Thursday, November 10, 2011
I write terminally ill verses
Incurable says the physicians
yet, the sickness persists passionately.
I crave for divinity
and keep slaughtering gods
my whimper echoes
on the stone walls
of ten by twelve.
the folks smirk distantly
at the distorted verses,
I laugh in delirium
I laugh ecstatic,
i laugh in fantasy.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
On her wedding night the little girl
got fifty one saris
fiftyyyy one saris as her gift,
on the " ashtomangola "
( eighth day after )
she received six more..
So many , So many
she never saw so many saris
in her whole life.
On the top shelf of her cupboard
she kept all the sea green ones,
she embraced one and
said, " you are my deep blue sky"
On the second shelf
she kept all the Rosy ones,
she embraced one of them and said,
" You are my Passion"
For the whole year she just received
more....and more...and more
How is she going to wear all
these saris in one life time ?
But before the year passed
one evening the little girl went out
with her husband to buy
Chinese and chili chicken.
Three masked men stood on their way,
Thrust a twelve inch blade on the
Upward , downward upward again,
smoking chinese kissed the pavement.
" This is Politics " The neighbours proclaimed.
On the wedding night
the little girl got fiftyyyyyone saris
six more on " Ashtomangola"
One day ,on one cruel mid afternoon
the girl threw her all the saris from
second floor balcony down on the
all tolarent earth ( ? )
The mother in law
dressed the little girl with a white
border less rough sari.
A nineteen year old girl
But that meagre sari too was
snatched away from her one evening
near the corner shop by three youngsters,
One naked little widow
screamed , Save me, Save me....
Laughter followed her wherever she went,
On her wedding night
a little girl got fifty one saris
on ashtomangola six more.
Recreated from Poet Subodh Sarkar.
( Ashtomongola... A married newly wed girl returns to
her father's House for a visit after eightdays just to
say " everything" to her mother ")
Sunday, September 11, 2011
irrelevant accidents happen,
yelling wheels of metro train...
underneath his torn body,
his mutilated emotion.
Meaningless salty tears mingle
with a lonely lake,
Some rainbow dreams jump
from aseventhfloor sky,
pavements underneath shrieks.
touch the lemon lips
with hundred Valium,
pain sleeps for hundred years.
Dancing flames inside
the bolted door
kerosene smell and her jasmine scent,
Oh lord, another face in hell.
But Why ?
Omniscient Love knows it all .
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Tell me the colour of your desires
so that I can set my canvas and paint,
tell me the colour of your sidelong glance
so that i can tie up my turban
and sit by the ghat of Benares,
Tell me the colour of your
so that I can mournfully play G minor
on the Harpsichord,
Tell me the colour of your tears
when i burn
so that the flames can dance like dervishes
holding your hands.
Monday, May 23, 2011
When you didnt come
on my way ,
everything was as
The horizon was
as it was,
the way was like the way,
the wine glass
was like the wine glass.
The way, the wine glass
the grey sky, the horizon
All began to melt,
red , intimate
like vermilion heart.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Among my 4 grand sons the third one is the most handsome
lovable, playful , inattentive.
His name is " Bhomku"
Bhomku is 8 and I think he is the most enigmatic of all the four.
He hates to eat by himself . That is a bit hard and unnecessary performance for him. At an age of nine he stll prefers someone just help him to eat. Of course I must add, it depends upon the quality of food.
If it is one of those junk food he grabs them and assaults the food in
beastly manner and consumes them before you say Jiffy.
But usual bengali khana of rice , dal or meat or chicken cooked at home is simply too unsophisticated for him .
Teachers at school often complain that he is inattentive , often doesnt know where he is, Questions from teachers are regularly answered
with wild guess as he never pays attention to the " Good for nothing Teachers".Bhomku amazes you. When it comes to school exams bhomku laughs the last. He comes home with a record card non chalantly, throws over your face silently saying " See, this is what I am" Proving every one in the family wrong. He is adorable lazy good for nothing lad. His father takes him to some kind of drama lesson and very naturally BHOMKU DOESNT REMEMBER WHAT exactly went on in the drama class.My room is of immense interest to him .He often trespass here and examines each article here with hundred question which he expects me to answer.
My last grandson is soft chubby, rabbit toothed, cuddly fun loving , sleep loving 6 year old MANTA or Mantaputu.
This one is just adorable to every one except to some extent to his mother. Before birth he was expected to be a Daughter but with our delight he appeared with his little willy which disappointed his mother
but enormously delighted us. Manta Eats alone and is independent in many respect . He doesnt care for others to feed him. He adores his father and his Pishi ( my daughter) Father to manta is close to his god.
In school he is almost a teachers pet and teachers from other classes just drop in to his class just to have a look and offer him a kiss being wildly attracted by his masculine magnetic personality . He hates outdoor games . He is happy with the regular mock fight in a celebrated manner.
He loves to paint and has done some really great surrealistic work in his sketch pad. He is a marvellous singer.
Now these for Grand sons assemble in my room otherwise peaceful. They evict me and yells at the top of their voices some fantastic stories in some fantastic language which an english language teacher have enormous difficulties to comprehend .
But I still believe there should have been a little lady to control these rowdies in the family.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
By The Inheritors I mean some people who acquire the characteristics
of the predecessors . In this case It would be my four grand sons, and today I am going to write few words about them.
I have altogether four grandsons . Yes Four grand sons and pity no Grand daughter !! Pity because I love girls !!
The Top most one, the one that was much too expected as the first grand son in
the chatterjee family. So when he appeared he made it obvious to all concerned that " He is going to rule" and thats what does. He got and still gets the MAXIMUM attention .His paramount demand from his life was met without question and that thoroughly spoilt him. Now he is 17, a computer wizard, relishes all the attention for this marvellous achievement. He is , as almost all the boys of his age are , a gullible candidate of consumerism specially the Gadgets .Oh by the way his name is MOJA ( that name was given by me by the way.Moja stands for Fun in bengali . Any way as a ruler he rules over his three subjects and makes it obvious to them that he IS the ruler, the protector , provider of all those junkyard foods, punished often by some questionable methods .But overall their kingdom is stable a staus quo is maintained at all time except some occasional protest from the youngest one who is 6.But moja has
clever way of subduing the unruly subjects by providing some " goodies" under the table. Moja is ambitious, intelligent , hates literature, extremely good orator and debater, and extremely favourite pupil in his school. Moja hates Sabji, exercise, to be pushed aside and ignored. Now he trying to get a place in some American universities for his further studies.
The second one is a GENIUS. He is called BHOJA. Yes , again the name was given by me just a kindof Rhyming with Moja. He is 9.He is amiable and does not believe in authoritarianism.He is a social craftsman , believes in the rule of thumb even the most complicated theories of physics .
He desires to be a software engineer but he has aptitudes in art , or for any innovative subject for that matter. Bhoja is gentle , but when pushed he sulks like his grand pa. Last month he was elected as the captain of his house in his school so he uses the authority very appetizingly. Like his brother he is disinterested in english literature and thinks that subject is for some namby pamby . The item In the computer appeals to him the most is " How to make GUNS" . He checks the procedures in you tube and then sets about making all kinds of Guns and pistols with card boards , and glues etc. Being really a thorough crafts men , the end product is always very satisfactory and matters of pride.
Bhoja is a pet for his mother.Any smallest reprimand from any of his teachers in his school always appear to be an act of injustice , so the ball ends up in the Principal's office which then is settled in by the principal himself who ticks off the " Guilty" teacher. No amount of our protest to the mother about spoiling the boy so, helps . We always try to trim her claws lest there is a blood shed. Bhoja is brilliant in his school work and naturally well loved by his peer group and teachers. He is an ideal brother for the younger ones .
Moja and Bhoja are the sons of my daughter.
To continue for the other two grand son soon. COMING SOON !!!!
Monday, May 9, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
shepherds bush green,
You on a bench exclaim
Hyde park corner
serpentine lake ,
Almost solitary hampstead park,
You close ....closer still
" I am happy....happy"
Rain drenched Southampton road
Kardomah with coffee
spoon goes round and round,
raincoat passion for theatre
brollies guard two furtive kisses.
Itsssss so beautiful.
Gold leaves on embankment
River Thames sing lullaby
inside the Tate
behind the lovers I find you,
a blissful hug
You say moaning
" Beautiful, Its so beautiful"
Motorway, eighty ninety..
poetical hair dance
with the wind,
Back to the bedsitter
wild with newly learnt passion
on the road,
You whisper in my ear,
Oh ...oh ..oh Beautiful !!!
One fresh alive DEWDROP
carried by many many dead men
On the way to
thousand trees thousand leaves,
weeping willows bow,
generous turbulent sky
flocks of birds sing the
" Beautiful ...you are beautiful,
in your laughter
in your weeping
in your life
in your nonlife
in your passion
in your stillness
in your light
in your darkness
in the silence
You are beautiful
in emptiness....You are beautiful.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
....HI, How are you ?
.... I am ok..
swallowing , evacuating
Egg roll, fish fry ,Coco cola ,white mischief,
....Hmm ,you must be ok then
....That you can say.
receiving, evacuating ...cyclically..
urination, excretion....sleep and sleeplessness
Night , day , life death
Moving like a circle.
......Hmm Circle ? Whats inside then?
...... A grey emptiness.
.....living in emptiness with some meaningless
Shape of faces...Some social masturbation,
some dreamy intercourse,
living with impure divinity......
I AM OK....YOU ARE OK
.......Then what ?
.......Then how do we exist, with what?
......Come my darling,let us shatter our
immortality, and keep the pieces framed.
.......Then to stay ok let us go You and I
to the meaningless market place
and buy and sell our dreary dreams.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
I am tired of Jingoism.
Like a tsunami its sweeping the whole
Nation , mistakenly called NATIONAL PRIDE .
All kinds of phrases , cliches are in the air.
I want to hear a sane voice to tell me
" please do not hesitate to congratulate the others"
The world does not consist of winners and losers only.
undermining the ones who have lost ( ? )
is Jingoism and a healthy society should avoid that.
Friday, March 25, 2011
For so many days so many months
we walked together
on the rain drenched streets
of our ancient city,
for so many days
we lived with so many
men women and children
only finally to bury them.
Please do not look now
do not look at me and laugh,
Take me inside your cave
when the evening star sparkles,
and in the midnight bed
let your feet
touch my heart
like the pavement stones.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I removed the piece of cloth
on Tista's breast,
and there those two red lotuses
still,like the depth of time.
Time is as if some other lost river,
like that lost river
we are getting lost
one by one,
Our faces melting in the stream.
One such evening
one such face came out
from the depth and gazed
Today the river lost her name
time has lost its end
death has lost its song,
and the sunrise has lost its freedom.
Still there is love
Still you are
Still I am
we live in our maverick verses.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
In this ancient foggy silence
I have to return
to a primitive ignorance.
I came to know so much,
so precious so far
so much applauded
so much encored.
You talked to me for the whole day
with a night long whirling body,
You made me "Grown up",
Yet I didnt know you,
engulfed my enlightened face.
So pleasant this darkness is ,
so much intellectual ignorance
with so much echoed silence
I am a sleeping Foetus now.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Few hours ago I saw a film called " Dhobi ghat"
A friend of mine appeared to be much impressed and thought
i must go and see the film.
The counters in the cinema hall looked almost deserted .
My instant reaction was " Oh god , another failed movie in our beloved city"
But If the display of panoramic inexplicity of modern man's mind
if the absence of trash like story line, If the background ghazals and some
classical ragas on Sarod playing , the spectacular and vibrant colours
on the screen tell you anything about a film , they just say that very reverentially and reverberantly
If a director understands the necessity of absolute silence in a film and
makes such a point clear then a film may not draw audience in the cinema counter as much as expected .
Love in this film has a meaning not commonly understood and the director made that point very clear by dialogues completely unknown to the ordinary cinema goer in
India .The most outstanding claim that the film can make is
that it is a success for not meeting the naive expectation of the audience.
In our ordinary Day to day life we are taught to expect knowing fully well that it is absurd to expect ANYTHING . The characters in the film time and time again made this point clear.
I loved this film as it speaks to my heart in an inexplicable language the true nature in a city, any city all over the world.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
a morning you feel dismal,
a morning to bring
the memory of old faces,
a morning of some warm passion,
a morning of "Mia ki mallhar",
a little hope
and some trembling pain,
this is the morning
when one holds your face
in his palm and
puts his lips on yours
and say " I love you".
you sit by the window
gave leave to your mind,
The mind travels far and wide.
You made me lonely
in this dark cloudy morning,
incessant rain outside,
But dont you know my darling,
In such mornings,silent desires
flicker like the fire flies ?
Saturday, January 1, 2011
When would the " All clear "come ?
Didnt somebody promise us an all clear
if we were good,and clean,and nice and were willing
to die for things,and believe in things,and agreed to do everything
right ? Where is OUR ALL CLEAR ?
How long? How tediously long would we have to be "Good"
Stick to despicable life where even suicide is an utopia.
Where freedom of individual choice has to be dumped
for getting an ALL CLEAR signal.
How long do we have to maintain the pseudo moral life
come whatever may.
I waited all this life pretending to be good assuming
someone would come and blow the signal of ALL CLEAR
as a justifiable reward.Ha Ha Ha