“Wanted: A groom for a Kayastha girl, beautiful, fair complexioned, B.A. student, age 20. Bharadwaj gotra preferred. P.O. Box 701.” “Wanted: A suitable Shandilya groom for a beautiful, slim, five-foot-tall, homely, I.A. passed bride. Suitable dowry will be given. P.O. Box 27301.” “Oh my God! Dowry will be given! Defying the Dowry Act! They are trying to evade the law in every way, so what’s the harm if it’s done this way? In these difficult times, a few years of married life will be blissful. Of course, we are not so lucky. We are far behind in this line! First preference to the engineers. Then doctors, chartered accountants, military officers, and so on. It feels strange even to think about these things.” ...

Yes, I hate Shamik, Bilash and their associates. I hate myself. Of course, at times I feel pity for them. Sometimes I feel pity for them, sometimes I feel pity for myself. Saying this, Aniket took a sip from his glass of wine, contorted his face, and swallowed some of it. Then he shook his head, left his chair, leaned on the table, and stood slightly tilted. With a slur in his voice, he said, – No, I have made a mistake. I have spoken wrongly. Yes, wrong. I don’t hate Shamik and Bilash. I do not hate them. They are right. What they are doing is right. I hate Principal Samanta. I hate Principal Samanta not because of his sincerity, but because of his, what should I say? Damn it, I can’t find the word in English. Anyway, I don’t hate Principal Samanta for his honesty. I hate him for his ignorance. Yes, ignorance. It was Principal Samanta who told Shamik, Bilash, and all of us that we would be the torchbearers of the coming days. He told that we will be the torch bearer of the impending days. We, the Engineers will have vital role to make our Country prosperous. He had said, “We have an important role to play in making our country prosperous. So we should study sincerely and try to be successful engineers. You should study well to become true engineers.” ...

Hearing the knock on the door, I jumped out of bed. As I moved to open the door quickly, I stumbled on a brick placed to raise the leg of the cot in the dim darkness of the room. My mood soured instantly. After composing myself a little, I opened the door to find the lanky, long-faced Sanatanda standing there. As soon as he saw me, he started shouting, “Will you guys ever become human? It’s eight, eight-thirty in the morning, and there’s no sign of you waking up. The neighbors are peeking out because of my shouting, but you’re still not waking up.” ...

Whether an inhabitant of Antarctica or any region near the Tropic of Cancer, when faced with death, they will desperately try to survive. Be it by resisting or by fleeing. If a man, with a sharp spear or a shiny, sharp sword, attacks me with beastly frenzy, at that very moment, I will certainly not be overwhelmed with sorrow for those brutally killed in some other part of the world. In such a situation, probably no one’s heart becomes heavy with grief. Of course, those who remain safe and unharmed at a distance, those who are not swept away by the onslaught, have the leisure to think. Grief and sorrow fill their hearts. Their hearts ache with anguish for those who have departed from this world in brutal killings. ...

“Hey! The factory siren just went off.” The crowded slum of Bhuinyabhanga became restless in an instant. The calm atmosphere became charged in a moment. Jhagru, Mangla, Sumita, and others all started going to the ’number’ in groups, one by one. This happens every day. It all seems to move in a rhythm. Sushama also used to go to the ’number’ with Jhagru and Mangla, carrying her basket, in tune with the factory siren. But while moving in rhythm, suddenly things went out of rhythm for her. Sushama was laid off due to the company’s new law. Of course, this out-of-rhythm feeling lasted only for a few days. Then she brought a rhythm back into her own life. Now, when she hears the factory siren, she doesn’t go to the ’number’ like Jhagru, Mangla, or Sumita of Bhuinyadanga. Sushama starts for the city long before the siren goes off, keeping her own rhythm. But today, Sushama couldn’t start before the factory siren, keeping her rhythm. ...

“The laddoo of Delhi, he who eats it repents, he who doesn’t eat it also repents.” Shouting this, Bhejuda entered our room. The story of Ayub Khan swimming at the feet of Christine Keeler, Mao Zedong’s fourth marriage to a sexy actress of the current Chinese film world after his third marriage, and the recent incident of throwing an egg at a female member of the Legislative Assembly - Bhejuda used to tell us all these stories with great relish in his spare time. So I say right away, but I have never seen anything like today’s. ...

“Can you go alone?” “Yes, I can certainly go.” Munin Gogoi came out of his room and walked with me for a short distance. Then he pointed with his finger and said, “You see this area, its name is Rupahi village. You have to walk for about three kilometers along the main road, taking a south-west turn. Then you will see some large Arjun trees, and just before them, a canal flows on the left. After crossing the rickety bamboo bridge over the canal, you will see a house with a thatched roof surrounded by bamboo groves. That is Ramiz Sheikh’s house.” ...

As soon as he woke up in the morning, Kamalesh remembered that it was the fifteenth of August. The morning sun was streaming through the gap in the ventilator and falling on his bed. The sudden glare of too much light is hard on the eyes. This glare of light broke his comfortable morning sleep. He turned over with a lot of annoyance in his head. Tutun is still sleeping. The sun has not fallen on him. It is just touching him. Jaya had left the bed much earlier and was busy with the tea things. The clinking sound of cups and plates is floating in. ...

It is for Moli that I have to endure the extra trouble. There is no hassle at the office from ten to five. The phone is kept conveniently on a separate stand next to the seat in the chamber. The receiver comes to hand by leaning back in the two-and-a-half-thousand-rupee all-purpose chair or by extending the left hand. If you want, you can put it to your ear and mouth and say hello, or you can leave it. If someone hears the ‘kring kring’ sound, someone from the office will surely pick it up. But the one at home is the trouble. It has no sense of time, it rings at any time and drives me crazy. You are just about to sit down at the dining table and put food in your mouth, and just then the telephone will scream. And yet, surprisingly, Moli, at whose insistence the line was extended from the office to the residence, is then indifferent. When the phone rings in the morning or evening, she might be lying on the cot, flipping through the glossy colorful pictures of Eve’s magazine, or in the afternoon, with her hair down, she might be lamenting after seeing an advertisement in a magazine, “Oh, what a hassle I have to go through with wet hair because I don’t have a five-hundred-rupee hair dryer like this.” On the other hand, the phone will keep ringing. ...

Sushital is inspecting the work in his area with the labor sardar, Birwa. In Birwa’s ward, there are only female laborers. They are plucking two leaves and a bud from the tea plants at a steady pace and putting them in the baskets on their backs. There is a rhythm to plucking the leaves from the tea plants and putting them in the basket. Sushital’s simple mind does not want to break this strange rhythm. But for the sake of showing off, he sometimes has to break it. If he doesn’t supervise, then what kind of supervision is it! How would it be if the babu just kept watching silently? He has to scold, he has to reprimand. Otherwise, the babu’s babu-ness is lost. The laborers are not afraid and respectful. So, to establish himself as a proper babu, Sushital goes to Rupmatiya once and then to Ruchli. He tries to find fault with their work for no reason. But he can’t. ...