I heard a lot from my mother when I was young. I heard from my mother that I was told at Singur Hospital that the last Wednesday of the month of Magh 1360 or 1371 in Bengal was neither morning nor night but I was born at 10:30. Our house was a mud house in Paltagarh village under Singur police station, Petokhola camp, tin door. We are four brothers and sisters, my sister grew up and then I became two brothers. My father Sushil Kumar Bandyopadhyay was a resident of Nalchira in Gournadi upazila of present day Barisal sub division of Bangladesh. At that time Nalchira belonged to Gournadi police station of Bakharganj. Now it is not known what the name is. My father came to Bengal before India became independent and was a resident of Paltagarh village under Singur police station. He used to teach in Biramnagar Primary School. My grandfather's name was Upendra Nath Bandyopadhyay. My grandmother's name was Nanibala Devi. I don't know how many more names there are in the documents that my father had. Such as 1) Dhirendra Nath Mukherjee 2) Narendra Nath Bandyopadhyay 3) Bama Sundari Devi
4) Gopal Chandra Mukherjee 5) Mukunda Chakraborty
6) Durgapada Bhattacharya 6) Kshirodasundari Devi I do not know what relationship with them. However, under the names of some of them, Thana - Gournadi Nalchira Sang - Kand Pasha is written. I heard from my father that my uncle Dhirendra Nath Mukherjee was a lawyer in the criminal court. Why am I writing so much? If anyone reads my blog post, if any of my father's relatives live in Bangladesh, write a comment in the command box. Why have I tried before to see if there is anyone in the father's relationship. I just want to know why my father came to Bengal before the country became independent, and in almost zero money. I say here that I am looking for property rights, but it is not. It's just curiosity.
I didn't talk about my father, but yes, no one can come into the world except my parents. So my father said I will write again if needed. Now I have to write a little about my mother, not because I didn't talk about my mother, because if it weren't for my mother, I wouldn't be here today. My mother gave her life for me. In the hands of one of my cousins. Mother made us suffer a lot, we got mother in a different way. He has fought every day of his life. Happiness did not have to be enjoyed. I can't forget those hard days of my mother. What an inhuman sorrow it was to not eat day after day. Dad used to work under his name, we didn't get to eat for half a day. Because then the teachers' salaries were low and irregular, another reason was my father's infamous vision, and another reason was the shopkeeper's cunning. Knowing how much the salary was, he would pay up to 8 rupees for the goods, take the extra price again, and write it down in the loan book even if the goods did not come, thus showing the total cost of the salary within fifteen days. We wouldn't let Dad go to the store when we grew up. We would go and fetch whatever we needed every day. At that time, even after spending the whole month on that salary, some money started to be left over.
Our pain was relieved a little, but my mother still had to go to work in the factory. Although the situation has improved since the 1980s. His previous condition is indescribable, eating from a fan brought from the next house. If I was fed at a public event in a remote place, holding Grandma's hand, I would leave even if she was on the train. Mother used to bring clothes. Sometimes he would buy it, buying winter clothes was unimaginable. I sewed the torn sheets of the old bed and cut them evenly. I didn't eat for half a day, I used to write on it, I used to write on it, I used to write on it, I used to write on it, I used to write on it, I used to write on it, I used to write on it.
He was tortured by the people of the neighborhood. Even if one of them lost his needle, we stole it. We searched our broken house and there was vandalism. There are some more things written about these, my words before, and the crisis of non-existence in two articles. Maybe no one read. I do not know if anyone will read in the future? Yet I write I wrote many drama poems from a young age which is now a thing of the past. Because I can't find all those written books now. One question that comes to my mind for a long time is whether Bengal is a separate caste such as Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, if not, then why do they address it as educated people in Bengal and Bengali caste? When I was in school, the headmaster of my school and many other teachers used to say Bengali caste. I studied at Paltagarh Radharani Primary and Paltagarh High School. I have still heard many well-educated people call themselves Bengalis. That is why the question arises in my mind.
Another question arises from my childhood, I think this question is not only mine but also the question of the people who came to Bengal from other parts of the world, like my father, who were empty-handed, risking their lives. Who created this so-called Bengali caste? The country became independent, the country was divided into three parts, Bengal and Punjab were divided. Thousands of homes were gutted. How many lives were lost, I think Gandhi and Nehru and Jinnah are responsible for this. In their greed for power, they have divided the country. They could not tolerate other Bengali leaders starting from Subhash Chandra Bose. And to divide Bengal from this intense racial hatred and not to allow Subhash Chandra Bose to enter the country. This did not stop the people from Upper Bengal who gave shelter. Andaman and Dandakaranya but did not facilitate survival. I hate the so-called big patriotic leaders who assert their power by breaking the unity of a nation in the name of love for power in the country. As a result of their insidious decision, the families have broken up, the social relations have been lost and they have left the country after losing their uncle, grandfather, PC and aunt. Again, many loved ones have died. And then all those famous freedom fighters conspired with the English and went to jail and pretended to be freedom fighters. He started to enjoy power by dividing the country. In fact, they have created this new nation, the "Bengali nation". And now they have to endure a lot of oppression. They don't even have the right to marry girls in Bengal. Although it happens, it is unknowingly. Knowing really says if marriage is. If a lot of information is not kept secret then the system of how to cheat the boy is ready. Why so much talk because my father had to get married. Jogmaya K, daughter of Khitish Chakraborty of Nadia district, who came to Bengal from Pabna district of Bangladesh. There is one side to this, there is another side as well, for example, a person from Upper Bengal cannot be a Brahmin. Again, if he comes to Bengal after losing everything like my father, he is a Brahmin but not a Brahmin. I heard that he came from the other side and became a Brahmin by hanging his neck. And the language of the mouth is Shala Bangal Bamun. I don't know any of these people who have lived in the city. He brought money from the other side, did they have to listen? I don't know, but the people who have been torn apart, lost everything, lost relatives, have been insulted by the educated and uneducated people of Bengal. Life has come to an end by suffering. Only in the greed of the power or dock of those three leaders or in the greed of becoming the Prime Minister or Minister. Bengali Hindus and Sikhs living in Punjab had to accept greed. Yet they are oppressed. We have been trying to occupy a small piece of land in the village of Paltagarh since the time of that father. As I have written before, during my father's time I saw people measuring land with ropes to create unrest. We had many kinds of fruit trees in our house. These would have happened if those trees had fruits. The fruits would be taken away and destroyed. And the language of the mouth was to drive out the Bengalis. It would have been fine if Amin had been brought and measured. I heard Ozmi say one thing over and over again that it was not to donate to us, I heard from my father that the donation was made to reduce the cost of documentation. Everyone might think you didn't say something very good, just looked back. I used to say what we used to do. I used to hire some of them in the hope of getting a handful of food. If it was a little wrong and any pet in our house would go to the land or around the house, then there would be no need to start their campaign to drive out the Bengalis. Many do not know my father's real name, he became. Barisal Master, if anyone in the area would say well, then my identity is the son of Barisal Master. Because my father came from Barisal district.
My fifty years of life experience. Because my personal life is a drama, maybe many don't like it. But tell me what to do, I have written something about other things before. No one seems to have read my blog. I am writing everything from my personal opinion experience. I have nothing to do with this sad word if anyone is looking for an opportunity. Nobody likes it. But everything is true, because from morning to night and from birth to death, politics controls people's lives. As I have seen, our family was attacked by a political party when the party in power showed its power. As I wrote earlier, my father's salary was stopped in 1971, again from 1986 to 1988 for about two years. But every day from 1986 to 1988 I reached the school myself. The reason behind that is politics. However there is much more to write. However, I gave the following piece of old document which belongs to Gournadi police station of Nalchira village in Barisal, Bangladesh. To know the identity of my father or my family. There is someone who knows that name. Then I hope you will write on my Facebook. I've written about it before, but it's not over yet. Because as I said before, every event that happened in my life is memorable. But there are good and bad people in the society. Neighbors can not become neighbors. But if it weren't for the good people, we wouldn't be alive. Anyway, I'm over fifty now. So my fifty years in the title, I will share the happiness and sorrows of me and my family with everyone from the memory of these fifty years. I have already written that sadly people look for opportunities. Again, many rejoice in the sorrows of others.

Again, I have heard such a thing that a burdened mind can be lightened, so today I will write about all the joys and sorrows of my life. First I say that when I had a little bit of knowledge, I learned to understand, since then, scarcity and scarcity did not add food to the house every day. I don't know why, but I heard my father's salary was not right. Many grocery stores were empty-handed. Salary was irregular but some shopkeepers were dishonest. They used to know how much the salary was, they used to increase the price of the goods after giving the goods for fifteen or twenty days and keep all the money in the salary. This is what we realized when we grew up, we started bringing goods from the grocery store. We used to keep the book with us and write down the price every day. It has changed since I started keeping it as it is. However, if the salary was irregular, there would be chaos. Now let's talk about my birth vit. Janma Vite is a place surrounded by bamboo forest on both sides of the main road of Paltagarh village under Singur police station. Here is our earthen wall, a room with a tin door with a tent to open the stomach. Various fruit and flower trees in the house. The wall was not empty in all directions. If it rained a little and the wind was strong, the stomach would be moved by the bamboo dog, then the rain water would not fall outside. The wall filled with rat holes has at times collapsed. However, there was another small shed-like kitchen next to the main house and its walls were more broken. The wall of the big house had once collapsed. I do not know why people were so angry with us! My father came to Bengal two or three years before the country became independent. And when India was divided and the country became independent, the Hindus in East Pakistan were being slaughtered. I heard from Baba Thakumar that the most riotous was Noakhali Jessore Khulna Barisal Baba brought Thakuma from East Pakistan in April 1948. There was a Bangladeshi tension in Grandmother's language. We were Bengali children, how much more. Educated masters used to say even mosquitoes. If I listened to all that and thought then the residents of West Bengal are not Bengalis! I have suffered from severe inferiority complex. Now I wonder how much my father has endured, the oppression of the so-called educated and uneducated people of Bengal. Many would think that this oppression is over now, no. There are some people with such neighboring names and their descendants still come to occupy the land if given the opportunity.
