Anyway, once in my room, I would browse through the books I had and would try to imagine Hercule Poirot in the city of Kolkata or Sherlock Holmes pouring over his trophies in a flat in the posh Park Street.
I would fantasize and allow my imagination to run wild as I penned my stories – and then send them by post to the magazines. Then would begin a long wait but Bengali magazines did not have any system of either acknowledging the stories or sending across the rejection slip. If at all they accept, they would send over a copy of the magazine.
Well – I kept at it and the absence of any recognition did not put me off. In fact it made me more determined to succeed. Of course, I had to work for my salary and, one fine day, I received a letter of a different type. It was an interview letter for employment in HAL Nashik. The time was December 1966 and as I journeyed to Nashik I had butterflies in my stomach – if I did get the job, it would be a welcome change and change is what I have always wanted. It has hounded me and, at the fag end of my life, I am satisfied that I have never lost my way.
Anyway, my preparation for interview, the journey to Nashik, the actual interview and, then the shifting over to Nashik kept me busy.
And – just before I boarded the train to come to Nasik, I discovered that I had become a writer - my first Bengali short story had appeared in print. I picked up some magazines to read in the train and as I turned over to the contents page, I saw my name staring back at me.
I had succeeded in my mission of writing in Bengali – a new author named Kali Kinkar Karmakar had arrived on the scene. (to be continued …)
Another interesting blog - Violence and atrocities
Another interesting blog - Citizen Journalist
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