It was the cold junction of the 5th
and 6th January, 2014 when I ended my wonderful sips of My
Glass Of Wine, a poetical novelette by Kiriti Sengupta. It was absolutely
intoxicating which caught my nerves with such a smooth pleasure that the winter
night chill got transformed to an embracing warmth. Such piercing but
affectionate his renditions are that I am still feeling a turn-turtle phase
psychologically. Starting with a great introductory gateway (Foreword) by Don
Matin I entered the speaking soul of Kiriti. The segments of his book are
apparently linkless, but undoubtedly, this style puts a challenge before the
readers - a challenge to find out the missing links. And there is the success
of this creation. The reader is bound to read and search himself simultaneously
while sailing through the stream of Kiriti's uttering. After his unbelievably
skilled narration of each section, Kiriti has placed a poetic-gem that silently
metamorphosed the whole move into a rhythmic sky. As he starts his go with his
honest confession of his first interaction with Bengali literature, he
grabs the hands of his readers so softly that one would have no other option
but to walk with the author. The words of Kiriti bounce soundlessly, dance wavy
and grips unbeatably. The intrinsic musical flow of his every sentence kept me
mesmerized. And my my, what a pleasant view and analysis of poetry and its
unavoidable associations! More I read, more I was enchanted with his thoughts.
I was thinking with ultimate surprise if I have ever gone through such a
literary experience which is firm but not dogmatic, spiritual but not religious
and last but not the least, appealing but not demanding. This should be a landmark
genre in the literary world, unmistakably different. My blissful wishes for
this young and talented guy, going ahead with this glow of a lamp which he only
can lit up. Heartiest congratulations to Kiriti and to all concerned.