TO KNOW THE UNKNOWN

Aami....

2011-05-09T15:29:00.000-05:00

Amar modhye katota poriborton eshechhe ta vabtey boshle odbhut laage. Nijer ekta motamot ekta vabadorsho, ekta ichhe of leading a particlar kind of life... shobi kirom strong hoye gyache. Aaj kalbela dekhe setai upolobdhi holo. Ekta somoy chilo jakhon kauke bhalobeshe shob chhere dewar shahosh rakhtam. Aaj k bodhoy shob chhere ditey parbo nijer shonge thakar jonyo. Ki odhut poriborton! Hoyto eka thakar side effect...

Asholey akhon jibon ta k bujhte shikhechi, dekhte shikhechi with a pair of mature eyes jekhane personal feelings periyeo ekta life achhe. Jekhane jibone kichu kora for others- onek beshi importance paay. Abar ei ami-tari majhe majhe ichhe hoy jakey bhalobashi tar shonge ek shonge thakar, to reveal the vulnerable part....to shed this shell of an iron will....n seek shelter. To lead a life free of any tensions... nijer duschinta gulo k r ekjoner gharey chapiye nije protected hoye thakte ichhe kore. Abar paromuhurtei monne hoy... tahole ami toh r ami thakbona... onyo keu hoye jabo.

Kintu nijer ei identity ta j ashole kon ami-tar setai toh awjana. naki dutoi ami... Shobari toh thake more than one face, amaro achhe. Ekta ami jakey tumio cheno - sei ami ta jeta khub vulnerable tomar aalingoner majhe kintu je tar oi vulnerability ta k bhoy paay na to be revealed infront of you ekta nagno ami... j chaay tomar shonge ekta chintamukto jibon katatey. J shobtheke beshi dukkho paay tomar shamanyo ekta aghat ey. J bhalobeshe hariye felte jane nijeke....
R ekta ami j nana jhamela ekai lorey jaay. J chaay na nijer durbalota ta k janate, j nijer aatmoshomman taèr jonyo r baki shob chhere ditey shahosh rakhe, r nijeke bholay ei vabnay j tar thekeo onek jotil shamoshyaay aache prithibi te nana manush... shey toh tao dubela khawar khamota rakhe....katolok ache jara setao rakhena. R oi ami ta ager cheye kirom aaro drirho hoye jai....aaro shakto....aaro onyorakom! Jei ami ta k amio chinina :)

:) to follow knowledge like a sinking star beyond the utmost bound of human thought...... to strive to seek to fight..... n not to yield!

A unique species

2010-11-22T00:57:00.002-06:00

Caught up between my aspiration and the reality, I realised life carved out a niche for me where I suited well. This niche- I started believing as my ‘existence’. Beyond this was a far away land where I was born, faces of people that I called family, and a laughter so spontaneous and lively that it reverberated through my soul. Now, I was in a different world— living in the few pieces of my own self that I had managed to bring away with me when I left home.
Assignments and experimental set ups were the only two other things beside food and sleep that swapped places in my brain. Initially there had been some socializing... on weekends, but then it began to seem monotonous. Being a biped social animal, I did seek gatherings where there would be some good talking and instances to laugh, but I realised soon, it wasn’t to happen the way I thought. The absence of cerebral connections discouraged me from attending most gatherings till I finally found resort in my 10 by 10 room with my 14 inch laptop and my Nikon P90. The reason why I use so many figures is because this is what North America stresses most on. Numbers. I became a number too once I entered this country. First there was a university ID, then the insurance no. and then, the Social Insurance Number. Somewhere down the line I almost forgot that I had a name till someone pronounced it with the most obnoxious articulation I ever heard.
Sometimes I miss home. At other times, I’m working.

Aimless Autumn Afternoon

2010-06-10T02:20:00.001-05:00

As I hummed to myself a half forgotten song
My aimless steps kept lingering a moment long;
A rhythm invading my pace amidst the thought
To let go of the warmth that I so often sought...

A quiet road it knew not where from I was,
And why my restless feet did abruptly pause;
My mind so lost in the dreams that I had let go by...
Till a jutting brick on the pavement caught my eye

So out-of-place did the red form seem to me that day
Not so it would if it was wrapped in sand and clay.
It seemed to hail a fortitude which made it defy
The rule so laid by men who had not the desire to fly!

A feeling so similar it shared with my dreams
Alas mine never learnt how to protest it seems.
The fall of an autumn leaf on my shoulder brought senses back
To my aimless steps and strength that my heart did lack.

বলো ভালোবাসো...?

2010-03-23T00:39:00.003-05:00

যদি বলো বাসতে ভালো ,
বাসব আমি আমার মতো মন-এর
কোনো খান-এ লুকিয়ে তোমায়
ক্ষণ এ ক্ষণ...

যদি বলো দেখো না কেন
সে ভালবাসা ...
হারিয়ে কেন যায় হাওয়াতেই
আমার মনের সকল কথা ?

বলব আমি ...."আমি এরমই - 'অগোছালো "

মনে রাখা তোমাতে,
হারিয়ে বেড়াই অজান্তে
অনুরাগে মাখামাখি
হাসি -টা'ও ভুলে থাকি!
খুঁজে পেলে সেই তোমাকে
দুঃখ ভুলে একে একে
ঠোঁট থেকে চুরি করে চোখ 'এ হাসি
যদি কিছু না বলি ....বুঝবেনা আমি ভালবাসি ?

If I would be with You...

2010-03-17T21:33:00.002-05:00

I'd look into your eyes like I've never seen a brighter star....
I'd kiss you like the Sun kisses the new mountain peak....
And then lose the decency of acknowledging the glory
Only to keep glowing in the pleasure of attaining happiness
I'd breathe your breath.
And feel my heart beat beside yours
Yield to its rhythm lest it falls behind ....
And will you not hold me stronger... and help me find my tune
Like an ivy would I cling around you
And realize how incomplete I have been
Without the song I've heard my heart sing when it moves with yours....
Was there a skin there?
Oh were there two!
Or was it just us... defining happiness beyond known boundaries?

রাঙ্গাও যদি নিজ হাতে বারে বারে নানা রঙ্গে
উঠব হয়ে রঙ্গীন তব প্রেম-রাগে ...
চক্ষু দুটি রাখিয়া তোমার দৃষ্টি 'পরে...
তুলিব তরঙ্গ তোমার অধর তলে.....

কাজল

2009-11-22T11:37:00.008-06:00

Wrote this a couple of months back, but never posted it on the blog... dont know why...

আমার কাজল পড়তে ভালো লাগে
আবছা রাতে যেমন
চাঁদ উঁকি দিয়ে যায়
আমার ঘর এর আঁধার কোণে ,
ঠিক তেমনি করে ভালো লাগে
ঝাপসা চোখের কালি ’র মাঝে
কাজল পরে সাজতে ;
কোন কনে সে আলো আনে
কোথায় তাড়ায় ছায়া
বোঝা বড়ই কঠিন !
তাই অত শত ভুলে থেকে ,
কাজল পরি ক'দি ন .

দেখলে আমায় এভাবে ,
বলে সবাই —
“কি রে রাতে ঘুম হয়নি বুঝি ?”
আমি ভাবি ....কি বোকা
নাকি সত্যি লাগে বিশ্রী ?
আলতো হেসে পাশ কাটিয়ে
কাজের ঘরে বসি
এধার ওধার ফাঁকা পেলে
বন্ধ করে কাজের পাহাড়
চুপ-টি করে দাড়াই এসে
দরজা ’র এই ধারে
আয়না দেখে হেসে বলি ...

“কেউ না জানুক , তুমি তো জানো,
তাহলে তুমি -ই বলো দেখি ?”
বোকা কাঁচ চেয়েই থাকে !
“কাজল পরা ছেড়ে দিলে হবে ভালো তবে ?”
আবার চুপ !!
“যাও ...কেউ দেখবেনা তোমায় আর ... আড়ি”
এবার -ও চুপ|
আমি প্রশ্ন করে ক্লান্ত ...
আঙ্গুল দিয়ে মুছে বলি - “এবার খুশি ?”

হাথের দিকে চেয়ে দেখি
...মুছলাম যে ..কোথায় গেল কালি ?!

এতদিন

2009-11-18T23:32:00.005-06:00

বিদেশে এসেছি হয়নি যে মাস কুড়ি
না সাহেব, না দেশীদের দলে পড়ি
বছর কুড়ি হলে পর জোর গলে
যায় বলা - 'আমি আছি এতদিন ধরে....'
আমি পেরোইনি তার দশ ভাগের এক ভাগও
লোকে শুনলে হেসে গাল দিয়ে যাবে;
'এতদিন' তাই যোগ্য হয়নি ভাবার!
ঘরে থাকি আমি, আর জল ভরা শিশি
মাছ দুটো তাতে ঘুরপাক খেয়ে খুশি
দুজন তারাও, তরঙ্গ তুলে ফেরে -
সাঁঝ সকালে ঐটুকু পৃথিবীতে।
একা আমি, তবু একাকী ভাবতে নারাজ
কাজ শেষে, ঘরে ফিরে একা করি খেলা
কথার পিঠে কথা কাটবার সুখ -
একাই ভোগী, ভাগীদার নেই মেলা।
কাগজে কলমে মাখামাখি করে তাই
করি খেলা রাত ভোর কত ভাবনায়,
কখনো হাসি কখনো বা কান্নার
সুর মিশিয়ে গাঁথি কথা পরপর -
মানে যদি খুঁজে পেয়ে যাই, সে আশায়।

Lovelorn

2009-11-03T00:09:00.000-06:00

Her tears had no note of loath
For the man who played the game
In love was she and was not he?
Whose eyes mirrored her laughter!
The heart she prized of all she owned
Now disdained her for the trust,
Oh why would he not rather kill her she begged
Tormented with lovelorn fate.

Time would heal it all they said
And time does never falter,
The gesture so genuine of smile
She made in greeting whoever loved her
Hidden beneath still lay a heart
Or, once a heart—
Now broken.
The thousand shreds
Some lost, some left
In the mosaic of her existence.

On a misty cloudy morning

2009-09-22T02:35:00.002-05:00

It didn’t start as one of those days like I missed u. It was rather a plain and simple one where I knew I had to wake up, brush my teeth, grab a cup of Darjeeling tea, put on my t-shirt n jeans n leave. That was precisely what I did, and then when I walked out of my apartment to the bus stop, I realised it was quite cold and damp and drizzling. That... made me come back and grab a jacket....and an umbrella. And, I wondered how you were. I don’t know why I thought that, but well, I thought that. Looked at my dead watch.....and wondered how nice it felt to be woken at 7 in the morning....

Okay I missed the bus.

The air was damp and cold and it was drizzling. Like the water droplets were everywhere. No, I mean yes, they were droplets, not drops. And they kept flying in all directions at every gust. As I walked to my lab from the bus terminus at school, I guess I was still thinking of you. Or may be anything else that I can’t remember right now.... and didn’t notice the trees in front. So the moment I lifted my face up (I usually walk staring at my shoes) all of a sudden this huge crowd of trees beside the Red river loomed up from behind the mist. It was such a wonderful sight. Like, the very familiar grove of maple, pine and spruce were standing in front of me all new. Draped around this spray of water which blended beautifully into the morning mist, the huge conifers looked just breathtaking! I wanted to show this to you, but I didn’t have my camera, also, I doubt if I would be able to capture it the way it was.... Let’s assume I could, but then I wouldn’t be able to carry the fragrance of the mist and the damp soil and the wilderness along with the jpeg file! The desire was so great that I almost had to work my heads off today to keep the thoughts at bay. It was 6 and awfully dark, so I decided to come back home, I had worked more than many other days.....evading my silly and “hopelessly romantic” thoughts. But that’s being very 'me'.

2009-09-13T20:28:00.002-05:00

Aelite thekey on..e..k durey

Sitting miles away from my heart, the very essence of being “alive” seems to get lost somewhere in the waves of the Atlantic when the dhaak beats emerge from a hi-fi BOSE audio system!! Those are the times when I hear a young little girl yelling inside this mature mind – Ma, Shashthii toh shuru hoye gyalo, dhaaki r or chhele koi? Of course before my mom could answer, the dhaaki would appear from nowhere at the dusk of Shashthi and that...would mark Bodhon.

Pujo was that time of the year when I could wear 2 sets of new clothes every day for five days, and stay out late as long as it took me to get totally tired. Baba chhara pujo vaabtei partam na... For, it was Baba, who would quietly slip in the house keys into my pocket when I said : Ekkhuni bari aschhi, aaj raat jagbona, promise. My innately skilled hands would later stealthily open the door at five in the morning, walk silently as a cat— afraid to wake Ma up– and pretend to be fast asleep, only to be awoken at seven for Pushpanjali!!
Yes, no matter how hectic, those were the best days of my life.

Durga Pujo meant rehearsals, rehearsals, and more rehearsals. It was a challenge to be in the songs, the dances, the dramas, and at times to be at side stage and hang on to the ropes of the curtain. I remember rising to fame amidst kakus and kakimas with a nazrulgeeti when I was only nine years. The childish me, beamed every time someone said: Pompom...kii shundor gaan korli!

Busy setting experiments for my research inside the 16-degree-maintained laboratory here in Winnipeg, I have completely lost track of the date and time. Dates are interpreted in my brain as—weekdays, weekends, and deadlines. Whereas, time has significance as in: to cook or not to cook?? So I very confidently said a “No” when some guy in my lab enquired whether we (Indians) had any upcoming festival or not, since he was fasting for Ramadan with Eid due on the 20th. Living in a digital world as I do, with orkut, facebook and chat boxes as companions, I noticed a series of pictures on somebody’s album the same night. It was entitled: “Kumortuli” It suddenly struck me then..... !!! Eii... Pujo!!

Afterall, no one calls me Pompom here. It’s always Shalini (more of a Sha-leee-ni). Durga Pujo..... Pompom(di)..... Aelite...flat 232 ..... all of them together, make me. Individually, they make little sense!

Still in love...

2009-08-22T01:15:00.002-05:00

Your thoughts like the air are hard to evade....
They linger on my mind as though it was yesterday!
So fresh that I can see the mist of your breath
Against the December sky;
So vivid is your kiss that my lips still gleam—
With a smile that it borrowed from yours;
My hair enwrapped with the cologne
It stole from your chest...
What bliss it was to stand inches away from you
Yearning to be in those arms—and yet hiding the desire!
My toes curl even now as the north wind play
With the few unruly locks—
And as my very existence taut like the strings of a harp
Pine to be played on, and brought back to tune....
I miss you.
So much....that it hurts!

Back to the Sun

2009-08-15T14:12:00.002-05:00

Shreds....pieces....broken.... blocks... unrecognized sets of thought. That’s how my mind is like. Nothing stays. Nothing leaves. I am now the epitome of confusion. I know not what makes the chicken tandoori tastier when my friend cooks it with the same ingredients as I do. I also don’t quite understand which makes my eyes look brighter- a black kohl or a brown. Confusion prevails when I think of settling with a lesser qualification and a higher peace of mind. It still stands erect when I debate between going home in 4 months or pushing it away till the next summers. In a line, I need to give my mind a break....from the potpourri of endless thoughts of to be and not to be’s. Yet I thought... I would try to give some kind of a shape to the feelings that well up from time to time. And, every time I try talking about it to someone, I either end up talking rubbish, or, the person in front of me lacks that eccentric element in his intellect to grasp my emotions. So, the best option was to write. Oops! ...type.
There was a time when I loved to bask in the sun. Around the last week of December, a fortnight left till the school would re-open, I’d bask in the sun....till my skin would go darker and my hair greyer. Sometimes Ma would be kind and offer a hot oil hair massage while I still sat there. Those days would count as bonuses. Also, those days would have a palette satisfying element for; my mother would be in a mellowed mood. We would sit at the table like starved falcons; since the aroma which had been escaping her pots and pans since morning would efficiently kill the civilised beings within us. I loved my mom’s cooking then. Now, I miss it. I have, however, succeeded in making myself a very bad photocopy of it. You know- the kind where the ink ends and you have to shake the cartridge to get a copy somehow....that kind.
When I stand at the bus stop on a summer day here in Winnipeg, the sun sometimes burns so bright that I can feel the tickling of its invisible rays on the bare skin of my arms and legs. The sunscreens are sometimes effective, but almost every day I come home to a darker version of my previous self. I keep wanting to sit idly on the grasses and basking in the sun as I did back home. But here, in spite of having a frenzied population going crazy about ‘sunbathing’, the sun lacks its sweetness which evokes the desire of ‘basking in the sun’. It’s more of a phenomenon devoid of the ‘s’- baking!! The same sun....in an alien land....behaves so alien-ly!! So now, I stand alone.....not basking....but rather, with my back to the sun!

It rains at night too!

2009-06-09T03:11:00.004-05:00

I never thought about the rains...
To arrive at work with wet shoes ughh... messy!
Feels worse still!

Yet at the dead end of the night
The same drops look different.....strangely beautiful

The multicoloured streaks of gasoline spilled on water
Making its way to a nearby pot-hole
Reflections of the blinking lights of an Irish food-joint...
Followed by a total darkness...
A mystic numbness of the eyes locked away...
Where the lashes refuse to bat....
And the iris dilate to a phase of “seeing” and not “watching”
Colors....brighter than a painter’s palette!

I spread apart the five fingers of each hand on the glass pane
The outline glows brightly.....and fades a shade less
Till it goes black.... rhythmically to an unheard beat
A distant sound of celtic music making its way
Everytime the door opens.....
Silence again.... and the drops dripping past my pane
I wish to feel them run past the skin of my hand....
But the invisible irony makes a jest of my senses
Mocked, I wish again.....
Of enwrapping my fingers with an unknown hand
And then feel the rain dripping past the entwined digits

A chime of the watch brings me back to my room....
Far away.....far far away......
The raindrops did.... look so beautiful at night!

2009-03-21T03:24:00.004-05:00

I loved the melody my mom hummed when she worked
The clamour of the utensils.....
The whistle of the pressure cooker eating away
Her half broken voice.....
Yet the humming ... broken.... faded words from a Rabindrasangeet

There’s a bitter sweetness about missing out on something
I realised this when I came away thus far
The nude beaches hardly delivered the sex appeal
That the fragmented vision of a sari-clad waistline did...
Especially so, if the sari could be red!
I have a similar feeling when I hear glass bangles jingling
I would know not the hand.... I wouldn’t remember the complexion
But the rhythm would linger in my mind....
Chhun......a long pause....chhun-chhun-chhun
It would seem like a much known stroke....
I love to imagine the bangles would be yellow,
And the eyes of the wearer would curl up and close
When she would find me admiring her quietly outside her kitchen window
The sense of stealing her attention without revealing my purpose
The feeling of letting a woman know how much you admire her
Without the use of words
And read her reply in her smile..... :)

2009-02-06T01:31:00.000-06:00

If there is ever a name you hate more than you choose to, does it come out of a feeling of intense anger in your heart? But then why would someone hate a name? It sounds more logical to hate the person. But would you want to kiss the person whose name you hate? Would anybody want to kiss the person whose name they hate? Ahh... what a silly question to ask eh? But what do you call a woman who so intensely loves a man that she cannot tolerate to hear his name. Would you say her love is incomplete or would you suggest she remains to mature in her thoughts, or better still would you suggest she better go to a psychiatrist?

The subject of the talk has to be decided. Is it the name that she hates? Or is it the nature of her feeling? Well, let us first deal with the nature of her feeling. How does she love this man? She in fact does not know for sure whether at all what she feels is love. She once heard someone say he was keen on photography. After two years she saw an orchard of barren apple trees one fine morning after a freezing rain in January, the trees were all white – as though they were dipped like the sausages in white coloured ketchup and made to stand again. They looked like the silver trees of heaven. Ahh....she thought I wish you were here. Thankfully nobody around her knew who she was thinking about. And she felt his whispers in her ear: “Do you really think I’m not here?” Flustered, she suspiciously glanced on either side, pulled her hood and walked away.

.....He once kissed her. It was a kiss probably. Probably? She thought for days about it, and then came to her conclusion: yes, it was a kiss for 5 seconds. She had turned to say goodbye and they hugged, she had looked up and felt his lips on hers ...1...2...3..4..5. And that was it. Even a mosquito lingered longer than this to meet his nutritional needs. She felt herself floating in air. There were these intermittent phases of despair when she thought did he even realise that they had kissed? But those thoughts didn’t matter. As long as she had him by her side, nothing mattered. And the best part in this case was he didn’t even know he was by her side! What else could she ask for?

Oh we were talking of a name she hated and was trying to decide about the nature of her feeling.....well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? There are so many other things to talk about.

To be sad......peacefully

2009-01-16T20:47:00.001-06:00

It's rather strange how man remains to be the social animal who takes pleasure in forgetting things that bring him great sorrow, and end up smiling all the more when his heart flutters against his chest begging him to shed a drop of tear. The more he runs away from his sadness, the more he excels in his performance to keep the show on. A kick in the gut reminds him of his losses and he desparately gulps down liquor to burn it out. A memory must be a fond one. So has somebody said.... some crappy stuff like fond memories bring the light the other days around me.... But it needn't be so.... memories are most often a sad one. I do not overlook the contributions of optimism in my life, but all half glasses inevitably share the obviousness of being half empty. Must it be so?

Ahh... a man as I started saying is allowed this. Not a woman. She is not allowed to be sad. If she is, she is most reassuringly surrounded by a masculine arm promising her to guard her against all of this. In fact, the more sad a lady is, more appealing is her nature to a man. She attains a different level of affection in the eye of a man. He enjoys a secret adrenaline rush of being her knight-at-arms. Her Don Quixote!

Strange huh? ....but that's how it usually is. Yes, usually.

Logic.... impractical.... what?

2008-03-17T10:36:00.000-05:00

I find it so strange that I shall be leaving my mom in a couple of weeks. Four and a half may be. Never have I stayed a day without her around. And now, with Ba gone, I am leaving her all alone. I do not know why I am so persistent in going away. May be I need a break. May be I want a good career. May be I had considered other people's benefit in my going. May be because my dad had gone down himself to get a stamp on my passport from the Canadian Consulate. (You could say the visa office.) I miss my dad. Terribly. And now, I am going to miss my mom too. But I'll have other things to do. What about her? What will she look up to?

Ba, please take care of ma....till I come back.

Broken

2008-02-29T11:24:00.000-06:00

I don't quite know why I am writing in here now. I logged on to orkut but well, didn't quite feel like scrapping people. What is this? Some shit? "Scrapping"??? How come what I write to you becomes a piece of "scrap" to you?

Shit...why am I like screaming? I don't know. You know what I wrote about myself in orkut? I'll tell you: "Its like a brick in the wall. No matter how low or high the wall is, you take out one brick, and the entire wall crumbles down. A rubble of red, intact bricks. So close together, touching each others very existence.....yet not the wall that they used to be. This is what happens when you take out one brick from the wall. I am one of those bricks now....used to be a wall. Don't remember when."

That brick that I am talking about, is my dad. Somebody took that brick out of our wall....and now, we're all lying on a pile of red rubble.
Me and ma we seldom talk. Even when we do, we're talking about how much she misses dad. I hate that kind of conversation cause- I don't miss my dad.
The worst part is, when you cant cry. Day light hours mean you are supposed to rush for your office. Once in, you can fool around doing what you are being paid for. Even if you find some time alone in the corner of the washroom, you find you are not in the mood to cry. On your way back you might find the tears planning to well up when the cars beside your start honking... Getting back home, reading the morning paper in the evening, a book...or may be a movie, and then you have your dinner, finally-- sit in front of the machine. Night crying is inadvisable as far as I am concerned. Why? Oh well, this region below my eyes ...right the place where I already have huge dark rings, it gets all swollen up. Ma gets to know I cried, and starts worrying. Asking me to forget the incident, and start with an effort to stay merry.

Can't always understand why she cant see that I am happy, I don't leave a single instance to laugh. To go out for a movie, share a couple of drinks..... Hey ma am happy. Don't worry about me, just look after yourself.... But shit, she'll never open up this blog of mine and go through what am writing. So, never mind.....

The worst part is, when you see nothing else has changed. The newspaper boy who never comes on time, is still late. Me and ma still come back home around 6 in the evening. Esplanade and Chowringhee is polluted still the same, and Rajabazar is still as congested as before. The pipelines that were being laid at Manicktala, has now shifted its loci. It's free-school street now.
But there's a difference. There's no one to call the newspaper guy and ask him to deliver the papers on time. None to enquire about- when I would reach home. No one to cough the black pollutants out before retiring. No one to ask where the "free school" in Free School Street is. :)

Every day before sleeping, I wish, at least something would change tomorrow that will make me stop thinking about him..... I wish for once I can touch his cheeks the way I touch this shroud of unhappiness around me. OK, as I write in here I realise I am unhappy. Very unhappy. But I laugh, I eat black forests, I do my office, I watch movies, I type in text messages, I try striking a conversation with ma assuring her that I am fine now.

Sometimes I wonder how it would feel like to actually be another red brick in a red junk of a broken wall. Just as how it feels now?

2007-12-26T11:25:00.001-06:00

“What is a Pope ba?” I asked my dad.

“Not what, but who”, ma replied.

It was strange that both my ma and ba knew who the Pope was. Little did I know that by the end of that day, I would also know who he was.

Whoever he was, he was supposed to come to our place in half hour or so. Probably ma was preparing something for him to eat, and that is why she was in such a hurry. Di was helping her too.

Okay, I was proved wrong.

The Pope was not coming to our house… rather his car would go over the main road in front of our building. ‘Pope’ was Pope John Paul II. And I would be considered fortunate if I got to meet (see) him! My 8-year-old brain ceased to fathom how could fortune depend on a glimpse of some unknown guy who called himself a Pope and not a Mr. or a Dr. Nevertheless, I gobbled down my breakfast- as it is ma said we were getting late, and that the Pope would go.

The next thing I remember is that all four of us were hurrying down to get to the main road. Ba held my hand, ma and di were coming along. Once we were outside the main gate of the campus, ba hastened his steps and told ma to hurry too… “Cha cha cha cha…. Shiggir cha…. Pope choley jabe!”, he told di. I had to run in order to keep up with his steps.

Once we reached the field in front of our house, my steps slowed down. The specialty about this field was that it was the graveyard for hundreds of old rickshaws that were unlicensed, and were ceased by the police. Through the heap meandered a ‘pa-ey haanta poth’ and that was the shortcut if you wanted to avoid walking round the field. Ba suddenly came close to me and said- “Babu hath ta dhor dhor….”

I looked up, my eyes sparkling with an unknown expectation… and I held his hand tight.

Ba half turned, looked over his shoulders and shouted to di- “Ma k niye jhotpot esho baburam, Pope chole na jaay…”

He clutched my wrist and hastened his pace, and before long, he was running.

For a brief period of time, I ran along his side. And then,… I flew.

Yes, I was flying. As Ba ran, I was flying by his side. Beneath my feet I saw the undulated mud patches…. the broken pieces of iron rivets…. a tattered tyre… all lay beside our path….

I managed to look at Ba, he was running hard….he had to get me there on time – he had promised me that he would show me who the Pope was! The gravity of his purpose was clearly written on his face. I do not know whether I had actually understood the meaning then, neither do I know the exact time when I learned to decipher the unsaid language of love that Ba spoke in.

I remember flying high, my feet touching the ground for a second, and again bumping back into the air…. I remember hearing ma’s voice at a distance – “Shunchho, orom douriyo na, meye ta porey jabey. Lege jabey…” But then, that day he didn’t listen to anyone but his heart.

There’s another thing that I remember. Pope John Paul II. A white robe, an angel like figure, a divine smile, and a pair of eyes filled with compassion…. it was as though I had seen God.

If Ba hadn’t had run that day, I’d have never been able to see the Pope. I remember still the feverish rate at which my young heart had jumped that day… the feeling of security in those golden hands…. the surety of being able to see the Pope- coz my Ba was with me.

He cant walk alone these days…. not even with his stick. I remember, there was a time when he could run…..

Bullshit

2006-08-27T02:34:00.000-05:00

For quite sometime I thought of writing in here....just anything. But couldnt manage time... Couldnt manage time? or was it that I was so confused wid my own self that I refused to publicize that? Dont quite know....
Life has been smooth....has gone over the hedge at times....and at times has taken the long drive...but now it seems to have come to a standstill. Am doing something I dont like doing...just for the sake of not staying in the phase of "not-doing-anything" anymore that I had been in for almost 6 months.... 'sucks' is the word I would like to use to describe that phase of my life but then, am not even in the mood to use the word.

Its the same old monotony returned in a new place. Faces of people u get accustomed with for being a regular student of the institution....see them and smile....like i often use the cliche: extend ur lips. Some of them know my name...others dont bother. I never bothered....nor do so now. Most of the time am sleeping...either wid my eyes closed...else open. And when they are open my pen scribbles some bullshit on the paper.... ok that reminds me...bullshit is another favorite word of mine.
The only thing I like about that place is the campus itself. Especially so when I look at the greenery from the 3rd floor.... the winds blow through the branches....makes a swishing sound..... gently shaking off the dead leaves from them.... good....looks beautiful....

But that's it. Nothing else.

Aamar Rabindranath....

2006-05-04T23:23:00.001-05:00

An english medium bred girl finds pleasure in claiming her ignorance of her mother tongue....but point out for once that she has made a wrong statement in ENGLISH-- she goes mad and starts shouting back at you. I was not an exception. As a student I was very poor in English, managing somehow to secure a pass marks (it was a sin to fail as my mother was a teacher, and she would under no circumstances tolerate such nonsense!) Bengali was always that one period which started from class one with a book called "Anando paath- paathmala." Although I resented the very thought that someone could be happy reading such a pathetic language with so many AAKAAR, I-KAAR, II-KAAR....etc.....etc. Never did a line start and end with pencil markings. inevitably a red mark made its way in all my lines. English was atleast better in that way, cause those colours were seen rarely, I SELDOM WROTE. I was quite confused with language.

As I grew up, I learnt there was a man who had different titles in different languages (I seldom use language now, I say lingo). And, he supposedly was a great man, a "writer" as I was told then. I asked my teacher why Rabindranath was called TAGORE in English and THAKUR in Bengali? She looked at me as if I was the rotten piece of flesh available on earth, frowning at my stupidity as to not be able to make such an easy interpretation. The answer came: "DONT ASK SILLY QUESTIONS!!" My confusion went unbound as to how a man who had different titles could be assigned a "great man" whereas I who had voiced my opinion about that issue became "silly", to top that, I had just one single surname in all languages!!

Later, my dad (the most patient man I've ever come across) told me that during Rabindranath's days, India was ruled by English Rulers who could not pronounce THAKUR, and so, they said TAGORE instead...in fact my dad even made weird facial expressions to make me understand that. My recently acquired knowledge found its use when I said DURGA TAGORE that ashtami while offering my prayers to goddess durga...

Years later I realised that day I made no mistake. Rabindranath was God no doubt. Still now I seldom read poems I like to hear my dad recite them...somehow Rabindranath has a wonderful emotion which I realise only through my dad's voice. 'Debotaar graash' left me so touched that I could not complete listening to it...I left midway...my eyes brimming with tears.

Much later, I fell in love with a man who asked me to read a few lines myself....."Ei kshan tuku hok sei chirokaal....aasha jawa dudikei khola robey dwaar..." Rabindranath again bound me to this man in a much different way. The man, whose surname was the biggest controversy in my infant world, made me realise two different relations with two different men. Both loved dearly, both loved uniquely....aamar rabindranath aamar babar porey dewa kobita chhere kakhon aamar hridoye probesh korlo...jantei parlaam na...

Love again was never as good as I thought it would be. The best part of love was when you were falling in it...knowing there was no break to stop you....no accelerator to speed you up....you just fall...freely...unbound....quite like falling from a multistoried building in the U.S. but unlike it, you did not know your destination when you fell in love. The very feeling of meeting the man you love...the man who has no idea as to how much you love him....what you could do for him....that inexplicable feeling was the best part of love. Once you are already in love...its more like you have landed in a soup.... We split. Two years from when it started.

"Nibiro bedonaate pulok laage gaaye....kandaale tumi more.
Paraane baaje baanshi nayone bohey dhaara, dukhero madhuri te korilo dishahaara...
sakoli nibe kere...dibe na tobu chhere...
mon shorey na jete, felile eki daaye?
Kandaale tumi more....."

I had no idea that, that silly man as I had thought years ago.....managed to become a part of my existence..... aamar Rabindranath....sudhu amari. Bakider Rabindranath...tader...kintu ami jevaabe bujhechhi...sevabe keu konodino parbena.....amaar babar golay pora kobita....amar sekha kichhu gaan....srikanto, indrani eder golaay sona casette.....r ta chhara.....amar hridoye lokano Rabindranath....

Profile today

2006-05-01T13:37:00.000-05:00

As I looked out of the tiny window of the multistoried building,
I saw-----

Vast stretches --- of concrete jungle
Of red rubble --- of brick, of unseen dreams....
And, my future.
A city --- of joy, of frustration, of success, of failure.
And there I was sitting comfortably as the manager---
Feeding on my dignity, fame, and money.
Not pausing to think--- how many live, how many survive
And how many exist in this city.
These words meant nothing after my schooldays
Now, everything I did, I did, as the world wanted me to do
There was a time when I did things I wanted to do.
When I said words, which made them, smile
Words that were said without a voice----
That which would draw a smile inevitably.
A smile it was and not the mere extension of the lips
As it was, now.
Then on meeting a friend I would've extended my arms,
Or probably given a warm welcome, or, embraced
Would've sat under a Banyan tree and erase the hands of time
Drink from the same glass and talk incessantly!
But now, the very thought gave me shivers

I was a lofty official---
Living on my ego, and a seven-figured salary.
I looked at the world through powerless glasses
I moved in an AC car with windows rolled up
For, I knew, the world had nothing to offer me
Because I never saw the rainbow. Not anymore...
It was only the glaring sun, when I looked up.

Memories.....of another day?

2006-04-30T10:35:00.000-05:00

[ I looked out of my windows to stare at the rains...]

There were the huge black clouds in the sky,

Had the monsoons arrived already?

Aren't they too early this time?

A drop here...and another there....

One on the just opened rose in my garden...

I walked out...as though it would help me take in the smell of the wet soil....

The moist air...and the fragrance of the wet earth....

Aaaaah......So familiar....yet,so ruthless!

The drops, bigger now...fell in pours....and soon I was drenched

Drenched with the memories of another day...

A day which had been so perfect in my life....

With the winds caressing the few strands of unmanageable hair away from my face....

And whispers of I-love-you....in my ears....drenched with the rains...

I looked back to see if you said anything...but you were quiet...

Staring outside...seeing the huge drops splattered on the black pitch of the streets

Did you not say anything to me, I ask myself...

An urge to hold your hand and ask, well refrained...

An urge to let you whisper in my ears....

A prayer let out silently to the clouds above-don't stop the rains tonight...

A despair....of feeling the goodness seep inside me

What a day god! What a beautiful day......

To fall in a vast ocean of endless water of unfathomable waves

....to drift away....

A feeling so dangerous, yet so desired

To know death is imminent and yet do nothing about it....

Did I remember the story of the red rose?

Of the nightingale that sung....till the thorn pieced it's tiny heart?

Wouldn't I love to feel a similar pain?

Of wrenching my heart again and draining it out

To love....and drown in your love?

Till I could feel nothing else but love?

....A thunderclap....and I saw a huge mahogany turn ashes infront of my eyes.....
Has anyone ever seen the love of gods? Would it look somewhat like what I just saw?