A few random memories

This is something I wrote to commemorate the centenary cele bration of our family Durga Pujo in 2009.

How tender was the age of six

When Mejda set the trend

Put Chhoton’s hand in mine

Said, “This brother is your friend”

The rhythm of our childish hands

Melding seamlessly with our minds

The dhak beat and the kashar toll

Spun the eternal thread that binds

How fragrant were those misty dawns

When Dida and I were flower girls

Picking shewlis with vermilion stalks

Dew teardrops glistening on the whorls.

Buckets full of khicudi and labda

That we trudged around and served

On sweltering days and breezy nights

When laughter was never curbed

The corner seat for chandi chanting

Where readers changed with clock chimes

Little did we envision in our content

That some will get plucked by time

In a distant land across an ocean

A universe apart from home

Those faces flash before my eyes

While the memories silently roam.

I have no flowers, O my mother

No garlands to adorn your feet

Only these pictures from my soul

I weave together and offer thee.

Enlightenment

In the light of age
And the age of mind
All I see is a carcass
Worth leaving behind

Discontent invaded flesh
The spirit became numb
We marched in unison
In thought we were dumb

Where was my voice, my own
Did the maestro push me back
To where my notes were mute
And my will was slack?

A rainbow of distinct choices
Merging into a grey abyss
Is that all there is, my friend?
Is that all there is?

Twilight

TWILIGHT

The peach and purple melting
Where land and water meet
Shutters come down on wilted eyes
This is the vision I seek.

The whisper of decay in my blood
My soldiers with parched throats
Have surrendered me at last
To this numbing twilight.

The Parting

It isn't the going
It isn't the going

That made me so still

It isn't the void
It isn't the void

That kills all my will

It's just that I couldn't see
It's just that I couldn't touch
It's just that time froze back
Three years ago
When we were smiling still

It isn't the lack of space
It isn't the lack of space

That chokes my senses

It isn't the people
It isn't the people

Who did not jump my fences

It's just that I can't run
It's just that oblivion's so far
And I don't know where people are
The ones I can't see
Or the ones pretending to be with me.

Riding my life

I don't want to live
In this large house
surrounded by
What aesthetics can do
It is a prison for me
And maybe a haven for you.

What matters anymore
Is what I cannot sense
And what I can sense
Has long left my core.

I can't find my corner here
Or even within me
So blurred
Are the worldly lines
It's hard to see a point
In these never-ending mines

Oh this eternal ride
The house stands still
We must run outside now
Before this ride can kill.
Before this ride can kill.

The little dream

She had a little dream
Where she was very big
Where people gazed adoringly
At the queen in her rig

She had a little dream
Where she was very famed
The healer of those ailments
That had several maimed

She had a little dream
Where power was her aide
Where she only had to whisper
And new rules were made

She had a little dream
Where wealth was her shield
Want and desire were rampant
But there wasn't any need

She exploded in the space
The barren untouched lands
The ghosts came much later
The ones that held her hands

She the blooming flower
Her dream the soaring bird
Wilting, she watched it fly
As she slipped into the herd

Creativity and Emotion

Is emotional intensity a precursor to creative intensity? One would say, what a redundant question, the two are co-dependent. Creativity is an uncanny blend of rationality, emotion and a strong individual desire--when released to the external environment, it triggers a complex reaction in the audience that even they cannot understand completely. What does this entail for the artist, the creator who puts himself through storms, deserts, deep blue oceans and bone-crackling cold? An original creation, they say, is born from the depths of the soul where that emotion auguring the creation is experienced with all its richness, from different angles.