Hesitation: She’s not a writer, she needs the identity of a working woman, but the big problem today is finding a job

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It’s a weird situation that the society that respects me as a writer doesn’t want to give me any jobs. Ask me, I’d rather be recognized as a working woman than as a writer.

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I write something with the strength of normal education, but I hesitate to consider myself a writer. Despite this, for some of the books I’ve written, a part of society considers me a writer, so it’s my luck. I had the presence of a great person, thanks to whom I came to this position today. He was the great man of the novel, grandson of Samrat Premchand and now deceased Prabodh Kumar.

By the way, he had gone to work at his home in Gurgaon. The appearance of a working woman as a writer was astonishing. But today I think it might have been more convenient for me to be a working woman than to be a writer. Because where I am, work and occupation are more important to me than respect, honor, and respect.

The appetite of the stomach is not satisfied with respect and respect, so money is needed. And finding a job based on my training and qualifications is a big problem for me today. Whoever I talk to about my work, start thinking ten times. In fact, it is not the fault of the people. They understand why a writer like me needs a job! From this point of view, being a writer has become an obstacle to my work. When they hear me, people start saying, “What good work do I have to give you?

You write, this is your identity as a writer. The way the person in front of me is surprised when I ask for my job, I am equally amazed at their behavior and I respond that what a good idea this is! I know, so I don’t need a job? Isn’t work a problem for writers? Don’t I need money to live? Then he shouldn’t even be alive. Many times I start thinking about myself after hearing people’s words.

To tell my story, I have never been in a good position. I heard from my mother that when I was little I used to cry a lot. Angry at my crying, Dad threw me from one bed to the next one day, so he hurt me and started bleeding. Seeing my condition, my mother took me to the doctor crying. Even today, when I think of that incident, the question arises that when I was very young, why did my father make me angry?

Always crying, why? Or was I unwanted in my father’s eyes because I was born after a daughter and a son? In our society, having more than one daughter always causes grief and hatred. The incident of my release was from Jammu and Kashmir, where my father was serving in the army. My mother said that there was a deep ditch near our house. If my father had thrown me harder, I might have fallen into a ditch where it would not have been possible for me to come back alive. It would have saved me from the problems I had to face later.

Although I would say that Prabodh Kumar, whom I used to call Tatush, changed my life. In 1999 I went to work at his house. While I was doing my homework, seeing my interest in books, he handed me a pen. What I first wrote with his mind was published in the form of a book entitled Aalo-Andhari. From then until 2013-14, my life went well. The proceeds from the books went to the education of the children. As a writer, I also had the opportunity to travel around the country and abroad.

My house was also built in Halishahar, West Bengal. But my children used to think that Tatush’s house in Gurgaon was his home. My daughter has grown up under his affection. Because of this, leaving Gurgaon and returning to Halishahar was not very easy.
The way I started my life in Gurgaon, I had to start my life the same way in my home state. It was not easy to find a job there.

Still, I got a job at an NGO with the help of a Hindi writer. Traveling from Halishahar to Calcutta by local train usually takes four hours. Growing up in deprivation since childhood, I am not afraid of hardship. But after the NGO closed three years later, I was back on the road. I couldn’t understand what to do. But fate once took me to Gurgaon, where my brother, who was suffering from cancer, was in the hospital. He came to Gurgaon to meet him for the last time, but that night he parted from all of us.

He had to start his life once again in Gurgaon in the middle of Corona. Fortunately, however, children are no longer my responsibility. But I have to do something to get up. The trials that I have to go through in my life, countless people from all over the country and the world go through this situation. As I write and read something, I am able to record my joys and sorrows. But the strange thing is that the society that respects me as a writer doesn’t want to give me a job. Ask me, rather than a writer, would I rather be recognized as a working woman.

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I write something with the strength of normal education, but I hesitate to consider myself a writer. Despite this, for some of the books I’ve written, a part of society considers me a writer, so it’s my luck. I had the presence of a great person, thanks to whom I came to this position today. He was the great man of the novel, grandson of Samrat Premchand and now deceased Prabodh Kumar.

By the way, he had gone to work at his home in Gurgaon. The appearance of a working woman as a writer was astonishing. But today I think it might have been more convenient for me to be a working woman than to be a writer. Because where I am, work and occupation are more important to me than respect, honor, and respect.

The appetite of the stomach is not satisfied with respect and respect, so money is needed. And finding a job based on my training and qualifications is a big problem for me today. Whoever I talk to about my work, start thinking ten times. In fact, it is not the fault of the people. They understand why a writer like me needs a job! From this point of view, being a writer has become an obstacle to my work. When they hear me, people start saying, “What good work do I have to give you?

You write, this is your identity as a writer. The way the person in front of me is surprised when I ask for my job, I am equally amazed at their behavior and I respond that what a good idea this is! I know, so I don’t need a job? Isn’t work a problem for writers? Don’t I need money to live? Then he shouldn’t even be alive. Many times I start thinking about myself after hearing people’s words.

To tell my story, I have never been in a good position. I heard from my mother that when I was little I used to cry a lot. Angry at my crying, Dad threw me from one bed to the next one day, so he hurt me and started bleeding. Seeing my condition, my mother took me to the doctor crying. Even today, when I think of that incident, the question arises that when I was very young, why did my father make me angry?

Always crying, why? Or was I unwanted in my father’s eyes because I was born after a daughter and a son? In our society, having more than one daughter always causes grief and hatred. The incident of my release was from Jammu and Kashmir, where my father was serving in the army. My mother said that there was a deep ditch near our house. If my father had thrown me harder, I might have fallen into a ditch where it would not have been possible for me to come back alive. It would have saved me from the problems I had to face later.

Although I would say that Prabodh Kumar, whom I used to call Tatush, changed my life. In 1999 I went to work at his house. Seeing my interest in books, he gave me a pen while I was doing my homework. What I first wrote with his mind was published in the form of a book entitled Aalo-Andhari. From then until 2013-14, my life went well. The proceeds from the books went to the children’s education. As a writer, I also had the opportunity to travel around the country and abroad.

My house was also built in Halishahar, West Bengal. But my children used to think that Tatush’s house in Gurgaon was his home. My daughter has grown up under his affection. Because of this, leaving Gurgaon and returning to Halishahar was not very easy.

The way I started my life in Gurgaon, I had to start my life the same way in my home state. It was not easy to find a job there.

Still, I got a job at an NGO with the help of a Hindi writer. Traveling from Halishahar to Calcutta by local train usually takes four hours. Growing up in deprivation since childhood, I am not afraid of hardship. But after the NGO closed three years later, I was back on the road. I couldn’t understand what to do. But fate once took me to Gurgaon, where my brother, who was suffering from cancer, was in the hospital. He came to Gurgaon to meet him for the last time, but that night he parted from all of us.

He had to start his life once again in Gurgaon in the middle of Corona. Fortunately, however, children are no longer my responsibility. But I have to do something to get up. The trials that I have to go through in my life, countless people from all over the country and the world go through this situation. As I write and read something, I am able to record my joys and sorrows. But the strange thing is that the society that respects me as a writer doesn’t want to give me a job. Ask me, rather than a writer, would I rather be recognized as a working woman.

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