‘An Unfinished Artwork’ by Amit Misra, Pencil on Paper.
There are so many things that I want to talk about, so many experiences that I want to share with you. I do not know where to start. I have been talking to you already for four years now, and truly speaking, I haven’t even started talking about the things that I had intended to talk about. Time and again I keep hopping from one subject to another. I did plan and tried to do all the art-related talk first, then everything about books and so on, but after some time it all became monotonous, and time and again I get the temptation and urge to talk about something else. It is otherwise ok, however the problem comes up when I write a series of articles. See, I had started few series on this blog — Stories That Influenced Me, A Real Hero, Clash Of Legends, My Favourite Stories From Contemporary Bengali Literature, Translation and so on. But in nearly all the cases, after sharing a few episodes, the series suffered interruption as I hopped on to some other subject. So at the time of this writing, I have nearly all the series in an unfinished state. It must be very confusing and annoying to you dear reader, but sorry I cannot help it. I am also an ordinary human being and have my own stock of flaws. Continue reading
Today I would tell you about one story that appeared in the kids’ section of the Sunday supplement of Navabharat Times and which has made the biggest impact on my lifestyle and brought the biggest change in me. 
I had gone to Delhi for some exam and was now returning to Rishikesh by evening bus. It is a usual practice among students to make the 6-hour night journey to take various competitive exams. Buses were efficient and comfortable. Bus journeys also allow us to come across different people from different backgrounds and help us see the different shades of this colourful world. 
This story had appeared in children’s magazine Lotpot. A young boy was very fond of Indian fast food, or rather street food — chaat, samosa, tikki and so on. Every other day he would demand his father to take him to the stalls offering such spicy delicacies. His father resisted a lot, but had to surrender. His mother would teach him how eating street food was not healthy, and even went to the extent of offering to make some of those snacks at home itself. But the boy didn’t listen. He did not find the same flavour in home made snacks as found in street food. In fact, he was completely addicted to the street food. His parents were very worried, but could not figure out how to deal with the problem. 
A question is generally asked — Does literature have any social responsibility or is it yet another means of aesthetic pleasure? In fact, this question is asked not just about literature, instead about all arts. However, in this post I would not go into the debate on this issue. 
Pradyot 