Am a traveller down paths less trodden...

2011-12-26T03:48:00.000-08:00

I realize that it has been almost a year since I wrote! What the hell is wrong with me? I could write!!!! Oh I still can! "Click Next to Continue" or "By the end of this course, you will be able to"...who the hell cares what you will be able to do when you finish this godforsaken course! Or if you will take it at all...but I will still write what makes no sense...and what does make sense! Well they don't come any more!

Is this what was desired? I wonder!!! Or is it just a dream? A nightmare...I will wake out of it and find that I can write...once again???? But then, write what? I am not a storyteller, neither a poet! I am not JK Rowling or even Chitra Divakaruni for that matter! Neither am I a certain Raj Malhotra that I write down the story of my life and get a whopping amount for that! But then I could still write...scribble for myself, most of all!

And so, now that I have no "Click next"s to write for a couple of weeks, I thought of telling you all a story...

A love story...

There was once a girl...who lived in the dark world deep in the rugged and rough lands of the eastern plains. Her world was dark but she was a dreamer and dreamt of blue skies, green meadows, white ocean surf, yellow sand, pink flowers...all but the sun. She never had seen the sun even in her dreams! She loved light and yet her world was dark. She grew up amidst all the hard rocks and never touched one of them! She hated them because they were dark and lifeless. And as she grew she realized that her dreams would never come true. The more she thought about them, they more sad she would become. So she carefully put them to sleep and started to live without them. Live...perhaps not...but she still tried to and no one knew how hard she tried!

She did what all she was expected to do and never complain. And yet at night she would lay staring at the dark and see her precious dream...lie deadly asleep. She had mourned for them for long but then gradually and with time she learnt to believe that they might never wake up again.

And then one night when she was sleeping she had a night mare and woke up with a start. She was scared and started running blindly and in the diluting darkness she stumbled and fell upon a particularly large piece of rock that she had never liked. It was so dead and black! The moment she touched the rock, it turned into a shining mass of molten gold. It was brilliant! She smiled and the mass of gold rose above all, to the sky and became the sun. The light had been a prelude to the sun.

And as she smiled up at the sun, the world around her lit up...there were blue skies, green meadows, white ocean surf, yellow sand, pink flowers. It was her world of dreams. And the sun promised her that the light will never cease to exist in her life and the sun himself will never cease to exist. He would never let her world go dark again...

And they lived happily ever after...

As they merge…

2011-03-04T06:46:00.000-08:00

When the world takes a twist on the roller coaster called life
Move along…
And there you go!
A new view, new colours –
Dampening the vibrance of the known…and yet…
Another twist…and when the view changes this time –
The deserted, left behind calls again.

And then;
The old and the new merge
On the same palette offering a myriad of colours!
And then as the new starts getting older,
It mixes with the older and the oldest…
And they all emerge as ONE and the same…

2010-01-07T21:56:00.000-08:00

The cold is biting...it has been this cold for quite some time now! Was wondering what to do on a particularly light working morning, when I thought of listening to some nice music and working. And so it was an array of songs one after the other...and then suddenly Moushumi Bhowmick was singing this song called Jessore Road...not quite sure about how many of you have heard it!

I cried as I listened to the song, thanks to the rendition by Moushumi Bhowmick, but I cried when I read the poem too! I wonder what could have led Allen Ginsberg to write a poem like this!...and now I feel as cold as death!!!!!

It is not the song I want to share, but the poem...September on Jessore Road, written by a stranger to the land! Jessore Road, the road which literally connects and divided the two Bengals still sits broad and strong...

Millions of babies watching the skies
Bellies swollen, with big round eyes
On Jessore Road--long bamboo huts
Noplace to shit but sand channel ruts

Millions of fathers in rain
Millions of mothers in pain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of sisters nowhere to go

One Million aunts are dying for bread
One Million uncles lamenting the dead
Grandfather millions homeless and sad
Grandmother millions silently mad

Millions of daughters walk in the mud
Millions of children wash in the flood
A Million girls vomit & groan
Millions of families hopeless alone

Millions of souls nineteenseventyone
homeless on Jessore road under grey sun
A million are dead, the million who can
Walk toward Calcutta from East Pakistan

Taxi September along Jessore Road
Oxcart skeletons drag charcoal load
past watery fields thru rain flood ruts
Dung cakes on treetrunks, plastic-roof huts

Wet processions Families walk
Stunted boys big heads don't talk
Look bony skulls & silent round eyes
Starving black angels in human disguise

Mother squats weeping & points to her sons
Standing thin legged like elderly nuns
small bodied hands to their mouths in prayer
Five months small food since they settled there

On one floor mat with small empty pot
Father lifts up his hands at their lot
Tears come to their mother's eye
Pain makes mother Maya cry

Two children together in palmroof shade
Stare at me no word is said
Rice ration, lentils one time a week
Milk powder for warweary infants meek

No vegetable money or work for the man
Rice lasts four days eat while they can
Then children starve three days in a row
and vomit their next food unless they eat slow.

On Jessore road Mother wept at my knees
Bengali tongue cried mister Please
Identity card torn up on the floor
Husband still waits at the camp office door

Baby at play I was washing the flood
Now they won't give us any more food
The pieces are here in my celluloid purse
Innocent baby play our death curse

Two policemen surrounded by thousands of boys
Crowded waiting their daily bread joys
Carry big whistles & long bamboo sticks
to whack them in line They play hungry tricks

Breaking the line and jumping in front
Into the circle sneaks one skinny runt
Two brothers dance forward on the mud stage
Teh gaurds blow their whistles & chase them in rage

Why are these infants massed in this place
Laughing in play & pushing for space
Why do they wait here so cheerful & dread
Why this is the House where they give children bread

The man in the bread door Cries & comes out
Thousands of boys and girls Take up his shout
Is it joy? is it prayer? "No more bread today"
Thousands of Children at once scream "Hooray!"

Run home to tents where elders await
Messenger children with bread from the state
No bread more today! & and no place to squat
Painful baby, sick shit he has got.

Malnutrition skulls thousands for months
Dysentery drains bowels all at once
Nurse shows disease card Enterostrep
Suspension is wanting or else chlorostrep

Refugee camps in hospital shacks
Newborn lay naked on mother's thin laps
Monkeysized week old Rheumatic babe eye
Gastoenteritis Blood Poison thousands must die

September Jessore Road rickshaw
50,000 souls in one camp I saw
Rows of bamboo huts in the flood
Open drains, & wet families waiting for food

Border trucks flooded, food cant get past,
American Angel machine please come fast!
Where is Ambassador Bunker today?
Are his Helios machinegunning children at play?

Where are the helicopters of U.S. AID?
Smuggling dope in Bangkok's green shade.
Where is America's Air Force of Light?
Bombing North Laos all day and all night?

Where are the President's Armies of Gold?
Billionaire Navies merciful Bold?
Bringing us medicine food and relief?
Napalming North Viet Nam and causing more grief?

Where are our tears? Who weeps for the pain?
Where can these families go in the rain?
Jessore Road's children close their big eyes
Where will we sleep when Our Father dies?

Whom shall we pray to for rice and for care?
Who can bring bread to this shit flood foul'd lair?
Millions of children alone in the rain!
Millions of children weeping in pain!

Ring O ye tongues of the world for their woe
Ring out ye voices for Love we don't know
Ring out ye bells of electrical pain
Ring in the conscious of America brain

How many children are we who are lost
Whose are these daughters we see turn to ghost?
What are our souls that we have lost care?
Ring out ye musics and weep if you dare--

Cries in the mud by the thatch'd house sand drain
Sleeps in huge pipes in the wet shit-field rain
waits by the pump well, Woe to the world!
whose children still starve in their mother's arms

curled.

Is this what I did to myself in the past?
What shall I do Sunil Poet I asked?
Move on and leave them without any coins?
What should I care for the love of my loins?

What should we care for our cities and cars?
What shall we buy with our Food Stamps on Mars?
How many millions sit down in New York
& sup this night's table on bone & roast pork?

How many millions of beer cans are tossed
in Oceans of Mother? How much does She cost?
Cigar gasolines and asphalt car dreams
Stinking the world and dimming star beams --

Finish the war in your breast with a sigh
Come tast the tears in your own Human eye
Pity us millions of phantoms you see
Starved in Samsara on planet TV

How many millions of children die more
before our Good Mothers perceive the Great Lord?
How many good fathers pay tax to rebuild
Armed forces that boast the children they've killed?

How many souls walk through Maya in pain
How many babes in illusory pain?
How many families hollow eyed lost?
How many grandmothers turning to ghost?

How many loves who never get bread?
How many Aunts with holes in their head?
How many sisters skulls on the ground?
How many grandfathers make no more sound?

How many fathers in woe
How many sons nowhere to go?
How many daughters nothing to eat?
How many uncles with swollen sick feet?

Millions of babies in pain
Millions of mothers in rain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of children nowhere to go

(An activist, champion of human and civil rights, Allen Ginsberg visited India during the fag end of the liberation war of Bangladesh in 1971. He visited a number of refugee camps in and around West Bengal. In the course of his visit he travelled up to the border with Jessore and to a few other places and observed the horrible conditions of the millions of refugees from the then East Pakistan (Bangladesh). He could have just been there and gone, but what he felt and penned is perhaps one of the most empathetic picture of the harsh reality which split the land...)

Thought

2009-12-10T02:06:00.001-08:00

Writing for self is the best you can do with your talent!

Masterpiece!!!

2009-09-01T08:23:00.000-07:00

আমি

রবীন্দ্রনাথ ঠাকুর

আমারই চেতনার রঙে পান্না হল সবুজ,

চুনি উঠল রাঙ্গা হয়ে

আমি চোখ মেললুম আকাশে -

জ্বলে উঠল আলো - পুবে পশ্চিমে

ফুলের দিকে চেয়ে বললুম সুন্দর – সুন্দর হল সে।

তুমি বলবে যে এ তত্ত্বকথা, এ কবির বাণী নয়।

আমি বলব – এ সত্য, তাই এ কাব্য,

এ আমার অহংকার - অহংকার সমস্ত মানুষের হয়ে;

মানুষের অহংকার পটেই বিশ্বকর্মার বিশ্বশিল্প।

তত্ত্বজ্ঞানী জপ করছে নিশ্বাসে প্রশ্বাসে – না না না

না পান্না, না চুনি, না আলো, না গোলাপ, না আমি, না তুমি!

ওদিকে অসীম যিনি –

তিনি স্বয়ং করেছেন সাধনা মানুষের সীমানায়:

তাকেই বলে আমি –

সেই আমির গহনে আলো আঁধারের ঘটল সঙ্গম

দেখা দিল রূপ, জেগে উঠল রস,

না কখন ফুটে উঠে হল হ্যাঁ, মায়ার মন্ত্রে, রেখায়, রঙে, সুখে, দুঃখে!

একে বোলো না তত্ত্ব

আমার মন হয়েছে পুলকিত বিশ্ব আমির আসরে

হাতে নিয়ে তুলি, পাত্রে নিয়ে রঙ।

পন্ডিত বলছে – বুড়ো চন্দ্রটা; নিষ্ঠুর, চতুর হাসি তার,

মৃত্যু দূতের মত গুঁড়ি মেরে আসছে পৃথিবীর পাঁজরের কাছে-

একদিন দেবে চরম টান তার সাগরে পর্বতে;

মর্তলোকে মহাকালের নূতন খাতায় পাতা জুড়ে নামবে একটা শুণ্য;

গিলে ফেলবে দিন রাতের জমা খরচ;

মানুষের কীর্তি হারাবে অমরতার ভান;

তার ইতিহাসে লেপে দেবে অনন্ত রাত্রির কালি।

মানুষের যাবার দিনের চোখ বিশ্ব থেকে নিকিয়ে নেবে রঙ;

মানুষের যাবার দিনের মন ছানিয়ে নেবে রস;

শক্তির কম্পন চলবে আকাশে আকাশে - জ্বলবে না কোথাও আলো

বীনাহীন সভায় যন্ত্রীর আঙ্গুল নাচবে – বাজবে না সুর।

সেদিন কবিত্বহীন বিধাতা একা রবেন বসে

নীলিমাহীন আকাশে ব্যক্তিত্বহারা অস্তিত্বের গনিত তত্ব নিয়ে...

তখন বিরাট বিশ্বভুবনে দূরে-দুরান্তে অনন্ত, অসংখ্য, লোকে-লকান্তরে

এ বাণী ধ্বনিত হবে না কোনোখানেই - তুমি সুন্দর, আমি ভালোবাসি।

বিধাতা কি আবার বসবেন সাধনা করতে যুগ যুগান্তর ধরে?

প্রলয় সন্ধ্যায় জপ করবেন? - কথা কও কথা কও

বলবেন? - বলো তুমি সুন্দর

বলবেন? - বলো আমি ভালোবাসি

The sham called IPL!!!!!

2009-04-24T03:51:00.000-07:00

I quite like cricket and find this entire concept of IPL rather entertaining! It's not exactly cricket that you are watching in here...there are over enthusiastic filmstars, dumb socialites, scantily clad cheerleaders, fancy commentators, and of course top brass players from many nations wearing the same outfit and playing as teams! What money can do! I am no classic cricket loyalist - but this isn't what we have been knowing as cricket since we learnt to fit a descrption to the term! True, Test Cricket might be boring and now with the rapidly decreasing time at our hands, even a one dayer seems long and stretched out. In comparison, a twenty over a side match is faster! But it still is far too dramatized to be called and loved as a game! But its still entertaining - far more than the cliched bollywood films or one of the innumerable shows and award functions that show swoning spectators and off beat stars showing their skills - Live and Exclusive!

This year however, I dont feel much of an attachment with the entire festival - yes, festival it is! Of colours, glamour, style, glitz, and more...the only question remaining how Indian is the Indian Premiere League? Except for the franchisee owners and players who are found mostly to warm the benches? Let's see what we have here - Coaches for almost all the teams, captains for most, management team for most, and top players for most are either from Australia, New Zealand, or South Africa. They take decisions and they decide teams - now I wonder how much of an idea they have about cricketing realities in India and the performance of domestic level cricketers to decide on who should be playing and who should not! Strange how even the owners find it more re-assuring to rely on these foreigners to decide the fate of the players, and of the team subsequently. So much so that a comment made by one of cricketing legends regarding a particular theory coined by a particular gentleman (read expert coach) could trigger off a suggestion regarding buying his own team and then deiciding trategies for them rather than commenting on strateies devised by coaches of other teams. Money talks, true - but it certainly does not give anyone the authority, no matter how sought after a star he is, to make this kind of a comment on one of the cricketing legends of not just the country but the world as a whole! Stars, they might be, in thir own field but that hardly brings in the necessity to make them the boss in a field that is not their forte! But true to our basic nature we remain bowed down to the glamourous and the powerful, oh and are we for getting the westerners?

And then to add more to the party, there appears this mysterious blogger, who can be anyone but does divulge a lot of well and better kept secrets of this big, bad party at South Africa! Was just reading through the blog and it appeared rather funny! There is this guy sitting out there pretty close to the teams, perhaps in the same hotels, bitching about them in public and shedding light on things that were hidden and yet known well! In fact whats funnier are the comments put - some appreciative, some critical, and some typical! Now, a blog is an expression of a person's feelings - so if I am writing what I feel in my blog, there should be no reason as to why players should be brought under scrutiny for venting their feelings, frustrations, and more! And for people who are not liking it! Just dont read it! No body asked you to read and criticize somebody...or did they? And if its a blog that we are reading with a disclaimer stating that it involves fictitious characters, why cant we just take it at that? Why such immense insecurity? If you like it, read it - without trying to figure out who the author is, who the characters are, what the incidents are...why cant a piece of writing be read just for the fun of reading? And do cricketers really have a lack in life that they need to do something as frivolous and childish as writing a scandalous blog? Players might not be made to play or to captain sides, inspite of their abilities - but nobody gives anybody the right to raise a finger at such people just because they are stupid enough to figure out who the real culprit is, or are insecure enough to react to a fictitious blog?

IS THAT ALL THAT IS LEFT OF INDIAN CRICKET???????

A day to feel the essence of womanhood!

2009-03-09T10:14:00.000-07:00

Quiz: When is the International Men's Day?

A rather strange question, isn't it? Adding a 'Wo' before the Men's could have made the answer easier...oh, aren't we still in the International Women's Day mode? Actually, I wonder if we need a particular day to make us realize how special women are? Doesn't a woman already know her true worth, not the one set by the society around? Perhaps she does not...perhaps it takes a celebration to make her realize what she is worth! An event celebrating womanhood...an award ceremony to award women or repute and credentials...a week long programme schedule with debates and discussions on 'The Role of Women' etc etc...it takes all of these to salute what is so special in women!

I will never forget this teacher of ours who was supposed to teach us a few lessons of FEMINISM...this was about 7 years back, but till date the paradox of her statement is something I couldn't forget! "I was sitting at home...my husband told me 'Why dont you try teaching instead of sitting at home?' and so I started teaching! Startling, isn't it? Wonder what feminism meant to her? Her husband suggesting her to take up something to kill boredom? Or is feminism or Women's Day celebrations all about with short salt and pepper hair, oversized bindis, starched cotton sarees sermonizing about what women should be doing? Post the celebrations...these same women would probably go back home and boast of the day's events to their husbands and await the slightest hint of appreciation in their eyes...after all their wives are doing something worthwhile!

Celebrating Women's Day once a year might be able to make a handful of women proud of their womanhood...but what difference does this day make to the woman who begs by the corner or the road? What difference does this day make to the woman who earns her bread by being a domestic help at one of the short haired ladies' house? What difference does this day make to the docile housewife who is raped like every night by her drunkard husband? What difference does the day make to the prostitute who sells her flesh like every night at the same price? ZILCH, is the answer...it does not! All It does it make us...the generation and the class touched by media, advertisement, publicity, hype and class consciousness, aware that we women need a special day to remember that we are special!!!

International Men's Day, by the way is on the 19th November...sadly they don't need a special day to celebrate their manhood!!!

Gulaal - A Journey...Halt 3

2009-03-09T10:04:00.000-07:00

This was the voice that had first touched the hearts of millions of music lovers as she had sung out loud the verses written by Gulzaar Saab that reeked of the Sufi philosophy! Rekha Bharadwaj’s ardent surrender in front of the beloved lord had been a treat as she had sung ‘Tere ishq mein…raakh se rookhi, koyle se kaali, raat katena hijr wali…’ And then they continued one after another…She seems to be picking up from where she left…her last song to hit the masses was ‘Genda Phool’ from Delhi 6 in a style that is so typically hers! A perfect rustic flavour that almost smells of the earth and yet has that naughtiness that leaves a strange smile on the lips…Beedo might sound like a continuation of ‘Namak Ishq Ka’ and it could be…a mujra it is anyway. You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tapping your feet or giving that little nudge with your shoulder as she does a ‘Chak Mak Chak Mak’ interspersed with occasionally heavy breathing and sarangis, harmoniums, mridangas, and tablas for company.

Beedo duje thaalika lage bade masaledaar

Man bole chak mak, hai...

And don’t we all know this ever since Amitabh sang ‘Khawe gori ka yaar balam tarse’ in style? What does not belong to us is always something which appears tastier than what we have! A rather infectious song that brings an inevitable ‘thirak’ to your feet, ‘Beedo’ is a welcome break from the other serious songs in the film. And who would ever have thought that it was not uncouth to use a word like ‘bhartar’ in a typical hindi song? How authentic it sounds as she says –

Meethi si kasak chhor ke chala gaya bhartar

Man bole chak mak, hai...

And then the song goes on to give similies that can sound grossly over rated, but think about how creative and imaginative the lyricist has to be to come up with lines like –

Sankat aisa silvat se koi haal bhaap le ji

Karwat aisi doori se koi haat taap le ji

Nikle siski jaise botal ka faag jo ura ho

Dhadkan jaisi chambal mein ghora bhaag jo khara ho

Angiya bhi lage hai jaise sau sau man ka bhar

And in spite of all the chak maks, she does an alaap at the very end of the song that truly reveals the class of this woman! What voice and what style…Certainly not the best song in the album! But most certainly worth quite a few re plays…

Song: Beedo

Soundtrack: Gulaal

Director: Anuraag Kashyap

Composer and Lyricist: Piyush Mishra

Singer: Rekha Bharadwaj

Gulaal - A Journey...Halt 2

2009-03-07T22:53:00.000-08:00

Remember the voice which haunted you with ‘Tose Naina Lage Piya Saware’ from Anwar or ‘Khuda Jaane’ in Bachna Aye Haseeno? Yes, the very disturbing and yet soothing voice belongs to Shilpa Rao who rendered her voice for this almost melancholy track – ‘Aisi sazaa’. The sadness and hopelessness in her voice echoes the silence and emptiness around as the sound of rains falling on the ground hits the ears. Close your eyes as you listen to this number and the sound of rains can almost bring the smell of wet earth as the tears which begin to flow unaware of oneself, as Shilpa sings – Palkon ki koro pe baithi nami ko dheeme se pighla bhi do.

The song, otherwise soft and not with too much musical accompaniment, has a rather slow pace and almost reminds you of all the sorrow that hit you unaware, unprepared and unconditionally. A sadness that can set in from nowhere in particular and remind you all the forgotten defeats, failures, and losses that had crippled you sometime, but then got pushed to the corners as a distant memory…it is on a rainy night like this that all that can come back and break your reserve and make you that defeated person once more, as you soothe yourself to sleep shedding the long forgotten tears that you had almost forgotten, existed! What perfect lyrics to express a helpless sorrow…

Jeevan ki raahon mein aana ya jaana bataake nahi hota hai

Jaate kahin hain magar jaante nahi ki aana wahin hota hai

Khone ki zid mein ye kyun bhoolte ho ki paana bhi hota hai

Wo pal abhi waisa hi hai chhoda tha jo jaisa wahin

Neende bhi ab sone gayee raaton ko bhi parwah nahi...

Ye zindagi aisi hi thi tumne kabhi jaana nahi

It is not going to hit you the first time...let it grow and feel the beauty of this sorrow.

Song: Aisi Sazaa

Soundtrack: Gulaal

Director: Anuraag Kashyap

Composer and Lyricist: Piyush Mishra

Singer: Shilpa Rao

Gulaal - A journey...Halt 1

2009-03-07T00:13:00.000-08:00

The first sound of trinkets, drums and temple bells, and conch shells can make you sit still for a while before Rahul Ram bursts into a virtual battle cry!

Aarambh hai prachand bole mastakon ke jhund
Aaj jung ki ghadi ki tum guhaar do

Aan baan shaan ya ke jaan ka ho daan
Aaj ek dhanush ke baan pe utaar do…

And what intensity he carries throughout the song! Every word is pronounced with prominence and may be even a vengeance! Not a typical song, it sounds like a mantra that with the most exquisite hindi poetry found rarely in bollywood music. Tracing its roots to the Bhagavad-Gita and glorifying bravery, irrespective of Good or Evil, Mishra calls out to one and all to rise and fight. Supported by Backing music and chorus the song gradually rises to a crescendo and all of a sudden falls to a dead silence…a soft whistle changes the mood only to be shattered once again by lines written with a pen which for all we can make out is certainly sharper than the sharpest sword, Mishra writes –

Jis kavi ki kalpana mein zindagi ho prem geet

Us kavi ko aaj tum nakaar do

Bheegti maso mein aaj phoolti ragon mein aaj

Aag ki lapat ka tum bhaghaar do

Indeed, life is not just a beautiful romantic verse…it is all about the eternal struggle for survival and the challenge of looking at the enemy as well as the new day, straight into the eye…It reminded me of the poems or songs we used to almost internalize during our days of soaking into the ideologies of social activism…one particular being a rather rustic poetry by one poet, Gorakh Pandey, that reads –

Janta ki chale paltaniya hille le jhakjhor duniya…

Hille le jhakjhor...duniya...

Song: Araambh

Soundtrack: Gulaal

Director: Anuraag Kashyap

Composer and Lyricist: Piyush Mishra

Singer: Rahul Raam

Songs

Millionaire??????

2009-02-23T23:52:00.000-08:00

OK…So we finally made it to the Oscars! Kudos to A R Rahman for putting up ‘dhols’ and Indian dancers on stage at the 81st Academy Awards. And kudos to Gulzar and Rasool Pukutty too for the smart song that is now echoing throughout the country! Any Indian will feel proud of what these men did and what they achieved.

But on a personal note – it left a rather nagging feeling for me. Sadly, reading the book before watching the movie was not a great idea at all! A few questions that continue to bother me a day after the great feat was achieved remains:

1. Why do we have to go overboard just because he won a couple of Oscars? Weren’t we mesmerized by his genius even without this recognition?
2. Why is it such a great achievement to be recognized by a body that patronizes World Cinema and has been ignoring Indian Cinema since the last 80 years of its inception in spite of masterpieces being created here continuously?
3. Why did Gulzar have to be appreciated for his poetry with a ‘Jai Ho’ which according to me and many more Gulzar fans, certainly does not feature among his best creations?
4. Why does a British screenplay writer need to bare a poverty and dishonesty stricken face of our country in front of millions of movie watchers around the globe and get awarded for that? How many of us actually read the book by Vikas Swaroop, the novelist (who the crew almost forgot to take along for the Oscars) to see what Simon Beaufoy made of the rather nice story? (Just a trivia – the book ‘Q and A’ is now called Slumdog Mllionaire, so much for a Western touch!
6. Why don’t we realize till now that the movie is actually a British Cinema shot in India with Indian character artists, to make it look Indian? Even the hero is an imported one, for heavens’ sake…are there no good actors here who could have played the lead role?
7. Is Poverty Porn all that we are left with to offer or to sell? Is India all about slums, slumdogs, dishonest people, religious riots and crooks?
8. Why can’t a Tare Zameen Par appeal to them? Or a Lagaan? Only because one looks at the middle class – the average India and the other glorifies India over the West (Even if it is in a cricket match)?

And a few pointers here as well –
- No participant on a reality quiz show is ever ridiculed by the host, on screen for being whatever he or she is by profession!
- Slumdog is not the only name by which an Indian street child can be called!
- A star like Amitabh Bacchan would never suddenly land his chopper in the outskirts of Dharavi and give an autograph to a little boy plastered in shit!
- The questions were modified as best a British could, leaving gaping disparity between the way the incident shaped the boy’s life and the reason why he could answer them. The questions in the book and the way they relate to the boy’s life are far more realistic and thought provoking!
- The boy was very secularly named Ram Mohammad Thomas in Vikas Swaroop’s book ‘Q and A’, of course with a rather sensitive story behind it – which was twisted to Jamal Malik and a rather predictable Hindu-Muslim difference angle added to sensationalize the story and add a typical Indian touch to it.

Perhaps this is a one sided theory but as far as I know they are all valid. Now, if with a typical ‘forget it and enjoy’ sentiment we choose to ignore these and bask in the false glory of the success of an Indian Film at the Oscars, well I might as well remain silent and listen to far better compositions by both Rahman and Gulzar in solitude and appreciate their genius!

Just to add…in case you would want to listen to one of the many compositions that truly shows the genius and mastery of Allah Rakha Rehman, listen to ‘Jiya Se Jiya’ from the album Connections.

Let my country awake....

2008-12-03T21:50:00.000-08:00

Well! What do we see now? A country that is witnessing it's first sensible urban uprising against the shame that the politicians of the country have brought upon post the Mumbai Terror attack! The incessant candle marches, signature and petition campaigns across the country irrespective of the region! It bears an uncanny resemblance to a particular scene in the nation stirrer Amir Khan starrer 'Rang De Basanti'...the only difference is that over here there are no retakes and there is no end of the story after about 3 hours! The growing anger and unrest spreading among the literate urban mass like wild fire is by no means a comfort signal for the politicians. For the very first time in the history of this independent nation the people are out on a movement against politicians...and they are in huge numbers!

Politicians, the same lot who, shocking but not surprisingly, have refused to lessen their personal security at the cost of increasing the security of the people of the country! Politicians, who have just tried to monopolize the after shock situation for their own personal motives and made the stupidest of comments in public! Politicians, who have failed to react in time in their bid to save a city for a virtual terror attack unlike any other event witnessed ever before! And yet we love to believe that we live in a democracy - a country where we, the educated, and even the uneducated mass, can choose our leaders! Leaders...I wonder if we can even use such a word for the politicians the nation is full of today! Of course we can look at the likes of Milind Deora and Rahul Gandhi, but for how long I wonder!

All this while it was despair and helplessness…that has now been transformed into disgust and angst! It took a week for the authorities to sack the most unsuccessful CM Maharashtra has seen in the recent past…all because of the one glaring question – who will succeed him? It took 4 days for an uncouth, uncultured veteran Marxist and a CM of a state to feel sorry for the remarks he made about a Martyr’s family! And it is going to take many more days, weeks and months for the police to understand what they are meant to do! After about a week of the attack the Mumbai Police Guards at the first target Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus fail to hear the beep of a metal detector as a lone citizen checks the security arrangements by carrying his licensed revolver through the crowded CST! Apparently they did not hear the beep! These were the same people who refused to fire at the terrorists on the Bloody Wednesday, in spite of carrying weapons. Another shocker was to recover bags full of grenades and bombs, which by some stroke of luck did not work, among the luggage holed up with the rest of the luggage collected from the platform on the fateful day! And it took a whole week for them to find it! And the entire lot of politicians are more bothered about successors and power instead of doing something positive for the concerned population!

And yet…the citizens have started to rise…the mass congregation of about 20,000 at the Gateway of India, determined to demand explanations from the politicians was a breather…it feels nice to see the same picture in almost every major city of India…It seems to realize the lyrics I mentioned in my last post… Exactly why I love my country…No wonder Mumbai police has banned rallies!!!!

Sirf hungama khada karna mera maqsad nahi
Apni koshish hai ke ye soorat badalni chahiye…

Aaj har deewar pardo ki tarah hilne lagi
Shart lekin thi ki yeh buniyad hilni chahiye…

Dil pe rakhkar haath kahiye desh kya azaad hai!!!!!

2008-11-30T23:25:00.001-08:00

I was watching the news last night...A Chief Minister coming to visit the destroyed site with a renowned film maker...and his deputy makes a statement - "Such things can happen anytime in big cities"...sounds strangely familiar to a dialogue by Shahrukh Khan in one of his megahits! The only difference being that he was referring to falling in love...and this statesman was talking about a terrorist attack which killed about a couple of hundred of people just a few days back! Oh yes and we have more...another chief minister tries to visit the family of a deceased soldier just to get some publicity only to be denied the permission to do so by the poor boy's father! Just where are we living?

I was suddenly reminded of a song we used to identify with during our institute days...Perhaps it does have something do with what we have been witnessing over the past few days...perhaps it does have something to do with the feeling of escapism that haunts me now and then...perhaps it is a feeling of disbelief to see my beloved Mumbai crippled! Every time I listen to this song, it reminds me of the intensity with which I had stepped out of the institute all set to change the world, the faces who wanted to make a difference to the world...of my friends whom I respect for having stayed on while I escaped, the people who made life a wonder even till date...and of course, the man who gave me this song as a gift I can never forget in my Life! And so...here goes the lines that haunt me till date...and ones that I have learnt to love...

Sau mein satter aadmi filhaal jab nashaad hai
Dil pe rakhkar haath kahiye desh kya azaad hai...

Kothiyo se mulk ki maiyyar ko mat ankiye
Asli hindustan toh footpath par abaad hai…

Jo ulajh ke reh gayi hai file o ki jaal mein
Gaw tak woh raushni pahuchegi kitne saal mein…

Boodha bargad sakshi hai gaaw ke choupal par
Ramsudi ki jhopdi bhi dheh gayi chaupal par…

Sattadhari lad pade hai aaj kutto ki tarha
Sukhi roti dekhkar hum mufliso ke haat mein…

Lad rahe hai isliye ke pyar jag mein jee sake
Aadmi ka khoon koi aadmi na pee sake…

Aaj har deewar pardo ki tarah hilne lagi
Shart lekin thi ki yeh buniyad hilni chahiye…

Har nagar se, har sheher se, har gali har gaw se
Haath lehrate hue har lash chalni chahiye…

Ek chingari kahi se dhoond lao dosto
Is diye mein tel se bhigi tui baati toh hai…

Chal padhe hai hum bandhkar sab sar par kafan
Hum rahein ya na rahein asha toh rehni chahiye…

Is nadi ki dhaar se thandi hawa ati toh hai
Naaw jar jar hi sahi lehro se takrati toh hai…

Mere seene mein nahi toh tere seene mein sahi
Ho kahi bhio aag lekin aag jalni chahiye…

Sirf hungama khada karna mera maqsad nahi
Apni koshish hai ke ye soorat badalni chahiye…

Ho gayee hai peer parzat si pighalni chahiye
Is Himalay se koi Yamuna nikalni chahiye…

The ordeal ends!!!

2008-11-29T10:38:00.000-08:00

And so…The Taj is finally sanitized! Or is it? I wonder! The entire nation has been hearing this statement as intermittently as they have been hearing firings or a grenade bursting inside the Heritage Hotel! The handful of terror mongers have made fools of the entire defense forces since the last 50 hours! Yes of course the NSG was very brave and so was the Mumbai Police but at what cost? Almost 189 people are said to be dead and more than 500 injured and of course these are just official figures!

The media has been playing exactly the role that it plays…that of a constant watchdog! And that not only provided relief to the people of the country but to the terrorists as well! Armed with ammunitions and dry fruits, what they made a point to carry was their sophisticated mobile phones. Ones that helped them keep getting information and commands from Karachi, and also keep a track on the operations being planned by the defense services! And how would they know about it? Well simple…the media was doing it for them! Be it the position of the NSG commandoes in front of the Taj, be it the NSG commandoes entering the Trident or those being dropped atop the Nariman House…they got a hunch and information of it all!

What personally struck me were the people who were brought in the various talk shows and discussions on all the channels of repute! They were celebrities, politicians, actors, players, writers…I wonder why? And I thought that the CST firing had victims from the regular walks of life…not just those that can dine at the Oberoi or the Taj and get shocked by the turn of events! I have a few questions here:

1. Why was there no coverage by any of the national channels on any of the more than 500 injured people lying in the hospitals?

2. There have been events of mass deaths earlier during the train blast events…why was no family member of any of the deceased ever brought on any talk show and asked for an opinion?

3. Is it only the thoughts and feelings of the celebrities and the rich and the famous relevant?

A certain lady, a renowned industrialist, was heard saying on one of the channels – “My daughter is traumatized. Her friend’s father was one of the people dead. I demand to know why my children would have to go through this?” Well sure madam…we get to feel the trauma your daughter is going through and respect it, but when during the last serial train blasts in Mumbai, a host of people lost their loved ones in front of their eyes, was there anyone to relate their trauma on national television? Or were the channels interested at all for that matter? Just because they were no industrialists? No Page 3 character that would bring a higher TRP rating if their faces were flashed on television? This particular section of the society would not have demanded any answer or clarification had the terror attack not affected the posh South Mumbai Locales! Such is our hypocracy and what a pity that the news channel prefer to call a fashionable lady in her perfect dress, a renowned writer residing close to the area, an actor, a columnist to discuss the situation instead of the commoners, members of whose families have been deceased in the same event!

Welcome egalitarianism!!!!!

Alas! My Beloved City!

2008-11-28T01:20:00.001-08:00

I question no religion…I question no country…I question the basic Directive Principle – Safety of the Population! I live in this country and it is the responsibility of the state to ensure that I live a safe life! How then does the much hyped Intelligence Bureau fail to gauge the advent of a group that can cause mayhem in one of the most high profile cities of the country? How does a group of armed terrorists enter the city armed to the brim to wedge a war against the entire armed forces? How do they enter luxury hotels of the likes of Taj and Trident and keep people hostages for over 37 hours now? And how does one dare to destroy Heritage structures like the TAJ for some issue that has got nothing to do with the beautiful edifice or the people held captives or the people dying shocking and surprised deaths? How can the media concentrate on being the first ones to show a footage of events when people are dying untimely deaths? How can the media be irresponsible enough to flash all plans of counter attacks by the Armed Forces just to quench their thirst for publicity?

The likes of NDTV, CNN, Times Now, not to mentions a host of local news channels have so far acted as irresponsible as the politicians of the country are generally found to act! It was, as if, a crazy competition on who flashes a footage of army men stealthily entering the Taj ready for an operation….or who flashes the first footage of the arm filled trawler that was confiscated…or who flashes the first footage of the air force troops silently descending on the terrace of the Nariman Centre! I wonder if they even consider the fact that the world today has shrunk magnificently! It takes a call to inform something to someone! Do they assume that the group of people who have been able to take the entire city, and the nation by storm over the past 40 hours or so are technologically challenged not be informed about the plans of operations through satellite links? Or is it just about sensationalization of events? Is it just about who gives the most gruesome news first? Is it about who gets the most number of celebrities on a talk show to discuss what they feel?

Are we living in a fool’s paradise, still????? And if we are…jus how long do we intend to stay here? Yes, Mumbai Police lost its top brass…but do we learn anything from it? Does it even ring a bell that it is taking the Mumbai Police, the NSG, The Indian Army, Indian Navy and the Indian Air Force to tackle “12” terror mongers? I have not heard much about the people injured or the extremities of their injuries or an update on their health status from the media so far! I wonder why? Or actually perhaps I know why…that is none of our concerns! But my beloved city still burns!!!!!!

The Mumbai Terror Drama Unravelled...

2008-11-27T23:54:00.001-08:00

Government sources say they were 12 in number, entered through Sasoon Dock and then through the Gateway! I wonder if this was what the makers ever thought would serve as the gateway for! My question how can people, even if they were dressed as commoners, enter a city with this amount of explosives and arms – completely unnoticed? Better still – they enter the most prestigious hotel and check in as boarders! So much for SECURITY!

Café Leopold – The first target, at around 9:15 p.m. It gave me shudders to remember all the wonderful evenings I had spent at the café!

Next target – the petrol pump opposite the Bootleggers Pub! From here straight to Nariman House, of course in Police Vehicles! And then we are asked to believe that this country has an infrastructure to combat terrorism! The Nariman House trauma started from then and it still continues!

The night before, the next target was the ever busy CST…at 9:24 p.m. The time when most Mumbaiites take the return train! My friend working for TOI narrated how from the window they saw the two young boys with a strikingly fanatic expression on their faces casually shower bullets! “26 ki Diwali” is what the operation was called – and what A Diwali they made it to be!

9:30 p.m. – The Taj Hotel where they walked in casually through the service door! UNNOTICED!!!!! And inside they place their automatic guns on a tripod and fire while revolving the tripod!

Trident Hotel – 9:35 p.m.!

9:55 p.m. – A taxi blows off leaving three dead at Vile Parle.

10:15 p.m. – They come in a Mumbai Police vehicle – a Skoda and fire at the Cama Hospital!

Metro Cinema at 10:30 p.m., Wadi Bunder at 10:45 p.m., Girgaum Chowpatty at 10:50 p.m., a taxi in front of the Santa Cruz Domestic Airport at 11:10 p.m….was just the beginning….and we still accept that there were just 12 of them? They have to be Superhuman to be present in all these places at these small intervals to strike at this rate! And then – it has continued till now…Trident, Taj – apparently free of both terrorists and hostages…or are they? Why the fresh operations then? Why the fresh sounds of grenades and bullets the moment the news is flashed on national television?

Mumbai Mayhem

2008-11-27T23:06:00.001-08:00

And so…yet another week ends…Its Thanksgiving in the US and all about just praying here in India. Praying that the macabre drama in the fashion and cine capital ends! Mumbai…the city of dreams, the city of drama, films and life waits in an unending agony for the terror drama to finally see the last curtain falling! Today, sitting in the comforts of my office in Kolkata, all that affects me are the long queues that have suddenly grown - thanks to the extensive checking and the unending strings of discussions and speculations about how it started and how is it going! It isn’t affecting us directly as we confidently and comfortably rest in the “It cannot happen to me” mode…but is it really not?

I have lived in Mumbai for a couple of years and love the city to the core! The streets, the cafes, the walkways, the seaside….everything about the city…has a character of its own! A life of its own! The stately Taj Palace right across the Majestic Gateway with hundreds of small pleasure rafts and steamers floating in the water right in front of the eyes…the beauty of the glittering “Queen’s Necklace” From the top of the Trident…the warm and cozy ambience of the Leopold or the Mondegar…the ever busy CST, buzzing with hyper active people! It all gives me a pleasant sense of warmth and humaneness….Well lets not continue to live in the world of dreams, for many of the Mumbaiites will perhaps not even be able to have a peaceful sleep for the next few months!

It was just by accident that I suddenly stuck upon the news channel which showed – “BREAKING NEWS – Terror Attack in Mumbai”…what unraveled was a gruesome reality that could best be described as a NIGHTMARE! Calling up friends and loved ones in Mumbai to ensure that they are safe was the first thing on the cards…but they assured me that it was just a “Gang War”! I wish it was! For till now as I write this….I know not who the corresponding “Gangs” are but it is a WAR for sure! I feel like I live in a country with an ongoing civil war! The Police, The National Security Guards, The Indian Army, The Indian Navy, and finally the Indian Air Force….and yet we have the mysterious miscreants hanging on to the poor people they continue to hold as hostages! Where from they entered, where from they ended up with the amount and quality of arms that they seem to possess and where from did it all start are questions that remain unanswered and, I am sure, will remain so till we have the next blow to shake us up from our slumber. But they remain there…firing indiscriminately at civilians and forces alike and killing them like ants…hurling grenades endlessly and holding on to their positions – all but a handful of young boys!

Where are we heading?

2008-11-20T22:51:00.000-08:00

Was reading through the papers a few days back! A sadhwi and a sadhu – both convicted for terrorist activities! And we thought it was just the prerogative of the Other religious faith to act terrorizing...the religious leaders guide the masses into destruction, isn't that what we generally talk about? Well, it's not just them any more...we, members of the so-called 'harmless' , 'peace loving' religion have also decided that it's time we showed them our real selves!

Sadly, these are not the first cases! There had been murders and genocides by the name of religion and of course the leading religious group in the country is being supported by people in power as well! It stuns me to think that we still justify these acts and the people responsible for such heinous inhuman crimes are still roaming around scott free! The ones that end up getting punished are the fools that blindly follow what is told to them! No wonder we still live in a country more than 70% full of illiterate people! Its easy that way! Just get the illiterate ones to believe that this is not for your good! And there they are up in arms and out there to kill! Isn't the trend exactly the same as the ones we have so long criticized!

What kind of a country are we living in? Some province wants to break off as a different state...some province wants autonomy even while within the country...in one of the most dynamic cities in the country a particular man demands people from all other regions to be thrown out or beaten inhumanly...and the authorities are, for some unknown reason, comfortably numb! I wonder when will they wake up? Isn't it about time? A country boasting of peace and tranquility is waking up everyday to yet another day of petrification – would the day end with the news of yet another blast? Would the day end with more deaths? Would it be yet another day worth forgetting?

Is there nothing we can do about this? Is all that we can do is wait and watch more disturbance, deaths, unrest and ...a probable end?

Amader ei poth cholatei anondo....

2008-11-06T09:19:00.000-08:00

Gulzar - The Genius...Excerpts from Sunset Point

2008-02-03T21:15:00.000-08:00

Dholak ki thaap dur daraaz ke muhallo tak sunaai di…jab use khabar mili toh who bhi pahucha! Khirkiyo, darwaazo se jhaak jhaak kar uski nazar pakadne ki koshish karta raha. Mehendi saji dulhan tak pahuchna mumkin nahi tha…Ek saheli dulhan ke liye chay ki pyali lekar ayi…usne toh mangi nahi thi…saheli ki ankh ne jhapak kar kaha – “Peelo…cup mein paigham bhi hai!”

Cup ki teh mein usne angoothi rakh kar bhej di thi! Angoothi hotho se peeli aur ungli me pehen li…saheli ki mehndi likhe hatheli par usne likh kar bhej diya – “ Usi sunset par milna, jo pull par mila tha!”

Lekin sandes pahucha nahi – who jaa chuka tha! Pal bhar me sab badal gaya…aur kuch bhi nahi badla…joh badla tha…who toh guzar gaya…

Har roz jab suraj horob hota…who usi pull par khadi uska intezaar karti. Lekin who nahi aya. Ek baar fir zindagi ka haath uske ungliyo se chhootne laga…Sunset ke rang bhi kitne kachhe hote hai!

Suraj doobta doobte garam koyle ki tarha doob gaya…aur bujh gaya! Who ghar se bhaag ayi thi…us rishte se bachne ke liye jo bin chahe uske daaman se bandha ja raha tha. Usne sandesa bheja toh tha – us pull par milne ke liye jo do kinaroko jorta hai.

Hawa jab kohre ko hilora deti toh pura pull jhoom jataa…zindagi ke dono sire choo leta – ibteda aur inteha – shuruwat aur aakhir! Isi jagah se unke rishte ki ibteda hui thi…maazi se ek awaz ahista ahista uske kareeb aa rahi thi…

Who abhi tak pull par khadi thi…

Ateet se aati hui hasi aur awaaz bahut durr nahi lagi ! Aisi hi laga jaise awaaz abhi tak beeti nahi…shayad kohra mein haath baraye toh chhu bhi le use. Ghari dekhi…second ki sui apne pehre par parade kar rahi thi! Aur abhi tak uske aane ki koi khabar nahi thi! Raat mein shadaf aa gaya the…crack aa gaya tha!

Aadhi raat kat chuki thi…Who raat bhi aisi hi kati thi…ekkiswe manzil par ek ghoomte hue restaurant me…shayad Toronto me tha…wo do hi the aur…

Ghari dekhi thi toh usne apna haath rakh diya tha us par. Kitna bara haath tha uska! Uski dono kalaiya usme bandh ho jaya karti thi…lock ho jaati thi! Apne bojhal ankhon se usne dekha tha uski taraf…aur uski ankhon ki awaz sunaai di thi…“Tumhari ankhon ka rang bhi toh aasmani hai!”

Na paro se ure,na pairo par chale...uski muskurahat ne itna hi kaha tha - “Baahon me utha lo mujhe...mujhse chala nahi jaata” Us raat baahon ki ek sangin deewar mein...do saase kuch you uljhi thi ke bas ek hi saans sunaai di thi...

Agomoni 3

2007-10-27T10:56:00.001-07:00

Barir pujo orghyo...

Dhuno Poranor Purono Reeti...

Kumari Pujo...

Bishorjoner age dorpone mayer pa dekha...

Ei shesh dekha...e bochorer moto...

Agomoni 2

2007-10-27T10:05:00.001-07:00

Alo r bigyaponer moroke...

Tufaani chumuk protibaarer motoi...

Nache alo dhaker taale....

Thakur dekhte jawa...

BIGyaponer bajare BIG FM...

Agomoni 1

2007-10-27T09:54:00.001-07:00

Trinoyoni Durga...

Rudrorupini tokhono kumortulite...

Agomoner Prostuti...

Tak Duma Dum Dhaker Kaathi...

Ma chollen baaper baari...kumor para theke...

As the festivities begin...

2007-10-09T21:57:00.001-07:00

It has been raining intermittently since the past month…well, it no longer takes a monsoon to bring out your umbrellas and rain coats. The Low Pressure troughs have been a bit too frequent over the Gangetic Plains this year…Looming, dark clouds gather almost every alternate day causing creases on more an every alternate face on the roads. Perhaps we a re a bit too tired of rains…perhaps we are a bit too tired of half dried clothes with a musty smell…perhaps we are a bit too tired of the mucky lanes or the more than half drenched roads!

Guess its finally time for Zeus…or Indra (They look strangely familiar in spite of their locational differences!) to take a rest for the year! The over-drenched humans are now crying out loud for a bit of sun! As the roads of the metropolis remain drowned to the waist even after scorching sun beats down on the rain drenched city (Thanks to the Civic Services!) the sick and tired souls of the city call out more to the Civic Authorities rather than the All Powerful Gods. It’s no wonder then that the theme-crazy Puja organizers do not hesitate to replace the moulds with a more bureaucratic look that the usual ethereal ones in their bid to be the best! Actually there is hardly an option left! With the Potters Zone either remains submerged in waist deep water or another harsh Low Pressure starting to beat down on it mercilessly, the traditional idols hardly get a chance to dry up in time!

And of course there is the Puja Shopping…perhaps one of the favourite pastimes for Us, proud Kolkatans! As the rains put a hold on the entire affair for a few days, the remaining ones see record crowd gathering around the shopping centres, and the bazaars of the city so much that life becomes tough for the rest of the world. Well, news here then…the Met Department has predicted a Dry Puja this year (sound strangely familiar to Dry Days!!!) leading to the obvious conclusion of the opposite! So fellow city-ans…keep your umbrellas and raincoats ready for the five days of celebration! And be sure to include waterproof clothes in your Puja Wardrobe. Oh yes and it’s Floaters Time…and so, the Reeboks and Nikes of the world unite…for its time for the Khadims, Sreeleathers and the lot to rest in peace…

And then the Rizwanur Rehman Case still remains shrouded in mystery as authorities juggle it between themselves arguing over when to prosecute the suspected officials! For Life’s Sake…the guy was found dead and in all probabilities murdered…and yet the discussions range between whether it will be right to prosecute the people concerned! And of course the ‘Ration Revolution’ as it has been labeled now, continues to claim lives and burn shops and assets. The Authorities are as usual at a loss about which side to take – the ones they had been stealthily taking or the ones they have to openly take to save their faces! Oh yes…Nandigram continues to simmer like on a perpetual fire…with deaths in a row and definite more to follow wonder what appeals to them now…The blue skies with white clouds floating? The smell of autumn emanating from every part of the world? The Mahalaya and Puja dawning with its usual fervour? Or food, land and respect?

Will be back with more updates on the city and around and of course everything else that will remain dormant and will eventually die a unnecessarily predictable death…

Well….Happy Durga Puja people…

Shanti Town VI

2007-09-02T03:36:00.000-07:00

The morning welcomes us in the same way, with the only exception that it being a Sunday does not necessarily imply lazing in the bed till late hours of the day. Post breakfast and bath we set out to explore the town and buy small mementos for people back home. This time we decide to walk the two kilometres instead of taking the rickshaw. Walking down the road by the canal, the breeze sings in our ears as colourful butterflies flutter past taking short breaks on the tall green grass by the roads. The sky is a strange spotless blue designed with stark shades of red, orange and yellow emanating from the flowers that bloom on the high up branches. Again we pass locals on our way and wonder if our presence in their usual settings upsets the ambience for them...

A trifle tired as we reach the Canal More, we decide to stop for a cup of tea in one of the stalls. Hot tea in earthen cups tastes fantastic, with the smell of fresh earth surrounding us throughout. Instead of taking the left turn we decide to turn right towards Goalpara and walk down a few steps to 'Ipil'. Does the name sound weird? It might...it means a star in the local Santhali language. A lone man runs this small shop or boutique in the real sense of the term. He makes all the items on sale with meticulous care in his own little studio room in one corner of the small hut like structure. The room smells strongly of grass, as in ganja...while the items on display, mostly Dokra craft can leave one mesmerized. We wander in the shop for a while and end up buying a few stuff that can hardly be found in the Kolkata or for that matter in the town area itself.

Satisfying our aesthetic senses for the time being we start walking towards the University area. We cross Shyambati, University More and walk further down leaving Purbo palli on the left. As we get closer to the now deserted Bhuban danga ground, a surging memory fills the mind - that of the Poush Mela. Started by Tagore, this huge fair is another event of importance in this town. Held over the 22nd or 23rd, 24th and 25th December, marking the Foundation Day of the Vishwabharati University. The 'Melar math' as it is also known as turns into a literal Fair ground with shops selling locally made handicraft items, food, items of daily use and local jewellery. There are entertainment corners and the crowd essentially pools in from Kolkata and other places as well.

One of the main attractions remains the 'Baul Akhra' where bauls come together and present their songs in a somewhat similar version of a JAM Session. People sit there enamored by the simple yet philosophically charged lyrics of the baul songs - a speciality of rural Bengal, particularly this part of the state. the lyrics as well as the tunes accompanied by the Khamaks sound strangely rustic as they sing in unison...'Chatoko pray ohornishi/ cheye ache kalo shoshi/ ar hobo bole choron dashi/O ta hoy na kopal gune...amar moner manusheri shone...O milon hobe kototdine...' The sorrow and cries of the soul reverberate through the strains of the songs that equate love for the supreme being through the love for a lover. Though literally Poush Mela ends on the 25th December, what continues is the Bhanga Mela or the remnants of the fair with some shops still selling items, now at a cheaper rate.

As we move further, rows of shanties sell locally made artifacts and items. Teracotta being a speciality in this part of the state, items made in this form are plenty and at rates unimaginable anywhere else. The earthern artifacts, the batik clothes, the Dokra ornaments...it actually is a shoppers paradise for those with a taste for elegance and sophistication. As the day gradually moves towards noon, tired of the walking, we take a rickshaw and head back for home. A little rest and packing our belongings we head towards Prantik Station to take the train back to our usual lives once more. The Ganadevta Express comes at 6:30 and we board the train, a trifle sad that the trip has ended but ever ready to come back at the slightest pretext yet again...and again...As the trains gains speed taking us further and further away from Shanti Town, a faint melody rings in the ears...'Jabar age jao go amay rangiye diye, rokte tomar chorondola lagiye diye...rangiye diye jao jao jao go ebar jabar age'

Shanti Town V

2007-08-17T04:49:00.000-07:00

Post lunch we move towards the Khowai...A part of the land naturally eroded for ages, rendering it the name, erosion in Bengali being known as 'Khoy'. The red soiled road lined on either side with tall trees takes us to the dam gate which is perhaps the most precarious and yet the most wildly appealing part of the town. The brown earth eroded over the years creates considerably deep gorges with tall grass growing all around as the dam gates slide down on one side now leaving just a thin stream of water. As we walk deep into the forest like hind part of the area, all we can see are the same eucalyptus like trees that are a regular feature of this area emanating its strange smell. The crickets go on buzzing even during this time of the day creating a strange music...no wonder the poet found refuge and inspiration from this abode of peace...we accompanied them with a chorus rendition of 'Ha re re re re re amay chere de re de re...jemon chara boner pakhi moner anonde re....' True to the words we felt free beyond all ties.

Leaving Khowai behind, we then moved towards Kopai...we could have taken the road along the Khowai but the approaching evening and the precariousness of the road made us think sense as we drove back to the Sonajhuri more and from there took the road leading to Goalpara and beyond. It took about 15 odd minutes to reach the bridge over Kopai. The thin brown stream below the bridge flows as a mocking tribute to the Kopai that swells ferociously during monsoons. We park the car by the side of the bridge and climb down the steep side by the bridge to reach the river, the moist red earth creating footprints as we move further down. As we sit by the River on the red soil on a few luckily found boulders, the river gurgles faintly close by on its endless journey witnessing years and years of life around. Adventurous by birth, I walk towards the water with my jeans folded to the knees...as my feet gradually get used to the chill in the water. On the other bank, a few local women casually bathe and wash their clothes looking at us amused at our antics and over excited behaviour. I take a few more steps into the water and feel the need to fold the jeans further up. Looking back I realize that I am almost halfway through the river and I stand with the water level only upto my thighs....I wade further upstream and get a large boulder right in the middle of the river and sit on it with my feet still in the waters. The evening gradually turns redder as the sun now on the western horizon slowly dips further and further down intermittently hiding behind palm trees. The nip in the air can be felt faintly as I head back for the banks almost unwillingly.

As I step foot on the ground, on the other side a herd of cows come slowly down the slope and enter the water accompanied by a boy of about 12 or 13 who also steps in...one by one he leads them into the water and then swims accross, his height being short enough for him having to swim through...they all reach this side and in the same mechanical way walk down the banks towards home...I wonder how life goes on in the same way fro them everyday. they cross this river twice everyday from this side to that and yet the monotony and drdgery of their lives do not drive them crazy to the hilt...they seem content with what they have. Why then do we, more educated, more civilized lot have this source of constant deprivation in life? However much we get we still want more...maybe it is the distance from the roots or maybe because of our lack of association with nature...I wonder! As we walk back to the car darkness and silence engulfs us on our journey back home. The multitutde of glow worms and stars in an ethereal unison cast a magical spell all around with the crickets accompanying them with their incessant sound. The moon shines yet again and lights us the world around and yet again we retire to the comforts of our home, make a quick dinner and finish it off discussing the wanderings of the day. The terrace calls yet again as we go up and sit in the shimmering moonlit terrace remembering the poet and singing songs endlessly. It dawns on us how and why he had written 'Chader hashir badh bhengeche uchle pore alo...o rojoni gondha tomar gondho sudha dhalo'...

Shanti Town IV

2007-08-17T04:35:00.000-07:00

The road takes us through a level crossing at the Prantik Station and through the Canal Side Road to the Sonajhuri More. A left turn accross a bridge over the canal takes us closer towards the peaceful town now abuzz with activities of the day. Saturday and Sundays do not mean the weekend fro the people here....a rebelious against Rules, Rabindranath Tagore wanted an unconventional day to be the end of the week...and so on Wednesdays this town, just a little over 225 kilometres away from the Kolkata Metropolis enjoys a Sunday! Good for us travellers though who have only the conventional weekends to get away from the grind to the shelter of the Shanti Town.

The car passes through Shyambati with trees lining both sides of the road interspersed with picturesqe houses with fascinatingly appealing names. As we slowly leave Shyambati behind we enter the University Area with the first glimpse of the hind part of the Uttarayan Complex - the poets home. On the other side of the road within the boundaries of the Univer sity stands the Upashona Griho, believed to be the prayer hall where Maharshi Debendra Nath Tagore held prayer meets of the then much coveted Brahmo Samaj. The stained glass walls of the Upashana Griho creates a thousand hues as sunlight streaks through. I could almost hear the chorus of voices offering an ode to the formless God...I could hear 'Noyono tomare payna dekhite royecho noyone noyone...hridoy tomare pay na janite hridoye royecho gopone'...Close by stands the much revered Chhatimtola. The Uttaryan Complex, once home to the poet stretches accross a wide area close to the University More. A part of it now transformed into a museum, is open to tourists to view remnants and aspects of the poet's life. It was from here that the coveted Noble Prize was stolen! The complex has a museum known as Bichitra where there has been an attempt to capture glimpses from Rabindra Nath Tagore's life. Nandan, the art gallery is also a must watch. As we stroll accross the first building, an extension of the Museum and the Art Gallery is Udayan - One of the five abodes of the poet within the areas of the complex. Standing neatly one after another at considerable distances are Konarka, Shyamoli, Udichi and Punoscho.The poet is said to have spent time in each of these buildings as he went on weaving one master creation after another.

Leaving the gates of the complex, we stepped into the University Campus. The stretch and vastness complemented beautifully by a strange feeling or freedom and being back to the roots gripped me as always. Never an ardent believer in rules, Gurudev had initiated this Institution in 1901 where education till date is carried on in the same way - in harmony with Nature. Unlike any school or university in the world, classes are still held in this centre for learning and culture, in the open under huge trees in the very lap of nature. The dream of the Poet materialized to its utmost when Vishwabharati was declared a Central University in 1951.Walking through the peaceful campus one by one we passed Gour Prangon, The University Grounds, Vidya Bhavan, Patha Bhavan, Siksha Bhavan, Vinay Bhavan, China Bhavan, Hindi Bhavan. Sangeet Bhavan and Kala Bhavan fall on the other side of the campus close to the much known Kalo Bari. The campus, the comfortable warm breeze and the peaceful ambience at once transferred me to a a state we friends refer to as 'Haloo' - a short form of halucination. Not an exact meaning though, the mind at this state travels through time, space and reality to a state of absolute trans where reality seems to get further and further away from you. The huge trees with Krishnochura, Radhachura and Polash crowning their green heads offers solace and refuge to us weirdly urbane creatures, who behind the facade of modernity and urbanity, long to return to their roots at the slightest pretext.

Shanti Town III

2007-08-16T02:52:00.000-07:00

As the car sped through the road giving way to the stray bullock carts or tractor led containers my mind rushed back to the memories of Basantotsav attended last year...The festival, initiated by The Nobel Laureate during his time, has been continued with fervour and is one of the biggest Festivals for Bengalis not just in Shantiniketan but accross the state. Generally celebrated in late February or early March depends on when Holi is scheduled, this festival of colours it at its envious best here at Shantiniketan.
The event starts in the early hours of the morning as each student of the Vishwabharati University from nursery to the highest levels dress the same way - women in red bordered yellow saree and men in yellow kurtas and white churidars. A batik uttariya and a sash around the waist with garlands of Palash around their necks is commom for all with women tucking the garlands in their hair as well. two streaks of red and green Aabir adorn their forehead as in rows they enter the campus area dancing to an evergreen composition by the poet " Aji Dokhin duar khola" sung continually as long as all the students don't come and settle down in front of the open air stage at Gaur Prangan at the very heart of the Univeristy campus. The actual programme then commences on the stage with students from Kala Bhavan and Sangeet Bhavan putting up performances to the typical array of Spring songs by the poet. This function is a result of vigiour practice for months at the end of which the Vice Chancellor inaugurates the festivities. (Photo courtesy Sanjib Ganguli)
The norm is that he would have to throw a handlful of Aabir into the air, only after which, can anybody put colour on anybody else. Though shattered by the uncouth number of outsiders with every passing year, the students still follow the norm. It is after the function that the best part of the festivities begin. Students sit around the campus ground in clusters singing and dancing impromptu to the well known songs. The biggest of these sessions are held in front of the much known Kalo Bari beside the Sangeet Bhavan where the students of the Kala Bhavan and Sangeet Bhavan start their own show. With a chorus of melodious voices echoing in perfect unison and the Khol and Pakhawaj keeping the beats, the dance seems like a celebration of life as young and old students join the show. A little distance away a group of Baul Singers create a rustic ambience with the haunting strains of the traditional sings and the complimenting twines of the Ektara or Khomok as they call it. Till the late hours of the day the air around is left colored in various shades thanks to all the Aabir which is thrown into the air. The smell of spring mixed with the fragrance of the various colored abirs can surely render you tipsy, intoxicated with life.

The evenings are generally scheduled for one of the dance dramas rehearsed intently and performed by students of Kala Bhavan and Sangeet Bhavan again on the Gour Prangan Stage. This can either be viewed from sitting in front of the stage or from the ground though a screen. The strange concoction of the liting strains of the memorable songs by the great poet, the spring air with a slight chill still lingering, the smell of the many unnamed and unknown shrubs enmeshed with the string smell of Polash and Krishnochura and the full round moon illuminating the world around - if there is heaven on earth it must be here! A quiet dinner at Bhalo Mondo with the ever smiling Sardarji at the helm smiling and speaking in immaculate Bangla is all you would need to make it memorable for the rest of your life.

Shanti Town II

2007-08-15T22:42:00.000-07:00

If you suddenly open your eyes to the sound of a rooster's call...how different would it feel from the usual sound of buses or rickshaws honking that greets you every morning? Well...different is an understatement...the feeling takes me back to my roots...where I actually belong...something tells me I have a connection to this place...and I guess I do...everything seems so familiar, everything beckons me with a strange knowingness that I hardly get in any city!I love to believe that I must have been a village girl here some time...in another life...The day dawned on us pretty early as a glowing sun lit up the darkness, that had been all we could see of the place last night. I called the number I had brought from Kolkata and booked a car that was to come in about an hours time to take us to Kankalitala...one of the 51 Peeths of the Hindu Puranas. The way through the village roads is a treat by itself as it unravells the true village of Bengal to us urbane souls...and though I had been through these roads innumerable times now...they appear new and fresh everytime...

The car, a Grey Indica, comes and honks in about an hours time as we get ready for the trip tucking in last minute essentials into the bag, not to forget the camera. It's funny...everytime I come here...I take snaps and everytime they appeal to me with the same intensity! The vast green fields, the blue sky interspersed with white fluffy clouds, the distant date trees lining the horizon with a few village huts like one of those line drawings we have grown up seeing in the Sohoj Path...the line of Santhal men or women going for work in their traditional dresses - men in short dhotis and a gamcha on their shoulders and women with cotten sarees worn traditionally to a height a few inches above the ankle, their dark complexions and chiselled physiques glowing as if chiselled by some master craftsman.

We started off with the spring sun shining brightly on the landscape. There was a slight chill in the air as the last strains of winter insists on clinging back to this beautiful place for as long as it can. Spring is the time to come to Shantiniketan with the much talked about Basantotsav round the corner. But the choice to come a week before was just to avoid the crowd and get the real feel of the place, though missing the festivities is sure to be a reason for grief!

About 8 kilometres from home, the temple of Ma Kankali stands quietly by the Kopai River. The myth goes that when an enraged Shiva was started his Tandav to destroy the world, with the corpse of Sati on his shoulders, Vishnu had cast his Sudarshan Chakra to stop him. In the effort the body of Sati had been sliced into 51 pieces and scattered around the place. Her various remains fell in various locations, each one later recognized as a peethasthan.Kankalitala, which has a Kunda (pond) where one of the pelvic bones of Sati (Kankal) lay immersed is one such peetha where a temple has been constructed by the Kunda. The quiet of the place is only complimented by the rows of baul singers singing songs. After offering puja at the temple we wandered towards the back of the temple through where Kopai river silently flows through...a few quiet moments by the river left us at peace with ourselves looking at the local people engaged in working at a brick kiln on the other side of the river. We left after a while to start our trip visiting the many enchanting locations of the city...remains of an era that had seen the best of the great poet at his best.

Shanti Town I

2007-08-14T04:32:00.000-07:00

As the rickshaw leaves the station and the dying lights of the last few open shops are left behind, a strange smell hits the nose. The source - wild shrubs,some eucalyptus like tall trees, a mist slowly setting on the sleepy little town...Shanti Town we call it...Shantiniketan the normal ones do!The Prantik Station - hardly 10 minutes from where we generally put up, is convenient as well as practical. Sonar Tari Housing Complex - an incongruous modern architectural housing complex with rows of milk white duplexes and flats might have spoilt the beauty of the otherwise rustic locale, but for us, being proud owners of a place to put up, is a boon. Idealogically I oppose the incongruity of the entire idea but deep within I cannot deny how this place offers me shelter when I need it madly! As I look up, the dark sky with a million glittering glow worms and the strange silence greets me yet again with a new warmth as every time I step foot on this soil...

To take this train is the best idea if the intention is to enjoy an additional night at the Shanti town...The Vishwabharati Fast Passenger train, leaving Howrah at 4:40 p.m. takes about 4 hours to reach Prantik. The station of course has its own grace and mystique appearance. The otherwise dark stretch of platform, illumined only by the lights of the posts located at regular distances leaves a haunting feel. As a speeding wagon train passes by in full speed, the sound rips accross the silence of the semi darkness. The lone station room with a low powered bulb casts an eerie glow around the place as we climb down the stairs to move forward towards Home...

"Je muhurte tui ekhane land korish, sei muhurte oi dari buro bhodrolok toke puro grash kore ney!" is the one comment I here everytime I come here...Perhaps it just shows in my face everytime I set foot on this stretch of land. As the rickshaw moves closer to home the winds wheezes into the ears cutting through the silence of the night, as a sole, perfectly round moon smiles a welcome...with a thousand glow worms studding the sky like a bag full of diamonds strewn accross carelessly.

As we unlock the otherwise deserted building and open the door to my home, a sense of calm and peace wafts through the room and hits the nose. Too late for dinner and too full with the tit bits devoured en route, we silently put down our luggage, change and come up to the terrace. A dark silence wraps the whole area with stray street lamps lighting up only parts of the dark road that walks parallely to the canal up to Sonajhuri More from the Prantik Station and beyond. The crickets break the silence of the night with their continious and chorus crescendo as the round moon gets covered by a huge black cloud. The distant Villages, ready to retire for the day are small dots of light as the last of the kerosene lamp burns to be put out. The heart sings out..."Aj jyotsna raate sobai geche bone... Bosonter ei matal somirone aj..." as the moon leaps out from the cover of the passing clouds and illumines the world yet again...Tomorrow stretches infront of our eyes as the fatigue of the day catches us unaware...slowly we climb down the steps and hit the bed...

All for you...

2007-08-07T02:42:00.000-07:00

Tomar jonyo royeche rakha hajar alo bochor makha pakhir pakha…
Tomar jonyo adim guhay prothom tulir taner chobi royeche anka…
Tomar jonyo guti guti pathor juger projapoti mello dana…
Tomar jonyo borof gole akash nile choriye dilo brishti dana…
Tai tomar jonyo rekhe gelam prithibir chabi
Haate rekho etai amar dabi....

Jani ekhon tomar ghore ekla jibon gumre more biponnotay…
Jani tomar mukh dheke jay bigyaponer drishyomukhor osthitorotay…
Tobu jodi ektibaro duchokh mele dekhte paro
Pakhir danay akash joler chobi…
Tokhon bujhbe tomar haatei ache ei prithibir chaabi
Haate rekho etai amar daabi...

Jokhon tumi e gan shune nebe tomar pajor bhore domka batash…
Tokhon tomar uthon jure khelbe nodi, dulbe haway roktopolash…
Khuje pabe tomar bhasha chhobe tomay bhalobasha…
Buker pathor bhangbe dekho shob i…
Tokhon tomar haatei pabe ei prithibir chaabi
Haatei rekho etai amar daabi....

Sung by Srikanto Acharjo in his album 'Ghuri', this song appeals to me like an unending saga of love. It flashes a series of pictures in my mind of a young girl passing through all the locales and places shown in the collage above. As if his voice travels accross the seven seas to gift his beloved the eternal gifts, that he had always thought belonged to her and only her. She, the epitome of life and love picks up these gifts from where she belongs - Nature! And each of them spring to life at her touch, as if that was what they had waited for all along....the outstretched wings of the white dove with a million light years etched on them...The cave paintings of years gone by waiting to be unravelled in front of her eyes...The first wings of the butterfly that crawled out of the first cocoon...The first droplets of rain formed from the snow thet melts with the first touch of the sunrays....The pains of her gasping existence ebbing from her condemned and solitary self...The laments of her soul as the silent screams of the advertisement hoardings muffle her cries...If only she could open her eyes and see the beautiful silvery drawings curved on the blue of the sky...As she fills her lungs with the freshness of the verses...all of a sudden a thousand flowers bloom covering her courtyard in the yellow, orange and red of their hue...All of a sudden she gets back life, gets back her voice, gets back the love that lies at the very base of her existence...And then as she opens her grip...there lies the key to the world that belonged only and only to her...that she thought she had lost!

She...

2007-07-05T04:17:00.000-07:00

All her life she had lived…
‘Lived’ – she said
and the world said along!
She was an epitome of love –
‘She was love’, they said and yet…
what they did not know was that
she has waited all her life
to live…to love!

Love was something she always had in plenty and yet
It was the only thing she was waiting for…
What she needed was love
that could expand her soul to the level of Divinity!
She wanted to broaden her soul and reach heights
from where her flight could bring her closer to the skies!

He was her angel…
Someone who had been there all along
And she had been oblivious to his existence for ages…
He could take her closer, closer, closer still – to Paradise!
He could fill her heart, her mind, her soul, her self
With a desire that lay in her deepest core…
A desire that had burnt her for all her living moment
with an insatiable passion
that could engulf the world around her and yet –
lay smouldering in the ruins of her dormant wakefulness!
Every breath narrated a story that lay unfinished waiting to be fulfillment…

The quagmire of the society that bound her existence
Was full of pain…betrayal,
Plundered endlessly and established yet another time…
A body made of loose, brittle earth
That decays at the slightest touch…
His passion alone could make her reach a climax
she had never experienced before…
a fire ignited with an eternal passion…

As she waited for him....

On a certain day...

2007-06-20T21:30:00.000-07:00

And there in the midst of it all she stood…an jhola hanging precariously on the shoulder as if to stop itself from dropping into the already accumulated mass of brownish water – a combination of rain water, drain water, petrol and all the accumulated filth from the cars that had mixed merrily with the water. Her salwar suit could be seen only up to the thighs as the rest of it was under the water and the precariously rising water level leaving none of her basics in a condition fit enough to sit and work through the day.

Suddenly…she feels a faint something around her left…or was it right foot…the slipper….Shit! It had given away under the strong force the water was creating thanks to all the passing vehicles creating considerable ripples in the water…Where the hell was the mobile? Oh there it was in her hand, safe from the rains…how something gets more precious than dear life! As if by instinct, she parted with her other pair of slipper rather gleefully…it was going to rain through the day in any case…so her bare feet would not be visible anyway…merrily back to her childhood days, she walked towards the bus stop where another one of my jewels, was standing drenched, with a umbrella open…standing right below a shade!!!

The wetness of her entire combination of garments was bad enough and to top it all…no smokes on the stairs today…The BOSS hates women smoking! And he’s here for a trip of the centre! It all had to happen today??? But there certainly had to be a way out…And yes…WHERE THERE’S A WILL THERE’S MOST CERTAINLY A WAY! The last time she had perhaps tried this was in college…and now once again a mature individual she had to….what crap!!!! She came up to me and said… “Jabe?”

“Kothay? Aaj to curfew…”

“Jayga ache…bathroom” she said with a huge grin…

I followed her to one spare bathroom which was not used thanks to the broken commode but was pretty clean and thankfully with no water spilled on the floors…entering the bathroom together was funny enough…topped by the way we squatted on the bathroom floor for a simple smoke!!!!!!! Bliss…The bathroom full of smoke and the commode full of ashes…we came out…there were two more trips to the coveted destination before the day ended.

And it had stopped raining…and so she trudged home in bare feet…that is her…

One of my treasures at work!!!

It Happened One Night - Chapter 4

2007-06-20T01:44:00.002-07:00

The rains always disturbed Shalini but tonight her discomfort knew no bounds. It was raining that night too and that was one of the things that triggered off a chain of events that engraved itself in such a way on her heart that she could not mend it! Why did it all happen? Why did Nikhil lose his reserve? Why did he not remain like before? And if he did then why did he revert back to his usual self again? Why did he initiate a tie he was waiting to break at the earliest?

In fact he had talked about Niharika, quite a number of times but a love struck Shalini just took it to be another one of his usual flings! If only she had been able to guess the seriousness that everybody else noticed in Nikhil about that damsel! And the funniest part was that she couldn’t talk about her longing for Nikhil to anyone else but Preeti, not even Uday who was her closest friend. How she wished she could, for once, know what that man felt…that is if he did at all! He could not be so insensitive not to have any feelings for her – after all, those drunken stupors could not be absolute pretentions! It appalled Shalini to think about how a person as practical and sensible as her could fall in such a stupid trap! It shamed her to realize that how she had cheated on Ankit, who loved her undoubtedly. Ironically, she too was, infact still is, madly in love with Ankit! Yes, their relation is a beautiful one ready to bloom into marriage and yet she had not been completely faithful. She laughed to herself – hadn’t someone once said that, ‘It is the faithless who know love’s tragedies’.

The rains continued – not a soul awake at this hour and the rains seem extra torturous owing to the unearthly silence. Shalini could suddenly feel moisture on her hot cheeks and she realized that oblivious to her two drops of tear had escaped from her long dried up eyes, moistening her world like the rains outside that were rescuing the perched earth! She wanted to cry…cry till she could cry no more…cry till Nikhil sails out of her eyes, her heart, her life…forever!!! She had betrayed – Ankit, Nikhil and Herself! But who lost in this entire gamble? None other than SHALINI NAYYAR – Where is Nikhil now? Somewhere in the midst of one of the vast oceans in the safety of a huge ship immersed in thoughts of a certain Niharika Chowdhury! Where is Ankit? Asleep in his bed, content with Shalini’s love and devotion and all that life has to offer to him! Where is Shalini now? In the midst of everything, apparently happy, with a hollow feeling, named Nikhil, in her heart, otherwise occupied by Ankit!

It Happened One Night - Chapter 3

2007-06-20T01:44:00.001-07:00

Uday had a half furnished apartment that served as a halt every time they had a night out and the one thing it had in ample was drinks. Out came 6 glasses and a huge bottle of Vodka but for some strange reason Nikhil decided against it that night, surprising everybody. Instead he kept on switching channels till a little tipsy Shalini almost ordered him to freeze on one particular channel that was playing her favourite song. Shit, this woman just has to make things so difficult for me; Nikhil scolded himself for gradually losing his reserve. And unaware of everybody else the two confused souls saw a video that was absolutely meaning less and at the same time made some strange and unrequited meaning –
…’Then I go and spoil it all by
Saying something stupid like I Love You’…

Love was a stupid thing and Nikhil had absolutely nothing to do with that, nothing at any cost, then why the hell was he feeling funny at the proximity this plain girl was offering. He couldn’t quite understand how one could feel so different with her, when from a year back all he remembered of her were a pair of big, brown eyes. The occasional mails were a formality but at that moment Nikhil could not read his own mind that could be such a botheration at times. Why the hell does this woman need to be the way she was at that moment? She gave a hoot to the world and exuded a warmth that could soften the hardest of icebergs. Slightly tipsy by then and free of all her inhibitions Nikhil could almost compare Shalini to a mermaid, which he sincerely believed to exist. She had shed all the curtains and was now on her own exploring the new depths of this vast ocean.

He had wanted to stay as far as possible from this mystery called Shalini but he could feel that he could not quite help himself in spite of all his effort. Instinctively and as if driven by some magnetic force he was finding himself next to her from time to time.

‘Why the hell are you looking at me as I I’ve just descended from some other planet. I’ve been noticing this throughout the evening…well almost!” enquired Shalini in a slightly slurred voice. What could he say to that? He knew that Shalini understood how he felt about her a year back, how could he now tell her that he felt differently. In only a span of 5/6 hours feelings don’t change – specially for Nikhil. So he decided to ignore the question that actually intrigued him. Why was he staring at her? Had she become so beautiful that he couldn’t take his eyes off her or was he just trying to find what had transformed her? Or was he simply trying to gauge the reasons for his own persistent discomfort through the entire length of the evening?

Everything irritated him – Why the hell did Uday suggest coming there? Why the hell did he agree to come when the last 3 hours before that had been equally uncomfortable for him? Why the hell was she there, then? Even Preeti was there! He suddenly realized that over the entire evening the existence of this ‘Transformation Personified’ had made him so conscious that he had hardly considered the presence of anybody else. He wanted to leave that moment but couldn’t – he knew he was in for trouble.

It Happened One Night - Chapter 2

2007-06-20T01:42:00.001-07:00

This just could not be TRUE! Is it just a co-incidence that the two books she manage to lay her hands on recently had to have a character by that name? NIKHIL! Everything was fine till Taslima ended up at that name! Couldn’t there be another name for Swami Nityanand born from the pen of the great Jayabrato Chatterjee? Shalini almost swore at herself for walking down the roads she had promised never to travel again. She had left that city forever, never to go back again-never, for it would drain her a bit too much to see that man in front of his eyes and pretend as if nothing had changed, specially with that lady by his side. She was human after all!

Eight months after that night that changed a certain part of her life forever- she could still see him. Desire burning bright in his dead fish eyes, the look said it all and did the trick most miraculously yet predictably. Some insane stupidity took over Shalini to rekindle her feelings for this man who had no clue about what was going on in her mind and neither did he care. If only she could turn back time and extinguish the blazing inferno that charred her mind and crippled a part of her- forever! And as always she found herself licking on her wounds all alone. She felt horribly small, horribly weak but this was an uncontrollable urge.

Shalini had heard people say that eyes always speak the truth – how desperately she had tried to find anything but raw desire in them that night! And when they kissed, she noticed that his eyes were closed- CLOSED EYES! Then for a moment it had been sufficient to light a million candles all around her – she believed all that she read in Mills & Boon novels – closed eyes during a passionate moment have always implied LOVE! Well, she was sure even then that he couldn’t possibly be in love with her. But a part of her insisted on behaving like a love struck naïve teenager, hanging on desperately to the little things he were murmuring in throes of passion.

She could still feel his touch exploring her undiscovered depths and gradually taking her closer to heaven. There was no intoxication to dull his senses that she had thought of using as a rational explanation of his strange behaviour. Everything was as mundane, as ordinary as any other day, except for the very special union of souls that had an almost meteoric collision and quite predictably left back shattered remnants. Only 1 of them was too strong to leave back any shattered remains –Thought Shalini bitterly. She couldn’t till date come to any conclusion about whether he deserved hatred, dislike or mere indifference for being what he was, for a single night and then strangely for a few more inebriant occasions. But one thing was certain- he still made a difference, and managed to cause an unwanted stir in the beautifully settled life that Shalini had so carefully built.

It was raining outside – as if the Gods, angry at the earth, were lashing out their tongues filled with venom. It reminded Shalini of the mail that had shaken her delicate world of impossible dreams – Nikhil had spewed venom at her in almost the same way for feeling for him! And she could not hate him, Yet she could not forget those innocent expressions that became even more childish when he got high, Yet she could not forget those rare moments of false togetherness, Yet she could not forget the man who blamed her for seducing him that night when he himself knew better than anyone else how true his allegations were. Yet she could not forget NIKHIL!

It Happened One Night - Chapter 1

2007-06-20T01:40:00.000-07:00

“You look so very different,” beamed Nikhil with a rare twinkle in his otherwise expressionless eyes. Is this the same woman he had seen almost a year back, he wondered? Certainly not with those well-defined brows that accentuated the inebriant effect of the big, brown eyes – the only attractive thing he ever found in the otherwise plain face. He now noticed a strange glow that enamoured him momentarily as their cheeks brushed past in a most ordinary embrace. For once he almost jumped at the invitation from those fair, warm arms that had never interested him before.

Shalini couldn’t stop smiling at this unusual appreciation in Nikhil’s eyes, especially the obvious desire that was flickering in them without his knowing it. A woman’s eyes can hardly read that wrong. “Do I”? She retorted. “Well, from what I remember of you- you haven’t. Not an inch!”

“In that case you certainly seem to have forgotten how I looked. I have…”

“A little paunch now, that wasn’t there before- probably a result of too much of studies and overdrinking without any sea breeze to keep you going! And your eyes…they do seem to have acquired a little more life…Nikhil, I don’t forget things so easily or so soon.” The last part was a last minute addition smeared with a smile, thanks to the flustered look on his face. It surprised him how someone as stupid as Shalini almost read his mind! He gave a full-throated laugh to change the situation and it worked somehow. His mind however denied any other thoughts while he kept on noticing the little changes that almost transformed her from as simple duckling to a gorgeous swan. Nikhil smiled to himself at this rather unusual comparison – a sailor from the very heart- how could he move too far away from the water!

“Hi sweetheart, looking very pretty today,” quipped Vikas, quickly taking her side,” but then you always do”!

“Stop flirting, Vikas. You know that it is easy to understand when you mean things and when you don’t” Shalini smiled.

“ That’s the problem, you never take me seriously,” said Vikas in mock anger. “ By the way, you know Uday don’t you? Hey, where’s Preeti by the way?”

“Preeti’s on her way and NO, I haven’t had the fortune of getting introduced though I’ve heard a lot ‘bout him – Hi Uday, am Shalini…”

5 minutes after this 2 engines roared up as a flock of youth raced towards the nearest movie hall for the most recent horror flick.
Throughout the movie, Nikhil could hardly concentrate on anything but the surprise that by some stroke of luck was sitting right next to him. And every time their hands brushed or she involuntarily gave him look or smile his steely reserve
seemed to weaken a bit. Back in the car on the way back who would sit next to him but Shalini. ‘How can one drive like this’ he muttered to himself as he put his car on the third gear. Out on the main road suddenly Uday’s green Indica swerved from behind blocking his way. Screeching to a halt, he enquired about what made them stop in the middle of nowhere in particular at that unearthly hour.

Apparently Uday, along with the ‘Gang’ had decided a ‘Nite out” at his apartment and so the ones in the other car needed to be intimidated about the change in plans. So instead of the usual stop in front of the Institute they would have to go further ahead towards Navi Mumbai. For a second Nikhil was stunned at this sudden twist of fate, then it made him slightly irritated. And to top it all he could hardly understand the actual reasons for his mood swings. Vinay slept on at the back seat while oblivious to and unmoved by all these Shalini hummed on along with Shania Twain,
“Looks like we’ve made it,
Look how far we’ve come, my baby…”

Brishtite....

2007-06-18T03:37:00.000-07:00

A stolen moment...

2007-05-19T06:28:00.000-07:00

As reality the hits...

2007-05-08T00:27:00.000-07:00

The drive down the same crowded road that takes her to office every day – was as monotonous as it was on any other day. Her thoughts were gradually making a headway for the escape through the little window that was gifted to her, thanks to the grudging colleague of hers sitting in the seat in front. This was an issue everyday. Everyday? It seems like an eternity since she has been taking this route to work! It has actually been just about three months.

“Why do you have to push the glass so far…I can’t even breathe?”

‘So how had you been breathing all this while with the glass completely closed?’ She murmured under her breath, trying to balance the share of open window space, but taking allowances, never the less. She needed this much, no matter what. It always struck her as marvelous how people can sit in cars or busses with the windows drawn! ‘What else is there to do but to look out and see the same passing scenes everyday’ she often wondered. And then everyday it all had a new look…the people standing, passing by, trying board some bus, tram, auto or any other mode of conveyance were new everyday. Sometimes she did manage to see a few familiar faces now and then but mostly they were fresh faces.

Spring was in the air…she could smell it. Although the weather seemed to be behaving in its own peculiar way off late, but the trees and the blue sky spoke else. They spoke to her, they heard her, they smiled at her, smiled with her – the trees with their fresh green leaves budding gradually to life, the brightly blooming flowers…Office would be another 10 minutes but she loved this stretch through this part of the city. Almost everything was properly organized here…the streets seemed to invite for a little stroll at any given point of the day! And the best part was the trees that lined almost each stretch of road around each locality. Stretching her neck out of the bus like a puppy, she closed her eyes to feel the air on her face and through her hair, to smell the strange spring scent.

Her solitary confinement venue would be lovely now…all bathed in spring! Blue skies, brown stretching land, green fields and flaming red, yellow and orange flowers atop mighty trees…a full round moon at night with a thousand glow worms celebrating the festival of lights in their own sweet time. The smell of the earth, soaked in the beams of the full moon, the distant gurgling of the dam waters, the sudden mechanical hum of a passing train at the nearby station…how they called her…how they mesmerized her…how they enticed her!

The simple and ordinary beckoned her with an uncanny power, she thought to herself. Unlike what is stated in her star sign, she was not all for the classy things in life…a simple cup of tea in an earthen pot was more welcome to her than served in a bone china set! ‘This was all about life…the natural way, the way it was, and the way we are forgetting every moment!’

The fifteen minute trip over, back to the confinements of an artificially illumined and conditioned state facing a stupid square box! Spring…winter…summer…rains…in here it’s all the same!!!!! Welcome REALITY!!!!

Khobor e feature...

2007-03-22T03:38:00.000-07:00

Achha 16th March 2007...ki korchilam bolo toh?Hmmm...16th March...2007...ki chilo?Robibar?Kono chutir din?Calendar ta ulte palte dekha gelo...na...e to mongolbaar...ritimoto sopateher majhamajhi!Tobe??? Oh...Shei Bandh? Mane arekta din noshto...Noshtoi toh?Ke kon Nanadigram niye pore ache tai jonyo ekta din noshto...achha eta kono solution bolo toh... oboshyo ek dike bhaloi...soptaher majhkhane emon chutir din mondo lage na...CHUTI CHUTI CHUTI....

Mohilar r kaaj nei...kichu holo na, omni Bandh...nije holla kore berabe r amader chuti...

Khobor e feature...Kolkatar rastay tar doler lok oshanti korche, Jor kore bus, tram, gari atkachhe jate loke office na jete pare...tai to aj r jawa holo na, nahole toh...Oboshyo gondogol hobe ach korei r sokal theke berobar tarao nei...chuti jokhon holoi...ektu ayesh kore katanoi jak!

Khobor e feature...Nanadigram, Tamluk hospital e ahoto der dekhte gechilo etara...ahoto...police er gulite hoy mrito, nahoy ahoto...Sarkari shutre prokash je 14 jon mara gechen...ebong tara police ke jotheshto jaliyechilen, tai to badhyo hoyei...r tachara montri moshai o to tai bolechilen...(kono attoglanir towakka na kore) tini to bolechen "Ghotonati durbhagyojonok"

Khobor e feature...Bandh e rastate anonde matowara cricket premira...kono bondher porowa na kore, tader criket khela parar more more r golay uchhash, bharoter ashonno bishwo cup soforer mongol kamonay...porone tader dami jamakapor...keta durusto saj goj...r mukhe "Hoo Haa India...Aya India"...Bondher porowa nei, kono onubhutio nei...

Khobor e feature...Shahrukh 42 e paa dilen...E jabot bollywood er byastotomo ebong sofolotomo nayok aste aste aro porinito hochhen (Onader boyesh bare na...onara 'mature' hon sudhu)

Khobor e feature...aro koto ki...

Khobor e kintu feature hoyni...je Sonachura gram er jonoiko shyamal babu tar stri, chele, bou ke hariye felechen, hoyto chirotore...ba hoyto khuje paben, khoto bikhhoto obosthay konodin!
Khobor e feature hoyni je police r gulite more kaath hoye pore thaka bachha cheleta jomi bachate police ke it chhure mareni...

Khobor e feature hoyni je police charao aro jeno ke ba kara guli churechilo osohay chashigulor buke, pithe, mathay, golay...

Khobor e feature hoy ni je 22 ta deho udhhar hoyeche prothom dine...tar por aro koto...kono khale, kon nalay, kon pother dhare...aro koto...

Khobore e feature hoy ni je e jomi chole gele tara r bachte parbe na...

Khobor e feature hoy ni aro koto kichu...

Ghire dhore kuasha jokhon....

2007-01-30T07:04:00.000-08:00

Jonoiko pathok...

2007-01-26T20:55:00.000-08:00

Gotokal raate moner kotha likhechilam dukhhobilashita korar jonyo noy...kono osubidhabhogi ke koruna korar jonyo noy. Ek jonoiko bhodrolok amar lekha pore onek kotha bollen...tar songe kotha bolte parle khub sukhi hotam kintu durbhagyo...take khuje pelam na...ogyate thekei tini amake pothe neme swopno puroner jonyo kaj korte bolechen...Ei ashay likhchi ebar je tini hoyto aro ekbar porben amar lekha...

Ami sahityik noi je dukhhobilashita kore du poysha ay korbo...ami nehat ei projonmer khub sadharon akjon manush...kintu sotti ami pothe nemechilam, nam bo o barbar...ashole amader, bishesh kore meyeder jibongulo boddo got e badha thake...khub shahosh ebong support na pele amader moto 90% meyera ei swopno dekhei jibon katiye dey...ekta osompurno jibon...tarao kintu chay, khub mon theke chay je je bachhata haath bariye rastar dhare tar kache poysha chaiche sheo ekdin r poysha na cheye soman hobe tar...kintu oi duchokh mele swopno dekhai shaar...baki oneker songe jokhon take jete hoy ketadurusto, dami restoray tokhon kintu bhetor theke jontrona kure khay take...bibeker kache porishkar noy bole noy...kichu na korte parar osohayotay!!!!

R jeshob manush nijeder porishkar bibek niye KFC te boshe 'poorest of the poor er defination niye torker jhor tole r asha kore amar moto je kono ekdin hotat kore ei nicher manush gulo gorje uthbe-kere nebe tader sukh-souvagger odhikar' tader ke ami boli 'hypocrite'....aaj ami ei kotha gulo likhte perechi, jonoiko pathok, karon ami pothe nemechilam tader sathe jader gorje othar swopno ami dekhi...nambo baar baar...poth khujchi ekhon...ekta sottikarer poth...natok kore unnoyoner naame prohoshon noy...jonoiko pathok...Moithye ashfalon kore lekha lekhi kora oproyojonio amar kache...ami ekjon SOCIAL WORKER by education!!!!Mumbai ebong Kolkatar sheshob tothakothito nongra, ghinji bostite kaj korechi 4 bochor...pothe nemei...tader songe ek thalay khabar, ek ghotite jol kheyei...kintu NGO sector er hypocracy tene eneche amake aj tader theke dure...nijeke tai ghenna kori proti muhurte...

Kintu amar swopno more ni...morbe na konodin...tai konodin bibeker kache khub porishkar hoyeo KFC r thanda ghore kacher epare boshe kheye, poorest of the poor er definition niye torko kore, subhidhebhogir oboshor katanor ei rastay hete, bill mitiye beriye jawar poreo amar swopner mrithyu nei...protibar nijeke kotakhho kori paliye ashar jonyo...kintu amar roshod sei kacher opare footpath e bosha mukhgulo!!!!

Protidhwoni shunte pai ki?

2007-01-25T23:07:00.000-08:00

Mor gaayer simanar paharer opare
Nishotho ratrir protidhwoni shuni ami
Kaan pete shuni ami bujhite na pari
Chokh mele dekhi ami dekhite na pari
Chokh buje bhabi ami dhorite na pari
Hajaar pahar ami dingote na pari...

Kothay ar sei gram?Shohorer hajar awaj chhapiye kono protidhwonio ki pare amader kache pouchote..."Korner poth dhore morome poshite"?Ekhon kaane ashe cycles rickshaw r horn, othoba kono boro garir horn...othoba dure kono nirmiyoman bari nirmaner shobdo...ei jantrikotar juge manusher awaj ki sotti pouchoy amader kane?Manusher kannar awaj? Hote pare koto ki awaj ja shunte peleo bujhi na...chini na...chinte chai na?Shunte pai na?Dekhte pai na TV khullei manusher loraiyer shobdo?

Naki amader kaan bhore thake Himesh Reshammia r matha jhion jhon kora "Jhalak dikhlaja...ek baar aja aja..."Unmotter moto jokhon kono night club e nachi amra somosto dukhho bhule tokhon thik sei hotel er bairei ek ordho nogno nari tar koler sontantike matite shui ye duhaat pete bhikhhye chay bhetore dhoka boibhobi manushgulor kache....ebong tar ei pagolini beshe khanikta bhoy peyei dur diyei hete jete chai amra...

Park Street er jomkalo notun KFC te burger khete jawa amra ei notun juger modhyobitto torun projonmo...ekbaro ki bhabi je kacher ultodike footpath er ordho ulongo bachhata jokhon gograshe burger khawa amader dike cheye thake...tokhon nijeke prithibir nikrishto tomo jeeb mone kora uchit kina?Thik kotha...amader ache tai amra khai...amader ache tai amra orai...achha amader to onek ache...kono din ki perechi tao oi bachhaguloke bhetor theke kichu kine ene khete dite?Parini...ki atkeche amader?Janina...parechi tader pashe boshe tader moto korei khete?Parini....

Torko hotei pare je parte jaboi ba keno...eta amader prithibi r ota oder...jeta je peyeche seta tar odhikar...kintu amra ki ei jibon nijeder odhikar e peyechi na bhagyer jore?Aaj nijer barite boshe computer e blog likhte parchi ami...seta ki amar odhikar er aotay pore...na soubhagyer?Aaj eder uddeshye ei sohomormita amar bilashita!!!Korte parchi tai....kintu jodi na partam...jodi ami hotam tader jaygay tobe amar ei shob bhabna chinta ki kore pouchoto karor kachei?Aaj tumi, ba tomra amar ei blog dekhe bolbe "Baah, sotti ki sundor chinta" othoba..."Hoyto thik i bolecho" kintu tao sudhui soubhagyo!!!!!

Opekhya korchi sei diner....jedin amar notun sei bhore choker patay lege thaka kuasha shore jabe....notun kore jege uthe manush gorjabe...tader sei manob sagorer kolahole hajar pahar porbe bhenge....abar shunte parbo notun diner pododhwoni...

Khachar bhetor ochin pakhi...

2007-01-23T02:00:00.000-08:00

Aaj onek din pore ekta gaan shune mone holo je emon sohoj kore emon kotha bola jay othocho amra jibontake koto na jotil kore boshe achi....kothay jachhi amra?Bhalobashar emon byakhya keu konodin dite pereche?

Khachar bhitor ochin pakhi
Kemne ashe jay
Tare dhorte parle mono beri
Ditam pakhir paye...

Aat kuthuri noy dorja ata
Modhye modhye jholka kata
Tar upore sodor kotha
Ayna mohol tay…

Kopaler fer noile ki ar
Pakhitir emon byabohar
Khacha bhenge pakhi amar
Kon bone lukay…

Mon tui roili khachar ashe
Khacha je tor kacha bashe
Kon din khacha porbe khoshe
Fokir lalon kede koy…

Lalon tumi ke??????????

The dancing trinkets...

2007-01-17T21:54:00.001-08:00

I started when I hardly knew how to aesthetically move my little body...vigorously I learnt the technicalities...It was tough but the tinkling sound of the bells made it appear like a dream, a dream of dancing my way into the hearts of millions...the traditional 'Riyaz' in front of the mirror was a fantastic experience...as if the mirror transcended the glass boundaries and I was performing on a stage with a huge gathering of spectators looking admiringly at me...The 'Ghungroos' got heavier as the count of the trinkets increased with every passing year...the sound of 400 bells chiming together...was like a treat to the ears as I went on practising one 'Thaat' after another...They were like jewels to me...preserved with love and reverence...I hardly remember handling anything else with so much care as I did with them...

Yesterday while clearing a lot of old belongings, they were found...in a dirty old bag, tucked up in some corner of the house...a bag full of 'Ghungroos'...tinkling again in their own way...in a flash...I was again standing in front of a huge crowd in a darkened hall, in the midst of my performance...I had wanted to become a dancer...and my 'Ghungroos' were the steps to realize my dreams...and there they were lying in utter disregard...For a moment I hated myself...one more added to the bag of my 'wanted to be and could not be's...this loosing self kills me every moment!!!!

My granny gave the 'Ghungroos' to my little niece who now dances...and now proudly owns them...as for them...well...they could well be mocking me and promises to brighten the life and dreams of yet another young girl, singing to themselves...
'Kabhi is pag me kabhi us pag me
Bajta hi raha hoon main....'

Wahi kahani...

2007-01-16T19:45:00.000-08:00

Muhalle ki sabse purani nishani
Woh buriya jise bacche kehte the nani
Woh nani ki baaton mein pariyon ka dera
Woh chehre ki jhurriyo mein sadiyo ka fera
Bhulaye nahi bhul sakta hai koi
Woh chhoti si raatein woh lambi kahani...

The immortal tale of human life...

2007-01-15T10:34:00.000-08:00

Ekti jongli phool...

2007-01-14T21:42:00.000-08:00

Hajar naam na jana jongli phooler majheo phote kichu porichoy bahok jongli phool...gondho tader hoy eki rokom...baki phoolgulor i moton, kintu porichoy dey tader ek odhikar ja tader gondho, borno, rong, roop...shobetei bhore dey protyoy...tate bhor kore tara matha tule daray baki phooleder modhye theke...aaj nahoy likhlam tader i ek jonke niye...

Du din age futeche ar ek jongli phool...ki tar jibonishokti...ki tar rong....porichoy boye eneche she...tai tar i oudhhotye she boliyan...naam tar hote pare...Pitish...ba Jirhul...ba Orjun...othoba Jacaranda...tar gayer jongli gondho, tar jongli swobhab bhoriye debe sobar mon...uttoradhikare onek kichu peyeo baki shob jongli fuler motoi buk chitiye jor golay sheo bolbe...sei ek kotha...

"I had an inheritance from my father:
It was the moon and the sun;
I can move through the world now
The spending of it is never done."

Mayer kach theke peyeche she tar jibon...jar bole boliyan hoye she pari debe jibon sagore...tene niye jabe koto jhore talmatal nouko parer dike...

Rudro nil...se ekti jibon...ekti ostitwo...ekti jongli phool.....

Nesha.....

2007-01-14T09:56:00.000-08:00

Ek cup chaye ami tomake chai.....boi r patay ami tomake chai.....
Chai...chai...chai...sudhu chai er bhire hariye jete chai.....

Dewaler kotha...

2007-01-14T00:01:00.000-08:00

Ami du haat petechi...

2007-01-13T21:58:00.000-08:00

Swopno dekhechilam...onek kichu bodle dewar...ekta notun prithibi jekhane protyek manusher bacher odhikar thakbe...gonotontrer prokrito chobi dekhabe je prthibi...kintu aaj kon rajye bash korchi?Jekhane samanyo kotha bolar odhikar karor nei...sekhane sukher prithibi!!!!Othocho ekhono to lorche keu keu...othocho amar o to lorar kotha chilo...kotha chilo oder pashe thakar, oder jonyo lorar...kintu polatoker moto aj nijer gha guloke lukiye...khobor r blog pore kanna chapchi...r sei shob gaan mone porche jegulo bachato amake...ekhono bachay...

Ami shashok goshthi chini na...birodhi pokhho chini na...ami chini manush...jara protidin lore jibon dharoner jonyo...unnoyoner sathe ratarati tader songsthan kere newa kono orthonoitik unnotir poth dekhate pare na...Jedin shopoth niyechilam manusher pashe darabar sedin pran khule geyechilam..."Is liye raah sangharsh ki hum chune...zindagi ansuo mein nahayi na ho...shaam sehmi na ho raat ho na dari..bhor ki aankh fir dabdabai na ho..."...aaj kothay amar sei protyoy?

Amar oti priyo bondhu achen ei shob er ekebare majkhane...take janai hajar obhinondon...nije na korte parar okhhomota...othocho take niye hajaar utkontha...ki oshohay ami...bishwash kori ami tader kothay...bishwash kori tader songrame...kintu aaj ami nirupay...sotti nirupay...amar sahosh nei, khomota nei...nei songsthan...r nei upay...

Moushumi dir ei gaanta sotti protibaar kaday...sotti chokh mele royechi...astha harano mon niye...

'Ami shunechi sheydin tumi shagorer dheu e chepe
Neel jol digonto chhuye eshechho
Ami shunechi sheydin tumi nonabali teer dhore
Bohudur bohudur hete eshecho
Ami kokhono jaine jole kokhono bhashini neele
Kokhono rakhini chokh dana mela gangcheele
Abar jedin tumi shomudro snane jaabe
Amakeo shathe nio, nebe to amay?
Bolo, nebe to amay?

Ami shunechi sedin naki tumi, tumi, tumi meele
Tomra shodolbole shobha korechile
Ar sedin tomra naki onek joteel dhadha
Na bola onek kotha - kotha tulechhile
Keno sudhu chhute chhuthe chola, eki eki kotha bola
Nijer jonye bnacha nijeke niye
Jodee bhalobasha nai thake shudhu eka eka lage
Kothay shanti pabo, kothay giye?
Bolo kothay giye?

Ami shunechi tomra naki ekhono shopno dekho
Ekhono golpo lekho, gan gao pran bhore
Manusher bacha mora ekhono bhabiye tole
Tomader bhalobasha ekhono golape fote
Astha harano ei mon niye aami aaj
Tomader kache eshe du hat petechi
Ami duchokher gohobore shunnota dekhi shudhu
Raat ghume ami kono shopno dekhina
Tai shopno dekhbo bole - ami du chokh melechi
Tai tomader kache eshe ami du hat petechi...'

MIRAGES...

2007-01-13T09:15:00.000-08:00

Lazy brown eyes brooding in late afternoon sunshine;

Mirages flowing down yellow desert stream.

Glass stained sky dwelled around her-

black holes throwing shadows on her eyes.

She looked for the tomb of death surrounded by poppy fields,

somewhere in distant heaven or the corner of some foreign field.

Her days were like empty vessels,

Her soul quenched her thirst in the long and winding night

for more mirages on a lonely highway...

She had a dream...

Was it a dream? She often wondered…

She needed a place to go for it was the springtime of her love...

He was the sunlight in her dreams

it wasn't hard to feel her glow...

She saw the fire that grew so low

It was the summer of her smile

He spoke to her only with his eyes…

With all the season of emotion unlike the wind...

there glowed a season of devotion.

She would wake up with a start…

His voice seems to have emerged from the depths of nothingness.

She walked on: trudging on the dreary paths of life

Looking for more heavens, more joys…more life!

Her eternal life, never ready to perish,

drove her on an undenying path of forever...for...

Hers was not a mortal life that would wither away with the springs;

Hers was not a human face of desire that would cease with age...

Hers was but life beyond death...

And she lived on...

Confessions of an ESCAPIST

2007-01-11T21:33:00.000-08:00

She was walking down the dirty alleys finding them as heavy as she always found them. Never in the last one year had she felt this strange, walking down these ways. Her trips down to this part of her beloved city, almost always, left her claustrophobic. And yet, a look at all the beaming faces peeping out of their homes to welcome her, was her Albatross. This was what she had always wanted to do: work with the people who perhaps mattered the most to her! Or perhaps who she believed, mattered the most to her!

It was never easy to convince most why she wanted to be in the city and work in the slums when, given her professional qualification from a premier institute in the field, she was perhaps tailor-made for a better career option in any other city or even abroad…But she had to come back to the city, which had made her what she was! Often while travelling down the wide stretch of the bypass, she had covered her nose to avoid the stink like all those who travel down the roads. She had often wanted to know how people lived there. Once she knew that, she wanted to change their lives, not realizing that she did not have it in her to change realities of majority of the population, residing in slums. She had dreamt of brighter skies, smiling faces, a beautiful world where people get what they deserve…without having to fight for their rights. What she did not know, however was that she did not have it in her to realize her dreams.

And yet, this was perhaps the last time she was walking down these alleyways. This was her last assignment – she would have to document SPECIAL CASES. Each individual was a special case. An achievement, a mental boost for so-called social workers and activists who claim to change lives! The work ethics had taught her to empathize! EMPATHY!!! Empathize with the woman, all of 20, who is bearing her 4^th child? Or empathize with the child who spends all his day, playing near the gutter with the dirtiest of animals? Or maybe empathize with the parents who live by the dirty drainage canals and yet nurture the impossible dream of educating their children? Or perhaps empathize with the teenager who earns his daily bread by selling stolen vegetables on the railway platform?

And still she hoped that one day the picture will change, the way they do in movies…in books…after all they said, “When you want something, all universe conspires in helping you to achieve it”. Could her dream be too unrealistic to match the famous line?

But, reality always offers a bitter dose! The world seemed to be ever conspiring to keep her dreams from realizing. She fought hard, she thought…but perhaps it was way beyond repair! Perhaps the world and all the people had become far more insensitive that she had expected them to be! Failed expectations always wreak havoc…and she was no exception! Disillusioned, Devastated, Demotivated…she could use all the words in the dictionary that she could to express the way she felt! And then they all served the smooth purpose of her escapism! It was always easy to say, “I could take it no longer”…but how about saying, “I want to see the end of this no matter what”? And she was not an exception! Neither did she have it in her to change the world…

Carefully dodging queries like, “Aunty, abar kobe ashbe?” (When will you come gain?), she finished interviewing the selected individuals. She also took pictures, gave them the regular pep talks about going to schools or community centers and with the stench of wet leather still nauseating her, she stepped out of hell.

The memories of her last visit to the leather belt of Topsia, corrodes her entire existence till date. Even today every time she passes the stretch of bypass, which she does every day to attend her stylish corporate workplace, the stench hits her! The smell mocks her…laughs at her for running away from it! Makes fun of her for pretending to be able to change their realities and failing miserably! Ridicules her for giving them false hopes and false promises and then running away…

She had spent many a sleepless night crying over her failure…one more to share her failures with all! She had hoped to share her success with all someday…but it was with a lot of courage and honesty that she could decide to share her failures. Months have passed since…and today the escapist has finally conjured enough guts to accept defeat.

Dramatizing has always been a wonderful way of sharing the innermost feelings and yet again dramatization expressed her memories of utter failure…but one that could have been fatal if not shared! Mock her if you want…laugh at her for being a loser but for Heaven’s sake don’t sympathise with her!

Spare her a moment and let her introduce herself. She is…

Yours truly…

ME!!!!!!!!!!!!

So what is Life???????

2007-01-11T09:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes my love for life stuns me…the first sight of a baby straight out of the mothers womb reaches me to a climax only I can define…For it is love which keeps us alive even when we fail to exist in the world of the living dead…It is beauty which makes every little child resemble God…It is faith which keeps us going all the way till we can go no more! And love gives all of it! There is no wrong in love, neither is there any self, for in loving every person, every existence we give ourselves and become another self. I may have a thousand selves and yet I want to have a self which is but a collage of all these…a rather uncompromising want drives my existence towards that self which remains like a mirage moving further away from me…And by the name of the all powerful who controls my life like a game of chess, the day I win over his moves, I would have no more wish to live for I would be a part of his being!

Living in this world, with ten thousand things happening around me – it feels like a whole confused hub of a thousand hearts residing with their own array of expectations and wishes! All fragile and tender dreams that dread every movement…as if every existence is on tender hooks, all scared and perturbed at being exposed to the earthly handlings! Like many a settlement, they are being destroyed and rebuilt time and again…and the way every change is accepted can make one feel as if their last existence was but a mockery and this is all that was ever desired…but wait till it is recreated again and that version would be the best! Who can stop this constant process of construction…deconstruction and reconstruction? The fragility of human minds and emotions never fail to surprise me…not that I am beyond all this, though! I wonder at times…why do I accept this deconstruction of my innermost feelings…of the basis of my expectations? Why did I need to be so accommodating all my life, I wonder! Letting the entire world see through my almost transparent existence was perhaps a mistake that can cost me my life! And yet all I can do now is regret…I wonder why!

Given where I stand now in life, a thousand questions seem to storm my mind…I often wonder am I really ready for what is being assigned to me? Am I being over estimated and given way too much to handle? After all I am yet to live my life on my own terms…why then do I agree terms set by somebody who does not know my limitations? And yet I had done all this for love…is this where love wants to take me? Some say it is all about how you face the adversities and yet remain as willing for it…some say it is all about being happy…but I wonder if this struggle is really making me happy or merely wearing me out in this existential trap! My love for the wild…for the unseen and uncontrollable seems to be engulfing me in a flame I can hardly manage to douse! A flame that seems to ask for a huge sacrifice from me…at times I wonder if I am really losing this constant battle…I honestly hate to lose! Escapist, that I have proven myself to be in all this while…I’d much rather run away and take shelter in some darkness and lick on my own wounds! Is it me alone? Or are there many more like me, who walk this earth nurturing wounds and pains that they hate to show for the fear of being labeled a loser?

Is it really that easy to pretend being happy? Happiness…I always thought I was happy…happy with life…happy with whatever life offered me…happy with everything that life has given to me! But now I marvel at the great world of false happiness that I was living in…they talk about illusion? The illusions I have been nurturing all my life have left me wonderstruck! Was I never equipped to face them? Was I always scared of the consequences of facing imminent failure? So much for being extra conscious never to hurt anyone…maybe it was not so much of a good idea after all!

Does anybody know me? Or am I an alien in my own world? Alien to my own self and to the many faces that rotate all around my centralized existence on their fixed orbits…sometimes one or more stray and come closer! Do they try to know the burning, smouldering me…or am I to burn in this shell of fire for the rest of my days? Do I ever get a healing touch to soothe my charred soul? Or is it too late to expect a respite from this? Should I not be thinking of this respite at this stage in life?

Dreary are the paths that I seem to have walked all my life, unaware of the stones that have left my bare feet almost numb for I can no longer feel the pain! Did I ever feel the pain is what I wonder or had I overlooked the stings of the sharp edged stones as obvious obstacles that I had to overcome? Where do I stand now? Fearing failure I have landed at the very edge of a step cliff where that seems to give me an option to chose between the devil and the deep blue sea…At times I feel perhaps the devil devouring me would end my anguish…then again I feel perhaps the sea could cool off my wounds and let me rest in her arms forever…but that would be another escape! I hate to be labeled an escapist! Having already run away from a lot that could have make me stronger, I feel like the warrior who can just run away from reality fearing to face the uncertainties of life that could have led to even the final verdict…death! Perhaps that one will to face and die could have at least given me more of a worth! And everytime I feel I need this no more…I am reminded of "That's what learning is, after all: not whether we lose the game, but how we've changed because of it and what we take away from it that we never had before, to apply to other games. Losing, in a curious way, is winning." - Richard Bach.

But my war seems to have just begun…my undying, indestructible existence seems to remain unmoved by all the deaths, all the failures, all the pains and I go on…on the path leading nowhere…or maybe to a land where paths run in circles and come back to where they begin! As I move from uncertainty to oblivion my journey seems more tiring! I wish for a companion who walks on the same paths and dies the same deaths everyday…maybe together we can live the deaths and move closer to eternity!

The land of nowhere, where only love resides and nurtures more love…

Thy name is Me......

2007-01-11T03:13:00.000-08:00

There are times when I don’t want to be the way others want me to be! I just want to be myself, just for the sake of it…for being the person I am! For being the individual who has been brought up to be this weird; for being a person who wants to be free; for being challenged by the basic human competence of normalcy! There were times in my childhood when I wished I had a magic wand like the fairies who stormed all the fairy tales of my childhood; changing the world with a swish of their wand! Ma used to often tell me to be more normal and more human. Alas! I developed all the traits, in a little distorted way…adding an ‘ab’ before the normal and an ‘e’ after the human! None of the qualities which could see me through this huge booming, buzzing market around me…

Sometimes I hate to wake up in the mornings…hate to face the world…hate to see the people running for their lives! Hate to be someone the world wants me to be! Hate to do what I hate the most – pretend! Pretend to be someone I am not! Someone I can never be! Pretend to be a part of this system which is so alien to me…And yet thus is the rule of the game! How old am I? At times it feels I have the world to see…at times I feel I have seen so much - it pains to bear the burden any longer. At times I wonder who I am…am I the person my parents have brought up with so much care to be labeled as an ideal person? Or am I the escapist who can only brag about her frustrations and still continue being the same machine that emits no smoke and yet produces only what is expected…the pent up potentials ventilating through my lines written in the middle of the night!

Am I the same person who set out with a head full of ideologies…to change the world…to do what I want to do? Am I the same person who was destined to die an unknown death…unknown to the world…unknown to the own self? Am I the same person who tried to die and feared the consequences of death? Am I the person who wants to live life appreciating its beauty? Am I the same person who is scared to look down from a height and yet want to see how the world looks from the very top? TOP…a misnomer! I don’t want to be at the top…I never wanted to be…but it feels amazing to hear the winds singing in my ears…to feel the warmth of the sun caress my cheek from up close…to feel the wild breeze ruffle my unruly hair…

I often look at the urchins playing by the road in the dirt and feel I could be like them…and yet if I would have been them, I would feel, looking at the people I represent now, a mad want to be like them! Why do we always fail to get what we want? Why do we always want what we don’t have? Is there not a single soul walking the face of earth that lives their life their own way? If not… then it is utterly frightful to be living on this planet! We all live to live our dreams, don’t we? And if they never get to see the dawn of reality, could there be a scarier proposition? We spend our entire lives hoping we will get that ‘something…someday’. Scary that this ‘someday’ never happens to us! Monotonously we live and we die, not realizing that all we have done all our lives is WAIT! A little something makes us happy and we think we step closer to our dreams but what we perhaps don’t realize is that the dreams move a step ahead! Dreams – something that we all live for; something that keeps us going; something we nurture tenderly in the very bottom of our hearts…and yet something that we can never grasp!

What if I dream of blue skies and green fields? What if I dream of snowy mountains and sparkling seas? What if I dream of a sparkling morning breeze and a soothing moonlit night? What if I dream of a bright spring morning with the sun, still dripping with the morning dew streaming down the window frame? What if I dream of a moist rainy day staring at the droplets of rain by the window sill? What if I dream of a lazy winter afternoon, reading a book sitting on my terrace soaking the warmth of the sun rays? What if I dream of a spring evening with the mild breeze filling my senses with the fragrance of the wild flowers? What if I dream of a summer night with the norwester lashing down in all its fury?

Dreams grow with us…and all we are left with as we grow older are memories of the dreams which we nurture in the depth of our beings…and more importantly those which nurture us tenderly and keep us from dying of shame and failure. And one fine morning when you expect the least, you suddenly find yourself far away from all realities…carried away to the land of nowhere! Beyond all happiness, all tears, all wants, all failures…all hatred. For there is the land of love!

We cry over lost friends, lost lives…lost acquaintances; we might have met for a few forgettable moments. Not very many hours ago did I shed a drop of silent tear for someone I hardly knew. It comes almost automatically…with a wish that even a teardrop from a complete stranger would be sufficient to get him back to life. But fate rules us, pawns of destiny! I know he would never come back. People would talk about him for a while, few days, weeks perhaps even months…but life hardly stops for anything…even for death. Not even for our dearest soul…unless of course it is ME…the all encompassing, all-centric ME!

How I wish all the stories about the soul leaving the body and being able to see and feel everything around would be true. If only one would be able to see what people feel when dead? I want to live this feeling of death and be able to feel what I can never feel in all my life – the end of an uncertain tomorrow. The fear of dreading what every moment of the tomorrow would throw at me; the fear of losing all I love; the fear of being all alone in this booming pseudo humane existence around me; the fear of not being able to see, hear, touch and feel the people who make up my self – haunts me day and night.

Sometimes I have this strange wish to die…strange wish to end all fears! And yet I am scared to death to die…paradoxical…thy name is Me!