The last night at Jolu

The roads were submerging in the lilac of twilight as the sun was going down below the horizon, leaving it’s “goodbyes” alive in the dying rays. Sharanya always wanted to see the whole of her college campus, but on every occasion, she failed to seize the opportunity of fulfilling her wish. It was their last day of stay at Jalpaiguri and Gautam had wilfully taken the responsibility of getting this wish fulfilled, not because his adrenaline rush had begun to revolt against his sober outer covering, but because of one reason; he wanted to enjoy Sharanya’s presence, one last time before leaving that place. Both of them kept walking, as long as they could, like every other day. Sharanya waited patiently outside a local liquor store, Gautam went inside. He came out with a large bottle covered with newspapers.

“What is it?”, Sharanya’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
“Whiskey it is!”, winked Gautam.

None of them had the energy or enthusiasm to walk on foot so they got inside a “Toto”. Toto is the simplest and cheapest mode of transport in that place, and enjoyable too.

In no time, they reached college; Gautam took out a joint from his pocket and both of them kept smoking, turn by turn. Weed had different effects on the two individuals, Sharanya used to get thoughtful and Gautam, who preferred mundanity to adventure, always used to doze off to sleep after taking a few whiffs of joint. Sharanya kept on talking, Gautam listened to her intently and drank from the bottle of whiskey. Ocassionally, he would pass the bottle to Sharanya and would steal a glance at her expressions while she narrated an old story with smokey concentration. Joints after joints, pegs after pegs, the level of intoxication kept shooting up to an extent where Gautam could not afford to stand on his legs and with a thud, sat on the ground, near Maya road. Sharanya’s legs quickevered and the hand with which she was holding the bottle was in full swing.

Another desire, to break an empty bottle of alcohol. Gautam who was hardly capable of keeping his head straight, tried making feeble attempts at stopping Sharanya, but all in vain. At once, with one of her hands swinging to an imaginary insane tune, she flung that bottle in the air, before Gautam could restrain her and a cracking sound was heard. Gautam got up hurriedly to search for that broken bottle; the element of fear always used to dominate him, even in his state of intense delirium. Sharanya stopped him, with all the little strength that she had.

“Don’t look there! It’s done and the bottle has been shattered into hundreds of pieces. You’ve heard the sound, be happy with it.”, chuckled Sharanya.

Gautam, understanding that it was not possible for him to control her, sat down quietly, with his red eyes half closed.

Sharanya kept traversing miles in her mind that resulted in her moving round and round, about the same place; she had her head on the ground and feet in the sky! She danced in the glory of sunlight coming from orange vapour lamps and the night had given consent to the day to take it’s place, in her mind. With red eyes, she saw moving buildings, lamp posts and all the things that caught her attention, as if she was in a merry-go-round. The lights, trying to bring her back to senses would end up getting diffused by her eyelashes and this mischief went on until she noticed something at the farthest end of Maya road which was shrouded in black.

She stood there, in a perilous state of awe, it was a face that she saw, too known to be that of a stranger. In his dormitory, filled with darkness, he smiled, and that being infectious, reached upto Sharanya’s lips in no time. Silence prevailed in the surroundings for a long time it seemed, as the measure of time had been long forgotten. A lot of questions were crowding up on her mind, the answers to she knew, she would never be able to find. Very soon, fireflies came in between and the thread connecting her light to his darkness started loosening up, she could clearly see that there was no one and that, it was just another trick that weed was playing on her mind.

She turned back to see Shankar and Sandeep(also known by the name, “Drug Dealer”) trying to wake Gautam up from his deep sleep. On seeing Sharanya, Shankar greeted her with his usual hug and Sandeep, who was looking drunk, smiled at her.

“What are you doing here, Barbie di?”, questioned Sandeep (still smiling).

Sandeep, who was in the third year of engineering at that time, had coined this name, Barbie, for Sharanya, which she adored as well.

“I will never see you without any intoxicating material in your hand. See, I call you Drug Dealer for a reason.”, Sharanya laughed as she took away a bottle full of wine from Sandeep’s hand. Shankar laughed as well and Sandeep scratched his head out of a sense of frolicky embarrassment. The one who had been sleeping all this while had gained consiousness by then as he was seen rubbing his eyes vigorously. After this, a Toto came their way; one could easily call it “Mercedes Toto” as it had no roof. They got inside it and started gossiping again; Shankar handed her a present and when she was about to open it’s wrapper, he requested her to open it on reaching home. Gautam, who liked dwelling in the restricted regions of his silence had taken to participating in their conversation, of late.

As they talked under the stars, indelible memories got created, memories that would not require dusting, memories that would connect them years after being separated from each other and just when this journey was about to draw to a calm end, all of them cried out in unison, “Jolu Zindabaad”. This will remain etched in their minds, forever.

P.S.: “Jolu” was the nickname given to their college, by it’s students.

First of May

A beautiful day it was, not because of anything else but just that it was a holiday, a day for us to take rest and engage ourselves in activities that we like doing. I was not in the least bothered about doing anything but sleeping the whole day away. However, my wishes were slaves in front of the work that was in store for me. I got up at nine in the morning, prepared a cup of coffee for myself and started working on my laptop. The clock had struck one in the afternoon, by the time I finished tying up loose ends.

The sunny morning sky had turned gray, all of a sudden. My mother, who had kept the clothes on the terrace to get dried up, was panicking since morning and ordered me to go upstairs to fetch them as a heavy rainfall was inevitable, she said. I dawdled up the stairs to the terrace where I saw the clothes hanging from a wire, all of them were swaying to and fro, to the instructions of the wind.

I looked around to see the atmosphere. The leaves of tall trees surrounding me were shaking and their movement, when viewed against the sky, created jagged patterns that left me mesmerized. The wind was strong enough to uproot weak plants from their base, I could feel it, cutting through my face and limbs. A beautiful feeling on a beautiful day! I felt as if time was slowing down and the background noises were losing their intensity gradually. I was left alone with the wind and the gray sky.

At times the wind whistled past my ears, teasing me in a tender way, just as secret admirers do and immediately after this, the rumbling of a thunderbolt would break this romance. The sky, although by the look of it seemed gray, had a mysterious purple undertone hiding behind the obvious and noticing that was just a matter of time and concentration put together. The more I observed, the more curious I became; this was a world in itself where there is stillness in motion, truth in a false notion.

I stood in front of the taut wire from which the clothes were hanging and kept on observing the numerous patterns made by the “undulating greenery”. It was only when I heard another crashing sound of thunder that I started putting the clothes safely inside the bucket that I had brought along and having finished this, I headed downstairs, leaving the terrace to witness a violent rainfall.

“Why did you take so long?”, my mother asked, almost in an anxious tone.

To this, I just smiled. She did not utter a word. I took out my diary from the shelf and started writing and having noticed that, she smiled (she knew that I had laid my eyes on something worth penning down) and quietly left the room.

A love letter to Lockdown

Dear Lockdown,
                             I was very annoyed at the thought of you coming into our lives. You resemble Aman from ‘Kal ho na ho’, who entered into the scene like an unwanted guest and went on to create magic, for real, by spreading love in the hearts of some people who were facing tough situations and were becoming devoid of care and affection towards each other. When I used to get up early in the morning and leave for work, I hardly got time to scrutinize my face in front of the mirror and now, when I stretch my arms comfortably and look at myself, I feel as if somebody whispers into my ears, ” Where have you been all this while, beautiful?”I hear your voice in the form of a sweet silence prevailing in my neighborhood. My hobbies had almost got covered with a thick layer of dust until you came in; you made me realize that capturing Life in “slow motion” is no less than living it in “fast forward” mode. You even taught me how to make “phuchkas” and I just can’t thank you enough for that. I could make time for my family, and yes, the credit goes to you. You made me revisit a very old version of myself. I discovered myself in a new light, in your light. How can I not fall in love with you?

I do realize, my love, that when this mayhem is over, you’ll leave me easily, reclaiming your sunshine, just as the sun kisses the horizon at daybreak. Weren’t you the one who praised my eccentricity and helped me love all that was me? I will miss you and I’ll remember the rediscovered me that you presented me with. It is difficult for me to go back again to the monotony called livelihood, leaving the vistas of my mind that you’ve helped me create. Yet, I understand that you are actually leaving the good part of yours alive in me. I thank you, my love. My whole world will heal, the Earth will heal. Your presence will be missed.

P.S: I have written this letter in collaboration with Debashree Chakraborty, a very good friend of mine.

Broken

I am a broken vase,
Not shattered by the wind.
Thrown away by free will,
That is my fate.
The road is unclear,
Smothered in dither.
Yet, I choose my destination
To wash away the cracks
Of Destiny.

I am a broken vase,
Trying to survive,
To put my pieces together,
Only for you.
I know, beauty is long lost,
My marks will stand out
And humiliate me often.
Yet, I will contain your flowers
With utmost pride.

Picture taken from Google images

Reflections

The face tells a beautiful story,
A fantastical lie
That reflections care to ignore.
Fairytales decompose into cheap articles
On trampled newspapers.
Society screams, people shout,
The mirror stands tall,
Notices the unnoticeable,
Predicts the unpredictable,
Surmises hidden predicaments
And chooses to put a check
On reflections,
Only for those
Who are blinded by the sins
Of their deed,
The craving of their famished souls.
Some choose to see
The enthralling beauty
And set aside the rasping truth.
The rest become the mirror themselves
With their faces made of glass
And silver coating on their hearts,
To make sure that
The reflections never reach them.

This is a still from a short film.

Violence

The leaves rustled under the command
Of a known stranger,
The one who lashed the roads,
And drove away a cloud of dust,
Baring them to his harshness, 
And paid a tribute to the Night’s delineation
Of an upheaval in tranquility.

The sores on the exterior vanished
Before moisture could sympathize.
The catastrophe building up inside,
Far away from Sympathy,
Sought help from Empathy,
To which it’s access was denied.
A storm broke out in no time,
The dark Kohl lining agreed to succumb
To the rush of brine.

Unrest

Silence lost in the mystery of yesterday,
Narrates a story;
Surpassing the strict check of your armoured mind
I whisper into your ears,
Of dreamy mornings in the days of yore.
I hope you never heard the sound of my stealthy steps.
Not knowing who you were,
I spent hours basking in the mirth of an unplanned misery.
I hope you never felt the warmth of my palms,
My touch lacked the capacity to stir emotions.
My eyes never revealed anything without your permission,
The shine talked about the mischief of dust.
My lips never broke a promise
Even when I was breaking into pieces,
Dousing myself in the fire of agony,
All by myself.
I just hope that this is just a hope.

Twenty four on Twenty Fourth

Hiding behind the kitchen wall,
A chubby girl eats chocolates;
She sings all day and plays with a Barbie doll,
Her restless legs now refuse to crawl.
Two shiny ponytails swing turn by turn
As her head revolts against boredom
And moves back and forth;
She says annoyingly,
“How long do I wait for March 24?”

The years,
Unable to keep track of untold stories,
Reflected on her face with utmost honesty.
That smile now beguiled some of the shiniest stars in the sky,
The teary eyes plagiarized twinkling happiness
And died every moment in the fire of a new lie.
Her restlessness has succumbed to contemplative rantings,
Yet she has her childish ways of loving herself.
A daring sweetheart with a heart of straw,
She says,
“I turn twenty four and I’m bold.
Even by mistake, don’t call me old.”




P.S.: I just turned Twenty four today and I thought of treating myself with something unique and hence, this poem.

Who are you?

Who are you?
Somebody whom I think I know
Or just an imagination,
Who claims to know me?

Are you that unearthly tuft of grass,
Lying on the ground,
Years ago,
Seemingly real,
When I rewind, it reads,
“Error 404: File not found.”?

Are you an era,
Where parody becomes the new praise,
Clarity defines haze?
A face in the crowd that stands still,
And when I look around,
I fall prey to my demons again.

Who are you?
The face of the one I see,
And the soul of somebody I feel?
Do you know who you are?
Do you belong to this unreal reality?

Liberation

Hey, can you see?
The flowers of my presence,
Confide in your evening.
I try to stand strong,
Why do you shake me up?
Why do you make me sink?
Why do I die broke in your penury?

Hey, look up!
Will you please?
I see strangers,
People like you and me;
We stand quite,
They hit us like nobody.

Hey, don’t you worry!
By mistake,
I won’t tell you to anybody.
A battle you are,
Never to be fought.
I am lost in myself,
Liberated in your thought.