Sunday, March 7, 2010

His Prayer

He was yet to take her to France he thought and cursed himself
What if he cannot, what if she goes without saying a bye?
He was not their when they had to take her.
It was as if last night he had told her
“Stay put will you. Till my meeting tomorrow." and she had assured him,
She never broke her promises. Then why now?

She bought the cashmere sweater last month for him in august
And he had said to her, "You know how much it costs."
Couldn’t he just have laughed?
If one last time he could see her, tell her what he felt.
What she meant to him.
And he instinctively joined his hands in a prayer.
"I am an atheist full time." he had once told her.

He saw her in college,
She was a junior
Amidst all the new crowd somehow
She had caught his attention
And he asked her to recite poetry
She did Shakespeare’s sonnet 105
“Let not my love be called Idolatry..."
And he knew he was in love.

He fell out of his bike,
It was a new year’s day,
Hand fractured, face mutilated.
He was almost seething in pain
And his pals laughing at him,
When she came to meet him,
And he thought he had seen two distinct tear drops
Forming in her eyes
And when she went seeing him all plastered
And not able to talk,
Closing the room door she ran
And he knew she was in love.

"You know how much it costs.
A cashmere sweater, that which I'll never wear too."
And he yelled at his wife,
She did not say anything but he could see
Two tiny tear drops forming in her eyes
And he recollected something similar from a distant past.
Now he cursed himself,
afterall he had married the woman he loved
And what if he cannot tell it to her.
He was praying furiously now


A woman in a white dress came,
Was he dreaming or was it happening.
She smiled and said,
“Congratulations, you have a girl. Both of them are asleep.
You can see them if you want."

A smile made its way into his face,
May be a dream had come true.

Oh Calcutta !!

She stays with me
from my dawn at Elliot road to dusk at Victorian sites
and keeps my nights
alit with tangra delights.


I have seen her in all her faces
juxtaposing rock to robi
she distributes her love, revolutionary to poet,
or bagan to bengal,
If just once to her, you shrove.


From China gate to Anglo’s
she never does divide her drove
thakur and kazi too stay side by side.
never would she clove.

A lover
which never lets you go,
Lennon, john or Vladimir
all are hers
and that magician from Warwickshire
if had been here would've been its mayor.

And when October sky
is smoked with dhunuchi,
a new bride could be ashamed
of her beauty.
Just flow then with its vibe
let its music make you dance,
fall for her once
and she'll keep you in trance.


I have loved her
since infinity
and want to feel her caresses me
again anew, with her tender divinity.

As If...

As if the evening is blushed like a bride,
As if the nights are happily coloured in the hues of passions unheard,
As if the garden is decorated with a thousand twinkling stars,
As if dreams to unwalked lands scamper and turn orchard
A little into you, some more into me
And a song is played ceaselessly of glee.

As if the day was just a passage to let the night in,
As if the coloures of the stars were mystery, to be read,
As if breeze is but a voice singing merrily love,
As if love will come to us all inhibitions shed
A little into you, some more into me
O love how I wait for thee.

As if wind has lost its directions and flows dismayed,
As if the spatial fireworks are the games we played,
A little with you, some more with me
O love how I wait for thee.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

He Once Knew A Girl

Floridita, In London, It was almost midnight,

Glitzy lights turning faces into different shades

But his face was unperturbed, unlike the people with him,

And he said to his new colleagues,

"But the place I belong from in India,is an unknown place

You people won't recognize it.I lived in Calcutta

For a few years though."

"So,you are from Calcutta?".

It made him smile, Could he ever be from Calcutta, no he believed that he was

just a traveler who lived in Calcutta for a while,

this saved him from a lot of questions within.



He once knew a Girl from Calcutta; he thought and gave a soft chuckle

A girl who had many names, who loved to be called Queen Nefertiti or Miss Ballygunge,

Who loved to dress and had nine shades of almost same blue denim with her,

Favorite being the one she brought from Fashion Street

For five hundred bucks and boy was she proud of that purchase,

He could remember five different instances right now when she bragged about it.

She loved talking and always said, "Why are you always so quiet?" he smiled.

She loved Pablo Neruda and Keats, and loved him too for being able to write passable poetry


He once knew a Girl, who wanted to bear twins no more no less

As if it was they who could decide it,

Who called him and cried at two in the night for a nightmare she saw, involving him,

And he then sang ,'Right here waiting' to pacify her

And who after all that, woke up at six to wake him up.

Who could play the Hawaiian guitar to the tunes of 'top of the world'

And while singing made gestures to him that embarrassed.

Who said "It is for people like you that

strong deodorants and after shaves were made, use them. Will you?"

Who slept with a contorted smile on her lips and always a bolster by her side.

Who had a strange violet in her eyes ,

and wanted to name their dog violet

which they'll have when they get married.


Who could talk for five hour stretch a record he had monitored ,

but didn't tell him, about her illness for a whole week

and when she did,she did not cry and plainly said

maybe we should break up. Then he cried, for how long he never knew,

she held him patting his back, but she did not cry.

Refused to see him after her chemo started

and was strictly was on 'will talk on phone' basis,

took away all her photographs from him so that

he can forget her eventually

and when he came to see her after two weeks, did she finally cry.

Who wanted a recitation of Pablo Neruda's "If you forget me."

And he did ,but both of them cried with each word.

With whom his world ended.


Who still looked at him

Through a picture in his shaving kit,

Reminding him to use after shaves.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

A Writer- A Wife

"On the whole the novel is worth your time.
It mesmerizes you... Haunts you (especially the tragic end)and keeps coming back to you.
This young man has delivered a real masterpiece."


There was more but he could not fathom all of it due to the mist in his eyes,

A review of his first book. The publishers had a party thrown for him tonight,

He had started the shower to let him bathe and cleanse of all that had occurred,

Life would be anew now.


But there was no one more he wanted to show it to

Than a certain Mr. Bank Manager,

“And you think you can keep my daughter on that no job of yours, an English honors PHD is trash.

There are Engineers and doctors queuing up for her. Fool"

He could not manage even a furtive glance at her then,

But from the silent sobs he understood that she was crying.


"How can I go against Baba?"

That was June twelve years ago. Then he looked into her eyes and said nothing.

They never met after that day and he burned his whole collection of Shakespeare, pages of Ulysses

And a few pages he had written, too.


The party was in flow; most of the people had not read him yet and would not,

Wittingly he smiled, smiled at every face he could but somewhere inside

He was seething. Only if I could let them see it all.


...............


She was waiting for him, it was her birthday today

And for all the last eleven birthdays she spent with him

This was the most special; she knew she had a secret to share with him.

Some happiness, as they say good news



She remembered the night he had made love to her twenty days ago

After which he went to Bangalore for a business trip, from where he came back last Thursday.

She had missed him as she never had; she felt a strange longing love for him,

Which she never felt to such extent before. Even more than what she felt for him,

When in Singapore he cooked him Poshto, as she was dying to eat something Bengali

Or when he stayed up all the night, when she had jaundice and could not sleep.

Even when he gave fire to baba's funeral pyre, a man devoid of a son


This love though came out of guilt she knew,

She knew when he held her, caressing and making love to her,

She was thinking of someone else, someone she had not thought about in a while

A man who did not belong to the future, a man who was a shadow of the past,

A man who loved Shakespeare, James Joyce, the beetles and smoking.


No, she loved her husband more than anyone else in the world, she reminded herself

But...Since twenty days, she is thinking of his whereabouts if he is okay,

If he had done something with his life….


..............


The traffic was killing him he wanted to reach his wife quickly,

As he still longed for that night when he made love to her.

How intimately they had cuddled together.

How she loved him and smiled at him when he said to her,

"Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?"


He had bought a new novel to her as a gift,

A novel of a new writer who wrote amazingly, beautiful, poignant

And sad endings.

O My Love,O My Love

An unwritten letter nested in the corners of a letter box,
White envelop unnamed but drawn in your song.
All the words in that letter are residing alone,
The song dwells and breaths in loneliness too
They come and caress me, I not know when though.
And if I say they are all for you,
A solitary letter, a lonely drawn song
O would you be mine
O my love, O my love.

I’ve never myself float in some water
But through your two eyes you stroked the water
And still today and all my days, alone are spent
That letter unread, tune undrawn is hermit as well
They come and caress me, I not know when though.
And if I say they are all for you,
Two eyes of mine drowned in that water.
O would you be mine
O my love, O my love.

In your games of loves
And your magical talks, was I mesmerized
Those games made me lost within
But the love games have ended in this town of ours
And I have been lost to find you
So love these eyes of my, hold back
My soul too wants to touch you,
So be mine
O my love, O my love.

While you were there, with you there
On a lonesome moon’s reclused night
I held myself and then lost me again
But the love has ended in this town of ours
And I have been lost to find you
So love these eyes of my, hold back
My soul too desires you
So be mine
O my love, O my love.

Thoughts Of Thee

Smoke filled dark disdained night,

moonless,yet in shadows is bright,

when through the windows I see black,

I think not to let travel my mind but,power I lack,

and when sleep would obstinately stay an enemy,

I'll wistfully though but think of thee.

Two Sides

For some shadows are here
to stay
unheard numb,
with pain they sway
and even when she tries
to hide
they cajole her back,
back to the humdrum's
she goes walking slowly
awaiting another death
bit by bit,
facing all the tide

And he
he cannot hear his own voice
he is drowned
into a distant voice
saying
"Take me back.
will you"
and flinching his hands
he ran back
and even after years abound
gone by
he reminds himself of that
moment under moon
and sighs

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

He Misses Her

He has almost got her out of his mind,
Though his thoughts go back to her,
when no matter how much he tries he cannot make a roti round
or remember his friends birthdays and anniversaries.
And when he always spells vacuum as "vaccum".

Then he bought a rounder to make his rotis
and his new cellphone remembers everything for him.
Day before last night,his rounder
kept on the edge of his shelf fell
and struck his phone.

He feels a void and "vaccum" now,
He hasn't slept for two nights now.

When Terror Strikes

Filled with anger and revenge,
He had come to kill to take avenge,
a walking death,
for those who could not
share his views
and to those who resisted him.

He had seen it all,
his Abbu dragged and killed
in front of him,
Ammi ,O Ammi burnt alive,
he knew pain and he knew wrath.

The stage was set
an airport with swarming people.
He had stuck to him all the powder,
to burn and destroy.
Taking a deep breath
He closed his eyes,
Prayed to GOD
For this little life
and while eyes closed smiled.

Life where was my life,
Abba who taught me how to walk
and ride a bicycle,
a smiling man,he remembered
he walked with a hand in his kurta
and other holding his stature from behind,
and he walked the same way too.

Ammi who cried seeing him
in tears ,even a drop or too,
but when she was dying
nothing he could do.
The men in the camp loved his biryani,
he knew who he had inherited it from.

A soft breeze came
enclosing the enclosed airport
as if her Ammi-Abba came
to bless him,with him now they were
had always been.
Seeing his younger self smiling
holding his Abba while his Ammi
calling from behind
in their ancestral village home.

Oh they lived with him,
they lived in him.
He'll have to kill both
to annihilate
and all of the breaths there too.
How could he,how could he?

Opening his eyes slowly
as if a million years had passed
and saw all the faces there,
numberless faces,among he saw a child
holding his Abbu and running
to the terminal
his Ammi falling behind
they stopped to let her come.

He had to stop too,
to let his Ammi live within
he had to hold onto his Abbu.
He had lost,he had died,
for his own death he now cried.