THE genre that the authorhas chosen to write aboutdeals with the lifestyle and

problems of today’s generation.The book is a work of fictionand the story revolves aroundthe lives of two characters,Ayantika and Deb. Ayantika,who aspires to be a bank officerand an independent woman,while her mother wants her toget married and settle down.Deb, who is the protagonist ofthe novel, undergoes a transi-tion in the sphere of love, frommere physical gratification tospiritual bliss.

Ayantika meets Deb online.In due course their friendshipblossoms into love. Apart fromDeb and Ayantika there areSaurav, Tina, Vinod andSagarika who experience changein relationships. All the charac-ters face various complexities intheir lives and overcome them intheir unique ways. Career pres-sures, marriage blues and familydemands are among the count-less problems which they over-come assiduously.

The common thread thatbinds all the characters in thenovel is their 'confusion' and the'seasonal' trajectory of transfor-mation of the heart, from thewinter of emotions to the warmthof summers, autumn being theintermediary season. Thus thetitle: Autumn in My Heart.

The book portrays the emo-tional conflicts through the jour-ney of life. It delves into the day-to-day life and depicts differenthues of life -- happiness, sorrow,problems and also the possiblesolutions. In ‘Autumn in MyHeart’, the author explores theseareas and tries to find answers toquestions such as: does lovereally end when you have abreak-up? Does love alwaysmean you have to be with theopposite sex? Can online friend-ships of today's generation leadto a relationship of a life-time?

The reader is bound to com-mence the journey with detach-ment trying to get a peep intothe lives of a bunch of young-sters and their struggle to

understand the true meaning oflove, but will gradually begin tofind an echo in one’s own heart.

The book essentiallydraws on life experiencesduring the author ’s college

days and dwells on presentday passion crimes and heart-breaks and suicides. Theoverbearing message is toheal the broken heart and findthe passion to love again.

When theBritish,t h e

French and theDutch firstarrived in Odishaas traders or trav-ellers they musthave arousedamusement andcuriosity but notawe. In fact, early

narratives written by western travelerswho passed through Odisha recordthe contempt they often had to endureduring their meetings with local repre-sentatives of Mughal or Marhattarulers and the discomfort and hard-ship they had to cope with in thecourse of their journey through whatstruck them as a difficult and inhos-pitable terrain. We do not haveaccounts of these early encounterswith white westerners written byOdias. Maybe they exist somewherebut they are not available.

We have to wait until the latter halfof the nineteenth century for accountswritten by Odias about their percep-tions of the British and their occasionalinteractions with them. By this timethe relationship of the natives with theBritish has undergone a radical trans-

formation: Odisha has been colonizedand the British have arrived as rulers.In the prose fiction written by UmeshChandra Sarkar, Fakir MohanSenapati and others towards the end ofthe nineteenth century and the earlydecades of the twentieth, British offi-cials, doctors and judges make theirappearance and inspire awe and won-der in the natives. They accompaniedby white missionaries looked down onlocal cultures and sought in every wayto establish their innate superiority inall areas of life. No wonder, then, that,many in Odisha who were used toviewing them with amusement mixedwith contempt in the past now came tolook upon them as representatives of ahigher civilization worthy of emula-tion. It was therefore but natural formembers of a middle class, largely cre-ated by the new education system putin place by the British in Odisha, to feelan intense curiosity about the landtheir masters belonged to. In the latterhalf of the nineteenth century, PanditHarihar Das, a Sanskrit scholar whoknew Greek and who wanted his stu-dents to learn English, wanted to visitEngland and made necessary prepara-tions for his trip. Unfortunately he losthis mind and died very young and hisdream of paying a visit to Englandremained unfulfilled.

The first Odia who undertook avoyage to England, was MadhusudanDas. The first Odia graduate, the firstOdia vakil and the first Odia tobecome a minister under British rulealso had the distinction of being thefirst Odia to sail to the land of the colo-nial masters. He left India for Englandin April 1897 and returned home onNovember 13, 1897. We are lucky thathe has left a fascinating account of hisstay in England which is full of sharpobservations and humour. While inEngland Madhubabu paid a visit to TERavenshaw who was Commissioner,Odisha Division during and after thedevastating famine of 1866. Of thisvisit Madhubabu writes: 'Mr.Ravenshaw took me all over the house,his gardens and all over his belong-ings. I had strawberries and gooseber-ries from the trees, lovely bunch of

grapes from the hot house and flowersfrom the green house. He took me overto the cowshed and his dairy. I saw theferrets he uses to shoot rabbits as alsohis ground where I saw several rabbitsand pheasants. I saw his horses; judg-ing from the good animals he has Ishould think that he is a good judge ofhorse race and takes interest in hishorses.' Using only a few words,Madhubabu effortlessly and vividlydescribes how a highly placed colonialofficial in India quelling peasant andtribal uprisings and dealing withfamines has settled into the sedentarylife of a contented country gentlemanin England. Of Indian students pursu-ing higher studies in EnglandMadhubabu did not form a veryfavourable opinion. He says: 'Theseyoung men - I mean some of them -make themselves known as Indianprinces; that is the character they areknown to the shopkeepers they dealwith. A haircutter asked me the otherday if I was a prince. I told him I wishI was born a prince for at my age Iwould have developed into a king.'

In course of time other Odias fol-lowed Madhusudan Das's exampleand travelled to England. Most ofthese went there to receive higher edu-cation. These include Madhusudan'sadopted daughter, Soilabala Das, whosailed to England to study at a collegeof teacher education andBhubanananda Das, PranakrishnaParija, Nrusingha Charan Mohantyand Haranarayan Singh. Nearly all ofthem have left accounts of their jour-ney to and residence in England.Soilabala was surprised to see that thewaters of the Red Sea were not red at

all and was shocked when she noticedhow the behavior of British passengerschanged on board the ship.Bhubanananda Das claimed in one ofhis articles published in the UtkalaSahitya that Madhusudan Das's trip toEngland taught him how to modern-ize a backward province like Odisha.Time was when every high school stu-dent in Odisha went through 'MyExperiences at Cambridge' byPranakrushna Parija as it was includedin a prescribed text.

But one travelogue relating to anOdia's experience of living in Englandfor a few years stands out from thosewritten before Independence. Thisrecords with great sensitivity andintelligence the attempt of a colonizedIndian to come to terms with andnegotiate the land of his colonizersand to construct an appropriateresponse to it. In the late 1930s,Mayadhar Mansingh sails for Englandin a Japanese ship with the aim ofdoing his doctorate in English litera-ture at a British university. Of course,like all Indians abroad he notes every-thing that appears strange and differ-ent in this new land but he goes fur-ther than them. He subjects Britishculture, economy and polity to a thor-ough scrutiny and seeks to learn les-sons that would prove useful in regen-erating his own colonized nation.Consider his thoughts on dressesIndians should adopt in order toachieve greater efficiency: 'The sahiband the Indian are no different fromeach other; only the dress the sahibwears confers on him a distinction. ..Ithink Indians should give this matterthought. The Turks and the Japanese

have in no way losttheir national prideby adoptingEuropean dresscodes.' The inde-pendence enjoyedby women inEngland and the desireto be self-reliant animat-ing everyone he met thereimpressed Mansingh. But hedoes not allow himself to beoverwhelmed by his admira-tion of the positive features ofhis host country. War cloudshad started gathering in the skiesof Europe in 1938 and the SpanishCivil War was a burning issue. At ameeting Mansingh makes bold toobserve, 'Spain is reaping the conse-quences of the terrible misdeeds it hadcommitted in America in the 16thcen-tury. Europeans hungry forempires should beware.One day they haveto pay for theirmisdeeds too.' Thepresence of destitutes in thisland of plenty shocksMansingh and he is notimpressed by England'srecord in the field of agricul-ture.

And yet, after all thisfault-finding and criticism ofspecific aspects of British lifeMansingh concludes, 'Indialost its freedom as a result ofits own shortcomings. TheGermans and Russians cannever provide ideals whichIndians could ever emulatefor they do not respect freespeech. At the end of the day,we should look upon theBritish as our teachers, whowould teach us how to getout of the mess in which wefind ourselves.'

This complex nuancedresponse to the land of one'soppressors and a cosmopoli-tan sensibility shaping it arenot to be found in any othertravelogues in Odia relatingto England.

Literaturewww.pbd.inCuttack, Sunday, April 15, 2012 5politicalbusinessdaily

the . . . .

Through Eastern EyesThrough Eastern Eyes

SONIA DAS

LLLLoooovvvveeee’’’’ssss llllaaaabbbboooouuuurrrr nnnneeeevvvveeeerrrr lllloooosssstttt

Autumn in

My Heart

bySaptarshi

Basu

Published by Times Group

Books

ISBN: 978-93-80828-54-1

Price: ` 150/-

It's stillt h e r e ,the great

b a n y a ntree by thev i l l a g epond. Evenin thosedays, when

I was a boy, Imarvelled at

its tangled roots that twisted andturned over the bushes surround-ing the tree. The intricate networkof roots seems to have spreadeven more since I left the villagealmost ten years back. Nowwhere is my seat among thosetwisted roots that used to be myfavourite haunt? Ah, it's still there,very much intact! A freak elbow-shaped crook formed by a mesh-ing of the roots in mid-air, itformed a perch that was largeenough to seat two children. But Ioften found myself sitting alone inits nestling comfort and danglingmy feet over the water.

Ten years! My, how time hasflown! It seems only the other daythat I overcame my initial fear anddaringly climbed up the roots ofthe banyan tree. When I scaledmy way nimbly up and settled inthat crook, my chest was filledwith pride. Where other childrenavoided it because of its precari-ous position, soon it was my pas-time to climb up the tree to what Icalled 'my perch' and lean backagainst the branches to enjoy thecool breeze that caressed my skin.If there was a heaven on earth fora youngster like me, this was it.

Even now, the perch drawsme like a rusty yet powerful mag-net. I have to cut through theheavy undergrowth that hasovergrown the tree trunk over theyears and wade through mud. Iam no longer as nimble as when Iwas a boy. So I huff and puff as Ilift myself laboriously up the tree.There, I finally make it to myperch! I plop down and danglemy feet as I used to do, splashingthe water when the pond was fullduring the rains. I can't help asmemories from my childhoodcome flooding in…

Splash, splash, my feet strikethe water. Splash, splash, I hearother feet too. I look around.There's no one else on the tree. I

look down. Oh, yes, there's some-one down there, in the water.How can I ever forget her? Hersoft feet made a splashing soundas they lapped the water in tunewith mine.

Sangita! Such a sweet, prettygirl she was. She was a couple ofyears older than me. But it wasmy friendship she craved,because she found in me the play-mate she so badly wanted. Noone except the two of us was boldenough to climb the gnarled rootsup to the perch. So we wouldheave ourselves up and lie there,side by side, whiling away thelazy afternoons. I don't rememberwhat we talked about. She wasthe one who was the chatterbox. Isimply looked on, mesmerised byher face when it was lit up by theafternoon sun. I could have goneon looking at her radiant face for-

ever, secure in our innocent worldof endless todays.

But today becomes yester-day and all good things come toan end. One day she told me thather father had been transferredand they would be leaving ourvillage within a week. She didn'ttalk much that day and even ourhanging legs were still. Wereclined side by side on ourperch, silently contemplating thegrey horizon and our future,when she gently squeezed mypalm. I felt like crying. Sheturned to console me and at that

moment somehow slipped fromthe perch. I still don't know howshe slipped, but when I lookedthrough my tears she was downthere in the water, frantically cry-ing out for help. But there was noone else and I, a boy of ten, wasimmobilised by shock. Numbly Iwatched her thrashing andsplashing till she stopped anddisappeared from my view.

Is she still there now, thrash-ing in the water for all theseyears? Hasn't she grown tired oftrying to stay afloat? But I see hersmiling. Her face is blooming

and her body has been toned byall the exercise she has been car-rying out in the water. Sangita,you have forgiven me, haven'tyou? Oh, how sweet of you! Youknow, don't you, I didn't pushyou that day? Not deliberately inany case. It just happened. It'strue of course that I couldn'tstand the thought of you goingaway from me. In my juvenileheart I had decided that youwould be mine-and remainmine-forever! How could I toler-ate the very idea, even the remotepossibility, of your belonging tosomeone else? What, you wantme to prove my love for you?Right now? Well…you see,Sangita, ten years is a very long,long time. Much water has beensplashed in the pond since then,enough for the sparkle of ourlucid love to turn murky andstale. Don't you think it's time forus to move on? For me at least it'srather late in the day. You see, Iam married with a small daugh-ter of my own. You too shouldmove on now, to your eternalresting place-what they call the'happy hunting grounds'. Youcan make it your 'happy swim-ming pool' if you so like. That isprecisely the reason why I havecome here, to our perch, today-torelease your ghost from thesemurky waters for a perch in thatland from where no one and nolove has ever returned.

The perch

But today becomes yesterday and all good thingscome to an end. One day she told me that herfather had been transferred and they would be

leaving our village within a week. She didn’t talkmuch that day and even our hanging legs were

still. We reclined side by side on our perch, silentlycontemplating the grey horizon and our future,

when she gently squeezed my palm. I felt like cry-ing. She turned to console me and at that momentsomehow slipped from the perch. I still don’t know

how she slipped, but when I looked through mytears she was down there in the water, franticallycrying out for help. But there was no one else andI, a boy of ten, was immobilised by shock. Numbly

I watched her thrashing and splashing till shestopped and disappeared from my view.

ISHWAR PATI

The first Odia who undertook a voyage to England, wasMadhusudan Das. The first Odia graduate, the first Odia vakiland the first Odia to become a minister under British rule alsohad the distinction of being the first Odia to sail to the land of

the colonial masters. He left India for England in April 1897and returned home on November 13, 1897. We are lucky thathe has left a fascinating account of his stay in England which

is full of sharp observations and humour.

The common thread that binds all thecharacters in the novel is their 'confusion'and the 'seasonal' trajectory of transfor-mation of the heart, from the winter ofemotions to the warmth of summers,

autumn being the intermediary season.Thus the title: Autumn in My Heart.

The early encounters betweenwesterners and Odias gave rise tomany different kinds of feelingsamong the natives, but awe wasnot one of them. Gradually the

coming of British as rulers inspireda feeling of wonder and high regard

among Odias. These encountersalso aroused a strong curiosity

among the educated Odias to visitEngland, the home of the superiormasters. Madhusudan Das started

the trend, and others followed.Many of these early Odia travellers

to England have left memorableaccounts of their experiences

in the distant land. Author Jatindra K Nayak

sifts through some of them.

JATINDRA K NAYAK