LAHIRI'S SELECT POEMS

What is being referred to here is obviously a book of poems, there is no feeling of uncertainty about it. The impromptu question that arises, who this 'Lahiri' is?  I will try to clear the doubts. Mr.S.K Lahiri long back in early twentieth century wished to keep alive his father Babu Ramtanu Lahiri's (1813-1898) memory. So he gifted the copyright of his book to University of Calcutta with the idea that the University will raise two gold medals from the fund arising from the sales of this book. These two were named as 'Lahiri medals' to be awarded to, two highest standing candidates in B.A in the subject of 'mental and moral philosophy'. But some changes occurred. In 1914 the University's Syndicate and Senate bodies after  discussion with the donor funded Ramtanu Lahiri research fellowship in 'History of Bengali language and literature' from this fund. The photocopy on the right is a rare first page of the book from University's publication in 1941. I am not sure whether Ramtanu or his son S.K Lahiri liked the poems or not. But one thing is for sure is that three school Headmasters in those days compiled the poems taking utmost care. Who they were, was never known or their names inscribed in the book. This book measuring 139 pages and 58 poems is a marvel when appreciated from a compiler's standpoint. The spread out of poems  range from Shakespeare, Nashe, Wotton, Dekker, Herrick, Blake, Wordsworth, Shelly, Keats to De la mare.The only Indian entry is 'Cradle song' by Mrs. Naidu. Such vast and unique is the collection that any publisher from this twentieth century will be dumbstruck and humiliated. This book was a compulsory inclusion in class IX syllabus in the golden era of matriculation examination. I am sure none from class IX these days will be able to assimilate such higher level of English literature. We and our students may have entered a world of extreme jugglery of abbreviations from the I.T (Information Technology) but alas with a loss of heart for the vibrant, worthy English and Vernacular literature. I myself have proper respect for today's Headmasters with M.A(English). But I am not confident of believing that they are comfortable of delivering such level of English teaching.

FACTS NEWS VIEWS

Suniti  and Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore had once written some thirty odd letters to Suniti Kumar Chattopadhyay, the eminent Indian linguist. Pallav Mitra had taken pains to pen down an anthology in Bengali named, "Samasamayik drishtite Suniti Kumar" (eng. Suniti Kumar as remembered today) which contains these rare collection of letters. This book should be an authentic read and worth a collection. Sri Mitra will be remembered long for his efforts.

A GOOD BOOK THAT IS MISSING

Tales Retold For Easy Reading is a series in English literature published by Oxford University Press we all miss today. It was a series written on widest of topics, starting from 'crime and detection', 'world's greatest stories', 'Gulliver's Travels Stories', 'Myths and Legends' to Shakespeare's vast literature. One such series "The stories of Shakespeare's plays" was an excellent compilation edited by H.G.Wyatt and first published in England in 1939 and then subsequent editions and reprints brought out from India at a rather low cost. Priced only at seventy-five paise in India in 1968 and stories retold by H.G.Wyatt and David Fullerton in the most easily soluble form was a gift of the Magi you can imagine of. The first volume of this series which contained only seventy six pages in paperback bearing the best of Shakespeare's creativity like 'The merchant of Venice', 'Macbeth', 'The Tempest', 'Hamlet' and 'King Lear' is unmistakably a reader's delight. Schools in those days invariably kept this book in their curriculum in seventh standard or class seven, as you like to call it. This book is one, I still remember reading during my off-study hours not remembering that I hated school books. Such lucid was the writing that it would unknowingly make you buy a 'Complete Works of Shakespeare' ,  you later realizing that how difficult it is to read his plays and enjoy. This series would be an ideal choice of a parent who stresses his or her child to learn correct English and while learning the language develop a subtle taste for good literature. There are some hand drawn illustrations of poor standard in it but it matters little when you are engrossed with the book. If this is re-published today, imagine how beautiful computer generated images can be incorporated. I failed to find in the internet someone from the field of  English literature reviewing this book and demanding a publisher to publish it. This writing of mine, I believe can barely inspire an adult to shed his sweat in some old book's store, for his offspring.

CRIES WITHOUT TEAR

(Extracts from a school boy's summer holiday diary)

It's the best time of my life, may be the 'best time'. I am on a summer holiday. I won't have to get up for the school. On these days I feel much relaxed when I leave my bed. No more wrinkles on my forehead, no more dull headaches. No more looking at the wall clock too. Only five days of the twenty-day honeymoon has gone, I believe. But I know it's not going to last long. Headaches will be back with stomach cramps in another fifteen days. Abraham, the bald headed six-footer, should have been a dull headed rowdy boxer instead of a maths teacher. He knows well, how to slap, taunt a student and turn him a fool out of the thirty odds in the class. So that you too start laughing. When he is angry he can kick you on the arse never thinking that you too have grown up hairy armpits like his and you deserve some kind of respect (at least like his pet 'Jojo') before the girls. May be he doesn't like an idiot-headed five- footer like me but he has a heart for Aron the all-rounder. He loves him like his son and sometimes its so overwhelming that the whole class keeps laughing. But I am not entitled to laugh with them. My father doesn't pay for my laughing, I am told by my class-teacher. If Abraham sees me enjoying with others he would drive a smart tight slap on my face colouring it violet with shame.

I don't know what is wrong with my cerebrum. Nothing goes in, in time. Not even a bit of easy trigonometry or an algebra. I know how to add, how to subtract and even multiply and divide. But not algebra. Bullshit, I believe my skull is filled with. But I am not sure of it. If it's shit from a bull, it must be smelling through my nostrils? But it doesn't. Still Abraham keeps on repeating that it's shit in my head and my classmates have started believing that too. Each time I tell him that I can't see properly from the last bench, he keeps on saying that its shit from the brain that obstructs my view. I know if I keep repeating my request, he will make me kneel down right in front of the black board. May be he believes, then only can I see the writings on the wall, best. 'A wall', I said? My classroom wall seems like a German wall that divides the east and the west. I can see the street corner from my seat. At four, when I am free, my blood pressure drops to normal. Then I am free to carry me around the street corner away to my home with ease. No more questions, no more humiliations, no more slaps, no more insults.

Trojan sits next to me in the class. He is a good friend of mine. He too is a six -footer but not like Abraham Sir. He loves me, he understands me and protects me too. When others start bullying me, Trojan comes to rescue. Others are afraid of Trojan because he is tall and stout like a colt who can thrust a solid blow to your head when he is angry. I have noticed Abraham too respects Trojan. I think it's Trojan's physique that brings him respect. Trojan too sits on the last bench but he doesn't have bull shit in his head like mine. Abraham doesn't say so but I know Trojan has thin watery crow shit in his vault. I have often seen crow shit on the back of his shirt. It must have spilled out of his head when he tilted. It's almost in the same way the shit in my head obstructs my view. I plan to gather some courage and ask Abraham about Trojan's head, one day.

When I grow up I wish to be a minister in the government. I know it requires little education to be so. Aron too has told me that. If by chance I am elected to the parliament I will make life tough for Abraham. Abraham doesn't have a brain to dream of that. I will promulgate a law that will deduct one point from a teacher when he fails to teach one student and two points if two students fail. And you know what is 'one point'? One point is half of one's salary. I know one plus one is two. And what is two points? I told you earlier that I can perform additions well. 'Two' is no salary. Then only I believe will Abraham learn how difficult it is to learn mathematics.