Mirror / Stage

Woh kagaz ki kashti...

2011-10-11T03:24:00.002+05:30

"Tum chale jaoge to sochenge,

Humne kya khoya, humne kya paaya,

Zindegi dhoop, tum ghana saaya

Tumko dekha to iye khayal aaya..."

I was just an average kid from 80s. I was from a very middle class family, where the television belonged to the whole locality and VHS tapes were still in fashion. I had a bunch of cousins who were in their youth at that point of time and they liked music. They had a two-in-one and some cassettes. One of their distant relatives used to sing ghazals and thumri. Once or twice, she sang in the AIR Calcutta A. That was some feat then. Not everyone was a singing star performing in TV shows, radio channels or pubs. Pubs were considered low culture, TV had just one channel and radio was state run. Marriage functions were great places to hear some original voices. But Hindi film songs were considered too vulgar. That's just to give you the idea why the ghazal made a way in the middle class milieu and became an integral part of the middle class identity. Later, while doing my masters thesis, I'll find out "classical music was too heavy for the middle class, Hindi film songs were too lowly. The pop-ghazal had the perfect balance."

I'm grateful too my cousins for introducing me to a lot of music I'd later develop a taste for. Little did they know how music gets engraved in our mind. I was just a school boy. It is among those bundles of audio cassettes I heard Jagjit Singh's voice for the first time, along with Chitra Singh. I can't remember the name of the album, but it was a compilation of film hits by the pair. The cassette inlay had a black background with the face of the pair and had the song that'll become one of my all time favourites. At that point I had no idea what it meant, nor did I understand the musical technicalities. I recall now, I somehow retained the memory of the sound. It was the 80s, music came in magnetic audio tapes, films were in Eastman-colour, something called "Parallel Cinema" was still there, Shabana Azmi, Smita Patil, Naseeruddin Shah, Raj Babbar, Farukh Sheikh, Amol Palekar were stars of the 'intellectual' middle class, Jagjit-Chitra or Bhupinder Singh were preferred voices for music.

As I grew up to my own teenage during the 90s, cassettes were still in use. Digital technology did come in, but it was still too costly for the middle class. Some of my friends had them, but they were a still a little more revered to be treated as entertainment gadgets. So we had our Walkmans, two-in-ones, tape-decks... The wealthier could afford a Music system, that had two cassette players and a CD player. One of the cassette players could also record anything from the other cassette, the CD or the FM radio. Oh yes, private FM channels had already come in, but they were not as many or as talkative as today and their reception depended on the position of the antenna! Being able to record was quite a technological challenge. You had to time the two devices, push the switches in the right order and be able to handle them. It demanded practice and efficiency. If you missed something, it meant a series of rewinding and fast forwarding and doing it again. Buttons have not appeared and switches had to be pushed and not touched. I was kind of a techie already. So I mastered the art. One of my close friends had a music system and I had the urge. Initially, we tried that to copy whole cassettes. We were simply unaware of the term "piracy"! Then we started recording stuff for plays at school and locality. But the triumph was the compilation cassette. We sourced a variety of songs from multiple origins, recorded them in a well thought order and gifted them to the person we wished to impress. CDs were too costly and too complicated to burn. In fact, the cassette was just the right size. A CD would've provided too much space. The number of songs on a compilation cassette could range from 8-12. All that effort just to say a three letter word. Hell, I miss the 90s! Needless to say I was quite a champion of it, doing it for myself and for my friends as well. It was the 90s, music was changing, it was the time for remixes and remakes. Cinema was changing, so were its preferred stars. But, there were a few songs that would appear on almost all such compilation cassettes.

That was the second time I encountered Jagjit Singh's voice and fell in love. My friend could afford the original cassettes, I would just record. Many of our teenage afternoons were spent listening to them. He was on a singing spree. My friend predicted he'll become silent in a few years. He didn't, and thank god he didn't! As I grew up my music changed. I shifted from one genre to another, but somehow I always felt comfortable in melody and in baritone. The romantic intonations and the brilliance of words somehow kept going with me. I grew older, and after quite some experiments with music, a few years back I started coming back to Hindustani Classical music. Once again ghazal was my way in. As I struggled with the concepts and grammar of it, I downloaded a whole collection of Jagjit Singh's works. Those who understood Hindustani music better than me, told me he isn't good enough. But then, one just doesn't have to be good to make one feel at peace. Before the technical knowledge comes the inexplicable liking for it. That's why when a popular artist fades away, they take too many memories with them. Too many to consist an era.

I had an affinity for Ghalib's poetry. I don't know why, I think I can trace it back to the same period when the TV serial on his life was being telecast. There is something about that period, that determines my middle class existence, my cultural roots. I now know there are a lot of things about it that's not politically correct or very mediocre, but I refuse to grow old without my childhood and teenage reality. In the past few weeks I've had a new friend. That is not so normal given the person I've become these days. She has re-introduced me to the world of Urdu poetry. In one of our very early conversations she text me some lines from Ghalib. I had downloaded all episodes of the Mirza Ghalib TV serial from torrents a few months back. It is the new millennium, everything's on the internet, poetry is available as e-books, music can be transferred and heard through phones, every computer is a film archive. As I am blogging this very personal and unusual obituary, I'm thinking I'll listen to the complete works of Jagjit Singh once more, and fall in love again.

Jeshob lekhar proyojon furiyechhe...

2011-07-15T02:11:00.003+05:30

"Doityer bagane ar basanta ase na. Goto shiit-e kokil dekechhilo, bhul kore, hoyto ba obhyeshe. Kokil-er to ghori nei, calender-o nei. Ki aschorjo, kokil-er to basai nei! Calendar tangabe kothay? Polash fote na e shohor-er pothe, park street-er koborkhanay jhore jaay onami ful, kuriye ene keu garir janlay bikri-o kore na. Kinbei ba ke? Karur to fuldani-e nei, rakhbe kothay? Onami fule to gondho thake na. Ekhon onek rate kolkata sashon kore jeshob sorbonam, tara keu abani-r bari chenena. Eka pothe lampost chnuye name halogen alo, gota rastay makhamakhi hoye kopai-er moto dekhay, bali chikchik kore. Tobu ondhokar-er nesha kate na. O pothe koto lok hnate, karur pocket theke ekta siki-o ki chhitke pore na kothao? E shohore ar siki byabohar kore na keu. Tobu ghorer kone ekta table onekdin dhore thakle tar proti-o to maya pore jay? Bojha jayna obosso, kintu soriye nile payar dag theke jay. Tokhon mone hoy ki jeno nei...

Tarpor onek pore ekdin, prem, nesha ar sms-er moto biroho-o basi hote hote sref obhyesh hoye jay..."

"Othoba kichhui likhbo na. Rabindra sadan theke metro-r sesh station-er nam ki? Dumdum theke sesh train kotay chhare? Mone mone bondhur hat dhorle kotodur jaowa jay? Asol kothata holo, kondike? Durodarshan, Durgapujo, Du:sahos r Durontopona niye amader chhotobela kondike chole gechhe? Ei barti boyesh r komti oxygen kondike jachhe?

Janen na to? Amio jani na. Amra keu jani na. Tobu amra roj eishob kore kore sniri bhenge bhenge kondike jeno egiye jai. Egiyei je jai, setao nishchit kore jani na. Tobu bari ferar tara, lekha sesh korar tara, ticket katar tara. Sesh show-er por sob alo nibhe gele, dorshokder hattali miliye gele, porda pore gele obhineta jane tar r kichhu korar nei. Tobu bari take firtei hoy, kondike? Ekdol manush ache jara nijer hridoytake paposher moto mele rakhe. Tobu banchte tader bhari bhalo lagey. Shohor paltay, somoy paltay, nam-o paltay roj, tobu Cigarette tukro ra bhalobashar keu hoyna, janen?Kintu sob kotha to sotti-e lekha jay na, taina?

Onek rat holo, shabdhane bari firben…

Aj kondike?"

"Awchin pakhi bujhi shuhdu buker khanchatei ase jaay? Mathar bhitore je pakhita roj dana jhaptay, se ekdin thik ural debe, digontorekhar dike. Dekhe nis. Buker majhkhane je jolashoy bikelbelar dhakuria lake-r moto nissare train-er sobdo gile ney, masjid-er ajan bhese ashar agey, tar gachheo to kolokakoli jome thake. Nahoy tui auto-y beshi bhara dibi na, taxi-r meter scale diye mapbi, kintu tate ki r shohor-ta palte jachhe? Je tramgulo ekhono chora hoyni, je koborgulo dekha hoyni, je shob boi ekhono tor opekkhay college street-r footpath-e obosthan korchhe tader kothay niye jabi? Tui palate chaitei paris, eishob kichhu theke dure, kono ek nishchinto, nibhrito bhalo bashay. kintu ghulghuli diye bhubangram dekha ek r nijer kholos theke nijeke chharano arek, dher kothin byapar. Kota kopai, kota khowai, kotogulo bankura-r bus perote hobe bhebe dekhechhis? Melamath r chayer bhnar-gulo noy felei dilam, kintu metro-r ticket gulo-r ki korbi? Asole ki janis, onekkhon karo chokher dike takiye thakleo khub maya pore jay to..."

"Charpash jokhon chheye jachhe poster-e, amar shohorer mukh dheke jay bigyapon-e, tokhono babughat-er shyaola-y chikchik kore bhorer surjo. Sosta-r aeroplane r cell-phone-er tower dokhol niyechhe je dhushor akash-er, ekhono sekhane du-charte kak-chil guerilla judhho chaliye jaay. Ektu beshi raatey surjo nibhe gele, theme ele sohorer sob kolahol, ekti-duti tara ekhono unki diye jay. Keu tader khobor rakhena, seta onno kotha. tate tader kichhu esheo jabar kotha noy. kintu modda kothata holo, ja kichu nei, ta je adou nei, emon kotha holof kore ekhono bola jachhe na. Shohore jonaki jwole na hoyto, tobu se neel agun kuriye nebar basona aaj-o soman diptimoy.

E shohor chhere chole gele oneker bhalo hobe hoyto, sohor-tar hobe ki? Porajoy nischit jeneo, somoyer kachhe hnatu mure ekdin bostei hobe jeneo, keu kotha rakhbe na jeneo, shudhu biswas-er jore ajo to keu keu lore jaay. Jhogra koraro to lok chai?"

"Fire jachhilo megh. Ki ekta bhebe theme gelo. Tarpor theke gelo karur buk-e. Sei theke shohorer mukh bhar. Omni kore fire jete jete pichhu dakte hoy?

Buk-er thik jekhane asha-ra thake, kimba mathar je kontay, sekhane ki megh-er jaowa mana? Roj jaay na obosso, kintu jedin jaay, sedin to khub brishti hoy. Brishti ki bhalo?Brishti-r joma jole nouko-chithi bhashale keu pabei emon kono kotha nei, sob chithi sotti-e thikanay pouchhoy na. Othocho shohor paltay, projonmo palte jaay, dekhar chokh palte jaay. Gongay bheshe jay nouko tobu gotipoth palte jay. Onek onek khunjle ekta kore milefolok mele, jar dhare dudondo bose jirono jaay. Onek onek somoy periye ekta kore naam na jana pakhir dekha mele.Garia theke je rasta-ta bridge-er dike chole gechhe, onek ratey okhane auto-y sat-atjon-o bose jaowa jaay, ek hatey, kono rokome khamche dhore. Oikhan theke pother dupashe timtime aloy nijhjhum jibon dekhte sobcheye bhalo. Oneke jibon periye aro beshi jete pare, sobai pare na.Aj taratari bari firis... Megh korechhe..."

"Ekrokom deshlai achhe, take bole mom-deshlai. bhari sundor dekhte. Patla dohara chhoto-khato goron, sadharon deshlai-er cheye sob dik thekei alada. Sadharonoto sobkotai jole r ekebare sesh matha obdhi jole. Jara khub boro nesharu, tara jane, oi deshlai-er onno upojogitao achhe. R jara seshob noy, tara khub ekta pochhondo kore na, asole mulyo bojhe na. Karon oi deshlai shudhu poranoi jaay. Kan chulkano jaay na, daant khonchano jaay na. Oshob korte gelei bhenge jaay, bidroho kore bodhhoy!

Kintu bhebe dekhle dekha jabe, nisshese pure jaowai to deshlai-er dhormo. Ektu khon alo deowa, ektu agun, ushonta.. tarpor abar ondhokar... hoyto mukhomukhi bosibar... thik jani na. Mom-deshlai jokhon jole, tokhon thik agun-er porer ongsho-tay gola mom-er kemon ekta khela cholte thake. Jeno podmo-patay jol, jeno shubhro kathinyo theke bayubhuto shunyotay mishye jabar majhe torol dolachol...Mom-deshlai sesh obdhi jolle chhai pray thake na, haoway mishe jaay... kintu sesh obdhi jalale angul purbe, otodur na jaowai bhalo..."

"Last train dhore chaand bari fire jabar por, notebook-e jyotsna tuke rakhe raat. Ontohin kono ek shohure bypass-er dhare, rail line-er pashe bhuttakhete, eka deke fire jaay lokkhipencha. Se daak tumi kokhono shononi. Chaalkol theke bhese asha paka dhan-er gondho periye, onek beshi ratey alo jholmol shohor theke nijhjhum mofossole-r pothe eka bari fere keu. Tar mukh tumi kokhono dekhoni. E shohor-er ja kichhu bhalo r biponno, moidan-er choraigulo, vicotoria-r porita, kromosho khin hoye asha tramline-gulo ar ektu ektu kore hariye jaowa parkstreet cemetery-r shyaola dhora panchil-tar moto aro onek kichhu tomar jonne roilo. Jodio jani, eshob-er kono kichhur-i towakka na kore, ekdin onek bhorer flight-e byasto-somosto hoye tumio kothay jeno chole jabe. Kichhudin picture-postcard pathabe, kichhudin internet-e chhobi lagabe, tarpor sob theme jabe. Asole jibon to thame na, tai ar baki sob theme jaay, jete badhyo hoy. Kokhono kono byasto dupure, khunje dekho, kothao kono odeya chhithi, na khola kham, pore thakteo to pare..."

"Erokom-i to hobar kotha chhilo. Kotha diye keu kotha rakhbe na, majhe majhe rastay dekha holeo chinte parbe na, bhule jabe purono semester-er sob lenden. Tobu bikel goriye sondhye namar pothe, coffee house-er tumul adda-r fanke hothat ekla lage, onek ratey ekta sms-e ki jeno bolte cheyeo nissobde vibrate kore cellphone. Bhishon matha byatha-y shudhu chhoya-y kichhu hobe na jeneo, kar jeno haat kopale pete mon chay.

Jibon-ta oirokom-i. Gonga beye naam na jana nouka kono ekdike chole jabar por, bari firte hobe jeneo onno kothao chole jete ichhe kore. Metro kore dumdum hoye gele arame jaowa jaay jeneo bus-e firtei beshi bhalo lage. Je dighijol onekdin-er chena tobu tar dhare kono shanto bikele bose jol-er chokhe chokhe rakha hoyni, sekhane ghai mere jaay ochena kono machh. Amra jara ei somoy-ke thamano jabe na jeneo ulto hanti, tader ei rokom-i hobar kotha chhilo,tobu...Smritira nirobe janan diye jaay, shyaola-dhora dewal beye jemon bere othe naam na jana lotagulmer dal, ke jane, konodin hoyto ful futteo pare..."

"Asole ektu sondhyer dike airport-er dhar gheshe rasta-ta diye gele gota runway-ta dekha jaay... tip tip alo-r ekta poth. Pash-er rasta diye jete jete mone hoy ekhuni kono uronchakti nebe asbe. Kintu nabe na. Roj gota sohor-er janjot thele pora bus, sei barir samne namiye dey. Haldiram-er alojholmol barita, Rajarhat-er flyover-ta sotti jeneo kichhutei mante ichhe kore na ei prithibite r kothao kono swapno obosishto nei. Apato niriho songskriti-r bukpocketeo kothao bangla band lukiye thake, tikhno jukti-r shanito ostrer sathei olpo jorano uchcharon, duhate agle rakhe chhotobela; oi tuku bhorshai ekhono benche thak. Baki ta amra roj-i coffee-r cup-e bujhe nitey jani..."

10.

"Emoni kono ek badolbelar seshe, fire giyechhilo rajputrer roth. Dhulo chhere molin boson joriye niye, sei meye beriye porechilo, nodi hobe bole. Ekhon tar gohon nabyotay, rajputrer sampan chole na. Bhora borshay dukul chhapiye jokhon bhalobasha ashe, tokhon-o meye kande na, shudhu kulu kul sobde beje jaay cellphone. Bhubandanga-r ranga math periye jokhon cycle-riksha-r tyre-r dhulo miliye jaay, chayer dokan-er radio theke bheshe ashe bishonno bibidhobharoti, tokhon jodi ekbar cycle theke neme ghure darao, khub ki ashorjo hobey?

Temon kore kokhono kheyal korini, kintu mela bhenge jabar por, telebhajar dokan-er bhire, sobar olokhyete tumio ki chhile?Kopai jabar rastay ekdin chandni ratey amar ek bondhu khub matal hoye kende felechhilo. Eishob to r internet-e bojhano jaay na...Ekhane kopai nei, canal nei, deer-park-er machata nei, ambagan-er cycle gulo-o nei...Onekei kichh bujhte parchhe na, kintu jara bujhbe, tader jonno, tor jonno, ekta metho banshi roilo... Paro to scale bujhe niyo..."

Of power and other such cliches...

2011-04-07T05:03:00.009+05:30

Let's be very clear about it from the very outset. This is not one of those mushy posts about some obscure affair or nostalgic outpourings of mine. This is as close as it gets to hardcore theory. Probably because I'm on a no nonsense PhD mode, but also because this raises a few questions about the milieu I live in. Days are just mad. Ask any PhD scholar nearing his/her scholarship deadline but seeing no end to the thesis! I don't wish to sound rude, but I know I am. These are the times when you call an idiot an idiot.

Sporting mega-events have a long history. I guess it goes down to the early days of civilization. Documented history will obviously show some Greek competition that finally took shape of the Olympics, but I suspect it comes from something earlier, more primitive. Hence the involvement of body and bawdy. As man evolved, so did sports. A glimpse of the arena of Computer games and you'll know how cerebral they've become. I can't even install half of them, let alone playing! But the two things that remain constant in games, are the player(s) and the supporters. Even the very cerebral, very solitary ones have their share of supporters. I wonder when and how people decided some will play while the others will watch. I mean, people do a lot of stuff alone or collectively, no body cares. When did sports became spectacle? Is it when some people realized it requires special skills and training to play a game and not everyone has it?

I love Michel Foucault. That man helped me see the power structures inherent in everything. Call me a fanatic or lunatic or whatever you want, I'll still have him on my side. That's exactly his point!

So when some people play and the others watch, there is a clear demarcation, who has agency and who has not. The age-old division between the one who can and the one who can not, those who have it and those who have not. I presume this division is inherent in every sport, every game, every match. There is almost no instance where everyone will play and everyone will win. That's just not the point of any sport. It is, first and foremost the determinant of the victor and the vanquished. Yes, that's just for a time being, but this determining factor is all a game about. Don't get me wrong, I'm not condemning sports. I'm just trying to find out what drives numerous people to engage in a lot of things that may not be part of the game.

Coming back to sporting mega-events, they require something more than just the competition. They require money, they often require involvement of mega-authorities like the State. So here we are, in the 21st century, name a sporting mega-event that does not require the State, the Market and the Media and more often than not, the Religion (that's where the fans belong, for God's sake!) There you go, mega playground of the power. Now if the mega-event happens to be the favorite pass-time of a nation that struggles everyday just to exist, everyone wants a bite of it. Where it is clearly proved that things are not alright, they are not what they should be, mega events like this provides excuse for the mass to feel happy and gives the agencies of power the opportunity to go unchallenged, unquestioned despite their treacheries.

The situation is complicated. On one hand you have the few moments of joy that a battered nation desperately wants to feel (or so they are compelled to think), on the other there are the few skeptics like me, who refuse to believe a nation is more about 11men winning a match and less about 100 people dieing of hunger, lack of treatment or other such issues. Once one of my teachers taught me how internet is not free from any politics, rather it's the new form of politics as it allows detachment and anonymity. Those were early days of internet. It has become bloody complicated these days. I often fail to understand where the boundary of the virtual ends and where reality begins. So when a sporting event of that scale takes place these days, everyone is up there on the net, supporting and cheering their side, expressing their views, abusing the opponents and all that virtuality allows! If it involves nations, make no mistake, nationalism will be on the full swing. It always was.

What motivates the supporters to feel proud for the team? If you delve deep enough, you'll find pieces of broken egos, humiliated faces, frustrated, defeated lives, struggling for the last drop of hope. Someone to tell them, although they are defeated to the core, someone is fighting their fight, in some form. Sporting events, then clearly are more about warfare and less about fun. Any fun, if involved, is that of drawing the first blood and chopping the opponent into thin slices, methodically. Have you ever noticed, the two moments when an individual suddenly realizes (s)he is a citizen, who belongs to a nation and has some rights/duties, are the moments of a war or a national sporting event? That explains why skeptics like me are considered nuisance at such moments. Great teachers suddenly become cynical old fools. Great scholars become sexually frustrated weirdos. When someone is fighting hard to keep ones super blown ego intact, with all his/her unconscious exposed and hanging out there like their dirty lingerie, it is evident that there can be only two sides. Either I'm with you, or I should be impaled and burnt alive, nothing in between. At these moments of nationalist ceremonies, skeptics are the reminder of the Real, the constant disturbance in an otherwise happy, bright picture and hence must be offered to the Gods of fanaticism as sacrifice.

So the battle goes on. From Virtual to real and back to virtual. What you think is all in good fun, may feel absolutely disturbing for someone else. Just like you are entitled to your fun, I'm entitled to my disgust. But my disgust irritates you more than your fun disturbs me. There is no innocent fun, not in this late-capitalist, consumerist world. Power does control everything. One of the great success of the agencies of power at such moments is it overshadows your logic and turns you into what it always wanted you to become, One tin soldier. The moment you abuse the opponent or the skeptic for just being that, you join the army of zombies. In your frantic attempt to annihilate them, you forget, they are exercising the same power of free speech you're so happy about, their argument is equally as important and valid as yours. In our battles of comments and likes and posts and tags we forget, Nation is a virtual category too. So are friends and fans. There are no "real" representatives for you and me. We are what we become, what we choose to become. You see what you choose to see, but that may not be the only version. You do not control this world, it controls you.The sane approach is to accept that. but when was sanity mankind's greatest virtue?

As one national event comes to a super-celebrated end, it gears up for another. The forces that celebrated the 'oh so great' nation, regroups in its fragments. I wished to say, "up your ass, nationalism", but I realize these are the days of multiple subjectivities. The banners will change but the abuses will not, nor will your aspirations to feel like a whole. You stand divided in your humiliations and united in your idiocy. You'll again be happy about some virtual formation that will drain money out of your pocket to make fun of you. And you'll laugh at your humiliation, rejoice, unsuspecting as ever. Skeptics like me will again raise the dirty questions to face more vehement attacks this time, or you'll box us under some virtual category and shut us off your mind. Although you'll know in your mind for certain the glass jar has cracked from top to bottom, but you will not want to see. The friend will again feel bruised, the teacher defeated...

2011-03-27T21:57:00.004+05:30

নেশার ঘোরে টলছে শহর

টলছে এ সময়
টলছে আমার অস্তিত্ব
টলছে প্রত্যয়
বাড়ছে আলো, বাড়ছে অসুখ
পাগলামি ও ভয়
বাড়ছি আমি, বাড়ছে শহর
শহর আমার নয়।

শামুকখোলে লুকিয়ে বাঁচা
সাহস উড়োখই
মুখ লুকিয়ে মুখোশ বাঁচে
মাঝারি, মাপসই
ভোরের দিকে সূর্য উধাও
ব্ল্যাকআউট, অন্ধকার
তুলতে মাথা কস্ট ভীষণ
জমাট হ্যাঙওভার।

Neshar ghore tolchhe shohor,
tolchhe e somoy,
tolchhe amar ostitwa,
tolchhe protyoy.
Barchhe alo, barchhe osukh
paglami o bhoy,
barchhi ami, barchhe sohor
sohor amar noy.

Shamukkhole lukiye bnacha
sahos urokhoi,
mukh lukiye mukhosh bnache
majhari, mapsoi.
Bhorer dike surjo udhao
blackout, ondhokar
tulte matha kosto bhishon
jomat hangover.

Memories of Blue Dendrobiums

2010-09-03T20:15:00.007+05:30

Ever bought flowers for someone? Someone whom you love and one who loves flowers? Not those occasional mandatory stuff. Bought flowers because you really felt like, bought it to give it to someone? Probably one of those few times, because everyone else you ever had in your life wasn't really fond of flowers, or you never had the courage to buy them flowers, ever...

Blue dendrobiums are not really blue. They are in fact purple. Since blue looks nice for almost all occasions (according to a florist's website!) the purple Bombay dendrobium is dyed with blue colour, so they can have a purplish blue tinge. Which in fact, looks kind of nice and fit for all occasion. All that is beautiful is fake, all that is romantic must be a short lived illusion. I bought them once and sent them to the one I thought would appreciate them.

Did I love her? Like hell I did!

Hell it was... definitely for me, partly for her too, or so I assumed. Met her on a cyber-trip in search of a stranger. You all know it, and if you're already a blogger like me, you must have had chat-room strangers, early social networking strangers and probably the more sophisticated kind by now. If you haven't, I pity you! So the chitchat grew into casual talks, text messages and phone calls, eventually we met. Our professional lives crossed path, so did our list of friends. We could've met earlier, as we found out later, but fate it seems, never runs out of the sense of irony!

Did she love me? She said so, "not in the way you love me.." she told me. She realised that rather late though. For me, the helpless romantic I am, it was almost insufferable. Met her when she was about to get married, after a long courtship. There was nothing wrong with their companionship. I met the guy, liked him a lot. But I certainly did not want her to get married, not to him. I've been the anti-marriage, anti-family kind of person for long. Age it seems, I felt like marrying her. The funny thing with experiences of life is you are never mature enough. Just the moment you think you've been there, done that, something absolutely new and mind boggling comes up. Life is what happens to you, when you're busy planning other things. Or so they say...

It could've happened that way. But I was never ready to let her go. So we kept in touch. I had definite reasons for it, and let me assure you they were never very innocent or moral. I still don't know why she did that. We went to trips together, fought. Didn't see each other for days. She once took 30 days to reply to one of my texts. She had her reasons, I guess. But then, all you can do is to assume things. As I once understood when I was a student, and later told my students of media, there is nothing called truth, there are only perceptions! I almost stand corrected now, there are only assumptions. We are taught to believe things, have faith. Then comes academics, teaches you to be a skeptic, teaches you to ask questions. And then, if you think like me, you'll discover, when you ask something, most of the time the answer dangles there, in between truth and lie, with a probability of inclining to any which way at any given instance of time. Truth is, therefore, whatever you wish to believe! In the beginning you are so startled to understand this, you almost refuse to succumb to it. But then slowly, it settles in. After a point, you happily believe whatever you wish to believe and continue your happily ever after.

Not a skeptic like me. One of the (dis)advantages of being a skeptic is you see so many versions of the same 'truth' from such vicinity that it feels too close for comfort. But let me keep the analyzing part at bay for a while. After quite a considerable amount of time in her marriage, she realised I wasn't as bad as I seemed in the beginning and I was in fact kind of a nice, harmless guy. I can be a good friend and the occasional shoulder to cry on, when things don't go according to plan. People around me, told me she's using me. I myself felt so on a few occasions. When she felt no one loves her, she asked me if I still love her. Asked me to reassure her that at least I still love her, if not anyone else. I did. But when I felt the same way, she told me it's not a good time, because she's disturbed. Never cared to ask, how I felt when she asked me for love then content, she went back to her man. O she was faithful to him, give and take a night or two...

Point is, I was willing to submit, willing to overlook such anomalies, such lack of respect. You're not supposed to expect things when you're in love. But then, you do expect things.. don't you? She took from me what she needed, because I was willing to give, fair enough. I said I didn't expect, she trusted me. Logical enough. On a logical plane, I can't blame her, nor do I wish to. So, when people told me she was using me, I said, may be I love to be used? But deep inside I knew, how I bled. Why I lost my sleep, why did I keep awake all night and cry, how I craved for her. Never in my life, someone hurt me this much. At times, I thought I'll end my life or her. But I knew that will never happen. I never had so much courage. I stayed out of touch for brief intervals of time, didn't help. I was the first one to help her when she was in trouble, almost all sorts. So, did she care for me? At times it felt she did.

I have a problem. I'm a believer in a skeptic's clothing. I almost believe everything someone tells me. I trust almost everyone and then I trust none. So when people told me she was using me, I trusted them. When she told me she wasn't I believed her. In this process continuous tensions from all sides, I lost too many things. Lost my valuable time for work, my concentration, my ability to think properly, my sleep, my energy, but most importantly I lost my ability to trust, anything and everything. Deep inside I eroded, silently, like a riverbed. My friends told me she was not the right one for me. Not that I didn't know. I always fall for women who are not "right" for me. Maybe this time I went too far. May be there are no right ones?

Towards the end of last decade, her marital problems scaled new heights. But then they subsided, probably for good. So she thinks at least. It was just a matter of time she joined her man in their new 'home'. But right before she did that, she managed to hurt me for one final time. She announced her departure rather dramatically. For once she made me fantacise she's coming back to my city, once and for all. But then I realised, rather painfully that she's not coming back, ever. It was the final goodbye. i still don't wish to blame her for anything she did or said to me.

May be her situations were such? May be she never loved me, may be she did? May be she wanted to, but couldn't? May be she actually used me? May be people are cruel enough to do so and forget? May be they are just helpless as I am? May be I was too desperate,selfish and insensitive to realise she couldn't have done anything else? Who knows? I felt happy about the good times spent together, I feel content with my little victories over the better man she was faithful to. I'm sorry that I almost ruined her apparently peaceful marriage. Sorry, that I stepped down from my disbelief in the marital institution for once and then found it almost impossible to get back to it. But as I bid her the final farewell, I realised I don't the answers to too many questions. I don't know for sure if blue dendrobiums can be kept on the tombstones of unnamed relations. Nonetheless, I'll offer one. I could have said adieu to her a long time ago, I didn't and as I recognise it's a late goodbye, I've learnt to let go...

In search of a recipient

2010-06-07T13:13:00.003+05:30

Some nights I browse through my contacts list and I don't see a single friend. What did I do to deserve this?

Love and faith has done more damage to the human race than hatred and skepticism was ever capable of.

Also, no one really reads this blog.. I feel there are two things I can do with it, shut it down or may be it's time to actually express things I usually don't because they are too dangerous for language itself...

Joker

2010-05-16T02:37:00.008+05:30

"...Asole joker-er chinhoguli ki ki? Sobai janbe se herow. Se nijeo nishchit thakbe se herow. Tar theke kono threat utsarito hobe na konokaley. Se propose korbe na. Sobbai snatar katle, se pare dnariye thakbe nyala pa cross kore, khali-ga howar sahos nei. Ekta mridu chithi likhbe, dakeo debe, kintu maskhanek bade charline sopate thabra ele borong swasti pabe, noile sei obiswasyo dhon niye tar khoro-basay kon kone rakhto, swechchha-boklos na-boltei golay goliye das-madam natyo shuru korar por obodharito kuthar kobe porto, onek hyapa. Adday se oporiharjo noy, kintu priyo khub. Oi je, prothomei proman kore diyechhe, keu lath khele, se khabe. Se sobar jonne boye ene debe jol, take niyei khnyao-khnyao hasahasi kore dhok gilte giye jokhon kulkuchir moto ento jol chhoriye porbe mejhete, se-i punche nebe mridu hasi osthe mekhe, patta pachhe kotoi na, eto jinis thakte alochonar aykkere moddhikhane tar hablapona, tar kyablagiri, ei tripti-te dogomogo. Take somaje bolbe, khub boddo bhishon bhalomanush..."

"...Se nije balance rakhte pare na, tai tar hate nyasto hoy bhuboner bhar. Running-e se chore porte pareni, line-e dhokar chestao ar kore na gnatiyegnutiye, protijogitar baire dnariye thake onujoghin hasi futiye, dharabahik walk-over deowatai onushilon kore chole, tar bekhappagiri o achabhuyapona nishchoyota peye gechhe, byas, ebar gyandaner license apsei gojiyechhe pechhonpockete. Tar mukhbhorti rong, ekta chokher tolay duto nitol osrubindu anka, jhyakormyakor collar-er opor tar norbore mathay konkra chuler modhyikhane taak, tate progya chokchok korbe na to ki? Hasikanna chhene se tule enechhe chaddi joruri mukto, jibonke reserve bench theke study kore se peye gechhe ei niyomer o foul-er tabot chhoker nikhut samajh, nanga sonyasi jemon guptodhoner sondhan ditey paren obyortho, temon ei hiseb bohirbhutorai tuski mere miliye dite pare bhognagsho o sniribhangar jotiltomo step. Sobhyotar nil-sada kejo routine got-ke ding mere periye jaowar otiloukik moi pagol peyechhe tar osukher doulote, matal peyechhe neshar jore, ar joker peyechhe koutuker habudubu kheliye, tinjonei atmonigroher ticket dekhiye khirkir dor diye ghure eshe ultobagey chand catch korechhe. Joker syayna pagol, swechchha-matal, fole se three-in-one-o bote. Kheurer kholose chironton sach pakhle neowa tar jolbhat, har sondhyer agenda..."

Haha, hoho, hihi o onyanno
Chandril Bhattacharya
Robbar, Songbad Protidin
20 December, 2009

HANGMAN

2010-05-08T02:42:00.005+05:30

Hangman
by Maurice Ogden

1.
Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And built his frame in the courthouse square.

The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.

And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime
That the Hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.

And innocent though we were, with dread,
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead --
Till one cried: "Hangman, who is he
For whom you raised the gallows-tree?"

Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
"He who serves me best," said he,
"Shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree."

And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another's grief
At the Hangman's hand was our relief

And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his Hangman's cloak.

2.
The next day's sun looked mildly down
On roof and street in our quiet town,
And stark and black in the morning air
Was the gallows-tree in the courthouse square.

And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
And his air so knowing and business-like.

And we cried, "Hangman, have you not done
Yesterday, with the foreign one?"
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed,
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."

He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
"Did you think I'd gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That's a thing I do
To stretch a rope when the rope is new."

Then one cried "Murder!" and one cried "Shame!"
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man's place. "Do you hold," said he,
"with him that was meant for the gallows-tree?"

And he laid his hand on that one's arm.
And we shrank back in quick alarm!
And we gave him way, and no one spoke
Out of fear of his Hangman's cloak.

That night we saw with dread surprise
The Hangman's scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
The gallows-tree had taken root;

Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.

3.
The third he took -- we had all heard tell --
Was a usurer, and an infidel.
"What," said the Hangman "have you to do
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?"

And we cried out, "Is this one he
Who has served you well and faithfully?"
The Hangman smiled: "It's a clever scheme
to try the strength of the gallows-beam."

The fourth man's dark, accusing song
Had scratched our comfort hard and long;
"And what concern," he gave us back.
"Have you for the doomed -- the doomed and Black?"

The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again,
"Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick," he said. "that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow."

And so we ceased, and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score.
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.

The wings of the scaffold opened wide
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.

4.
Then through the town the Hangman came,
Through the empty streets, and called my name --
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall,
And thought, "There is no one left at all

For hanging, and so he calls to me
To help pull down the gallows-tree."
So I went out with right good hope
To the Hangman's tree and the Hangman's rope.

He smiled at me as I came down
To the courthouse square through the silent town.
And supple and stretched in his busy hand
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.

And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap,
And it sprang down with a ready snap --
And then with a smile of awful command
He laid his hand upon my hand.

"You tricked me. Hangman!," I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men...
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!"

Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said. "Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true --
The scaffold was raised for none but you.

For who has served me more faithfully
Then you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others who might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"

"Dead," I whispered. And amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me:
"First the foreigner, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."

Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
None had stood so alone as I.
The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
Cried "Stop!" for me in the empty square.

Of loves gone by...

2010-05-01T00:17:00.003+05:30

সকলই ফুরায়, ফুচ্‌কার প্রায়, পড়ে থাকে শালপাতা...

The disgusted post

2010-01-27T14:54:00.003+05:30

It's not a great feeling for me to post something on my blog after a long time and start it with a disgusted tone. But the fact remains. I can't really 'compose' what I feel right now, but if I don't let it out somehow, it's just killing me. I mean I feel physically ill.

I'm wondering what it means to offer someone something. Something really naive like a gossip session over a cup of coffee or a film that's supposed to hit the screens in a few days. Not that you pick up a random someone and throw a proposal. It's about people you know are likely to enjoy that kind of an experience. Not that I necessarily need a company for such things, but it's always good to have like-minded people for such occasions.

Now the question is, what does it amount to be. When you propose something, anything, to some individual or a group of individuals or an institution, there are two possible answer. It may not always readily opt out to be any one of them, but there is, almost always a chance of negotiation, be it a positive one or a denial. The deal is quite straightforward, I've something to say, you may agree to it, or you may not. Even if you do, we may need to negotiate a few more things. Almost never one does expect an answer that quite clearly is rude, to say the least. But it happens. All of us know that, all of us have faced such situations. My question is, why does it happen?

Clearly one does and does not expect certain things from the other party. Don't give me the crap that expectation is the problem. We all know that, but that doesn't stop any of us from expecting things. So, when you come up with a proposal, you expect both the ends. What you don't expect is the subsidiaries of such outcomes. For example, when a denial comes with a hint of... let me correct myself... with a clear intent of humiliation. As if, there is almost always some sort of an underlined intention to any proposal, that it chooses to hide. I know such things are there but it is not a necessary component every proposal. Some are just dumb enough to be straightforward.

Humiliation as I see it, is the round about way of making one feel guilty of things one has not consciously done. There are things I can not speak of because they lie beyond the domain of language but the feeling is real. At least it feels so.

This post has started sounding like a letter to express personal grudges against people I don't want to intimidate, but if it goes on, take my word for it, I will. Point is I'm fade up of playing the nice guy I'm not and if it hurts you, good for you, I haven't been spared either. You see, you may have been disappointed/disgusted/disoriented for reasons beyond my comprehension, but just because I dropped an sms at the wrong time, doesn't give you the right to humiliate me for no apparent reason. When I feel bad about things, I don't talk to people and tell them I don't want a fight. I believe that's the best way to not hurt each other for reasons that doesn't readily involve both of us. I'm ready to hear, if you have anything against me, come out with it.

Or is it just me, playing the loser? Suffering from all sorts of complex that only jeopardizes my life. Why does it sound like a betrayal every time I offer a friendship to someone. I know it's an insane world out there, but sometimes, humiliation is just the one push that helps one cross the line that marks the abyss of madness! Call me an egotist, or a loser, or insane...

Sincerely, I give a FUCK...

Kaminey...

2009-12-07T01:50:00.004+05:30

Kya kare zindagi isko hum jo mile,
Iski jaan kha gaye, raat din ke gile
Raat din gile…
Meri aarzoo kamini,
Mere khwab bhi kaminey,
Ek dil se dosti thi, yeh huzoor bhi kaminey,
Kya kare zindagi isko hum jo mile,
Iski jaan kha gaye, raat din ke gile…

Kabhi zindagi se maanga, pinjre mein chaand la do,
Kabhi laanten deke, kaha aasmaa pe taango
Jeene ke sab kareene the hamesha se kaminey,
Meri daastaan kamini, mere raasten kaminey,
Ek dil se dosti thi, yeh huzoor bhi kaminey…

Jiska bhi chehra cheela, andar se aur nikla,
Masoom sa kabootar naacha to mowr nikla,
Kabhi hum kaminey nikle, kabhi doosre kaminey,
Meri dosti kamini, mere yaar bhi kaminey,
Ek dil se dosti thi, yeh huzoor bhi kaminey…

Kokhono somoy ase...

2009-10-27T00:07:00.009+05:30

কিছু কিছু রাত আসে স্বপ্নের মত,

ভেসে যায় দায়ভার, অসুখী রুটিন,

যে জীবন চিনে গেছে আলোর নিরিখ,

আঁধার জাঁকিয়ে বসে কুয়াশার মত,

ভোর হয়, আলো ফোটে, ফুরোয় না রাত,

কবির পকেট ভরে খুচরো আয়াসে,

আল্‌তো কুড়িয়ে পাওয়া ঘুমের আবেশ,

অলিখিত চিঠি, খোলামুখ খাম,

আঙুল জড়িয়ে থাকে উষ্ণ বোতাম,

যে কবিতা থেকে যায় ছেঁড়া চিরকুটে,

আমাকে তাদের মত অবহেলে রেখো...

Kichhu kichhu rat ase swapner moto,
Bhese jaay daaybhar, osukhi routine,
Je jibon chine gechhe alor nirikh,
Andhar jnakiye bose kuashar moto,
Bhor hoy, alo fote, furoy na rat,
Kobir pocket bhore khuchro ayashe,
Alto kuriye paowa ghumer abesh,
Olikhito chithi, kholamukh kham,
Angul joriye thake ushno botam,
Je kobita theke jaay chnera chirkute,
Amake tader moto obohele rekho...

Where is my friend's home?

2009-10-11T13:40:00.001+05:30

There is a film that goes by the same name. I love that one. But this is not a post about that film. Although this post and that film is somewhat remotely related, it's not an influence or provocation for writing this post.

One of the ill-effects of growing up is you have less friends. At some point you realise, the circle's shrinking. So, that way it isn't a post about losing friends or lost friends too. Neither is it a post about ageing, I'm done with that in an earlier post.

One of those days, when I feel I'm growing old and I've less friends to count on than I usually had. I came back from a pandal-hopping session. Incidentally it was again a Dashami, the last day of Durgapuja. But this one has nothing to do with Durgapuja, it could've happened to me anytime. It just happened that day. I was tired from walking in the scorching sun and overeating junk-food. As I reached home, I felt not like lying down but to make myself comfortable on the wide old chair in my room, that I had to bring out for my friends. Usually the chairs in my room are smaller ones, strictly for business purpose! This one on the contrary is a old one that allows not just sitting but 'leisure'. That word is in quotes, because I'll later toy with the idea. These days it's used as a heightened platform to keep useless things like unused clay pots, boxes of rejected shoes and stuff like that. The locality where I live has a water-logging problem. If it rains heavily for a few hours, rain water starts filling inside my house. That's why there's the need of such heightened platforms. That's the time when I realise how much junk simple living can produce and since you can't throw away anything for they may be needed for some unknown cause later, one has to learn the art of junk management too! Anyway, digressions apart, I had to bring that chair to my room, since my room turned into the private party spot for my friends during the pujas. I had less chairs to accommodate more friends. It turned out to be quite thought-provoking, the chair I mean. I'm planning to keep it here, but probably I wont be able to. It occupies too much space and anyway, saving your household from rainwater is much more important than fancy thought provocation!

(Confession: I stopped writing this post sometime back, wrote and published another sudden rush of feelings. I just didn't find words, gave it a serious thought to publish this one as my first unfinished post. Anyway, the point is, much has happened when it was on hold, the feeling has kind of faded away. So there will be discontinuities and forgotten promises, if any!)

So, when I was sitting on this chair with all my new, festive clothes on and my walking shoes scattered all over the place, my eyes half closed as an aftereffect of the tiredness of pandal-hopping and overeating lousy food, this thought occurred to me. It's been long, since I've been to a 'friend's home'. This does not mean that I don't have friends anymore or I don't visit their places. In fact, I do that regularly, sometimes overdo! But as I'm growing 30, so are my friends. Quite a few of them has got married, some with children. Others are too busy with their professional lives and busy keeping up their PR. These days we hardly meet and when we do for brief evenings, it's either in a coffee shop or a bar. Even when we meet at someone's home, it's a drinking spree.

The question is, What am I missing then? The warmth is still the same with my friends, at least that's the last thing I miss. The comfort is still the same, if not more. We don't have to steal/borrow/hunt food in the home refrigerator, we just buy that on the way or even better, we make a call and order stuff! There is one major change in the whole scene though. There's no one to 'bother' us these days. Most of my friends don't live with their parents anymore. Even if they do, parents know we've grown up and it's best for the interest of both to be non-interfering. I wonder, if the concept of 'interference' and 'bothering' has something to do with 'care' and 'belonging'. Coming to the big question, what is it that makes a home a "home"? What I really miss here is that time when I can drop in at some random friend's place, uninvited, even at the oddest hour. I don't have to call them before dropping in, because I know even if they are not home, his/her parents and extended family will be accommodative enough to allow me stay there, at my leisure! They will even call my friend, if possible and tell him/her to come back asap. They will take care that I feel at home and offer me water, food, entertainment and what not? I can spend lazy afternoons,days,evenings,till they push me back home. All for my own good though; they don't mind if I stay there, but they are worried that I'll get a good bashing from my parents if I return late! They don't mind if we keep each other's t-shirts or books or geometry-box for periods long enough to forget whom did it actually belong to, but they'll be very worried if I skip a tuition class or get a bad grade! We must lower our voices while calling each other those fancy abusive names and while talking about 'sex'! We must find ingenious ways to hide the fact that we've been smoking or bunked classes and went to a film.

Coming back to where I started, what do I actually miss then? Is it just the time? Is it that parental care? Is it that sense of belonging? Or is it something more abstract and obscure? Do I miss a certain ambiance? Or is it a concept of a space that I'm familiar to and call it a 'friend's home'? Is this just a nostalgia like any other or is there a more powerful yet undisclosed indication of a possible future? Or is it just a leisurely thought of a half-awakened mind, because it had nothing to do at that very moment, that very place and felt lonely?

If I knew the answers to any of these questions, this post wouldn't have been here...

Can't name you

2009-10-03T23:46:00.003+05:30

There are some moments in life when you feel like dieing because it wont be worth living after witnessing such beauty. I've got a post on hold, one that is long due now. I've started writing it, but can't really get anywhere. I may publish it unfinished. But this one, I must post now. I'm afraid I wont be able to write about it, if this moment passes. I've been checking her album. She accepted the request today and she has written a post in her blog. Can't write the words of admiration that I want to as photo-comments. It'll be too much out-in-the-open. Some feelings, you need to hide. Murmur in her ears in private, in person, silently. Can't do that either. Can't fall in love with her. Twitted the moment, "There are two ways out of her eyes, love or death..." Love is an impossible option, death isn't even an option. I hate it! I know this is momentous, but moments I believe in. Eternity doesn't have the ability to hold it. Why does it happen to me? I should be dead, or in love...

Goddess, give me a camera and let me look at you.. forever... for this moment. I wanted to die, sincerely! Call me a cynic... but that's the truth!

Ebhabeo phire asa jaay

2009-09-18T03:03:00.006+05:30

Tomorrow is Mahalaya, the auspicious beginning of the yearly festive season of West-Bengal, Durgapuja. For my non-Kolkata friends, this post will have a lot of local references, please bear with me.

Ashtamis have always been special for me. When I was younger, I used to go to the local pandal to offer my Anjali and probably to pray for the results that were due after the holidays or may be something more worldly, like a new cap-gun for the next Kalipuja. When I grew into a teenager, those mornings seemed a little brighter. The obvious added attraction were the members of the other gender. One of my friends once said, "Never look at a girl on Ashtami or Saraswati puja, They all look extremely beautiful on those two occasions. Even if you ogle a few, never fall in love!"

As if I never knew that, as if I was going to fall in love with all of them, as if I was going to listen to him! So, I continued to satisfy my visual domain. I hope they enjoyed that too. I didn't mean to disturb them, but if one of them actually felt so, then, "Shit! I missed you!"

There have been Ashtamis when I've spent the whole day with the woman I considered the love of my life, at least for that year, at least for that puja! There have been Ashtamis on which I have had my birthday and there was no special woman with me. So I drank to glory, did all sorts of stuff. Thanks to my friends who had to tolerate me on those days! I've had a Ashtami when I was sitting at the topmost box of a giant wheel, with the woman I was trying to impress. It stopped there for half an hour or so due to some maintenance problem. I was happy because my rival was waiting for us on the ground, he had a high BP. Hell, I liked giant wheels on that day, I was dead-scared of them before that!

But lately, I have hardly had a Ashtami to remember. These days I spend my puja days sitting idle at home or partying with some chosen friends. I hardly have a puja to remember now, they all look the same. But I can't go out of town during those days either, for that would be an act of betrayal to my beloved city. I used to pandal-hop, but my friends have grown old and it's no fun doing it alone. Young-guns wont take me with them because nobody wants a spoilsport. After all, it's their time to explore things, their way.

But as the puja approaches near, I suddenly remember a certain Dashami. I have special memories of Dashamis, those antics on the truck known as Vashan-dance and the Siddhi trips to follow. The Siddhi turned into alcohol and the antics became a convenient way to convey machismo to fellow-women! Life! Anyway, this is not one of those.

This is one piece of memory that came back to me today, like a forgotten piece of an incomplete fabric. Not that the fabric looked bad without it but it just adds a new colour to the whole spectrum. I wanted to meet this certain young lady on one of the puja days. It didn't seem convenient for any of us during the main puja days. So she asked me to come to Maddox Square on Dashami to meet her. I wasn't too happy with the idea, but I hardly had an option when she said it's either that way or nothing. I've always chosen madness over nothingness!

Most of us have never been to Maddox Square on Dashami. Maddox Square is famous for its addas on the other puja days, which now has become a bit too crowded and drunk. The calm adda spot has started giving in to commercial hot-spots and the allies of new capital. Weirdly enough, all these lasts till Nabami. I noticed it on that Dashami.

She said she'll come to play vermilion (Sindur-Khela, as it is popularly known) with friends. Though it's an activity for married women, many unmarried young girls join the game. The idea wasn't new to me, but I didn't expect her to be so enthusiastic about it. Anyway, I reached the spot and found her. Unlike the other puja days, it was a gathering of hardly hundred people, wasn't at all that difficult to find her.

She was busy playing, saw me and asked me to wait. And there I was, seated on a wooden plank, which was placed there probably to serve as a make shift stage for some show last night or may be the floor of a shop that has already been dismantled. I sat there for some half an hour. She played with her friends and strangers sometimes and I watched her. As the festival was coming to an end and the day surrendered to the evening gloom, I watched her,clad in the traditional bengali red-bordered white sari, smudged in vermilion and gloomy orange twilight, that mixed the last rays of the sun with the halogen rays of the half-lit street lamps. There she was, hardly ten feet away from me, the perfect picture of youth and glory and there was I, seated on the signs of destruction and gloom, marked by the scattered paper cups, torn newspapers and fliers used for sitting, dismantled shops and what not. She'll come to me, sit with me for a few minutes, exchange a few words and then she'll be gone again, lost in the strangers and my eyes tried their best to follow her in the crowd till she came back the next time. If and when I find her and she sees me, she'll throw a few glances that meant eternity to me.

This went on for quite some time. But as the lights started to turn into mere street-lamps and the sun was already gone, I witnessed a moment pass by. I knew inside me this woman will never be mine, she doesn't even have the slightest idea about my feelings, she's too used to attention and she is just enjoying the game. I was some twenty five-ish, she was just twenty-ish. We two were too different to be together, may be she had someone else in mind. But the sheer impossibility of the situation kind of helped the image to stay on in my mind. I knew this puja is over, this relation wont work out, but much more than that was the feeling that this moment of madness that has driven me to this place, that signifies both destruction and rejuvenation, will not be here anymore. All that is here and now, will soon be gone. Everything I may have expected is just a wishful thinking and I wont mourn their passage. But all that is here and now will never be with me ever again, is what mattered. She finally got out of the play and came to me, with two friends. Asked me to take a few snaps, I did. Sat beside me and exchanged some soft words. But by then the moment had passed, the madness had already subsided. Logic has taken its place. I took a taxi and dropped her at Dakshini, she wanted to walk past someone's house. I hardly cared. Next day was her birthday.

I thought this incident had left me that very day, but it has proved that things that I keep doing just for nothing, just to reassure myself that I'm still alive in this concrete jungle, to watch myself committing the same mistakes over and over again, are the memories that define my existence, by coming back to me on a Mahalaya morning. As I post this to my blog, the old obsolete radio in my parent's room has already started broadcasting the age old voice that any bengali will recognise, even sitting in some distant part of the world. But I don't have the moral binding to listen to it now. I'll play the downloaded MP3 sometime during the day, at my convenience.

hijibiji

2009-08-31T05:34:00.001+05:30

ekdin ekta post likhbo, tate polayon lekha thakbe, kimba mrtiyu...

Bhallagchhena...

2009-08-12T00:10:00.003+05:30

Jedin onek kichhu bolar thake r ki bolbo kichhutei bujhe uthte pari na, thik sedin-e keu kotha bolar thake na.

Ekhono hatrachchhi... pachchhi na...

Dukkhobilas...

Depression...

Sondeho...

Iirsha...

Kotogulo shobdo, chhobi matha-r bhitor diye elomelo hnete jachchhe...

Confusion...

Ami onno kichhu cheyechhilam...

Abar palate ichhe korchhe...

Onekdin chhilo na, abar fire elo?

Eibar? Erpor?

Kauke chhnute parle bhalo hoto... kintu keu nei...

Para jeto, kintu ekhon r ichhe kore na. Kichhui korte ichhe kore na...

Jokhon ichhe kore, paowa jabe na, jani. Onno dike bhese gechhe...

More gelei hoy? Moreo na to...

"Mobile phone... Memory.. Tor number..."

Would you?

2009-08-06T01:10:00.003+05:30

Many men have loved the bells
you fastened to the rein,
and everyone who wanted you
they found what they will always want again.
Your beauty lost to you yourself
just as it was lost to them.

Oh take this longing from my tongue,
whatever useless things these hands have done.
Let me see your beauty broken down
like you would do for one you love.

Your body like a searchlight
my poverty revealed,
I would like to try your charity
until you cry, "Now you must try my greed."
And everything depends upon
how near you sleep to me

Just take this longing from my tongue
all the lonely things my hands have done.
Let me see your beauty broken down
like you would do for one you love.

Hungry as an archway
through which the troops have passed,
I stand in ruins behind you,
with your winter clothes, your broken sandal straps.
I love to see you naked over there
especially from the back.

Oh take this longing from my tongue,
all the useless things my hands have done,
untie for me your hired blue gown,
like you would do for one that you love.

You're faithful to the better man,
I'm afraid that he left.
So let me judge your love affair
in this very room where I have sentenced
mine to death.
I'll even wear these old laurel leaves
that he's shaken from his head.

Just take this longing from my tongue,
all the useless things my hands have done,
let me see your beauty broken down,
like you would do for one you love.

Like you would do for one you love.

Incoherent

2009-07-31T00:10:00.005+05:30

You didn't even have any idea whether you could have him or not. He knew there's a possibility that he can have you. I know I can never have you. Who's the best lover then?

I've always fallen for women I can never get.

Love isn't charity, that I should be happy with what you've given to me. It's like rights, either I have it completely, or I don't.

The moments we enjoy together are for both of us, but the pain that is there is only mine. You have no right to take it away from me.

Pain is the only thing that's personal.

I'm-perfect?

2009-07-05T01:16:00.005+05:30

Usually we all search for perfection. The perfect friend, the perfect home, the perfect lover, the perfect holiday.... and obviously the perfect life!
"Perfect"! huh!
And we all know, it's impossible! there is no such thing which is absolutely PERFECT.
Or is there? I mean, if there is nothing perfect, then these assumptions are too perfect to be true. What a paradox this life is!
Often in our search for the perfect, we fail and then console ourselves with make-shift arrangements, we manage...
But sometimes, just sometimes, we stumble upon something that's just the thing we want. We meet that perfect person, arrive at that perfect place, feel we just have that perfect life...
And we live happily.. just for a while...
Yes, just for a while. Because after that we begin to understand that perfection is not what we want. Perfection is not worth living. We, human beings are too fuzzy to be content with perfection. Perfection is mechanical, inhuman.
Once that feeling is starts brewing inside, we are no more the happy-with-perfection person. We are disturbed, we crib, we get depressed and finally we break open...
No, it does not happen with all of us, not in all cases. In fact, it doesn't happen with most of us, in most cases. Because in most cases, we manage. We console ourselves, then pity ourselves, but we are too afraid to break free. We are afraid that if we do that, we'll be left alone, we feel too insecure to be insecure.
But still it happens, slowly, silently... you try to stop it, mask it with all your acting skills, managing skills, being fully aware that you are just helpless. Some days you declare a cease-fire, some days you're bruised, torn apart. But you know you're not allowed to show it. In fact, you don't even know how to show it and you can't figure out what's happening to you, why is it?
On one of those days, when you are absolutely confused about yourself, you do something drastic, something desperate. Sometimes it affects you so badly that it changes your life.
In our search of perfection, we've found the imperfect.
Since imperfection is never absolute, we are certain that we can never be happy, but this time around, we know perfection isn't happy either. Better be swinging between moments of joy and sorrow than be too sad about your happiness? Better be the insecure, politically incorrect one than be the machine-like, inhuman existence?
We all make mistakes and we almost never ask for forgiveness.
If perfection is just an idea, then imperfection must be the multifarious, multifaceted, multidimensional truth we all seek.
I'm-perfect?

MOON-WALK-OVER

2009-06-27T13:59:00.002+05:30

M-TV was showing it.
When we grew up, there was a channel called DD2.
It showed 2 hours of M-TV, from 4 to 6 in the evening, or something like that.
We were not allowed to watch such 'vulgarity!
But we did, who listens to 'don'ts' at the teenage?
One of the videos I remember is this one....

I wasn't a fan.
But some stars never "grow up".
Refuse the progress of time, by embracing death before his farewell concert. Never kneel down.
MJ is no more.
But more than the star, it means the end of an era for us.
An weird fear creeps inside me, feels like, the whole of our teenage is now part of history... dead.
Can't "Beat it"....

Revelation or love?

2009-06-19T04:24:00.002+05:30

“There is nothing more sexy in the world than a man wanting to be saved. It suggests that the man may have Depth and Sensitivity. That he wants redemption. It suggests that underneath all that trouble, there is a possibility of a SOUL. I guess many find the damsel in distress in u attractive, including me.”
Good morning sms from an unknown number

Epitaph

2009-06-17T00:59:00.002+05:30

Shob bhalobasha chirkut-e likhe rekhe ekdin sagorer jol-e neme jabo...

"Are you serious?"

2009-06-13T02:11:00.005+05:30

"Are you serious?", she asked me.
Am I serious?
I've been waiting for so long to make you feel just that, I'm serious.
Why so serious?
Because I love you.
One lazy afternoon that rolls into a cozy evening is just the setting for a matured kind of love. Call me mushy, call me romantic, the old-fashioned kind. How does it really matter?
Just the day before, she gave me the first gift. It's nice. The way she gave it to me, was even better. It meant to me the care, she almost never showed for me. She's changing. She says, I'm changing too. There are certain things I hate about growing up, growing old. But there are certain others, I love. This is one of those. To be able to shake of your baggage of whatever you had gathered so far. There are moments in life, when you understand, you wont live much longer, not at least in the way you want to. Like an actor gives his best performance after the curtain rises for the last time, like a sportsman puts up his best after the penultimate whistle has blown, you live it up. You know the end is evident, you know you are too helpless to stop it, you're too skeptical to believe that it wont come. You live it up.
This is too good to be true.
You walk the scorching stretches of heat after doing the necessary weird stuff in life, and the last person you expect to meet is her. So, you hardly notice her. She calls you, then tells you, she'll call you up when she's free. You, being the skeptical pessimist you are, keep working your course. You almost forget about her. Somewhere deep down, you believe the call will never come. At the most she'll send a sms, which will say, "some other day probably..." or something like that.
Then you come out of your self constructed closet, where you try to look busy, wearing your self-made cloak of importance! And like silently the angel of life knocks at your doorstep, you see her, waiting. Not really for you, but at the place you least expected.
And you decide, this life is worth giving a try, once more.
So, you drop the duties and be there. Not because you can let go, but because you feel like! and then finally, you gather the courage to ask her out, in full presence of her friends. Not that they'll mind, but somehow, it used to look odd. Then you land up in a place where you can actually be cozy with her. Cozy enough to be able to talk to her, watch her cruising through the books, steal glances of her, be close enough to breath on her neck. You just want to kiss her there, but you know that'll be too much. And you enjoy the sweet pain of helplessness and and she enjoys her toothache because you are happy to be with her.
At some point, she actually wants to know about your feelings about her. You pore it out. You know it can be dangerous according to the principles you like to hold on to, but you don't care about them that much these days. She is too precious to let go, but she is too comfortable this afternoon. She's too good to be yours, but she says she's already yours, and she feels bad that you are troubled with this relationship.
Then, like luck would have planned everything perfect for the evening, you decide to go for a movie. Honestly, it's trash. But that's just the best to suit the bill. Any place cozier than a film hall if you want "not to be looked at", even by her? You just feel her presence beside you. That's all you wanted, ever. The warmth of being together. Not much I suppose?
It's too late and you've already promised her that you'll drop her home. You take a cab and the driver's drunk. So drunk that he escapes an accident just by a whisker all through the way. You feel worried about her, but then as you're pretensions give way to your love, because now it's too strong to be controlled, you feel like dying. You know the kind of life you want with her is not a possibility right now, so you secretly desire for a fatal accident. Impossible? So is this relationship.
You truely give in to the death drive!
No, it doesn't happen that way, but it would've been so good if it did.
She cares....
That's good enough for now...
Am I serious?
Like the desert is about the rain, I am.

17

2009-06-06T04:43:00.008+05:30

How does one age? Why does?
The weird fact about aging is that you know you can't stop it, and the more you know it the more you age. The receding hairline, the occasional sprouts of grey, the lack of energy, the loss of flexibility, the bounds of responsibilities continuously inform you about the fact that you are, not the truant schoolboy anymore. But it's much more than all these. It is more about feeling aged than actually aging. You choose your priorities, you start planning your life, you start worrying about your future, which you secretly know, is decreasing in comparison to your past. The road behind seems to be more winding and long-trailed than the road in front. You start thinking about the finishing line and stop enjoying the race. In fact, you stop enjoying life. The only pleasure you are left with is to keep ruminating about your golden days, and you decide they won’t come back. The worst thing about aging is you start believing that you are aging and stop believing you can do stuff that will make you careless like you're 17.

But that something you like to believe may not be the truth. Even if it is, you may not lack the power to take charge and transform it. All you need is to shake of all that you've gathered so far and live like there's no tomorrow, no yesterday too! Stop planning "5 years down the line" and truly believe that you may not be alive in the next 5 minutes. Is it possible? It used to be when you were 17.
You waited for the bus to come after your school, talking to your friends.
When it came, you kept talking.
It called for passengers. You kept talking.
It started rolling. You still can't decide if you should take this one. You always knew that all bus-rides are the same, but wanted to believe that there is a better one! Or you simply didn't care.
As the bus picked up speed, you decided that you should take this one. So did your friends.
The bus was 10 meters away from you, and you started to sprint. You never knew, if you'll able to catch it. You never thought if you miss it or loose grip, what tragedy should befall on you. You just didn't care. Planning was never a part of the plan! Responsibility was just another word!

When you start aging, you start having 'get-together's, you stop just 'meeting'. But sometimes, just sometimes, life has other 'plans' for you!
So, you get together and drink up. Drink up to glory, as if it'll stop the abuses from your boss, as if it'll compensate your loss, as if it'll give you back the days that you never planned to be 'enjoyable'.
Somehow, everybody drinks without any reason but everybody wants an excuse. An excuse to justify, but to whom and why? Anyway, everybody finds one though, every time.
So you celebrate that a friend's wife isn't home, you celebrate you've bunked office mid-week, celebrate that you got drunk the last night... and you meet up.
As always, some arrive late. Some complain about that. Then you find the liquor shop closed, because no body remembered it's a 'dry-day'. Then the hunt begins and eventually you get everything that you needed, but you forget the dinner. As usual, you push each other to go buy food but nobody seems to leave. As the bottles start getting empty, the debates heat up. From politics to cinema, from music to in-laws, for and against marriage and all that's under the sun.

You eventually feel hungry and you don't have the number for the home delivery. You realize it's late enough to go home. But then, someone proposes, let's not go home tonight, let's enjoy the night, let's go for a drive. And somehow, none of you seems to have a problem with the idea. You know you've classes tomorrow, you've an important meeting, you've to reach early... You tend to forget, you've a 'home', where you'll have to explain a lot of things for this weird decision, you can't even guess what your special ones, your spouse, your parents or whoever you 'care' about will do if they come to know about this. You know they’ll eventually come to know. You just don't care.
So, you decide within 5 minutes, make a few phone calls within 15 minutes and within the next 20 minutes, you're on the road, in a friend's car, who is as dead-drunk as you are!
Those who are a bit too enthusiastic, sends a few sms too people he knows will feel the punch. Those who are not so eccentric, switch off the phone. You remember, you never had one, when you were 17!
The best part of the whole story is, you don't know, where you'll be going, when you will come back, if you do, at all!
How weak and useless your long decided 'plans' feel before such an impulse. You have simply let it go...

So, you roam aimlessly for sometime, and then hit the highway. You have no idea where it leads to, but who wants to go on a journey, that has a destination? You hit the highway, because you know it’s not going to end soon.
Somewhere deep in the night, in the middle of nowhere, you find a food joint. You stop and have food. After all, you felt very hungry quite a long time ago!
But once the food is in, the 'plans' are out again... and you hit the road once more. You know you can't go back. Your landlord has closed the door for the night, you've declared you're staying over, you've even informed your parents or in-laws that one of your friends is injured and you are in the hospital! Yeah! He is driving the car actually, but that’s not a surprise at all. You've always come up with innovative and strong alibis, for coming home late from school!

You hit the road for the second time and this time you decide not to stop, before you are stopped. You have no idea about the roads and there is no one awake to ask for directions. The CD player in the car keep playing the songs you always cherished as a teenager. Whenever it shuffles to a song that you don't know, you skip it. Huge trucks whoosh past your car, the line of trees that marks the end of the road in the dark, look like some dangerous forest, visibility is down to 4 meters. Pack after pack, cigarettes provide the light to the interior of the car, the cold drink bottles where you had mixed your last bit of alcohol pile up at the back. Then you feel it once more, the sense of responsibility that has been burdening you for last 4-5 years is somehow gone, you have not only stopped planning things, you have stopped worrying how and when you'll die. Just like you never cared about your grades and its consequences when you were 17.

Finally, at some point near dawn, your car has to stop. You’ve reached the sea. You can't go on any more. So, you sit beside the sea for sometime. The night appears to fade and give way to the new day. You have a cup off tea. You watch the sun, rise from the waves. You have reached a new dawn.

Then you turn back, for you know you must go back to your routines. This time the road seems shorter, even if you know you'll have to drive back the same 200 kilometers that you've already traveled. By now, you feel a little sleepy. Those heated debates that kept you awake through the night, seem to have lost their significance. The dizziness that kept you guessing about the uncertainty of your life is gone. The heat of friendship, which made you comfortable in the stuffy car, has started giving its way to more material concerns. As you reach the limits of the hometown, you start strengthening your alibis. Those responsibilities that always felt like a burden to you, comes back. You have to 'drop' your friends at their respective places. Everything seems to fall in place. The well chalked out 'plan' of life takes over once more. But as each friend wave to you before turning back for the last time, each of you know, you feel like 17, again.

Haal Chherona Bandhu - Suman Chattopadhyay

Jhor

2009-05-26T00:23:00.000+05:30

Not all storms get reported, but all of them destroy something on their way...

nothing

2009-05-22T01:35:00.001+05:30

"But love grows old,
and waxes cold..."

Just about there...

2009-05-17T00:33:00.002+05:30

It's Christmas time in Washington
The Democrats rehearsed
Gettin' into gear for four more years
Things not gettin' worse
The Republicans drank whiskey neat
And thanked their lucky stars
They said, 'He cannot seek another term
They'll be no more FDRs'

I sat home in Tennessee
Staring at the screen
And an uneasy feeling in my chest
I'm wonderin' what it means

So come back Woody Guthrie
Come back to us now
Tear your eyes from paradise
And rise again somehow
And if you run into Jesus
Maybe he can help you out
Come back Woody Guthrie to us now

I followed in your footsteps once
Back in my travelin' days
Somewhere I failed to find your trail
Now I'm stumblin' through the haze
But there's killers on the highway now
And folks can't get around
So I sold my soul for wheels that roll
Now I'm stuck here in this town

So come back Woody Guthrie
Come back to us now
Tear your eyes from paradise
And rise again somehow
If you run into Jesus
Maybe he can help us out
Come back Woody Guthrie to us now

There's foxes in the hen house now
Cows out in the corn
The unions have been busted
Their proud banners torn
To listen to the radio
You'd think that all was well
But you and me and most folks know
It's going straight to hell

So come back, Mahatma Gandhi
Rise up, old Joe Hill
The barricades are coming down
They cannot break our will
Come back to us, Malcolm X
And Martin Luther King
We're marching into Selma
As the bells of freedom ring

So come back Woody Guthrie
Come back to us now
Tear your eyes from paradise
And rise again somehow

Singer: Joan C. Baez
Lyricist: Steve Earle

Afterthoughts or Premonitions?

2009-05-15T23:54:00.004+05:30

When some random thoughts come to my mind and I can't access the net, I write them as long text messages and save them. Often I delete them, forget them, but I put up a few in my blog. New developments.. hmm..
This one's from last night..

In our pursuit to legitimize the 'other'/marginal' we often forget that the 'dominant'/'normative' is also a position. One can choose that, being fully informed and empathetic to all possible positions.
Once two people start their journey towards the different possible positions of a relation they have to make an effort to negotiate each other. What's lost in this process is the spontaneity of a relation. After a point they may not be able to bridge the gaps anymore. A relation depends on spontaneity when it's a breathing space for the persons involved. After that, it's just role-playing.one gets bored with that, when one is able to understand that. The "pleasure contract" breaks down.

hmm.. a lot to worry about. I found another forgotten sms, but I'm not in the mood to put it up here right now.

Prane gaan nai michhe tai...

2009-05-09T13:40:00.004+05:30

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Lessons learnt

2009-05-09T00:32:00.004+05:30

I'm gradually learning not to get attached to people, to manipulate things, to pretend like a chameleon..
no, not like chameleon.. like a human instead.. since the later kind seems much more skilled in that..
attachment is bad. i always knew it. but then that's human nature, to pretend, to act against oneself. i thought i am more than what i am. consequences...
that's what people call "fraud", "ditch", "breach of trust".. etc etc...
that's what people call, "taking advantage"
but then, are we not always told to, taught to do just that? take advantage?
the whole human civilization progresses on that..
progress.. such a funny term!
do we "progress" in love? affection? relationships?
does relationships "progress"?
at what point do you decide that you don't need someone? something?
what do you decide to do after that?
with it? with yourself?
burn it? throw it? crush it? forget it? ignore it? REPRESS IT?
IT will Return.. for sure..
yeah! psychoanalytic crap!
what did you expect?
Intellectual debates?

Unsent SMS

2009-05-01T13:24:00.000+05:30

"Tui bhalo perform korle amar bhalo lagbe, byas ei matra."

Byas, ei matra?

R kichhu na, tai na?

Thak...

O tuku na holeo cholbe...

Cursed

2009-04-21T01:34:00.000+05:30

Vision is cursed..
when you see something you want to touch.. you desire...
you are cursed, you already know you can't touch it, have it like you wanted...
touch is cursed...
sound is cursed too..
why did you have to listen to all those you ever heard?
life would've been easier, probably.. if you didn't...
world would've been a better place, if you couldn't remember... feel...
or it would've been much worse....
jhor asbena.. ashena...
"shudhu ashe firey bedonar chapa kanna..."
and you weep... deep inside... can't show, can't see either..
you can't even feel.. but you do feel...
and you almost know, there isn't a single you... you can almost touch that.. but what?
Knowledge is cursed...
Cursed is this existence...

Aur Devdas...

2009-04-07T01:23:00.000+05:30

Anindya da,
We were right.
Dev wanted someone who'll just shut up and listen.
HELL, they blabber too much!
But then, Dev wanted a redemption too...
which never happens and I know you differ.
Can't help that too..
But let's not play the "who's more affected" game.
We already know what everybody knows!

Ek-i jontrona pabe...

2009-04-05T14:16:00.000+05:30

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eSnips Social DNA

Another forgotten note

2009-03-31T02:53:00.000+05:30

I seem to have lost my mind. Can't remember things, randomly!
And keep remembering things that I shouldn't have.
Can't find my complete Ghazal collection, 2 DVD's. One of them being a 8.5GB one.
Can't remember whom did I give many films from my DVD collection. The very best of contemporary Hindi Cinema. My research material!
And I've started finding weird stuff from completely unexpected places. It was fun when I used to find a coin or two from the pockets of some trouser that has already been washed. That doesn't happen anymore.

Found a long text message saved in my drafts. If sent, it'd take the length of 5 sms. It says,

"Given my situation, I can have a beautiful life, if a few lives are destroyed.But everything else will remain beautiful if I get destroyed instead. I'm too tired of sacrifices, this is the only time I wanted someone so passionately, selfishly for myself. Destiny it seems, I loved you... with all my existence, beyond morals and possibilities. Only once I wanted to become myself, beyond my projected self. Only this once, I wanted to spend my whole life with someone. Turned out to be the greatest mistake of my life. Hope you'll live happily ever after in the life you chose. Wish you all the luck and yes, goodbye... forever."

I forgot it existed, but I remember why I wrote it. Why?
I can't rectify those grammatical errors and I don't wish to do so. Since when did language started belonging to the ambit of desire?
Deleted..

A forgotten note

2009-03-19T02:19:00.000+05:30

I was looking for a note that may reveal, who has got the DVDs that I need and can't find. I know my friends have got them and I usually never write it down, but still... may be I had, because sometimes I write them in some diary or pad, whatever I find ready at hand, then forget, usually!
Didn't find what I was looking for, but found this note at the last, torn page of one of the pads...

"Why do you care,even if I'm not well? You've certain expectations from me, though you deny that. In fact, I would say all of us enter into some kind of relationship with a charter of demands on our mind. You should be happy that you're getting what you want. Yes, you had to experience a few hick-ups in the beginning, but I guess that's part of the deal, isn't it?"

Since when did I start scribbling such stuff? Strange!

Pen (over)Drive

2009-03-05T23:23:00.000+05:30

Ekta pen drive kinechhi. Agey ekbar ekta kinechhilam, seta bari niye ashar agei rastay kothay ekta pore gelo. Hate it!
Sei shok-e r kena hoyni.. etodin-e kinechhi and I love it!

Agerta 2GB chhilo, eta ekkebare 16GB...
Yes, you read it right! 16GB.

Well, I usually overdo it, when it comes to digital technology. So, here's more... read it or shut up!

Features

Fully compatible with Hi-Speed USB 2.0
Easy Plug and Play installation
JetFlash® elite Software pack includes:
-PC-Lock Function: Makes JetFlash® a key to lock your computer
-Secret-Zip Function: Compress and/or Password protect saved files using AES Encryption
-E-Mail Function: Use your JetFlash® to Securely Send, Receive and Save e-mails
-AutoLogin Function: Automatically login to websites where you have a password
-Favorites Function: Store all your favorite website addresses on the JetFlash®
-DataBackup Function: Backup, Restore and Synchronize your Data using the JetFlash®
Driverless USB powered. No external power, or battery needed

Specification

Dimensions: 60mm x 16.5mm x 8.1mm
Weight: 7g
Certificates: CE, FCC, BSMI
Transfer Speed: Read 14 MByte/s, Write 8 MByte/s

Dhyatteri

2009-03-04T00:47:00.000+05:30

ami kobita likhte pari na.. gaan-o na.
amar ingriji likhte ichhe kore na.
amar khali mon kharap hoy.
ami testimonial likhi.. mood hole..
r kichhu likhbo na..

2009-01-10T23:50:00.000+05:30

এমন করে একলা ফেলে,

সব বন্ধন দূরে ঠেলে,

এইভাবেই কি চলে যেতে হয়?

ভাবলি না তো আমার কথা,

কার কাঁধেতে রাখব মাথা,

এমন একা এই অসময়।

আমি জানি তোর সব কার্যকারণ

সমস্ত আশা, সব আকাঙ্খা,

আমি শুনবো না তো তোর বারণ

করবই আমি তোর অপেক্ষা,

বলনা সব কথা আর সমস্ত গান,

সমস্ত রাগ সব অভিমান

এইভাবেই কি মুছে ফেলা যায়?

পুরনো সেই আড্ডাগুলো

জমছে হয়ে স্মৃতির ধূলো,

আমার দু’চোখের পাতায়...

এইভাবেই কি চলে যেতে হয়?

আমার দেওয়া যত ব্যথা,

দিয়েও না রাখা কথা,

ক্ষমা না করে, করলি অভিমান

কথা দিয়েছিলি না?

তুই তো আর শুনে গেলি না

তোকে নিয়ে লেখা গান।

আমি জানি তোর সব কার্যকারণ

সমস্ত আশা, সব আকাঙ্খা,

আমি শুনবো না তো তোর বারণ

করবই আমি তোর অপেক্ষা,

বলনা সব কথা আর সমস্ত গান,

সমস্ত রাগ সব অভিমান

এইভাবেই কি মুছে ফেলা যায়?

পুরনো সেই আড্ডাগুলো

জমছে হয়ে স্মৃতির ধূলো,

আমার দু’চোখের পাতায়...

এইভাবেই কি চলে যেতে হয়?

তোর কেরিয়ার গড়ার কারণ,

নাকি বাড়ির লোকের বারণ,

সে সব প্রশ্ন নেই মনে আমার

তোর স্বপ্ন সত্যি হবে যখন,

ভেবে কি তুই দেখবি তখন,

তোকে আমার কতটা দরকার?

তোর স্বপ্ন সত্যি হবে যখন,

ভেবে কি তুই দেখবি তখন,

আমাকে তোর কতটা দরকার?

2009-01-10T02:22:00.000+05:30

তোর কলেজের বারান্দায়

আজকের এই সন্ধ্যায়

এখনো কি সেই একই রকম আলো,

সেই একই আলো-আঁধার

একই আয়োজন শূন্যতার

যে স্মৃতিগুলো আজ এই ডাক পাঠালো।

আজও কত গান আর অভিমান

খুঁজে ফেরে তোকে আর হেরে যায়,

যত প্রশ্ন তোর, নেই সমাধান

শুধু প্রশ্নচিহ্ন এঁকে যায়।

তোর কলেজের ঘড়িতে সাতটা তখন

তুই ব্যস্ত ভীষণ আর একা এ মন,

তবু দিচ্ছি ধৈর্যের পরীক্ষা অনুক্ষণ

রাখছি ঢেকে গহন রক্তক্ষরণ।

ঠিক আট্‌টা দশ, বিধ্বস্ত তুই

তবু ইচ্ছে হয়, তোকে একটু ছুঁই,

যদি মরে যাই আমি আজ রাতে

জানি প্রাপ্তি এটুকুই।

আজ এতোদিন পরে বৃথা আয়োজন

জানি না কেন এ পাগলামি তর্পণ,

বুঝি মহীরুহ হয়েছে সে এখন

সেদিনের কোনো শরীরি বপণ।

তুই বুঝি ভালো নেই আজ

আর সঙ্গ দিতেও নারাজ

তোর বিধিনিষেধ তোর যত শৃঙ্খল,

আজ আমার একলা ঘরে

হাতছানি ঝরে পড়ে

তোর ঘরেও আজ বাঁধভাঙা জল।।

2008-02-16T00:55:00.000+05:30

হয়তো ভালোবাসা বলে দেওয়া যায় আজই
সব দ্বিধা কাটিয়ে
যা কিছু জমে আছে ভলক্যানো হতে পারি
সব পাথর ফাটিয়ে
হয়তো আজকেই বলে না ফেললে
আর বলা হবে না
একলা থেকে যাবো যেমন এখন আছি
তোকেও ছোঁওয়া যাবে না

না, তবু হেরে যাচ্ছিনা,
আমি হেরে যাচ্ছিনা।

অচেনা পথে ভয় চেনা এ অসময়
পরোয়া নেই আমার
পৃথিবী তোলপাড় রুগ্ন সংস্কার
ভেঙে দেবো নিয়ম অসার
ভাঙা ঘুলঘুলি বেয়ে জীর্ণ শরীরে
বাসা বাধেঁনি সরীসৃপ
এখনো ফুটবোর্ডেই সওয়ার আমি
মৃত্যুকে করছি জরিপ
তোকে দেওয়া উপহার আর যত শুভেচ্ছা
আজই ফিরিয়ে নেওয়া যায়
করুণাও করছি না যদিও জানি তুই
আজও সমান অসহায়

না, তোকে ভুলে যাচ্ছিনা,
আমি হেরে যাচ্ছিনা।

চাই যদি চেঁচিয়ে আকাশ ফাটিয়ে
বলে দিতে পারি তোর নাম
নিমেষে জেনে যাবে তোকেই ছিঁড়ে খাবে
প্রশ্নশকুনি অবিরাম
দূরে দাঁড়িয়ে আমি দেখতে পারি তুই
কতটা নিচে নেমেছিস
কতটা মরে গিয়ে কতটা দাম নিয়ে
কতখানি বেচেছিস
এখনই জানি আমি কোন পথের বাঁকে
কি আছে তোর অপেক্ষায়
এখনও ভালোবাসা বলছে তোর দিকে
হাত বাড়িয়ে দেওয়া যায়

না, তোকে ধরে রাখছি না,
আমি হেরে যাচ্ছি না।।

2008-01-17T00:59:00.000+05:30

হ্যালোজেন সরণি বেয়ে
অনিশ্চিত একলা হাঁটা,
পায়ে পায়ে মিনিট-সেকেন্ড,
অ্যান্টিক্লক ঘন্টার কাঁটা
জমে যাওয়া রাগ, জমা অভিমান,
বুকে জমা প্রিয় শূন্যতা
সারিবাঁধা চেনা মুখের ভিড়ে,
মুখোশের অভিজ্ঞতা।

ক্লান্ত শহর জলাভূমি
অর্থহীন ভবিষ্যত,
বাজারদর পাশেই তুমি
মূল্যহীন মৃত্যুবত।

শাট্‌লের ব্যস্ততায় হারিয়েছে আমার পরিচয়,
ব্যক্তিত্ব নিঃস্ব, পুতুলনাচের অভিনয়।

করিডর ছুঁয়ে আনবাড়ি যায়
ব্রিফকেসে রাখা দুঃখসুখ,
ছেঁড়া কাগজের টুক্‌রো জমায়
ঘরপালানো ব্যর্থ মুখ,
গোধূলি ঘনায় মধ্যরাতে
রাত বিছানা অন্ধকার
রাত ঘনাবে সকালপানে
ভোর জড়াবে হ্যাংওভার।।

2007-11-18T16:16:00.001+05:30

যে পথ গিয়েছে দিগন্তরেখা পার,
যে পথ চিনেছে অন্ধকারের শেষ,
সে পথে চলেছি বধ্যভুমিতে একা,
ঠিকানাবিহিন এ পথ-ই আমার দেশ।

স্বপ্নের দেশ জেনেছি নেই কোথাও,
স্বপ্ন ভেঙেছে কয়েক বছর আগে,
পেরিয়ে এসেছি মৃত্যু উপত্যকা
(তাই) স্বপ্নরা আজ আমার জন্যে জাগে
স্বপ্নরা শুধু আমার জন্যে জাগে।।

Je poth giyechhe digontorekha par,
Je poth chinechhe ondhokar-er sesh,
Se pothey cholechhi bodhdhyobhumite eka,
Thikana-bihin e poth-i amar desh.

Swapner desh jenechhi nei kothao,
Swapno bhengechhe koyek bochhor agey,
Periye eshechhi mrityu upotyoka,
(Tai) swapnera aaj amar jonne jagey,
swapnera shudhu amar jonne jage...

2007-07-29T22:29:00.002+05:30

কোন বাঁধে বেঁধেছো মন
নিজের সাথে আপোষ করে,
বেনোজল রাখবে কোথায়
বয় যে আপন জোর,
লুকিয়ে নিজের থেকে
পালাচ্ছো কোন আঁধারে,
সাবধান, তোমার ও মন
বিদ্রোহ করতে পারে।

বিষন্ন সময় জুড়ে
সর্বনাশা খেলছো খেলা,
বুঝছো না অতর্কিতে
আসবে গোধূলিবেলা,
গোধূলির ম্লান আলোতে
দেখেই যদি ফেলোই তাকে,
রাশ টেনে রেখো মনের
দূরে দূরেই রাখছো যাকে।

জীবনের আলেখ্য নয়
উপদেশও নয় এ কথা,
আমার বুকের আগুন
ছুঁয়ে তোমার শীতলতা,
শহরের সরণীতে
আসছে নেমে ক্লান্ত বেলা
আশাতেই থাকছি আমি
নিয়ে তোর অবহেলা।।

Kon bandhey, bendhechho mon

Nijer sathe aposh korey

Benojol rakhbey kothay

Boy je apon jorey

Lukiye nijer theke

Palachchho kon andharey

Shabdhan, tomar o mon

Bidroho korte pare.

Bishonno somoy jurey

Sorbonasha khelchho khela

Bujhcchho na otorkitey

Nambe godhulibela

Godhulir mlan alotey

Dekhei jodi feloi takey

Rash teney rekho moner

Durey durei rakhchho jakey.

Jiboner alekhyo noy

Upodesho noy e kotha

Amar buker agun

Chhuye tomar shiitolota

Sohorer soronitey

Aschhey nemey klanto bela

Ashatei thakchhi ami

Niye tor obohela.

2007-07-28T00:16:00.002+05:30

আজ তোমাকেও ডাক পাঠাচ্ছে
যখন ভিনশহর,
যাচ্ছে বেড়ে রাত আরও
আসছেনা ভোর
অন্ধকার অন্ধকার
বলো তুমি সঙ্গী কার
আজকে দিন বড় বেরঙিন
বাড়ছে বেলা কাটছে না তবু
ঘুমের ঘোর

বন্ধু আসবে ফিরে
তুমি কথা দাও
আজও আছি অপেক্ষায়
ফিরে তাকাও।

যাচ্ছো চলে জানিনা সেটা
ভুল কি ঠিক
তুমি ছাড়া শূন্য লাগে
দিগ্বিদিক
অন্ধকার অন্ধকার
ভরসা তবু বন্ধুতার
আজ আকাশ
ভীষণ হতাশ
তোর উপরে যায় কি খাটানো
কোনো জোর

বন্ধু আসবে ফিরে
তুমি কথা দাও
আজও আছি অপেক্ষায়
দু’হাত বাড়াও।

যাচ্ছো চলে অনায়াসে
পরবাস
ক্যালেন্ডার থেকে যাবে হারিয়ে
বছর মাস
কেরিয়ার কেরিয়ার
স্বপ্ন জমে অন্ধকার
আজকে দেশ
নিরুদ্দেশ
তোমার দেশ
নিরুদ্দেশ
স্মৃতিগুলোকে নিয়ে যা
করে সঙ্গী তোর

যেমন করে পারো
তুমি থেকে যাও
যদি থাকে উপায় কোনো
যেওনা কোথাও
বন্ধু আসবে ফিরে
তুমি কথা দাও
আজও আছি অপেক্ষায়
ফিরে তাকাও।।

2007-07-24T16:40:00.001+05:30

হঠাত্‌ সময়, মনে মনে উঁকি দিয়ে যায়
ছুঁয়ে যায় একা, ভালোলাগা যখন আমায়
মনে পড়ে যায়, বিদায়বেলায়,
কাদের কথা, স্মৃতি কাঁদায়।

বুনো জংলী ফুল,
খোঁজে আঙুল
খোঁজে একলা পথ, অনিশ্চিত

যারা ফিরতে চায়,
ফেরা কি যায়
গ্রীষ্ম দুপুর খোঁজে, একলা শীত
আমি খুঁজে পাবো কি আমায়?

উঁকি দিয়ে যায়, অচেনা মুখ
ঝরাপাতা সুখ, ভালোবাসা
অর্থবিহীন, আলাপচারি
কাদের বাড়ি, ঠিকানা পায়।

ঠিকানা নয়,
এ অসময়
কাছেই আছে গভীর অসুখ
তবু আগুন,
চাইছে বাতাস

উড়ছে যে ছাই, হাওয়ায় হাওয়ায়।।

Hothat somoy, mone mone unki diye jaay,

chhuye jaay eka bhalolaga jokhon amay,

mone pore jaay, biday belay

kader kotha, smriti kanday

buno jongli ful,

khonje angul

khonje ekla poth, onishchit

jara firte chay,

fera ki jaay?

grishho dupur khonje ekla shiit

ami khunje pabo ki aamay?

unki diye jaay, achena mukh

jhorapata sukh, bhalobasha

orthobihin alapchari,

kader bari thikana paay.

thikana noy,

e oshomoy

kachhei achhe gobhir oshukh

tobu agun

chaichhe batas
urchhe je chhai, haoway haoway...

2007-07-02T21:20:00.001+05:30

শোন বৃষ্টিভেজা রাত
যদি বাড়াই দু’টো হাত
বল ভরে দিবি কানায় কানায়
সব নদী-নালা-গিরিখাত

দিবি সেই আদরের আঙুল
দিবি শুকনো বুনোফুল
আর দিবি উজাড় করে
সেই নীরব দৃষ্টিপাত

ক’ফোঁটা ঝরবি এ রাতের বেলায়
ভোরের গহনে আলোর খেলায়
পাতার ঠোঁট ছুঁয়ে ঘাসের শরীরে
ফুলবিছানায়... ঘুমবিছানায়

মেঘ জানে আলোর গান
মেঘ জানে অভিমান
এ শরীর জানে মেঘ
শরীর জানে না তফাত্‌

শোন বৃষ্টিভেজা রাত
যদি তুইও পাতিস হাত
শোন এ বুকে সব আগুন
কেন নিভছে আজ হঠাত্‌

তোর চোখের কোণে জল
যখন করে টলমল
আমার বুকে ডাকে সাগর
বলে, আমার সঙ্গে চল

সে ডাকে দিলে সাড়া
সবুজ হয় সাহারা
চোরাবালি, ধূলোর ঝড়
বলে ঘরের গল্প বল...
বলে ঘরের গল্প বল।।

2007-07-02T01:11:00.001+05:30

সকাল যখন বয়ে আনে বিষাদদিন
রাত এখন অনেক স্বপ্নহীন
তখন মন, অকারণ, মনখারাপ
রেডিওয় তোকে না পেয়ে
অচেনা, অজানা...
ও টেলিফোন মেয়ে।

বিছানার গোধূলি হ্যালজেন চেনে কিনা
ঠিক জানা নেই
তোর নাম-ঠিকানা, টেলিফোন পরিচয়
এই শহরেই
আছে কোথাও ভীড়ে মিশে
অচেনা মানুষ ধরা দেয় কিসে
হাতড়ে বেড়াই, সুর মিলিয়ে
যদি দিস সাড়া
ও টেলিফোন মেয়ে।

“ঘুম ঘুম এই রাতে তোমায় আমায়,
দেখা হবে টেলিফোনে”

ঘুম ঘুম রাত আসে যায় আসে

আবার চলে যায়
তোর কথা কবিতার মুখোমুখি বসিবার
আশায় আশায়
কখনো, সরিয়ে কুয়াশা, সঙ্গোপনে
যদি ডাকিস মেয়ে, টেলিফোনে।

“ঘুম ঘুম এই রাতে তোমায় আমায়,
দেখা হবে টেলিফোনে”...

2007-06-16T01:10:00.001+05:30

বাইরে আকাশ ঝরছে ঝির ঝির,
ঠান্ডা হাওয়া কাঁপাচ্ছে শরীর,
মনে পড়ে যাচ্ছে আমার
সেই স্মৃতি কবেকার
জানলার কাঁচে
ঝাপসা মুখ তোমার।

সিলেবাসের বাইরে যা কিছু
আস্তে আস্তে হটছে যে পিছু
তোমার ফেলে যাওয়া সময়টুকু
ভরিয়ে দিচ্ছে কেরিয়ার।

হঠাত্‌ শীত এসেছে শহরে
বৃষ্টি ফোঁটায় সাজানো পথ ধরে,
মনে পড়ে যাচ্ছে আমার
তোমার নীলচে সোয়েটার
জিনসের পকেটে
কেঁপে ওঠা হাত তোমার।

এমন দিনে সাজতে কেমন তুমি,
একলা দুপুরে বসে ভাবছি আমি,
নেই তাড়া আজ আর তোমার সাথে
দেখা করতে যাবার।

ঠোঁটের ফাঁকে ধরা উষ্ণতার স্বভাব,
তবুও আমার আজ আগুনের বড় অভাব,
মনে পড়ে যাচ্ছে আমার
সেদিনের আলো -আঁধার
ট্যাক্সির কাঁচে
বিদায়ী হাত তোমার।।

Baire akash jhorchhe jhirjhir,

thanda haowa kapachchhe shorir,

money porey jachchhe aamar

sei sriti kobekar

janla-r kanchey

jhapsa mukh tomar.

Syllabus-er baire ja kichhu,

astey astey hotchhe je pichhu,

tomar fele jaowa somoytuku

bhoriye dichchhe career.

Hothat shiit eshechhey shohorey,

brishti fonta-y sajano poth dhore,

money porey jachchhe aamar

tomar niilche sweater

jeans-er pocket-ey

kenpey otha haat tomar.

Emon diney sajte kemon tumi,

ekla dupure bosey bhabchhi ami,

nei tara aaj aar tomar sathey

dekha korte jabar.

Thoter fanke dhora ushnotar swabhab,

tobuo amar aaj aguner boro obhab,

money porey jachhey amar

sedin-er aalo-aandhar

taxi-r kanchey

bidayee haat tomar.

2007-05-25T00:27:00.001+05:30

এসময় অসময়
একা পথ চলা দায়,
বিকেলের সোনা রোদ পাখি
মুছে নেয় দু'ডানায়
এই মন আবার ছুটি চায়।

কল্পমাঠের গল্প অনেকদূর,
মন খুঁজে ফেরে তেরো নদী সাত সমুদ্দুর।
মেঘলা এক দুপুর, বৃষ্টি টাপুর টুপুর,
সন্ধ্যে নামে ব্যালকনিতে
বনসাই বটের পাতায়

বাড়ায় হাত মধ্যরাত

আধোঘুমে তন্দ্রায়।

অল্প আলো বন্ধ জানলা অল্প ফাঁক,
বাইরে পৃথিবী সেলফোনে পাঠায় ডাক।
পেরিয়ে জানলা গ্রিল,
ডাক দিয়ে যায় চিল,
তবুও কথায় কথায়
বেলা যায়, বয়ে যায়
ঠিক তখন, বধির মন
হয়তো সে ডাক শুনতে পায়
এই শহরের সাততলায়।।

Eshomoy oshomoy

eka poth chola daay,

bikeler sona rowd pakhi

muchhe ney du'danay,

ei mon abar chhuti chaay.

Kolpomath-er golpo onek dur,

mon khuje phere tero nodi saat somuddur.

meghla ek dupur,

bristy tapur tupur,

sondhey namey balcony-te

bonsai bot-er patay
baray haat modhyo raat

adhoghume tondraay.

Alpo aalo bondho janla alpo faank,

baire prithibi cellphone-ey pathay daak.

periye janla grill,

daak diye jaay cheel,

tobuo kothay kothay

bela jaay, boye jaay

thik tokhon, bodhir mon

hoyto se daak sunte paay

ei shohorer saat tolaay.

2007-05-22T23:57:00.002+05:30

এমন বিকেল তোমার কাছেই
আসবো আবার আবার ফিরে,
বলে গেছে মেঘ বৃষ্টি বাদলে
ঝরা পাতাদের ভিড়ে।
ঝরা পাতারাও রেখেছে জমিয়ে
চিঠি চাপাটির খেলা,
শব্দেরা তবু কানাকানি করে

এমন গোধুলিবেলা,
যত আনপাগলের খেলা।

পাড়ার মোড়ের একা কফিশপ
এখন দেখছি তোকে,
কতোটা কুয়াশা ভিড় করে আছে
তোর সময়ের চোখে।
মেগাসিটি হবে গোধুলি শহর
মিনিট পাঁচেক বাকি,
পার্কষ্ট্রিট জ্যামে তোর চোখ জ্বলে
আমি তোকেই দেখতে থাকি।

কত কথা তোকে হবে না তো বলা
সন্ধ্যে নামার আগে,
কফি কাপে ডোবে তোমার দু'ঠোঁট
সূর্য অস্তরাগে।
দিগন্ত জানে আবিরের খেলা
শেষ বিকেলের আলো,
সন্ধ্যে ঘনালে আঁধারের আলে
তোকেই বাসবো ভালো ।।

Emon bikel, tomar kachhei

Asbo abar, abar phirey,

Bole gechhe megh

bristi badoley

Jhorapatader bhirey.

Jhorapatarao rekhechhey jomiye

Chithhichapati-r khela,

Shobdera tobu kanakani korey

Emon godhulibela,

Joto anpagoler khela.

Parar morer eka coffey shop

Ekhon dekhchhi tokey,

Kotota dhoyasha bhir korey ache

Tor somoyer chokhey.

Megacity hobey godhuli shohor

Minute pachek baki

Park street jam-e tor chokh joley

Ami tokei dekhte thaki.

Koto kotha tokey hobey na to bola

Sondhey namar agey,

Coffey cup-e dobey tomar du-thot,

Surjo astoraagey.

Digonto janey abirer khela

Sesh bikel-er alo,

Sondhey ghonale andhar-er aley

Tokei basbo bhalo.