Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Incognito in Bombay-

And she walks in with those hazy eyes and a little overdone mascara
She is the only woman in Bombay that Sayantan wants to look at
around her eyes corners, around her almost eraseable dimples
when she licks her lips after two minutes of continues blabbering
and at nights while she is sleeping next to him
but he knows that she is not Tanima

And she asks him,
"Aami ki ore moton?"
(Am I like her)

And he knows not
For he knew her when she was eighteen and had just entered Presidency
For he knew her when she felt Jane Austen is too widely-limited
When she first went out with Debashish and kissed him
When she wrote her first poem about a woman who is clueless of her way
When Deb left her and she cried till four
and he had to physically take her out of her bed to brush
when he wrote her a poem and kept it to himself not to let it be seen
when she wore that blue denim for the first time
when she used the f word and felt liberated
when she was the only woman he could fall in love with
when she had not met Adam

And he smiles
You know I once wrote a poem
Let me read it to you,

And he rendered his only bangla words
in his glib South Calcutta style

"Tumi aamar moner moton,
kintu tumi shey to naa.
Tumi to shriti'r bagan'e
krishnochura ekti phul.

Aami tomaye proti'ti ronge prem korbo.
Aalo'r moton opekkhakrito thakbo
tobe phul tulbo na.
Shokal'er aalo shudhu amaar jonne to nei.

Aami jani tumi aamar shokal na
Aami bujhi tumi shey na."

Which roughly translates into
"You are like my soul's song
But you are not her
You are a daisy in the garden of my memories
You are a delonix

I shall love you in colors and hues
And await you like the morning lights
Though shall not displume you,
you are not meant too
The morning light is not just for me, dear.

You are not my morning
you are not her."

And yet he caresses her face
And yet his fingers instinctively find hers

And she buries her head and sobs

And he tells her with a wry smile,
"You know her tears on my shoulders were never shed for me.
And anyway there is no woman named Tanima
or no city like Calcutta any

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