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Going through the gorgeous, red-slim book My Glass of Wine<\/em> by Kiriti Sengupta I am reminded of a few lines by Li Po:<\/p>\n \u201cSince water still flows, though we<\/em><\/p>\n cut it with swords,<\/em> drown it with wine,<\/em> satisfy our cravings,<\/em> and go fishing.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Author Kiriti Sengupta first and foremost entreats to be marked as an \u201cIndian [Bengali] author.\u201d Rather he is merely a writer. Because he never worries which genre his work would fit into. \u201cSeeing is believing.\u201d So, he only writes what he sees, believes in, and observes. \u00a0My Glass of Wine<\/em> should better be treated, as Sengupta wrote himself, as \u201ca book written in the English-language, and in several ways.\u201d A note to follow-up: \u201cIs it autobiography? Is it non-fiction? Is it poetry? Don\u2019t puzzle over such \u2018sensible\u2019 questions, reader. The author did not.\u201d Celebrated Indian poet, Debjani Chatterjee, who is based in the United Kingdom, also picks up the general amazement the readers might experience in this book.<\/p>\n \u201cThe author is dead,\u201d when a piece of writing is out of the hands of the author(s) concerned. Now it is up to the readers to deliberate and decide. But why would the readers bother to read a book? Sengupta first makes an introductory \u201cAlap\u201d\u2014 a noticeably individualistic stroke applied to communize with the readers; familiarise with his gharana<\/em> (marked stylistic ideology) of writing. He is a Bengali, writing in the English language. Here he acquaints us with his clarified considerations the issues of \u201cpopularity,\u201d \u201cmass,\u201d \u201cclass,\u201d \u201cpersonal,\u201d \u201cimpersonal,\u201d \u201cliterary\u201d elements of a work, and a few notionally determinant factors that constitute the image of an author. This chapter does not merely introduces the \u201cbeing and becoming\u201d of the author, \u201cAlap\u201d also brings in the narrative of how Sengupta came into the literary world. He sounds iconoclast when he questions the liberty of a writer to be absolutely him\/her-self, and also the liability of the buyers. Thus, his appreciable take:<\/p>\n One must realize writers don\u2019t write bestsellers; it is the readers who make a book popular. If a writer exhibits some control or understanding of the readers\u2019 minds, blame those who have remained apathetic towards the buyers.<\/p>\n Probably Sengupta is concerned about the creation of good literature, not necessarily \u201cgreat literature.\u201d He puts much emphasis on the practice of \u201cthinking in English,\u201d which, far from merely translating native tongue into English, will certainly enable one to gather the finer nuances of the language.<\/p>\n \u201cPoetry should not mean, but be\u201d is a quote by famous poet Archibald Macleish.\u00a0 Sengupta offers his advocacy for poetry to \u201cbe.\u201d His mission seems to be targeted to prepare a stronghold for poetry, irrespective of whether it sounds clich\u00e9d, nature-based, or modern. He rather adds the idea of \u201cnew-age poetry,\u201d nor does he even miss out on to mention referentially Eliot\u2019s theory of impersonality in poetry.\u00a0 Moreover, Sengupta proposes a zealous appeal for poetry that will \u201clinger over the decades\u201d and that should not read too \u201cabstract.\u201d Sengupta aspires to write some autobiographic shreds of his life, through some \u201cprose weaved into poetry.\u201d He not only inspires the upcoming poets to come up afresh, anew, Sengupta also stays tuned with Baudelaire, the renowned French poet: \u201cAlways be a poet, even in prose.\u201d<\/p>\n Sengupta names his next chapter, \u201cAs I Traversed.\u201d Of course he traversed, but all along on his own into the realm of literature, and Tagore\u2019s landmark novel, Shesher Kobita<\/em>, as the author informs us, opened for him a new gateway. Although readers may smell a bit of Platonic ideation of poetry, when Sengupta logically establishes that the firsthand role of literature is to entertain, and poetry does not necessarily do that. Does he, in any way, propose to exclude poetry from literature? We lay nonplussed observing his stand:<\/p>\n Poetry delivers. Poetry communicates. Poetry bridges up. Poetry inspires. Poetry evokes. Poetry provokes. Poetry enlightens. Poetry illumines. Poetry heals.<\/p>\n Needless to say, poetry entertains through all these facets. It is said, \u201cWhat you are is God’s gift to you, what you become is your gift to God\u201d\u00a0[Hans Urs von Balthasar<\/a>]. Author Sengupta opens up his long-closed window of spirituality, and responds to the clarion call of God \u2014 he picks up the creator\u2019s choice, and suddenly \u201cbecomes.\u201d By getting \u201cspiritually baptized,\u201d drinking wine, and thus, by de-constructing his deep-rooted ancestral practice, he actually re-constructs himself, explores the journey he is sent for. Benjamin Franklin sounds perfect when he says: \u201cWine is constant proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy.\u201d Not only Sengupta, his older sister too finds peace and things worked out well for them. Truly one can assure himself thus, \u201cIn wine, there’s truth\u201d\u00a0(Pliny the Elder<\/a>,\u00a0Natural History<\/a><\/em>). The concept of \u201cblood relation\u201d looks a bit different in Sengupta\u2019s words, as his idea encompasses a large area of probabilities:<\/p>\n \u201cYou and I<\/em><\/p>\n The Father and son<\/em><\/p>\n the legacy goes on<\/em><\/p>\n Inevitable \u2013 impeccable,<\/em><\/p>\n blood relation …\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n We name; we are also names!\u00a0 Title of something is the marker of its content. Similarly, a name of a person roughly hints at his supposed nature or behavioural pattern. Awfully true is, \u201cfame\u201d is credited not with the person, but with someone\u2019s name. \u201cMy Sister\u2019s Bhaiya<\/em>\u201d is such a chapter that is enough to give a hard blow, at least to the Hindu way of naming the new-borns, for they are preoccupied with a prejudice of remembering and chanting the names of the divine prowess:<\/p>\n \u201cSignificant indeed \u2013 carrying yourself<\/em><\/p>\n \u2018Crucify\u2019 is Christ-filled<\/em><\/p>\n I remember, and my mind turns candle-lit\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Who we address genuinely as our \u201cMaster?\u201d He, or she, or it? Well, irrespective of the varied choices ascribed, Sengupta directs us to a new horizon \u2014 the \u201csoul,\u201d which establishes our existence philosophically. He is again the \u201cGuru,\u201d whose preaching reads thus:<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cOpen your heart, and<\/em><\/p>\n Use your brain;<\/em><\/p>\n you will reach beyond<\/em><\/p>\n the humanly plane.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sengupta narrates how he was initiated to yoga \u2014 Kriyayoga, but enigma pervades as to what kind of initiation actually it is! Is it the initiation of discovering one\u2019s self, or the initiation into writing? Arriving at the closure of his exposure he succeeds in consummating his notes, notices and messages within a very philosophical framework. Evident is his voice, which is crucially unconventional! People often get perplexed with certain issues and elements, and wrongly associate them with other ideas, but here Sengupta does not fail at all even to justify the philosophic and spiritual contextualization behind the vertical lines as noticed in the cover of the book. Aristotelian dictum, \u201cKnow thyself,\u201d finds perfect parallelism in his words for self-analysis. The disability to connect spiritual and real, as he exemplifies, leads to the end. Conclusively, he reverberates his Master: \u201cReach the void, and see the cage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nAnd sorrow returns, though we<\/em><\/p>\n
\nSince the world can in no way<\/em><\/p>\n
\nLet us loosen our hair tomorrow<\/em><\/p>\n