Carolyne Wright spent four years on Indo-US Subcommission and Fulbright Senior Research fellowships in Kolkata and Dhaka, Bangladesh, collecting and translating the work of Bengali women poets.  Volumes of these translations published so far are THE GAME IN REVERSE: POEMS OF TASLIMA NASRIN (George Braziller, 1995), ANOTHER SPRING, DARKNESS: SELECTED POEMS OF ANURADHA MAHAPATRA (Calyx Books, 1996), and the anthology, MAJESTIC NIGHTS: LOVE POEMS OF BENGALI WOMEN (White Pine Press, 2008).  Wright's most recent collection, A CHANGE OF MAPS (Lost Horse Press, 2006), was nominated for the LOS ANGELES TIMES Book Award, and was a finalist for the Idaho Prize and Alice Fay di Castagnola Award from the Poetry Society of America. It won the 2007 Independent Book Publishers Bronze Award for Poetry, and was reviewed in THE IOWA REVIEW, 38/1. Her previous book, SEASONS OF MANGOES AND BRAINFIRE (Eastern Washington UP / Lynx House Books, 2005), won the Blue Lynx Prize and the American Book Award from the Before Columbus Foundation.  Wright moved back to her native Seattle in 2005, where she serves on the faculty of the Whidbey Writers Workshop MFA Program, and serves as visiting poet around the country, most recently as 2008 Thornton Writer in Residence at Lynchburg College, and Distinguished Northwest Poet at Seattle University.
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- by Kajal Mukhopadhyay and Mousumi Dutta Roy

How do Bengali women love in times of social transition and political upheaval?  How do Bengali women tell their truths of the heart and mind through the prism of their struggles for equality, opportunity, and recognition in a changing society?  Award-winning poet, translator, and scholar Carolyne Wright recently spoke to Urhalpool about these questions, her travels in India and Bangladesh, the challenges of writing and translating poetry, and her time with some of the Bengali language’s great female poets.  This interview continues from the previous installment in our autumn issue .

Urhalpool:  How do you define your connection to Bengal and Bengali literature?

Carolyne Wright:  How do I define my connection?  Well, I would say that I’m an engaged spectator as well as a participant.  And the way I participate is by collecting and reading this work, and trying to remain aware--from the time I first began with a sense of some of the history of this work, going back to the 19th century, and continuing through the 20th and to some extent, of literary movements and literary events going on now.  Though I don’t really write in Bangla (beyond some letters),  I’ve written a good deal about my experiences in India and Bangladesh, both with the writers and with people I met while traveling, getting involved with the culture  in many different ways.  It’s been a privilege to be able to enter into the culture as much as I have, and I always try to do so on its own terms.  That is very important--to try to understand the literature, the writing, the culture on its own terms.  I was not interested in going in there and changing anything according to some other culture’s values.  I was always very interested, while there, to do everything with people as they did: dressing and speaking and traveling, and living as best I could in the way that people living there would live...

Urhalpool:  Why did you single out, as a person or a Western woman, a cultural activist I would say, Bengal?  Because we have seen people either tied by marriage to India, going back to Lila Ray…

Carolyne Wright:  Oh yes… Lila Ray, I met her too.  She married a Bengali writer, basically lived in Kolkata most of her life, and spoke very good Bangla; but when she opened her mouth to speak English, she had this amazing Texas accent.  She sounded like Texas!  (Laughing) Lila-di sounded like George Bush—no insult to her!--or the way Bush tried to sound!  He was really originally from New England …

Urhalpool:  But see, you were the person who went to Bengal just for the love of Bengal, it seemed.  Where did you get this feeling?

Carolyne Wright:  Ah, well, how did I get interested in this part of the world?  When I was an undergraduate at Seattle University—at that time there was a good deal of interest in India… some of it came through popular culture:  the Beatles had been meditating with the Maharishi, right?  Of course I didn’t realize then that this Maharishi and the whole Krishna consciousness movement was from Sri Chaitanya; it was Vaishnavism.  He was a Vaishnav, or he started that way, but then became quite materialistic, but these people come to the West preaching—

Urhalpool:  Sacrifice—

Carolyne Wright:  Non-attachment.  And pretty soon they’ve got all these big cars and bevies of girlfriends and yet they were supposedly monks.  I was very, very, very skeptical of all of that because it seemed to me a new form of the same old selling of religion to people hungry for connection to higher truth—it was the televangelist’s scam but dressed in orange robes.  In any case, I was interested in India because I was also reading a good deal of Indian literature and philosophy and history as part of my studies at Seattle University.  I was in the special Humanities Honors Program, and we did this whole unit, you could call it, this whole study where in history class we were reading the history of India, we were reading the Upanishads for philosophy class, and the Bhagavad-Gita for literature, and several other works that were available.  And I was just fascinated by that but I was also aware… well, this is ancient India, this is the way India was some thousands of years ago--what about India now?  Of course, I knew about Gandhi and Nehru, Indira Gandhi, and many of the developments happening at the time, but not as much about the writers, artists, and the everyday life of people.  Then, a few years later, this young man appeared one day in the Milton seminar:  he was from India.  Another woman in this class, a graduate student, had just returned recently from India.  She had been, I think it was, in Nagpur on an Indo-U. S. Subcommission Fellowship.  Having spent that time in India, she looked at this fellow and said, “Oh, he’s from somewhere in the East, Bengal or Orissa or someplace like that.”  And so we talked to him afterwards--it turned out that he was from Kolkata, and he claimed to be related to Satyajit Ray and to have acted in Ray's films.  Later on, the same fellow did a film series at the University of Washington, and showed a number of Ray's early films.  I attended, and just fell in love with the beauty of the films.  The music was so beautiful and the people were just amazing, the language—I couldn’t understand a word, but it was absolutely lovely.  It was then that I became interested in the culture of Bengal especially, and  I wondered how I could learn more.   Some years went by before I heard again about this fellowship, the Indo-U.S. Subcommission Fellowship, and I applied.  My project was to translate, collaboratively translate, the work of Bengali women poets and writers.  I was aware of Rabindranath, of course:  at that time he was the one Indian writer--if anybody had heard of any Indian writer--he would have been the one.

Urhalpool:  Rabindranath Tagore, yes.

Carolyne Wright:  So I said, “They have had one outstanding male writer who is a genius in many different genres, not just in literature; but what about the women?  There must be women writing as well.”  Actually there was another American poet named David Ray who had recently spent time in Rajasthan, in Jaipur, on an U.S. Subcommission Fellowship.  When I met him at a conference, he encouraged me, saying, “You should apply for one of these,” because of my interest in India.  I began reading and doing some research, coming across some names of women writers, and realized that there really must be women writing.  So I applied, I got the fellowship, and went to Kolkata, and there I was for two years.  So that’s more or less how it happened.

Urhalpool:  So your memoir, Crossing the Seasonal River: A Journey Among the Women of Bengal, it’s very difficult to get because we tried to find a copy, but we could not get it.

Carolyne Wright:  Oh! That book is not published. No, no, it’s not published yet.  That’s the memoir in progress; I work on it when I can.  Mainly I’ve gotten a few essays published about the work with translation, including a few pieces about those funny experiences that one has when one first lands up in a new place.

Urhalpool:  That’s why we wanted to read it.

Carolyne Wright:  Right, right.  No, it’s not the only the only thing--some of the essays I had written about Taslima [Nasrin], I don’t know if any of those are available on the internet, and then my essay about meeting Ted Hughes in Bangladesh, that would be in the memoir also…  In fact, on my long list of many things to do, that’s one of the books I have to finish!

Urhalpool:  We look forward to it really.  It will be really interesting.

Carolyne Wright:  That’s good because one of the challenges with being a writer from this country who has gone to other parts of the world—and I think there is increasing interest in that now because this country, the US, has been very, very focused on itself, like an egocentric person.  This egocentricity comes out rather like, “Oh we are so interested in diversity in this country.   So you come from India?  Well, what do you think of our shopping malls and suburbs?”   That has been one version of this country’s notion of diversity--we’ve got lots of people in this country now from Asia and Africa and Latin America and what do they think of our suburbs and shopping malls?  This attitude is rather like the self-involved person who says, “Now let’s talk about you: what do you think of my new book?”  This cultural self-centeredness isn’t about, well, what about the culture you came from and how do you maintain the wealth of your culture in this country?   What is your relationship with your place of origin, your culture of origin, and how is that transformed in this new context?  But in reality I think that another version of this sort of crossing borders is that of a person from here going someplace else.  I even had—and I laugh about this now because of the other part of the world where I had been very involved is South America, especially Chile. I have a whole book of poetry—in fact it was chosen by Yusef Komunyakaa for an award (the Blue Lynx Prize)—this book is called Seasons of Mangoes and Brainfire.  It was interesting because Pablo Neruda, the famous Chilean poet who was the Tagore of Chile in a way--a brilliant poet, so prolific, he spent a few years in Burma, in Rangoon when he was in his twenties, as a diplomat for Chile.  He wrote a good deal of poetry filled with all of that proliferation of life and humidity and monsoon and heat, which he absorbed from his experience there.  Included in Seasons of Mangoes and Brainfire is a poem in the voice of a Burmese woman whom Neruda had known there, a woman who had been his lover, named Josie Bliss—that was her English name, the name she gave herself.  When I was sending out the manuscript  of Seasons of Mangoes and Brainfire—which is of poems about the experience of a woman from the West entering into the cultures of Latin America: Brazil, Chile—

Urhalpool:  Argentina—

Carolyne Wright:  Peru, Bolivia—a woman trying to enter into those cultures on their own terms.   One of the university presses to which I submitted the manuscript sent it on to an outside reader, which means that the collection reached their second stage of consideration.  But in his evaluation, this outside reader (I’m sure he was a male) wrote—something to the effect of—who does this woman think she is to presume to write about these other cultures, to speak for the people of other cultures?   His wording… implied something about why doesn’t she go back to where she came from and write about her own culture?  I wonder if I can find that… 

Urhalpool:  How dare she write about other cultures instead of—

Carolyne Wright:  Right, right.  It’s like this is material for other cultures to write about.  They should write about themselves.  Who was I to presume to write about them—and yet the literature of travel, that has certainly been written by many people.  It’s not the literature of travel unless you’ve gone somewhere else, beyond your own known places!  So, that was the gist of that outside reader’s comments:  “Who does she think she is to write about other cultures?”  But I don’t think I will get that same sort of response for what I have written about India and Bengal.  For some reason I think not.  It just might be that Latin America is more problematic, having to do partly with the United States’ foreign policy toward—oh here it is, yes.  Here is this evaluator, ah here we go:  “She seems to think that exotic or violent subject matter will carry a lot of feeling, but mostly her subjects don’t, because of her failure as an artist,” etc.  Anyway, yes, “The foreign in her poems is treated as exotic, violent, cruel.”  Well, when one is writing about times of war and revolution and overthrow of governments, particularly the U.S.-backed military coup in Chile in 1973, which led to the deaths and disappearances and exiling of a number of Chileans whom I knew—well, yes, that would be the subject matter!

Urhalpool:  Subject matter, yes.

Carolyne Wright:  Yes, a part of the subject matter, but not all of it.  So, the sense here was—

Urhalpool:  You’re not welcome, kind of.  I think you are also more welcomed, as you said,  you will never receive that kind of thing, because I think you kind of blended yourself with Bengali or part of India easily and you speak Bengali very well.

Carolyne Wright:  Ami chesta kori.

Urhalpool:  Really yeah, but when did you learn it?

Carolyne Wright:  Well, I’d done a little studying in this country.  I never really took a course even though Carol Salomon was teaching Bengali here in Seattle for many years at the University of Washington.  But I did not become aware of her until I already had the U.S. Subcommission Fellowship and was home in Seattle in the months prior to departure—after I learned about her,  I met with her a few times.   She’s the one who had translated a lot of the work of Lalon Shah Fakir, and she taught courses in Bengali at the University of Washington for quite a long time, but during most of that time I was not living in Seattle.  I mean, I’m from Seattle, but I was teaching in other cities or I was on fellowship in other parts of the country.  Years before, I had had some opportunity to study the language individually using this little text that I had found in a used bookstore, which was called something like Teach Yourself Bengali.  It was good because it had the script, it had the alphabet, it had dialogues written both in English and in Bangla, but the Bangla was written in actual Bangla script, not transliterated, not in Roman letters with the matras over the a's and the u's, and the o's, but written in Bangla script, so that I had to learn the script.  And I met a lady here in Seattle whose husband was working at Boeing--he was an engineer.  She was sort of bored because I think she had somewhat of a traditional marriage—she was just living in their apartment with their two-year-old son, and didn’t have a lot to do.  She was a convent-educated Kolkatar meye, a young woman from Kolkata.  I think she had gone to one of the good girls’ schools in Kolkata, and teaching me some Bangla gave her something to do besides take care of her child and do housework.  So, I used go to take the bus over to her place; then later on the two of them with their child were going back to India, and I was on my way to graduate school in Syracuse, so I didn’t get to continue with her, but later on when I arrived in Kolkata—

Urhalpool:  You already knew Bengali?

Carolyne Wright:  I knew a little bit, I could say “Amar naam Carolyne.” and “Apnar desh kothai?”  “Kota baaje?”  I could say three or four things; but if my accent was too good, then people would say “Aapni bangla katha bolen …” and then start speaking at normal conversational speed with colloquial expressions and everything!   God knows I couldn’t understand anything they were saying at normal conversational speed!  But I was there in Kolkata, to do a lot of study.  There was a gentleman who lived across the street from the Ramakrishna Mission, where I stayed in Kolkata--I was able to do some study with him.  Later I had another teacher, Sagarika Bhattacharya, who ultimately moved to London--she’s still in London, I think—another American friend and I studied with her, and that was a lot of fun.  I just studied as much as I could.  And I learned a lot from the translation work itself--meeting with the poets and writers, and with my translation collaborators; reading the original poems slowly, sounding them to myself, then talking a great deal with the people I was working with:  among them Jyotirmoy Datta, Paramita Banerjee, Swapna Mitra--now Banerjee—who is now an Associate Professor of History at Brooklyn College.  At that time she was doing her master’s degree in History at Calcutta University; she had been sent to me by one of her teachers—what was her name?  Uma DasGupta: Uma-di, as we called her—who worked for one of the cultural missions.  In any case, Swapna and I worked together on Radharani Devi and a few other poets, Kabita-di [Kabita Sinha], and I loved that work.  The longer I was there in Kolkata, just conversing informally with people, the more Bangla I picked up.  Then when I went to Bangladesh on the Fulbright Senior Research Fellowship, the advantage was that after the Bangladesh War of Liberation, Muktijuddho, in 1971, because of pride in the language and the freedom to conduct the affairs of state in Bangla, many of the English-medium schools had converted to Bangla medium.  This meant that most of the educated people my age or younger in Bangladesh had not had English-medium schooling all the way through, as had their counterparts in West Bengal.  Most of their classes had been taught in Bangla.

Urhalpool:  In Bengali.

Carolyne Wright:  Yes, Bengali--so their English was not as strong…  There were fewer people with this really excellent command of English.  So that when I tried to speak in Bangla, people would answer me in Bangla!  So, I was learning much more Bangla, much more rapidly, in Bangladesh.  That was an advantage for me.  Much of my learning was that way--very informal and through the study I did to translate the work. 

Urhalpool:  So in a sense [you faced] this crossing, these barriers of language, the culture particularly. You stayed there for so long, so the food was something, and then you had to wear sarees sometimes, I guess.

Carolyne Wright:  Yes.  As I stand here in my office, I’m looking at three suitcases full of sarees, and in my closet in the bedroom there is a suitcase full of salwar kameez.   In fact, when my husband and I got married, I wore one of my salwar kameezes.

Urhalpool:  Wow!

Carolyne Wright:  Yeah.  I didn’t have a Benarasi saree.

Urhalpool:  It must have been a great experience for you.

Carolyne Wright:  Oh, it was wonderful.

Urhalpool:  Right.  And what was the most challenging aspect of your adjusting or working with people or putting together this collection?    What one element did you find was most difficult?

Carolyne Wright:  Oh let’s see, frustrations.   Many of them were humorous, such as when native speakers of Bengali gave me their English versions of poems.  One of these was from Bangladesh, in a poem called “Rain Sheaves This Alluvial Night,” by Khaleda Edib Chowdhury.   I was sorry to hear that she passed away suddenly last year.  Her piece could be called a prose poem—or a short-short these days--but it’s really very lyrical.  There’s one phrase in it, “in the stream of naked pleasure,” on page 80 in the anthology:  “Ah what a conspiracy of treasure in the blood, in the endless deep darkness, in the stream of naked pleasure,” etc.   It was beautiful and very sensuous.  “In the stream of naked pleasure” in Bengali is “nogno bilasher shrote.”

Urhalpool:  Right, right.

Carolyne Wright:  Yes, “naked pleasure's stream” or “in the stream of naked pleasure,” which is very close to the exact meaning, and also sounds good in English.  Except that the gentleman who gave me his rendering of it--he was a native Bengali speaker, a journalist who spoke pretty good English.  One of the dangers of relying solely on the dictionary and on schoolbook understanding of a language is not knowing which of the various possible translations of a word is really the best one, or what it sounds like in the new language.  He had rendered that phrase, “nogno bilasher shrote,” as “in the stream of nude deluxe.”    Nude deluxe!  In reality, “nude” sounds more  refined than naked, and “deluxe”—bilash, I guess—sounds better than the blunt “pleasure.”  For example, a bilash hotel would be a deluxe hotel, but “nude deluxe” in English sounds silly.  But it was such a wonderful bit of silliness, I loved it.  And so I may write an essay at some point about some of the pleasures and perils of translation, and I will call it “In the Stream of Nude Deluxe: the Pleasures and Perils of Translating from Bengali.”

Urhalpool:  Actually this brings us to one of the things that we were thinking about even before preparing for this interview that you have this memoir coming out.  We didn’t know that it wasn’t yet published, so I was going through internet searches to find it out if it were out there.  Now that we know that it’s in preparation, there’s the anticipation of that, the excitement…  Because you know, the funnier elements are missing.  In a way, being insiders, we do not, sometimes do not observe the way that you have observed.

Carolyne Wright:  Right, right.

Urhalpool:  That is really fantastic for us.

Carolyne Wright:  Thank you!  I think that one of the challenges in publishing these poems from the original Bangla to English is that usually the books are not bilingual.  As the books of translation come out, very few volumes are bilingual.  One is by Copper Canyon Press,  called The Lover of God, which was translated literally by Bengali scholar Tony Stewart and  rendered into poetry by Chase Twichell—she also provided a blurb for the back of Majestic Nights.  The Lover of God is a bilingual volume published by Copper Canyon Press. The poet, of course, is Rabindranath, and these are early poems of his; but the book was originally published under a pseudonym:  was it Bhanusinha? Something like that.

Urhalpool:  Bhanusingha.

Carolyne Wright:  Yeah.  Bhanusingher Kathadabali or, what was it?  Padabali? 

Urhalpool:  Padabali.

Carolyne Wright:  He created this poetry in archaic, really medieval Bengali!  He invented the persona of a medieval devotional poet, Bhanusinha, when he was fourteen—the book was a sensation when it was first published, because many readers believed that they were reading the work of a never-before-known medieval Vaishnava poet!  This would be like creating the persona of a medieval English poet—a contemporary of Chaucer, say—and writing a whole volume of poetry in Middle English!  It was really a masterful literary hoax!  Ironically, The Lover of God is one of the only bilingual books of poetry in translation from Bengali that I know of, published in the original Bangla on one side and the English translation on the other.  Most publishers would say, “Well, it’s not economically feasible to do this.”  Now, maybe if the Bengali community in this country and in other English-speaking countries were able to influence these publishers or even donate funds toward more bilingual volumes, this would be really useful.  In fact, I’m putting a little bug in your ear about this, right here and now--a little pipre in your ear.

Urhalpool:  That was the main reason we conceived Urhalpool.  We thought it should be a bilingual magazine because most Bengalis and Indians can read English.  So, we kind of know this part of the story, but most of the Westerners do not get their hands on what is going on in the other part of the world.

Carolyne Wright:  Right!  Indeed, it’s important to have a mutual exchange here—and if books could be published bilingually, it might require, I mean, that some publishers receive donor funds specifically designated for certain kinds of books. I know that after the Bowery reading, at the reception at Gautam’s place, I was talking with Yusef, and I mentioned that I’ve got several other volumes of poetry for which I am seeking publishers.   He said, “Why don’t you try Princeton University Press?”  I know that Princeton has done a lot of bilingual volumes--Greek and English, Spanish and English, French and English.  Greek of course involves a different script.  Copper Canyon has published some bilingual books of Arabic, Chinese and Japanese with facing English translations; but of Bangla, just this one title.  And of other presses known for publishing work from South Asia in translation, such as Columbia University, Indiana University, and White Pine, there is no bilingual Bengali-English.  So there is not very much out there, yet!

Urhalpool:  Not very much, yes…  So, finally one last request, if you would kindly recite one poem from your collection in English as it is.

Carolyne Wright:  Oh okay.  Which would you like?

Urhalpool:  I’ll leave that choice to you.  One of your favorites.

Carolyne Wright:  One of my favorite ones here, let me see.  Oh, let me see.  I want to recite one that is kind of fun and… I’m just going to—ask me something else while I am deciding here . . .

Urhalpool:  Relating to that, I think we would like to hear maybe about one really interesting memorable event from your days in Kolkata while you were there.

Carolyne Wright:  Oh, an interesting and memorable event of my days in Kolkata . . .

Urhalpool:  I know there are plenty.

Carolyne Wright:  Oh yes.  Some of the things that I will be writing about.  Let’s see.  I’m going to choose a poem that had to have been written in Kolkata… I will read this one from Nabaneeta [Dev Sen] called “The Temple.”   And then, I can also read one of Taslima's poems … There are, in fact, more poems by Nabaneeta and Taslima in the anthology--they have simply written more love poems than the other poets I have translated!  Okay, here’s the one by Nabaneeta. . .  It’s called “Dismissal.”


What can’t I do for you?  My dear,
whatever is mine is all laid out for you.
Just to see you happy, what can’t
I do, my dear!
You said you could not stand the smell of bakul flowers,
so I chopped down my great-grandfather's bakul tree
in the courtyard.  Only to see
you happy.
Thinking that jewels might please you,
 just look how I’ve uprooted
my child's heart  from my bosom, for
 your jewelry box.  (Where could I get
any jewel more precious than this!)   Just to see
you happy.

But, how strange, my dear, is the play
  of the human heart
Even so, you’ve dismissed me.

Urhalpool:  Wonderful.

Carolyne Wright:  That’s a rather dramatic poem, and I enjoyed working on it.

Urhalpool:  Yes, the first line.  What can I… tomar jonnyo ki korte pari priyo, it’s a very interesting poemu, I think.

Carolyne Wright:  Yes.  Tomar jonnyo aar ki korte pari…  What can’t I do for you, what couldn’t I do for you.  Let me see . . .  we also have “Eve speaks to God,” “Ishwar ke Eve,” and then we have Taslima's poem, in which the name is not Eve; it’s “Hawa, Oh Hawa,” which I believe is the Muslim or Arabic way of saying Eve.

Urhalpool:  Yes.

Carolyne Wright:  It’s on page twenty-four, right before “Eve Speaks to God.”  So you can see that the collection is following a sort of narrative thread.

Why won't Eve eat of the fruit?
Didn't Eve have a hand to reach out with,
fingers with which to make a fist;
didn't Eve have a stomach to feel hunger with,
a tongue to feel thirst,
a heart with which to love?

But then why won't Eve eat of the fruit?

Why would Eve mere suppress her wishes,
regulate her steps?
Subdue her thirst?
Why would Eve be so compelled
to keep Adam moving around in the Garden of Eden
                                   all their lives?

Because Eve has eaten of the fruit
                                   there are sky and earth,
because she has eaten
                                   there are moon, sun, rivers, and seas.
Because she has eaten, trees, plants and vines,
because Eve has eaten of the fruit
                                    there is joy, because she has eaten there is joy,
joy, joy –
Eating of the fruit, Eve made a heaven of the earth.

Eve, if you get hold of the fruit
                                    don't ever refrain from eating.

Urhalpool:  That’s great, that’s great.

Carolyne Wright:  I really liked that one.  It’s a whole different interpretation of the idea that, well, it’s women's fault that the Earth is a fallen place, because Eve was tempted and then she and Adam were expelled from the garden.  Taslima is saying because Eve has eaten we have this wonderful—we’re out on this beautiful earth.  It was no wonder that the conservative clerics were angry at her.  So, all right, well, this has been a wonderful conversation.  Aami ottonto khushi hoyechi.

Urhalpool:  We are… aamrao bheeson anondo pelam mane khub khushi hoyechi aamra.

Carolyne Wright:  Bheeshon anondo peyechi.

Urhalpool:  Bheeshon anando hoyeche and we will keep in touch.

Carolyne Wright:  Absolutely, absolutely.  Thik aache nischoi.