Literary musings of Dr Raj Bahadur Yadav

Thursday 11 April 2019

Saturday 16 March 2019

Thursday 28 February 2019

Those were the days! -Raj Bahadur Yadav

Those were the days!

-Raj Bahadur Yadav

I spent the golden period of my life at Kurukshetra University as its student from 1981 to 1983. It has been long 36 years since I delivered my farewell speech at a select gathering of my classmates and teachers in the Arts Faculty building in which the Department of English was housed then. Before the farewell party took place, there was a fierce debate as to who would thank our worthy teachers[ including eminent scholars like Dr R S Singh, Dr OP Grewal and Dr Bhim S. Dahiya] on behalf of MA[English] final year students. Some of the boys and girls came forward with their written versions,citing different thinkers and poets. But the majority opined," Whosoever wants to address us, should have the ability and courage to speak extempore." There was a pin-drop silence for a while. Some of the boys darted an impatient look at me and I had to promptly reply, "O.K., I shall do this job but--". But there were no takers for my "but" as I had represented the university twice in inter-university literary debates held at Panjab University, Chandigarh. One of them assured me," Don't worry. One of us will keep standing behind the back door and knock lightly at it to signal you to end up your speech after a gap of 15 minutes. In case, you feel short of words , just leave the stage with a graceful bow,"thank you very much"!
The KU campus is spread over nearly 400 acres of land. Memories come crowding down into my mind. In those days, the crops of wheat and paddy also grew on it. A small water canal flew through the campus from west to east-leading to ancient Bramha Sarovar. On both banks of it, stood lovely green trees and bushes. To this day, I have not been able to understand as to how so quickly I and my classmates took bath, finished our breakfast and got ready in the morning to attend our lectures.Having crossed the Narhari Hostel located in south, we would turn towards north and then towards east dawdling along the canal, laughing and talking together. I can still visualize in my mind's eye the yellow,brown and even a few green leaves floating down from trees and falling on the running blue waters of the canal. A whiff of fresh air from the east would enter my nostrils and intoxicate me with intense pleasure.
One day, one of my classmates told me,"Dr R S Singh has called you in his office". Dr Singh was a renowned expert on Indian fiction. When I entered his august office saying,"May I come in, Sir !" A gentle smile flitted across his face and he said to me," An inter-university paper reading contest on Fyodor Dostoevsky[1821-1881] , Russian novelist , is going to be held in the Department of English at Panjab University, Chandigarh next month. I recommend your name for the two member-team for this literary event". It was a god-send opportunity for me to prove myself as a budding scholar. In the first week of February, I 1982, I started for Chandigarh, the City Beautiful--full of art,culture,literature and culinary tastes. I had worked non-stop for almost one month to prepare my paper on Dostoevsky's famous novel,"Crime and Punishment"[1866]. I was really lucky to have read out my paper and answered all the literary questions put to me on part of the audience in the graceful presence of Dr Darshan Singh Maini[ a reputed literary critic and poet who contributed for decades middle articles for The Tribune ]. I held my breath when the results were being read out. I felt I had arrived when Dr Maini himself announced from the stage,"The first prize goes to Mr R B Yadav of Kurukshetra University". As a team also, we had cruised to victory and lifted the literary trophy in the magnificent auditorium hall of the English Department of Panjab University, Chandigarh. I shall always remain greatly indebted to my worthy teachers of Kurukshetra University, my alma mater. Dr RAJ BAHADUR YADAV

Joys and travails of writing

Raj Bahadur Yadav

Albert Camus, the French philosopher and the author has said,"You cannot create experience. You must undergo it". Last week, one of my old classmates asked me,"How did you learn the art of creative writing?" I thought for a while and told him, "From the artless people of my village,particularly my grandmother. Having finished our night meal, my grandmother used to light a bonfire, using dry dung cakes and logs of wood. All the family members sat around it and she would anchor the long story session". Her tales,intermittently backed by pithy folk songs, kept the audience spell-bound and enthralled. At the end of every tale, I underwent a "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings" as a listener. The seed was sown, and the first cotyledon sprouted from my creative urge in the form of a short tale"Sachcha Nyaya"[ True Justice] published in the Hindi daily, Punjab Kesari ,in 1975 under a weekly column "Baal Katha". I was studying in the 10th class then. In those days, we didn't subscribe to any daily newspaper. I was in the air when I came across my first published piece at a hair dresser's shop. I requested its owner," Uncle, can give you me this newspaper as it has carried out my short story today?" The middle -aged owner said," Quite nice, but I cannot give it to you right now as I have myself yet to go through it. Come in the evening to collect it." As soon as the sun set in , I rushed to his small shop located in the local market of Hisar city. The moment I got that newspaper, I felt I had come to possess the most precious treasure of the world. This tale[ with its genesis in an ancient fable] related to the greedy milkman who mixed water with milk in order to make a fast buck and a monkey snatched his purse full of coins. Sitting on a distant branch of the tree, our primordial ancestor had dropped half of the coins into the nearby pond and the other half at the feet of the milkman who cheated his innocent customers.

Henry Miller , an American writer, aptly thought,"Writing is its own reward". While studying in the Government College, Hisar, I contributed a poem ," Matmailey Gaon Ki Or"[ Towards the dusty villages] to the college magazine in late seventies. Justice Surya Kant [ then a student of this college] had edited the Hindi section of the magazine and appreciated my poem, extolling the virtues of rural life. From the 1980s onwards, I started penning down my thoughts and feelings in English. One day, while taking rounds of a public park in the morning, I asked Prof MM Sharma,my English teacher,"How can I write better articles,Sir?" To this question, he promptly replied," Write,write and write!" I have authored several middle articles in the recent years. Some of them have appeared in The Tribune too. I have continued writing despite struggling hard to come out of a debris of rejections. The editor's thoughtful reply,"I regret we will not be able to make use of it", leaves me floundering around and I find myself getting nowhere. On sober reflection, I am able to discern the flaws in them. Then, once again, I sit back and start musing about some new theme.The day my article appears in The Tribune, I am extolled as a genius by my friends. But I am fully aware that my craft has not yet reached the threshold of "flowering" though every fresh piece I compose gracefully shows that my last published write -up was no fluke. I happen to be a writer with a little modest success , believing firmly in Benjamin Franklin's famous quote," Diligence is the mother of good luck".

Dr RAJ BAHADUR YADAV