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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Directions And The Convergence

What if the illusion I have about life finally runs out of light? Am I ready to face myself in that situation? I guess not. I am too tired with myself. Principles, fightbacks, memories, nothing has been worth this phase. I do not want to change! All the reasons and beliefs have fallen apart. I don't expect anyone to understand me, even though I'd want someone to. Why is it that words just refuse to come out?
So many people have so much to fight for, to live. My sole reason is non-existent now.
There are too many judges in this world, too many sentries. I miss the gardeners, can't see them anywhere near my flowers. They need to be tended. I feel powerless, if only someone would lend me a little understanding!
I am happy, no doubt to have seen this beautiful world. My parents are my inspirations, my hope for peace.
There is a mild sound of silence. Is this how I was supposed to feel it? It is not pleasing, not comforting either. But it provides me with an inner eye. I don't have to self-justify, thankfully. May be this is where the principles help- where things in our control are concerned.
I don't know if I will ever marry, start a new family so that these bricks can serve as foundations. The living world I see around me doesn't enthrall me, rather it pains to be a part of it. People like me are a necessity if this race is to exist. But these words of wisdom were born to die inside the creator only. The shadows, I see! May be this is what a mother goes through when her child stops inhaling inside her womb. All that is for me to do is spread what I think is right.
I have a strange lifeline. I don't know how it used to be in my childhood. I had this habit of biting my skin as a child. So when I look at it now, I find it divided into two halves just above the base of the thumb. I wonder if it is His way of letting me find myself. 'Guess I'm lucky. :)
But it is a deep line nevertheless. Well, it suits the predictions then. My life will be controlled by the one and only Me. The funny part is this that I don't care about the directions which lie ahead. All I know is that I was born to do something different, different from what the masses do and I have a strong g.u.t. feeling that it is not about academics. Probably it is me, who is destined to search for the roots.

Family, birth, forefathers, questions, answers.