In Compassion

Creative Writings of Anuradha Bhattacharyya

Major books

My books in the US
My books on AuthorsPress
My books on amazon.in
My book in the UK
My books in PDF on Academia
My book at World Inkers

Friday, 13 November 2015

Short stories and poems of Anuradha Bhattacharyya

Posted by Anuradha Bhattacharyya at 05:42

Email This BlogThis!Share to X Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest

No comments:

Chandigarh Sahitya Akademi Awards 2016, 2019

from The Tribune for Still She Cried
from The Tribune for One Word

INTERVIEWS

by Yashika Sapre at JIPL
by Moloy Bhattacharya at Boloji
by Vidhu Khanna at Word Empowered
by Nitish Raj at The Policy Times
by Samir Majumdar at The Citizen
by Goutam Karmakar at Langlit
by Songsoptok
Video interview by Dustin Pickering

Literature Festival

Haridwar Literature Festival, 14-16 December, 2018

Republic Day Award 2019

Commendation Award

Tweet

About Me: I have been trying to put fragments of feeling into concrete words.

Anuradha Bhattacharyya

View my complete profile

Blog Archive

Light Inspired

a novel

Corona Doldrums

108 poems on the pandemic 2020

Jadu

A novel on phishing

My Dadu

Poetry on Prof. Asoke Kumar Bhattacharyya

Still She Cried

a book on impotence

The Road Taken

A novel about responsibility

the award winning novel One Word

A novel straight from my heart

Published poetry books

My pleasure and my pride

Twentieth Century European Literature

A reference book

The Lacanian Author

My first academic book

International Visibility

select scholarly articles

About the author

I was in school when I discovered my hands itching to hold a pen and write. By then I had read all of Enid Blyton and graduated to the series of fictional sleuths. It started with a personal diary.

In those days I was a strict believer. I used to pray to god for everything. But I was very lazy. In my personal religion, there was no place for an orthodox routine. I assumed god to be someone just like me.

I started writing poetic lines in my diary. There used to be a school magazine where I frequently contributed. The most famous one was published as written by ‘anonymous’. I was not happy. In the same issue I came across a short story which had won the President’s award.

I was brought up by educated parents; my grandparents and one of my great-grandfathers were all educationists. I was treated as a pupil in the house.

My poems leapt out of the diary pages and took shape in experimental forms. I expressed my fears and disappointments in them and they were never appreciated at home. I guarded my file of poems savagely.

Getting an education of my choice was a struggle. My parents decided things for me: which school, which university, which institute. It was all beyond my power and I was sent to those places with the challenge to pass. But, no regrets! I got my choice of subject.

I passed and entered the job arena. By then I must have read a thousand books: novels, poems, biographies, histories and philosophies.

I came across Freud at the age of 21 years. From then on my only quest was to find his books and read all of them. I visited libraries, borrowed books and kept them beyond due dates, for I had to reread those difficult essays and finally form an idea of what Freud had to say.

Till now, I have properly formulated only one basic idea of Freud’s work: More than 80% of it is child psychology.

The secondary reading on Freud irritated me. After completing my PhD thesis, I abandoned psychoanalysis. I found every literary theory stifling my imagination. It was too much theory and very little life. It was like too much protein and very little oxygen in my blood.

A little distancing is necessary for forming new combinations. I went back to reading novels and plays. The poems appeared with greater force. Though Freud is sprinkled over all my compositions, I have never referred back to any of his texts.

What I am today is definitely a product of my education, the academic fields I have been through. But I am now quite distanced from my immediate influences. My first impulse to write was not dictated by my learning. It was spontaneous and out of love for words and forms. Now I write just like that.

I observe life and pen down my thoughts. I seek in my heart for alternatives to things that I don’t like in my surroundings and pen them down. I revise my writings to be more communicative. I do not release a work in public until I am happy with the finished product.

It gives me immense satisfaction, having written this fragment of revelation in my blog.

Thank you.

The Story of a Banana Tree

Anuradha Bhattacharyya short stories in The Bactrian Room

If you marry, your father will die

Anuradha Bhattacharyya short stories in Indian Review

Awesome Inc. theme. Powered by Blogger.