Thursday, July 14, 2011

If Only-

Shagorika is prettier than the evening clouds, says Rajeeb.
And thinks of the black-hazel eyes

Shagorika likes Rajeeb too.
He is the only guy she knows who will never question her choices.
He knows what it actually means to feel something you read.
He can sketch her writings into its natural tenable meanings.
He can be quite yet make her feel normal.
He can catch her back when she has meandered too far.
He can listen to her cry at Two in the night and not say anything.
He is the only guy in Calcutta she can call as a friend.

You are what I would like to make me someday, Shagorika says.

Shagorika is simple, quite, charming yet sometimes intimidating.
She dislikes reading romances.
Though she loves good literature and Darjeeling tea and hates rains.
She keeps a diary but no one knows not even Rajeeb
She can face the world alone but sometimes just sometimes-
-She wants to lie down sleeping the whole day and not meet a human.
She wants Rajeeb to be happy.

For Rajeeb, she is what Calcutta this unknown city is all about.
For he knows he loves her.
As she wishes she would too.

.....And all while in her diary she writes-

"If only you came five years earlier.

If only I was not battle scarred and wounded.

If only love was just a word.

If only..."

Monday, July 11, 2011

The unknown man on River Padma-

He is the man with jet black eyes and one week old stubble.
The main protagonist of a story unpublished.
He is the man who Tagore wrote about when he said-
..."I am listless,
I am a wanderer in my heart.

... I forget,
I ever forget,
that the gates are shut everywhere
in the house where I dwell alone!"

He is the man in this loneliness of a town who no one much knows about

Emilybari on the farthest shores of Sunderbans
The salty evenings of this humid place comes to an end on his windows.
Slowly in his spotless Bangla he writes-

"Shondha'r aalo jaino raat pohalo..
Aashbe je raati
diner bhayakranto moner
sheyi robe aashol shathi.."

Translated- "As the evening dies it feels like
the night has come to an end,
for the fearful in me
has the night as a real friend."

They call him Calcutta Man
Though he has been living here in the Sunderbans for twelve years now
He knows them all but none of them know him.
He has hundred and two poems and countless stories which no on shall ever read.

And now in the midst of an all too quiet night
he walks up to the river Padma as he has been doing everyday
and thinks how it reminds him of faces
that he knew a lifetime ago,
when he sat down with her by Hoogly
and they talked about traversing through the river,
the places he lived and moved away from
and how the world moves
but the night and the river stays with him in time.
And how no one else does

And then he walks back after hours
in the swaying misty winds of nights
he looks back one last time at her,
the river thinking of how it has been alone there for centuries
and how many infinite people have looked at her.
But never- never can anyone look at you like me
Nor can they make love to you as I do.

He walks away
thinking of
life and roads and city
and salt pepper lips and brown eyes and nothing.
He smiles
he does not want anything else
but the 'Now' that he possesses here
and perhaps just perhaps .. Her.

Saturday, July 9, 2011


And she does not look up
but keeps a guarded look at his movements
...he has an Ok walk
but his voice is not exactly
the way she had it thought of
and the way Maa is smiling
he might as well have been Sinatra.

And then
when everybody suddenly evaporates
of the room in an awkward moment
he tells her- "Aapni shundor"
and coyly smiles
She says-" Have you read, Wuthering heights?"
A question that fills him
with the a strange expression
a question that seems
perfectly normal to her
and he says slowly
disappointed at himself-" Naa."

Later Maa asks how was he?
And she says nothing.

And she looks at him
as if for the first time
removing betel leaves
for the shubho drishti
and he smiles at her
she instinctively smiles back
and the whole process is a blur after that.

He thinks she is the most beautiful thing on earth
She has not thought much

In their room
after he finally gets in
she has already slept
tired, drained
and he slowly caresses her
through his eyes
and smiles as she enters his life

They have been to their honey moon in Italy
and she knows
that he can carry her home
while she has had one drink too many,
that he has cleaned the whole drawing room
where she puked it all out,
that he can make anti-hang over coffee
and looks at her smilingly
while she gulps it,
that he hums slow Robindro Songeet
while they walk together in Turin
and in one motion of his arm cover her up
when they cross the road.
That he patiently listens
while she explain Sistine Chapel to him
That when she has those bouts
where she misses her Maa-Baba a bit too much and cries
he sits next to her patiently
and offers a glass of water.
That he can practically handle
any electronic appliance and repair it.
That he is reading Wuthering Heights at nights
while she sleeps
beneath his pillow is open page 153.
That he will not touch her
until she feels alright about it.

And they return back from their trip from Italy.
Their marriage yet virgin.

And after their first office party since wedding
she does not feel altogether joyous.

And neither would she talk to him
while they return
and he says
in the same way he said
Aapni Shundor..
'Ki Holo'?
but she would not budge.

She sits quietly
looking outside
and remembers Mrs Mehta's slow taps
on his shoulders every time he said something funny.
Were they even funny?

She knows after their first meeting
that Mrs Mehta is despicable
and Mr. Mehta should keep an eye on her.

She looks at him with those cupcakes
of her eyes and says,
in full throttle anger
"Shono, ..I love you"

He smiles..and says..
"I know"

Friday, July 8, 2011

Of what must not be left un-said-

Someday soon
Between you and me
I shall write an oasis of words

They shall be
as soft as
the palm of your hands
and as soulful as the notes
of your dulcet voice.

And somewhere there in between
I shall garden an island
where the sun rises in your temples
twilight dawns on your eyes
And the night draws
in the duskiness of your embraces
warming itself through your breaths on me
a country of unending springs
and slow drizzle of rains

I shall make it our home
where we live through time.

...And for now while we sit together
in our own cultivated dreams
underneath the tired moon
and a half drawn portrait
of a black-blue sky
that drapes us together
in our solitary different worlds.

I would like you to know
That the slowly calling dawn
Is just a beginning

Tuesday, July 5, 2011


You know I have never quite realized
How you can contemplate Joyce's Ulysses?
Or even the fact
That you have two different names
For every human you know
How is it that it is always?
A little too much sugar in my coffee
That all the poems that you write
End in question marks?
And that you never write a poem on me?

I have never figured how carefree you sleep
Even when you have to lecture
Two hundred people next day?
How did you know?
That the only Tolstoy book
I never completed was Anna Karenina
cos' it was so friggin’ like me

And how you shall
Never keep any photographs
Of your childhood in Siliguri
Or that Salinger book.
Or that why you can never love me
Like I do... Just like that


I call her Anna.
She is psychedelic pop
The happiness of
All Beatles songs put together
She is a mid-week holiday
She is the smell of winter evenings
And old leaves in open playgrounds

She is Karenina to my Vronsky
She is an afternoon nap
on a freshly cleaned bed-sheet and a happy dream.
She is an oaf who makes me smile
And yet she is ‘I shall pack your bags’.

She is like my first kiss.
But I cannot hold her back
Like Siliguri or 'catcher in the rye'

As I cannot love things or people
I can just write about them
And she is the metaphor of the story
Of my life
Though someday I shall
Put her into words
... Just like that

(And why do you always
Sweeten my coffee like

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Do not go-

What if
I could hold you
into the island
of my palms
see you evolving
as a part of me
and take you with me
to all the places
we shall be

Talk to you
I have nothing left
to say

Like I am
but the only human
residing in the galaxy
of your name

and then one day
I shall open my hands
to let you see
what lies outside.

then you shall
want me
not to
let you go.