Indrani Ganguli is an interpreter of languages. She’s as adept at staring down recalcitrant witnesses in court while taking down their depositions as she is compassionate with those who clearly are devastated at being there at all.

Her stories are rich in classical allusions even as they explore the social consciousness (or lack thereof) of the times we live in.

Indrani Ganguli is a contributing poet to this collection of poetry: A Place called Utopia.

She is also a prolific participant in The Irregular SloWord BirthMonth Festival, as you will notice from her multiple contributions to the previous years Festivals. 

Feature Presentation

Dear baba,

Sometimes I wonder. Did you have an inkling of the sheer level of comfort I have when surrounded by my weaponry? And you do know, more than anyone else, that everything I have at hand, or feet, automatically turns into a deadly device. The legs themselves for instance. Arunabha would be happy to testify as to the efficacy of those.

You yourself were such a soft spoken, polite, erudite gentleman. So what went on in your mind when you picked up that little cherub of yours and gingerly held her?

Why did you pick up the seige of Troy, the battle of Kurukshetra as your favoured bed time stories?

Why did you ply the toddler growing into the child with the most enticing weaponry? Remember how there were bitter complaints about those marvellous arrows?

Remember how you used to tell me that story about our tenth Guru, so well written by Rabibabu?

You were preparing me for a most unjust world, weren’t you? You were bringing me up as your warrior princess?

You must have been.

But you didn’t factor in human mortality.

Yours.

Would you have acted differently if you knew that everything you taught me were to be reversed, reviled and discarded?

Would you then have fought to stay alive?

Would you then have fought harder not to comply with foolish social rules?

Never mind baba.

You had laid a very solid foundation indeed. Below the debris, I found the city you were building so painstakingly. I am the “girl” who lived.

You know why I did. Because Rabibabu had the final word.

বাঘের বাচ্চারে, বাঘ যদি না করিনু,  তবে কি শিখানু তারে।

With love today and always.