My destiny was set when I was six months old.
At my annaprashan ceremony, I sat on my father’s lap and
reached out for the one object that would define me today. A pen. Later, when I
was trying my hand at filmmaking, my father reminded me that I was wasting my
talent and my future was already fixed. How I embraced it, and where I went
from there, was my choice.
The annaprashan ceremony or `mukhe
bhaat’ that we Bengalis call it, is the first time a child is fed rice. The six
month old sits on an elder’s lap, is first blessed and then fed solid food like
kheer. It’s followed by a game where the child has to touch one of the symbolic
objects placed on a silver plate. The plate has books – symbolizing he’s going
to be a philosopher or a very learned man, jewels or coins representing he’ll
be a businessman, a pen – signifying wisdom through writing, and grass or soil
indicating he’ll be one with the people or a politician. The plate is held up
for the child. And his profession is determined by what he touches.
I didn’t know it at six months, but
what kept me sane throughout my life was a diary I penned every night for
twenty years. I wrote poems and articles in spiral bound notebooks, my pen
being my precious possession. But, I was too inhibited to publish anything. When
I finally embraced my destiny, I wrote my debut novel Losing My Virginity And Other Dumb Ideas. The opening chapter I
wrote with a pen, sitting in a café and understanding that this is what I
wanted to do for the rest of my life.
There are some Indian traditions that
need to be passed from one generation to another. I’m glad my daughter touched
the book at her annaprashan ceremony. I’ll remind her to be wise later!
