I am new in the office. So I do more or less whatever is told to me. The latest is going to office at 1 o'clock in the afternoon and coming back around 11 o'clock in the night. I always thought that the night in Kolkata would be a nice thing to see, but never got much chance to do so. Although I nevertheless expected a surprise such as this.
My narrow lane from the main road to home has shot to fame nowadays. It begins with lines of make shift food stalls in the left side and rickshaw stand on the right. The wall on which the rickshaw pullers support themselves while having a biri is covered with posters. And the posters are covered in layers of other posters. So even if someone wants to read them he have to work very hard. Here also lives a lunatic, probably on the street, in the food stalls, in the shadows from lighted buildings or in a way in nowhere. He is just there. The other day when I was beginning my walk to home from the road to perdition, I saw this lunatic standing and watching the posters. Then I realized that he was writing something. The poster was written in Hindi. He was writing (probably copying) those literals in the vacant part of the poster in exact way. The pen he was using must have been different. The pen was giving an effect like those with which black and white graphics novels are drawn. Where the pictures were like as if they were created from long lines.
I always liked that kind of painting but never tried it. As I was not good in drawing, like everything. Maximum I did was to eat a friend's head requesting to teach me to use those kind of calligraphic pens. What I failed, even to try and most "education for all" type of programs all over the country failed to do, a poster , a lunatic, a pen was doing with ease and peacefully in that chaotic place.
My narrow lane from the main road to home has shot to fame nowadays. It begins with lines of make shift food stalls in the left side and rickshaw stand on the right. The wall on which the rickshaw pullers support themselves while having a biri is covered with posters. And the posters are covered in layers of other posters. So even if someone wants to read them he have to work very hard. Here also lives a lunatic, probably on the street, in the food stalls, in the shadows from lighted buildings or in a way in nowhere. He is just there. The other day when I was beginning my walk to home from the road to perdition, I saw this lunatic standing and watching the posters. Then I realized that he was writing something. The poster was written in Hindi. He was writing (probably copying) those literals in the vacant part of the poster in exact way. The pen he was using must have been different. The pen was giving an effect like those with which black and white graphics novels are drawn. Where the pictures were like as if they were created from long lines.
I always liked that kind of painting but never tried it. As I was not good in drawing, like everything. Maximum I did was to eat a friend's head requesting to teach me to use those kind of calligraphic pens. What I failed, even to try and most "education for all" type of programs all over the country failed to do, a poster , a lunatic, a pen was doing with ease and peacefully in that chaotic place.
No comments:
Post a Comment