Sharmishtha Basu is an unemployed artist, writer who is out to test her works, see if they can help her to build an “unorthodox” career, a path followed by many before, some has been blessed with success, most have not, let us see what you make of her attempts! A failure or success- it all depends on you. These are pieces from her book, the book is available on createspace and amazon-
This is a chapter from my own life, the reason why I cant go out and look for a job like you guys do and live a normal life, because the monsters of this book hovered around me for too long, to ensure that my life gets screwed up as much as possible, they succeeded in material sense, that is a credit I will give them without least hesitation. Read it with an open mind and if you are Indian, woman better believe it. I have done my duty, believing truth or not is your choice.
III. Finding a way out:
From the next night I started to do three things, keeping a canister of petrol in my room, and locking the main door from inside and keeping the key under my pillow.
Then a plan popped up in my mind, I called a friend from my home town and told her that something is wrong there, and someone was trying to kill me, I deliberately withheld the truth from her. I had no intentions of saying a word before I reached safe shelters.
This time, knowing very well who the masterminds were, I falsely blamed Ritu and her sons to that friend, saying they have unleashed goons after me. I told her to inform the cops if I don’t make it there on the date I say. I told her that I will tell her the date of my arrival after I make my reservations.
The very next day I went to Jhuma and told her that one of my friends is getting married and if I don’t visit her she will come here and kill me.
I got the permission to go.
My reservations were on 2nd January next month, after twenty days. I told them I will be back on 15th.
A few days before I was about to start I saw a guy in Red Cloud, he was standing near the girls and it seemed to me he was over eager to be visible to me. So I noted him quite clearly.
At home, Sulata grilled me to no end, but I told her the same story and I hinted her that most probably I won’t be back because Ritu’s sons are trying to kill me.
She was quite sad till that time I mistook her as a good girl trapped in bad net, which misconception was to disappear forever after I met her again. Five years later, with another husband, daughter and family she was a Bengali woman then, and very rich, born and brought up in Kolkata! I could not recognize her initially but after a while I did, with the help of her photograph which I had at home even though she has chopped off her hair to shoulder length.