That a proper perception of events in life will lead to a successful career has been well illustrated in the confessions of eminent personalities in THE WEEK’s cover story (‘When lightning strikes’, May 29). Having said that, the basic tenets of life remain unchanged.
Bibek Debroy contends that frequent fluctuations in his career—until he finally settled down as economic adviser to the prime minister—was a providential decision. Ramachandra Guha’s elevation as a leading historian was due to his tireless efforts in securing materials from the archives to bring out the voluminous book, India after Gandhi.
Mere passion for cricket, though not as a player, saw the emergence of Harsha Bhogle as a leading commentator.
Narayana Murthy’s ideas were strengthened only after he visited so many countries for the first time.
At this juncture, I remember the words of Brutus in Julius Caesar—“There is a tide in the affairs of men which taken at the floods leads to fortune”— that holds good even to this day.
B. Gurumurthy,
On email.
Going through the life lessons of eminent people made me realise that believers are the forerunners of any civilisation, the builders of industries, and the creators of empires.
Hard work, conviction and self-belief will earn you success. And all the people that you have featured in your cover story did just that. They continue to inspire and actualise their covetable dreams.
Devendra Awasthi,
Lucknow.
Not for micro-fiction
I agree with Sanath Kumar T.S. (Letters, May 29) that micro-fiction can never replace full-length fiction. Having authored many books, articles, anthologies, and stories, I am of the firm view that the beauty of storytelling lies in the narrative and not in cryptic utterances, and abrupt conclusions.
Laljee Verma (retired air marshal),
On email.
Shame, Kangana, shame
Kangana Ranaut’s comment on kids of our stars looking weird like boiled eggs was certainly not in good taste (‘Point blank’, May 29).
Even when she preaches sermons, Kangana wears a dress that exposes her breast and thighs, which is nothing but an imitation of some Hollywood actors. Kangana contradicts everything that she preaches.
K.V. Dharmarajan,
On email.
How I chased Ray?
Till 1969 I had never heard of Satyajit Ray, nor watched any of his films. But the Bengali film, Nayak, changed me totally (‘From Ray to decay’, May 22). I watched it when I was 20. From then, I read everything about Ray that appeared in newspapers and magazines. Ray, in fact, became my obsession.
I remember the time when I heard that Ray was planning to make a film—Shatranj Ke Khiladi—in Hindi based on a story written by Munshi Premchand. I wrote an elaborate letter to Ray, telling him about my knowledge in literature and cinema and how I was inspired by Nayak. I also told him that I was comfortable in Hindi.
Guess what, within a week I received a reply from Ray! He said my knowledge in literature and cinema was not that impressive, but he could understand my longing to work with him. He asked me to meet him at his home on May 9, 1974, at 8am.
My excitement knew no bounds. I lied to my father that I had to go to Kolkata to attend an interview for a better job. I was counting the days by hours and minutes.
But, like a cruel twist, the All India Railwaymen’s Federation declared a strike on May 8, and their leader George Fernandes announced that no train in the country would move an inch unless the demands of the railwaymen are accepted.
My parents told me to forget about the ‘interview’. I don’t know how I managed to hide my tears. But my parents could not stop me.
I boarded the train on the evening of May 7. Exactly at 12am on May 8, the train stopped at a station near Balasore. The entire train was empty, except for me and three others. The ticket collector advised us to look for other means.
My appointment was at 8am. I ran to a public telephone booth, and called Ray. He took the call and was surprised by my adventure. He told me that I need not worry, and asked me to contact him after three months. His assurance gave me a new breath of life.
But, due to personal reasons, I could not meet Ray for the next 11 years.
In 1985, I resigned from my job as an assistant engineer with the Odisha government to enter the Telugu film industry. Then I came to know that Ray had a heart attack. I wanted to meet him in person to take his blessings. I went to Kolkata and dialled his number. His wife, Bijoya Ray, attended the call. I told her about my desire to meet Ray just for a minute. She told me that doctors had cautioned Ray not to meet anyone. While Bijoya was speaking to me, I could hear Ray asking her who it was. Ray took the phone from her and said, “Oh Mr Prasad, where were you all these years?” He spoke to me as if he was interacting with an old friend. When I told Ray that I wanted to meet him, he said he also was eager to meet me, and asked me to visit him the next day. This time, I was on time.
It was a second floor apartment with wide corridors, lined with flower pots and plants. Ray came out and shook my hand. His palm was so big. I was speechless. He appreciated my decision of entering the Telugu film industry and wished me good luck.
I stayed for five minutes and left from there with memories of a lifetime.
K.L. Prasad,
On email.