄ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆàˆÏ°Ä !Ü˛ á%!¢ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛

!Ü˛öyÓ˚y •Î˚!ö ˆ§•z á%ˆÏöÓ˚...ÛÛ

ÚÚ!Ó §ˆÏÓˆÏöÓ˚ x!û˛çyï˛ ~°yÜ˛yÎ˚ !öˆÏçÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸ˆÏï˛ ü,ï˛ xÓﬂiyÎ˚

˛õyÄÎ˚y ÎyÎ˚ !e´!ﬁê˛öˆÏÜ˛– ~Ü˛!ê˛ ú%˛í˛ÈÙÈˆã˛•zö ÓƒÓ§y !åÈ° ïÑ˛yÓ˚–

ˆ˛õyﬁê˛üˆÏê≈˛ü !Ó˚ˆÏ˛õyê≈˛ Ó°ˆÏåÈ Ÿªy§ˆÏÓ˚yô •ˆÏÎ˚ ü,ï%˛ƒ– Ó˚yß¨yÓ˚

àƒyˆÏ§Ó˚ ˛õy•z˛õ°y•zˆÏö ~Ü˛!ê˛ !åÈo ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ò%â≈ê˛öy– ~üö ò%â≈ê˛öy

~ˆÏòˆÏ¢ •Î˚ öy Ó°ˆÏ°•z ã˛ˆÏ°...ÛÛ

ÚÚû˛yÓ˚ï˛#Î˚ ÓÇˆÏ¢yq(ï˛ñ çß√§)ˆÏe ˛õyOyˆÏÓÓ˚ Óy!§®y ~Ü˛

Óy§ã˛y°Ü˛ˆÏÜ˛ ç#Óhsˇ ˛õ%!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ üyÓ˚° ~Ü˛ Îye#– âê˛öyﬂi°

xˆÏﬁê˛Δ!°Î˚yÓ˚ !Ó §ˆÏÓö– !ö•ˆÏï˛Ó˚ öyü üö!çï˛– ≤Ãï˛ƒ«˛ò¢≈#Ó˚y

üy!°ö#–

àyeÓˆÏî≈ !ü°– !ã˛Ó˚O#Óñ ç!•Ó˚&°ñ Ü˛ˆÏÕ‘y°ñ

Ü˛yç Ü˛Ó˚y !öˆÏÎ˚ ~Ü˛ê%˛ §Ç¢Î˚ xyˆÏåÈ•z–

çß√§)ˆÏe xˆÏﬁê˛Δ°#Î˚

üy!°ö#Ó˚ !¢Ü˛í˛¸ ˆÎ û˛yÓ˚ï˛#Î˚ñ ï˛y xˆÏöˆÏÜ˛•z çyˆÏö öy– ë˛yÜ%˛üy ~ˆÏò¢#Î˚

ˆÎ§Ó xy!ôÜ˛y!Ó˚Ü˛ ~§Ó âê˛öyÎ˚ ï˛òhsˇ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ˆÏåÈ ï˛yÓ˚y !öÓ˚ˆÏ˛õ«˛ !åÈ° !Ü˛öyñ Ü%˛•z™°ƒyu˛ ˛õ%!°ˆÏ¢Ó˚ ö#!ï˛

üy!°ö# ~Ü˛çö àˆÏÓ£ÏÜ˛ñ •z!u˛Î˚y !öˆÏÎ˚ !ÓˆÏ¢£Ïï˛ xƒy!™ˆÏÎ˚rê˛ •z!u˛Î˚y !öˆÏÎ˚ Ü˛yç ï˛yÓ˚ñ çy!ï˛!ÓˆÏm£Ï Óî≈!ÓˆÏm£Ï àˆÏÓ£ÏîyÓ˚•z

xD... ˆê˛!Ó˚ˆÏÜ˛ ~üöê˛y•z çyöyˆÏöy •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°– !Ü˛v ˆê˛!Ó˚

ˆÓyÜ˛y öö– àˆÏÓ£Ïîy Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ çˆÏöƒ Ó˚yï˛yÓ˚y!ï˛ !§í˛!ö ˆÌˆÏÜ˛

í˛zˆÏí˛¸ xy§ˆÏï˛ •Î˚ Ü˛yí˛zˆÏÜ˛ñ ~üö !ÓŸªy§ •Î˚ !ö– ˆüÎ˚Ó˚ ~

Îáöñ Ä˛õÓ˚ÄÎ˚y°yÓ˚

ò%çˆÏöÓ˚– !e´!ﬁê˛ˆÏöÓ˚ ˆüyˆÏüy

xyí˛zê˛ˆÏ°ˆÏê˛Ä öy!Ü˛ ê%˛!˛õÄÎ˚y°y ~Ü˛çö °¡∫y Ü˛ü≈ã˛yÓ˚# !åÈ°ñ

ÎyÓ˚ xyÓ˚ ˆáÑyç ˛õyÄÎ˚y ÎyÎ˚ !ö– çƒyÜ˛§ö öyˆÏü ~Ü˛çö

Ü%˛ƒ!Ó˚Î˚yÓ˚ ˆÜ˛y¡õyö#Ó˚ ˆ°yÜ˛ˆÏÜ˛ ôÓ˚y •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°ñ çy!üö ˆ˛õˆÏÎ˚

ˆàˆÏåÈ– ˆû˛yˆÏŒÜ˛Ó˚ §ˆÏD ˆã˛•yÓ˚yÎ˚ xﬂ∫yû˛y!ÓÜ˛ !ü° ~•z

çƒyÜ˛§ˆÏöÓ˚–

üö!çï˛ˆÏÜ˛ ˆï˛y ˆáy°y xyÜ˛yˆÏ¢Ó˚ !öˆÏã˛ xˆÏöÜ˛ ≤Ãï˛ƒ«˛ò¢≈#Ó˚

§yüˆÏö üyÓ˚y •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°ñ ï˛Ó% •ï˛ƒyÜ˛yÓ˚# çy!üö ˆ˛õˆÏÎ˚ ˆàˆÏåÈ–

ï˛òhsˇ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ !àˆÏÎ˚ xyˆÏÓ˚y ~Ü˛ê˛y Ü˛üö ~ÓÇ •zrê˛yˆÏÓ˚!ﬁê˛Ç

Óƒy˛õyÓ˚ öçˆÏÓ˚ ~ˆÏ§ˆÏåÈ üy!°ö#Ó˚– ~Ü˛!ê˛ !ÓˆÏ¢£Ï ¢∑–

Ó˚*˛õyhsˇÓ˚Ü˛yü#– ≤Ã!ï˛!ê˛ !û˛!Qü §¡õˆÏÜ≈˛ ~•z ~Ü˛!ê˛ ¢∑ Ü˛üö–•y•zÜœ˛y§ ~§Ü˛ˆÏê≈˛Ó˚ Ü˛yç Ü˛Ó˚ï˛ Ó˚*˛õyhsˇÓ˚Ü˛yü# üyÎ˚yÇ ≤ÃyˆÏ§!ï˛Ä–

Ü˛yÓ˚î

Ü˛ˆÏÕ‘y°

áÓˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ Ü˛yàˆÏç ˛õÕ‘Ó# §y•y ~Ü˛çö Ó˚*˛õyhsˇÓ˚Ü˛yü# •ˆÏÎ˚

Ü˛ˆÏÕ‘y° §y•yñ ˆÓ¢ xyˆÏ°y!ã˛ï˛ öyü–

!ã˛Ó˚O#ˆÏÓÓ˚ §¡õˆÏÜ≈˛ !ö!ò≈‹T áÓÓ˚ öy ˛õyÄÎ˚y ˆàˆÏ°Ä

!Ó §ˆÏÓˆÏöÓ˚ xƒy˛õyê≈˛ˆÏüˆÏrê˛ ˆÎ ïÑ˛yÓ˚ ~Ü˛çö ˛õ%Ó˚&£ÏÈÙÈ§D# !åÈˆÏ°öñ

ˆ§ !Ó˚ˆÏ˛õyê≈˛ Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ– ≤Ã!ï˛ˆÏÓ¢#Ó˚y ~•z xƒy˛õyê≈˛ˆÏüˆÏrê˛ Ü˛áˆÏöy

ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy ˆüˆÏÎ˚ˆÏÜ˛ xy§ˆÏï˛ ˆòˆÏáö !öñ Îy !Ü˛öy ïÑ˛yˆÏòÓ˚ ˆã˛yˆÏá

xﬂ∫yû˛y!ÓÜ˛ ˆ°ˆÏàˆÏåÈ– ò%Ûçö Î%ÓÜ˛ Ó˚&üˆÏüê˛ !•ˆÏ§ˆÏÓ ÌyˆÏÜ˛ñ xÌã˛ ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy ˆüˆÏÎ˚ÈÙÈÓ¶%˛ ˆö•zÊ

üö!çï˛ xÓ¢ƒ ˆÓ¢ ~Ü˛çö •yRyÜ˛yRy öÄçÄÎ˚yö– ï˛ˆÏÓ

üyÄ!Ó˚ öyˆÏü ˆã˛ˆÏö §Óy•z⁄ àyì˛¸ x!°û˛ÈÙÈ@ˇÃ#öñ °y° ˆã˛yáñ ˛õ%Ó˚&£ÏÈÙÈ˛õy!á=ˆÏ°yÓ˚ ü%ˆÏá •y°Ü˛y ö#° ˆåÈy˛õ... û˛yÓ˚# §%®Ó˚ ˛õy!áñ öy⁄ !ò§ Óyí≈˛ •zç •zí˛z!öÜ˛ ú˛Ó˚ òƒ xyö•zí˛zç%Î˚y° ˆçu˛yÓ˚ !ü:ñ çyﬁê˛ xƒyç •zí˛z •ƒyû˛–ÛÛ xyö•zí˛zç%Î˚y° ˆçu˛yÓ˚ !ü:ñ !ë˛Ü˛ ˆÎüö!ê˛ •ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ ˆÓ°Óyí≈˛ üy!°ö#Ó˚–

Úxyö•zí˛zç%Î˚y° ÓˆÏ°!åÈ üy!°ö#ñ ˆáÎ˚y° ˆÜ˛yˆÏÓ˚y– xƒyÓöÓ˚üy° Ó!° !ö !Ü˛v– xyö•zí˛zç%Î˚y°ñ xyöÜ˛üöñ

xÓﬂiyÎ˚ §Ω˛Ó⁄

!ï˛ö !ï˛öÓyÓ˚ öy!Ü˛ xyd•ï˛ƒyÓ˚ ˆã˛‹Ty Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ˆÏåÈ ˆê˛!Ó˚–

xï˛ƒhsˇ xyÿ˛Î≈ xyˆÏÓ˚y ~Ü˛!ê˛ ï˛Ìƒ– !Ó §ˆÏÓö ˆ°yÜ˛y° ÌyöyÓ˚

x!ú˛§yÓ˚ ˆÓ˚yöy”˛ ò#â≈!òö ôˆÏÓ˚ !ã˛!Ü˛Í§yÎ˚ xyˆÏåÈöñ

•Ó˚ˆÏüyöÈÙÈˆÌÓ˚y!˛õ !ã˛!Ü˛Í§y–

ï˛y•z Ó%!é˛ ˆÓ˚yöyu˛ xyÓ˚ ˆê˛!Ó˚Ó˚ üˆÏôƒ §üˆÏé˛yï˛y •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°Ê

üy!°ö#ˆÏÜ˛–

x!°!û˛Î˚y í˛zòy•Ó˚î !òˆÏÎ˚ Ó%!é˛ˆÏÎ˚!åÈˆÏ°ö– ˆÓ°ÓyˆÏí≈˛Ó˚

í˛zòy•Ó˚î– üy!°ö#Ó˚ §ˆÏD ˆÓ°ÓyˆÏí≈˛Ó˚ !üˆÏ°Ó˚ Ü˛Ìy– í˛z_Ó˚ xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛yÎ˚ !Üœ˛öyÓ˚ÈÙÈ!ú˛¢ üyˆÏåÈÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ ~üö Ó˚*˛õyhsˇÓ˚Ü˛y!üï˛yÓ˚

Ü˛Ìy– !Üœ˛öyÓ˚ÈÙÈ!ú˛¢ ≤Ãçy!ï˛Ó˚ ˛õ%Ó˚&ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚y §yôyÓ˚îï˛É ˛õÑyã˛ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ò¢çö ﬂf# !öˆÏÎ˚ âÓ˚ ÓÑyˆÏô– ˆÜ˛yˆÏöyû˛yˆÏÓ ˛õ%Ó˚&£ÏÈÙÈüyåÈ üyÓ˚y

ˆàˆÏ° ﬂf#ˆÏòÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ ˆÎ ˆÜ˛yö ~Ü˛çö §Ç§yÓ˚ ˛õ!Ó˚ã˛y°öyÓ˚

To All Members and Friends

Ananda Mandir

âö Ü%˛Î˚y¢yˆÏï˛ ày!í˛¸ê˛y Îáö ˆåÈyR

ÓyÇˆÏ°yê˛yÓ˚ §yüˆÏö ~ˆÏ§ òÑyí˛¸y°ñ

ï˛áö ã˛y!Ó˚!òˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ çD°ê˛yˆÏÜ˛ !ë˛Ü˛

ë˛y•Ó˚ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ˛õy!Ó˚!ö– ˛õ%Ó˚&

x¶˛Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ã˛yòÓ˚ ã˛y!Ó˚!òÜ˛ê˛y ˆì˛ˆÏÜ˛

!òˆÏÎ˚ !òö ˆ¢ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ !ÓÓ˚!ï˛ ˆây£Ïîy

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ !òˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°– ˆ§•z x¶˛Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚

~Ü˛ üye xyˆÏ°yÓ˚ !Ó®% •ˆÏÎ˚

òÑy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ !åÈ° Óy!í˛¸ê˛y– °¡∫y ˛õy•zˆÏöÓ˚ çDˆÏ°Ó˚ üˆÏôƒñ ~Ü˛y òÑy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ ˆåÈyR !Ü˛v !åÈüåÈyüñ !ï˛ã%˛Ó˚y

ˆ•yüˆÏﬁê˛– ~áyˆÏö xy§yÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy

!åÈ° öy xyüyˆÏòÓ˚– 7 ÓåÈÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚

ˆòˆÏ¢ ~ˆÏ§ ˛õ%Ó˚ˆÏöy öﬁê˛y°!çÎ˚yÓ˚

xyüÓ˚yñ üyˆÏö xy!ü xyÓ˚

xyüyÓ˚ !Ü˛å%È Ó¶%˛ Îy!FåÈ òy!ç≈!°Ç

ÙÙÙÈ àhsˇÓƒ ç%Ç˛õyÓ˚y Mayfair

!Ó˚ˆÏ§yê≈˛– Ó˚yç˜Ïö!ï˛Ü˛ à[˛ˆÏàyˆÏ°

Ó˚yhﬂÏy Ó¶˛ •ˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÄÎ˚yˆÏï˛ ~áyˆÏö

xy§y– §yÓ˚y!òˆÏöÓ˚ ˛õÌã˛°yÓ˚

ôÜ˛ˆÏ° ¢Ó˚#Ó˚ ˆçÓ˚ÓyÓ˚– ~Ü˛Ó˚y¢

Üœ˛y!hsˇ !öˆÏÎ˚ ày!í˛¸ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ öyü°yü–

¢Ó˚ˆÏï˛Ó˚

Ü˛›Ó˚# Ó˚yÎ˚ñ Ü˛yˆÏö!QÜ˛yê˛

ày!í˛¸ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ˆöˆÏÓ §Ó˚& Ó˚yhﬂÏy ôˆÏÓ˚ xy!àˆÏÎ˚ ˆàˆÏ° ˆåÈyê˛ ò%ï˛°y

Óy!í˛¸ñ Óy!í˛¸ê˛yÓ˚ ã˛yÓ˚ ˛õyˆÏ¢ ÓyÓ˚y®y– §òÓ˚ òÓ˚çyê˛y §Ó%çñ

ï˛yÓ˚ ò%˛õyˆÏ¢ Óy•y!Ó˚ àyåÈñ òÓ˚çy !òˆÏÎ˚ ì%˛ˆÏÜ˛ ~Ü˛ê˛y ˆáy°y

çyÎ˚ày– ï˛yÓ˚ í˛yö !òˆÏÜ˛ ò%ˆÏê˛y òÓ˚çyñ Óy !òˆÏÜ˛ áyÓyÓ˚ âÓ˚–

ˆ§yçy ~ˆÏàyˆÏ° ˆòyï˛°yˆÏï˛ ÎyÓyÓ˚ !§Ñ!í˛¸– Üœ˛yhsˇ ¢Ó˚#Ó˚ê˛yˆÏÜ˛

ï˛yˆÏÜ˛–

ˆÓyé˛y ˆÎï˛ öy xyÓ˚ xy!ü ˆÜ˛yö!òö Îy•zÄ!ö ÄˆÏòÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸– §yüy!çÜ˛ ˆã˛öy çyöy ÌyÜ˛ˆÏ°Ä xy§y ÎyÄÎ˚y !åÈ° öy

ÄˆÏòÓ˚ §ˆÏD– xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ !ï˛öï˛°yÓ˚ åÈyò ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ xy!ü ï˛yˆÏòÓ˚ xˆÏô≈Ü˛ áˆÏí˛¸Ó˚ xyÓ˚ áy!öÜ˛ ˛õyÜ˛y Óy!í˛¸Ó˚ åÈyò ˆòˆÏá xy®yç

Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ ˆã˛‹Ty Ü˛Ó˚ï˛yü x®Ó˚ê˛y ˆÜ˛üöñ Ü˛ê˛y âÓ˚ •ˆÏÓñ ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚

!àˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°yü !û˛ï˛ˆÏÓ˚– ˆ§!òö ˆÎüö üˆÏöÓ˚ xÓﬂiy •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°ñ

ˆÏÎ à!ï˛ˆÏï˛ ˆòÔˆÏí˛¸!åÈ°ñ ˆï˛üö xyçÜ˛y° xyÓ˚ •Î˚

öy– ÓˆÏÎ˚§ ˆÓˆÏí˛¸ˆÏåÈñ öy!Ü˛ •Î˚Ê ˆÎüö •° xyç–

ˆ§ ~!àˆÏÎ˚ ~ˆÏ§ Ó°°ñ ÚÚˆÜ˛üö xyˆÏåÈy ˆü‡°⁄ÛÛ ôÜ˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚

í˛zˆÏë˛!åÈ° Ó%Ü˛ê˛y– öyüê˛y Ü˛ï˛!òö ˛õÓ˚ ÷ö°yüÊ ˆÜ˛í˛z ˆÎö ~Ü˛ ôyE˛yˆÏï˛ ˆ˛õÑÔˆÏåÈ !òˆÏÎ˚!åÈ° xyüyˆÏÜ˛ Ü˛Ñy§y•z öò#Ó˚ ôyˆÏÓ˚–

ˆ§•z ~Ü˛ !ö‹õy˛õ •y!§ñ ˆ§•z ~Ü˛ !öˆÏê˛y° ü%áñ ~Ü˛ üyÌy éÑ˛yÜ˛í˛¸y ã%˛° ÙÙÙÈ ˆÎ=ˆÏ°yˆÏï˛ ~Ü˛!òö xyüyÓ˚ xyD%°

xÓyhsˇÓ˚ ≤ÃˆÏŸ¿Ó˚ !Ü˛ í˛z_Ó˚ ˆòÓ ˆû˛ˆÏÓ öy ˆ˛õˆÏÎ˚ •y§°yü– Ó°°yü ÚÚï%˛!ü ~áyˆÏö â%Ó˚ˆÏï˛⁄ÛÛ ˆ§

~ˆÏ§yÛÛ ÙÙÙÈ Ó°° ÚÚöy ÌyÜ˛ Ü˛y° ˆòáy •ˆÏÓ–ÛÛ Ó°°yü ÚÜ˛y° §Ü˛yˆÏ° xy!ü ã˛ˆÏ°

Îy!FåÈÛ ÙÙÙÈ í˛z_ˆÏÓ˚ ˆ§ áy!° Ó°ˆÏ°y ÚÚÄ•‰ÛÛ ÙÙÙÈ ˆÜ˛yö ˆÜ˛Ôï)˛•°ñ

ˆÜ˛yö í˛z_y˛õ ˆö•z– ÌyÜ˛yÓ˚ Ü˛ÌyÄ öyñ ï˛Ó% ˆÜ˛ö ˆÎö üˆÏö

•° ÌyÜ˛ˆÏ° û˛y° °yàï˛– !Ü˛v ˆ§•z xy¢yÓ˚ çyÎ˚ày ˆï˛y xy!ü !öˆÏç ~Ü˛!òö ˆåÈˆÏí˛¸ ~ˆÏ§!åÈ– ˆ§ •y§° ÙÙÙÈ ˆ§•z !ﬂøï˛

¢yhsˇ •y!§ ÙÙÙÈ ï˛yˆÏï˛ !Ü˛ •y°Ü˛y ò%Éá !üˆÏ¢ˆÏåÈ ÙÙÙÈ öy •Î˚ï˛

xyüyˆÏÜ˛ Ó°° ÚÚˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚

ÌyÜ˛– xyüyÓ˚ ~Ü˛yhsˇ •ˆÏÎ˚

ÎyÜ˛ ˆ§•z ~Ü˛ê˛y §Ü˛y°ó ˆÎáyˆÏö ò%ˆÏê˛y üyö%ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚

í˛zFã˛yÜ˛yA«˛yñ í˛zFå¥Èy§ !Ü˛å%È•z !åÈ° öy– !åÈ° !Ü˛å%È xÜ˛yÓ˚î û˛yˆÏ°y°yàyÓ˚ Ó%òÓ%ò– ˆ§•z Ó%òÓ%ˆÏò xy!ü xyD%° ˆåÈÑyÄÎ˚yÓ öy– ï˛yÓ˚y Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÜ˛ ÷ô% xyüyÓ˚ •ˆÏÎ˚ó í˛zˆÏí˛¸ ˆÓí˛¸yÜ˛ xyüyÓ˚ xyÜ˛yˆÏ¢–

MEMBERS AND FRIENDS

ANANDA MANDIR

Abhijit & Balaka Sen

§üÎ˚ê˛y !åÈ° àÓ˚ˆÏüÓ˚ !ë˛Ü˛ ˛õˆÏÓ˚ ˛õˆÏÓ˚•z– üyˆÏé˛ üˆÏôƒ ò%ÈÙÈ~Ü˛

˛õ¢°y •y°Ü˛y Ó,!‹T •ˆÏ°Ä ï˛áöÄ ÓÓ˚£Ïy xyˆÏ§!ö– àÓ˚üê˛y

û˛yˆÏ°y•z !åÈ°– ˆ§ÓyÓ˚ xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ àhsˇÓƒ é˛yí˛¸áˆÏ[˛Ó˚ °yˆÏï˛•yÓ˚

ˆç°yÎ˚ ˆåÈyê˛öyà˛õ%Ó˚ üy°û)˛!üÓ˚ ˆÓï˛°y xÓ˚îƒ– Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛y

ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ àyí˛¸#ˆÏï˛ ˆã˛ˆÏ˛õ ê˛y!ê˛é˛!Ó˚Î˚yñ •yçy!Ó˚Óyàñ ê%˛!ê˛°yÄÎ˚yñ

!§üy!Ó˚Î˚y •ˆÏÎ˚ °yˆÏï˛•yÓ˚– ~•z !åÈ° xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ Îyey˛õÌ–

Ó˚yï˛û˛Ó˚ àyí˛¸#ˆÏï˛ ã˛°yÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ xyüÓ˚y Îáö ê˛y!ê˛é˛!Ó˚Î˚y ˆ˛õÑÔåÈ°yü

ï˛áöÄ ˆû˛yˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ xyˆÏ°y ˆú˛yˆÏê˛!ö– xyˆÏôy x¶˛Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚

xÓˆÏ¢ˆÏ£Ï üáü!° §Ó%ç ˛õÌ ˛õyÓ˚ •ˆÏÎ˚ !òˆÏöÓ˚ x!hsˇü °ˆÏ@¿

é˛yí˛¸á[˛ ê%˛ƒ!Ó˚çüÈÙÈ~Ó˚ ˆ•yˆÏê˛° ÚÓö !Ó•yÓ˚ÛÈÙÈ~ ˆ˛õÔÑåÈ°yü–

ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ ˆ§!òˆÏöÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y !Ó◊yü– ˛õÓ˚!òö §Ü˛yˆÏ° ˆÓ˚OyÓ˚

§yˆÏ•ˆÏÓÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ ˆòáy •°– !Ü˛å%È Ü˛yˆÏçÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy ˆ§ˆÏÓ˚ xyüÓ˚y

ˆÓÓ˚&°yü çD° ºüˆÏî–

~ çDˆÏ° Ü˛_ Ó˚Ü˛ˆÏüÓ˚ çyöyÈÙÈxçyöy àyåÈ ÙÙÙÈ ¢y°ñ ˆ§=öñ

àyü•yÓ˚ñ ü‡Î˚yñ ˆÜ˛®%ñ xˆÏ¢yÜ˛ñ Ü˛òüñ Ü%˛§%üñ çyÓ˚&°ñ áˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ñ

öyöy ôÓ˚ˆÏöÓ˚ ÓÑy¢ñ •zí˛zÜ˛ƒy!°≤WzyˆÏ§Ó˚ xy!ôÜ˛ƒ– ÷‹Ü˛ ˛õî≈ˆÏüyã˛#

xÓ˚îƒ– ˆüÔ§ü ˆ¢ˆÏ£Ï àyˆÏåÈÓ˚ §Ó ˛õyï˛y é˛ˆÏÓ˚ ÎyÎ˚– ï˛áö ~

çDˆÏ°Ó˚ xöƒ ~Ü˛ Ó˚*˛õ– Ó˚&«˛ñ ÷‹Ü˛ñ ˛õyï˛yé˛Ó˚y xÓ˚ˆÏîƒ

àyåÈ=ˆÏ°y ï˛yˆÏòÓ˚

xyÓyÓ˚ Ó§ˆÏhsˇ Îáö àyˆÏåÈ àyˆÏåÈ Ü˛!ã˛ ˛õyï˛y ˆÓÓ˚ •Î˚ñ Óy Ó£Ï≈yÎ˚ âö §Ó%ç ˛õyï˛yÓ˚ xyû˛Ó˚ˆÏî

ÓÑy!ã˛ˆÏÎ˚ ˆÓ˚ˆÏáˆÏåÈ–

Óö!Óû˛yˆÏàÓ˚ àyí˛¸# Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ çDˆÏ° ì%˛Ü˛°yü– û˛yˆÏ°y°yàyÎ˚ û˛ˆÏÓ˚

í˛zë˛ˆÏ°y üö– ~Ü˛ê˛y çyÎ˚àyÎ˚ ~ˆÏ§ ˛õÌê˛y ò%Û!òˆÏÜ˛ ˆÓÑˆÏÜ˛ ˆàˆÏåÈ–

çyÎ˚àyê˛y ˆòˆÏá üˆÏö ˛õˆÏí˛¸ ˆà° xyüyÓ˚ !≤ÃÎ˚ Ü˛!ÓÓ˚ ˆ°áy

ˆ§•z !Óáƒyï˛ °y•zö ÙÙÙÈ “Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less travelled by...’’ ~ï˛ §%®Ó˚ âö §Ó%ç çD°– àyí˛¸#Ó˚

ã˛yÜ˛yÎ˚ ˜ï˛!Ó˚ •ÄÎ˚y §Ó˚& ò%ˆÏê˛y ˛õˆÏÌÓ˚ ˆÓ˚áy Óö ˆ˛õ!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ xyÓ˚Ä

ÓˆÏö !àˆÏÎ˚

•°%ò öyöy xyÜ,˛!ï˛Ó˚ ˛õyï˛y– xy§ˆÏ°

xyÓ˚ ≤ÃÜ,˛!ï˛Ó˚ §¡õò !öˆÏçÓ˚ ˆáÎ˚yˆÏ°•z ã˛ˆÏ°ó üyö%ˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ ˆáÎ˚y°á%!¢ üˆÏï˛y ã˛ˆÏ° öyÊ ï˛y•z ≤Ãyî# öy ˆòáˆÏï˛ ˆ˛õˆÏ°Ä

≤ÃÜ,˛!ï˛ ~ˆÏï˛y ˙ŸªÎ≈ §y!çˆÏÎ˚ !öˆÏÎ˚ ÓˆÏ§ xyˆÏåÈ ï˛yÓ˚ í˛y!°ˆÏï˛ñ

å%ÈˆÏê˛ ã˛ˆÏ°ˆÏåÈ xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ àyí˛¸#Ó˚ ˆ˛õåÈö ˆ˛õåÈö–•yÄÎ˚yˆÏï˛ !ú˛§!ú˛§y!ö ï%˛ˆÏ° !Ü˛å%È áˆÏÎ˚!Ó˚

!òöû˛Ó˚ ˆÓ˚yˆÏò ˆ˛õyí˛¸y ÓˆÏöÓ˚ ày ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ~Ü˛ê˛y ï˛#Ó éÑ˛yé˛yˆÏ°y xÌã˛ !ü!‹T à¶˛

ˆÓÓ˚ •Î˚– ˛õî≈ˆÏüyã˛# àyˆÏåÈÓ˚ ˛õyï˛yÓ˚ à¶˛ñ ˛õ%ê%˛ˆÏ§Ó˚ ˆé˛yˆÏ˛õÓ˚

í˛z@ˇÃ à¶˛ñ éÑ˛y éÑ˛y ˆÓ˚yˆÏò ˆ˛õyí˛¸y Óö˛õˆÏÌÓ˚ °y° üy!ê˛Ó˚ à¶˛ §Ó

!üˆÏ°!üˆÏ¢ ~Ü˛yÜ˛yÓ˚–

xq$ï˛ ~Ü˛ hﬂÏ∏˛ï˛y xÓ˚îƒüÎ˚– ˜öÉ¢ˆÏ∑Ó˚ üˆÏï˛y ¢∑üÎ˚ï˛y

xyÓ˚ !Ü˛å%È ˆö•z ˆÓyô•Î˚Ê xÓ˚ˆÏîƒÓ˚Ä xˆÏöÜ˛ !Ü˛å%È Ó°yÓ˚

ÌyˆÏÜ˛– çDˆÏ°Ó˚ !öhﬂÏ∏˛ï˛yÎ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛y ˛õyï˛y é˛Ó˚yÓ˚Ä xy°yòy

¢∑ xyˆÏåÈñ Óyï˛yˆÏ§Ó˚ ˆòy°yÎ˚ ˛õyï˛yÓ˚ ÓÑy!¢Ó˚Ä ~Ü˛ê˛y §%Ó˚

xyˆÏåÈñ xyÓ˚ ˆÜ˛yö öy ˆÜ˛yö ˛õy!áÓ˚ í˛yÜ˛ ˆï˛y xyˆÏåÈ•z– ~•z

≤Ã!ï˛!ê˛ ¢∑•z ÎyÓ˚y xhsˇÓ˚ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ çD°ˆÏÜ˛ û˛yˆÏ°yÓyˆÏ§ö ~ÓÇ Óö ˛õy•yˆÏí˛¸ °%ƒöy!ê˛ˆÏÜ˛Ó˚

ˆòyˆÏÎ˚ˆÏ°Ó˚

ˆáy°y ây§ ç!üˆÏï˛ xçﬂÀ Ó%°Ó%!°ñ â%â% xyÓ˚

åÈƒyÙÈåÈƒy Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚

í˛yÜ˛ˆÏï˛ í˛yÜ˛ˆÏï˛ öyã˛!åÈ° ˆé˛yˆÏ˛õÓ˚ ˛õyˆÏ¢– ö#°Ü˛t˛ ˛õy!áê˛y

ÓˆÏ§!åÈ° ~Ü˛ê˛y §Ó˚& í˛yˆÏ°Ó˚ í˛z˛õÓ˚– xyã˛üÜ˛y•z ÄÓ˚ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚yçy

ö#° í˛yöyò%!ê˛ ˆüˆÏ° í˛zˆÏí˛¸ !àˆÏÎ˚ •y!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ ˆà° àyˆÏåÈÓ˚ xyí˛¸yˆÏ°–

xyÓyÓ˚ §Ó !öhﬂÏ∏˛– ~•zû˛yˆÏÓ Ü˛ï˛«˛î ˆÜ˛ˆÏê˛ ˆà° çy!ööy–

xyüÓ˚y ˆÜ˛í˛z•z ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy Ü˛Ìy öy ÓˆÏ° ÷ô% ÷ö!åÈ°yü... ÓöüÎ˚

Ü˛yÓ˚y ˆÎö Ü˛Ìy Ü˛Î˚...

ˆÓ°y ÓˆÏÎ˚ ˆà°– ~ü!ö Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚•z ˆÓ°y ÓˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÎ˚ ≤Ã!ï˛!òö

§ˆÏ¶˛ƒ öyüyÓ˚ xyˆÏà– !ï˛!ï˛ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ Ü˛yß¨yñ ˛õy!˛õÎ˚yÓ˚ !˛õí˛z ÜÑ˛y•yñ

ê˛ƒÑyÈÙÈê˛ƒÑy

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep But I have promises to keep And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep...”

We salute

Ananda Mandir

Trustees & Volunteers

For another year of dedicated work!

Jai Prakash Biswas

Suparna Biswas

ˆåÈˆÏí˛¸ñ §ˆÏÓ

xyüÓ˚y ˛õ%Ó˚&!°Î˚yÈÙÈxy§yöˆÏ§y° ˆﬁê˛ê˛ÈÙÈ•y•zÄˆÏÎ˚ˆÏï˛ ˛õˆÏí˛¸!åÈ–

ârê˛yáyˆÏöˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ çD° xyÓ˚ í˛zÖã%˛ÈÙÈö#ã%˛

ˆ˛õÑÔåÈ°yü ˛õMÈ˛ˆÏÜ˛yˆÏê˛Ó˚ àˆÏí˛¸–

1600 á #ﬁê˛yˆÏ∑ ˜Ïï˛!Ó˚ ~•z Ó˚yç≤Ãy§yòñ Ó˚yçy òyˆÏüyòÓ˚ ≤Ã§yò !§Ç ˆòÄÓ˚ §üÎ˚ ¢e&Ó˚ xye´üˆÏî ô#ˆÏÓ˚ ô#ˆÏÓ˚

üï˛ Ó!°ˆÏÎ˚–

!çöˆÏ§Ó˚ ˛õˆÏÜ˛ˆÏê˛ =ÑˆÏçñ ÄˆÏÜ˛ !ÓòyÎ˚ çyöy°yü–

xˆÏöÜ˛ ˆ°ê˛– xyüyÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸Ó˚

Ó˚yï˛– ˆﬁê˛¢ˆÏö ~Ü˛!ê˛Ä ày!í˛¸Ó˚

Best Wishes Best Wishes Best Wishes Best Wishes Best Wishes

T T T T To All Members and F o All Members and F o All Members and F o All Members and F o All Members and Friends riends riends riends riends

of Ananda Mandir

Tandra Bhowmick

Jayadratha Bhowmick

xyç

Óy!í˛¸Ó˚

ÙÙÙÈ ã˛ˆÏ°y •yï˛ü%á ô%ˆÏÎ˚ áyÓyÓ˚ ˆáˆÏÎ˚ öyÄñ òyòyÓyÓ%–

ÙÙÙÈ üy ÷ˆÏÎ˚ ˛õˆÏí˛¸ˆÏåÈ⁄ ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy í˛z_Ó˚ öy !òˆÏÎ˚ñ Ó˚yü% Ü˛yÜ˛y

áyÓyÓ˚ xyöˆÏï˛ ÎyÎ˚– ˆ§•z ~Ü˛•z ≤ÃŸ¿ xyÓ˚ ï˛yÓ˚ ~Ü˛•z ö#Ó˚Ó

í˛z_Ó˚ñ ï˛Ó% ˆÜ˛ö ˆÎ ö#ˆÏ°¢ !çˆÏK˛§ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚– Ä ˆï˛y çyˆÏö

â%ü xyˆÏ§

ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ ~Ü˛!òö Ü˛yÓ˚áyöyÎ˚

Ó•zÈÙÈáyï˛y •yˆÏï˛ 12 ö¡∫Ó˚ ê˛Δyü ôÓ˚yÓ˚ çöƒ òÑy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ xyˆÏåÈ–

ê˛Δyü ﬁê˛ƒyˆÏu˛ ~ˆÏ§ ≤Ã#!ï˛ˆÏÜ˛ •ë˛yÍ ˆòáyÓ˚ û˛yö Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ñ Ü˛Ìy Ó°ˆÏï˛

÷Ó˚& Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ÙÙÙÈ ˆ§•z ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ÄˆÏòÓ˚ ê˛ΔyˆÏü Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ~Ü˛§yˆÏÌ ÎyÄÎ˚y

xy§y– Ó¶%˛c ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ Ü˛áö ˆÎ û˛yˆÏ°yÓy§y •ˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÎ˚ Ä Ó%é˛ˆÏï˛

ö#ˆÏ°ˆÏ¢Ó˚ ~•z xq$ï˛ áyüˆÏáÎ˚y!° ã˛!Ó˚eê˛y ≤Ã#!ï˛Ó˚Ä û˛yˆÏ°y °yˆÏà–

§Ó ˆ¢yöyÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ ≤Ã#!ï˛ ÓˆÏ°!åÈˆÏ°y ÙÙÙÈ ˆ§ çyöˆÏï˛y ö#ˆÏ°ˆÏ¢Ó˚

ÚÚxƒy°ˆÏÜ˛y•° !í˛ˆÏ˛õˆÏu˛™ÛÛ ~Ó˚ Ü˛Ìy– !Ü˛v xˆÏ˛õ«˛y Ü˛Ó˚!åÈˆÏ°y

Ü˛ˆÏÓ ö#ˆÏ°¢ !öˆÏç ~ˆÏ§ Ó°ˆÏÓ– Ä ˆçyÓ˚ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ !ã˛!Ü˛Í§y Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy Ó°ˆÏï˛ ã˛yÎ˚!ö– ö#ˆÏ°ˆÏ¢Ó˚ û˛#£Ïî x!û˛üyö •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ° ÙÙÙÈ ≤Ã#!ï˛ ï˛y•ˆÏ° !öˆÏçÓ˚ !Ó˚§yã≈˛ ~Ó˚ çöƒ ÄˆÏÜ˛ ÚÚ§yÓˆÏçQÛÛ

•ƒyˆÏ°y Ó¶%˛Ó˚yñ xy!ü ü%!öÎ˚y... á%Ó ò%É!áï˛ xyç ˆï˛yüyˆÏòÓ˚ =í˛ ü!ö≈Ç Ó°ˆÏï˛ ˛õy!Ó˚!öñ ï˛y•z ã˛ˆÏ° ~°yü ˆï˛yüyˆÏòÓ˚ §yüˆÏö °y•zû˛ Ó˚yˆÏï˛Ó˚ áÓÓ˚ çyöyˆÏï˛...

Ó˚yï˛ öyüˆÏåÈñ Ó˚yhﬂÏyÓ˚ xyˆÏ°yÓ˚ ~Ü˛ú˛y!° x˛õÓ˚*˛õ xy“öy

üyˆÏé˛

ˆÓí˛Ó˚&ü !ü÷Ü˛ˆÏÜ˛ ˆåÈˆÏí˛¸ ÄÓ˚y ü%!öÎ˚yÓ˚

ü%!öÎ˚y–

§Ü˛yˆÏ°

ôÓôˆÏÓ §yòy öÓ˚ü ~Ü˛=FåÈ •zí˛!° xyÓ˚ ˆôÑyÎ˚y Äë˛y !ﬁê˛ˆÏ°Ó˚

Ü˛yˆÏ˛õ !ê˛!˛õÜ˛ƒy° §yí˛zˆÏÌÓ˚ Ü˛!ú˛ !öˆÏÎ˚ òÑy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ ~Ü˛ˆÏçyí˛¸y

ò¡õ!ï˛–3

Good morning friends...

Úxy!üÛ !ë˛Ü˛ ˆ§•z xyˆÏàÓ˚ Úxy!üÛ xyÓ˚ ˆö•z– åÈÜ˛Ü˛yê˛y

í˛z£èï˛y–

xyüyÎ˚ §Ó§üÎ˚ öï%˛ö xyˆÏ°yÓ˚ Ó˚!Ÿ¬ ˆòáyÎ˚⁄

ÙÙÙÈ Ó¶%˛ ˆï˛yüÓ˚yÊ üyˆÏö •zí˛z!ê˛í˛zÓñ •zöﬁê˛Δy@ˇÃyˆÏü xyüyÓ˚

ú˛ˆÏ°yÎ˚yÓ˚Ó˚yÊ ˆï˛yüÓ˚y•z

Ó˚yˆÏáyñ í˛zÍ§y• !òˆÏÎ˚ !Ó£Ïyò !öÇˆÏí˛¸ ˆÓÑˆÏã˛

Ó˚*˛õñ ˆÎÔÓöñ Ó˚yàñ ò%Éáñ xyö®ñ §Ó•z öŸªÓ˚– ï˛Ó% ˆòˆÏáyÊ

xyüÓ˚y ˆÜ˛üö xyê˛ˆÏÜ˛ Ìy!Ü˛ ~Ó˚•z !üˆÏÌƒ ˆüy•üyÎ˚yÎ˚–

çyö•z ˆï˛yÊ ~•z !öÌÓ˚ ç#ÓˆÏö xyç û˛yÓöyÓ˚ çy° åÈyí˛¸y

xyÓ˚ ˆÓ!¢ xyÓ˚ !Ü˛å%È ˆö•z xyüyÓ˚– ï˛y•z ÓyÓ˚ ÓyÓ˚ à°yÎ˚

í˛zÌˆÏ° Äë˛y §Ó%çyû˛ •°%ò àÓ˚° §!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ üyï,˛ ò%ˆÏ?˛Ó˚ üˆÏï˛y

xˆÏ°Ô!Ü˛Ü˛ xü,ï˛ ˆáÑyˆÏç xyüyÓ˚ üö–

ÓÓ˚ú˛ Óyí˛¸ˆÏåÈñ xyÓ˚ ï˛yÓ˚ Ä˛õÓ˚ •°%ò xyˆÏ°y ˛õˆÏí˛¸ ÓÓ˚ú˛ê˛yˆÏÜ˛

ˆÜ˛üö ô)§Ó˚ §yòy üˆÏö •ˆÏFåÈ–

xyç ˆÎö ˆÜ˛üö °yàˆÏåÈ çyöÊ ˆÜ˛Ó°•z üˆÏö •ˆÏFåÈ ˆÓ¢#

!Ü˛å%È ˆï˛y ã˛y•z!ö ç#ÓˆÏöÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈÊ fl∫≤¿ !åÈ° í˛y_ýÓ˚ •Óñ x§%fli üyö%£Ï=ˆÏ°yˆÏÜ˛ ~Ü˛ê˛y §%fli fl∫yû˛y!ÓÜ˛ Îy˛õö ˆòÄÎ˚yÓ˚ ˆã˛‹Ty Ü˛Ó˚Ó–

Ó˚Ü˛ü ˆê˛ˆÏﬁê˛Ó˚ ˛õÓ˚ Îáö í˛y_´yÓ˚ Ó°°

ü%!öÎ˚y ê˛y•z˛õ ÄÎ˚yö í˛yÎ˚y!Ó!ê˛ˆÏ§Ó˚ !¢Ü˛yÓ˚ ï˛áöÄ Óƒy˛õyÓ˚ê˛yˆÏÜ˛

ˆï˛üö !§!Ó˚Î˚y§ û˛yˆÏÓ!ö Ó!ö !Ü˛ÇÓy x!öˆÏü£Ï–

Î!òÄ ï˛yˆÏòÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚y ú˛ƒy!ü!°ˆÏï˛•z ê˛y•z˛õ ÄÎ˚yö í˛yÎ˚!Ó!ê˛§

ˆ°ˆÏû˛° ˆã˛Ü˛– xyÓ˚

Óyí˛¸ˆÏåÈ– ï˛Ó% ü%á Ó%ˆÏç

Ü˛yÓ˚î ~Ü˛ê%˛ ¢∑ ˆ˛õˆÏ°•z üy å%ÈˆÏê˛ xy§ˆÏÓ– Ü˛ï˛!òö

ˆà° üy ~Ü˛ê˛yöy ˆÓ!¢«˛î â%ˆÏüyˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚ öy–

§¶˛ƒyÓ˚ !òˆÏÜ˛ Ó,!‹Tê˛y ~Ü˛ê%˛ ˆÎö ˆéÑ˛ˆÏ˛õ

~°– !ê˛ˆÏöÓ˚ ã˛y° åÈy!˛õˆÏÎ˚ Ó,!‹TÓ˚ åÈyê˛

òÓ˚üyÓ˚ ˆòÄÎ˚yˆÏ°Ä °yàˆÏåÈ– §Ó˚üy

í˛zö%ˆÏöÓ˚ xÑyã˛ê˛y xyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê%˛ í˛zˆÏﬁÜ˛ !òˆÏÎ˚

û˛yï˛ ã˛y!˛õˆÏÎ˚ !ò°– !ï˛ö ÓåÈˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ xö%

í˛zö%ˆÏöÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ üyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ ày ˆâÑˆÏ£Ï ÓˆÏ§

˛õí˛¸°– Ó•z ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ü%á ï%˛ˆÏ° !ï˛ö%

!çK˛y§y Ü˛Ó˚°ñ ÚÄ üy xyç ÓyÓyÓ˚ ~ï˛

ˆò!Ó˚ •ˆÏFåÈ ˆÜ˛ö⁄ xyê˛ê˛y ˆï˛y ÓyçˆÏï˛

ã˛°°ÊÛ Úxy§ˆÏÓ !ë˛Ü˛ §üˆÏÎ˚•zñ Óy§

Îy xÓﬂiy– ï%˛•z ˆï˛yÓ˚ !öˆÏçÓ˚ ˛õí˛¸y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ÎyÊÛ Ü˛Ìyê˛y ÓˆÏ°Ä §Ó˚üy !öˆÏç !ö!ÿ˛hsˇ •ˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚ öy– Ó˚yhﬂÏy

Ü˛ï˛ Ó˚Ü˛ü !Ó˛õò– âˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ üyö%£Ï

öy ˆú˛Ó˚y ˛õÎ≈hsˇ !ã˛hsˇyÓ˚ xhsˇ ÌyˆÏÜ˛

÷Ó˚& Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏÓö– í˛z!ö ÷Ó˚& Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏ°

˛õ%ˆÏçyÓ˚ ú%˛° §#üy Óƒyöyç≈#ÈÙÈÓ˚yÎ˚ñ ˆê˛:y§

ÓyÇ°yˆÏòˆÏ¢Ó˚ •yDyüyÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ ˛õ)Ó≈ ÓyÇ°yÓ˚ !û˛ˆÏê˛ÈÙÈüy!ê˛

~ˆÏ§ ÄÓ˚y xyˆÏåÈ Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛yÓ˚ í˛z˛õÜ˛ˆÏZ˛ñ ~Ü˛ê˛y òÓ˚üyÓ˚ âÓ˚ û˛yí˛¸y

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚– Ó%!í˛¸ üyñ §Ó˚üy xyÓ˚ ò%ˆÏê˛y ˆüˆÏÎ˚ ÙÙÙÈ ~ï˛=ˆÏ°y ü%á ˙

ˆ°yˆÏÜ˛Ó˚

!öû≈˛Ó˚

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚– ï˛y•z ï˛yÓ˚ âˆÏÓ˚ !ú˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ˆò!Ó˚ •ˆÏ° á%Ó•z !ã˛hsˇy •Î˚–xyˆÏà @ˇÃyˆÏü ÌyÜ˛yÓ˚ §üÎ˚ ~Ó˚Ü˛ü û˛Î˚ !åÈ°öyñ üyÌyÓ˚ Ä˛õˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

xyŸªhﬂÏ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Ó°°ñ ÙÙÙÈ Úxy!üÄ !Ó÷ÓyÓ%ˆÏÜ˛ ˆ§•z Ü˛Ìyê˛y Ó°!åÈ°yü–Û !Ó÷ÓyÓ% Ó°ˆÏ°öñ Ú~ÓyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ öï%˛ö üƒyˆÏöçyÓ˚ xyˆÏàÓ˚ ÓyÓ%ˆÏòÓ˚ üï˛ öÎ˚ñ §Ü˛ˆÏ°Ó˚ §yˆÏÌ §yôyÓ˚î

ˆ°yˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ üï˛ö ˆüˆÏ¢ö–Û

ÙÙÙÈ ÚxyFåÈyñ ~•z !Ü˛ ˆï˛yüyˆÏòÓ˚ ˆ§•z öï%˛ö §yˆÏ•Ó ˆÎ ˆï˛yüyÓ˚

Ü˛yåÈ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ áyÓyÓ˚ !Ü˛ˆÏö ˆÜ˛Ó˚y!ö ÓyÓ%ˆÏòÓ˚ üï˛ö Ó˚yhﬂÏyÎ˚ òÑy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚

áy!FåÈ°ñ ï%˛!ü ÓˆÏ°!åÈˆÏ°⁄Û §Ó˚üy !çˆÏK˛§ Ü˛Ó˚°– §öyï˛ö

•ˆÏÎ˚ Ó°°ñ

!Ü˛v

Ó%Ü˛ ˆú˛ˆÏê˛ ÎyÎ˚– à°y !òˆÏÎ˚

°%!ã˛ÈÙÈxy°%Ó˚òü öyüˆÏï˛ ã˛yÎ˚öyñ üˆÏö •Î˚ öàò ˛õÑyã˛ ê˛yÜ˛yÓ˚

ˆöyê˛ !ã˛!ÓˆÏÎ˚ áyˆÏFåÈ– ˆÎ!òö x!ú˛§ Ó¶˛ ÌyˆÏÜ˛ ˆ§!òö ˛õyí˛¸yÓ˚

ˆüyˆÏí˛¸ ÓˆÏ§ Îy !Ó!e´ •Î˚–

Ó˚yhﬂÏyÓ˚ Ä˛õyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ Óy!í˛¸Ó˚ §yàÓ˚!òˆÏÜ˛ ˆòˆÏá §Ó˚üyÓ˚ á%Ó

û˛yˆÏ°y°yˆÏàñ !Ü˛ §%®Ó˚ §%ˆÏá xyˆÏåÈ ÄÓ˚y– ÄÓ˚yÄ ˛õ)Ó≈ÓyÇ°y ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ~ˆÏ§!åÈ°ñ ï˛ˆÏÓ xˆÏöÜ˛ xyˆÏà– §yàÓ˚!òÓ˚ ﬂ∫yü# ~Ü˛ê˛y

§Ó˚Ü˛yÓ˚# x!ú˛ˆÏ§ ˆÜ˛Ó˚yö#Ó˚ Ü˛yç Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ö– ò¢ê˛y öyàyò ïÑ˛yˆÏÜ˛Ä

ú˛y•zú˛Ó˚üy§ áyê˛y– Ü˛yç

xyüyÓ˚ §Ó çyöyñ •zÜ˛Óy°Ó˚y §Ó Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆò!áˆÏï˛y– á%Ó •yŒÜ˛y

Ü˛yç– ˆï˛yüyˆÏÜ˛Ä xyÓ˚ ˆû˛yÓ˚ Ó˚yˆÏï˛ í˛zë˛ˆÏï˛ •ˆÏÓöyñ §yàÓ˚!òÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y §Ü˛y° §yˆÏí˛¸ åÈê˛yÎ˚ í˛zë˛ˆÏï˛

üˆÏï˛y åÈÎ˚ê˛yÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ Óy!í˛¸ !ú˛Ó˚ˆÏÓ ˆï˛y⁄ xyüyÓ˚ á%Ó •zˆÏFåÈ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ §yàÓ˚!òÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y ~Ü˛ ~Ü˛!òö

ˆï˛yüyÓ˚ §ˆÏD ~Ü˛ê%˛ ˆÓÓ˚&•z– !ï˛ö%ÈÙÈxö% üyÓ˚

Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏÓ–

ï%˛•z Î!ò !ë˛Ü˛üï˛ Ü˛yç Ü˛!Ó˚§ ï˛y•ˆÏ°•z §Ó •ˆÏÓ–Û

üˆÏï˛y

•zˆÏFåÈ Ü˛Ó˚!åÈ° §öyï˛öˆÏÜ˛

Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ñ !Ü˛v ˆüˆÏÎ˚Ó˚y xyÓ˚ üy ÌyÜ˛yˆÏï˛ ~Ü˛ê%˛ °Iy ˆ˛õ°– ~Ü˛ê˛y üye âˆÏÓ˚ ~•z ~Ü˛ x§%!ÓˆÏô–

§öyï˛ö x!ú˛ˆÏ§ ˆì˛yÜ˛yÓ˚ xyˆÏà Ü˛˛õyˆÏ° ã˛®ˆÏöÓ˚ ˆú˛Ñyê˛yê˛y

ü%ˆÏåÈ !ö°– ï˛áöÄ xöƒ ˆÓÎ˚yÓ˚yÓ˚y ˆÜ˛í˛z xyˆÏ§!ö– §öyï˛ö

öï%˛ö üƒyˆÏöçyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ âˆÏÓ˚ ˆã˛Î˚yÓ˚ ˆê˛!Ó° §Ó Îb Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ü%ˆÏåÈ

ˆ°yˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ ≤ÃˆÏÎ˚yçö !åÈ°–ÛÛ Ü˛Ìyê˛y ~Ü˛ê%˛ ˆçyˆÏÓ˚•z Ó°y •ˆÏÎ˚ !àˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°ñ xy¢˛õyˆÏ¢Ó˚

!Ü˛û˛yˆÏÓ çyöyˆÏÓ Ó%é˛ˆÏï˛ öy ˆ˛õˆÏÓ˚

~áyˆÏöñ àï˛ ÷e´ÓyÓ˚•z §Óy•zˆÏÜ˛ áyÓyÓ˚ !Ó!e´ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ˆÏåÈ–

ÄˆÏÜ˛ öï%˛ö xÓﬂiyÎ˚ ˆòˆÏá öyöyö çö öyöyö ühsˇÓƒ Ü˛Ó˚°–ˆÜ˛í˛z çyöy° x!û˛ö®ö ˆÜ˛í˛z !ò° ˆáÑyã˛y– !ê˛!ú˛ˆÏöÓ˚ §üÎ˚

§öyï˛ö xöƒÓ˚Ü˛ü xö%û˛Ó Ü˛Ó˚°– xöƒ!òö ~§üÎ˚ x!ú˛ˆÏ§Ó˚

~Ü˛≤Ãyhsˇ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ xöƒ≤ÃyˆÏhsˇ áyÓyÓ˚ !öˆÏÎ˚ ˆòÔˆÏí˛¸ ˆÓí˛¸yï˛– ÄÓ˚

≤Ã!ï˛m®# §Ó˚ˆÏá°ˆÏÜ˛ ÄÓ˚ ÓƒÓ§y !òˆÏÎ˚ !òˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ– §Ó˚ˆÏá° òü ˆú˛°yÓ˚ §üÎ˚ ˛õyˆÏFåÈ öy– ~Ü˛ê˛y ˆåÈyÜ˛Ó˚y §•Ü˛yÓ˚# !öˆÏÎ˚

öï%˛ö

Ó°°ñ ÚÓyÓy üy•zˆÏö ˛õyÜ˛

öy xyöˆÏÓ⁄Û xö% xy¢y•ï˛ •ˆÏÎ˚ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ Îy!FåÈ° §öyï˛ö •yï˛ ôˆÏÓ˚ ê˛yö° ÙÙÙÈ Ú~•z ˆö ÓÑy¢# °ˆÏç™ñ ˆï˛yˆÏòÓ˚ ò%çˆÏöÓ˚•z–Û

Îáö ã˛yˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Ü˛y˛õ !öˆÏÎ˚ §yüˆÏö

xyˆÏà ˆÜ˛yö §yˆÏ•ˆÏÓÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸ˆÏï˛ Ü˛yç Ü˛Ó˚ï˛– ~ xÓﬂiyÎ˚

§öyï˛ˆÏöÓ˚ ì%˛ˆÏÜ˛ ˛õí˛¸yê˛y ˆÓ¢ xyˆÏ°yí˛¸ö ï%˛ˆÏ°ˆÏåÈñ Î!òÄ §Ó

!Ü˛å%È•z ã˛y˛õy– ã˛yÓ˚˛õyˆÏ¢Ó˚ !ú˛§ú˛y§ Ü˛Ìy Îï˛•z Ü˛yˆÏö xy§ˆÏåÈ

§öyï˛ˆÏöÓ˚ üˆÏö ï˛ï˛•z ò%!ÿ˛hsˇy çüˆÏï˛ °yà°– Î!òÄ ü%á

ú%˛ˆÏê˛ Ü˛yí˛zˆÏÜ˛ ï˛y Ó°ˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚öy– x!ú˛ˆÏ§ Îáö ôyˆÏÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ

ÌyˆÏÜ˛öy ï˛áö ˛õˆÏÜ˛ˆÏê˛ Ó˚yáy ú%˛°ê˛yˆÏÜ˛ ˆã˛ˆÏ˛õ ôˆÏÓ˚– û˛yˆÏÓ

!Ó÷ÓyÓ%Ó˚ ÚxyüÓ˚y á%!¢ •ÓñÛ Ü˛Ìyê˛y– ~ ˆÎö

!ê˛!ú˛ˆÏöÓ˚ §üÎ˚ å%ÈˆÏê˛ ÎyÎ˚ !Ó÷ÓyÓ%Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ–

§Ó ÷ˆÏö !Ó÷ÓyÓ% ÓˆÏ°ö ÙÙÙÈ Úï%˛!ü !ã˛hsˇy ˆÜ˛yˆÏÓ˚yöy §öyï˛öñ

xyÓ˚Ä ~Ü˛ÓyÓ˚ §yˆÏ•ÓˆÏÜ˛ Ó°Ó–Û

˛õÓ˚!òö•z !Ó÷ÓyÓ% öï%˛ö üƒyˆÏöçyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ Îyö ~ÓÇ xö%ˆÏÓ˚yô Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ö §öyï˛ˆÏöÓ˚ Ü˛yçê˛y ˆÎö ˛õyÜ˛y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆòöñ

ÚˆòáˆÏÓö §ƒyÓ˚ñ §öyï˛ˆÏöÓ˚ Ü˛yçê˛y ˛õyÜ˛y •ˆÏ° xyüÓ˚y á%!¢

•Ó–Û !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ÎyÓyÓ˚ §üÎ˚ §öyï˛ˆÏöÓ˚ ÜÑ˛yˆÏô xy°ˆÏï˛y

Îyöñ ÙÙÙÈ Ú!ã˛hsˇy ˆÜ˛yˆÏÓ˚yöyñ xy!ü ÓˆÏ° ˆà°yü–Û

ÚxyüÓ˚y á%!¢ •ÓÛ ÙÙÙÈ Ü˛Ìyê˛y üƒyˆÏöçyÓ˚ §yˆÏ•ˆÏÓÓ˚ Ü˛yöˆÏÜ˛

xyâyï˛ Ü˛Ó˚°– !Ó÷ÓyÓ%Ó˚ xö%ˆÏÓ˚yˆÏô ˆåÈˆÏ°!ê˛ˆÏÜ˛ Ü˛yç !òˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈö– ï˛yˆÏÜ˛ ˆöÄÎ˚y Óy öy ˆöÄÎ˚y §öyï˛ö ~ÓÇ ïÑ˛yÓ˚

Óƒy˛õyÓ˚–

ˆÜ˛öÊ ï˛ˆÏÓ !Ü˛ !Ó÷ÓyÓ% ïÑ˛yÓ˚ Ä˛õÓ˚ ã˛y˛õ §,!‹T Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈö⁄ ò%!òö ˛õÓ˚•z ˆÜ˛y¡õyö#Ó˚

Sucheta and Satyajit Bhattacharya

áyÓyÓ˚ âˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

çyö°y !òˆÏÎ˚ ˆòáˆÏï˛ ˛õy!FåÈ ˛õyˆÏ¢Ó˚ úœ ƒyê˛ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ !ã˛ÑˆÏí˛¸ xyÓ˚

ò%˛õ%Ó˚ˆÏÓ°y Ó° ˆá°y ÷Ó˚& •ˆÏÓ xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ñ

ã˛°ˆÏÓ Îï˛«˛î öy !ÓˆÏÜ˛ˆÏ° Óí˛¸Ó˚y •zﬁÜ%˛° ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ üyˆÏë˛Ó˚

òá° ˆöÎ˚ ï˛ï˛«˛î– !ã˛ÑˆÏí˛¸ xyÓ˚ ò•z •° xyüyÓ˚ ò%•z ≤ÃyˆÏîÓ˚

Ó¶%˛ñ ü%áyç≈# Óy!í˛¸Ó˚ ˆ§ˆÏçy xyÓ˚ ˆåÈyê˛ ˆåÈˆÏ°– xy§° öyü

!ã˛Ó˚hsˇö xyÓ˚ ˜m˛õyÎ˚öñ xyüÓ˚y ˛õyí˛¸yÓ˚ ˆåÈˆÏ°Ó˚y ˙ ÓˆÏ° í˛y!Ü˛–

òyÓ˚&î ï%˛ˆÏáyí˛¸ ˆá°yô%ˆÏ°yÎ˚–

ÚÚˆòˆÏÓyöy ~=ˆÏ°y ˆï˛yüyˆÏÜ˛ñ ÎyÄÊ ˆüyˆÏê˛•z ˆï˛yüyÓ˚

ÓÜ%˛!ö xyÓ˚ !˛õê%˛!öÓ˚ çöƒ •Î˚!ö ~§Ó–ÛÛ !Ü˛v xyÓyÓ˚ Ä=ˆÏ°y

!öˆÏÎ˚ ~üö åÈ°åÈ° ˆã˛yˆÏá ˛õÓ˚ü ÎˆÏb Ó%ˆÏÜ˛ xÑyÜ˛ˆÏí˛¸ ôˆÏÓ˚ñ üyÎ˚yÄ

Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ ˆã˛‹Ty Ó,Ìy–ç#Óö xyÓ˚ Ü˛ˆÏÓ §Ó˚°ˆÏÓ˚áyÎ˚ ã˛ˆÏ°⁄ xy¢y xyÓ˚ ÓyhﬂÏˆÏÓÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ ú˛yÓ˚yÜ˛ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ÎyÎ˚ •yˆÏü¢y•z– xyüÓ˚yÄ !ë˛Ü˛ ˆÎüöê˛y

ˆû˛ˆÏÓ!åÈ°yü ˆï˛üö •° öy– xy!ü ˆàyê˛y ò%•z ˆ°yû˛ö#Î˚ xú˛yÓ˚

ˆ˛õ°yü ü%¡∫•z xyÓ˚ ˆã˛ß¨y•z ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ñ !≤ÃÎ˚yB˛yÓ˚ ˆòÓ˚# •° ~Ü˛ê%˛–

ˆ¢ˆÏ£Ï •yÎ˚oyÓyˆÏòÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛y Ü˛ö§y!Œê˛Ç ú˛yˆÏü≈ ˛õåÈ®§•z ˛õ!ç¢ö

ˆ˛õˆÏï˛•z Ä ã˛ê˛˛õê˛ ÚÚ•ÑƒyÛÛ ÓˆÏ° !ò°– xy!ü ï˛ï˛!òˆÏö !òÕ‘#ˆÏÜ˛

!ÓòyÎ˚ çy!öˆÏÎ˚ ò!«˛î ü%¡∫•zˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Óy!§®y •ˆÏÎ˚ ˆà!åÈ–

~Ü˛ê˛y á%˛õ!Ó˚ úœƒyˆÏê˛ ~Ü˛yÓ˚ §Ç§yÓ˚ ˆ˛õˆÏï˛ ÓˆÏ§!åÈ–

‡ ‡ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏåÈ– ò#â≈ ˛õÑyã˛ ÓåÈÓ˚

Ó˚Äöy •°yü xy!üñ ˛õÓ˚!òö §Ü˛yˆÏ° •yÎ˚oyÓyò ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ !≤ÃÎ˚yB˛y–û˛y!àƒ§ ˆ˛õˆÏÓ˚!åÈ°yü ˆÎˆÏï˛– Ü˛yÓ˚î ˆ§•z ˆòáy•z ˆ¢£Ï

~Ü˛ê%˛ âöâö•z Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛y

!ï˛!ö ˛õÌ ˆã˛ˆÏÎ˚ ÓˆÏ§ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛ö xyüyˆÏòÓ˚– Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ˆ˛õˆÏ° xyÓ˚ åÈyí˛¸ˆÏï˛ ã˛y•zˆÏï˛ö öy ÙÙÙÈ !ÓˆÏ¢£Ïï˛É ˆÓÔüyˆÏÜ˛–!≤ÃÎ˚yÓ˚ §ˆÏD §Ó§üÎ˚•z òyÓ˚&î çˆÏü ÄÑÓ˚ñ ~áö ~Ü˛y •ˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÄÎ˚yÓ˚ ˛õÓ˚ ˆï˛y xyˆÏÓ˚y•z ˆÓ¢#– ÓyÓ˚ ÓyÓ˚ xyˆÏ«˛˛õ ÙÙÙÈ ˆÜ˛ö !ÓˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ xö%¤˛yöê˛y xyüÓ˚y ÓyÓy ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛ ˆ§ˆÏÓ˚ !ö°yü öyñ ~áö Ü˛y°yˆÏ¢ÔˆÏã˛Ó˚ çöƒ

ü%¡∫y•zˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ öyüÜ˛Ó˚y •y§˛õyï˛yˆÏ°Ó˚ üƒyê˛yÓ˚!ö!ê˛ ÄÎ˚yˆÏí˛≈ Îáö

xyüyÓ˚ §ˆÏD öÈÙÈÓåÈÓ˚ xyˆÏà !òÕ‘#Ó˚ •zí˛z!öû˛y!§≈!ê˛ˆÏï˛ xy°y˛õ

•ÄÎ˚y ~Ü˛ ÓƒyDyˆÏ°yÓ˚Óy§# Î%Óï˛#Ó˚ Üœ˛yhsˇ ¢Ó˚#ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ˛õyˆÏ¢

ˆ¢yÎ˚yˆÏöy Ó˚_´üyÇˆÏ§Ó˚ ˆåÈyê‰˛ê˛ ˛õ%ï%˛°ê˛yÓ˚ !òˆÏÜ˛ !ö!ö≈ˆÏü£Ï

ï˛y!Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°yüñ

With Best Compliments

Kaushik Sengupta

!öˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÎ˚ ˆ§Ê !Ü˛v

§y•§ê˛y ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy!òö •Î˚!ö– ÓyÓyÈÙÈüyÓ˚ ¢y§ˆÏöÓ˚ û˛Î˚

ÙÙÙÈñ xyÓ˚ xçyöy öï%˛ö çyÎ˚àyÎ˚ Ü˛#û˛yˆÏÓ Ü˛yê˛yˆÏÓy ˆ§•z û˛yÓöy

xyüyˆÏÜ˛ !˛õ!åÈˆÏÎ˚ !òˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°–

~Ü˛ˆÏâˆÏÎ˚!üÓ˚ ç#ÓˆÏöÓ˚ ˆÓí˛¸yçy° !åÈÑˆÏí˛¸ñ Ó˚&!ê˛ˆÏöÓ˚ ç!ê˛°ï˛y

û%˛ˆÏ°ñ xçyöyÓ˚ í˛yˆÏÜ˛ í˛zˆÏí˛¸ ÎyÄÎ˚yÓ˚ ï˛#Ó xyÜ˛yA«˛y xyüyÓ˚ üˆÏö çμ°!åÈ°–!Ü˛v xyç... xyç xy!ü ˆ¢yöy!FåÈ ˆ§•z xƒyí˛ˆÏû˛MÈ˛yˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ à“ñ

•ë˛yÍ Ü˛Û!òˆÏöÓ˚ çöƒ ã˛yÜ˛!Ó˚ñ

Ü˛yç !åÈ° ˆòˆÏ¢Ó˚ Óí˛¸ Óí˛¸ §Ó˚Ü˛y!Ó˚ ≤Ã!ï˛¤˛yö=ˆÏ°yˆÏÜ˛ Ü˛!¡õí˛zê˛yÓ˚y•zç Ü˛Ó˚y– ≤ÃÎ%!_´ ÓyhﬂÏÓyÎ˚öñ üyö%£ÏˆÏÜ˛ ≤Ã!¢«˛î ˆòÄÎ˚y ÙÙÙÈ §Ó!Ü˛å%È•z Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚!åÈ– ú˛°yú˛°⁄ xyç ˆòˆÏ¢Ó˚ §Ó˚Ü˛y!Ó˚ ≤Ã!ï˛¤˛yö=ˆÏ°y xˆÏöÜ˛ ˆÓ!¢ ò«˛–!Ü˛v §ú˛°ï˛yÓ˚ üyˆÏé˛Ä üˆÏöÓ˚ ˆÜ˛yˆÏî ~Ü˛ê˛y x!ﬂiÓ˚ï˛y !åÈ°–ˆÓ˚yçÜ˛yÓ˚ ~Ü˛ˆÏâˆÏÎ˚ ã˛yÜ˛!Ó˚ xyüyÓ˚ üˆÏöÓ˚ §y•!§Ü˛ï˛yˆÏÜ˛ xyê˛ˆÏÜ˛ Ó˚yá!åÈ°– ã˛y•z!åÈ°yü !öˆÏçˆÏÜ˛ ã˛ƒyˆÏ°O Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y !Ü˛å%Èñ !öˆÏçÓ˚ §#üyöy ˆ˛õ!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÄÎ˚yÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y !Ü˛å%È– ~•z

xyüyˆÏÜ˛ ôyE˛y

≤ÃyÎ˚ ò%•z/!ï˛ö ârê˛yÓ˚ ˛õÌ ÙÙÙÈ ˆàû˛Ó˚y ˆ˛õÑÔˆÏåÈ•z Ü˛yç ÷Ó˚&–

Ü˛Î˚°yá!ö â%ˆÏÓ˚ ˆòá°yü– Ó%é˛ˆÏï˛ •ˆÏ°yñ ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚ ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚

§ÇﬁÜ˛yˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ≤ÃˆÏÎ˚yçö–

ò#â≈!òˆÏöÓ˚ x!û˛K˛ï˛y xyüyˆÏÜ˛ ÓˆÏ° !òˆÏFåÈñ ˆÜ˛Ó°üye

◊!üÜ˛ˆÏòÓ˚ ˛õ!Ó˚◊ˆÏü Ü˛Î˚°y í˛zˆÏ_y°ˆÏöÓ˚ ˛õ!Ó˚üyî Óyí˛¸yˆÏöy

§Ω˛Ó öÎ˚– ≤ÃˆÏÎ˚yçö xyô%!öÜ˛ ≤ÃÎ%!_´Ó˚–

xyüÓ˚y ˆòá°yüñ ~Ü˛ çyÎ˚ày ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ üy!ê˛ ˆáÑyí˛¸y •Î˚ ~ÓÇ

ˆ§•z üy!ê˛ ≤ÃyÎ˚ 2ÈÙÈ3 üy•z° ò)ˆÏÓ˚ !öˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÄÎ˚y •Î˚– !Ó¢y°

ê˛ΔyˆÏÜ˛ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ !Ü˛å%È üy!ê˛ xyöy •Î˚ñ ÎyˆÏòÓ˚ í˛y¡õyÓ˚ ÓˆÏ°

!öˆÏÎ˚ ˆöˆÏü ˛õí˛¸°yü

SEEPZ ~°yÜ˛yÓ˚ Ó%ˆÏÜ˛–

SEEPZ ñ ˆÎáyˆÏö Óí˛¸ Óí˛¸ ˆÜ˛y¡õy!öÓ˚ !û˛í˛¸ñ ÎyÓ˚y

Ü˛ˆÏü Îy!FåÈ°–

Ü˛!¡õí˛zê˛yÓ˚y•zçí˛

ê˛yÄÎ˚yÓ˚– ~•z ê˛yÄÎ˚yÓ˚!ê˛ §ühﬂÏ

í˛y¡õyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ §yˆÏÌ ÄÎ˚ƒyÓ˚ˆÏ°§û˛yˆÏÓ §ÇÎ%_´ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏÓ– ≤Ã!ï˛!ê˛

í˛y¡õyÓ˚ˆÏÜ˛ !öˆÏò≈¢ ˆòÄÎ˚y •ˆÏÓ ˆÜ˛yö °y•zˆÏö ˆÎˆÏï˛ •ˆÏÓñ

ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚ üy!ê˛ ˆú˛°ˆÏï˛ •ˆÏÓ–~!ê˛ xˆÏöÜ˛ê˛y xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ =à°

•zí˛z~§~ÈÙÈÓ˚ !û˛§y !öˆÏï˛

!û˛§y ˆöÄÎ˚yÓ˚ !òö«˛î !ë˛Ü˛ •ˆÏ°y– !ë˛Ü˛ Ü˛Ó˚°yüñ xü%Ü˛ ï˛y!Ó˚ˆÏá ˆÓyˆÏ¡∫ !àˆÏÎ˚ •zí˛z~§ Ü˛ö§%ƒˆÏ°ˆÏê˛ !û˛§y ˆöÓ– !òö =ö!åÈñ Ü˛ˆÏÓ ÎyÓ–~•z §üÎ˚ •ë˛yÍ í˛yÜ˛ ˛õí˛¸° xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ ˆàû˛Ó˚y ˆÜ˛y!°Î˚y!Ó˚Ó˚

í˛y¡õyˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

xÓﬂiyö !öô≈yÓ˚î Ü˛Ó˚y •ˆÏFåÈñ §Ó!Ü˛å%È•z Ó%!é˛ˆÏÎ˚ !ò°yü– xyüyÓ˚

Ü˛yˆÏç §Óy•z ü%?˛ •ˆÏ°ö–

!Ü˛v xyüyÓ˚ ò%û≈˛yàƒ ~áyˆÏö•z ˆ¢£Ï öÎ˚Ê û˛yÓ°yüñ ~ÓyÓ˚

ˆï˛y ü%!_´ñ !Ü˛v •ë˛yÍ xyüyÓ˚ üƒyˆÏöçyÓ˚ Ó°ˆÏ°öñ ÚÚxyÓ˚Ä

!Ü˛å%È!òö xˆÏ˛õ«˛y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚y–ÛÛ üyÌyÎ˚ ˆÎö Óyç ˛õí˛¸ˆÏ°yÊ xyÓyÓ˚

xˆÏ˛õ«˛y⁄ Ü˛ˆÏÓ⁄ Ü˛ï˛!òö⁄ û˛yÓˆÏï˛ û˛yÓˆÏï˛ !çû˛ Ü˛yüˆÏí˛¸

ôÓ˚°yü– !Ü˛å%È Ü˛Ó˚yÓ˚ ˆö•zñ ˆÜ˛yÎ˚yê≈˛yˆÏÓ˚ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ ~°yü– !Ü˛v

ˆÎö

ÎyˆÏÓ öyÊÛ

üˆÏï˛

ÌyÜ˛ˆÏÓy ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚⁄ ˆ•yˆÏê˛ˆÏ°Ó˚ òyü á%Ó•z ˆÓ!¢– xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ ˆÜ˛y¡õy!öÓ˚ ˆàﬁê˛ •yí˛z§ xyˆÏåÈñ ˆ§áyˆÏö•z ÎyÄÎ˚y ÎyÜ˛– ï˛yí˛¸yï˛y!í˛¸ ê˛ƒy!:

ˆàﬁê˛ •yí˛zˆÏ§ ã˛ˆÏ° ˆà°yü– xy•z!í˛ ˆò!áˆÏÎ˚ Ó°°yüñ

~Ü˛ê˛y âˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

öy–

xyüyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ §•Ü˛ü≈# !Î!ö xy§yˆÏü ≤ÃˆÏçˆÏQ Ü˛yç Ü˛Ó˚!åÈˆÏ°öñ •ë˛yÍ !öˆÏáÑyç •ˆÏÎ˚ Îyö– ≤ÃyÎ˚ ~Ü˛ üy§ ˛õˆÏÓ˚ xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛y ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ïÑ˛yÓ˚ üƒyˆÏöçyÓ˚ˆÏÜ˛ ˆú˛yöñ ÚÚxy!ü ~áö §yö !òˆÏÎ˚ˆÏàyˆÏï˛ñ ~áyˆÏö xyüyÓ˚ û˛yˆÏ°y °yàˆÏåÈ öyñ !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ xy§ˆÏï˛ ã˛y•z– üƒyˆÏöçyÓ˚ ˆ•ˆÏ§ Ó°ˆÏ°öñ ÚÚã˛ˆÏ° ~ˆÏ§y– ˆ§•z Ó¶%˛

xyˆÏü!Ó˚Ü˛y ÎyˆÏÓy⁄ xçyöyÓ˚ û˛!Ó£ÏƒˆÏï˛Ó˚ !òˆÏÜ˛

í˛zˆÏ_çöyñ xyÓ˚ xˆÏöÜ˛ê˛y ﬂ∫≤¿Ê

í%˛ˆÏÓ ˆà°yü xyüyˆÏòÓ˚

öï%˛ö !òàˆÏhsˇÓ˚ ˛õˆÏÌ ≠ §y•§ñ ˆÓ˚yüyMÈ˛ xyÓ˚

xydÈÙÈxy!Ó‹Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

Best Wishes To Ananda Mandir

Aparajita (Tufani) & Subhodev Das

ÓˆÏ°!åÈ°ñ ÚÚ!ò!òñ üy!§üy ~áö xyÓ˚

ˆÓ!¢

!òˆÏÎ˚!åÈ– í˛z!ö ˆáˆÏÎ˚ ÷ˆÏÎ˚ ˛õˆÏí˛¸ˆÏåÈö– í˛yÜ˛Ó !Ü˛⁄

ÚÚöyñ öy í˛yÜ˛ˆÏÓ ˆÜ˛ö⁄ ˆÜ˛üö xyˆÏåÈö í˛z!ö⁄ÛÛ

!òˆÏÎ˚

üy ˆö•z–~•z !˛õ!§Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ•z üyö%£Ï– Îáö ≤ÃÌü Ü˛Ìy ú%˛ê˛°ñ !˛õ!§Ó˚ §ˆÏD Îáö •yï˛ ôˆÏÓ˚ ≤ÃÌü ﬁÜ%˛ˆÏ° ÎyÄÎ˚y ÷Ó˚& Ü˛Ó˚°ñ ï˛áö ˆÌˆÏÜ˛•z ˆåÈyê˛ ˆåÈyê˛ Ü˛ÌyÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ !òˆÏÎ˚ ˆçˆÏöˆÏåÈ ˆÎ á%Ó ˆåÈyRˆÏÓ°yÎ˚ Ä ÄÓ˚ ÓyÓyñ üy ò%çöˆÏÜ˛•z •y!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ

Ó%Ü˛ Ü˛Ó˚y !åÈ°–

âˆÏÓ˚ ì%˛ˆÏÜ˛ ˆò!á Ó˚yï˛ ï˛áö ~Ü˛ê˛y– ¢Ó˚#Ó˚

xyÓ˚ ã˛°ˆÏåÈ öy– !Ü˛v ~áˆÏöy Ü˛yç ~Ü˛ê%˛ Óy!Ü˛ xyˆÏåÈ–

Ü%˛°Ü˛y!ö≈Ó˚ ˆòÄÎ˚y ˆê˛ΔˆÏöÓ˚ !ê˛!Ü˛ê˛ê˛y ÓyÓ˚ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆò!á xyüyÓ˚

!òˆÏÎ˚

°yˆÏàç=ˆÏ°y ~Ü˛ÓyÓ˚ ˆòˆÏá !ö°yü–

xyÓ˚!Ü˛ñ Ä•z ~Ü˛ê˛y Óí˛¸ !û˛xy•z!˛õ §%ê˛ˆÏÜ˛§ñ

xyüyÓ˚ ÓˆÏ§Ó˚ ˆòÄÎ˚y ~Ü˛ê˛y Samsonite !Ó ú˛ˆÏÜ˛§

Ü˛ƒyê˛y°àñ ˆü!¢ˆÏöÓ˚ í»˛•zÇ •zï˛ƒy!ò ~ÓÇ xyüyÓ˚

ü)°ƒÓyö ~Ü˛ê˛y Ü˛yˆÏ°y

˛õ%ˆÏçy ˆòˆÏÓy üy– ÷ô% Óƒyàê˛y ˛õy•zˆÏÎ˚ òyÄ–ˆê˛Δö åÈyí˛¸ˆÏï˛ ò¢ !ü!öê˛ Óy!Ü˛–~!òÜ˛ Ä!òÜ˛ ï˛yÜ˛y!FåÈñ ˆò!á ~Ü˛ û˛oˆÏ°yÜ˛ xyüyÓ˚ ˛õyˆÏ¢•z

òÑy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚– !çˆÏK˛§ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ Ó°ˆÏ°ö í˛z!öÄ ˛õ%öy ÎyˆÏÓö– •!Ó

ˆï˛y • xyüyÓ˚ Ü˛yüÓ˚yÎ˚–xyüyÓ˚ §Ó Ü˛Ìy á%ˆÏ° ÄöyˆÏÜ˛ ÓˆÏ° ≤ÃyÎ˚ ˆçyí˛¸ •yˆÏï˛

xö%ˆÏÓ˚yô Ü˛Ó˚°yü xyüyÓ˚ !û˛xy•z!˛õê˛yÓ˚ Ä˛õÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê%˛ öçÓ˚

Ó˚yáˆÏï˛– í˛z!ö ˛õ%ˆÏÓ˚y˛õ%!Ó˚ •Ñƒy Ó°yÓ˚ xyˆÏà•z Samsonite

!Ó ú˛ˆÏÜ˛§ê˛y ~Ü˛•yˆÏï˛ !öˆÏÎ˚ xy!ü å%Èê˛–

ÌyˆÏÜ˛– öï%˛Óy

üy!ê˛ˆÏï˛ ~áˆÏöy

!Ü˛ÄÑ

˛õ•z§y öy!• ã˛y!•ˆÏÎ˚–

ˆÜ˛ö⁄ Óyã˛ã˛y ˆ°yˆÏàyˆÏÜ˛y !ü!‹T !á°y•zˆÏÎ˚–

ÈÙÙÙÈ öy!• §yÓ–

ÈÙÙÙÈ

ˆòá!åÈ !Ü˛v ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚ xyüyÓ˚ ˆ§•z ê˛ƒy!:⁄

ê˛ƒy!:Ó˚ ˆü°yÊ ~áyˆÏö ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚ ˛õyÓ ï˛yˆÏÓ˚⁄

xyÓyÓ˚ xyüyÓ˚ üyÌyÎ˚ •yï˛– ~•z áˆÏí˛¸Ó˚ àyòyÎ˚ ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚

xy!ü åÈÑ%ã˛ áÑ%çˆÏï˛ ÎyÓ⁄ ôÓ˚î# !môy •Ä–

•ë˛yÍ ˆò!á ˆÜ˛ xyüyˆÏÜ˛ ò)Ó˚ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ •yï˛åÈy!ö !òˆÏÎ˚ í˛yÜ˛ˆÏåÈ–~!òÜ˛ Ä!òÜ˛ ˆòá°yü– xyüyˆÏÜ˛•z í˛yÜ˛ˆÏåÈñ öy xöƒ Ü˛yí˛zˆÏÜ˛⁄

ï˛üy!° ÄÓ˚ ÓyÓyÓ˚ ü%áy!@¿ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏÓ çy!öˆÏÎ˚ !ò°– xyˆÏàÓ˚ !òö

§¶˛ƒyÎ˚ xyüyÓ˚ â!ö¤˛ Ó¶%˛ !öü≈ˆÏ°®% •*òˆÏÓ˚yˆÏà xye´yhsˇ •ˆÏÎ˚

üyÓ˚y !àˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°– •yê˛≈ xƒyê˛yÜ˛ •ˆÏÎ˚!åÈ° ò%˛õ%ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ !òˆÏÜ˛ñ ~ê˛y

ÄÓ˚ !mï˛#Î˚ÓyÓ˚ xyÓ˚ á%Ó üƒy!§û˛ ~ƒyê˛yÜ˛ !åÈ°– üƒy: •yê≈˛

•z™!ê˛!ê˛í˛zê˛ ÄˆÏÜ˛ ~ƒy!OÄ@ˇÃy!ú˛Ü˛ ˆÓ˚ˆÏﬁê˛rê˛ °yàyÓyÓ˚ xyˆÏà•z !öü≈ˆÏ°®% ã˛ˆÏ° ˆà°– •y•z §%àyÓ˚ !åÈ° ÄÓ˚ ï˛y•z ÓÑyã˛yˆÏöy

Ü˛yçê˛y–ÛÛ

öy

ÚÚxyüyÓ˚ ˆÜ˛yö xy˛õ!_ ˆö•z Ü˛yÜ%˛–ÛÛ ÚÚ◊yˆÏk˛Ó˚ Ü˛yçê˛yÄ !Ü˛v ï˛y•ˆÏ° ˆï˛yüyˆÏÜ˛•z Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ •ˆÏÓ

ˆÓ˚ˆÏáy–ÛÛ

ÚÚï˛yÈÙÈÄ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆöÓ xy!ü Ü˛yÜ%˛–ÛÛ

Ä˛õy¢ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛

xyüyÓ˚ üˆÏö ˛õˆÏí˛¸ ˆà° ï˛üy!°Ó˚ çß√ Ó,_yhsˇ–ò%•z

ÓåÈˆÏÓ˚Ó˚– ≤ÃyÎ˚ ~Ü˛•z §üÎ˚ !ò!Õ‘ ~ˆÏ§!åÈ°yü xyüÓ˚y ò%Ûçö

xy!ü !í˛˛õyê≈˛ˆÏürê˛ xú˛ ~ˆÏﬁê˛ê˛§‰ÈÙÈ~

Ü˛ˆÏ°y!öˆÏï˛

ï˛yí˛¸yï˛y!í˛¸–

§,çyˆÏÜ˛ xyÓ˚ !ë˛Ü˛

˛õˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ÓåÈÓ˚•z xy!ü !ÓˆÏÎ˚ Ü˛Ó˚°yü ¢#°yˆÏÜ˛– xyüyˆÏòÓ˚

xy!Ì≈Ü˛ ˜Ó£Ïüƒ ÌyÜ˛y §ˆÏ_¥Ä xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ Ó¶%˛c xê%˛ê˛ Ó˚•z°–å%È!ê˛Ó˚ !òˆÏö ~ ÄÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸ˆÏï˛ !àˆÏÎ˚ ˆöühsˇß¨ áyÄÎ˚y !Ü˛ÇÓy

~Ü˛§ˆÏD Ü˛öê˛ˆÏ≤’ˆÏ§ !§ˆÏöüy ˆòˆÏá ˆÓ˚hﬂÏÑÓ˚yÎ˚ ˆáˆÏï˛ ÎyÄÎ˚y

~§Ó ã˛°ˆÏï˛ °yàˆÏ°y xyˆÏàÓ˚ üï˛•z– ò%ÛÓåÈˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ üyÌyÎ˚ §,çyÓ˚

ˆÜ˛yˆÏ° ˆ§yöy!° ~° xyÓ˚ ¢#°yÓ˚ •° !ü§Ü˛ƒyˆÏÓ˚ç– xˆÏöÜ˛

•y§˛õyï˛y° xyÓ˚ ú˛y!ê≈˛!°!ê˛ !Üœ˛!öÜ˛ â%ˆÏÓ˚Ä ¢#°yÓ˚ àˆÏû≈˛ xyÓ˚

ˆÜ˛yö §hsˇyö ~° öyñ Ü˛yˆÏç•z xyüÓ˚y !öÉ§hsˇyö Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ ˆà°yü–

Ü˛ÌyÎ˚ Ü˛ÌyÎ˚ §,çy ~Ü˛ÓyÓ˚ ¢#°yˆÏÜ˛ çy!öˆÏÎ˚

!üˆÏ° xyüyˆÏÜ˛ ˆåÈˆÏ° •ÓyÓ˚ !üˆÏÌƒ xyŸªy§ !òˆÏÎ˚ !mï˛#Î˚ÓyÓ˚ üy Óyöy°ñ xy!ü xyÓ˚ ~ é˛yˆÏü°y §•ƒ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ ˛õyÓ˚!åÈ öy– ò% ò%ˆÏê˛y ˆüˆÏÎ˚ xy!ü §yü°yˆÏï˛ ˛õyÓ˚Ó öy–ÛÛ

ˆüˆÏÎ˚ñ

¢yÓ˚#!Ó˚Ü˛ !Ü˛ÇÓy üyö!§Ü˛ ã˛y˛õ !öˆÏï˛ ã˛yÎ˚ öy Ä– ˆåÈˆÏ° •ˆÏ°

§Ó!òˆÏÜ˛ ÄÓ˚ Ü˛í˛¸y öçÓ˚ñ ˛õyö ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ ã%˛ö á§ÓyÓ˚ í˛z˛õyÎ˚ ˆö•z–ÛÛ

xy!ü üyÌy öyí˛¸°yü– ÚÚÄ §Ó!Ü˛å%È =!åÈˆÏÎ˚ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ˆåÈyê˛ˆÏÓ°y

ˆÌˆÏÜ˛•z– åÈ!Ó û˛y° xÑyˆÏÜ˛ñ ˛õê˛y!Ó˚Ä !¢ˆÏá!åÈ° !Ü˛å%È!òö–ÛÛ

ÚÚˆÓÔ!òˆÏÜ˛ ~áö !Ü˛å%È!òö Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛y !öˆÏÎ˚ Ó˚yáˆÏï˛ ˛õyÓ˚ˆÏ°

û˛y° •Î˚–ÛÛ

xy!ü Ó°°yüñ ÚÚˆï˛yüyÓ˚ !ò!òˆÏÜ˛ !òˆÏÎ˚ Ó!°ˆÏÎ˚ ˆòáˆÏï˛

˛õyÓ˚–ÛÛ

ÚÚ!Ü˛v !ò!òÓ˚ §ˆÏD ˆÓÔ!ò ˆï˛üö Ü˛Ìy ÓˆÏ° öy–ÛÛ xy!ü ˆçˆÏöÄ öy çyöyÓ˚ û˛yö

xy!ü üyÌy öyí˛¸°yü– ÚÚ÷ˆÏö!åÈ–

ï˛yÓ˚˛õÓ˚ ˆ•ˆÏ§ Ó°°ñ ÚÚï˛üy!° á%Ó ≤Ãƒy!QÜ˛y°–

!Ü˛å% öyÈ üˆÏö Ü˛Ó˚ ˆï˛yüyˆÏÜ˛ ~Ü˛ê˛y Ü˛Ìy !çˆÏK˛§

Ü˛Ó˚Ó ï˛üy!°⁄ÛÛ

ÚÚÓ°%ö xyB˛°ñ xy!ü !Ü˛Få%È üˆÏö Ü˛Ó˚Ó öy– xy˛õ!ö ˆï˛y

xyüyÓ˚ Óy!˛õÓ˚ˆÓﬁê˛ˆÏú ˛u˛–ÛÛ ÚÚˆï˛yüyÓ˚ Óí˛¸!˛õ!§Ó˚ §ˆÏD ˆï˛yüyÓ˚ á%Ó û˛yÓ ï˛y•z öy⁄ÛÛ

ï˛üy!° •y§°– ÚÚÎyÓ˚ çöƒ xy!ü ~•z ˛õ,!ÌÓ#Ó˚ xyˆÏ°y

ˆòáˆÏï˛

ˆÎ !ï˛öçö Ó y·˛î !åÈˆÏ°ö ï˛ÑyˆÏòÓ˚ ˛õyˆÏÎ˚ •yï˛ !òˆÏÎ˚

Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛y !ﬁê˛ˆÏ°Ó˚ ˆÓ˚Ü˛y!ÓˆÏï˛ ˜˛õˆÏï˛ñ xyˆÏ˛õ° xyÓ˚

~Ü˛yß¨ ê˛yÜ˛y ˆû˛yçö ò!«˛îy !ò° ï˛üy!°– ~ÓyÓ˚ Óy!í˛¸

To All Members and Friends

of

Ananda Mandir

Devi Mukherjee

Chandrajit Bhattacharya

àyöñ Ü˛!Óï˛y Ä Ó˚Ó#wöyÌ x!üï˛yû˛ Óyàã˛#ñ Ü˛ƒy!°ˆÏú˛y!ö≈Î˚y

ˆòyˆÏ£ÏÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ ü%á ú˛ˆÏﬂÒ ÓˆÏ° ˆú˛ˆÏ°!åÈ°yüñ ÚÚÓ˚Ó#w§D#ï˛

Ó˚Ó#wöyˆÏÌÓ˚ ˆ◊¤˛ Ü˛!Óï˛y öÎ˚–ÛÛ

ÚÚˆÜ˛ö⁄ ˆÜ˛ö⁄ÛÛ ¢y!hsˇòy ü%!áˆÏÎ˚ í˛zë˛°–

xy!ü ˛õí˛¸°yü ú˛ƒy§yˆÏò– ¢y!hsˇòy ~Ü˛yôyˆÏÓ˚ §D#ï˛K˛ Ä Ó˚Ó#wˆÏ≤Ãü#– xy!ü àyˆÏöÓ˚ Óƒy˛õyˆÏÓ˚ xây– xyÓ˚ Ó˚Ó#wöyÌ §¡õˆÏÜ≈˛ K˛yöÄ û˛y§y û˛y§y–

~Ü˛ê%˛ ÓòˆÏ° Ó°y ÎyÎ˚ ÚÚLove is just another word for nothing but only pain.ÛÛ xö%ÓyˆÏò «˛y!hsˇ !ò°yü

Ä Ó¶%˛Ó˚ Ü˛yåÈ ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ !Ü˛å%È!òö ò)ˆÏÓ˚ ò)ˆÏÓ˚ ÌyÜ˛°yü–

~ à“ê˛y ¢y!hsˇòyˆÏÜ˛ Ó°ˆÏï˛ ˛õyÓ˚°yü öy– Ü˛yˆÏç Ü˛yˆÏç•z

ï˛ˆÏÜ≈˛ öyüˆÏï˛ •°– ÷Ó˚& Ü˛Ó˚°yüñ

ÚÚ~•z ˆÎüö ôÓ˚ Ó˚Ó#wöyˆÏÌÓ˚ §!ï˛ƒ•z û˛y° Ü˛!Óï˛y ÈÙÙÙÈ

Ú!öé≈˛ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ﬂ∫≤¿û˛DÛñ Úò%É§üÎ˚Ûñ Óy Ú˙Ü˛ƒï˛yöÛ ÈÙÙÙÈ

öÎ˚–ÛÛ í˛z_Ó˚ ~ˆÏ°y x≤Ãï˛ƒy!¢ï˛û˛yˆÏÓ– ÚÚï%˛!ü à#ï˛yO!°Ó˚ àyö=ˆÏ°yˆÏÜ˛ !Ü˛

Î%!_´ x@ˇÃy•ƒ Ü˛Ó˚y ÎyÎ˚ öy– û˛y!àƒ§ ÚÚ!ã˛_

Ü˛áˆÏöy•z àyö Ü˛Ó˚y ÎyˆÏÓ öy–ÛÛ

¢y!hsˇòy Ó ·˛yﬂf xyüyÓ˚ !òˆÏÜ˛•z !ú˛!Ó˚ˆÏÎ˚ !òˆÏ°öñ ÚÚÚˆ§yöyÓ˚ ï˛Ó˚#Û Î!ò ˆÜ˛í˛z àyö ÓyöyÎ˚ñ ï˛ˆÏÓ ï%˛!ü !Ü˛ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏÓ⁄ÛÛ

xÜ˛yê˛ƒ Î%!_´ñ Î!òÄ counter-factual– xy!ü ~ÓyÓ˚

!öÿ%˛˛õ–*** *** ***

¢y!hsˇòy xyç xyÓ˚ ˆö•z– !Ü˛v xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ ï˛ˆÏÜ≈˛Ó˚ !Ó£ÏÎ˚ê˛y

xyçÄ xyüyÓ˚ üyÌyÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ â%Ó˚˛õyÜ˛ áyÎ˚– ≤ÃŸ¿ê˛y •°ñ àyö

Óöyü Ü˛!Óï˛y ÈÙÙÙÈ üyˆÏö Lyrics vs Poetry ÈÙÙÙÈ ~ˆÏòÓ˚ üˆÏôƒ

§!ï˛ƒ•z !Ü˛ ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy ï˛ú˛yÍ xyˆÏåÈ⁄ Î!ò ï˛ú˛yÍ ÌyˆÏÜ˛ñ ï˛ˆÏÓ

!Ü˛û˛yˆÏÓ ˆ§ê˛yˆÏÜ˛ Óƒyáƒy Ü˛Ó˚y ÎyÎ˚⁄

Óy í˛zFã˛!Ó_ˆÏòÓ˚

ˆ≤ÃˆÏüÓ˚ Ü˛y!•ö#Ó˚ Óî≈öy– ~áyö ˆÌˆÏÜ˛•z í˛zÍ˛õ!_ balladÈÙÈ~Ó˚ ÈÙÙÙÈ !ÓˆÏ¢£Ï Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ •zÇ°ƒy[˛ñ xyÎ˚yÓ˚°ƒy[˛ Ä ú ˛yˆÏ™– û˛yÓ˚ï˛ÓˆÏ£Ï≈ §üÜ˛y°#ö

Ü˛!Ó Ä à#!ï˛Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ üˆÏôƒ í˛zˆÏÕ‘áˆÏÎyàƒ §%Ó˚òy§ñ Ü˛Ó#Ó˚ Ä ï%˛°§#òy§– ~ˆÏòÓ˚ Ü˛!Óï˛y=ˆÏ°y û˛!_´≤Ãôyö–

í˛z˛õöƒyˆÏ§Ó˚ çö!≤ÃÎ˚ï˛y Óyí˛¸yÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ §yˆÏÌ Ü˛y!•ö#≤Ãôyö Ä Óî≈öyÓ‡° ü•yÜ˛yˆÏÓƒÓ˚ ≤ÃˆÏÎ˚yçö#Î˚ï˛y Ü˛üˆÏï˛ ÷Ó˚& Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚–xyô%!öÜ˛ •zÇˆÏÓ˚!çÓ˚

Ü˛#ï≈˛öñ hymnal Ä spiritual– x˛õÓ˚!ê˛ •°

•!Ó˚£ÏÈÙÈ!Ó£Ïyòñ

Ó˚Ó#wöyˆÏÌÓ˚ û˛y£ÏyÎ˚ Ó°y ˆÎˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚ ˛õ)çy˛õˆÏÓ≈Ó˚ Ä ˆ≤Ãü˛õˆÏÓ≈Ó˚ àyö–*** *** *** !ú˛ˆÏÓ˚ xy§y ÎyÜ˛ Ü˛!Óï˛y Ä àyˆÏöÓ˚ ˜Ó£ÏˆÏüƒ–ˆüyê˛yü%!ê˛û˛yˆÏÓ ÓˆÏ° ã˛ˆÏ°ñ lyrics •° Ü˛!Óï˛y ÎyÓ˚ åÈ®Ók˛ï˛yÎ˚

Î%!_´ !•ˆÏ§ˆÏÓ xy!ü Ó°Ó xyüyÓ˚ ç#ÓˆÏöÓ˚ ò%!ê˛ âê˛öy Óy x!û˛K˛ï˛yÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy–

ÚÚÓ˚yöyÓ˚ÛÛ Ü˛!Óï˛y!ê˛ñ ˆÎ!ê˛ˆÏÜ˛ Ü˛!Óï˛y !•ˆÏ§ˆÏÓ ˛õí˛¸y•z !åÈ° xyüyÓ˚

Ü˛yˆÏåÈ ò%É§yôƒ–!ÓˆÏòˆÏ¢Ä ~Ó˚ !öò¢≈ö xyˆÏåÈ û%˛!Ó˚ û%˛!Ó˚– ÚÚAuld Lang

SyneÛÛ Ü˛!Óï˛y àyö •ˆÏÎ˚ •zÇˆÏÓ˚ç# öÓÓ£Ï≈ í˛zòˆÏÓyôˆÏöÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ

xDyD#û˛yˆÏÓ ç!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ ˆàˆÏåÈ– Friedrich SchillerÈÈÙÈ~Ó˚

Ú Ú Ode to Joy ÈÛÛ xyÇ!¢Ü˛û˛yˆÏÓ ÓƒÓ•*ï˛ •ˆÏÎ˚ˆÏåÈ

Beethoven ÙÈ~Ó˚ Ninth Symphony ÙÈÓ˚ Choral section ÙÈ~–

xyåÈ⁄ÛÛ ï˛y•z xÓˆÏ¢ˆÏ£Ï xy!§ xyüyÓ˚ Óï≈˛üyö !§k˛yˆÏhsˇ–

x§yüyöƒñ !Ü˛v xhsˇï˛É xy˛õyï˛ò,!‹TˆÏï˛ àyˆÏöÓ˚ í˛z˛õÎ%_´ öÎ˚– xÓ¢ƒ ˆÎ ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy

Ü˛!Óï˛yÎ˚ ˆÎ ˆÜ˛yˆÏöy §%Ó˚Ü˛yÓ˚ §%Ó˚yˆÏÓ˚yˆÏ˛õÓ˚ ˆã˛‹Ty Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛•z

!Ü˛

ï˛ˆÏÓ ˆ§ ˆã˛‹TyÓ˚ ˛õ!Ó˚îyˆÏü ◊&!ï˛üô%Ó˚ §D#ï˛ §,‹T

ï˛y !öû≈˛Ó˚

•ˆÏÎ˚ ˆÎï˛– ï˛Ó% •Î˚ˆÏï˛y Ü˛yàˆÏç

Ü˛°ü å%ÈÑ•zˆÏÎ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛y ˆã˛‹Ty Ü˛Ó˚ï˛yü Ü˛yÓ˚î •zˆÏüˆÏ° ˆÎ ˆÜ˛yöÄ

üyô%Î≈ §,!‹T §Ω˛Ó öÎ˚ ï˛y ˆï˛y xy˛õöyÓ˚ ü%ˆÏá•z ÷ˆÏö!åÈ°yü–

÷ˆÏö!åÈ°yü xyÓ˚Ä Ü˛ï˛!Ü˛å%È !Ü˛v xy˛õöyÓ˚ üˆÏï˛y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ Ó°ˆÏï˛ !¢á°yü Ü˛•z⁄ xyÓ˚ ÷ô% Ü˛# Ó°yÊ Ó°yÓ˚ ú˛ÑyˆÏÜ˛ ú˛ÑyˆÏÜ˛ ˆÎû˛yˆÏÓ

xy˛õ!ö ë%˛ü!Ó˚ !Ü˛ÇÓy àç° xÌÓy Ü˛#ï≈˛ö ˆàˆÏÎ˚ í˛zë˛ˆÏï˛öñ xy!ü ~Ü˛ˆÏú˛Ñyê˛y Óy!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚

!¢Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ Ü˛ÌyÎ˚ ˛õˆÏÓ˚ xy§Ó !Ü˛v ~•z ≤Ã§ˆÏD ˆÎê˛y öy Ó°ˆÏ°•z öÎ˚ ï˛y

xy˛õ!ö üôƒü!î xyÓ˚ xy!ü

xÇ¢– ~üö!Ü˛ ˆ§•z §yÇﬁÜ,˛!ï˛Ü˛ xö%¤˛yö ˆÎáyˆÏö xy!ü xy˛õöyˆÏÜ˛ !öˆÏÎ˚ xy§yÓ˚ òy!Î˚c ˆ˛õˆÏÎ˚!åÈ°yü ~ÓÇ ày!í˛¸Ó˚ ã˛y°Ü˛ ˆåÈyê˛ ÓyÌÓ˚&ˆÏü ÎyÄÎ˚yÓ˚ §üÎ˚ ˆÜ˛Ó°üye xyüÓ˚y ò%Ûçö•z !åÈ°yü ày!í˛¸ˆÏï˛

ï˛áöÄ xy˛õöyÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy ÷öˆÏï˛ ÷öˆÏï˛ û˛yÓ!åÈ°yüñ xˆÏöÜ˛ˆÏÜ˛ Ó°ˆÏåÈöñ xy!ü ˆÜ˛Ó° xˆÏöˆÏÜ˛Ó˚ ~Ü˛çö •ˆÏÎ˚ ¢∑=ˆÏ°y ç!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ !ö!FåÈ §_¥yÎ˚– Ó°ˆÏ° !ÓŸªy§ Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏÓö !Ü˛ öy çy!ö

öyñ xyüyÓ˚ àyˆÏÎ˚ ÜÑ˛yê˛y !ò!FåÈ° ï˛áöÄ– ˆÜ˛ö Ó°%ö ˆï˛y⁄

§ü%o˜Ï§Ü˛ˆÏï˛ ˆÎ !é˛ö%Ü˛=ˆÏ°y ˛õˆÏí˛¸ ÌyˆÏÜ˛ ê˛y° !òˆÏÎ˚ ï˛yÓ˚

üˆÏôƒ ~Ü˛ê˛y !é˛ö%Ü˛ˆÏÜ˛ Îáö ˆÜ˛yöÄ

Ü˛y!ë˛Ó˚ à“ ˆÏ¢yöyˆÏï˛– ï˛yÓ˚ ˆåÈyê˛ˆÏÓ°yÓ˚ üçyÓ˚ âê˛öy=!°

xyÓyÓ˚ ÓˆÏ° Ó¶%˛ˆÏòÓ˚ §yˆÏÌ ˆ•y ˆ•y Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ •y§ˆÏï˛– ≤Ã!ï˛ ÓåÈˆÏÓ˚Ó˚

üˆÏï˛y 2024ÈÙÈ~Ó˚ ¢yÓ˚ò#Î˚y §ÇáƒyÓ˚ §Ó à“=!° ˆ¢£Ï Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛–

¢#ˆÏï˛Ó˚ ò%˛õ%ˆÏÓ˚ Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛yÎ˚ ˆÓ˚yˆÏòÓ˚ ˆï˛ç ˆÓ!¢ ÌyˆÏÜ˛ öy–

àDyï˛#ˆÏÓ˚ ~ˆÏ§Ä ¢Ó˚#ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ í˛z˛õˆÏÓ˚ §yçyˆÏöy §yòy Ó˚çö#à¶˛y

!öˆÏhﬂÏç •ˆÏÎ˚ ÎyÎ˚!ö– !Ü˛v ˆÜ˛yö à¶˛ ˛õyÄÎ˚y ˆà° öy– à¶˛

âˆÏÓ˚ ÷ˆÏÎ˚ â%üyÎ˚ ~ÓyÓ˚–

â%Ñ!çÓ˚ Ó%ˆÏÜ˛ â%üyÎ˚ ~ÓyÓ˚–

çy!àˆÏÓ öy xyÓ˚–ÛÛ

xÓ˚*˛õ çy!àˆÏÓ öy xyÓ˚–

ˆàˆÏåÈ– ã%˛!Ó˚ ÎyÄÎ˚y Óyï˛yˆÏ§Ó˚ ˆáÑyˆÏç

˛õí˛¸ˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚!ö– §ü§ƒy çç≈!Ó˚ï˛ ~•z ¢•ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ò#â≈

•Î˚ˆÏï˛y ï%˛°§#˛õyï˛y ò%!ê˛Ó˚ û˛yˆÏÓ˚– ¢ˆÏÓÓ˚

xy=ˆÏöÓ˚ ~Ü˛ ú%˛ÍÜ˛yˆÏÓ˚ ˛õ%ˆÏí˛¸ ÎyˆÏÓ !ö!Ó≈Ü˛yÓ˚ xÓ˚*ˆÏ˛õÓ˚ Ü˛y˛õˆÏí˛¸Ó˚ xyÓÓ˚î– ï˛áö ÌyÜ˛ˆÏÓ öy xöƒ ˆÜ˛yö Óyôy– ï˛yÓ˚

§yüˆÏö xy§ˆÏÓ ~Ü˛ í˛zß√%_´ x§#ü ü•y!ÓŸª–

xÓ˚*˛õ ~ÓyÓ˚ xÓ˚*ˆÏ˛õ ˆ˛õÔÑˆÏåÈ ÎyˆÏÓ ˛õMÈ˛û)˛ˆÏï˛ñ !öÓ˚yÜ˛yˆÏÓ˚–

§Ó Ó˚Ü˛ü ˆüyˆÏ«˛Ó˚ Óy•zˆÏÓ˚–ˆ§•z §üÎ˚ Ó˚Ó#wöyÌ ÓˆÏ°öñ

ÚÚï˛áö ˆÜ˛ ÓˆÏ° ˆày ˆ§•z ≤Ãû˛yˆÏï˛ ˆÏö•z xy!üñ

§yÓ≈çö#ö ò%à≈y˛õ)çy ã˛°ˆÏåÈ û%˛Óö ç%ˆÏí˛¸

xyàüö#Ó˚ §%Ó˚ ˆû˛ˆÏ§ ÎyÎ˚ üö ã˛ˆÏ° ÎyÎ˚ í˛zˆÏí˛¸–

§öyï˛ö# !•®%ôü≈ÈÙÈ!ê˛!Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚ Ó˚yáy öÎ˚ ˆï˛y ˆ§yçy

˛õ)çy≤Ã›!ï˛ ü•yöˆÏ®Ó˚ û˛yˆÏÓ öy û˛_´ üyÌyÓ˚ ˆÓyé˛y–

˛õ)çyÓ˚ ò%üy§ xyˆÏà ˆÌˆÏÜ˛•z ã˛°ˆÏåÈ ˛õ)çyÓ˚ xyˆÏÎ˚yçö

Ó˚yhﬂÏy ç%ˆÏí˛¸ ˛õ)çy˛õƒyˆÏu˛° üyö%£Ï ÓƒhﬂÏ §Ó≈«˛î–

˛õÑyã˛!ê˛ !òˆÏöÓ˚ üˆÏ•yÍ§ˆÏÓ ≤Ãã%˛Ó˚ xÌ≈ÓƒÎ˚

xyˆÏ°yÈÙÈˆÓ˚y¢öy•z !Óç°# Óyï˛#Ó˚ òyÓ˚&î x˛õã˛Î˚–çöyÓ˚ˆÏîƒ ˆüˆÏï˛ ÄˆÏë˛ Ü˛°Ü˛yï˛yÓ˚ Ä•z !Ó°y§ÎK˛

•° xÓ§yö xyô%!öÜ˛ï˛yÓ˚

ü!ôƒáyˆÏö x!ô¤˛yï˛y ò%à≈yçöö#

ò¢û%˛çy Ä•z ≤Ã!ï˛üyü%Ó˚!ï˛ !ï˛!ö•z x§%Ó˚!Óöy!¢ö#–

!Ü˛ ˆòˆÏá!åÈ ﬂ∫ã˛ˆÏ«˛ ˆüyÓ˚y §Ó˚ﬂ∫ï˛#Ó˚ Ó#îyÓ˚ ï˛yÓ˚⁄

öüﬁÜ˛yÓ˚Ê

û˛yÕ‘yˆÏà öy

~Ü˛y ~Ü˛y !çï˛ˆÏï˛ xyÓ˚ û˛yÕ‘yˆÏà öy

ˆ§•z ˆÜ˛yö Ü˛yˆÏ°

ˆ˛õåÈö ˆÌˆÏÜ˛ xy°ày ˆê˛yÜ˛y ˆüˆÏÓ˚

÷û˛yÜ˛yA«˛# xyÓ˚ xyd#Î˚ ˛õ!Ó˚çˆÏöÓ˚ ò°

§yüˆÏöÓ˚ !òˆÏÜ˛ ˆë˛ˆÏ° ÓˆÏ°!åÈ°

ˆçyˆÏÓ˚ñ xyÓ˚Ä ˆçyˆÏÓ˚

xyˆÏàñ xyÓ˚Ä xyˆÏà

ÓˆÏ°!åÈˆÏ°y ÙÙÙÈ ï%˛!ü xyüyˆÏòÓ˚ ˛õyˆÏí˛¸Ó˚ Ü˛!í˛¸ñ xˆÏ¶˛Ó˚ Î!¤˛ ˆÓ˚ˆÏ§Ó˚ ˆâyí˛¸y

xyˆÏ°y–

!öÓ˚y¢ Ü˛!Ó˚!ö

~ ã˛e´Ó)ƒ•Ó˚ ˆÓí˛¸yçy° ˆû˛ò Ü˛Ó˚ÓyÓ˚ ~Ü˛ê˛y•z ˛õÌ

•ˆÏÓ ~•z Ü,˛!eü x!û˛çyï˛ ≤Ã!ï˛ˆÏÎy!àï˛yÓ˚

xyàˆÏ° Ó˚yáy !Ü˛å%È !öÎ˚üyÓ°# xü!ö ˆú˛Ñy§ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚ í˛zë˛ˆÏÓ ˆàyê˛y §Çàë˛öñ x!ã˛ˆÏÓ˚•z •ˆÏÓy Ó!•‹Ü,˛ï˛ñ !í˛§ÈÙÈˆÜ˛yÎ˚y!°ÈÙÈú˛yˆÏÎ˚í˛ Óƒ§ñ ˆáy° ö°ˆÏã˛ ˛õyˆÏŒê˛ñ ˆÓí˛¸y ê˛˛õˆÏÜ˛

!òàˆÏhsˇ ì%˛ˆÏÜ˛ ˆàˆÏåÈ !ú˛!ö¢ °y•zö

§yüˆÏö ˆ˛õåÈˆÏö ˆÓˆÏí˛¸ ã˛ˆÏ°ˆÏåÈ

xˆÏì˛° ¢)öƒï˛y

ˆö•z !ÓçÎ˚ í˛zÍ§ˆÏÓÓ˚ ˆÜ˛y°y•°

ˆö•z ˜ÏöÜ˛ˆÏê˛ƒÓ˚ í˛z_y˛õ

÷ô%•z o&ï˛ à!ï˛ˆÏï˛ ˛õÌ ˛õ!Ó˚e´üy

xyÓ˚ ô#ˆÏÓ˚ ô#ˆÏÓ˚

!öç≈öï˛y xyÓ˚ ~Ü˛yÜ˛#ˆÏcÓ˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ xyd§ü˛õ≈î–

÷û˛yÜ˛yA«˛#Ó˚ ò°Ä xyç ˆÜ˛üö ò)ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ üyö%£Ï ˛õ%Ó˚ﬁÜ˛yÓ˚ ç%ê˛ˆÏ°Ä

§ühﬂÏ ˛õ!Ó˚Óï≈˛ˆÏöÓ˚ üyˆÏé˛ Îáö !öˆÏçˆÏÜ˛

ï˛áö x˛õ!Ó˚Óï≈˛ˆÏöÓ˚ xâ≈ åÈ!í˛¸ˆÏÎ˚ !ò•z üy!ê˛Ó˚ Ü˛yˆÏåÈ–xÌã˛ ˆ§•z x˛õ!Ó˚Ó!ï≈˛ï˛

öyÄ •ˆÏï˛ ˛õyˆÏÓ˚–

Ä•z §Ó˚°ˆÏÓ˚áy ˆ§yçy§%!ç

Ó˚ˆÏ_´Ó˚ üˆÏôƒ !üˆÏ¢ ÌyÜ˛y ¢•Ó˚ê˛y

üyÌy ã˛yí˛¸y ˆòÎ˚ üyˆÏé˛ÈÙÈüyˆÏé˛ñ xÜ˛yÓ˚ˆÏî

ˆú˛ˆÏ° xy§y Ü˛ˆÏï˛y Ü˛ˆÏï˛y ÓåÈÓ˚ ï˛Ó%ñ xyˆÏÓˆÏàÓ˚ Ó%òÓ%ò ˆû˛ˆÏ§ ÄˆÏë˛ xÓˆÏã˛ï˛ˆÏö

¢•ˆÏÓ˚ Ü˛# ˆÜ˛yö ≤Ãyî xyˆÏåÈ⁄ xyÓ˚

åÈ!Óñ Ü˛ˆÏï˛y •z!ï˛•y§ñ Ü˛ˆÏï˛y ≤ÃyˆÏîÓ˚

Ó‡ ò)ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ò,!‹T !öˆÏÎ˚ñ û˛!Ó£ÏƒˆÏï˛Ó˚ §ÑyˆÏé˛

ÎˆÏï˛y•z xy!ü ò)ˆÏÓ˚ ã˛ˆÏ° Îy•z ÙÙÙÈ

ï˛Ó% Ü˛# Ó˚yáˆÏÓ xyüyÎ˚ üˆÏö⁄ ˆ§•z í˛z_ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ˆáÑyˆÏç

˛õyˆÏ¢•z ˛õyß¨yÈÙÈÓ˚Dy âyˆÏ§ ò%ôÈÙÈ§yòy üyˆÏÓ≈ˆÏ°Ó˚ òΩ˛

Ü˛ˆÏÓ ˆÜ˛yö Ó˚yî# !åÈ°ñ ˆÜ˛yÌyÎ˚ ï˛yÓ˚ ≤Ãçy

§Ó%ˆÏçÓ˚ Ó%ˆÏÜ˛ •yˆÏï˛ÈÙÈ•yï˛ Ó˚yáy °%!Ü˛ˆÏÎ˚

ã˛«˛%‹øyöñ ˆ°yÜ˛ÈÙÈ!Ü˛°!ÓˆÏ° ¢•ˆÏÓ˚ ˆày˛õˆÏö •*òˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Ó˚yçy

~•z§Ó Ó˚_´ÈÙÈüyÇ§ñ ~•z§Ó §Ó%ç üyë˛ñ •zÑê˛ÈÙÈ˛õyÌÓ˚

!öˆÏÎ˚•z xyüyÓ˚ ¢•Ó˚ ÙÙÙÈ !Ü˛å%È

÷ˆÏö!åÈˆÏ°ö üÓ˚îÈÙÈÜ˛yß¨y

ˆÎüö ˆ¢yˆÏö !ö!°≈Æ xˆÏöˆÏÜ˛

Úˆû˛!öÈÙÈ!û˛!í˛ÈÙÈ!û˛!§Ûñ ï˛y•z xyçÄ !ï˛!ö §)ˆÏÎ≈Ó˚ üï˛

Óy‡Ó°#

~ˆÏòÓ˚ !öˆÏÎ˚•z ~•z ¢•Ó˚

xyÓ˚ñ ~áyˆÏö•z àÑyÌy xyüyÓ˚ !¢Ü˛í˛¸ ˆÜ˛yö !¢Ü˛í˛¸•z ïÑ˛yÓ˚ !åÈ° öy ~•z ˆòˆÏ¢ñ ¢•Ó˚ ˆï˛y ò)Ó˚ xhﬂÏ ÷ô% !åÈ° ~Ü˛ xçyöyñ öí˛¸ÓˆÏÓ˚ á%Ñ!ê˛– ~Ü˛!òö •yÓ˚yˆÏ°y ï˛y

ï˛Ó% xòüƒ §y•ˆÏ§ñ Ü˛yüˆÏí˛¸ ôˆÏÓ˚ !ÓˆÏòˆÏ¢Ó˚ üy!ê˛ ÙÙÙÈ

!Ü˛vñ !•Ç§yñ ˆÜœ˛òñ xˆÏàÔÓ˚ÓÄ xyˆÏåÈ x˛õÎ≈yÆ

~•z ¢•ˆÏÓ˚•z ﬂ∫yô#öï˛y ~ˆÏ§!åÈ° x!ï˛ §hsˇ˛õ≈ˆÏî

û˛yˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ Ó%ˆÏÜ˛ å%È!Ó˚ÈÙÈˆì˛yÜ˛yˆÏöy xöƒ û˛yˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ á%ˆÏö

~áˆÏöy Ü˛yö ˛õyï˛ˆÏ°ñ ˆ¢yöy ÎyÎ˚ ÙÙÙÈ Úú˛ƒyö òyÄ üyÛ x!hsˇüÈÙÈﬂ∫Ó˚

~áˆÏöy ≤ÃÜ˛y¢ Ü˛ü≈Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ xÑyÜ˛yÎ˚ñ ˆò!á ˆÎö Úüß∫gsˇÓ˚Û

~•z ¢•ˆÏÓ˚•z !û˛ˆÏç!åÈ° üy!ê˛ñ ï˛yˆÏòÓ˚ Ó˚_´ÈÙÈÜ˛!îÜ˛yÎ˚

ÎyÓ˚y !åÈ° Úxyê˛ê˛yÈÙÈöÛê˛yÓ˚ §)ˆÏÎ≈Ó˚Û xyˆÏ°yÓ˚ xˆÏ˛õ«˛yÎ˚–

~áˆÏöy ˆÎö ÎˆÏ¢yÓ˚ ˆÓ˚yˆÏí˛ ÚÜ˛°Ü˛yï˛yñ ˛õ)Ó≈ ÓyÇ°y ã˛ˆÏ°Û

üy!ê˛ˆÏï˛ Ü˛yö ˛õyï˛ˆÏ° ~áˆÏöy ˆ§ ~ˆÏòÓ˚ Ü˛Ìy ÓˆÏ°

Ó˚ˆÏ_´Ó˚ üˆÏôƒ !üˆÏ¢ ÌyÜ˛y ¢•Ó˚ê˛y

üyÌy ã˛yí˛¸y ˆòÎ˚ üyˆÏé˛ÈÙÈüyˆÏé˛ñ xÜ˛yÓ˚ˆÏî

ˆú˛ˆÏ° xy§y Ü˛ˆÏï˛y Ü˛ˆÏï˛y ÓåÈÓ˚

xyˆÏÓˆÏàÓ˚ Ó%òÓ%ò

§Óy•zˆÏÜ˛ !öˆÏÎ˚ SˆÎáyˆÏö

ú˛!Ü˛Ó˚ òyò%

§ÇÎ%_´y òy¢=Æñ Ü˛ƒy!°ˆÏú˛y!ö≈Î˚y

ü!®ˆÏÓ˚Ó˚ ã˛cˆÏÓ˚ ÓˆÏ§ ÌyÜ˛ˆÏï˛ö ú˛!Ü˛Ó˚ òyò%

˛õÓ˚ˆÏî xy°áyÕ‘yñ §yòy °¡∫y òy!í˛¸ ˆàÑy˛õ

ˆÓ¢û)˛£ÏyÓ˚ Ü˛yÓ˚ˆÏî•z ˆÓyôÜ˛!Ó˚

ˆÜ˛í˛z í˛yÜ˛ˆÏï˛y ú˛!Ü˛Ó˚ §yˆÏ•Óñ

ˆÜ˛í˛z Óy ú˛!Ü˛Ó˚ ã˛yã˛yñ

xyüÓ˚y í˛yÜ˛ï˛yü ú˛!Ü˛Ó˚ òyò%ó

!•®% öy ü%§°üyöñ çyöy !åÈ° öy Ü˛yˆÏÓ˚y

üyˆÏÎ˚Ó˚ àyö Ü˛Ó˚ˆÏï˛ö Îáö ï˛áö

Ü˛áˆÏöy Óy Ó˚!•ˆÏüÓ˚ ˆòy•y ˛õí˛¸ˆÏï˛ö §%Ó˚ Ü˛ˆÏÓ˚

§%Ó˚òy§ñ Ü˛Ó#Ó˚Ä Óyò ˆÎï˛ öy–

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English Section

Roots Revive Roots Revive Roots Revive Roots Revive Roots Revive

Amit Kar, Pennsylvania

Realism with a consciousness of how humanity evolves over the ages, was a mantra handed to Ananda by his father - an engineer with a social conscience. This instilled in Ananda very early on the value of learning from his surroundings.

Ananda’s father, Apratim, always espoused the value of professional education. He believed that Ananda would benefit most from a foundation in the hard sciences because he foresaw rapid growth in manufacturing,

construction, as well as infrastructure for global commerce in the coming years.

Apratim’s rationale stemmed from the fact that Ananda was growing up in the postcolonial phase of a well-planned, multicultural uniquely world-class cosmopolitan city with several industries.

Apratim would often say, “Were it not for science and its applications, we’d still be wearing leopard skins and eating raw meat under the stars” By way of example, he’d relate the story of how a Physics professor had come to their rescue at a picnic in a forest, where building open fires was strictly prohibited. This most resourceful professor helped get the cooking done by using sun rays and magnifying lenses. From his salad days, Ananda started to note how science and the technologies it produced had progressively supported the art of living through the ages.

Over time, Ananda realized how his was the classic example of the fact that it takes

a village to raise a child. Affectionately nurtured by his family and the community, Ananda started taking his first tentative steps while also trying to acclimatize with a multitude of cultures. Exposure to an assortment of languages, dialects and accents never ceased to amaze Ananda. What significantly piqued his curiosity was the gradual realization that many of his friends and their families went to different places of worship in the same city. Then there were also some among his friends, who looked different from the rest with their fair complexions and yellow or brown hair!

Early learning of the mother tongue and a couple of other widely spoken languages were by best estimates his most fascinating yet baffling challenges. Each language had its distinctive alphabet and script, yet with decipherably similar sounding words. They were all puzzling with their respective characters sometimes disguising or camouflaging themselves to dodge recognition. His parents of course would not remain content with his gaining fluency in just one language. They impressed upon him the value of being able to respond in the language used in a particular communication - to the extent possible. His coaching at home, by neighbors and at school, got Ananda off to a good start with a few languages.

Languages, while important for communication, seemed also to segregate or partition communities. He

would observe that people from one community could freely laugh or converse openly amongst themselves but get tongue-tied in the presence of someone from another community despite the root culture, the deities of worship being the same - albeit with slightly varying rituals. The seminal language that spawned the various ethnic languages was the same with a genesis dating eons back. This linguistic divide between essentially the same people with a profoundly rich cultural heritage of sages, scholars, scions, and sovereigns going back several centuries intrigued young Ananda.

Numbers, on the other hand, seemed to possess a language of their own with universal acceptance. Without falsehood or mystery, and the ability to transcend communal, provincial, or even national boundaries - numbers admittedly were the most reliable as he progressively realized while trudging towards adulthood.

He pointed out to his father how he had started to realize that numbers, unlike words, needed no translation! This dichotomy of course was no surprise to Apratim. Indeed, he was glad to note his son, Ananda’s, awareness. He added that the science-based education along with exposure to the liberal arts and history would round out Ananda’s skills to help produce optimal results in dealing with life’s challenges while keeping his balance.

This laid the foundation of Ananda’s primary through high school education, amply supplemented by community interaction and travel. He was groomed in three languages with their respective literatures, associated socio-cultural/ political histories, and scriptures as appropriate. Studies of the basic sciences, Mathematics, Geography, and Civics went along in parallel. There was also a lot of support for participation through public speaking in elocution, extempore, debating or dramatics in school or community settings.

Every year or so, Apratim would take the family on trips to mountains or oceans to get an appreciation of nature and geographic wonders. Often there would be itineraries for visits to historic or cultural heritage sites as well. These travels validated what Ananda was picking up from the printed page in schools, libraries or at home. On some of the trips he would come across people whose appearance or physical stature were unfamiliar. They also seemed to communicate, eat, or generally conduct themselves differently.

Each subsequent tour diminished the surprise and increased his comfort level in the company of those who he may have been classifying as aliens. Ananda soon concluded that no matter what they looked like or how they talked, people were essentially the same, with the same basic needs. At one point, he made the connection with something he had picked up from his school Moral Science teacher - “Love thy neighbor as thyself”.

One fascinating and enlightening story from Ananda’s Dad was his first journey to distant America sailing by ship from Bombay, (now known as Mumbai) in India. Largely due to the first Arab Israeli conflict of Palestine, with restrictions on going past Alexandria the vessel had to avoid going through the newly built Suez Canal. Instead, it sailed the Arabian Sea, the Indian Ocean and went around the Cape of Good Hope in the Cape Peninsula. The ship went off the southern end of the Cape of Good Hope, on the southwestern expremity of the African Continent, jutting out into the South Atlantic, to eventually drop anchor in Londan’s Southampton Harbor.

Apratim had to stay in London for a few days, before sailing for New York. He was awestruck taking in the lights and sounds on his first foggy London night strolling through Piccadilly Circus. He had never seen so much illumination in a single place ever before! Despite the fatigue from his long journey, he had difficulty falling asleep, so he came out of his hotel and took the short walk back to Piccadilly Circus to continue his experience of amazement.

It was getting past midnight, but it seemed like 6 PM, judging from the number of people walking around, open restaurants with guests seated at the tables. He found an empty bench to sit down and delve through memories of his own childhood and youth, seeking parallels. At a short distance from where he sat, he suddenly noticed around the bar entrance a small red glow at a height

of about ~5 feet from the ground! Curiously that light flickered now and then as it kept proceeding toward him.

That glow moving in his direction eventually turned out to be the end of a burning cigar stuck in the mouth of a tall gentleman in a long coat, and hat. He approached the bench and addressed Apratim, “Hello young man! You look kind of new around here? What brings you here if I may ask? Do you live outside London?”•

“Yes, I am from India”

While puffing on his cigar he said, “Oh, I see”•in an accent that did not quite

sound British. “Is this your first visit? How long is your plan to stay in London”

“Oh, just a few days, until my ship is ready to sail”, was the reply.

“Ah-huh! So, where are you off to then?”

“I am actually on my way to New York in the USA.”

Pat came the reply, “Don’t waste your time here”.

He then quickly wrote down a name and a New York City address on a piece of paper and handed it to the transient traveler, shook his hand, offered his help, and walked away.

We Wish ANANDA MANDIR

Continued Success in the Future!

A Meditation on Rakhal Raja A Meditation

on Rakhal Raja A Meditation on Rakhal Raja A Meditation on Rakhal Raja A Meditation on Rakhal Raja

Bakul Banerjee, Illinois

It was the sixth night of the dark fortnight of August. The sky had a wispy, thin cloud cover.

A warm gust of summer wind swirled around me as I stepped outside. The newer hospital building loomed behind.

After sitting next to his sick bed for several hours, I had left my husband of forty-five years in one of those lighted rooms. He was recovering from hip replacement surgery due to a fall. I also knew he would insist on keeping the light in the room on, as he had done every day since I had known him. I was

unsure if he recognized me as he had been mesmerized by the TV screen for the entire time I was there, even while he was eating. He suffered from slowly increasing dementia for years.

“You cannot help him by sitting in the hospital. The pandemic is not yet over. Facemasks cannot protect you one hundred percent. You need to go home and rest,” the nurses insisted. I smiled behind my double masks. Two stickers on my shirt that the receptionist gave me at entry to the hospital indicated that I had exhausted my hospital reentry permission for the night due to COVID-19 restrictions. So far, I avoided the disease. I had plenty to do as I ran down the list of chores in my head.

The following morning, I had an appointment to visit a memory care facility in the south suburb near my new modest home. After the release from the rehab center, these facilities would be better equipped to handle his confused

state of mind. I had significant mobility issues, too. I should be able to bring him home once he gets better. I am a confident driver, yet I dreaded the thought of navigating the construction reroutings of the highway that I would have to take to go there. The last time I tried to enter Interstate 55, a fast-moving truck almost ran me over. Then, as requested by the rehab nurse, I would have to find summer-weight sweatpants for my husband. Stores were stocked with heavier fall clothes. Good quality summer sweatpants were gone. He detested wearing them, insisting on drycleaned shirts and dress pants only.

Later in the afternoon, I must drive twenty-five miles north to my old, large, rambling homewith a pending sales contract. A repairman was coming to meet me. The yard needed watering desperately. If possible, I would briefly attend the Mukti Dibas or the day of liberation from COVID-19 organized by local Bengalis. They would serve a good meal. My last few meals were of questionable quality. I would still be able to spend several hours in the hospital.

I climbed into my trusted Alabastor Silver Steed, my nine-year-old Honda CR-V. Naming this inanimate machine after the four silver steads that pulled Arjuna’s chariot driven by Sri Krishna increasedmy confidence. I could rely on a handful of people to seek help if something happened to me. More importantly, what would happen to my husband? My children lived several

hours away. Pandemics changed our lives. I turned the engine on and then off, leaving the music player on.

“Rakhal Raja Naam Rakhe Bhokto Shridam” (translation: Shridam, Sri Krishna’s devoted friend in Gokul, named him the prince of cowherds). The familiar hymn about 108 names of Sri Krishna started playing. As described in the epic of Mahabharata, Sri Krishna’s friends, relatives, collaborators, and devotees called him by different names throughout the illustrious life of the incarnation of Lord Vishnu.

Shubha Mudgal’s slightly gritty voice, singing. “Mathura Nagarpati Kahe Tum Gokul Jao…” came on next. The inimitable song, written by polymath Rituparna Ghosh, is the theme song of the movie Raincoat. In this song, the singer questions Sri Krishna’s possible desire to visit Radha, his beloved, who is already married and settled in her mundane life. For thousands of years, poets wrote love songs dedicated to Sri Krishna, or Rakhal Raja, the prince of the cowherds, and his lover Radha.They are mainly about Radha’s yearnings for Sri Krishna. This was the only song I know describing Sri Krishna’s pangs of separation from Radha.

Under the harsh parking lot lights, I sat listening to the song, pressing the repeat button several times. I forgot how many. The song transported me to the blissful pastures of Gokul, a mythical hamlet innorth India where Sri Krishna played with his cowherd friends while boys

tended the herds and girls milked the cows and made butter. According to the legends, he had left his beloved Radha in Gokul and never returned.

As I drove home, I thought of the upcoming Janmashtami Puja, the worship for Sri Krishna’s birthday. A strong wind blew in rose petals from the bushes lining the walkway by the garage. Organizers of Bharat Sevashram Sangha monastery requested that I perform the celebratory service two days later. I had conducted these services at the Ashram many times. Since the onset of the pandemic, I have had to perform such worship following the Governor’s health restrictions. Only a handful of people were allowed inside the temple. Other devotees had to participate by looking through the large windows in the basement. They told me it would be held in the main temple inside the large hall. I decided to wear the face shield only. Having an unobstructed view of the deity during worship is vital to devotees.

Worshipping Sri Krishna as a baby in the arms of Mother Yashoda is my favorite ritual. The iconic brass statue of the crawling baby Krishna with eyes shaped like petals of lotus flowers was the most touching among many other deity forms. I would adjust the luminescent piece of cloth dyed in Indian yellow around his waist, then apply fresh sandalwood on his forehead. Devotees would bring cooked food, fruits, and a variety of sweets.

Iconographies depicting Sri Krishna’s life in Gokul filled my brain. He grew up there before moving to the district of Mathura to seek revenge on his uncle, Kansa, who killed his siblings. One of my respected scientist friends, Dr. Ranajoy Datta, told me that ancient cowgirls would feed the cows mango leaves and collect their urine to prepare the famous Indian yellow pigment used in many ancient paintings of Krishna. His glorious pet white cow, Surabhi, is often shown wrapped around his legs. Devotees continued using the same Indian yellow pigment on his clothes in many well-known paintings of Sri Krishna. Although he moved on to complete his conquests, the color of his outfits remained the same. Devoted painters never let us forget his innocent early life as a cowherd.

Entering home, I turned on the international news to calm my frazzled nerves. Somebody said that the COVID19 death rate in India was falling. Yet, the news anchor flashed a video of rows of naked men scrubbing themselves with cow dung, claiming that they would remain immune to COVID-19. As far as I could tell, my relatives in India isolated themselves and were not infected yet. However, that news agitated me further.

“When you return, don’t forget to bring me a pocketful of moonlight when you visit my street …” The sad love song from Rituparna Ghosh’s movies played on my phone, and I prepared for worship. I spread relevant scriptural texts on my worktable before leaving for

the hospital. I had used these old books for rituals for many years. They reminded me of people who left this world long ago. I placed my right palm over the copy of Purohit Darpan, a compendium of procedures and hymns from Vedas covering rituals and sacraments, a go-to book for priests. I felt the touch of my soft-spoken and affectionate father-in-law on the cover.

The ancient Vedic society in India thrived on the domestication of bovine culture. They offered five cow-related products to Vedic gods and goddesses: milk, yogurt, clarified butter, urine, and dung from calves. These items were collectively called Panchagavvya. Sushrut Samhita, the definitive treatise on Ayurveda, Indian traditional medicine, was written in late BCE. It documented that each ingredient in Panchagavyya has some medicinal properties if collected in pristine conditions. Here is a factoid – the US Patent Office granted a patent for using cow urine as a medication. In the Hindu diaspora, sugar and honey replaced dung and urine in modern times. This modified list of five items is called Panchamrita. Panchamtria is the primary offering to deities.

Once, despite my specific instructions, I had been caught off-guard by an enthusiastic sponsor of a ritual who presented me with a fresh lump of cow

dung neatly wrapped in aluminum foil and a vial of cow urine with great pride and insisted on using them. It took me a while to convince her otherwise. She did not know that the dung and urine must be collected from newborn calves. And what about contaminations due to antibiotics and growth hormones?

In one instant, this enthusiasm had taken an opposite turn. Once, a beautifully dressed and coiffed woman devotee sponsoring the worship brought fat-free milk, fat-free yogurt, and a bowl of rice pudding made with fat-free milk. She told me that she took special care to make everything fat-free. Did she think gods require fat-free food to maintain their glorious physique? ”Please bring only full-fat items,” I added a note to my general instruction sheet for future sponsors.

After organizing the text for the sequence of the two-hour-long service from various notes, I went to bed at midnight, lulled by songs about Sri Krishna from Rituparna Ghosh’s movies. I woke up at dawn and reached for the phone again.

“Don’t forget to visit my alley and bring me the rose water?” The compassion in the singer’s voice gave me enough energy to get ready for the long day, but for how long? Should I yearn for that elusive pocketful of sunshine?

Promotion Promotion Promotion Promotion Promotion

Basab Dasgupta, California

As Mark was getting ready to leave for his workplace, “Dynatron”, a company that makes gadgets for the defense industry, his phone rang. It was Lisa.

Mark was the manager of the product development group while Lisa oversaw process engineering. They both worked under Ken, Director of hardware design. They often go out for lunch and share thoughts about work, social/political issues and even their personal lives. There was nothing romantic about their relationship and Mark already had a girlfriend. Mark nonetheless admired Lisa’s intelligence and passion for work, not to mention her beauty. She understood humanitarian issues which made her an ideal for dealing with manufacturing from operators’ perspective.

Lisa sounded depressed over the phone: “I need to see you right away”, almost like a desperate plea. “Why? What happened? Are you ok?” Lisa seemed evasive “Meet me at Denny’s near my place at eight thirty”. Lisa sounded demanding near the end. Mark was alarmed by the urgency in Lisa’s voice. He could just make it to Denny’s by 8:30.

Lisa looked disheveled; she was not in her usual well-coordinated fashionable outfit with neatly groomed hair with a touch of some exotic perfume. It seemed

that she had not slept the previous night and put on whatever she could find to come to the restaurant. They ordered coffee. Lisa could hardly look into Mark’s eyes. After several minutes of silence Lisa dropped the bombshell “yesterday, I filed a sexual harassment (SH) complaint with the Human Resources (HR) against Ken”. Mark was stunned!

Many thoughts ran through Mark’s head. One was disbelief. Mark liked Ken – a smart jovial fellow who treated his employees fairly and respectfully. He traveled with Ken on business trips. Mark’s second thought was one of annoyance; why did Lisa call him? He did not know if Lisa was expecting him to do something or just needed someone to let some steam off.

Mark never suspected anything since Ken was married. Mark asked “What did he do? Did he make a suggestive overture? Did he touch you or kiss you against your will? Did he e-mail you porn?” Lisa nodded her head “No, nothing dramatic like that. Everything was subtle and evolved over the past few months. I have a keen sense about these things; he started to make me uncomfortable”.

Lisa took a sip of coffee and continued. “When I first met him a year and a half ago, he rubbed the inside of my palm with his index finger when he shook my hand. Women know that this is a subtle sexual advance. I was new to the department and brushed it aside. I have dealt with many men all my life and thought I could certainly handle Ken. His behavior started to bother me when he threw that Super-Bowl party at his place. I am sure you remember. His wife was not home because she hated football and went shopping. Ken gave me a tour of his house. We went to the bedroom, and he suggested with a sly smile that I lay down on the bed to see how comfortable it was. I laughed it off by saying ‘in your dreams’. Then there were always suggestive comments like him asking my opinion about movies like ‘Basic Instincts’.

My performance review was scheduled last month. Ken kept postponing it because he was supposedly busy with work and finally suggested that he would do it in the evening over dinner because that was the only time he could find. I agreed; after all it was my performance and potential raise”.

Lisa looked away through the window at passing cars on the street and the hills on the horizon. “Ken was very complimentary, not only about my performance but also about my looks. He said that he had never met another technical person who was so beautiful. Ken ordered plenty of booze, though it was inappropriate in an official meeting. Then he said something totally unexpected. He said that, since the workload of the department has increased, he needed a deputy director to work with him. He already had approval for the position in his budget and was thinking of promoting me for the position”.

Mark could understand Ken’s flirting behavior with Lisa. Most other women would probably take it as compliment. “So where is the problem?” Mark wondered aloud “this may be a great career move for you.” Lisa said “Yes, that was my thought too. But Ken then mentioned that he would like to visit our major customers with me to make me familiar with the task and introduce me to those companies. Do you know what it would be like to travel by plane, by car, stay in hotels, have every meal together with a guy who would be lusting after you all the time?”

“So, what did you tell him?” Mark inquired. “I thanked him for his confidence in me and told him that I needed a few days to think things over to make sure that I was ready for such a responsible job. He started to not only bug me but throw all kinds of enticements. I could choose any hotel I wanted. We could stay an extra day for

sightseeing. I finally declined his offer of promotion saying that I am happy with my present position and traveling is not my thing with all the jet lag and TSA lines. It made him upset. He immediately concluded that in that case he must promote Donna to the Deputy Director position and put me in Donna’s position because my present position would be eliminated in any case; my group would be combined with the design engineering group”.

Mark started to appreciate the gravity of the situation. Lisa hated Donna’s guts. Donna was older, somewhat chubby and homely in appearance. She compensates for her looks by being overly friendly. Secondly, Donna was not quite a manager, but a “project leader” which translates into a glorified engineer –overseeing drawings and documentation. It did not make sense that Ken would want to put Lisa in that position. “That would be almost a demotion for you” Mark commented.

“My point exactly” Lisa became agitated “it would not only be a demotion; what Donna does is clerical job. She has only three people in her group stuck in a corner with no visibility. This is the punishment for not playing along and that is why it becomes sexual harassment even though Ken never suggested anything sexual”. Lisa gave Mark a lesson in SH.

“SH does not have to be explicit. More importantly, there is no universal definition of SH. Just like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, SH is in the feelings of the woman being harassed. Some women might be offended by offcolor humor while others can brush them

aside. Then there are some who welcome unwanted advances because they see these helping to move up in their career. The bottom line is that a behavior is considered as SH if the woman says so.

Secondly, SH creates what is known as a hostile work environment. The perpetrator does not have to do something or say something all the time, but if the woman does not feel comfortable in his presence, then it becomes ground for SH complaint. This is especially true if the person happens to be her boss or someone in a position of authority”.

Mark cut to the chase “Tell me how I can help you”. Lisa’s demeanor suddenly changed. Instead of being this vulnerable distressed woman she sat straight up with a look of strong determination with her eyes focused on Mark. “I need you to back me up”, Lisa replied.

Mark was dumbfounded because he did not know what went on between Ken and Lisa. Lisa understood Mark’s confusion and resumed her discourse: “There are some basic guidelines for determining what SH is. First, it cannot be a one-time incident, but a recurring pattern. Secondly, this behavior must be so offensive that the woman is expected to share it with some colleague at work. Finally, it must be the cause of a hostile environment.

Of course, you do not know what Ken told me or had in his mind; but you can attest to a few things. You saw him giving me a tour of his home during that Super Bowl party. You must have noticed his flirting with me during staff

meetings and office parties. Most importantly, now that I just told you everything including his offer of promotion and subsequent threat of demotion when I declined, you can simply tell anyone investigating the situation that I indeed told you what happened”.

Mark was relieved because he had no problem in telling the truth. However, he was worried about the impact of the events on his relationship with Ken. “What happens now?” Mark asked. Lisa anticipated the HR department to conduct an internal investigation and ask Mark some questions. She was also planning to have a lawyer write a letter to the company stating her intention of filing a lawsuit, naming both Ken and Dynatron as defendants. Any implication of a legal action gets everyone’s attention.

“What are you expecting as the outcome?” Mark asked. Lisa became pensive “I really do not know. I could not go on like this; I had to do something.” Lisa said with a sad smile.” Mark understood the situation. He had stuff to do at work. So, he stood up and said “You can count on me. I will support you to see you through this crisis. Don’t hesitate to call me anytime”. Lisa became emotional. She also stood up and gave Mark a hug. “I will never forget this, Mark. You are a lifesaver”, she said.

The whole episode dragged on for months. Ken continued as if nothing had

happened. There was no change in the organization; no Deputy Director position. Mark could not tell who knew about this SH complaint. He maintained a distance from Lisa; no more lunch or long break at the cafeteria. He did call Lisa after work a few times to see how things were progressing, but it seemed that the company did not know what to do and Lisa was frustrated at the lack of any progress.

Then one day Mark was summoned to talk to a corporate lawyer. Lisa’s attorney must have sent that letter. Mark gave a glowing account of Lisa’s professionalism and competency. He followed Lisa’s guidance in answering questions about whether he saw anything inappropriate between Lisa and Ken and repeated what Lisa told him about her interaction with Ken. Mark also mentioned, in response to a question from the lawyer, that he was willing to testify on Lisa’s behalf if this case went to court. It was great for Lisa to have Mark on her side. Mark was a rising star in the company. He was a talented and well-liked guy with a pleasant personality and a straight shooter.

Not too long after that meeting Lisa called Mark one evening. “Well, we settled” was her brief message. “What happened?” Mark asked. Lisa said that the company offered her a lump sum to settle the complaint without going to court with the stipulation that Lisa would have to leave the company if she accepted the offer. She decided to take that offer.

“How much did they offer?” Lisa did not hide anything, “After paying my lawyer, I would net about sixty grands; the good news is that it is tax-free. I am not supposed to tell this to anyone, but I trust you. I probably could have held on for more, but I cannot explain how these stresses are taking a toll on my health and emotional state. I just want to get the hell out of here. After taking a couple of months off to relax and get over this ordeal I am sure I will be able to find something”.

Mark was sad and felt a shame on behalf of all males for their carnal desires, often with destructive consequences for the opposite genders.

Mark’s own performance review with Ken, a few weeks later, was awkward. Mark knew what happened to Lisa, Ken knew that Mark knew, and Mark knew that Ken knew that Mark knew. Lisa was the elephant in the room. Ken had probably concluded that Mark was enamored by Lisa. Near the end of the meeting Ken asked, “Tell me about your aspirations in the company”. Mark said almost spontaneously without much thought “I understand that you are thinking of creating a Deputy Director position”.

In hindsight this was a brilliant move! This was an acknowledgement from Mark that he knew all about Ken’s game plan with Lisa. It also had an implication that Ken could make the same offer to Mark to keep his mouth shut. Ken liked

Mark a lot. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am”, Ken said “Do you want that job? If you do, it’s yours”. It was an ironic twist. Although Mark knew that this was a peace-making offer from Ken, he did not have any hesitation in accepting it.

As it turned out, Ken had serious marital problems for months which explained his falling under Lisa’s spell. The news became open knowledge when Ken got divorced. He was devastated by the turn of events; Lisa was gone, and so was his wife, not to mention a good chunk of assets with that. His clout in the company was diminished. He lost zeal for life; he was no longer that cheerful supporting and inspiring leader and just went through motions in his activities.

Mark was doing the bulk of his administrative duties. Ken’s next steps were predictable. He sold his house, resigned from Dynatron and moved to Seattle.

An announcement from the company’s Chief Technology Officer came shortly thereafter. It started with “Please welcome Mr. Mark Steinberg as our new Director of the Hardware Design Department”, followed by a short bio of Mark. Mark was delighted and certainly considered himself qualified for the job. He did not know if he should feel sorry for Lisa or call her to thank her for trusting him. Mark thanked God. He knew it was just good karma for doing the right thing and helping a friend in need.

Teachers’ Day Teachers’ Day Teachers’ Day Teachers’ Day Teachers’

Benoy R Samanta, California

I, normally, do not set the alarm when I go to bed at night. My bodyclock wakes me up about the same time every morning. However, on September 5, 2021, an alarm like sound emitting from my cellphone woke me up way too early in the morning. While still sleepy, I couldn’t, at first, figure out what was going on. Soon I realized that I have been receiving a large number of pictures on my phone, and the phone was making that relentless bell-like sound with every single picture received. The sender, I noticed, was a Bengali female, who I was not at all familiar with. Still sleepy-eyed, I quickly glanced at those pictures. There were thirty-two pictures, altogether, of men in their 80s or probably 90s, none of whom I could recognize. Most of those men were dressed up in traditional

Bengali attire of dhotis and Panjabis and appeared to have posed for the photographs. I quickly concluded that some kind of mistake has been made by the sender. However, there was a brief note at the end, written in Bengali, and when I read that, ittotally astounded me. If I translate that note in English, it will read as follows:

“Today is the Teachers’ Day in India. Take a good look at these pictures. I am sure some of these men once taught you when you attended the school over here. See, how many of them you can recognize now.”

More than sixty years ago, at the age of thirteen, I went to a boarding school in Sriniketan, in the Birbhum district of West Bengal at grade seven xylr˜!¡!þ› xylr˜!¡!þ›

(class Vll, in India). Visva-Bharati University has two arms; one is the popular and well-known school in Santiniketan, established by Rabindranath Tagore in 1901 and the other, the less popular school in Sriniketan, about two kilometers west of Santiniketan, also established by Tagore in 1921. Why I went to Sriniketan and not Santiniketan is another story and not relevant to this article. Regardless, I was a boarder and stayed in that school for only two years before I was brought back home to Calcutta (now Kolkata) to continue my study. Though I was not a bad student, I was not that great either and at that tender age neither did I leave any mark during those two short years such that, more than sixty years later, someone would reach out to me from Santiniketan on Teachers’ Day. There were other reasons.

In that brief note, she also introduced herself as the youngest daughter of one of the teachers, with whom I kept in touch through letters for many years. When I visited him for the first time, more than forty years after leaving the school, he and his wife, also a teacher, had retired and settled down in a spacious home in Santiniketan. Their children had all grown up and left home. When I attended the school there, he was probably in his mid-20s, newly married, and didn’t have any children. Their staff quarter was adjacent to our hostels. The youngest daughteris a teacher and had left home with a teaching job elsewhere. However, after her mother passed away a few years ago, she returned home to be with her father. Her father was in his 90s, by my estimate,

but still in relatively good health. She also mentioned that her parents often talked about me and other boarders and that her father would be very happy if I would give him a call. I still remember well that her parents used to patrol all four hostels every evening to make sure that we were in our rooms, studying, and not loitering elsewhere. After reading the entire note, I returned to take another look at those pictures, and I did recognize her father. Since the message came in my cellphone’s WhatsApp, I had no difficulty calling her back and had a pleasant conversation with her father, myteacher, whom I admired so much and had always thought of him as a remarkable human being. I promised to pay him a visit as early as possible. That message on September 5, made me curious about one more thing, and that is, Teachers’ Day. I left India for the United States in 1969 and I do not recall ever celebrating the Teachers’ Day. I was not even aware that it existed. However, the Teachers’ Day, which is celebrated throughout the world now, probably originated in India in 1962 by then India’s president Dr. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan. He was the first vicepresident of India after India became independent in 1947 and he became president in 1962. He was a philosopher, author, statesman and educator, and one of the most erudite of Hindu scholars of all times. He was a professor of Eastern Religions at Oxford University and the first Indian to be a fellow of the British Academy. He was also named the ‘Knight of the Golden Army of Angels,’ the Vatican’s highest honor for a Head of State.

September 5 happened to be Dr. Radhakrishnan’s birthday. On that day in 1962, after he became President, a group of his former students and friends visited his residence and sought permission to celebrate his birthday. Dr. Radhakrishnan, however, did not approve of any celebration but rather requested that the day be celebrated as Teachers’ day. Hence, the beginning of the celebration of Teachers’ Day in India. Here are some of the best quotes of Dr. Radhakrishnan:

·Books are the means by which we build bridges between cultures.

·When we think we know, we cease to learn.

·Teachers should be the best minds in the country.

Celebration of Teachers’ Day in America has an interesting history. Its origin is a bit unclear. It is believed to have been initiated by one or two teachers in the 1940s, one from Arkansas and the other from Wisconsin. Though this history is unclear and unsubstantiated, either one of the two, or both teachers turned to the former First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt for her assistance in backing their case in establishing a Teachers’ Day in America. As a result, in 1953, the former First Lady took an interest in the cause and tried to persuade the 81 st Congress that there needed to be a specific day to recognize the teachers. Even if Eleanor Rooseve lt took the case to the Congress to get their help and support, it took U.S.Congress 27 years to establish the first official Teachers’ Day on March 7, 1980. This

day in March was observed for four short years. In 1984,the National Parent Teacher Association deemed the first full week of May to be observed as Teacher Appreciation. The following year,in 1985, the National Educational Association (NEA) put it to a vote and decided to change the official national day to be celebrated on the first Tuesday in the first week of May every year going forward. On that day, students and parents are supposed to show their appreciation for teachers by writing thank you notes, and/or by offering small treats and gifts. For example, Teachers’ Day in 2023 was celebrated on May 2nd, the first Tuesday in the first week in May.

There are still a few cases of oddities in the country, such as, Massachusetts celebrates Teachers’ day on the first Sunday in June. There may be others. Although the first Tuesday in May has been set aside to celebrate the Teachers’ day, the schools in the Los Angeles area, where I live, do not show this date in their annual school calendars, where all other important events throughout the year are noted. The calendars used by the general public also do not identify this date in May as Teachers’ Day, but all other important days, whether observed or not, throughout the year are noted. The reason is hard to explain, as if it’s not important enough. In the United States, about 45 percent of teachers leave the profession in their first five years and about 40 percent of teachers enter the profession from other careers.

In 1994, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization selected October 5 for celebrating World Teachers’ Day. On this day in 1966, a precedent for the Status of Teachers and their rights was established at a special inter-governmental conference in Paris. Over one hundred countries celebrate October 5 as World Teachers’ Day. There are countries around the world, however, celebrating Teachers’ Day on a different date for different reasons. For example, Australia celebrates it on the last Friday in October, while New Zeeland celebrates the day on October 29. While U. K. and Germany celebrate it on the date set by the United Nations, France celebrates it on November 27. Four African countries, Algeria, Egypt, Morocco and Tunisia, celebrate it on February 28. Mexico celebrates it on May 15. Though Russia celebrates it on October 5, in China, Teachers’ Day is a national holiday and is celebrated on September 1. It is believed that this holiday in China, in its different interpretations, has existed since the middle ages and teachers and coaches have always been honored and respected. However, the modern holiday was awarded a national status in January 1985. Teachers’ Day is also a national holiday in Singapore and is celebrated on the first day of September. The celebration usually takes place on the prior day when the secondary and junior college students are allowed to go back to the primary and secondary schools, respectively, to honor their teachers. A complete list of all the teachers’ days is available on the internet.

In every society, there are people with all different professions: doctors, nurses, teachers, lawyers, judges, engineers,

bankers, accountants, politicians, diplomats, government workers, policemen, firemen, and many others. However, there is one common link between the people of these different professions. Every one of them, at some point in their lives, had to enter a classroom in a school and be taught by a teacher. A good teacher may focus solely on the curriculum, teachingthe three Rs, (Reading, Writing and Arithmetic or Mathematics), regarded as the fundamentals of learning, while a great teacher, on the other hand, besides being very competentand a committed individual, relates to the students in developing their skills and potentials, strengthens their dreams and aspirations, widens their imaginations and goals, and touches their hearts and souls. He is a caring human being, inspiring, engaging and always committed to his craft. A great teacher is that important in the lives of his students.

We never forget our teachers, who once taught us; particularly, the ones who have left permanent marks in our hearts and souls. We tend to forget all other things we consider important. For example, as much as I love sports, I do not remember who won the Wimbledon or the U.S. Open tennis tournaments, or, the NBA (National Basketball Association) championship, or other popular sporting events around the world, held only a year or a few years ago. I do not remember which movie was awarded the Oscar, or which actor or actress received the highest award for their performances. However, teachers are different, and we never forget them. I still remember the teacher who changed the correct spelling of my name from

‘Binoy’ to ‘Benoy’ when I was in grade (class) two. I didn’t protest. I didn’t have any birth certificate then. I was born at home. In those days, the high school diploma served as a birth certificate in India. I met her many years later at a bus stop in Kolkata. She had grown old and didn’t remember me, but I did. I spoke with her briefly but didn’t want to ask why she changed the spelling of my name. She wouldn’t remember, anyway.

Of all the professions in the world, the profession of teaching is perhaps the noblest of all. All great minds and souls in this world are fundamentally teachers. And yet, quite paradoxically, if young students, from either rich countries or poor countries, regardless of nationalities, are asked what they would like to be when they grow up, very few would mention that they would like to be teachers. Perhaps, the teachers, in general, are not well paid and their profession has never been glorified or glamorized by society.

It is almost impossible to come up with a single list of names of the great teachers of the world, because there is not just one list, but quite a few. However, here are the names of some of the great teachers the world has seen; Chanakya, Confucious, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Pythagoras, Sir Isaac Newton, Anne Sullivan, Jean Piaget, Maria Montessori, Albert Einstein, Rabindranath Tagore, Dr. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, Swami Vivekananda, Vivian Paley, Abdul Kalam, Erin Gruwell, Andrea Zafirakan. This list of names is by no means all inclusive. There are many more. If we look at different religions, all religious leaders, like, Jesus Christ, Gautam

Buddha, Lord Krishna, Prophet Muhammed, and others, are fundamentally teachers. And there are thousands, if not, millions of nameless teachers all over the world, whose teachings didn’t confine to the four walls of the classroom. They inspired and opened up a world of opportunities to their students. Socrates, the great Greek Philosopher, is considered to be the greatest teacher the world has ever seen. The essence of his teaching was a twoway dialogue between the teacher and his students.

The teacher, whose daughter contacted me on the Teachers’ Day over two years ago, was a strict disciplinarian, but a genuinely kind and caring man. More than forty years after leaving school, when I visited him for the first time, the first question he asked me was, where I was staying. When I mentioned the name of the hotel, he asked me to go back to the hotel, check out, and come back with all my belongings. I had to convince him that I would follow his instruction on the following morning, and I would spend the entire day with him, before I returned home taking a train in the evening. I did just that. On the following day, his wife, whom we called Boudi, following the tradition of Visva-Bharati, brought out old, nearly faded out, and yet, carefully preserved, black and white pictures of us when we attended the school there. She recounted many stories, which I just about forgot, and I noticed that while she was narrating those stories, she was wiping away tears with the corner of her sari. My teacher and his wife were indeed both very kind and caring individuals. They loved the students as their ownchildren.

“Mona Lisa” “Mona Lisa” “Mona Lisa” “Mona Lisa” “Mona Lisa”

Debashis Roy Chowdhury, California

The bar at the corner of Canal Street and Walker Street is half full on this Sunday evening. Just about enough people are there to keep it busy, yet not too busy. It is in the middle of winter and folks want to be warmed up. Though this year it is not much of a winter at all. The city is as if continuing with fall, unsure whether to invite winter or jump straight to spring or even to summer for all it cares.

But people like their tradition. It is the month of January and that too, a Sunday evening, so one should go to a bar and warm oneself up. Especially if one has the right company or perhaps if one is looking for the right company. I belong to the latter category. I have nothing to

do, nowhere to go, no friend whom I could call upon this evening. So I hop into a subway train from 7 th Avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn and get down at Canal Street in Manhattan. This is an area I love. Tribecca Film Festival happens here. In the corner is the Roxy cinema where I enjoy an occasional jazz performance. I know a neighborhood bar and head there to seek comfort in familiar surroundings.

I take my seat at the counter in my favorite corner and order a dirty martini. I feel at ease. I am not feeling anxious or restless anymore. Of course, if I can chat with a girl or even a decent man next to me, that will be a bonus. Even without that, I feel, I am quite okay. The corner of the bar feels just right.

But deep inside I know, I am not okay; not entirely. Is it because when I lost my job recently, it shook my confidence? But I did manage to get a part-time job after all. Is it because I am nervous about

holding onto my new job? Is it because I am thirty-six and do not have a steady girl friend? I do not know the reason and I do not care to analyze. Rather I try to focus on my dirty martini. I do not like olive. But I like an olive in a martini. I guess, like everybody else, I am full of contradictions.

Like all good things, the martini comes to an end. I savor the very last drop. It makes me thirstier. I order a single malt on rocks.

“Make it a double”, I say, as an afterthought.

There is still no one next to me at the counter; no woman, no man, not even a cat. The bar stool next to me remains vacant. I feel like a solitary rock in the midst of an ocean while waves of conversation reach me from all directions. Suddenly I feel a pang of hunger. I realize I had skipped lunch.

“How about a plate of buffalo wings and a glass of Pinot Noir? Make it spicy. Not the Pinot but the wings.”

My joke falls flat on the bartender. He is a new guy; I have not seen him before. He is polite though, forces a smile and disappears behind the door to the kitchen. This is another thing that often bothers me. I often fail to land a joke or a punchline at the right time and in the right way. How come in the spoken language classes, they never teach this sort of stuff? It is not the English that matters, you dummy; what matters is the manner and the timing of it. Yes, timing is everything!

For example, the buffalo wings are taking too long to arrive. Is it because I cracked a lame joke at the wrong time? I am getting hungrier by the minute. I try to engage the bartender. He is serving others and does not look in my direction. Finally he comes and puts down a glass of Pinot Noir. I thank him. It is a good sign. If the drink has arrived, can the wings be far behind? But like the weather of the city, like the indecisive winter, the buffalo wings do not arrive and keeps me guessing. By this time I have finished half my glass of Pinot. The glass is now proverbially half empty and half full. And I am not sure if that is a good thing or not. My head feels light; too much alcohol in an empty stomach!

When the wings finally arrive, my glass is empty. I try a piece; it is too spicy and a little too salty. I order another glass of Pinot to take the edge off the spicy wings. It keeps me occupied for another half an hour to deal with the wings and the wine.

Finally, when it is time to leave, a woman arrives and takes a seat on the bar stool next to me; again bad timing! I steal a quick glance. She is an Asian woman, possibly in her late thirties and wearing a green scarf. She does not seem my type, not even for a casual conversation. Not that I have anything against Asian women. I actually had two very nice Asian girl friends in college. But this one definitely is not my type. Now how do I know that she is not my type? This is a special gift to humans. We can draw a conclusion just like that; without any data, any information, just based on pure

hunch; just based on skin color or shape of the nose or color of the nail-polish. Or may be, that is what is needed for our survival. When early humans saw a predator, they did not wait to analyze the color of its fur or the shape of its paws; they simply ran for their lives. Those who presumably stood around, never made it in the survival-of-the-fittest scheme of things. So it is entirely human of me to reach a quick verdict about the woman next to me. It could have turned out differently if she had arrived earlier. I could have reached a different conclusion. Who knows?

Anyway, I get up to leave, somewhat dissatisfied. What is the source of my dissatisfaction? It can be the buffalo wings which were a little too salty or perhaps my ineffective joke or the woman who is not my type and arrived a little too late. By this time, I am a bit tipsy; but my hunger has left me thanks to the spicy, a-little-too-salty buffalo wings; and I am in no mood to communicate. All in all, I am back to the square one, how I had started the day.

It is late evening in mid-town. Is this area marked as mid-town? I am never too sure about such things. I start walking through the by-lanes aimlessly. The lights are coming on in the adjoining hotels and apartments. I go past the post office, closed and forlorn on a Sunday; the white and blue vans parked like abandoned boats in a deserted dock. I head towards China town, past the McDonalds. I turn back to observe the McDonalds sign with its huge bright

yellow ‘M’, proudly on top of three white letters in Mandarin. All around me are busy people, many among them Chinese and Asian, darting around with a determined sense of purpose. I can be in Singapore or Shanghai for all that I know. And here I am – a drunken middle-aged New Yorker lost in the maze of life!

The subway station offers me a momentary sense of direction. I climb down the stairs, leaving behind the busy side walk with its street lights and twilight glow, into the shadowy web connecting the city. The train will arrive in three minutes. It is as if, a moment ago I was on the wings of a butterfly flying through a colorful city and now I am about to enter the guts of a giant caterpillar clawing through earth.

I choose a compartment carefully. This is a practiced art -first to inspect the compartments as the train slows down and then to target one that is not too crowded, not too empty and do not have any undesirable passenger. I presume it is a vestige of our survival instinct repurposed for modern-day subway travel.

I choose well. There are only a handful of passengers inside, regular commuters. I ease into an empty seat. The train starts. I look up to survey my surroundings. And immediately I pause. Right in the opposite seat, is a woman and she is smiling at me. I look around; there was no one else in the seat beside me; I am the only one here. Unmistakably the smile is directed at me. I am transfixed

by her smile. It is not a usual smile. It is not a smile of welcome or greeting; not a smile of acquaintance; not an absentminded smile either; not derisive, not accusatory. The smileis purposeful and targeted; it is meaningful and also, meaningless at the same time! This may not make any sense. Because the smile is exactly that, making no sense to me.

I try to look away. I inspect the laces of my shoes. Am I mistaken? There is no other passenger in the immediate vicinity. Just a few feet separate the two of us. Undoubtedly, she is smiling at me.

I steal a glance again, trying not to eye her directly. And there she is, smiling as before and looking directly at me, yet perhaps looking through me. Do I know her? Have I met her before? I cannot remember. Is her smile meant to connect our present and future in some way?

She is ordinarily dressed. Her face is thin and long. It has its usual share of wearand-tear of a middle-aged woman. She is Caucasian but nothing else stood out. She can be from anywhere. She wore a pink woolen cap. Her lips are lightly touched with red lipstick. She is not particularly beautiful but something about her is attractive. The one thing special about her face are her eyes, large with light brown eyeballs. The eyes

conceal a hidden depth behind them; they are like the surface of water in a deep well. And as she continues to smile, there seems a gentle ripple on that surface, as if in memory of a wind that was there once.

Then suddenly that ripple stops and the surface becomes calm. She stops smiling, as unexpectedly as a magician vanishing in thin air. And she looks the other way. Is it all an illusion of my inebriated brain? I could not be sure. I check my laces again to steady myself and try to find some answer. But there is no answer to be found.

The announcement brings me back to the present, my station is approaching. She is still seated there, unsmiling, looking at a distant something at the other end of the compartment. The train comes to a halt. I step out carefully, walk a few steps and turn to see her one last time. She is now looking directly at me, smiling her mysterious smile, as if she had never stopped smiling.

The train starts moving. Her smile is getting blurred. The train picks up pace. And the last I see of her is a vanishing pink cap and a smile that fills the entire space and time. Suddenly, for no reason, I smile to myself, my first genuine smile of the evening.

The Souvenir

Sanghamitra Roy Chowdhury, California

Sandip waited under the clock in Howrah Station, Kolkata’s Big Ben. He looked around trying to spot his friends. Soon Ravi, Amit and Hemant arrived. There were hugs, loud raucous laughter, greetings interspersed with choice epithets for each other. Other passengers glanced curiously at four middle aged men, who were behaving like college students.

The four friends, Ravi, Amit, Sandip and Hemant had studied engineering in undergrad together many decades earlier. From the day that these four had been told to guard the portals of the dorm one stormy night, a part of the toughening process that the seniors

meted out, they had become fast friends for life. They came to be known as RASH, in college and prided themselves on that nickname. Life had scattered them across the globe. They had sworn to stay in touch and after all of them were close to retirement, this meetup was an annual event. Visiting Shailipur, where Amit’s cousin had a guest house was part of this annual event.

They were taking the three-hour train to Haripura, the railway station closest to Shailipur.

The four RASH-ers loaded their luggage into the carriage. The small bags contained clothes, the larger duffel bags contained the essentials, the booze. The countryside flashed by– a sylvan green that lulled them into an almost bucolic state. Except for Ravi, who was always the most energetic of the four – his anecdotes of the ridiculous experiences when dealing with government permits, kept them and the other passengers in fits of laughter.

Ravi was the most vocal of them all, constantly teasing and baiting the others. He

was also the most energetic and jumped into action without any thought. Hemant was the practiceal one. When Amit had suggested visiting Shailipur, he had researched the place, the guest house and its amenities. He worked out how to get there, arranging for the guest house “Shaili Estates” to pick them up from Haripura. Amit, always the “ideas” guy, had been only too glad to hand over the organization of the trip to Hemant. Sandip kept them to a schedule and the four had always enjoyed their trips.

Haripura was an upcoming railway station. The platform was surprisingly clean. Bright green, blue and black cans dotted the platform. These were clearly marked as organic, recycle and trash receptacles. The roof of the platform was astonishingly fitted with solar panels.

Right outside the station a blue mini van marked with “Shaili Estates’’ in bold white letters, was waiting for them. The driver, a young chap in jeans and sunglasses helped with their luggage. And they set off. The road from Haripura to Shailipur started off through green paddy fields. Gradually the terrain changed as the car climbed into forested low-lying hills. The friends were mesmerized into silence as trees with intertwining branches canopied the roads. The sun’s rays were pinpricks in the dark leaves, yet strong enough to cast a surrealist glow through the moon roof of the car. The roar of the car’s engine and the occasional plaintive bird call

wafted through the forest. Once the car crested the hill, it was a downhill journey. This side of the hill was a rain shadow area, the forest petering into bush like trees, smaller shrubs and finally sun scorched slopes with stubbles of grass and clumps of hardy wildflowers.

It was past the usual lunch time when the car drove into the majestic gates. The pillars on the sides of the massive gate had stone lions, which exuded grandeur, despite their worn contours. The walls around the estate were high at the gates, at some places they had worn down to a height that most people could jump over. The drive way ascended from the gates till the walls receded behind them. The grounds were dry with thorny bushessome of the bushes had luxurious red flowers that looked almost like lilies. The driveway was long and pebbled, and

as it neared the main house, casuarina trees lined it. In front of the main house, the driveway swept back in a spacious

semi-circle. The house had stone walls painted a light beige, the turrets were the original dark stone color. The windows had been painted cream with matching lintels. To the side were smaller structures, probably originally used to house carriages. As the friends got out of the car and stretched, the manager, a youngish looking man, bounded down the stairs.

“Welcome to Shaili Estates. A long drive, you must be tired and hungry. I am Benoy Ghosh, the manager”, he introduced himself. “Please come in. “They walked up the stairs to the wide balcony, glistening in the sun. The balcony had been redone, a few intricate tiles from the original building had been added to give a glimpse of antiquity. As Ravi stood on the balcony and breathed in deeply, the others followed suit. The air was fresh and rejuvenating, a faint fragrance of flowers added to the calm. The view from the balcony was magnificent, the road to the house descended till it vanished in a point. The grounds, mostly wild stretched out to the ramparts, almost mirage like in the hazy late afternoon sun.

After a light meal and excellent tea, Mr. Ghosh asked what they would like for dinner. In keeping with the true style of bungalows, they opted for “chicken curry and rice”, the comfort food that they had all had on vacations in their childhood. Their rooms were clustered around done turret. The rooms were furnished with the latest comfortable beds, sofas all done up in the style of the bygone days. The turret room was a

delight, with rich russet and golden sofas, tables with curved lion legs, a turn table with an assortment of vinyl records. It also contained an ornate hookahBenoy, the manager assured them it was a working one and it would be set up for them.

The four friends decided to take it easy and rest to soak in the regal yet very comfortable ambience. The shadows of the house and the casuarina trees lengthened quickly into the darkness as the sun set. The lights along the driveway lit up, the pools of light enhancing the dark of the descending night. After a simple, very fulfilling dinner, they enjoyed smoking the hookah. It was only when they went into their bedrooms that they realized they had not even thought of the single malt they had packed for the trip.

The next morning the palace seemed unreal as they woke and were served breakfast by liveried attendants. Eager to explore the surrounding area, using the car at their service they spent most of the day driving to the buildings they had seen from their hotel. Before setting off, they checked out the swimming pool. It was heated during the winter, a goodsized hot tub on its side. Their hotel being at the highest vantage point of Shailipur, the other houses were visible. The manager took them round to Mullick House, a modern bright yellow house. The Mullicks, a wealthy family in Kolkata, had bought the land, demolished the old house and built a modern “monstrosity” as Amit pointed

out. The Chowdhury house, in contrast was an older house being renovated tastefully, was painted a gleaming white with a red brick path that ran around the house. Richer urbanites were building houses here to get away from the frenetic pace of their daily lives. There were a number of plots that just had newly built walls and some times an old structure.

The manager had kept the best for the last. There was a crumbling small palace close to the far northwest corner of Shaili Estates. The palace was in ruins, the creepers had taken over the portion that was still standing. All that remained of the rest of the palace were broken floors from which neglected columns rose into the air. The columns must have been in laid with stones or mirrors; an occasional ray of sunshine hit their eyes to form a rainbow spectrum. A stone eagle perched majestically on the right side of the staircase which stood intact. The staircase led up to the balcony, now darkened with age. To the side there were structures which looked like stables. To the side there was a small temple in ruins, hidden from view through a copse of sal trees. The single copse stood out in stark contrast to the dry landscape all around. The manager took them round the part that was encircled by the python-like creeper to a corner where stone steps arose in front of them.

“These steps are actually part of the wall around our guest house. The walls have broken and formed natural steps up to the back of our property”, Benoy

explained. They glanced back to see Ravi staring up at the narrow window that could be seen through the creeper.

As Ravi caught up, Benoy Ghosh explained, “This belonged to the Chandra princely dynasty of Kinnori. Kirti Chandra was an enlightened ruler and..”

Sandip interrupted “Kinnori? There’s a Kinnori in Rajasthan, very far away.”

Benoy nodded, “Yes, that Kinnori. Kirti Chandra was enlightened, he wanted his sons to get the benefit of an urban education. He built this as a gift for his son Shailen Chandra when he got married. The wedding here was the highlight of this village for years. Two years after his wedding, Shailen was sent to Kolkata to study law. There was plenty of security, a distant cousin who looked after the property when Shailen was away at college. There were Rottweilers who roamed the grounds at night. He would come back to visit his wife on holidays. Once he decided to surprise his wife and arrived at night. Shailen never reached the house that night, his corpse was found in the thicket of trees. It was all hushed up, apparently the dogs had viciously attacked their master. The house was deserted, every one left, all the finery fell to dust”.

“Even today, no-one comes here after dark”, he hesitated, not sure of the reaction his urban guests would have to this. They were all silent, the horrifying fate of Shailen Chandra hung heavy in the air. As they walked away, the

dilapidated palace seemed to be an embodiment of its tragic past-desolate, dark and grieving.

Benoy showed them a thin book that had a brief history of the Chandra family in the library in the hotel. The final tragedy was not mentioned, the picture of Shailen Chandra – a handsome young man in full regalia stayed with them. He had an amused smile, as if the dress up

was something he took lightly. He had a cream-colored turban, a sapphire ring that glowed red at the edges and a small kukri, a knife with a short blade in a jewel encrusted scabbard hanging from his belt.

That evening after a sumptuous dinner, the wine and the scotch were opened. There was a need to lighten the load that the story of Shailen Chandra and his picture had laid upon their hearts. The next day was a glorious sunny day, colder than the previous day. The blue gray clouds on the horizon softened the landscape. The four friends explored the

Shaili Estate property. They were given a guided tour of the gardens with its rows of cauliflower, cabbages and peas. Sandip, ever the engineer, was excited to see the modern efficient irrigation system and asked questions till his friends dragged him off. They walked around the grounds, admiring the vista of gentle hills. From one point they could also see the road to Haripura, which shimmered into the green hills on the horizon. They could see a lake, close to that road - a startling blue gem shining in the surrounding parched countryside. As their getaway was coming to an end, they spent the late afternoon and evening in the heated pool and the jacuzzi. Mr. Ghosh had arranged for their dinner to be served near the pool. The lights looked intently at their reflection, the shadows were warm and intimate, the kebabs melt-in-the mouth. Dinner ended with a rum doused flan brought to the table. The chef lit it with a flourish to caramelize the top perfectly. The flames of the flan created a dragon’s fiery breath weaving through the water. All of them, even the vocal Ravi, sat blissfully silent. The perfect way to end a vacation! The contented feeling stayed with them as they went to bed.

Sometime during the night Ravi woke. Something was calling him although there was no sound except the swishing of the wind through the casuarinas trees. He closed his eyes and tried to get back

to sleep. He could sense a flickering light, even though his eyes were closed. He had to follow that light - his brain signaled him urgently. When he realized that the ground below his feet was mossy, soft he was startled. Where was he? His pajamas seemed silkier and fitting and rustled as he walked. His sense of time had melted into the dark, tree shapes around him. He knew he had to follow the light that was guiding him as he padded through the copse of trees. Soon he was at the edge of the thicket, most of the trees now behind him. He was walking towards the palace of the Chandras. The palace stood before him, tall and grand, the carvings on its walls had come to life even in the flickering light. The light on both sides of the steps leading to the balcony beckoned him like a beacon. As he started towards the stairs in a run, he could hear the baying of the dogs.

dogs’ breath felt warm around himthey were not baying anymore. The dogs were whimpering as he sank into a stupor, his hand stretched out to them.

Ravi awoke to the sound of his friends’ voices as they banged on his door. The sunlight streamed in, and he winced as he got out of bed.

“What took you so long? Hangover?”, Sandip joked at Ravi’s nonplussed expression. ”Come on, breakfast is ready, and we waited for you”, Hemant and Amit said together.

During the leisurely breakfast, Ravi was unusually quiet. The others ribbed him about it. “Ravi saw a ghost last night!”, Amit quipped and curved his hands up like talons.

“Maybe he thought he was really a king. Hey man, has the palace got to you, Ravi?”, chortled Sandip.

After breakfast it was time to pack for the carried back to the station. As Ravi folded his clothes, he shook his head to clear the fog. The story about the prince who was killed as he came unannounced to visit his wife, had conjured up his weird dream. He bent down to pick up his pajamas, which he had hastily discarded to get ready for breakfast. There was a sound of metal striking the ground as he did so.

He felt the bullet entering his lungs and felt the sticky wet blood on the left side of his chest as he fell to the ground. The xylr˜!¡!þ› xylr˜!¡!þ›  145

A beautifully carved scabbard lay on the floor, the hilt of a small, curved dagger protruding from it!

An Ode to Sleep An Ode to Sleep An Ode to Sleep An Ode to Sleep An Ode to Sleep

Mitrajit Mukherjee, New Jersey

Some people talk in their sleep. Lecturers talk while other people sleep – Albert Camus

Years ago, when I was a teenager in Kolkata, I came across a message on a poster that puzzled me. It read, “The Best Things in Life are Free.” It was typical of teenagers, as I recall, to hang posters in their rooms. These posters carried photos of sports idols, mostly cricket stars, though some of my bolder friends – who used slang words like “Bugger, Damn or Bloody” when they spoke – displayed posters of ABBA, Boney M, or female movie stars. I too, had three posters hanging in my room –one of Vivian Richards, one of Bjorn Borg

and since I fancied myself as an intellectual who was much more learned than my para friends – one of James Joyce. I had read his book Dubliners and was quite moved by a story called Araby. It traces a young boy’s infatuation with his friend’s sister that ends in a heart break – a situation teenage boys were intimately familiar with. But I digress.

At that point, the truly best things in life to me were, in no particular order : Levis jeans, Nike sneakers, Addidas T-shirts and Sony Walkman. These were meant to project an image of a cool teenager. The ultimate objective (unchanged since One Million Years BC) was to attract young women and in the best possible scenario – to get a girlfriend. Some of my Marwari friends’ parents who often travelled to foreign countries on vacation – Thailand or Singapore – brought back those muchenvied items as gifts. I, on the other hand, had to rely on the benevolence of my uncles and aunts living in the US for

the same. So, if you did not have rich parents going on foreign vacations or benevolent aunts and uncles living abroad, the best things in life were not free. They were quite expensive, especially if you bought them from the Fancy Market in Khidirpur. My strategy, planning and persistence did pay off – I had a girlfriend by eighteen. In case you are curious, she is my better half now.

Unlike the US, students in India have to pass board exams to graduate high school – one in the tenth grade and one in the twelfth. For our twelfth grade board exams, we had to study one of Shakespeare’s plays – Macbeth. Set against the backdrop of medieval Scotland, the play follows the tragic downfall of Macbeth, who at first is a brave and honorable general but then goes downhill quickly. Though Macbeth was a dubious character who committed serious crimes, including the murder of King Duncan of Scotland, he and I shared something in common. We both enjoyed sleeping. After murdering King Duncan, Macbeth staggers into his bedroom to blazon Lady MacBeth with his post prandial pursuits. Any sane man in his situation would say something like, “Honey, I just murdered the King of Scotland. Let us get the hell out of town.” Not so with Macbeth. Instead, he launched into a eulogy on sleep.

Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care,

The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,

Chief nourisher in life’s feast

Now here was a guy who had figured out what was important in life – and

sleep was clearly Roger Federer downthe-line kind of a winner for him. Rock on Macbeth, I said.

Sleep feels good because we restore the energy we lose during the day. It does this by regulating two chemicals in our bodies while we sleep: glycogen and adenosine. Glycogen helps store energy in the brain. Its level decreases when we are awake and restores while we sleep. Adenosine accumulates during the waking hours and prompts us to feel sleepy after a long day. These two chemicals work in tandem: as the glycogen level reduces in our brain, adenosine builds up. So, when we wake up and are full of glycogen, we are full of energy. Let us just say on most mornings my glycogen levels were (like all teenagers around the world) quite low. My dad and mom, typical of Bengali parents, were early risers. Regrettably, every morning, Newton’s first law of motion (the one about inertia) would almost always surrender to the second law (the one about force). My inertia was no match for maternal imperium. I would reluctantly wake up to get ready for the day.

After finishing high school, I left home for engineering college. During the first few weeks in college, I used to wake up promptly every morning at 6:30 am, thanks to an alarm clock that my dad had presented to me. However, things changed at the end of the ragging period. For those of you not familiar with the term “ragging” – it is like hazing when you join college, but in our case, it was

very nerdy older kids bossing over very nerdy younger kids. “Sing Jana Gana Mana backwards,” said one. “What’s your age in light years,” asked another. Ha Ha Ha. Light year is a measure of distance, not time. Ha Ha Ha. I lived in a dorm popularly called the Commie Hall. Some of our hall denizens sang songs like We Shall Overcome in the wee hours or participated in rallies on Hiroshima-Nagasaki Day chanting Down with Capitalists (aka USA). Still, I thought the moniker was a bit thick. Our college campus was located far from the city. There was not much to do on weekends. The Technology Film Society used to screen movies for students and staff. Friday evening shows were reserved for the rowdy undergraduate students. It was on one warm Friday evening, after our movie show was over, that a bunch of my friends decided to enjoy themselves indulging in “extracurricular activities.” Feeling bolder in college after the ragging period was over, I threw caution to the wind and joined them. Most of that evening remained a blur to me. I recalled hearing Hotel California from the room next door before dozing off to sleep. When I finally opened my eyes, sunlight was flooding my room. It was not 6:30 am, it was rather 10:30 am! My alarm had not gone off. I started to get up, but I did not. Instead, I laid in bed pulling the covers up, sunk my head back into those wonderfully cushiony pillows, closed my eyes and drifted slowly back to sleep. I had just discovered one of life’s great pleasures – sleeping in over the weekend.

Rural Bengal has its reposeful charms –the tranquil environs induce

somnolence. Specially on weekends, when the only sounds heard from my room were the whirring of the ceiling fan, the bleating of goats or the occasional ring of a bicycle bell. Weekend mornings took on a languorous character. The early morning sunlight would linger in the hallways, meandering over our balconies before spilling into our rooms by late morning. By then, sleep that weighed like scales over my eyelids, would slowly slip away and dissolve into the dark recesses of the folded blankets on my bed. The torpor that hung over me would slowly give way to enough energy to greet a lazy Saturday.

Our classes started around 8 am and continued till noon for the lunch break. Our lunch consisted of rice, daal , vegetables, and fish. This menu unfortunately posed a challenge for afternoon classes. Most of us simply could not keep our eyes open during lectures. One minute I was hearing the Physics prof talking about a guy called Paul Dirac and his outstanding contributions to Quantum Mechanics. By the next minute, I had sunk Lethewards. An occasional “Wave Equation” or “Delta Function” floated through the still afternoon air, but that was it. The glucose spike would trigger a chain of events. Tryptophan would soon start coursing through my blood stream cruising to my brain, releasing melatonin. My body was no match for these charged neurotransmitters. I felt relaxed. I felt drowsy. I slept. Some of my brilliant fellow sleep-mates eventually worked out a strategy of where to sit in those large lecture halls so they could fall asleep without ever

being called out to answer annoying Physics questions by the prof. The pattern continued more or less through the semester. To our dismay, those lazy, hazy, halcyon days of our first-year common lectures passed by much too quickly.

I started working in the Bay area after completing my graduate degree. I got married. And before long our precious Bundle of Joy arrived right in the middle of summer. We were ecstatic. We took turns holding her. We kissed her face, her hands, her little tummy. We brought her home. Newborns have sleep patterns quite different from adults. Our baby slept when we were awake. She was awake when we slept. And when she woke up, she cried. Being first time parents in the world before Google, we had no idea why she was crying. Was she hungry? Did she need changing? Was she upset because Monica Seles lost to Steffi Graff in straight sets? We were up most nights. I slept whenever I could. I slept at work. I slept during meetings. I slept standing in line at the grocery store. I slept while I showered. I brushed my teeth with shaving gel. I shampooed my hair with conditioner. What I needed most was blissful unconsciousness. The truly best things in life were coming into sharp focus. The joy of sleeping had overtaken it all into the first place. And then one night when we both were completely exhausted, she slept for four hours straight. Then five. Then six. That pattern repeated once a week, then twice a week. Soon it was every day. It seemed like eternity but by the end of summer

the sleeping angels were visiting our daughter daily, making sure she got a good night’s rest. By Christmas time, she had moved to her own room. Eighteen summers later, she moved again into her college dorm room. We were empty nesters and our house felt eerily quiet.

The years have rolled by. My bundle of joy is married and lives with her husband. Those luxurious manes we once sported as reckless youths have given way to wisdom giving bald pates. Most of us are parents of grown-up children. Some of my friends are already grandparents. We do not display posters on our bedroom walls anymore. Instead, we have photographs of our children or grandchildren on our nightstands. I recently came across a video of ABBA promoting their virtual concert Voyage One of the gals was hobbling around using a walking stick. Gather ye rose-buds while ye may

It is a warm Sunday afternoon today. Spring has finally given way to summer. Even without seeing, the crickets, grasshoppers, cicadas, and katydids are buzzing-chirping-tinkling outside. A happy male pigeon croons a courtship tune. The soft summer breeze gently caresses the black-eyed Susans on our back porch, causing them to sway in a languid dance, as if time had momentarily slowed down. My head is resting on a soft pillow. My better half is lying next to me reading The Covenant of Water . A look at that big fat book makes me drowsy. My eyelids feel heavy. Into that realm of sweet repose, slides my mellow Bengali soul.

In my recent visit to Prague, I witnessed how the history of the present and the past unite. A lot of activities have marched through the paths of Prague. Our tourist guide took us to the monastery complex. When the war broke out, these monasteries were affected greatly. The monasteries had changed hands many times and went through a lot of upheaval.

A

Memorable Trip to Prague A Memorable Trip to Prague A Memorable Trip to Prague A Memorable Trip to Prague A Memorable Trip to Prague

Mandira Chattopadhyay, Ohio

The goldsmith’s work at Strahov monastery and church are outstanding testimonies to the illustrious tradition of goldsmith’s craft in Prague. The guide told us while strolling around the Prague Castle, we should not miss its most enchanting spot—the golden lane. Compared to the grand palaces nearby, the golden lane looks like a row of doll’s houses. It is a picturesque fairytale lane. For one hundred years the poorest inhabitant of the castle lived in the miniature houses. Our first impressions in the cramped space are of the pastel colors, low roofs, small windows. We felt as if we were transported to another world, the atmosphere was powerful and unique. It was the same as in the

days when House Number 22 was inhabited by Franz Kafka who wrote most of his short stories here.

The fairy tale beauty of this spot was, in sharp contrast to the castle’s aloof majestic look. In the small towns and villages, where so many Czechs still live, however, we can feel the creeping sensations of melancholy and neglect –but we also enjoy the slower, more relaxed atmosphere there. The peculiar melancholy of Central Europe still lurks in narrow streets and forgotten quarters. Crumbling facades, dilapidated palaces, and treacherous scobble streets both shock and enchant us. The arrival of designer boutiques, chain restaurants xylr˜!¡!þ›

and cyber cafes have spruced up for the tourists

We were amazed to see The Charles Bridge, a 14th century stoned bridge over the Vltava river linking the two sides of the city. This magnificent structure is the main pedestrian route connecting the Old Town with the Lesser Town and the Prague Castle.

The most memorable thing happened as we approached the cemetery of Prague–we were shocked to see how in the Jewish cemetery the tombs were jumbled together, as if even after death the bodies have been dumped together. I felt a distinct contrast between this sight with the graveyards that I had seen in Concord, Massachusetts. There the graveyard stands in the center of the town and includes the graves of Thoreau and Emerson. I could feel how nicely the Concord cemeteries were still breathing the fresh air. While visiting the Jewish cemetery in Prague I noticed one lady in our group sobbing. She was the wife of one of my husband’s friend, who like him, had come to attend a conference in Prague and had brought her along. In a matter of two days at the conference, this lady and I had become close friends.

She said to the tourist guide, “Enough is enough! It reminds me of the holocaust, a bitter experience my parents and grandparents had. I cannot take it anymore!”

I stepped out and started to comfort her –We decided to go back to the hotel and relax. Upon reaching the hotel, in

our room in candlelight, she unfolded her story. I observed her Jewish feature, her sharp nose; very softly I told her that I was attending a class on holocaust and had to write a project report upon my return, pretending I was a holocaust survivor. I also mentioned to her that it was tough for me to do this assignment, since I had found very little information on the plight of the holocaust survivors.

Then she started narrating in detail how during the ghetto period the Jews were hunted like dogs. When Hitler came to power, without regard to cost, the bureaucratic machine, operating with accelerated speed and everwidening effect proceeded to annihilate the European Jews. The Jewish community unable to switch to resist, increased its cooperation with the temp of the Germans, thus hastening its own destruction. When the German army moved into Poland in September 1939, where her parents were, the process of destruction had already progressed in the concentration camps.

I retorted “I remembered reading as early as the beginning of 1936 Jews at the age of 12 were forced to wear a white armband with a Jewish star”. “My friend said, “May be you should know more in depth. A number of small Jewish communities were turned in to ghetto towns altogether unlike the larger ghettos, which were cities within cities surrounded by wall near Warsaw.”

She continued: “The ghetto was a captive city state in which territorial confinement was combined with absolute subjugation to the German

authorities. On October 16, 1939 the first transports began to arrive. By November 4, twenty transports had dumped 20 000 Jews into the ghettos, 5,000 from Vienna, 5000 from Prague, 4000 from Berlin, 2000 from Cologne and 1000 from Frankfurt. As the Jews moved in ghettos, they left most of their property behind.”

I then enquired about the condition of food. She said that the survival of the ghetto population depended in the first instance, upon the supply of the food and fuel. By decreasing and starving the ghetto, the Germans were able to turn them into death traps. The killing of the Jews was regarded as a historical necessity. Many had the mistaken view that the Jews were bad for society.

I then asked her, whether her family experienced a similar ordeal. “Of course!” she replied, “Many Jews had stayed behind because of physical difficulties of flight. They were the old people and women and the children. There were people who failed to understand what was going on. The remaining Jews were in short, physically and psychologically immobilized.”

Then after taking a sip of water, followed by a few sighs, she started telling her parents’ story. Sometimes in between her story she would moan and choke. For a long time, she gazed at me, almost blankly. Her face by then had the composure of someone perfectly at peace with herself. She started to narrate how when the war broke out her parents were separated from one another. The Germans were trying to get the men first.

Her grandmother and her mother decided not to leave because her mother had a small child and did not want to go to the concentration camp. Her mother changed her passport and started working in different restaurants. When the Germans raided, she hid in paddy fields; in one incident she claimed that her grandmother was just a corpse and this way she was able to save her grandmother.

Then one day when her mother returned, the place was empty and only the dentures of my grandmother remained. Then she started to panic and asked what had happened. She came to know that grandma and the infant were put in a train carrying Jews and were thrown out of the widow along with the pigs. After the war was over, she returned and recognized her house, so did her father. It was such a sorrowful but a nice-ending love story.

After they were reunited, my friend was born. As she grew up, her mother told her all her experience with German soldiers. But she also told me that she could not describe everything that happened to her, so the rest of the story would go with herin the graveyard.

Then she said to me, “I wish you success in your project and some day you will come across somebody else.” As she said this, she kept her eyes down poking at the food on the side table, subdued to the point of silence. We held our hands together as if afraid to let go – perhaps the story did not end here.

Dagha Baaz Dagha Baaz Dagha Baaz Dagha Baaz Baaz

Tathagata Ghosh, New Jersey

Raja Biswas had barely arrived at the office when his office phone rang.

‘Hello this is Gopi, Gopinath Reddy’. The voice was cool, confident as he expected a seasoned reporter’s voice to be. Raja got a sense through the phone of a person slightly older than him, confident about the city. Gopi rather expertly interviewed him for a few minutes and seemed to decide that they could rent a place together.

Gopinath Reddy was a journalist for ‘Eenadu’, the Telegu and English newspaper in Andhra Pradesh. He covered the politics in Hyderabad for the English edition.

Raja Biswas was young, in his early twenties and a little brash thinking that renting a house should not be too difficult. After a few days of searching for an apartment, he realized that was foolhardy to think that he would be able to rent a place by himself on his salary. In those days the IT sector hardly was remunerative.

They were connected through a mutual friend who heard that Raja was looking for a place to stay In Hyderabad. The friend suggested that he stay in the newer twin city of Secunderabad, it being nicer and cleaner and he could always commute to Hyderabad where his office was. The friend also said that Hyderabad itself was Muslimdominated and Secunderabad would be a better option.

The landlord met Raja and Gopi at the front of the building as he paid off the auto. He was looking at a ground floor two-bedroom flat with a nice living room and kitchen. This was a barebones flat but very clean and they would need to xylr˜!¡!þ›

furnish it as time went by. It was a nicer building in Secunderabad and not too far from Lakdi-ka-Pul. From there, Raja would need to catch his bus to go to King Kothi in Hyderabad where his office was located.

His new friends at the office, Jhoom and Mary also lived in this area and approved of his choice. It was not too far from the office and was quite well connected to the rest of the city. They were sharing an apartment and had even started picking up a smattering of Hyderabadi .

The landlord, a local Andhra man, agreed to rent to couple of clean-cut professionals because he was sure that they could afford the rent and seemed unlikely to cause any trouble and would not have any unwanted guests. This comfortable two-bedroom apartment was in a prime location. Raja had the room with the attached bathroom and Gopi took the slightly larger bedroom. He used the main bathroom adjoining the living room. Gopi was a fashionable guy and sometimes Raja would peek to see what was in his bathroom. There were all kinds of deodorants and sprays and shampoos.

Gopi was balding early, but he would comb his hair expertly to cover the emerging bald spots. He always went out to office well-dressed. Pressed clothes, polished boots, a reporter going for his beat. This sense of style was slowly rubbing off on Raja too. For the first time in his life, he invested in a

shampoo and managed to get rid of his oily flattened out hair.

They managed their rent comfortably for a few months but then realized that they could easily have another person in their living room and their rent would be even more manageable without inconveniencing anybody. They never used the living room in any case, and somebody could use that space that was larger than the bedrooms. They decided to get a rental partner.

Gopi, being from the newspaper industry, said that the best way would be to advertise in a newspaper like Eenadu. They put out an advertisement in the English newspaper stating that they needed a third renter, with details about the apartment and the location. They were confident that they would get some response.

Raja often went out for lunch with Mary and Jhoom. They all worked in different departments and hence it was actually easier to be friends. Mary was the good angel, always conservative and making sure the group did not get into trouble. Jhoom was the fun-loving angel, getting them into trouble with her antics and wild ideas.

‘We are planning to get another renter’ Raja told Jhoom and Mary in the office canteen.

Mary ever the conservative said “Working hours thoda checkku maarna. Living room hai na’. That made sense since Gopi worked late hours, and it

would certainly be a problem if the person was a light sleeper or went to bed early.

Jhoom quizzed Raja ‘Miya tere ko kaisa logaan chahiyee? Ladki ko rent karega kya?’ Raja could only expect that question from Jhoom trying to get him in trouble and getting him to push the envelope.

Raja said ‘No way ! Obviously not, a girl would not have any privacy in the living room’.

‘We only want men who are willing to share. We have placed an ad in Eenadu and let’s see how that goes’ Raja said decisively trying to eliminate this uncomfortable proposition.

Meanwhile there was a large group of new hires that landed up for the initiation and training at Raja’s company. They were from all parts of the country. That included Raja, Mary and Jhoom who were also new hires starting off.

The training was in the office and often they went out for the group organized lunches and dinners. Some of the trainees were inquiring about the living conditions in Hyderabad.

Raja complained about the problems that he was going through trying to find a renter and mentioned that he had put up an ad in Eenadu. They were all mostly sympathetic and said that they would tell any of their friends who may be searching for a shared accommodation.

Mary called him the next day. ‘Hey Raja, I have this one guy Vikas who is joining our department and looking for a place’.

Vikas soon showed up and he was all dressed in white except for his chappals. He looked around the room very deliberately and then drifted into the kitchen. He looked inquiringly at Raja.

‘I smell something that is not right here.’ Vikas’s nose seemed to be like a divining appendage.

Raja said, ‘You don’t like the cooking?’

‘I think you are cooking non-veg food.’ He said with a disapproving sneer while continuing his sniffing expedition.

Raja said, ‘Yes of course, both of us eat non-vegetarian food’.

Vikas seemed flabbergasted and his head started shaking furiously, ‘That will not work for me, I am strictly vegetarian. Even the smell of non-vegetarian food makes me sick’.

Raja told Mary and Jhoom ‘We just need to find an adjustable person that does not feel offended by us. Not too much to ask.’

Jhoom said ‘Miya, tere ko mai aadmi bhejta hoon. Thoda howla ho sakta hai. Tere ko to potta chahiye, potti nahi chaleja’.

So came a procession of ‘howla’ guys(or potta) forwarded by Jhoom.

Ramki called and after Raja went through all the details of the place asked ‘This is all good, but I need to park my jeep‘.

Raja said, ‘You can park on the road’.

Ramki explained ‘Ah but I need a covered parking since this is an open jeep’.

Raja got even more annoyed ‘The landlord only rents the room he does not provide any parking space ‘.

Trust Jhoom for coming up with a true ‘howla’ guy.

But soon Raja’s office phone was buzzing with enquiries all forwarded by Jhoom.

Next one, Jhoom explained was a ‘lallu’. ‘I need to know if I can bring my parents and have them stay with me’. This was obviously a nonstarter.

Another one, Jhoom said ‘Miya bada bhondu hai’. Raja was learning all the derogatory Hyderabadi colloquialisms from Jhoom.

Bhondu said apologetically ‘I need a place to stay but cannot afford to split the rent 3 ways. I can only pay only 500 rupees.’ Raja explained that they were looking for a person who would be an equal partner. They could not afford to rent for lesser.

Jhoom then encouragingly said ‘Miya, dilwala bhejta hoon’.

Dilwala says, ‘I need a place where I can bring my two dogs. They will sleep with me in my room.‘

They just needed a roommate, and not looking to have an animal shelter. Damn howla.

Jhoom listened in to all his complaints and then asked him pointedly, ‘Miya, Tereku kutta accha nahi lagta kya? Tu sabko nakko kar deta hai’.

King Kothi where Raja’s office was bordered the old city which was

primarily a Muslim enclave. While In the office, Raja heard that there was expected to be a Ganapati Puja procession. That would mean real trouble if they went into the wrong areas. Everybody was concerned but fortunately, the office closed early.

Raja saw crowds gathering for the Ganapathi Puja procession and the noise level in the city had increased with pronouncements blasting on loudspeakers. Raja caught his usual bus to Lakdi Ka Pul to return home along with Jhoom and Mary. The tension was palpable and explosive as they crossed the procession as it was beginning to congregate.

When he entered his apartment after an hour, Gopi told him the news. The Ganapati procession in King Kothi and beyond had ended up in a religious Hindu-Muslim riot. A curfew has been declared that stretched up to their area. Shops were set aflame along the main road near King Kothi. There were retaliatory arson in the old city. The police had been called to maintain calm in the city. Gopi’s office was close by, and he told me that the curfew had extended right up to Lakdi ka Pul. That meant that there would be no possibility of transportation beyond the ring where the curfew was set. Only locally they could go out and get their essential supplies. Beyond it, there were armed police enforcing the curfew.

Then Gopi starting fidgeting till he finally blurted out. He said he has a

colleague of his who could not get home because of the curfew because she lived in the old city in Hyderabad . She would be staying with them since they had the extra space.

Raja heard the word ‘she’ in the sentence. It did not seem possible.

‘She! Miya tu potti bola?‘ Raja was flabbergasted.

Gopi’s bedroom door opened and a petite young woman about their age emerged. She was wearing jeans and a pink top and she said with a wave to Raja ‘Hi, I am Nandini’.

Raja tried to disguise his consternation and waved back and said ‘Hello’.

Nandini seemed very comfortable with the surroundings and plopped into the cheap cane furniture that they had in the living room as she sipped a cup of tea. She gave Raja another quick look as she looked at Gopi and explained her situation.

‘My house is in Hyderabad and unfortunately cannot go back there today, because of the curfew. The curfew has been declared for at least 48 hours. Let’s see when the Chief Minister and the police chief will lift the curfew’.

Raja could infer she was also a reporter and was very comfortable interacting with strangers.

‘Gopi and I are colleagues. He works in the political section, and I work in the business section’. Raja tried to take it in

matter-of-factly while pretending not to have a reaction. Obviously this was an emergency, and he could not very well say no and look like a howla himself.

Nandini asked Raja “Shall I make you a cup of tea?’.

Raja sheepishly said ok. This felt wrong and odd, but he appreciated the gesture of friendship. Nandini seemed familiar with the kitchen. His kitchen and offering him tea, his favorite Darjeeling tea!

She was completely familiar with the whole setup and even knew how to light up the pesky gas stove. Had she been here in his absence?

Reporters were resourceful and smart, he thought.

While he was sipping his tea, Gopi said ‘Nandini will sleep in my room. I will sleep in the living room.’ Raja gazed hard into the tea, trying to avoid making any untoward comment. Reporters were a different breed unlike himself who was bound by routine. They were adaptable and versatile, and Gopi was going out of his way to make his colleague comfortable.

The next day, the newspapers had splashed pictures of the destruction and a few deaths along the main road near Kothi. All of them were glad that Nandini was safe at their place.

As was usual, Raja sat in the wicker chair reading the newspaper. He saw Nandini stepping out of Gopi’s erstwhile room

dressed in a tight salwar kameez. It was disconcerting though he knew that she was present. She pulled up the other wicker chair and sat down with Gopi and Raja. She started to make small talk with Raja. Raja offered to make her tea. That would also give him some time to step away and let Gopi and Nandini have a private conversation.

He went into the kitchen and saw that everything was rearranged. He found a different variety of tea than their usual. Nandini must have got this new batch of tea. He turned up the gas and heated a potful of water so that he could make tea for the three of them.

Nandini, settled down very well, as Raja noticed. She seemed to be very familiar with the house. Very soon she was cooking Hyderabadi specialties for all three to share and enjoy.

One day Nandini said ‘ Raja lets go get some fish from the market. I will cook some fish, Hyderabadi style for you. You Bengalees may even like it. They sell fish near the Tank Bund. Let’s go’.

The curfew was still on. How were they going to get through?

They walked up to the edge of the town where there was a police cordon. Nandini walked confidently and when she reached the edge of the cordon, she took out her press credentials. Raja guessed that the press still had access to many parts of the city. They were able to get an auto inside of the cordon and went all the way to Tank Bund and got

the fish, Nandini flashing her press credentials as necessary. There were police all around, but the businesses were operating under mostly shuttered doors. Nandini cooked a delicious Hyderabadi fish curry. Raja and Nandini spent a significant time cleaning and cooking the fish. Gopi had just returned from the office and the three of them had dinner. It was obvious Gopi was not particularly happy with Raja spending time with Nandini.

The curfew lasted for a week and was partially lifted. The Eenadu offices were still working, becoming one of the few sources of news in these tense times. Nandini always left a little later than Gopi. Raja sometimes had coffee and breakfast with her before she left. She made sure that Raja had a good breakfast occasionally even making an omelet for him before she left. Now they had gotten used to Nandini and she with them, Nandini came up with logical proposal.

Nandini asked if she could continue staying here and become the third renter because she felt safer here.

Gopi rationalized ‘We were anyway wanting a third person, and she is perfectaa’. It was as if he started slipping back into his native accent when he got comfortable. Raja also agreed this was a win-win. Nandini was not going to show up with a puppy or expect a covered parking spot and bottom line helped split their costs. She was a great roommate, always helping out.

Jhoom and Mary visited him soon afterwards. Neither Gopi nor Nandini were at home when they came visiting. As Raja expected, they immediately took in the surroundings and their tone became a little inquiring. They were sweating from the short walk from their house to his place. Jhoom immediately went into the common bathroom to freshen up.

Mary inquired how they managed during the curfew since Mary and Jhoom could not get beyond the curfew line.

Raja explained that most of the shopping was done by Gopi who had a press pass and hence they were fine. Meanwhile Jhoom just came out of the bathroom with a curious look.

Jhoom asked “Mast perfume. Miya kabse Gopi SunSilk Egg shampoo lagata hai?”

Raja was not sure how to respond. Jhoom would pick him apart if he tried to hide the reality.

‘One of Gopi’s colleagues is now renting with us‘ he said almost apologetically.

Jhoom looked at Mary with a quizzical look and said ‘Gopi’s colleague! Ab samaj mey aata hai.”

Jhoom again had a meaningful smile she gave to Mary‘ Sunsilk shampoo guestu hai’ she emphasized.

Jhoom and Mary left soon after. Raja was glad that they did not see Nandini when she walked in a little later.

Raja’s father was visiting Hyderabad. He was also curious about this new situation, but his misgivings seemed mollified once he met Nandini and saw that she had a separate room.

His father, during his morning tea in Raja’s room, pointed to an article in the business section of Eenaadu.

“I like this article here about the push by the Chief Minister into software training in Hyderabad. There are projections that the Chief Minister wants Andhra to be the primary source of IT engineers to go to the US. The reporter’s name is Nafisa Begum. I am sure Nandini would know this person since she also works in the business section”.

Raja promised to find out as he looked over his father’s shoulder at the article.

The curfew had now completely lifted, and Raja started going back to the office and so did Gopi and Nandini. The ugliness of the Hindu-Muslim riots was still evident on the streets. There were burnt and looted shops along some main roads. The charred smell sometimes wafted into the buses as they passed by. It seemed like the police had stood aside and let the mobs have their way. Inadequate response of the police probably.

Nandini had become the third partner and continued to stay on in what was Gopi’s room. Gopi still had his bed on the living room, but Raja was not sure if he slept there most of the time. Their timings were so weird and different that

it was problem for Raja to even keep a track of their comings and goings.

Raja’s dad continued to ask him about Nafisa Begum who continued to write articles about the vision of Chief Minister to transform Hyderabad into a cybercity. Raja asked Nandini whether she knew Nafisa Begum and Nandini acknowledged that she knew Nafisa.

Jhoom and Mary had also started attending office and he used to see them occasionally at the office and they often came to visit him at his house.

Jhoom asked him the next time she saw Raja – ‘So do you still need a renter’.

Raja continued to say ‘Oh, Gopi’s colleague now renting with us, koich zaroorat nahi’.

Then Jhoom will invariably say ‘Oh, Sunsilk Egg shampoo!’ and Mary would try to suppress a smile.

The training was completed at the office and all the trainees were leaving.

Subrata who was from the Kolkata office wished him good luck on getting his renter. So did many others in the training. Raja thought that was very nice for them to show their concern though it felt a little excessive.

Raja also took this opportunity after the training to visit his hometown.

He suddenly got a call from Gopi who told him he was getting married. Gopi had mailed over his wedding card. It was beautifully done and printed as if they were newspaper headlines.

In bold ornate letters like a newspaper advertisement was written - You are cordially invited to the wedding of Gopinath Reddy with Nafisa Begum.

Raja muttered ‘Howla’ and immediately called his father.

‘Dad, Gopi is getting married to Nafisa – that Nafisa‘. His dad said – ‘Ah, office romance, since both of them worked at Eenadu’.

Raja wanted to make sure that he attended the wedding. He knew there would be a bunch of Eenadu people at the wedding. He thought it would be nice that Nandini would also be at the wedding, and he would have somebody to talk to.

He went up to the dais to greet Gopi and he saw Nandini on the dais with Gopi, bedecked in a beautiful sari, her face partially covered. Both laughed when they saw Gopi and his reaction.

Gopi said, ‘Meet my wife Nafisa’, pointing to Nandini. Gopi grinned with utter discomfiture. How could he be so clueless.

As he got off the dais, he saw Jhoom and Mary, and was surprised to see them at the wedding since they did not really know Gopi.

He walked over to them and asked quizzically ‘So glad to see that Gopi invited you for the wedding!’.

Mary said ‘Nahi miya, we are Nafisa’s guests.’

Now Raja was going into a tailspin. How did these girls know Nafisa?

Jhoom explained that ‘Miya, actually Nafisa used to stay close to us. Remember the Ganapati Puja riots? She was sharing a place with some girls who hated Muslims, and she needed to move. We suggested talking to you and Gopi since you had some free space and were safe people. Actually, she knew Gopi for a while and that made it easy’.

Raja was beginning to get a little irritated with everybody who knew about the deception but him ‘So she used the name Nandini? Why not Nafisa?’

Jhoom said ‘That was because of the neighborhood, she did not want to

disclose that she was Muslim and again get into trouble’.

Raja then said ‘So Nafisa was Gopi’s girlfriend’?

Mary, the honest one, said ‘No. They just knew each other before but when they shared the house. Then they got very close and decided to get married’.

‘So potta ney potti ko patta liya’.

Mary said, ‘Or maybe potti ney potta ko patta liya’.

Raja then asked Jhoom ‘What if I had rented it out to the other people, the one with big jeep or the puppy?’

Jhoom said almost apologetically ‘Miya sab feku tha. Koich nahi tha. They were people from the training having fun. They were the ones calling you for the rental. There was never any real person who wanted to share the living room. Miya, tere ko ullu bana raha tha. They were sure you would get a real renter through your connections’.

Gopi and Nafisa came over and mollified him. ‘Raja if you want to stay a few months at the house before you find your own space that would be ok’.

Gopi and Nafisa now rent the whole house, and Raja has started searching for a rental to move to.

Pursuit Pursuit Pursuit Pursuit Pursuit

Ranjana Sanyal, New Jersey

Nandita was busy picking up seashells on the beach. Something partially hidden under the sand caught her attention because the object was shining brightly in the moonlight. What could it possibly be she thought to herself as she walked towards it, scattering the seashells she had gathered in her haste. She knelt near the bright object and peered into the sand. As she looked, the bright shiny object seemed to move. Could it be an animal, she wondered startled and taking a step back. Before she could think about it, the object seemed to shake off the sand covering it. Nandita looked on in amazement as an ornate silver key lay gleaming in the sand. She knelt down and tried to pick it up. “Are you sure,” came a voice out of nowhere. Nandita looked around in surprise. The beach was deserted. Then she heard the voice again… “It’s me talking,” said the key with a gentle silvery laugh.“ Are you sure you want me?”

question was met with silence. All she heard was the gentle swish of the waves. Minutes passed and Nandita wondered if she had been hallucinating all this while.

“What do you mean,” asked Nandita, forgetting her disbelief that she was conversing with talking key.” Who or what are you and what do you mean?”

“Well, I am the key to happiness,” said the silver key.“ Once you pick me up, there is no turning back.”

“Do you mean once I pick you up, I can unlock happiness and find it whenever and wherever I want?” Nandita’s

And then she heard the voice again. “Well.. yes and no,” said the key. “You can use me to unlock happiness whenever and wherever you want, but each time you use me in the future, you will have to go back into your past and revisit a time when you threw away a chance to be happy. Much like those seashells that you scattered willy nilly into the sand just now... “

For a long time afterwards, Nandita remained silent. The key glistened in the moonlight, waiting patiently. And then Nandita spoke. “I have made my decision,” she said.

Poem

Fire Fire Fire Fire Fire

Vishnupriya, New Jersey

Fire’s wrath burns

But I have walked through fire and haven’t gotten burned

I tamed it inside, then turned it inside out, to feel its heat just enough

And create a new out of the smoldering embers waiting to die

Now I stand by the fire and promise to tap into my dreams so they can fly

I sit by the fire’s crackle and listen to its warm soothing song

And feel the fire in my belly that fans the flame in my mind

It wants the light to be bolder and brighter not just wasted burnt

I sing of my vulnerability when the defenses have fallen by the wayside I have picked up the guitar to finetune my soul song

That tell of wounds needing my love, not just be cured, ‘cause of what they give

So I can keep growing

Olderhood Olderhood Olderhood Olderhood Olderhood

Vishnupriya, New Jersey

The strawberry pink and vanilla white vintage car

sits as a relic of the past, with a ‘for sale’ signIt will soon go elsewhere someplace far

That’s when I see At Brandywine*, they are assisted with customized care also at Avalon*

She’s just skin and bones, a little demented perhaps, but pretty still Her hands have long ceased being useful, but the painted nails look dainty still She waits for tender hands to serve coffee n’ cakes, diapers n’ lotion And thin soup with chicken flakes to tend to the femoral nerves.

Here at Bridgeway* there’s the offer of dignity and respect , and some of the love meant only for ties of blood, But it’s also for those who are frail, distant and unaware.

Apple pie, turkey with gravy and potato mashed will have to wait until the faded leaves at Thanksgiving kiss the dust And soon after the season of thankful goodies the whisper of snowflakes will be in the heart

After the family visit at Christmas, mostly an afterthought, is done.

Once again maybe the wait for the annual call full of sound bites and echoes of faded love once wrapped in tenderness but now only loveless stuff.

Amnesia is good when you look into vacant space waiting for nothing, or no one , Just when you are almost there after a wondrous run

Not thinking, not even emoting, only gazing out an ultrasound window of an anechoic limbo.

Maybe her detached bones have now learnt to cope with forgetting the difference between the good and bad, the right and wrong, the black and white And inhabit a space beyond the would’ve, could’ve, should’ves She only looks out for every foggy dawn to slip into the dusky shades when night is ready to knock…..

(This is not about senior abuse or apathy, but it’s about the solitude experienced by the elderly from the inside. It’s already a way of life for them, a matter of habit. However, it’s also about the loneliness of the elderly from the viewer’s point of view from the outside )

Note: *Brandywine, Bridgeway & Avalon are Assisted Living, Long Term Care and Post-Acute Care Rehab, Residential Memory and Alzheimer’s Care facilities in Central NJ.

Nickname* Nickname* Nickname* Nickname*

Mandira Chattopadhyay, Ohio

I love to hear the nickname, call oh dear! Remove my doubts; soar high in wings of love Never be tied or looped in strings of fear.

Will you come near and feel in wind so clear? My soul, my blood, my mind, my pulse, my nerve I love to hear the nickname, call oh dear!

Make sure your love is pure will shine so clear. My joys, my dreams take flights in wings of dove Never be tied or looped in strings of fear.

You call me Pia, I stride with gaits of deer My hopes, my smiles, my mirth will dance in curve I love to hear the nickname, call oh dear!

I hear the name over and over, forever You play your flute, your lute to prove your love Never be tied or looped in strings of fear.

Behold my face, my hair so soft and sheer Your voice, your glance, your move I love to hear the nickname, call oh dear! Never be tied or looped in strings of fear.

*This is a Villanelle poem, A villanelle is a poem consists of five tercets (three-line stanzas) followed by one quatrain (four-line stanza). Villanelles use a specific rhyme scheme of ABA for their tercets, and ABAA for the quatrain.

Ode to the Beloved Ode to the Beloved Ode to the Beloved Ode to the Beloved Ode to the Beloved

Mandira Chattopadhyay, Ohio

Beloved, let us sail away, On the love boat, Where the rain will echo our love. I will be soaked and drenched In the canopy of leaves. So, in the name of love, Put flowers in my tresses, The roots of which have Already tangled in your soul.

Our hands will be pressed together To point at the Angels of Heaven To witness our love.

Beloved, at night you will Put me to sleep With the fire of love, And wake me up With the morning dews. Say over again, and Yet once over again, That you love me. If any bitter weeds come our way, Let it be washed by The roaring tides of waters And we will be sailing away.