The Journey Continues

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Author: Gouranga Chattopadhyay
Pages: 81
Price: HB Rs 150, FB Rs 100
Year of Publication: 2008
HB 978-81-8157-719-1 (9788181577191)
FB 978-81-8157-720-7 (9788181577207)

About the Author:
Emeritus Professor Gouranga P. Chattopadhyay, a scion of the families of Raja Rammophan Roy, Pundit Iswar Chandra Vidyasagar and Prince Dwarkanath Tagore, was born in 1931 in his ancestral home at 2 Palm Place, Kolkata. All the families living in Palm Place were related. The lifestyle of those days amidst a joint family with its boundaries blurring to include putative kins as well, getting together for regular literary and musical evenings, outdoor and indoor games galore, vanished forever during the communal riots of 1946 when all of them had to leave the area and the houses were looted and fantasized. He started his career as an anthropologist and later reinvented himself as a behavioral scientist. In his present incarnation he calls himself a socio-analyst and has worked as a teacher and consultant in 5 continents. He is a Karma Sannyasin of Bihar School of Yoga, initiated by Paramhamsa Niranjananda Saraswati. He does not attach himself to any religion.



It is no wonder that obscurantism in the end dominates
Human existence.

Helplessly caught up in the turmoil of the
Webs and woofs of feelings running amok,
Like brooks with white water to be navigated
By hot blooded youth trying to prove something
That requires no evidence that any sane court of law
Would ever demand to be presented at trials.

The turbulence and the tribulations experienced are
Reminiscent mostly of horses bitten by fleas
Due to the neglect of the vet in attendance,
When even the slightest so called rational thinking
About roles and responsibilities around tasks instead of
Washing minds down the drain of thoughtless self indulgence
Could instead float clouds that give relief from the midday sun
Rather than threaten a downpour that may drown
A festive mood awaiting a day of celebration.

Unintended scars seem to be inflicted where
Love lurks unheeded in some temporarily forgotten corner
While unshed tears dam the channels
When the flow could wash the slate clean of the need
to deny tat twam osi
And to flounder in the midst of maya.

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