Potter Patronus at Presidency

Literally Literary’s session on Harry Potter on 27^th August, 2013 starts with exploring the common inquiry of why we like Harry Potter and is ensued by the debate over movies versus books. One of the responses which harps on HP as a “cult” is asked for further elaboration-why “cult”? To which there is a spontaneous outburst-“We grew up with Harry Potter”. Issues which come up as the session proceeds are how has Dumbledore been dehumanized in the series or which mythical element in the books does one identify with.
Harry’s credibility as the protagonist falls into doubts by a statement “Harry had done nothing.” The streak of flamboyance in Harry which makes him reluctant about attending classes is frowned upon while another group of die hard Harry fans maintains “Harry may be a hero made by circumstances and destiny, but the nobility of his character makes us love him unquestionably.”

According to some members, the 4^th book in the series had ample evidence of the ‘grandeur factor’ owing to the series of events in the Triwizard Tournament, but the development of its plot has certain glitches. Why does Harry have to participate just because his name has been put into the Goblet of Fire by an unidentified person? Why did the Tournament Cup have to be the Portkey? Why did Barty Crouch, disguising himself as Mad Eye Moody, not kill Harry off during their personal interactions?  This is met with the supposition that in Hogwarts, Harry was immune from danger being under Dumbledore’s wings, and Barty was on the sole mission of presenting Harry before Voldemort. Perhaps the character most obsessed with the ‘grandeur factor’ is Voldemort whose selection of Horcruxes ascertains the fact-Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, Salazar Slytherin’s locket, Ravenclaw’s diadem etc causing  someone to state during the session -“ Voldemort is an attention-whore”.

The Harry Potter series is obsessed with the eternal battle between good and evil and clearly demarcates ‘goodness’ from ‘evilness’ which smacks of Christian ethics. Again, no mention of a God is made throughout the series which heightens suspicion because not all students attending Hogwarts hailed from wizarding communities-there are Muggle-born witches like Hermione who must have been acquainted with the notion of a divine power before she attended Hogwarts. Then did Rowling intend to make the series atheist in nature? Some are of the opinion that the magical world of HP is “polytheistic in line with Christianity”.
Continuing the debate over Rowling’s tendency of stereotyping good and evil, the question is raised-why does the Slytherin house proliferate all the bad witches and wizards while the Gryffindors are glorified as infallible, if not flawless?  This is rebuffed with examples of Horace Slughorn and Severus Snape, hailing from Slytherin, who gained Dumbledore’s confidence and Peter Pettigrew, a Gryffindor and deceiver who joined the Death Eaters. In connection to the terror implanted in the minds of the wizarding world by Voldemort’s reign of tyranny, the possibility arises that Rowling might have been inspired by Nazi Germany.
To adhere to the moralities of the magical world, characters considered as heroes cannot kill but purging is allowed. When Aveda Kedavra-d by Voldemort, Harry counters it with a disarming spell, but he stabs Tom Riddle’s diary (Voldemort’s Horcrux) with the Basilisk fang in the Chamber of Secrets. The only instance where we come across a good character killing an opponent in direct combat is when Molly Weasley’s motherly instinct makes her cast the death curse on Bellatrix Lestrange. 

Is the hero of the book male by default? While Frodo in LOTR is mediocre and feminine, Harry has been portrayed as majestic and very masculine. The three-headed dog in the Philosopher’s Stone and the love triangle between Harry, Hermione and Ron makes one curious if Rowling alluded to the Holy Trinity. Another issue raised is regarding the curbing of magic outside wizarding community and how the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, a bylaw of the Ministry of Magic, almost led to Harry’s expulsion from Hogwarts. Someone tried to trace a pattern in the reverse order of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs’ deaths, while such a choice is explained as poetic beautification by another member.  The necessity of revealing that Dumbledore was gay by Rowling in an interview is debated and the play with names like platform 9¾ makes the Potterheads wonder if Rowling meant to stress on the significance of the number 9. Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood are voted as the most superfluous characters in the HP series while Hagrid’s inferiority complex makes him a “weakling” in the eyes of a Potterhead only to be met with a volley of protests from a clan of Rubeus fans. Again, Draco Malfoy gains focus as members try to trace some element of goodness in his character.

A series of striking questions comes up during the session-

What did Rowling, the compulsive spinner, have in mind when she spun the final strands of her yarn back to Lily and Severus’ sepia space—Spinner’s End?

Were the 11 years of oppression in the Muggle world necessary for shaping Harry’s character?

Are Ron-Hermione and Harry-Ginny good matches?

Does “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” leave too many threads hanging?

How many students attended Hogwarts during Harry’s school life? What fate befalls the Dursleys? Why aren't there any druggies in the HP series?

Since time was terse, the session was wrapped up with the promise that the Potterheads are free to continue the session’s discussion in the Literally Literary blog, created for recording the activities of the Society’s events and for encouraging the interactions of its members.

Crater

There he was. And in front of him was a huge black crater, its depth seemingly unfathomable. Richard was a sky-diver had he had taken up the challenge of diving into the deepest meteor crater in Arizona desert.  Thousands of people were there to see it, their hearts beating rapidly as they waited for him to jump. After taking one deep breath, Richard jumped. Mid way through his diving apparatus got entangled and everyone braced themselves for a tragedy. He landed with minimal injury. Yet when he was finally pulled up, it was found that he had died somewhere in between. Reports stated that he had died of an unanticipated cause of scarcity of Oxygen in the crater.

--Subhadeep Panja

Department of Economics

UG 1

Escapist

I was browsing through my cupboard when I felt the touch of something familiar, something which almost beckons your soul. It was my school uniform, a milky white T shirt with ‘St Xaviers Institution’ stitched onto it. Little did I know before that such can be the power of a mere fabric -   I could almost smell the fragrance of those days, the moments that I had both loved and hated – the people, teachers, friends that I miss so dearly and even the ones that I never thought I would miss.  Now I have a new life, a whole new routine, a fresh opportunity to prove myself. But looking back at those days, I can ever only wish to be an escapist and time-travel my way back to them. 

--Anushree Ghosh

Department of English

UG 1

Story

What exactly is a story? It’s something we tell our family, friends, acquaintances, even strangers, with the purpose of evoking something in them. That something could be laughter, it could be sympathy, sorrow or joy. Why are stories important? Stories are perhaps the most subjective thing everyone has in common – and they aren’t limited to living beings. Everything and everyone has a story. We human beings have the ability to narrate our own stories and proliferate them. People live their stories and die but the stories live on, having been finished, or unfinished, as the case may be.  Stories are thus condensed expressions of one’s experiences. Not everyone has a book in them but they damn well have got at least one great story. 

--Argha Basu

Department of Economics

UG 1

Toy

‘And the Toys!!’

So there was this shabby, dark room in Mrs Raymond’s house where she used to stow away all her undesired belongings. There lived Bobo and Tuna. Both had been there for over twenty five years now. Meanwhile they fell in love with each other and decided to get married. That was before Mrs Raymond’s granddaughter found Bobo and decided to keep him.  Tuna was heartbroken, all their dreams seemed to fade away.  Days rolled into months and years. It had been ten years now that Tuna was all alone; Bobo belonged to someone else. Bobo too, was quite morose, even though Mrs Raymond’s granddaughter would take good care of him. But as they say, time flies, and soon the little girl stepped into her teens and started neglecting Bobo. She had fallen for this sweet middle school  guy called Jack, who had now replaced Bobo as the centre of her attention. One day she went to her Grandmother and said ‘I don’t want Bobo any more’. That was the day Mrs Raymond re-united Tuna and Bobo – the toys.  At this, Mrs Raymond sighed ‘Guess she has found herself a new toy!’ (We all know who she was referring to!)

Human beings too, become toys.

But thus Bobo and Tuna lived happily ever after. 

--Iman Sinha

Department of Philosophy

UG 1

Envelope

‘Text book of Physics’ landed with a ‘thud’ on the floor which was littered with many other articles. It was strange, as he had an unnatural fervor for neatness. But he was in crisis now and was in fervent search of something. His hairdo resembled Einstein’s – a result of clutching it in despair too many times. His eyes were bloodshot.

‘Shit! Where did I keep that darned envelope?’ he cried out.

Thirty minutes later he was sitting with his laptop, with a relieved smile. 

He had found the envelope that had on it his laptop user password.

--Sampurna Mukherjee

 Department of Bio Science

UG 1

Senile

Raj got up, dressed himself and went to the bus-stop. To his surprise, he bumped into the same woman whom he met at the senile slum near Bardhaman Bridge. The woman smiled and went away. Raj recollected the woman, who was on her death-bed then, saying she will die of excessive bleeding if she is not admitted to a hospital. But today she appeared to be an upper-class lady with an umbrella, in sari and high heels. Raj followed her till she went into a local pub. When Raj stepped inside, he could not find her. On interrogating with the bartender he was terrified to hear: “Good Morning Sir, You are our first customer today. What would you want to take?”

--Satyahi Baidya

 Department of English

UG 1

Rapier

The knight came riding on a horse, his armour glittering, his rapier blade shimmering in the bright sunlight. A medieval novel or a fairy tale?

                It is only a stage production. The sunlight is only floodlight, and the heroic rapier an aluminium foil. That’s the way a fairytale ends – not in “happily ever after”, but in “fall from grace”.

--Sanjana Chowdhury

UG 1

Knell

She had heard it again that morning. The death knell.

She was sure only they would not hear of it!!

At her age she KNEW.

Eighty-five! You know everything by then! They were convinced it was the church bell. She knew it wasn’t.

So more pills, more doctors, more treatment.

She would have to live through another day.

She who knew everything,

She who had seen everything,

She who had wanted to live no more.

She who knew god was calling….

She was going to live through yet another day.

“Eighty-five is not an easy age”, she sighed.

--Srimati Ghosal

Department of English

UG 1

Clarion

Paul had recently given his body to be a statistic bandwagon of morose and sorrowful who found euthanasia to be their solution to all their grievance in life. A mere statistic now, Paul’s body was disposed off in the graveyard of his country, which legalized the very practice of mercy-killing. He travelled neither to hell nor to paradise. Instead, he felt himself transported to a place called ‘WEAK of HEARTS’. Every poor soul who sought euthanasia as the problem to all their solutions where crying, whining, devastated - pleading to go back to the world they had not so easily left when their wishes were fulfilled. Someone saw the plight of their parents, craving to go back once more to see them smile. Someone was numb with sorrow for the lover – the sweet  boy she lost because she thought he didn’t care for her. So Paul, realizing his mistake, went back to earth through another body, to go into heaven by being good and kind.

                After his soul’s second host died, he saw that there was no heaven – it was all a hoax. There was no such thing as paradise. And, hell – well, sure was hell. Realizing that earth was the best option, albeit its many shortcomings, he went back to earth to do what he was doing, live.

--Rishov Paul

Department of English

UG 1

Pink

It was off bounds. It always was, and it still is. “But mommy!” said I, “I want that one”. The response was the usual, firm, negative. Mommy was unerring for some strange reason, and I was always crying, for one even stranger. The ‘Kids section’ of the clothes store in the posh mall in the prominent metropolitan was truncated into ‘Boys’ and ‘Girls’, and standing under the superhero- adorning wall marker, which indicated our presence in the former section, I cried out once more to my pensive, cigarette yielding, fair-skinned mother-who was busy drawing the attention of several men in the store- “But Mommy, why can’t I have the pink shirt?”

--Shaurya Sengupta

Department of English

UG 1

Shiver

Arpita could see her house gate. She was tired, afraid and shivering. Her legs were giving in but the destination was near, just a last burst of adrenaline was required.

She could feel the red liquid on her right hand but she didn't care to take a look t it. For all she knew the man was dead by now, she had stabbed him right in the neck. But then again, it was self protection.

The guy had been following her from Riyaz Street, but it was only at the end of Wilbur Cross, an empty street connecting her neighborhood, had the guy made his move. As soon as she felt his hands on her shoulder, she stabbed him with a pencil, hardly daring to open her eyes. All she could see was the deep red shirt that the guy wore.

‘Arpita! God you are late!’ said her mother at the gate.

‘I hope you remember that you cousin has arrived today from New York. He just went out to look for you, you couldn't really have missed him. He was wearing that red silk shirt you had given him last winter.’

Arpita stood still.

All she felt was a shiver, running down her spine. 

--Boibhav Sen

Department of Economics

UG 1

Moan

Just a week back I had seen her feeding her 10 day old child. Looking at their relationship, I really wondered at the bond of filial affection between the mother and the child. But were they aware of what would befall them soon?

It was winter. Destitute that they were, they had to spend the shivering nights on the pavement. The mother had withstood many such wintery nights, and survived this one too. But the child, just a puppy, followed his siblings to hades.

Poor dog! Her wails and moans could have found no match. There were no words to express her grief, her sorrow, the feeling of losing your child, while you survived to see the light of the next day. Only moans, moans and just moans. For five whole days, she protected his carcass, while she moaned through the night, made us spend sleepless nights.

--Debaparna Mukherjee

Department of English

UG 1

Cradle

She hid in the dark lane, the baby bundled in her arms. Their breathing was barely audible. She could hear the voices and footsteps of her pursuers. Her crime? The baby was a girl. It was a sin! Heresy!

She fled her village, and raised her child on her own, in the hardest of conditions. Today 50 years later, the child had grown to win the Nobel prize. In her speech, the child had thanked her mother for all her achievements, and asked everyone to remember “the hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world.”

--Sreyoshi Dhar

Department of English

UG 1

Crumble

Shakespeare has written about love, fantasy, ghosts, relationships which crumble into pieces. Crumble, as in breaking down in to pieces, or us breaking it down.

It was winter, around 20^th December.i jumped up from bed, and remembered I had to attend my   best friend’s wedding. Looking back when I was 23, I was very excited to attend her wedding. Now, it was just a formality.

We were best friends once, and promised each other I would be together forever. But our relationship crumbled when she decided to marry the man I loved, the same man who had betrayed me. I was happy atleast, that I would not be betrayed again.

The relationship crumbled… and its thoughts were making me weak. But I was going to go anyway to the wedding of my former lover and best friend.

--Dishari Sarkar

Department of English

UG 1

Veil

My sister’s wedding was a cold and beak morning in December.as I sat by the window, I saw a few children play in the fresh snow that had collected in their garden, or the remains of one. I smiled. Not a happy one.it reminded me of the not so fond memories of a childhood long gone…

An hour later, my sister could not be found. Perhaps pre-marital jitters. Or so everyone thought. Until somewhere amidst the snow someone spotted a veil, spotted with three drops of blood.

--Yagnaseni Mitra

Department of English

UG 1

Coniferous

India is a huge country, with different types of trees, vegetation and forests. The Himalayas are the youngest mountain ranges in our country, holding a very special place in it.

There are many kinds of trees in the Himalayas, one of which are the conifers. The coniferous trees have leaves the shape of cones, hence the names.

There once lived a boy named Ramu, whose only friend was a conifer.one day a woodcutter came and tried to take his friend away.

If we cut down the trees, the ecology, balance of nature will be destroyed. The very air we breathe will no longer have oxygen. We will no longer be able to breathe.

Ramu was able to stop the woodcutter that day.

“A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

--Priya Ghoshal
Department of Hindi
UG 1

Winter

With rags that barely cover you, and a stony permanent bed, a little cold was always chilly for me. I was idly sitting by, when a man came up, threw a few coins, and asked, “What do you think of winters, young boy?”

A blank expression, but a rush of thoughts.

But I never had thought of winters before.

3 winters back, papa spat blood, and lays motionless, cold...Colder than the night air.

2 winters back, they came and touched maa, and took her away.Laughing.next morning, she had blood on her.

Winters? Yes, they meant a lot to me.

--Kamala Sengupta

Department of English

UG 1

Sprig

One fine day, I was wandering about a desolate garden, without any purpose. Thoughts were wreaking havoc in my mind. I noticed a sprig lying on the path.at that moment I tried to associate myself with that sprig. Perhaps it was as lonely as I was. There were thoughts still plaguing me. I had always been afraid to be the “me” I wanted to be, the “me” that lived inside the outside “me”. In my attempt to embody the ideals I uphold, I had lost the essence of life, becoming as isolated as the sprig. I let it fall. It was time to be the “me” I was so afraid to be.

--Saradiya Chatterjee

Department of English

UG 1

Tank

The old school tank was a derelict sight. None paid heed to its need for maintainance. Rusted and old, it leaked all day, making the school rooftop a mess of moss, scum abundantly thriving.

But to us, it was a safe haven; especially when it came to bunking boring lectures. We started hanging around it from our fifth standard, playing cards and marbles. Slowly the neglected tank became witness to our growing mischiefs: bobbing teachers with water-filled balloons, smoking the butts of biris left by the occasional worker, romantic trysts with our “beloved(s)”.

The tank had been degrading in condition day by day ever since we first chanced upon it, while searching for a place to hide from our rather strict teachers. And it had seen us grow from children to young men who could think and act.

Like society remained indifferent to an individual’s progresses and weaknesses, the tank sat and watched, waiting for the time it would have to surrender.

--Arpan Kumar Saha

Department of English

UG 1

Papier Mache

There are two things in the world I love from the core of my soul.my life revolves around them: my art, and my dream girl. While art is with and within me, my girl is so far away.

Actually everyone is. They all think I’m mad. I know I’m not.

Today I will make my love immortal. I will bring art and her together .paper Mache is the perfect technique, to encase her beauty. I wish she would stop bleeding, and lay still.

--Shubhra Mayor

Department of English
UG 1

Lonely

And then it started raining heavily, and I could feel the drops that kissed my body, going down the memory lane and cherishing the long lost love was something that called for itself in this serene situation.

I was lonely standing on the street, I was totally left out. But was I really alive? Coz, she was with me all the time. The girl I loved. The someone who was my dream, whom I wanted to spend my life with, the angel, the most beautiful girl in the world. Maybe she was not with me in person, but she was in my mind all the time.

I remembered the times we spent together and days when we used to enjoy the rain.an I got lost in my thoughts.

Love is true when it’s unconditional!

So maybe she isn’t with me now, maybe I am just a lonely person. But my love for her will never cease, till infinity strike eternity.

--Mayukh Saha

Department of English

UG 1

Hello World

So! The much awaited blog of the Presidency University Literary Society is finally up and running. 

Do watch this space, we shall be uploading the non-prize winning entries of the Fresher's Microfiction Contest very shortly. :-)