Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Childhood / Youth
- Published: 10/11/2013
Love for the Butterflies
Born 1957, M, from Kolkata, IndiaLove for the Butterflies
Writer:
Ratan Bhattacharjee
Mousumi was in her twelth standard and yet took no interest in her science studies. She had to study subjects that she had no interest in. She had to sharpen her knowledge of those subjects in coaching classes apart from attending school. Her mother was ambitious and pestered her day and night to study for the Joint Entrance. She wanted her to be a doctor. ”Mou, I don’t want you to end up like me in the kitchen. Medicine is one of the noble professions, especially for a girl.” Mousumi’s classmate is studying hard for Medical Entrance. She is very mediocre and never knew what poetry writing is. She never read a single short story outside her syllabus. Mousumi stood on the ground with her pink chappal which she had bought from Delhi last year. Her brother is doing Ph.D. in Physics. One day she told her mother, Ma, I wanna study in the humanities and won’t go abroad by appearing like dada (elder brother). She likes English literature. She loves reading poems about moonlight, azure sky, butterflies. She never feels these are studies. They are just enjoyable to read and learn. But medical books and joint entrance guides are simply horrible. Mousumi could not make her mother convinced.
What is the achievement of a doctor?
One friend of Mousumi told her in a tone of joke, ’If you become a surgeon, your whole life you can accumulate as many as one thousand gall bladder stones.’ Mousumi enjoyed the joke. She knew that it was not true.
Another day Mousumi heard one saying, ’a doctor’s profession is horrible, because all those who come to see him are sick or diseased.’ No man in good health comes to a doctor. Doctor is needed in the society, but doctors never see any man unless he is sick with a disease. Mousumi’s grandmother says, ’Doctors are godlike figures.’ The old woman has several diseases of kidney, heart pressure, and diabetes. Quite natural.
Nobody told her that there is any need of a poet in the society. Or even of a writer in the house. But Mousumi likes only writing poems and stories. She dreams all day long.
This sent a shock wave to her mother’s heart. She never even dreamt that a girl could be so unambitious. Her mother kept silent. She was confused to give her opinion. Which one is better? Doing medicine or writing stories all day long? She shouted, ”Do what you like. I must tell everything if your father comes back from office." But nothing was to happen. What her father did all day in the office. Such a man of grave temperament cannot discuss his own family issue in office. But temptation is a big evil. The craze for making a child a doctor or engineer can lead one to compromise all values.
Mr. Rhitabrata is a man of few words. In his office he discussed it with his steno, Roshan, a softly shy and radiant woman with eyes dreamily bright, cheeks, genuine peachblow and expression a happy one tinged with reminiscence. She is now the most important person to Rhitabrata. Her daughter has got good rank this year and got admission in Calcutta Medical College. The boss took her into confidence and she enjoyed it. At least, here she is more successful than the proud boss who seldom feels that she can offer any advice. Rhitabrata discussed with her about her daughter’s joining medical profession. Today he noticed a difference in her ways. Instead of going straight into the adjoining room, where her desk was, she lingered, slightly irresolute, in the outer office. Once she moved over by Rhitabrata’s desk, near enough for him to be aware of her presence. The machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man. It was a busy chatter, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling springs. She started typing. Rhitabrata lost all energy to ask her anything. His daughter will surely pass her entrance examination even without her advice. Rhitabrata came home exhausted. What was Mousumi doing at home? Not reading her medical entrance books seriously? How long will she continue to be engaged in meaningless scribbling? He knew that Mousumi likes English literature and nothing more than that. But still he is trying.
Three weeks passed after Mousumi had sent her story to the weekly magazine of a popular newspaper. They wanted stories on injustice to women. She wanted to write a story about the gang rape of the young doctor on the Delhi highway inside the bus. She knew that it was a real story. But no harm is there. Writers should not write only in a romantic way. Rape is no less an important theme. A woman should be vocal against injustice done to a woman. That may be any kind of injustice. A writer can mobilize public opinion and here she feels some satisfaction. Mousumi was trying to depict in the story the pains of the woman when she was being abused. The dark night and the hungry dogs inside the bus piercing into her flesh. She was a doctor doing internship in a hospital. The story had a gloomy side, but it voiced a protest of a woman against injustice towards a woman. The culprits should be roped in without delay. The story may not be u pto the choice of the editor. The competition is very tough nowadays. Many might have written on that topic. Mousumi hopes against hopes.
At night Mousumi’s father came back home with more information about medical profession. Life is so dull for Mousumi. She does not want to be a doctor. But her parents are dominating her for that. Mousumi never felt so much scared to see her father’s face. But at one time Mousumi knew that her father is her only friend. He memorized so many rhymes for Mousumi. She used to recite the rhymes and her parents felt elated. Mousumi wanted to write such lines herself when she grew up. But now her parents don’t want her to write poems or stories. This is simply inexplicable to Mousumi. She does not understand why father wants her to be a doctor and not a writer. The first poem that was published in the newspaper Sunday page was sent to the Editor by her father. How happy the parents felt when their daughter’s poem was published. Mousumi’s story fetched a prize from a Bengali magazine. A story book was also published and nearly all the newspapers reviewed the book in superlative terms. Even eminent writers and poets praised Mousumi’s efforts. But today the sky has changed. The blue glaze faded and the cloud of tensions hang all about it. The stars of dream do not glitter in that sky any more.
‘What ‘s your problem? Why are’nt you getting serious?- I can give you one more teacher for your biology subjects.
‘Baba, I don’t like biology. It seems horrible to me’. Mousumi cried a lot that night. But what will she do?
Many such interactions occurred after that. One whole year passed. Mousumi sent stories to this and that magazine. She also had to sit for the Joint Entrance Examination. But she did not hope much.
Mousumi’s father was waiting with much eagerness for the result. The steno of his office was looking curious and that look had in it something of presumptuous approach which usually a subordinate cannot show. This effrontery is possible because her daughter is now in second year of M.B.B.S. studies. Mr. Rhitabrata could not smile that day even with his most close associates in the office. The Joint results were out and all were asking him about that. He managed to avoid by saying that he did not have the roll number of Mousumi. But all in the office understood the fact. Mousumi could not pass. The parents were fully crestfallen. Mousumi could not sleep well that night. She did not take food and sobbed all night to make her pillow wet. She knew that she would not get any rank in medical. But she did not know that her parents could be so dominating.
Only the other day, one speaker from Mexico said that rape is a dominance. The Gurgaon incident was a dirty example of dominance of the males over a female. Now the parents are dominating the child and Mousumi felt a sense of defeat and humiliation. She could not look into her father’s eyes. She stopped looking at her mother’s long ago for whom being a doctor is everything and not to be a doctor is to be a good for nothing in life.
Morning came slowly and it was almost 9 am that Mousumi woke up with a start, the familiar jerk of falling to the white marble ground of her residential quarter. She sat with an expressionless countenance when the phone call came, ‘Your story is selected for publication, but you have to revise a few lines’. This was the first story of her life, the fulfillment of a dream that lacked clarity. Her story is published at last. She is not a bundle of total failure. Her parents were not happy at all. Her father celebrated the publication of her first poem in a children's page 15 years ago. But today the story is published in the most prestigious magazine. But she could not share with her parents. The day was dull with the sky overcast with flying clouds. Rains may come in torrents. But before that there started a heavy downpour in the two dilated eyes of Mousumi.
Love for the Butterflies(Ratan Bhattacharjee)
Love for the Butterflies
Writer:
Ratan Bhattacharjee
Mousumi was in her twelth standard and yet took no interest in her science studies. She had to study subjects that she had no interest in. She had to sharpen her knowledge of those subjects in coaching classes apart from attending school. Her mother was ambitious and pestered her day and night to study for the Joint Entrance. She wanted her to be a doctor. ”Mou, I don’t want you to end up like me in the kitchen. Medicine is one of the noble professions, especially for a girl.” Mousumi’s classmate is studying hard for Medical Entrance. She is very mediocre and never knew what poetry writing is. She never read a single short story outside her syllabus. Mousumi stood on the ground with her pink chappal which she had bought from Delhi last year. Her brother is doing Ph.D. in Physics. One day she told her mother, Ma, I wanna study in the humanities and won’t go abroad by appearing like dada (elder brother). She likes English literature. She loves reading poems about moonlight, azure sky, butterflies. She never feels these are studies. They are just enjoyable to read and learn. But medical books and joint entrance guides are simply horrible. Mousumi could not make her mother convinced.
What is the achievement of a doctor?
One friend of Mousumi told her in a tone of joke, ’If you become a surgeon, your whole life you can accumulate as many as one thousand gall bladder stones.’ Mousumi enjoyed the joke. She knew that it was not true.
Another day Mousumi heard one saying, ’a doctor’s profession is horrible, because all those who come to see him are sick or diseased.’ No man in good health comes to a doctor. Doctor is needed in the society, but doctors never see any man unless he is sick with a disease. Mousumi’s grandmother says, ’Doctors are godlike figures.’ The old woman has several diseases of kidney, heart pressure, and diabetes. Quite natural.
Nobody told her that there is any need of a poet in the society. Or even of a writer in the house. But Mousumi likes only writing poems and stories. She dreams all day long.
This sent a shock wave to her mother’s heart. She never even dreamt that a girl could be so unambitious. Her mother kept silent. She was confused to give her opinion. Which one is better? Doing medicine or writing stories all day long? She shouted, ”Do what you like. I must tell everything if your father comes back from office." But nothing was to happen. What her father did all day in the office. Such a man of grave temperament cannot discuss his own family issue in office. But temptation is a big evil. The craze for making a child a doctor or engineer can lead one to compromise all values.
Mr. Rhitabrata is a man of few words. In his office he discussed it with his steno, Roshan, a softly shy and radiant woman with eyes dreamily bright, cheeks, genuine peachblow and expression a happy one tinged with reminiscence. She is now the most important person to Rhitabrata. Her daughter has got good rank this year and got admission in Calcutta Medical College. The boss took her into confidence and she enjoyed it. At least, here she is more successful than the proud boss who seldom feels that she can offer any advice. Rhitabrata discussed with her about her daughter’s joining medical profession. Today he noticed a difference in her ways. Instead of going straight into the adjoining room, where her desk was, she lingered, slightly irresolute, in the outer office. Once she moved over by Rhitabrata’s desk, near enough for him to be aware of her presence. The machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man. It was a busy chatter, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling springs. She started typing. Rhitabrata lost all energy to ask her anything. His daughter will surely pass her entrance examination even without her advice. Rhitabrata came home exhausted. What was Mousumi doing at home? Not reading her medical entrance books seriously? How long will she continue to be engaged in meaningless scribbling? He knew that Mousumi likes English literature and nothing more than that. But still he is trying.
Three weeks passed after Mousumi had sent her story to the weekly magazine of a popular newspaper. They wanted stories on injustice to women. She wanted to write a story about the gang rape of the young doctor on the Delhi highway inside the bus. She knew that it was a real story. But no harm is there. Writers should not write only in a romantic way. Rape is no less an important theme. A woman should be vocal against injustice done to a woman. That may be any kind of injustice. A writer can mobilize public opinion and here she feels some satisfaction. Mousumi was trying to depict in the story the pains of the woman when she was being abused. The dark night and the hungry dogs inside the bus piercing into her flesh. She was a doctor doing internship in a hospital. The story had a gloomy side, but it voiced a protest of a woman against injustice towards a woman. The culprits should be roped in without delay. The story may not be u pto the choice of the editor. The competition is very tough nowadays. Many might have written on that topic. Mousumi hopes against hopes.
At night Mousumi’s father came back home with more information about medical profession. Life is so dull for Mousumi. She does not want to be a doctor. But her parents are dominating her for that. Mousumi never felt so much scared to see her father’s face. But at one time Mousumi knew that her father is her only friend. He memorized so many rhymes for Mousumi. She used to recite the rhymes and her parents felt elated. Mousumi wanted to write such lines herself when she grew up. But now her parents don’t want her to write poems or stories. This is simply inexplicable to Mousumi. She does not understand why father wants her to be a doctor and not a writer. The first poem that was published in the newspaper Sunday page was sent to the Editor by her father. How happy the parents felt when their daughter’s poem was published. Mousumi’s story fetched a prize from a Bengali magazine. A story book was also published and nearly all the newspapers reviewed the book in superlative terms. Even eminent writers and poets praised Mousumi’s efforts. But today the sky has changed. The blue glaze faded and the cloud of tensions hang all about it. The stars of dream do not glitter in that sky any more.
‘What ‘s your problem? Why are’nt you getting serious?- I can give you one more teacher for your biology subjects.
‘Baba, I don’t like biology. It seems horrible to me’. Mousumi cried a lot that night. But what will she do?
Many such interactions occurred after that. One whole year passed. Mousumi sent stories to this and that magazine. She also had to sit for the Joint Entrance Examination. But she did not hope much.
Mousumi’s father was waiting with much eagerness for the result. The steno of his office was looking curious and that look had in it something of presumptuous approach which usually a subordinate cannot show. This effrontery is possible because her daughter is now in second year of M.B.B.S. studies. Mr. Rhitabrata could not smile that day even with his most close associates in the office. The Joint results were out and all were asking him about that. He managed to avoid by saying that he did not have the roll number of Mousumi. But all in the office understood the fact. Mousumi could not pass. The parents were fully crestfallen. Mousumi could not sleep well that night. She did not take food and sobbed all night to make her pillow wet. She knew that she would not get any rank in medical. But she did not know that her parents could be so dominating.
Only the other day, one speaker from Mexico said that rape is a dominance. The Gurgaon incident was a dirty example of dominance of the males over a female. Now the parents are dominating the child and Mousumi felt a sense of defeat and humiliation. She could not look into her father’s eyes. She stopped looking at her mother’s long ago for whom being a doctor is everything and not to be a doctor is to be a good for nothing in life.
Morning came slowly and it was almost 9 am that Mousumi woke up with a start, the familiar jerk of falling to the white marble ground of her residential quarter. She sat with an expressionless countenance when the phone call came, ‘Your story is selected for publication, but you have to revise a few lines’. This was the first story of her life, the fulfillment of a dream that lacked clarity. Her story is published at last. She is not a bundle of total failure. Her parents were not happy at all. Her father celebrated the publication of her first poem in a children's page 15 years ago. But today the story is published in the most prestigious magazine. But she could not share with her parents. The day was dull with the sky overcast with flying clouds. Rains may come in torrents. But before that there started a heavy downpour in the two dilated eyes of Mousumi.
- Share this story on
- 6
COMMENTS (0)