Revelation!
I hardly know English, and I have lost my flair for my mother tongue Bengali as well. May be my quest for being a writer ends here. May be, this is the end of the road. Or maybe, just maybe, I should not care about language and just write stories, like the first storyteller who didn’t know any language well enough to communicate to his fellow listeners. But he had a bagful (made of skin of the antelope he had slaughtered once?) of stories. Maybe, just maybe, I should focus on storytelling rather than expressing what’s inside me. Most of the time what happens is that for want of the right word, I am left leaving out most of what I want to describe. I am thinking, maybe, just maybe, that’s the plan of my muse. She doesn’t want me to write stories that involve lot of inner thoughts. “Just tell a story ghetufool,” is that what she is telling me? Now that I don’t care getting published, now that what my readers think about my writing style (the lack of it actually) doesn’t mat