Originally Posted by Samrat Sarkar
We all look for some works which ignites our passion and I’m no exception in that. One big problem in our poor country is that most people do not find joy in their own professions. There may be many reasons for that, such as social, economical, psychological etc. But that is the subject of the sociologists. What ultimately we want is to remain engaged in some profession where we get some sort of mental satisfaction and some joy in it. For me, my passion is to roam around our village, its open grounds, to roam around the country sides, the hills and the forests, its rivers. My passion is to meet various people, to watch different birds and various wild animals. I also love to take photographs of these birds and the wild animals and to read books on them and to draw their pictures and also to write about them.
But my passion does not earn my bread and butter. I have to pursue some other means to earn some money; which is not at all in line with my passion. Like others, I also have some responsibilities and liabilities and am answerable to my employer in my profession. There is always an anxiety regarding my job security. But my passion is free from all these things. I sometimes feel that there is an artistic entity, my alter-ego, in me which always lurks behind my mind and it comes to the surface when I go out in the nature. That is when I meet him and he also meets me. Both of us then have lots of joyful moments together. When he is happy I become happy and when he is unhappy I also become unhappy. All his joy and sorrow bear a direct impression on my photographs, on my literary articles and on all my artistic efforts. But he never asks me any questions and let me remain free on my choices. While in solitude he sometimes wants to know something but never demands an answer from me. I don’t have an answer to his every question either. Those unanswered questions are the liabilities of my artistic entity. An artist’s mission is to find out a suitable answer to this question, and that brings some guilty conscience in me. That is my failure in my artistic life and is my remorsefulness for not getting a profession of my choice.
The success from a passionate work depends on the choice of its executioner. And that choice is a giant killer. It may kill in a single bang or may let free very easily. But it is always better not to depend on choices every moment; it is rather more judicious to carry on with ones work and dip into it, whether fruitful or fruitless. At the end of rainy seasons along the roadside deep trenches large bundles of green jute plants are kept submerged to get them decomposed. The farmer will take them out at an appropriate time. Those green jute plants will turn into golden and shining jute threads. No one can guess what activities was going on furtively inside those jute plants while they were under water. That is when they should be judged which plants are better and which are not.