COMMENT ON MY POEM "LOVE"
MY UNIVERSITIES
And so, I was leaving for Kazan, to study at the university - no less!
The thought of University studies had been put into my head by a Gymnasium student, N. Yevreinov - a lovable youth, very handsome, with the tender eyes of a woman. He lived in an attic room in the same house with me. Seeing me often with a book under my arm, he grew so interested as to seek my acquaintance; and it was not long before he began to urge it upon me that I possessed an "extraordinary gift for learning."
"Nature created you to further science," he declared, tossing his long hair back in graceful emphasis.
I did not yet know, then, that one might further science in the capacity of guinea pig; and Yevreinov made it so very clear that it was just such lads as I the universities were lacking. The memory of Lomonosov, of course, was evoked as a shining example. In Kazan, Yevreinov said, I would stay with him, studying through the autumn and winter to master the Gymnasium programme. Then I would take "some few" examinations - that was just how he put it: "some few"; the University would grant me a scholarship; and in five years or so I would be a "learned man." It was all very simple; for Yevreinov was nineteen, and his heart was kind.
He passed his examinations and left. Some two months later, I followed...
And there I was, in the semi-Tatar city.
The Yevreinovs - mother and two sons - lived on a miserly pension. From my first days in their home, I perceived the tragic melancholy with which the drab little widow, returning from the market, would lay out her purchases on the kitchen table and ponder her difficult problem: how to turn a few small bits of inferior meat into good and sufficient food for three healthy boys - not to speak of herself.
She spoke very little. Her grey eyes were set in the meek and hopeless obstinacy of a work horse that has spent its strength to the last. Dragging its cart uphill, the poor horse knows that it can never make the top; yet still it pulls its load.
One morning, three or four days after my arrival, I was helping her with some vegetables in the kitchen. The boys were still asleep. Quietly, warily, she asked me:
"What have you come to town for?"
"To study. At the University."
Her eyebrows slowly lifted, crinkling her sallow forehead. Her knife slipped, and gashed her finger. Sucking the wound, she sank on to a chair, but at once sprang up again, with a sharp:
"Ah, the devil!"
When she had tied up her finger with a handkerchief, she said approvingly:
"You peel potatoes well."
I should think I peeled them well! I told her about my work on the river boat. She asked:
"Do you think that's sufficient preparation for entering the University?"
In those days I had but little conception of humour. I took her question seriously, and explained to her the sequence of measures as a result of which the doors to the temple of learning were to open before me.
She sighed:
"Ah, Nikolai, Nikolai!"
Just at this point, Nikolai came into the kitchen to wash - sleepy, tousleheaded, and, as always, in excellent spirits.
"Some meat patties would be nice, Mother," he said.
"Yes, they would," the mother agreed.
Anxious to display my erudition in the culinary arts, I remarked that the meat was not good enough for patties, and, besides, that there was not enough of it.
At this Varvara Ivanovna became very angry, and directed at me a few such forceful words that my very ears flushed and seemed to grow. Flinging down the bunch of carrots she had been washing, she left the kitchen. Nikolai winked st me, and explained:
"She's in a mood."
Settling down comfortably on a bench, he informed me that women, generally, were more nervous than men, such being the female make-up, as had been incontestably established by a certain eminent scientist - in Switzerland, if I remember correctly. An Englishman, one John Stuart Mill, had also had something to say on this subject.
(From M. Gorky: "MY UNIVERSITIES", third in the trilogy (1) "CHILDHOOD", (2) "MY APPRENTICESHIP", (3) "MY UNIVERSITIES", all translated from the Russian by Margaret Wettlin, Progress Publishers, Moscow.)
Kishalay Sinha [G]
Some years ago I read an interesting article in The Assam Tribune (in its Sunday magazine, I think) and I sent an e-mail to the writer praising him for his interesting article. (The email ID of the writer was given at the end of his interesting article. I am quite aware that the writer may have been a she using a male pen name.) I also informed him that he might read My online posts. Soon after, he sent Me an inspiring e-mail to say that each piece I wrote was like an e-book and the vast number of My online posts was like an e-library!
I welcome all big and small Indian and foreign publishers of books and magazines to publish any number of My online posts they want to publish (and translations commissioned by the publishers) WITHOUT HAVING TO PAY ME ANYTHING because I would be glad to make all publishers, book sellers, librarians, and readers happy.
I don't mind being the personification of imaginary "David Foster Wallace".
Cf. David Foster Wallace Symposium (1:01:08)/The University of Texas at Austin (YouTube), Editors on Wallace (1:01:03)/The University of Texas at Austin (YouYube) and other videos on the lovable eccentric (imaginary) writer David Foster Wallace that are available on YouTube.
Kishalay Sinha [G] April 6, 2020
A NAZI
"Renuka" is a Nazi working on behalf of Satan/Shokoonee/"Arnab".
Kishalay Sinha [G]
BLACK MONEY IN SWISS BANKS
Not a single paisa has been brought back from the vast amount of Indian cheats' black money hidden in Swiss banks.
Kishalay Sinha [G]
POWERFUL COMIC THRILLER
"THE COUNTRY IS GOING TO THE DOGS", by Anurag Mathur, published by RUPA (168 pages, in paperback, ₹195), is a powerful comical mystery thriller involving Radhey Radhey/RR and John, Kristoff, Miss Fifoo, who run an international sex and drugs racket, written in a hilarious style. It is a terrific thriller, stylishly written. I regard Anurag Mathur as the equal of great humorists Charles Dickens, Stephen Leacock, James Thurber, P.G. Wodehouse. (I wonder if it is a ghost-written novel attributed to a real or fictional male author.)
I have all the three humorous novels by Anurag Mathur published so far: "THE INSCRUTABLE AMERICANS" (the naive hero of the novel, Gopal, who has gone to America to study at an American university, seems to be a parody of Me), published by RUPA, I think (it must be on a bookshelf in My personal library, and I will have to check the name of the publisher); "THE COUNTRY IS GOING TO THE DOGS", published by RUPA (₹195); MAKING THE MINISTER SMILE, published by PENGUIN BOOKS (₹250); "उफ़फ़ ! ये अमरीकी" (Hindi translation of "THE INSCRUTABLE AMERICANS" translated by शिवानी खरे), published by PENGUIN BOOKS (price not given or legible; I got it from Flipkart).
Description of the novel on the cover of "THE COUNTRY IS GOING TO THE DOGS":
'YOU ARE SURELY AWARE THAT THE FAMOUS FILM STAR, MISS FIFOO, IS ONE OF OUR MOST FAMOUS OLD STUDENTS.' [...] 'OF COURSE, OF COURSE,' RR REASSURED HER. [...] THE PRINCIPAL NODDED. 'WELL,' SHE THEN SAID GRIMLY, 'SHE'S DISAPPEARED.'
Sitting by the window, watching the girls of All Saints College walk past, Radhey Radhey has nothing much to look forward to in his boring retiree's life until Miss Fifoo, 'the sizzling sex siren of sin city', goes missing.
With the help of his very resourceful friend Anwar, ageing RR turns into an enthusiastic amateur detective and plunges headlong into the murky underworld of Delhi. On this dangerously exciting mission, which takes him to gay bashes and wife-swapping parties, he encounters shady characters such as the Poetic Pimp, who is fond of quoting English poetry; and the malicious Don, who owns every badass in town; as well as the Guru of the Hijras.
In this boisterous thriller, The Country Is Going to the Dogs, join the over-sexed retired accountant, RR, on a wild ride as he dives into the sexual underbelly of Delhi.
Excerpt:
'Chee, chee, chee,' lamented Radhey Radhey Kumar, seventy-four years old. 'The nation has gone to the dogs.' He was critical once again, as he was nearly every day, of the younger specimen of the female species his eyes fell on, as he gazed out of his office window at the All Saints Women's College, just across the road.
'Such tight, tight jeans,' he criticized. So tight, that if he looked hard enough, he could see the outline of their underwear. 'Not that I would ever look so hard,' he assured himself. 'And such tight T-shirts. Goodness me, they may as well not even wear them. But in my days... ah in my days, women knew how to dress, how to walk, how to talk. But now, it was all sex, sex and nothing else.' Or so he had heard. 'How times have changed,' he sighed.
(From ANURAG MATHUR: "THE COUNTRY IS GOING TO THE DOGS", RUPA, ₹ 195)
Nazi males and females pretend to "die", secretly get revived by other Nazis, and transform their bodies into many other forms and many clones as reincarnations.
Kishalay Sinha [G]
UNREAL ALIENS (PENGUIN BOOKS)
Unreal Aliens - Official Trailer (1:26)/ Unreal Mama (YouTube)
Unreal Aliens (41:31)/The Carvaka Podcast (YouTube)
Karthik Laxman: UNREAL ALIENS, Penguin Books/Penguin Random House India; ISBN 978-0-143-42310-2; paperback; 226 pages; ₹199
Hilarious and highly entertaining. I am sure that this brilliant sarcastic novel is a ghost-written work by a powerful anonymous ghost writer who has very high level international connections and knows that God is crushing Nazis to smithereens.
From the cover of UNREAL ALIENS:
A brilliantly funny political satire from the founder of UnReal Times
For the first time in human history, a nation is playing host to an alien delegation. And it is Narendra Modi-led India that has this high honour. Prime Minister Modi rolls out the red carpet for the aliens. He receives them at the airport, shows them the sights of Delhi and convinces them to invest in the Make in India campaign. The leader of the alien delegation even holds a broom to promote Swachh Bharat. But what is the real reason the aliens have come to India? Are they friends? Or will they turn foes? Read this hilarious, rib-tickling novel to find out.
Kishalay Sinha [G]
ALIENS HAVE COME FOR MODI
I think aliens have come to India in search of Modi in UNREAL ALIENS (Penguin Books).
Kishalay Sinha [G]
SURVIVAL
I have often wondered with deep pity how poor struggling male guys have managed to sustain their families in spite of inhuman Nazis everywhere
throughout the world. This is not a joke.
Kishalay Sinha [G]
LOVE (poem)
I wrote the following immature love poem for Dibrugarh University wall magazine many years ago when I was an M.Sc. student in the physics department of Dibrugarh University, Assam, India. I have slightly edited the original poem:
LOVE
Love is listening to the silent wireless waves from your beloved.
Love is thinking about monogamy and polygamy and harem-building and celibacy.
Love is gazing at the star-filled sky and thinking of deep, eternal love.
Love is scoffing at Miss Worlds and Miss Universes.
Love is pretending you don't love!
Kishalay Sinha [G]
COMMENT ON MY POEM "LOVE"
I sent My immature poem "LOVE" and "LAMENTATIONS OF A BEAUTY-CONSCIOUS YOUTH" (a tongue-in-cheek piece I had also written for the university wall magazine, which was later published in The Sentinel Sunday magazine mélange) to a kind
professor of English at Michigan State University for his comment. The kind English professor at MSU replied (I am quoting from memory):
Dear Mr. Sinha:
Thank you for your poem and "lamentation". Your writing is certainly exceptional. I suspect you will find U.S. campus standards of expression somewhat different. U.S. women resent being treated as objects.
***
The first part of his comment gave Me joy, but the second part hurt Me. When I wrote this naive poem, I did not regard women as objects. I still don't.
I wish to affirm that I did not have a single girlfriend in India or America. I didn't have pre-m. s. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't gamble, I don't take drugs, I don't run after s. girls, I don't visit pr.
Kishalay Sinha [G]
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