Floating Towel and a Dozen Short Stories: Sunderban Delta Short-Story Series, #1

By gautam maitra

It is, in a way, difficult to write about a book that is, in essence, a compilation of various short stories that were written across the span of two decades. An accident in a swimming pool, a Town that holds a celebration of human speech, a date with the heroes and villains of human history far up in the heaven, a nerve-wracking examination hall,  a life that could have been, the land of Sun-worshippers and Moon-landers, a hopeful job-interview, the pursuit of happiness ,an encounter with God's own accountant. Life-changing words flowing away from lost wet pages in the rain. It makes it more challenging that each and every story differs so vastly from the other - in terms of whether it be the scale, the settings or the tone. So when people ponder what 'Floating Towel' is really about, I find it imperative to say that it is about life itself. To be more precise, a middle-class person's intensely-personal view of life. Life as it is and life as it should be. One such common thread across some of the stories can be found in the character of Budhu. According to the author, the character is nothing more but an archetype. An epitome of normalcy - a person so deeply rooted in the attitudes, customs and feelings of a native Bengali middle-class man that it could essentially be an alter-ego of any Indian Joe. And it is through these stories, through these characters that the author has woven his thoughts into the fabric of these stories. Thoughts about the meaning of life, the value of family and relationships, disenchantment, violence and greed, the changing times and abject senselessness of fanaticism. These dozen short-stories are a kaleidoscope to life as we know it, one that crosses across generations and through the turn of the century that the reader across all ages would enjoy it as much as the author has while writing it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: gautam maitra
• Release date: Jul 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393506157

gautam maitra

Gautam Maitra was born one and a half decade after Britishers left South Asia leaving behind a diverse society in great turmoil and a once-prosperous global-prided economy in tatters. He grew up in a large middle-class joint- family at Kolkata whose ancestral routes would take readers to a village in Phoridpur and Lahiri Jamindari in Pabna(now both in Bangladesh),  and to the town of Berhampore in Murshidabad (India) - not far off from where the Nawab of Bengal once ruled.   After graduation in commerce, the author completed the highest professional degrees in Finance while his passion continued to be the eyes and ears of the soil. Occupational necessities made him settle away from the soil into far off corners of the country for many decades. With the passion of a social researcher and a habitual narrator, a capsule of a dozen unique short stories titled “Floating Towel” is launched. The book is a way to reach out to the citizens of Earth and share the landscape of changing times and changing morals of the species and sharing the worries for the future generations to come. The author firmly prays that the saying is disproved - coal doesn't lose its colour while washed. The second book of short stories and poems titled " The Crows’ Nest" is going to be published shortly.

Book preview

DEDICATION

Baba, Late Amiya Kumar Maitra and Dadu, Late  Manindra Nath Maitra.

Foreword

It is, in a way, difficult to write about a book that is, in essence, a compilation of various short stories that my father had written across the span of two decades. It makes it more challenging that each and every story differs so vastly from the other - in terms of whether it be the scale, the settings or the tone. So when people ask me what ‘Floating Towel’ is really about, I find it imperative to say that it is about life itself. To be more precise, a middle-class person’s intensely personal view of life. Life as it is and life as it should be. One such common thread across some of the stories can be found in the character of Budhu. According to my father, the character is nothing more but an archetype. An epitome of normalcy - a person so deeply rooted in the attitudes, customs and feelings of a Bengali middle-class man that it could essentially be an alter-ego of any Indian Joe. And it is through these stories, through these characters that my father has woven his thoughts into the fabric of these stories. Thoughts about the meaning of life, the value of family and relationships, disenchantment, violence and greed, the changing times and abject senselessness of fanaticism. These dozen short-stories are a kaleidoscope to life as we know it, one that crosses across generations and through the turn of the century. And I hope the reader enjoys it as much I have, editing and collecting it.

(Dr. Siddharth Maitra)

Writer-Director with Dentistry as a hobby

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Introduction

THESE DOZEN STORIES were bred in the turmoils of South Asia. These insignificant tales of humble people have lived for centuries and died their natural deaths. As I sit in my lonely chair awaiting the call of eternity, my young son - much to my surprise - came upon the weary manuscripts of these stories. All of them lying incoherently, insignificantly in the pile of useless papers. He took all the pains to edit them just to see me published in a life where I struggled with the orderliness and micro-managing of publishers. Something that I presume is every storyteller's nightmare. I hope the readers will bear the same patience that my son showed while hopping on this quick rollercoaster of a dozen short stories.

The current times are so vastly different from the one I grew up in as a kid. We witnessed the moon-landing. My aunt who lived in Canada had sent me the best thing I could've imagined then. A small book on mankind's first adventures onto the moon. Television sets came much later. At the time, they were a box of many wonders, puzzlement and pleasant surprises. Of course, they brought with them their addictive zaniness and sloth. But times were different. We had a joint family as big as they would come in those days. A humdrum of aunts and uncles, cousins and nephews with a smattering of continuous noise, laughter and bickering used to make our day. Kids in such households had lots of freedom; an open sky and endless fields full of adventure. Those were the times.

And that time moved. That time moved and we did not. That time that brought with it change. Brought with it the human rights movements. That brought with it a steady rise of envy, insufficiency and violence on the streets. A fulfilment of the Cavemen's ascension to rule the earth with vengeance and greed. And despite all that time brought with it, some things remained the same. There still ran the quiet little river of reverence, camaraderie and love in the cultural mosaic of an ancient land and an ancient people.

As I look back at these dozen stories blinking from a past of my time that is long dead, I only pause and wonder about the transformational journey that it has been. A journey that had me as a witness to major upheavals in a society that is yet to relent, often it's vices kneeling down the virtues to reign in the present. Unchecked, unchallenged. It's honesty and simplicity being sold at subsidies, while it's acquired traits of hypocrisy easily run the markets at a premium.

Time's have changed. And it's running out.

Tick. Tock... Tick. Tock.

Floating Towel

At the crossroad of turmoil, the Samaritan bets his life.

ARE YOU A SWIMMER?

No.

Then came, the little push on his back and a splash ....Jhooooppppp!!!!! and a shriek Ohhhhhhhhh!!!

A floating towel with the striped quote: ‘Swim Like a Shark’, and an image of a smiling, dancing Shark in the swimming pool.

Where is that boy! Where is that boy? Questions and shouts from nearby.

He is a novice, boy! You shouldn't!

Two Life Scouts raced to the spot and dived deep....

Time passes....in seconds inside the water ...but above, feels like hours... Are they coming up? Why are they taking so long? He doesn't know how to swim! You shouldn't! This spot is too deep for a novice to move up! Fourteen is not a joke! 

Why have people like you become insane? You know-? Don't know!?! Okay, I'll tell. Fool!Listen, ...Yoooooudon’t  know what you've done...! If he  dies, you are ....Wissssp...inside for a life!?!

There was a crowd near the pool ... the leisurely retired Ram, a couple of bored wives, half a dozen young swimmers - yet to pass the test and the Bekar roadside chokras.. fed up with the system .....all are here.

Looking at that corner of the pool, some looking over the edge, trying to focus inside the blue waters ...watching minutely for any movement...and others' lips busy opening and closing as bitter, fiery words are fired at that teen - Budhu, the name given by the local neighbours - standing now with chin locked to his chest as if trying to hide his face in  shame... only yesterday he celebrated his fourteenth birthday with his Pagla  reckless group in Mainland China. Sachin – the boy he pushed for a game, was