# The Tempering of Steel

- Link: https://writersworkshopindia.com/2019/12/10/the-tempering-of-steel/
- Published: 2019-12-10T01:11:36+00:00
- Author: shuktara

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**Author:** Syamantakshobhan Basu[⌊A sample cover of the book: olive green coloured sari with gold embossed nameplate and lettering for the title and author's name. The border of the sari lines the right hand margin of the cover.⌉](https://writersworkshopindia.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/The-Tempering-of-Steel-scaled-1.jpeg)
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Pages:** 80 **Year of Publication:** 2019 **Price:** Rs 250 **ISBN:** 978-81-941819-
6-5 (9788194181965)

_**About the Author**_
 Syamantakshobhan Basu thrives on the shock his name generates
as it rolls off the tongue. He is a research scholar at Jadavpur University, an 
activist, a film enthusiast and fiction writer. He is also an avid sports fan. All
this is actually deep cover for his true identity as an incorrigible punmaker and
unpaid comedian. He currently resides in Kolkata.

_**Teaser**_

_Walking in the Streets of a Free __Country_

I live in a free country;
 Land of the Free, home of the Brave Abode of everything
that is Holy. In this free country the open streets Are nothing like a prison, Nothing
like a minefield scattered With the sleeping bodies of half-naked people.

I walk these free streets at night
 Singing loudly of the freedom I enjoy; To eat
as I please, dress as I like And love whomever I want. I pass the shuttered factory
gate and Hear the workers sing of their freedom to starve, I walk past my Muslim
neighbours’ home While they freely watch Republic TV Politely suggesting they go
to Pakistan.

I walk the littered streets under the orange glow
 Of dying electric lamps and past
the shanty Of the man who will sweep them with his broom In the morning, delighted
that he is fulfilling His ancient duty of cleaning up after the gentlemen. Freely
he enters manholes and covers himself with shit Remembering stories of others like
him who died there.

They tell me a woman was shot last night,
 Gauri Lankesh they said her name was.
Freely she wrote about freedom taken away, About lives lost and humanity degraded.
Freely she let her pen sharpen like a sword And willingly she pointed it at those
who said That in order for the land to be more free Most of us would have to give
up all freedom.

Three men walked up to her while she was
 Entering the place she called home and
shot her Seven times, letting the blood run freely from her Lifeless body slumped
on the earth of this free country.

I walk the streets and reach my home;
 I look around three times before I enter,
Searching for hidden assailants in the bushes. Perhaps someday soon they will walk
up to me And put some bullets in my thoughtless head.

This is a free country,
 They have every freedom to do so.

_**Contents**_
 45 poems spread across 3 sections