The Shadow (City of Lights)

I'm a shadow
I walk behind many leading men
and women
Along the dirty history of this city;
I don't rot, I see others choose
Hell over heaven, even earth!
I only follow, like I've since the beginning
And there might not be an end to my end.

I've seen men lose fortunes
And disintegrate into me
I have seen Venus burn
All forms of morality
And I've seen time flow by
On its own desires, unaffected
As the lanes of my traversed path
Have entangled and made the scholars say...
"History repeats itself!"

So many women have suffered heart aches
And have tried to redeem themselves with
better lovers;
So many poets have faltered on the lines
Lines of passion, of mistrust, of civilisation.
Yet does our Kolkata live, in its pale yellowish glory
With a few shadows like me, vigilantes.

 I look at my palm, lines again
Sins? Yes, there are a few
But a shadow must not investigate
Light might be quite a harmful excitement!
So why must I feel bad of what I know?
I, myself am a carrier of darkness
For centuries, of inhuman truth and lies.
But I roam in the night, not alone... not alone
If I have sinned, so have you
If I have loved, so have you
If I have dared, so have you
If you have survived, so have I.

What if a lady broke a few thousand hearts
Half a century ago?
How many of those hearts were actually pure?
What if a woman breaks another heart
Tonight, in this city?
In this age of probability, what is purity?
For a poet, may be the night is romantic
For a helpless lover, it's a stranglehold
Pages bury themselves in each brick of your city
The shadow keeps learning, keeps bluffing,
Deep inside a vault, resides its very own secret.

The Invisible Dimension

Music flows through your fingers,
And streams towards mine,
Passion, ignition, souls, desires
Have awakened within me
A long forgotten march.

A divine purity has washed over me
My sins are dancing in your hue
A light drizzle caresses the west wind,
I long for my beloved by my window.

Am I the only one enjoying
The dance of a thousand peacocks
My out-stretched hand moists itself
As distant thunders provide enlightenment.

Take me with you, O chords of time
Land me in the past or future
For I do not care anymore
Let me out, set me free, put me on fire.

Burst me into flames
For my words have left me
Where to am I floating, I know not
The need for gravity has never been so strong!

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.

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

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

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.

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!

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.

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 !!

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.

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.