Sunday, May 5, 2013

Gaya revisited

....so I left for gaya again.Thistime it was not for emancipation  in life but something more mysterious than this life.
I am particularly interested in the Life after ....and Gaya ,not buddha gaya,the prehistoric Gaya .
After we reached the station we we were almost carried away by a storm of delirious emotion  to a spot in Gaya ,covered with dark trees  over some kind of  Hill .

A strange looking face of a man ,pretended  to be waiting an said " Aha ..Babuji...you come atlast...I was waiting for you for days , months even years. Come this way. Please sit down for a while " He pointed to a bench in a kind of roadside tea stall . We sat down. Binita's teeth were chattering in some kind oof apprehension.
She  was definitely frightened by now because of this strange man's look. The eyes were deep red and and sunken. He was tall and slightly stooping.His hands were filthy.
After the Tea he asked us to follow him. We strted to climb the  hill through dark trees and aa massive Dusk. While walking he told us the 
reasons people visit this " NO MAN"S LAND .
 People go there to perform the last rites. But it is of different kind that are performed in benares, Gangotri , Puskar etc.
It is performed as the Hindus believe to  " Free " the spirits of Dead relatives.

But here  people come to perform the last rites all people who weredead for unknown reason , unknown places, accidental death, whose relatives never got the trace of the  Bodies.They just vanished  and their spirits are forever thirsty for a drop of water.Those longing spirits come to this place for salvation from an uncanny  bondage.
 There is some kind of ghastly atmosphere , Birds dont call , animals dont howl , Trees are still,.
Finally we reached the top of the hill ,we could see a temple , inside there was  some God's image it could be a Devil too. Our guide stared at us for a long time  and said just " Who " ?
I understood the question .My friend was shaking in fear and clutched my hand and said" amiyo da lets g back. I am nnot feeling well at all"
We started to run,through the trees and shrubs.
We heard roars of laughter behind. Continuous echoeing laughter and strange sounds through the trees sounded like the Whines.
Were they the whines of Thirsty spirits who still long for someone to go there and liberate. ?

Couldnt Buddha liberate them who resides just the next door ??

Friday, March 22, 2013

Middle pages

There in the breast of Godavaari
two invincible pages float
,scratches bleed
deep wounds weep
That girl said
" I shall never leave" but she left,
Lily das exhausted me ,
and after we dozed off
she whispered 
" lets run away" She did 
But I couldnt
Elizabeth on a narrow single bed 
pretended to sleep with her orgasm,
,I cremated her in the 
goldersgreen cemetary,
Thousand birds sang the fifth symphony.
Snigdha  counted the money 
after each configuration 
which her Husband couldnt give.
That little spiritually masochist girl from Delhi
Inbetween her Insomniac groans repeated
swore, " Show me the way"
 finally she lost her way or got buried in her 
thousnd words.

These and many other  adventurous sighs
floated  with  Godavari waves.
She brings out those middle pages
only to have some whiff of Fragrance .
Her eyes wet, her scabbard lips smile.

@ amiya

Saturday, January 26, 2013


I don't know how many souls I have.
I've changed at every moment.
I always feel like a stranger.
I've never seen or found myself.
From being so much, I have only soul.
A man who has soul has no calm.
A man who sees is just what he sees.
A man who feels is not who he is.

Attentive to what I am and see,
I become them and stop being I.
Each of my dreams and each desire
Belongs to whoever had it, not me.
I am my own landscape,
I watch myself journey—
Various, mobile, and alone.
Here where I am I can't feel myself.

That's why I read, as a stranger,
My being as if it were pages.
Not knowing what will come
And forgetting what has passed,
I note in the margin of my reading
What I thought I felt.
Rereading, I wonder: "Was that me?"
God knows, because he wrote it.


I Don't Know How Many Souls I Have
Fernando Pessoa
I don't know how many souls I have.
I've changed at every moment.
I always feel like a stranger.
I've never seen or found myself.
From being so much, I have only soul.
A man who has soul has no calm.
A man who sees is just what he sees.
A man who feels is not who he is.

Attentive to what I am and see,
I become them and stop being I.
Each of my dreams and each desire
Belongs to whoever had it, not me.
I am my own landscape,
I watch myself journey—
Various, mobile, and alone.
Here where I am I can't feel myself.

That's why I read, as a stranger,
My being as if it were pages.
Not knowing what will come
And forgetting what has passed,
I note in the margin of my reading
What I thought I felt.
Rereading, I wonder: "Was that me?"
God knows, because he wrote it.


I Don't Know How Many Souls I Have
Fernando Pessoa

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Ajker Nibaron

Dohai tomar robithakur
amar moto akjon kay niye 
tumi akt kobit lekho.

dhoro, tar nam nibaron...nibaron chatujjye
sada sidhey chha posha manush se,
nibaron thakey chhidum mudi lane er
ak talir chhat wala barir  chiley kothai,
se chhat swadhinota diyechhey
roddur , brishty  ar anek arsola , makorsha 
ar tiktiki ke,
kanch bhanga janala dhushor akash keo
adhikar diyechhey or nongra chador e
lutiye porte.

rojkar moto nibaron jivey tok tok swad niye
ghum bhengey uthey
plato r songey breakfast e bosey,
tabil e chapa dewa chapa hishi te bivor
ak bishal bajarer fordo
tatey anek kichhur moto mohargho
chingree machh o thakey.

Albinoni r concert shuntey shuntey 
nibaron chokh bojey
ar tar antoswarshunyo mukhey photey
ektu constipated hashi,

nibaron porechhey anek, bojheni kiichhui,

jeebonay tar shillong paharey
jaowa hoye utheni
tobay ak adhbar se dighai baratey giyechhilo,
ar sekhanei alap hoyechhilo
kono labonyo noy, molina r songay,
namer songay tar ruper aschorjo mil.

nibaroner buker modhye shillong 
paharer moto mosto akta pahar chhilo,
ar sei pahare ga beye nibaron roj sokaley
akta bhari pathor uporey uthto
ar sondhey holay se pathor 
goratey goratey neechey ese porto,
ta dekhey molina bolto khil khil hese
" tumi akta apodartho "
Abhsapto sisyphaser moto nibaron
akta sabdoheen sabdo khujey khujey aboseshey
pragoitihasik manusher moto akta 
jantob artonad korto.

nibaron konodin kobita lekheni,
se porechhey anek bojheni kichhui.

roj ratey nibaron
andhokar ghoray khatey shuye
nirmom bhabe
nijer shorir sorsho korey dekhto
se benchey achhey kina,
mrityu kamona korto nibaron,,
abarmorey jaowar kono jukti khujey  petona.

dohai tomar robithakur
khub akta sdharon , chhaposha
amar moto akjon ke niye akta kobita  lekho tumi
robithakur.

@amiyo da

Saturday, October 27, 2012


A death

by Amiya Chatterjee on Saturday, 27 October 2012 at 12:17 ·
One death in the city,
It has brought world of chaos  
in here,in the lanes
on the city streets,
the very air confused
unrestrained cacophoney
obscene high decibel ecstatic tears,

such disrespect to the dead
oh such assault to the parted soul,
oh dear god  go to sleep
and in your dream 
forgive the blasphemy of man 
against death.

Only contemplative infinite sky
Only  reverberating silence
with supplication
can pay  the due respect
to death.
Not ecstatic blaring lights
not huge bouquet of ravished flowers
no pedanticity , no songs , no poetries
FOR THE DEARLY DEPARTED.
Death is meditation like Mountain
Death is SHIKAN TAZA,
"Sitting quietly and doing nothing"

@amiyo

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Wild Flower

 
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Wild flowers


I climbed thousand steps
hoping to achieve
the miracle of wisdom, 
I faced the hard facts
Explored the Philosopher"s Mind.
At the end of day
My back bent down
tired soul,
She sad, " Here  , 
take this bunch of Wild flowers,
Aren't they the same 
The wild flowers and the philosophy ?
But How easy it is to carry 
The wild flowers.
Dont you know? "