Showing posts from August, 2017

Being borne by the magic of an evening

How will it be if being borne
By an evening handsome and lone
Would I take the tune of a song
And glide over hills, plains and sea,
Making an enchanting melody?

70 years of Indian Independence

70 years of Indian IndependencePartition
The freedom brought many homes
It threw away many too
Out of homes;Sushwant was only eight
When trying to escape arson
And violence , she came across most horrendous things-
A mother asking her son to drown her in a river,
A small pond having corpses floating,
A woman cutting the cord that held her new born with a stick of sugarcane;Seventy years after Sushwant's eyes still hurt
And salty taste comes to her lips from eyes.The Gallery of hope: a locomotive trainIn one huge single frame the locomotive train stands,
Ready to go as if,
Smoke coming out of its nose,
Soon perhaps the rumble will be heard over the tracks,
Its roof has people- thousands sitting with tired
Yet  expectant looks,
Its windows have faces- innumerable.HEC 2M*
She had come from the kingdom
Dressed like a fairy,
Having a drum in her belly
To store memory
2 KB .
(*HEC2M : India's first computer imported from U.K.)

Madhavi spends her days well

Mornings Madhavi  spends well
Working at her (half) home
Making tea for her husband
And mother in law, cooking breakfast
And lunch for three,Afternoons she spends well
Working at the school -
Teaching children how to spell words
And draw alphabets on blackboards,Evenings she spends well too-
Returning home ,cooking food  for her husband and mother in law ,
No children she has got,Only after dinner,
When she goes to bed,
She stays awake till her husband pounces upon her
Eats her mouth and exchanges her saliva
With his,
Then she is pounded wild,
Pounded and at last thrown
With a curse,  let out  in a hushed tone-
'saali ' Madhavi spends her days well;Only she wears a curse
Under her blouse,
Somewhere near her left nipple,
A deep cut mark-
As if a mark has been made upon a barren land, forever.

Delhi the grand old woman

Delhi, the grand old woman .Delhi comes to me
With the scent of my granny
Old and bearer of all that
Our ancestral house at Daryaganj stood for-
Books everywhere,
Piles of them on desks and floor,Then a little moving away from there
Will put me invariably at entry points
Of galis and kuchas- several of them;
Modernity has installed cables all over the city
They hang like loose strings of memory linking the old with the new,But given the chance to go astray,
I would choose the old galis sure
And dip my nose and fingers and soul
At Batashe wali or Anwar Ali,
The wooden brackets with ornate designs upon them at the havelis would filter rays of twilight sun
Upon the dusty floor
And I would perhaps sit with Mirza Ghalib saab in his last haveli
At Ballimaran;Given the chance
I would stop for a while at Behram Khan Tiraha and admire the peepul tree there
Majestically guarding the three lanes running to three different directions,
Given a chance,
I would take the hand of my granny
And si…
এখন যখন তুই আছিস্ পরবাসে
আর আমি হট্টমেলার দেশে
তোকে না দেখেই কাটাতে পারি অক্লেশে
মুখ গুজে উপন্যাসে
গোটা এক প্রেমের মরসুম, (তারপরেও এপিলোগ যাবে রয়ে)
তোর জানালায় ভরা দিন সয়ে সয়ে,
এক শ্রাবণ কি দুই আশ্বিন,
আরও বছর তিন,তারও পর তুই হবি মিউস
আর আমি ?
আরেক প্রমিথিউস, (মাটি থেকে গড়ব মানুষ
একে একে গরম লোহা
আর হাপরের টানে,) আসবে ঠিক জিউস
সাথে পান্ডোরা
আরও কিছু বছর যাবে কেটে
আরও কিছু শহর হবে ঘোরা, (তারপর একদিন দেখবি ঠিক)
কেমন যাবে মিলে সব
তোর পরবাস
আমার শৈশব,হারানো যা কিছু
দেখিস কেমন নেবে পিছু
জানলা ভরা দিন
(তোর সিল্হূট
আমার পাতায়
তোর আঁচোড়ের টান,)
এক শ্রাবণ কি দুই আশ্বিন।

Almost everyday I fall in love!

Almost everyday I fall in love!Almost everyday do I fall
In love quiet consuming my all,
The morning when breaks
And helps me to wake
I fall in love then just by peering out
Of the window watching blooms sprout,
They oft do swing in mild breeze
By their fragrance they do me tease,
Then the day rolls out like a film can
Vibrant colorful filled with characters,
They come and go, talk to me,
They laugh, they sob, they also be happy,
The afternoon always leaves her music,
It to my ears and heart and mind sticks,I watch how simply my love spreads
In the eyes of my girl, on her lips red,
I see how the afternoon wanes to dusk
How it paints me with love unasked,
I think I see the sky then draped in color
Of my love surely by then merged with her,
I look at her completely bowled over,
I worship then my divine lover,The twilight whence turns into night
I see how she wears stars twinkling bright
Upon her body, her lovely enchanting figure
How then my prayers turn little and meagre
Compared to …
সন্ধ্যারাগ হলে শেষ,
তোর মুখে আলোর রেশ,
আমি ভাবি কোথায় রাখি
এমন আদুরে আবেশ।
First time whence I got near you
Got the smell of lemon leaves,
Sweet and juicy ,
It was the season of summer
The paddy fields looked ripe and golden
And bees hummed in bushes and trees
Singing songs of fruitification,
Next came monsoon and you turned green valley of flowers
Filled with morning mist and evening drizzles,
In the afternoon I heard the fresh murmur of leaves,
They whispered how my name, to  you as I drifted, quite unknowingly,
In autumn the marigolds decked you,
And lotus too,
they kept on flowering
In you till winter came with roses and dahlias,
And fog drew a curtain over your body,
I had to grope in white blindness to reach your hands,
Till the spring came and cleared it all
Till I plunged more into love,
And became part of your changing myriad forms,  enchanting and boundless.
বিকেলের আলো আঁকে ছায়াপথ
ঘুম ঘুম শহরের শরীরে
নিঝুম আধোচেনা জনপদ
আমিও তুলে রাখি কুড়িয়ে,
(তোর সাথে দেখা নেই একযুগ
তবু তোর মুখ খুজি রোজ রোজ
সূর্য তাই দেখে বুঝি দেয় ডুব
মেঘেদের কাছে চলে তোর খোঁজ,)
বিকেলের আলো বড় মায়াবী
শহরও জানে তা আলবাৎ
তাই সে মেখে নেয় যত পারে
আমিও ভরে নিই দুই হাত,
(তোর সাথে কথা নেই আট মাস
তবু তোর কথা শুনি বাতাসে
বিকেলের আলো বড় মায়াময়
ছায়াছবি এঁকে চলে আকাশে)।

Hiroshima 1945, mother and child

After the giant mushroom looking thing
Came down on the ground settling,
And grass and trees were not anymore there
To live and burn , sustaining the fire,
The child opened his tiny dreamy eyes
Only to find how his mother told him lies,The night like day had swept off everything
His little toys, his cot and that lovely swing,
And his mother only told him it was a new magic
To find broken houses, jutting pillars and sooty bricks,All around them a curious spectacle,
Blankness and blackish void how fell
And made them all the more alone,
Only living things , amidst ruins,
Only moving things in a necropolis.

A rather imaginary tale of a king and his state

Once there lived a king who governed a quasi democratic state with his train of courtiers and men. The state being quasi democratic , it had a system in place which gave the citizens of that state the right to select the king and his men.
The king , a great man with great ideas thought of giving people of the state special privileges hitherto unheard of.
For example after attaining kingship he declared  to his people ' There will be soon great days knocking at the door of you , my loyal and trusted friends'.
Everyone was seemingly pleased to hear such words from the king.
Afterall when the king had declared something it was bound to happen.
People clapped . Some shouted applause. Some turned themselves hoarse by praising the king.
After few days indeed everyone heard knocking at the doors, often at wee hours.
King's men came. They gave away sealed boxes.
Upon opening those boxes they found pieces of paper which had king's words written on them.
'Great days knoc…