Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Light beyond the door

Something shines beyond the door
My dark room, our bed ; my body
Aches, yet never does it move ahead
I can see the intensity increase, blinding
Me through whatever restricted entrance;
My strength overpowers morality, once again.

Evening sky looks through the South window
I hate being alone for I've felt your fire
For all I know, the light beyond the door
Has its source in you, inspirations and submissions
Make this life worth living, a strange light you are
You don't fade, either you glow or there's darkness.

Does burning hurt?
If yes, for how long?
I don't have an answer,
Numbness has taken over.
Yet, there's but one feeling
Let that be, the night's calling.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Come, dance with me (A tribute to Man on Fire)

The Sun sets in the east
To rise right above me
Westwards a cuckoo sings
Of all the silent miseries.
Yet, tonight I'm on my way
For the flower on the far away tree.

Come dance with me...

They are counting the dead
But isn't there plenty left in me?
Let's forget the lost ashes
And ride along the tides of spring.
A soft humming can be heard
See, the cuckoo's flying east.

Over heartache and rage
Come set us free...

Let the Sun shine over our sins;
Rejoice and take a dip in the sea
Let's do some somersault
And make the old and young smile
Let's run down to the base of the mills
Let's throw ourselves to the blowing wind.

Only one desire
That's left in me
I want the whole damn world
To come dance with me...


 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08WeoqWilRQ

Monday, November 25, 2013

The Stage unfolds

The curtains have started to rise,
The stage is set, the audience looks on
The spotlight illuminates the center stage
Act zero: The voice beams from within.

                        Silence grips the actor
                        Stage fright or a deep concentration?
                        The comfort of the green room
                         Has to be forgotten, and ignored.

Act One: I'm here, darkness,
The spotlight glows ever so slightly
And you emerge, my illumination
I have to reach you, but chains bind me.

                          Fade to Black
                          Blue and red lights take over

Several chains hang from the ceiling
Morality, Ideology, Hopes, Desires
The hue turns yellow as a siren sounds
The chains oscillate rapidly, the lights go out.

                            Act Two: I have my feather and ink
                            Green light shines on you far away
                            Leaflets fly around the auditorium
                            The universe someday shall know my past.

You speak: "You are not the soldier I dreamt of,
Neither are you the magician of my childhood;
You live in your closet, immersed in your invisible ink"
I feel numb, the bottle isn't empty, don't you see the leaflets?

                               "No, I don't! I believe what I see
                                You live in your illusions, in your fortress"
                                I want to complain but I refrain
                                My ink has left me, my truth hasn't, yet.

Bells toll continuously
Yellow and red lights play
All around the stage
Curtains come down...           

                                                    INTERVAL

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

A Strange Poem

A bone hangs from the ceiling
With blood dripping like tears
And the Sandman wakes up
Deep in the moon-lit desert;
And last remnants of this grass
Turns towards the light, the fire.

Here I am, writing for myself
Words in me, through me, for me
In a world of my harmony, peace
Nostalgia, curse, insult and stings
I lay bare my arms, good and bad
With a locked door and a wry grin.

A movement, a failure, a beginning
My path has crumbled time and again
The ash floats around me with a sneer
Asking questions about the origin,
The end, the versatile chameleon
Will survive among the bones of winter.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Dig my grave

Dig my grave, will you?
I am ranger looking for dust
I have a knife, blood-sharp
Many heads have rolled over it
The stains have started to hurt
And memories are bleeding.

I'd put myself to rest
For tired I am of the murders
Killing might be peaceful
For soldiers, not for me;
I have a lake of blood
With nothing to clean my skin.

So dig my grave, will you?
I have reasons to sleep!

Monday, October 21, 2013

Chithi

ki korbo bujhe pelam na;
naam ta chena, manush tao
kintu asamaye katha gulo achena.
mom er aloy chithi ta puriye dilam;
andhokar, r pora sholter gondho
khola janlar baire byasto, jibito kolkata.

 Mom ta abar jwalalam,
deshlai er moto onek kichui swalpojibi
michei swabdo kore jwole othe
tar cheye lighter-i bhalo;
swabdo nei, uttap nei,
tar sob kichui anguler muthoy!

Aro ekta prem bhanglo,
Neerobe dekhe cholechi
Hoyto dukkho pabe kichu din
Abar preme pore dhak dhol petabe
Ami sahosh paini r sudhu
Sob bondhui pelo, boro holo
tai notun arekta break up er khobore
amar research jiboner theory mone elo-

Saradindu-i hok ba Chandrabindoo
Bangalir pete prem sahyo hoy na.

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Adda : keu hodish dite paro ?

Ajker bangali adda dayna. prem r kaj kore etotai byasto/ tired thake je useless alochonar janyo samay o icche konotai thake na. Adda mane sudhui somalochona noy, mon porishkar rakhar ekta makhyam upai!
kan-e phone lagiye ghontar por ghonta katha bolte sokoleri kokhono na kokhono bhalo legeche. lagar-i katha. kintu se bole ki bondhuder porityag kore premikar mukher dike ha kore takiye thakatai ajker jubok der kaj? naki sokal theke raat kaj e dube theke, "ami khub tired" bola ta?
oneke hoyto bolbe angur fol tok er moto sonacche amar katha gulo. kintu tok , misty jai hok amader addabaj single community aj boroi dukkhito.

Adda du jon e hoyna. At least tin jon to lagei. du jone mile sudhui pnpc r gyan deoa hoy. ebar adda ek ek joner kache alada. amar kache haha-hihi te bhora witty humour, karor kache physics er p theke s obdhi dhuke thaka uncountable antlamo, abar kokhono nijeder bhalo-kharap experience share korte para.
Computer language er jug-e bangla language ta hariye jacche krome. kintu shei niye bhabar samay kothay? bhabte gelei premikar phone chole ashe r Chandrabindoor raat jaga tara beje othe laptop e.

Kolkatar baire thakle bangali ra du rokom adda day :

1. Paschim-Banglar kicchu hoyar nei.
2. Kotodin je bari jai na, ei Pujo tao gelo. Khub miss korchi.

"Jekhane bangali, sekhanei adda" concept ta aj koto ta chole janina. Chennai r Bangalore er experience etuku bujhiyeche, jodi ek dike kaj pagol bangali theke thake to anyo dike bangla ke khisti mara antel der bhir. Tai probashi bangali-rai ashol bangali esob boktrita nijer pocket ei rakho boss, reality te khate na.

Choto thekei pujo mane chilo bondhu der sathe thaka. College e sobai motamuti Kolkata tei thakay bari fera niye kichu bhabar chilo na.Kintu Kolkata charar por eo dekha gelo Pujo te sobai bari firche, ekhono. Hya, ekhono adda deoa hoy, leg pulling hoy, meye dekha hoy, Doshomi te noukay nadi parikrama hoy. NIjerder Bangaliana ekhono maintain korchi amra - shei janyo kono alada effort dite hoyna, icchei sob. Ei janyoi hoyto school er bondhu-rai moner sob theke kache theke geche chirokal, thakbeo.
Pujoy prem, jhari mara, Thakur dekha, mondop e bosha, cinema dekha, sara raat hnete berano , mistir dokane hamla kora sobai mile, eke-oporke shantona deyoa proyojon-e- Amader ektai group, ektai circle.  Rock, math, rasta, restaurant - addasthol amader sathei thake.

 Shikkhito circle e ashikkhito adda ekhono hoy majhe majhe. Choto belar lessons keu mone rakhe na bolei asubidhe hoy. Lotus (hya, Padma) amader national flower. Ki jeno shei Bangla probad ta, Padma ful niye? ;)

Taste niye jara prosno tole tara ki bujhbe ignorance er mahatto!

Subho hok sokoler Pujo! Meghla rabibar-e dur theke dhaker awaj shona jacche.

Aha ki ananda akashe, batashe !!

Sunday, September 22, 2013

What's a "lingo", anyway?

Usual Sunday morning, with nothing to do. The Second Last Bencher lies on my bed along with my towel, bag and a few other things.
The Second Last Bencher is a collection of real life stories as told by fellow IITans, published as a memoir for the passing 2012 batch by the IIT-M Alumni Association. I have read half of the book till now. The stories are filled with the 'insti-lingo', (the very term which I learned after leaving IIT). So does that make me just a passer-by of IIT-M? Have I or not belonged to the place which everyone in this book has called home?
Let's then seek the answers, for they are important- for me, for the thousands of MSc students who also, albeit proudly call IIT-M their home.
For the non-IITans reading this post, insti-lingo refers to the language used by the students of the campus. For example, there are words like cup (meaning failure), funda (concept, reason), fart(useless discussion), Junta (people) which are used. There is a Master's thesis on the IIT-M lingo by a German student as well (came to know about it only yesterday). The vocabulary is actually pretty strong there. The ones who have used lingo, will never stop using it while talking among friends. It's a proud culture of the institute (they'll say insti) and frankly the funda(should have used a different word :P) is if you don't converse in the lingo, you never really belonged there.

And here I am- never used the lingo in my friend circle, didn't even know there existed such a thing while I was there. The thing is, I never had friends among the B-Techs and that is the prime reason for not getting acquainted with the culture. So the immediate question that comes is, why didn't I have any interaction with the under grads? Well, if I had participated in ANY event, I was bound to have known a few of them. But there I was, happily enjoying my leisure, enjoying free internet, exceptional LAN and quite a few good courses. But that was me. Why didn't any other classmate of mine learn the lingo? Why didn't they interact?

A general belief that runs among the non-MSc students ( everyone else is included -all other students, every teacher, hostel staffs, monkeys, deers alike) is like this:
The PGs are muggers. They sit in their rooms, never get involved in anything, are concerned about grades (what a sin!) and the dominant feeling- they are blunt.
The post grads know about this mentality, yet the same thing goes on year after year. Don't they feel so strongly about the campus as others? How can they not, it's IIT, right?

Firstly, the excitement of independence is nothing new for the post grads. They spend 3 years in college before coming to IIT. So most of the "new" things for the smart under grads have been experienced by the MSc students earlier. They have already gone through the don't-care-about-grades phase in their life and they are mature enough to know that grades do matter. Anyone who says that he/she didn't care about the grades during MSc, is lying.
In order to love a place, you have to be there for quite sometime. I would say it takes around at least a year to feel the essence. For the MSc students, things are bizarre. Even before entering the beautiful premises for the first time, they know they will have to leave the place in two years.
Now, most MScs come from outside Tamil Nadu. So by the end of the first semester, all they care about is going home. Just as they return they are welcome by the most busy semester of their career. As the relatively busy first year ends, the students get ready for their summer projects. That's what they frankly care about because they are practical by then.

So after staying away from IIT for 2.5 months, they may or may not feel nostalgic about the place. I felt. The reason isn't easy to put down on paper.

In the third semester, there's time. So now, one looks around the campus, the roads, the cycles, Gurunath, his single room, things seem beautiful. To appreciate beauty, one needs to see. To see, one needs time.
But the student has spent the last two months in a research institute. That in most cases, multiplies the motivation of the student. So he thinks, "I have time. Why not attend an extra course, then?" And thus starts the Audit-Fashion Week. Auditing means you are attending a course just for knowledge, it's not going to affect your CGPA. This is the time of the year when nearly all the MScs sit in one audit course or the other. The Profs see this every year. So only in a third semester, you'll see them asking a cliched question, "How many of you are crediting the course?" The number of audit dudes usually dominate the class. But this frenzy lasts at most for a week. Then the highly motivated grey cells escape through the sewage.
In my batch, three or four of us actually audited a full course (it's a proud feeling that never leaves me). Third semester was the first time I noticed myself changing. I could see my increasing likeness for studying.

So till now, no one has learnt the lingo! Here comes the fourth sem.

Exams, interviews, applications, project, placement, exams again, farewell time.

Time to leave IIT has come before you know about it. There are plenty of good things which have happened to you in these two years. You have learned so much about yourself. You've grown up. Maturity has found a way in through time.

But you haven't learned the lingo.

It's funny when you read these books. You feel a serene happiness. You have loved the place in your own way. The bed, the benches, the stairs of the Open Air Theater, the Hostel Nights have nurtured you for the past two years. The relation is yours and it's unique. It's not necessary to enjoy a place the way others do.

As you are about to leave,as the bags and trolleys are pushed into the CALL-TAXI, you know that you have belonged there.

"MOVE ON", says the FAST-TRACK vehicle.

Friday, September 13, 2013

Kichu ful futei thake

ki holo bhalobeshe?
r ki ba hobe?
shei to tui firei jeti
tor nischinto asroye.
othocho tor kachei
peyechi, shikhechi
kibhabe na cheye, chaoa jay.

ke likhbe amay niye?
kolom amar, itihash eo ami
rupkathay sonar kathi to nei
aj kal sonar daam bereche;
tai halogen er sonali aloy
pore nite hocche, na shona katha gulo.

tor prothom premik bhalo lekhe
dwitiyo premik khub buddhiman
baccha chele ta tulonaheen, mulyoheen;
ami bujhi or daam, tui o bujhis
amar jayga hoyna ;  rajya ek, aar
singhashon e dujoner sthan keu manena!

ei bar bolbi, "prem korbo"?
tor roj bodle jaoa status-guccho
amar purono flat er ultodiker Krishnachurar moto;
chokher sabuj ke laal korte samay nayna,
ful futtei joto samay nay
tarpor take chirei nao, ba rekhei dao
murje porte ektu aloi jothesto;
andhokare jeno kader apotti?

 thak bhalobhabei sesh kori kobita
chonde badha na bote, tobe kichu tei na
keu bandhte pareo na kichu satya ke
tui amay parli na, toke ora parlo na
-
ar ektu jaglei bhorer alo dekhte pabo
shei alote prithibi jure ful futbe.
tui ki sekhali bolto?
ekta ful futte dekhte
dhoirjo lagena, bhalobasha lage.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Purono onker khata

ke jane kake bhalobeshechi?
nijeke? bondhu ke?
naki nispaap ei digonto rekha ke?

bhalobasha mane ki?
jontrona? bolte na parar?
naki bole diye udhao hoye jaoar?

ke bujhbe amar shei bhalobasha?
ja choriyechilo jiboner bnake bnake
kono sonkho-cheel eshe upre niye gelo
r kothay chinnobhinno tukro gulo porlo
keu khonj niyeche tar? na, amio nyini.

aj tomake bolte bhoy kore tomar katha
purono premikara bole ami swarthopor
                    bolbe na kano?
tomay dekhe nijeke chinte parini;
tumi je nispaap, tumi bhinno
tumi to amar chottobelar shei sorol rekha
jake phire peyechi aj, abar - onko vule !

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Sahosh mondo noy !!

Toder niye kobita likhchi
khub sahosh hoyeche amar!
kintu upay ki?
bhalobeshechi, haat, buk, chokh to purbei.

tora bhinno;
nahole ki ami nirlojjer moto ghure takai?
kintu ami to bhinno noi, kobi-o noi - sudhu
jekhane sobai theme jay, sekhanei pa barate chai.

tobu chailei ki sob hoy?
toke to pete na cheye bhalobeshechi chirokal
bujhli na!
R toke? uff.... dekhar por thekei sudhu avab bodh korchi!

hya tora dujonei achis;
keu chokhe, keu govire -
keu samosto bhabnay
keu alo niye nishachorer raastay!

aj amay ke dhorbi?
ek pa egolei deergho khnaad!
sekhane toke harabo, na toke?
hoyto dujon kei, hoyto nijeke ....

bolchi shon -
bhalobashi, jodio nijer moto kore
shebhabei nijeke dite pari
mithye chara, bhalobashar angikarer toray .

Sunday, August 18, 2013

ushno chokher chnoya

ki advut naam tor!
tor namer mane jotota jante chai,
tokeo ki ototai chai? naki dher beshi?

toke dekhe ki mone hoyechilo,
ki icche hoyechilo, sob-i naganyo;
sudhu kono ek bnadh bhengechilo .

tor katha sokol ke bolini
tate amar bhalolaga apomanito hobe-
sobai haste jane, bhabte kojon pare?

khub advut naam tor!
Ma ke jiggesh korte parle bhaloi hoto,
tokeo parchina, ashohay baloker moto.

 roj-i toke kono bhabe dekhte pai
 bhabi, jodi abar tor drishtir kendro hotam!
muhurter por muhurto shei chokher adalei thaktam .

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Scheduled for Intersection

There's fire in your eyes
Like I've seen in none else
And I'm drawn yet again
For my burns aren't deadly yet.

I'm unaware of the toxin
That creates my weakness
My world still lacks the medicine,
And as usual, I keep giving in.

How I wish to meet
The woman of my dreams
The grace, the stare, the skin
All in one miraculous being!

Oh wait! Did I see you recently -
On the bus, or staircase or canteen?
The way you looked at me
Still haunts and questions the reason to live.

Should I step up and ask you out?
But I never do that for that's not me!
When it comes to facing you again,
My arrogance vanishes into an abyss.

Hoyto kobi-i thik,

"jeta chilona seta na paoai thak,
sob pele nosto jibon!
"

ba hoyto na.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

The 2nd Life

He came with words
In a world of silencers...
              They created domains
             Of love, separation, faith;
             They surrounded passion
             With bows and cannons.

He decided not to fight
In a civil war for rights;
The gunmen had other ideas,
Burned his words on a pyre.
Yet with the little life left
He strode a few more steps.

Where did he reach?
What did he gain?
Is he among ruins
Or washing others' shame?
                      Answers belong only to him,
                      Cascading within, yet again.

Friday, July 12, 2013

Dur

nyaka kanna amar janyo noy;
onek kichu na peye, hariye nijeke peyechi
ek samay bhabtam tora bujhbi amay
ek samay to onek okarone mar-o kheyechi!
                     
                                    kintu aj?

chokher samne, dure, bohu dure, kichu dure
dekhte pai amar lakkhya cheye ache amar pane
kono thama, kono porajoy aj swikar korbe na se,
Pabitra shikkhai sojjito amader setu, bisram dondito hobe.


Thaklo tomar katha, besh to aj thakuk
Ekdin naki theme jetei hobe?
Ami to thamte janina, jamon onek kichui janina
Kintu tumi to jano, ami notun kichu tamon korina
Tai thama tao notun amar kache, dourate dao
10 minute e hnapate dakho, 20 bochore thami ni.


Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Katha

Katha aj-o onek ache, klanti nei
Muhurto prochur, tao naki samay nei
Tui utola hoye porish, bhoy pai ami
emnitei ajana poth, bojha hoyni kichui.

kotobar toke bolte giye atke niyechi
jokhon bolte cheyechi, hnochot kheyechi
tao dakh, katha thik cholei ashe
Nihshabder samudrer, sugothito setu hoye.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

A Good Sleep.

We rise, each day with hopes of crossing a new mountain and then we fall by the sunset along the shores of struggle. Someday we ask ourselves, is it worth it? Deep down we know it is, since otherwise we wouldn't be living.

Strike 1: Insomnia

Another night, a few more bytes and an image
A laptop, a wooden chair and a mahogany table
A near full water bottle stands alone like a candle
Streetlamps smile in the glory of their shadows.

At the stroke of midnight I woke up, realizing the air was too cold. Anticipations for a smiling princess lead me to break my sacred vow.

Strike 2: Sleep

A soft bed with a silk cover, a tough pillow;
Eyelids closed, dreams arrive and disappear
How time zones dictate the worlds, far and near!
 One for the records is becoming crystal-clear!

Strike 3: Waking up

Restless arms of time sound the alarm;
The frozen eyes sniff the familiar room:
Rotating blades and illuminated windows
Wake up, they say, the bus is here.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

A Night Diary.

Nights paint in silence,
They paint in the gloom of sepia
They speak of hidden colours,
Hidden, deliberately within dark lanes.

A night deals in shadows,
It plays in the presence of past and future
The silence reeks of miscalculations
The ghosts roam in the winds of desire.

 

Saturday, June 8, 2013

A River Tale.

A river flows by my garden. A not so famous river, it still holds its place where it should. It doesn't get visitors from all corners of the world but I do pay my visit everyday. I grew up under its tenderness. But so did several others. I wonder where they are! They must be quite busy. In a way I like it. May be the river misses them all but I cannot account for everyone.
The mysteries of nature have such deep philosophies imprinted on them. What is there that I can do for this river which always provides me with so much? I don't feel helpless. I have learned my limitations.

Some people can just give so much to you that whatever you do for them, you'll never feel that you've done enough. It's not your fault. It's just their greatness. The best you can do is never leaving their side.

So my river and me stare at each other. The only sound comes from the flowing water.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Finding Neverland

Don't we all have our own Neverlands?


Snow flakes gather on my feet
As I stand on the border of Neverland
My skin, torn and dry still fights
I see no one around but a window, broken.

I peek through it, warmth I seek,
All I receive in response is darkness
Should I break through as a burglar would?
Should I remain calm and hold my ground?

The fast approaching evening haunts
I need to start a fire, this numbness taunts
The woods nearby have started the chorus
 Should I still wait or own the mystery-house?

Monday, June 3, 2013

Goodbye Sky.

A carnival of clouds makes way
For the monsoon child
As my window panes bathe
In an invisible sunrise;
Singing my own song
In a restless paradise
I hum your name, once again
Mesmerized by Anuva's Sky.

In a life sewed with scattered smiles
Cautious dreams look for light;
Measured silence weighs heavy at times
And emotions dissolve in a lake of wine.
Reasons succumb to soul-searching eyes
A few more words might ruin the night.

Sunday, May 26, 2013

The Darkest Hour

Give me wings,Lord
So that they would burn
And ashes would decorate
Your sky, living a black death
For the horns of morality
Have blown and long been silenced.

There are flag bearers in a world
Where ethics protect the unethical,
One of your worlds, dear Lord-
A network of pipelines of mistrust.

But a few can hear the cold sirens
The gift, you bestowed them with
So that you could be summoned;
So as the courtrooms turn into pyres
A call sets out in your search,
The darkest hour weighs heavy on us.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Uttam- Madhyam?

Sedin Poltu dar bari te adda besh jome uthechilo. Anyo weekend er tulonay attendance beshii chilo- Ami, Amit, Rajeeb da, Subhadeep, Nirmal r sayang Poltu da.  Cha r cigarette er dhoyar majhkhane ki bhabe Satyajit Ray chole elen thik kheyal nei. Ami r Rajeeb da amader chatro der niye ki ekta alochona korchilam, hothat dekhi Nirmal chnechiye Subha ke bolche, "Rakh tor Mrinal Sen! Byatar antlamor camouflage chara kissu nei." Subha o temni uttejito hoye swabhab krome hat chure hnak dilo," Bal bujhis tui! Dekhechis ektao cinema or?"
Poltu da ektu bhoye bhoye bole uthlo, "aha! tora jhogra korchis kano? esob niye torko ki ar amader manay? " tarpor ektu heshe, "Para mathay tulbi mone hocche."
Nirmal hnapate hnapate bollo, "Dekhun to Poltu da, kono mane hoy? Maal ta boleche Nayak e naki Uttam Kumar ke cast kora Satyajit er bhul! Boro bal! Nije baniyeche oi stature er ektao chobi?"
Plotu da abar ektu heshe bollo, " tumi to ektao cinema dekhoni Sen er. Na dekhe ki kore bichaar korcho?"
Subha bijoyeer moto bole uthlo,  "setai to! Tachara ami bujhi na manush nijer mot debe ki anyer mot bhebe?"
Ami chaye chumuk diye Nirmal kei jiggesh korlam, "Byapar ta ki bol to? Hothat filmalochona? tao abar Mrinal- Manik?"
Nirmal notun ekta cigarette dhoriye bollo, "Interview beriyeche patrikay! Babur kichu ukti khubi biroktikor. Eke to boleche Uttam Kumar khete khaoa r Soumitro beshi talented. Sathe montobyo je Nayak e Uttam er choice ta Satyajit kano korlo o bojheni. Bujhle to byata tui i Nayak banati."
Amit moja nicchilo. Ebar ektu khnochalo, "Hya re Nirmal tui bujhechis naki kano Uttam ke niyechilo?"
Nirmal byango ta bujheo uttejona atkate parlo na, "Albat! R keu chilo naki oi role ta korar moto!"
Rajeeb da bhaloi bujhte parchilen sobai Nirmal ke chepe dhorche. Uni borabor i Nirmal ke sneho koren. (ekbar bolechilen, "Nirmal er parts ache. Abeg ache, dhoirjo nei. Tobe sesob kotojoner i ba ache ajkal?").
Rajeeb da guni manush. Katha bollei bojha jay. Jemon physics e dokhol, temni cinema, boi, gan, natok e.
Shei muhurte equlibrium feranor janyo takei proyojon chilo. Uni Poltu da ke bollen, "Hya re Poltu mone ache ekbar baba r kaku o ei eki torke mete uthechilen. Sudhu bodhoi hata hati baki chilo."
Poltu abar mridu hasi niye bollen, "tokhon theke oi ghotonai to bhebe jacchi! ki tumul jhogra! Mash dui kathao boleni tarpor."
Rajeeb da fnaka chayer cup ta table e rakhte rakhte bollen, "etai Bangali der samasya bujhecho! Arts er torke keu harte pochondo kore na. Hoy ei torko gulo marpit e sesh hoy noyto ek pakhyo emon byango kore kichu katha bole je apor pakhya shei level ta chute pare na bole chup kore jay."
Subha ektu birokti sohokare bollo, "Accha Rajeeb da, ekjon manush tar nijer views diyechen. Freedom of speech! Keu to kauke mante badhyo korche na. Derogatory comment to na korleo chole."
Nirmal sathe sathe bole, "Intellectual bhabeo derogatory hoa jay! Mrinal Sen shetai korechen."
Rajeeb da chair ta tene tate aram kore boshen. Tarpor Nirmal r Subhar dike takiye bolen, "Kathar anek mane hoy Nirmal. Hoyto tomar mane thik ba hoyto adou tini bujhte paren ni. Uni shei interview tei Mithun Chakravarty keo ashadharon abineta bolechen. Boltei paren. Kintu sekhanei abar Utaam Kumar ke khete-khaoa bolechen. Ete uttejito hoar kichui nei. Sob manusher i bias thake. Tobe Soumitra je 2 lakhyo taka peyeche bole ekta award function e gechilo eta disclose na korleo parten. Boyesh hoyeche to. Ekdin amadero hobe."
Ami Rajeeb da ke prosno na kore parlam na, "Nayak e ki ar kaukei manato? Hya hoyto amar samne ekta image ache tai bujhte parchi na. Kintu setai to Uttam Kumar er credit! He made it his own!"
Rajeeb da haste haste matha nere uttor dilen, "dekho, shei samay keu parto ki na ta to amra janbo na. Jini janten tini baniyechilen. Chobi ta jar mathay eshechilo shei to protagonist ke chinbe! Aj keu Soumitra ke Felu dar janyo fit na bolle ki sheta mana shambhab? Jini likhechilen uni i to chinhito korechen actor ke! Otoeb eshob katha torko i koray. kono direction day bole mone hoyna."
Hothat excited hoye chair theke uthe bollen, "Ei to Boudi! Arek cup cha khaoan na!"
Sreetama di halka heshe bollen, "asche. Ektu age ja shuru korechilen apnara! Mone hocchilo mathay chatt bhenge porbe!"
Rajeeb da ekta cigarette ber korte korte bollen, " Boudi, apnar matha fatay kar saddhi? Cholun cha ta niye ashi niche theke."

Saturday, May 11, 2013

The invisible projection



I love your legs more than your eyes
But I dream of your eyes nevertheless
Hot legs, long legs, waxed and shiny-
Who has the time to look at anything else?

I have decided to push the line of vulgarity
I refuse to accept the rules imposed on beauty
I dare ask you to reveal a little more of yourself
Let out what’s hidden, what’s being suffocated!

I would prefer to be blunt and
Give my imaginations a break
If the dress doesn’t seem to fit
It would only a few more retakes.

Worshiping the brilliance of man
One finds you in every aspect :
Each inspiration, each central pillar
Proves your worth, your presence!

Friday, May 10, 2013

"Vision planted in his head, still remains!"

The famous writers (can't use their names to publicize my words) are not my role-models. So, I don't give a shit about lecturing on principles, duties or ways of life. I write to bring out my frustrations- about women, men, men with women, women with men, the notion of love, the practice of hate- more or less anything that is pro/anti-life.
There is a world that I see, with my eyes. My vision makes me talk and my voice creates your noise.
I'm the actual guilty and I seek forgiveness for your sins those you're unaware of.
Okay, that's it. 
Anyway, there is a purpose for this post. Let me, then switch to my world.
The purpose is to blast a comment (made by a revered Film-maker on a Film-star).
What have I done in my life? How much of the language of films do I understand? Well, yes, the answer to both the questions is probably "nothing".
I might just not understand your language but I do understand your bias. I haven't seen your films, so I can't comment on them.
But there is one other film maker whom I never dare question. There is a film of his I never dare raise a finger at. .. And the film stars a man, who blessed the Bengali film industry with his presence.
Your statement that he lacked intellectual depth makes me question your depth as a film-maker.  I find it blasphemous even that you said he shouldn't have been cast in a specific role, which by far was his best performance!
At the end of the interview, you said that you wonder what people's reaction would be to your films and you when you won't be here. I ask you Sir, why does it matter? Why does it matter what people say even now? They might praise you, disagree with you, but is it more important than your own world that you have created for all this time?

"But my words, like silent raindrops fell "

Yes, Sir, there is the Sound of Silence. You should start searching from now on.

## Okay, readers! Thank you for being with my article till now. No, I am not going to reveal any name. But since you gave your valuable time to my words, you need to be awarded.
Here's your present :

The poem below.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Artist

Who's an artist?
Is he a soul lost
In a desert of name and fame?
Or is he a mortal
Who rides his dreams
And ends up at the shore of shame?

Do the tides push him away?
Or does he swear at them
Like he swears at everyone
For he is too afraid to speak
To himself, with or without
The mirror that projects him alone.

What is his addiction
That eats him apart
And leaves his skin for the vultures?
What does he seek
While he gives up arrogance?
A vigilante, of his own burning emotions!

What will they understand
Of the fire that burns underneath
The layers of a few special skins?
What does he seek
As he carries on his endless quest
That keeps faking the mirage of peace?

The ink says he's an enigma
Who doesn't know either
The beginning or end;
The pencil says he's a reality
Not deep enough to stay and
The wind might just erase him away.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

An affair of Eyes and Words..

Where your words end
To greet their paradise
My silence paints itself
For a brush of your sky.

They sing about words,
Words which build our worlds
Sewed together by mysterious 
Voice flowing through those eyes.

Greeted by silence, the sense
Loses meaning somewhere within
Emotions get shipped in a haste
Moments, born get  forever etched.

## The lines were inspired by the song, Lafzon (Film: Inkaaar).

## The next lines are inspired by someone capable of inspiring.

What are my words,
If they don't end on your eyes?
The sound of your silent smile
Resides deep inside this mind
And thus starts a soothing fission
Of alphabets burning with pride.

May I fall in love again,
For my words to have meanings
May I rise through this darkness
For my words to cure longings
May I reach you in this life or next
With words, my only belongings.

Ke Kobi?

Ami tor moto likhte parlam na kokhono
Tui bhebe likhish ar ami likhe bhabi
Purono lekha gulo porar jagyo mone hoyna
Toke choya e jiboner apurno icche matro.

Anyer lekhao tui bhalo bujhis bodhoi
Amar to sudhu bhalo laga, na laga
Koto swabder reflection toke bhalobashe
Amar samne sudhu tukro akkhor bhase.

Tui khatar kono ek kone swabdo jomas
Khub kom manush ta dekhe r hoyto bojhe
Tara tokeo bhalobashe, tor swabdo keo
Tuii kobi, ami noi, hoteo parbo na kokhono.

Friday, May 3, 2013

The Unseen Colours

Feathers burn in your golden rays
They would have favoured winter
But outnumbered they always were,
Wishes of a certain minority suffer.

Few singers wait for a flute player
There are banyan trees still present,
Shade for shades, for decades over
Till western wind regains its flavour.

Clouds spread wings like a blanket
As the lost eyes look up in surrender
Yes, there are so many unseen colours
Incapable of processing these brains are.


Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Identify Me.



And the wind blows along the desert
As the evening dawns over the sands,
The golden sands of a history that remains
Buried deep somewhere, guarded by itself.

Don’t you dare try an excavation on me
For you’re ignorant of what you don’t see!
I have layers of truth and lies intertwined
I’m a living safe, safer than you can imagine.

I am an immortal along the shores of mortality
I hunt down crows if the world needs to be dirty
I make rules, you implement them without mercy
I roam around time and space, you call me Money!

They lose focus, spill blood and blame it on me
But I don’t care since I always possess the key
I feed on your birth, death summer and spring
I control my life from deep within your greed.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Stories

Silent winds shout outside my window
And a street light flickers in disdain
As I watch through the pale yellow
Haze that has gripped the inner mountain.

We can dive deeper for limits also have stories
The deepest, the highest, lonely from eternity
If only someone would reach beyond the mysteries
To uncover the greatest treasures of humanity.

Lightning flashes become visible now and then
Even the Gods have their own stories to tell
What happens to the wishes of the roads we take?
Even she had her share to which you should have listened.

There must be stories similar to mine,
Waiting under layers of dust; to shine
Everyone feels the storyteller's pain
What about these stories dying in vain?



Saturday, April 27, 2013

Why have I decided to give society(read Facebook) a break?

#Viewer's discretion advised
I have recently read the Shiva Trilogy. If you haven't, I would urge you to do so before scanning the article further. If you have no plans to read the books, then you may proceed. I will just be using the central idea from the novels but I would be happier if the idea gets disclosed to you through the books and not by me.

$ The flipping of the coin.

When does the greatest good turn into the greatest evil of the age? Can you identify evil? These are the questions, the thirteen hundred page long trilogy is all about.
Internet, surely is the greatest invention of this millennium with Facebook being the pinnacle of success. Unfortunately, it has also become the greatest evil of this generation. It has lent voice to every corner of the globe. Surely this is a dream come true for the founders of humanity. But nonetheless it has also opened the gateway for probably the most harmful evil of all time.
Honesty is a virtue. So is humanity. I don't know if it takes courage to be honest. Giving up what is not rightfully yours is certainly not a sacrifice! Yet, how many of us live by this virtue? But this is how the world has always been. Personal gain at expense of others has forever been a part of life. It doesn't differentiate us too much from other animals. Even if after millions of years we haven't learned the actual art of living, one is forced to wonder what was the point of the early civilisations!
So how does social networking enter the picture? Well, when you hit at the very core of the beliefs people live by, they retaliate. A social network unites the mass. So when a leader makes a silent call towards humanity, she is being criticized in union. Of course, some people know the difference between humiliation and criticism. But the mass is composed of those who are unaware of this subtlety. This results in ambush- of morals, dignity, culture and future.There used to be a time when only a little section could have had their say that would have a wide audience.

Noise, disguised as Voice can cause serious damage.

 I have left Facebook for a reason. Of course, it was the best platform for my mind to reach out. But it has been diluted beyond measure. My social circle, however small is still polarised. The minute fraction which has the capability of understanding maintains a dignified silence. I have always been expressive. But the realisation has finally dawned on me. There are classrooms and there are markets. Quoting Satyajit Ray from his film Agontuk,
 "Even Socrates used to indulge in discussions. But those were at the highest level."
It is time to organise the classrooms. Yes, I would still be as animated there as I have been in the market.
The problem is not the solution but the concentration of the solute.

Let the dawn arrive soon
For the western bank is afraid
Of the ghost of intruders,
Let the rays of the new Sun
Vapourise the mist and end
The long search for answers.

See you in the classroom.

Peace.

Friday, April 26, 2013

I would shoot you, in colour.

Why would I shoot you in black and white?
I would rather present to you the shades,
The colourful ones of your master spirit
The lens should be honest in front of a mermaid.

My eyes are not meant to see your enigma
They have a soul, nourished by beauty
And deep into you it sets a panorama
Let the whole world indulge in subtlety.

There were angels on earth
And fire,invisible through air
But they have gone into hiding
Awaiting the release of the master.

Yes, I would capture you in colour
And set you free, the way you are
I have a soft numbness in each corner
Since your eyes shot me without measure.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Those Left Unanswered

Blood dripping through the edge of my words,
I wait for the rain of dots to arrive soon
Coma, colons and exclamations call for stops
But the stops are on a highway seeking their monsoon.

I have a tight hold on this blade
For I've bled and recovered
And in this new birth of fate
The only salvation is in being heard.

I come with a million words without thinking
Funny how you ponder in search of meaning.

Poor little devils lament over Barcelona
While the others queue for a drop of elixir
And a few write columns from Tokyo to Passadena
While the rest believe in the silence of eternity.

I come with a million questions at your door
And I find myself answering as you approach the lock.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

I MET A MERCENARY

Seventy years ago, a boy was sitting under a banyan tree with a torn kite in his hands. He took out his flute that his maternal uncle had gifted him on his last birthday. It was  a pleasant spring afternoon with a cool breeze coming from the west. With his mind on several things, he started playing his flute.The place was deserted like it always used to be at this time of the day.


1: ENTER SAHADEV da...

"The pale wind seems to bring
 Along with it, another spring
 Little brother, will you sing
 For me, a distant dream ? "

Mukul turned around in a little shock to find a young man with a fine moustache who was smiling back at him. The young man folded his dhoti in order to sit beside Mukul. "Hello", he said, "what's your name, brother?".
Mukul took a while to reply, "Mukul."
Sahadev smiled for an instant looking at Mukul and then looking straight ahead said, "Aptly named."
Mukul was feeling a little disturbed at the vanishing of his solitude. He wasn't able to play his flute any longer. He didn't think it appropriate to walk away and so he remained seated. Sahadev, feeling his state broke the silence, " bhaloi to bajacchili. amay dekhe lajja pash na. ektu shona na."
Mukul turned towards Sahadev and quizzed,"What brings you here? You aren't from Balurghat or I would have known you."
Sahadev : Do you know everyone from Balurghat?
Mukul: More or less.
Sahadev: Do you roam around a lot?
Mukul: Quite the opposite. I stay at home and every other day people come to my father.
Sahadev: Is your father an important person?
Mukul: He is the village head. So that brings us back to the question, why are you here?
Sahadev surveyed Mukul for a few seconds. THen, somehow lost in his own thoughts, he started to sing,

" While the fire was ignited in our hearts
   They shook hands behind the bars
  And when we thought we would reign
 The world conspired to put us to our end."

Mukul had heard this song. Everyone in Balurghat had. Amartya da was singing this song before being gunned down in the marketplace.  Three, along with Amartya da left the world that crimson morning. The police had been looking for the group for last few months. Word was out that they were sheltered at Amartya da's place when the news was leaked. The police couldn't catch one of the mercenaries. Rumour was that he was hiding somewhere near by.

Mukul was looking at Sahadev in awe. He couldn't yet take in the death of his Amartya da, the ever smiling footballer who had introduced him to music and poetry. He brought himself together to ask this young man beside him who now seemed to appear so similar to Amartya da, "tumi Amartya dar bondhu?"

Sahadev looked into Mukul's eyes and nodded," they killed them all. They named us mercenaries to make their job easier. All they needed to churn out was that we were hired killers of an unknown pay master. Yes, Mukul we have killed people and we have masters, not one but many. We have been and many more like us are being used. They have termed it Swadeshi. There is going to be no Independence,brother. It's just going to be a transfer of power."

Mukul hardly understood what Sahadev said. But the manner in which he spoke convinced Mukul that Sahadev believed in what he was saying. He felt a strange pity for Sahadev. Word was out that the fifth member of the group would have asimilar fate once he was caught.
Mukul: you should be as far away from here as possible. They will kill you too.
Sahadev: Do you know, brother what we used to call each other? "Pancha Pradip."  Amartya had told me about you,about how you would keep listening to his songs without interrupting,about teaching you how to ride a cycle. He loved you dearly. The day we were given away, I had his specific instructions to take a different route. I have my own mission to complete now. The first task was to meet you.
Before Mukul could ask anything, Sahadev broke into singing while urging Mukul to play the flute,

" The flame fights the melancholy 
  With the pure hue of soul
  The tree will shower holy
 Blessings over the newborn goals;
                       The Sun will smile at the world
                       Like the proud father of a triumphant child
                       The five flames will ignite again
                       In the glow of the hard won shrine"

Sahadev: Amartya, Hriday, Narayan, Tuhin, Sahadev. The "Pancha Pradip".
With one ever lasting smile towards Mukul, he walked towars the west where the river played abode for the Sun.

2: Fifty two years later...

Mukul Chakrabarty, the respected retired school headmaster on the eve of his grandson's eighth birthday takes a look inside his trunk. Yes, the flute is still there. The ownership will be changed the next day. An eight year old Animesh, the legacy bearer in waiting.

Epilogue:

The year is 2013. Animesh goes through a historical fantasy.

বন্ধু

 ভোর-রাতে, নিঃশব্দে সময় এসেছিল পাশে  জীবনের কিছু ক্ষণ নিয়ে অণুবীক্ষণ যন্ত্রে । হাতে হাত, পুরোনো দুই বন্ধুর দেখা বহুদিন পর; হঠাৎ করেই খুঁজে...