Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The Rain Kissed Eyes


It is one of those rainy nights of Kolkata.
The city almost trembled in the storm now drenched in the rain.
And as the ripe evening slowly transformed into night the shades of the city became strangely quiet.
Almost an eerie silence came to reign.
Like an unexpected visitor on the road the last tram stopped and the bell ringing as if to notify the symbol of life in the roads which are prominent for hassles and hazels.
Instead a strange vapour of rain illuminating in the air.
The wind though inviting with her body full of wet droplets just like a woman coming out all wet with only her gown covering her naked body.
The gown can cover all but not her fragrance.
Here too the winds spreading in her own the scent of the night.
I walked through the known roads.
Through those streets where I shared all my emotion from childhood to my youth.
The very street knew when I first wrote my first poetry.
The day when I first kissed my love.
The night when I lost my father.
The moment my first poetry published.
Also those innumerable moments when I walked through it with different emotions..sometimes of sorrow sometimes of deadly struggle..sometimes again of dreams..often in a mood of unexplainable shades can be termed as daily chores.
The street knows me all.
And then the lane.
The street lamps though in the haze of rain now glowing in a sudden excitement of seeing a known face.
The shadow of the trees kissing the street lamp.
The shadow of twinkling lanes falling on pitch coloured road often broken with a perturbed map of open potholes.
From where the rainwater now swirling in.
The trees looking green.
Fresh.
The known houses of neighbor all with windows closed or half open.
There is hardly any sound.
Except the roaming stranger.
The rain.
The sky though full of clouds.
Lightning flashing in regular intervals.
Beside the tea stall of Tapan the row of garaged rickshaws.
One rickshaw puller sleeping within the shade itself.
The street dogs sheltering in some cosy place.
No cars moving.
No bus.
The last tram has gone.
As I am the last passanger of the last tram.
There is my house.
Just a feet away.
But I stopped.
As my eyes fell upon a different picture.
For the first time I am seeing a man sleeping in the verandah.
Where every day at what hour may he dozes off sitting.
With his begging bowl.
Bairagi!
We call him by that name.
I started walking again but turned back.
I can see that in this different night when the whole city came to standstill struck by torrential rain and thunder a man..who never managed to sleep..has found his most treasured gift..
The sleep of the night.
And with each drops of rain kissing the trembling eyelids of the beggar Bairagi it looks like the rain has given him back
Almost a comfort and a break away from all his pains and troubles..
And may be..
The homeless shelterless Bairagi seeing his long accumulated dreams through the soft touch of rain!
I only uttered slowly..
'Sleep Bairagi..sleep!'

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

The Boy on the Ancient Route

I was on my way to Ajanta.


It was a cloudy morning with hints of rain. Though sometime the sun breaking away within the flocks of clouds.

Seated inside the Maharastra Tourism AC bus and a comfortable push back seat our journey started well.

And soon I was in my wanderlust mood.

As the bus went through the green hills brown road and scattered jungles and dispersed villages allong the roadway..a sense of lonely romanticism gripped me.

The village people who look at our bus in amazement and some smiled..the children who ran along the road with torn clothes..the numerous frquent fruit sellers who lined by with heaps of green fruits locally called as'Aata'..and they are tasty indeed!

The bus went on along the old route through which the traders went on trading with their commodities thousand of years ago.

And I felt a strange happiness when I stepped in this road.



The bus stopped near a remote village for a tea break.

Our bus which is almost full of foreigners and they started clicking their handycam.

And there I found a boy sitting in the red soil with heaps of pictures.

Along with the tourists I went towards him.

Oh! What brilliant pictures they are!

They resemble the pictures of walls of Ajanta no doubt but they look like so real.

And the colours are so lively too.

The foreigners went towards him and ask the price of the paintings.

But a strange answer came.

'No Memsahib! These are not for sale!'

I got amazed too.

'Then?'

I asked the question.

'For my own enjoyment I draw Sahib!'

And the boy hardly twelve years took out the brush and started painting again.



It was time.

The bus sounded horn.

We went off.



Next was the surrender to the caves of Ajanta.

Where the experience was almost an obsession..where the heads bow down in respect of those great artists..those genius of forgotten days..those souls who once gathered here and left their marks in curves and drawings of immortal eternity.

As we witness a creation which in all sense greater than life.

And we all like speechless wanderers realized the level of art which ancient India..these artists once reached would never be able to reach again!

Such was the class.

Such was the work that we saw in Ajanta and the last day in Ellora.

It was our surrender of our everything and for a moment being free from all our desires and comforts to feel that this is what ancient India is and this is where the lost civilisation still bear its magnificience and granduer.

And we all kept silent.

And seeing the beauty my eyes almost came full of tears!



And I silently pay my homage to those souls and that Prince who became a greatest monk and achieved all and changed the world in thoughts in ideas and attainment and sole meaning of life.



It was around four o clock our bus started again for the return journey.



I still in that mood of submission to timeless creation kept quite.

And as the bus went on I closed my eyes.



Suddenly I saw within my closed eyes a painting.



Lord Buddha in Padmapani position while preaching.



And beside that I saw a painting which look like a continuation of that frescoes.

Which according to history of Ajanta long got eroded from the walls of the caves.

And which no books can capture and which Nandalal Basu a pioneer of Indian art along with Abanindranath Tagore cannot capture.



Then how that painting can?

I opened my eyes.



I remember three paintings which are nothing but continuation of the frescoes.



I ran to the driver.

And asked him to stop at the same place where the bus halted for in the morning..for tea break.

'But why?'

'Please..I beg to the driver..'For five minutes.'

The driver agreed.

The place was almost twenty kilometres from Ajanta.

And after almost half n hour we reached there.

I jumped off from the bus and ran towards the tea stall.

But there was no boy sitting on the red soil now.

I went to the tea stall.

'Where was that boy?'

'Which boy?' The shopkeeper said in local hindi.

'The boy who was painting here.'

'No idea Sir. He for the last one week came here. I do not said anything as tourists got attracted towards him. And my business increased too.'

'Do you know where he stays?'

'No Sir!'

'Do any more village here?'

'There are many..but all scattered Sir..and no body knew that boy Sir!'

I have no more questiones.

Or I have too many to ask.



But the bus driver gave horn.

And the tourists looking towards me in a strange way as if I am gone off my head.

I walked and got in the bus.

And the bus started.



I came back to my hotel in Aurangabad.

But went on thinking about those paintings.

How can a village boy draw such paintings the continuation of the frescoes which itself got eroded by time?

How?

And where from that boy got so lively colours?

And why he did not sale any of his paintings?



Questiones came. No answers.



Next morning I again made a trip to Ajanta.

This time also the boy was not found.

Though one guide of Archaeological Survey of India said he saw the boy moving towards the hills in Ajanta.

But I do not found him,

Not within any cave too.

Next day I went again.

The result was same.

And one security guard of Cave 1 said me..'He can be a village boy..many are there who do such paintings in order to sale them to tourists..to earn dollars!'

But how will I make him understand that boy did not agreed to sale his painting too!

And his painting was not of ordinary type!



I never found that boy.

I still think about him. His paintings.

May be he is a special talent.

May be he is a village boy who came here while roaming and may be once saw the paintings and then drew from his imagination.

May be within the colours he has used some special leaf juice which once those old artists used thousand years ago.

I often think to visit again Ajanta.

As I still believe that boy still roaming somewhere along the caves and the unforgettable frescoes.

And sometime again I think..

in silent midnight that..

May be it is all dream..

Or may be..may be..

And in shiver I think..

That may be by some blessings of those great artists and the Wanderlust Prince..

I am able to see..

The lost part of the frecoes..

Through the paintings of that boy..



I also think and believe..

Let there be something which remains unknown to human beings..

We have learnt may be too much..

Let there be some more questiones..

Let there be some more unsolved answers..

Let there be some more mysteries..

Remain..to make mankind inquisitive....



I know I will never be able to forget and would love to remember..

Those paintings of frecoes..

Which were made..

By a boy on the ancient route!

Monday, April 18, 2011

The Song and the Souls

I saw her standing beside the river.


Again. And at the same moment of midnight.

The earth seem to be shimmering with moonlight.

The wind in a bit of rush.

Clouds in a mood of roaming.

And the whole city asleep.

City? Must be an exhaggeration.

It was once upon a time a city.

Now a fragments of broken dreams.

But seeing the lady tonight I cannot help to proceed towards her.

I have to know the reason.

Why a lady would stand by the riverside at this hour of night?

And for three consecutive days?

Why?



And just as I removed my shoes and stepped in the brown sand I found a sharp sound.

The sound from the passing wind.

The clouds moving fast.

Stars twinkling as if in rising hope.

Hope of what?

The lady answering?

I slowly came and stood beside her.



And before I open my lips the lady turned towards me.

And kept her finger over her lips.

A sign.

Of keeping silent.

I would anyway be silent.

Seeing her.

She is beautiful.

And much more than her.. Her beauty is innocent.

I cannot remember when last I have seen such a beauty.

A sacred beauty.



At that moment as I looked towards the river a pecuiliar thing happened.

The wind picked up.

And a strange noise started floating in the air.

A noise which resembles the sound of whistle.

A noise which also reminds one of a tune.

A tune in a flute.

But from where?

That sound originated?



As if it is the only begining of obsessed amazement the lady standing beside me opened her lips.



'Can you hear it?'

I nodded. 'Yes but where from it can come?'



The lady kept silent.

Between two of us as if linking the missing words the wind flow again.

With that sound of flute.

I stared at the river.

The river in moonlight looking like a gorgeous lady.

As if in her gentle waves she is writing on her own the curve and designs of the wind.

The transperent water droplets and broken waves carrying shadows.

Shadows of far across the lonely topography.

Far across the shades of the mountains.

The pictures of the sleeping city.

The images of the long time forgotten city.

I am about to get lost in an invitation of a different world and its different preoccupations and vanities with cherished acceptance of eternity when I came to conciousness.

As the lady beside me speak out.



'It is for three days I landed in this remarkable land in this part of South India and as I stay in a camp resort across the river I came for a stroll..across the river.

And that very first day..I found within the scattered ruins and the rocky terrain the river singing for me..this lovely song..a song which can be of no one but the river.

'The river?'

I asked in surprise.

'What else?'

I could not answer. Then said,

'I am searching.'

'I already searched and now got confirm.It is the offerings of the river herself.'

'But how is it possible?'

I asked.



The lady now looked at me with her bright big eyes. And in those eyes I found something more than obsession..may be within shining the joy of finding the answer..the joy of seeing her own perception..in the light of truth.'

'This is your first day..right.She said.'But I for the last three days came and stood for two hours. And I can found the river whispering in my ears..those untold stories..those unshared moments..those forgotten days..those betrayals..those signs of life which all..one day thrived..with all their dreams..smiles happiness and pains..and then one day at their one destined moment everything got extinct..all came to an end..a chapter of history came to be created and the present moments got framed into pages of past..this is life..isn't it?'



I forgot to answer.

As the lady before me said not only the truth but exactly those words by which I describe life..those belief..by which I trust life..those images by which I portray life.

I accepted.

'You are right.'

The lady again kept her eyes on me.

'You are right too. As in the world of reason this sound of flute..can not be possible.'

'Yes now I added. This sound can be the work of many things..the friction of wind..the flow of the river..the depth of the rocky valley..the sounds of the sleeping city and it all combines to present this sound.'



'Exactly.But it is needed for both of us to look at life at reality from the other side..in different eyes with a open heart and belief. Thus I can come here at this point of midnight.

At this place beside the river.

And can hear the song.'



'I have seen you for the last three nights here. Today I decided to ask you the reason.'

I said.

'So you found it?'

'Yes. And along with that I found something special.A gift of life. Which I would never had found sitting in the hotel. As if listening the song I went through the lost pages of time.I have only two words to say you.'

The lady looked at me.

'Thank You!'



And then after we kept silent.

Any other night any other place sitting beside a beautiful lady in a moonlit night riverside..our conversation would continue.

But not tonight.

We kept seated there for a long time.

No one calculated time.

No one counted moments.

No one felt embarassed.

No one felt insecured.

And noone asked each other their names..their identity.

Two stangers kept on seating side by side.

Unmoved.

Without words.

And between them continued the song of the river.

As if the most natural sound in the city of forgotten souls.

And at one moment the lady touched my hand.

I shivered.

I trembled.

Within a mystical night and a mysterious tune in an abandoned city of dreams in rocks..suddenly I felt that the earth ..the very old earth has got back to her primitive days..

Her ancient moments..

And we..sitting like two souls..

And between us the wheels of eternity rolled on..

And in this moonlit night..

Cool wave of wind..

Dwindling lights across the thatched huts..

And a strange smell of the river soil..

A man and woman seated with hands touched..

Or are we the shadows of the first men and women born in this earth?

Along the ancient bed of a fertile river?

And is it we are on the forgotten city of lost dreams..

Or is it we are on the..

Brink of a new civilisation to begin!





Monday, April 11, 2011

The Note of a Whimsical Poet

Poetry..I gave you my dreams of closed eyes..




Poetry..I gave you the distance of the night..



Poetry..I gave you the tired walk of the lost traveller..



Poetry..I gave you the silence of the forgotten days..



Poetry..I gave you the sleepless nights..



Poetry I gave you the whistle of the last train..



Poetry..I gave you the sudden wind of a golden afternoon..



Poetry..I gave you..the first storm..



Poetry..I gave you the virgin smell of the young river..



Poetry..I gave you the litted fire..of the funeral pyres..



Poetry ..I gave you..the dwindling boat on a wrteched port..



Poetry..I gave you..the alone walk through the lost city..



Poetry..I gave you..the smile of that roadside beggar..



Poetry..I gave you..those evenings in moonlit Taj..



Poetry..I gave you..those forbidden frescoes of a lonely Prince..



Poetry..I gave you the glamour of a bloodless sword..



Poetry..I gave you kiss of the waves along the thatched huts..



Poetry..I gave you..the song of the Bhopas along the corridors of palaces..



Poetry..I gave you..the scenes of ecstatic city..



Poetry..I gave you..my own moments..of different shades..



Poetry..I gave you the the signs of a lost river..



Poetry..I gave you..my walk along the foggy station..



Poetry..I gave you..my surrender to Rabi Thakur..



Poetry..I gave you..my all evils and angry moments..



Poetry..I gave you all..



Poetry..I gave you all..



Poetry..I gave you my all births within that one death..



Poetry.. I gave you..my all deaths..within the shadow of my first birth!



.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

My Shades My City

It is a city which is different..


A City which first broke its barriers..

When I hold father's hand n got the first view of the Victoria Memorial..

It is a city which saw my shades of adoloscence..my obsessions..my submissions..

It is a city which silently made me adult..and taught the bitter lies and ..the pure truth..

It adored me with a different fragrance of her beauty..

Sometime..in the early mornings..

Sometime..in the cozy afternoon..

Sometime in the bride kiss light of twilight..

Sometime in an open spirit of a windy evening..

Sometime..in silence of the moonlit night..

It is a city which also gave me the first glimpse of death..

I lost my father..

And then again..

The very city broke my shades..

I became more adult..

Simple faces became masked ones..

Unknown faces..became known..

And then..at one gorgeous afternoon..

I saw trembling of eyelids..

Movement of rosy lips..

I saw her..

I found..I knew..I became the King..

As the city gave me my love..



....It is a city also where I found myself..

Lost myself..

Again found myself..

Like the wings of Phoenix..



And gradually one day I found the youth within me..

Has slowly turned in the whiskers of the city into a man..



And a game of hate and love still continues..

As each day..each moment..

I miss the city..

Where I laughed..

Where I smiled..

Where I cried..

Where I kissed..

Where I danced..

And where I wrote..



And found words..

In all moments of existence..struggles and despair and ecstacy..

Thus I often see now quite far away..

Images of the city and myself..

Running within the rain..

Standing beneath a moonlit sky..

The whistle of a nightbird..

My silent whispers with my creation..

Often alone in a bustop..

The last Rickshaw on the shadowed road..

The first bell of a morning Tram..

The football playing boys in mud..

The first Norwester..

The 25th Day of Baisakh..

The trip to Jorasanko..



And the days of inner struggles..

And those days..









When I feel those daily afternoons when I in a joy filled heart returned everyday from Sunilda's house..

With a feeling which I only can feel and yet can never be described..



I saw all..

I faced all..



And yet I miss that city..

The very special city..



A city of Rabindranath..

A city of Satyajit Ray..

A city of Bibhutibhusan..

A city of Nillohit..



And my city..

Named Kolkata..



which I really miss

But still each moment feels..



As the city turned myself into what I am..

And gave me..

My love..

My words

And my different shades!

.

Friday, April 1, 2011

The Letter To Noone

Sometime I think about the Postman.


Who goes on searching letters stamping them and then looking for unknown houses at distant zones and posting them often in the post box or by getting an welcome smile from the host himself.

From very childhood I am fascinated by the person who bring me letters and as then our boundary seem to be a very narrow one..he appeared to me in those days of less globalised world..a person who by walking or through his cycle had seen enough part of the world and can go to those parts where I can never imagine also.

Well..it's a child's fascination..

As the life of a real postman seems boring and hazzled one..but somehow as I grew old the basic spirit for which I like postman..crept in me.

As I have a great thirst too to explore the world.

Meet different people.

And step in different places.



And as I got stationed to far off places due to my work demands..I sometime feel..that somewhere in an invisible postbox..I am also collecting mementos of different addresses..unknown letters..people of various shades..and some traces of lost homes and new spirits..

And obviously I remember about Rabindranath Tagore's 'Postmaster'..when I am too sent off to unknown places..



There are many dissimilarities but somewhere there is an internal similarity..



And it is by these my different strata of thoughts and whims that I started now loving the place where I am.

..This became more true in that night..

It was a night after a couple of days after Holi.

The air still smells gullal or abir..and the spring in all its signs making it's arrival.



And there was suddenly power off.

It seems a long one.

I after my dinner went out for a walk.

The street quite empty.

The shops getting closed.

A very faint moonlight trying to adore the night but soon it lost all its glow..as flocks of clouds came swarming in from no where.

I was still walking.

Some bikes some cycles passed.

And then I stopped before the level crossing.

The crossing is closed as a train must be coming.

Within the total black topography of a power off area only the red signal can be seen like an unperturbed invitation.



At that moment the wind arose..

A fierce wind..

A swarm of dust swept the earth..

Almost making my eyelids closed..

And then a striking blue lightning in the sky..

And within my trembling eyes I saw the red signal now turned yellow..

The train coming..

And then as if by a magic of a great magician..

I found the rain drops..

And the train..

Running in..from distance..

Throught the white light of the train..the rain drops look like silver droplets..

Which were pouring in..

In strings of happiness..



The train came..

Along the rain..

And from somehow in the background..

Someomeoned laughed loud..

Like a cry..

of a Forgotten soul..

Or the sound of an ecstacy..

And then the train passed..

Then sounds came to halt..

Then silence..

Except the soothing drops of rain..which now not in a mood of plunder but of tender touch..

Far across the the shaking leaves..the glowing dimmy candle and hurricane lights in the roadside houses can be seen..

Like trembling lamps..



And what remaining at last..

The fading away light of the gone train..

The soaked wind..

And the whistle of a night bird..



I stood alone there..

Completely wet..

After a while I started walking..within the rain..beneath the cloudy sky..

And as I walked in the rain towards my temporary home..

I realised one truth..

There are two shades of life..

One the real life..

One..the fantasy life..



And somehow the line between the two strata got crossed a moment ago..

And in those fraction of seconds..

I witness..

A moment of creation..

Creativity..in the mood of nature..

and thus I shivered..I trembled..

And as I opened the door of the house..

I found..

Some invisible Postman..

Has kept..an invisible letter..

In my mailbox..



Seated beside the window..as the rain kissed me all over..

I wrote in my diary..



'I am born within the midnight rain..cloud soaked winds..and the fragrance of soil..'!



.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

The Moment of Surrender






It is time..it is time..
To write those letters..those selected words..



Yet I am not writing..
As between the jingles of daily life and shadowed emotions..



As between the kept words and broken promises..
As within the invitation of Spring festivals and my unintentional rejection..



As I walk with cold eyes between the masked and taunting faces..
As I smile like a perfect corporate and work on with a hollow identity..



As each night I cry with painless tears of silence..
Scratching away in harsh to open the closed doors..



As I stand alone in the roof within a shimmering light of the moon..
As I search questiones whose answers everyone suppose to know..



Except me..



And then I laugh..with whims of a careless poet..



The moonlit silky wind kiss me at that very moment..
A night flower greets me with her virgin smell..



The night bird whistles along the call of the night train..
The designs of broken fragments of shadows of black and white..



And then everything pass by..
Another wind pass by..



The faint sound of the sleeping world..
Like untouched mysticism..



And I suddenly realise that I alone standing..
Like the first primitive soul of the primitive earth..



And it is time..
To speak..


The first word..
My lips opened..
And through the nemesis of wanderlust souls..



I wrote almost in trembling fingers..
The first letter of the first word..
Of the first poetry..



It is time..it is time..it is time....









Monday, March 14, 2011

The Quest

..I am still in search of that river..


That river beside which I found the first touch of words..

In a shiver of concious reincarnation..

I still remember that very night..that night of honeysoaked moonlight..

Those passing flock of clouds in an air of fantacised butterflies..

Some unnoticed journey of whims..some whisper of blushing sounds..

..The moments of surrender when I dare to..

Dream within dreams..within dreams..

Touch..within touch..

And words..within words..within..within..

It was the night when I felt myself unknown..and

May have uttered meaningless words..

Or really the first meaningful words in life..

As a silent transformation was there..

A Silent take over of solitude and eternal romance..

....Then after a tired journey of crossed roads..

For days..for months..for years..

I am standing here..

..It is time to find her..

The river again..

Alone with the river..

It is time..it is time..

Inspite of all the lustrous calls..of the broken world..broken images..

I for once..

Started walking..

For the quest of the river..

And then walked down on a completely wrong path..

Wrong path..

To meet..

Myself..once again!

.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Kritwibas

Sunil Gangopadhay wrote once about Kritwibas in his briiliant poem..




"....I found you within my adoloscence and youth..


within those daily morning and midnights....


Within all the chaos I can


trace..the invisible string..


I gave you the fragmented news of the paper and the monthly salary of Private Tution..I gave you my every drop of perspiration..


..Those irrelevant roamings of block and advertisement..


I gave you the heart beats of those young Poets..and their torn buttonless shirt..


I can still remember those College bunked afternoons..those hours when we kept seated in that old Press of Mohan Bagan lane for hours and hours..


....The pressowner with smile uttering' Don't smoke so much Charminar Khoka..you would smell like burning deadbodies!'


....In those days we often go to the Burning Ghat..


the Lightning Sarat..the mesmerising Shakti..and that dance of Sandipan..that dancing legs and the twist of eyes!....


Samarendra and Tarapada played hide and seek..and the open laughter of Utpal..


that shivered on the banks of the river..the rush of water..the sky covered in red dust of the red soil..


....The ten horizons trembled at the moment..


and then..and then..we singing our own personal national songs..marched on..walked on through the crosswinds..to a different lostworld of eternity..


perhaps to be lost and found again..again!


(Translated from original Bengali poem 'Kritwibas'.)



.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

The Invitation

I know that I have no invitation to your sacred darkness..


But still I with an ecstacy of a conqueror and lostness of a traveller

Walked on..and on..

The ten horizons trembled..

The naked white lightning strucked..

A storm like thousand horses swept away all..

And at last like the first gift of a reincarnated soul..

I kept standing..

Standing alone..

Through the wet winds

Beneath that Buddhist monastery..

And just after midnight love came and kissed me..

Only the whispering shadows linger by..linger by..

As blessings of an unuttered song!

Monday, February 28, 2011

The kiss..

Let a storm strike


the roots of this wretched old earth

Let the words fly..

The letters fly..

The tunes fly..

The gains fly

The pains fly..

The desires fly..

The rhythm fly..

The dreams fly..

Let the earth slowly moves towards destruction..

It is getting naked..naked

I will just..

Kiss your lips, my beautiful lady

As it is through them

The first drop of rain

Of a new earth

Would come..

Let me get wet..wet..wet..

Friday, February 18, 2011

Fragments of my Wanderlust mood : A compilation of Poetry

"I can feel the call of that ancient road where still the dusty grains of time whisper in the ears of roaming souls the granduer of the lost road and the urge to discover the traces..of shades of life and its reincarnated fragrance..








Like an homeless Prince with a worldly smile I each day leave the nemesis of uncherished dreams and search flashes of life within the call of the road..a call which from ancient time made me wanderlust..







Along the silence of midnight..as somewhere an empty boat dwindle in lonely air..as a night train halts in an remote soulless station..as the first touch of dew kiss the eyelids of a pavement beggar..as the invisible moments change shades within..I found..my old lost words coming back to me and whisper..across the coveted distance..of their rebirth..n my reincarnated poetry..







Sometime as I turn the pages of my poetry.. I found those old faded words offering me still..those sunny mornings..those lonely afternoon..those rainy evenings..those moments of sudden storm..those moonlit night..those first flash of dawn within the wings of night bird..the signs..that I could be noone..yet someone..







I walked through the foggy roads..hazy streets..dew soaked valleys.. rain washed lanes of a nostalgic shades and then I found the invitation written all over..to write some new words..which I wrote and gifted her..through a whisper of love..







By an urge of nemesis..by the first word ever uttered of the primitive earth..by the smile of the reincarnated monk..by the dreams of a lost horizon..by the walk along the lost harbour.. I found somewhere those unspoken words..untouched letters..it is time..it is time I should speak..to her..of love..







Back to the roots..as I walked from a life which offered me both sides of a coin..I faced it..with visible smile and invisible pain..and then walked on..as if with a wish of a river..urge of lost words..touch of the sea waves..dreams of an traveller..the silence of the night..by the simple road..along the moonlit tracks..and an air of a distant whistle..of a call..a call..







I gathered..the kiss of wind..the wandering drops of rain..the first touch of fallen leaf..the dew soaked eyes..the silence of the winter night..the song of a lost Baul along the red soil..the shadow by the river..the trembling lips..the warmth of words..the whisper of poetry..for you..for you....







I walked down the hills and came to a lonely station..covered with misty fog..a dimmy light on the shaded platform..a half slept stationmaster..the brushing wind..far across I could see the fragmented ruins..like an untouched fantasy..the shadows of past lingered on..as if this is indeed heaven..but at that time came the whistle of train and I stepped in..to life..







The promises made beneath the canopy of ageless star..the sleepless words born in the scent of midnight..the full moon over the garaged rickshaw..the brilliant laughter of the four youths along the foggy empty streets..the shadows under the streetlamps...and the dew soaked flight of the night birds..I saw all..I felt all..I wrote all..as poetry of moments..







The unknown words of the Persian frescoes.. on the Ashokan Pillars..the words of postures of fabled art of the shady caves..of the rock cut sculptures..the words..the hymns of the white bearded priest in a ruined temple..how much I uttered n I unuttered don't know..but I walked..in a rythm of light and dark..life and death..I searched myself within..being lost and found....







The misty fog..moonlit valley..the mirage of a desert..the last passanger of the last train..lost footsteps..the shadows of an empty busstop..the Sarenga player of the Rajasthani Bhopas..the songs of Tagore..the smell of the dew soaked nightbirds..the eyes of the reincarnated monk..the whistle of a night train..all came along the shades of night and kissed my dreams and I surrendered all..to my words..







I found those invisible words..written on the ancient gateways..uttered from the lips of the greatest monk..lost within the faded paintings of the abandoned caves..within the dagger of the silent sword..within the mediaval fragrance of the moonlit Taj..within the dance steps of the forgotten temple girls..within the shadow of the lost days in the mirror of the hilly river..







I walked along the silence of the night and found the moonlit ancient roads calling me like a light of an ageless star of horizon..a call which once made a Prince a monk..a call which make a confined soul out in the fresh air..a call which make a lonely traveller wander thru the ruins..a call which make a poet create words..for a poetry named life..







I found her on the thatched beach huts of coconut trees..thru the sacred chants of the Church..thru the arch shaped highway down town..thru the evening bar b que along the fire..by a sip of wine in the white sand..in some lost Mahals of a Rajasthani fort..in the twilight of sanddunes..in the frescos of lost caves..and in the mediaval fragrance of a wrecked inscriptions..searching me.. My words..my love..







A call of a distant place still I unvisited but through the signs of dream it offers a paradox of thoughts..the golden sand..a light house..the sea waves like a flash of white garlands..the bell of a night dinner along the beach huts..those dancing shadow of a couple..n the old boat man by the wrecked boat..with a wrinkled face n innocent eyes..as if..as if the face of God..







As I roam thru the lost city..I found a touch of a woman on my hand..who for ages loved me..who made me write for her always..who among the ruins portray our love as the greatest beauty of life..in her eyes I found those words which thousands desire to tell but still yet unuttered..n I found those..in my journey across the fragments of time with my beautiful wife!!







Far across the river I walked and saw..a canoe floating.. night air flowing brushing the smell of the lost ruins..the crecent shaped moon wandering at the wretched watch tower n there a mile away a lonely station sleeping..with a remote solitude..I wonder..if this silence is heaven n if not then how much distance left..of still unwritten words..







When I am alone with the midnight thoughts..the hazy street lamps..the departing last train..the call of the ancient roads..the wrecked dockyard..the moon kissed ruins..I walk on..as if in dream..soak in words..







As if by nemesis of ancient roads I am still wandering within the desolate lanes of an forgotten empire..n the unforgottable cave paintings..to pick up those unuttered unwritten signs..to be written in words..







Sometimes I feel that my journey of life is like an wanderlust monk who walk n walk..diminishes the distances n shades of day night n search smiles within the unknown cities n when alone create letters..of a different life..with love..







When i find myself alone in the silence of the night..I feel there exists an intimate relation between me n this very earth..it is by words..sheer words I can someday describe a journey of man again n again..being lost n found..







I listened laughter..I listened cries..I touched dew drops..I touched twilight..I shared the silence of night..I shared my just written words..







Within my two hands I can create a heaven through words and gift her who a long ago hold my hand in a busy coffee house in an golden evening..i can not make life worst but only beautiful for her..







As evening kissed the banks of the river here..somewhere again night is ready to kiss the sun..here all the windows are getting slowly shut.. somewhere doors are now wide open..somewhere silent tears..and somewhere a flash of magic smile on soft lips..







Sometime rain comes with the fragrance of early birth..sometime I search the lost river..sometime I feel like touching the wet wind..sometime I stand over the bridge and saw love and hatred lying aside..along the silence of the night n moon..







I saw heaven just a miles away but I came back as the earth called me with its midnight tears..lonely moonlight..the scent of dawn..song of a lonely Baul..the first drop of rain..n the mystery of her eyes..







I crossed the distance of the night..the whistle of a nightbird..the dimmy light of a lonely station..the figure of a walking man in his own moods..and the return of a forgotten song like silent tears in a midnight of rain..







As if walking along the river side..along the parallel rail tracks and a distant wooden bridge..I saw night waiting on the other side as at my end..evening slowly wither away..a wind soaked in rain greets me..in whisper of silence..







It is a strange feeling to be back in the known roads..may be all wd be same..or different..but may be I would be a bit changed man who will step on the known path with a bit more confidence and fear of loosing nothing..as I saw the opposite side of the coin.. named life..







As I crossed another day..the floating white clouds of the midnight..the distant whistle of a train..the fragrance of a new dawn..reminds..that I have to walk on..till that snowcapped summit..where may or may not I can step my foot one day..but I wd cross the distance between.."



Thursday, February 17, 2011

Whispering Shadows : Part1

Ramilla can recollect everything. Leaning on a back of a boat dug in sound she stood alone as a colourful evening approaches..in this fascinating spot where the blue river water and the green sea waves get mixed. This is an estuary where far across large ships are anchored far away..it is always a breath taking scene to see the river finally able to find him and jump with all her gains pains losses and love jump on the broad chest of the sea..she thought do the river after meeting him again after a period of fatigue and surrender can recognise him as the man he left..? Or he has changed somewhere?Or the sea now busy in some other attractions or found some new one?....The bubbling river water or the roaring sea waves gave no answer.. But still Ramilla remember evening..when she in one evening along with her group of friends came here for picnic and while in the exuberrance of youth while taking dip in the sea..suddenly a big wave hit her and she saw dark for a moment and the next moment she can see only water..water..water..and within seconds she have respiratory problems..and she started to faint..she forgot all the basics of swimming..and her body became stiff..her body became heavy and is gradually getting drowned ..when suddenly a watersport boat came around her and a man jumped and shouted..Open the eyes..open the eyes..Look here my hand..grab it..just grab it..I know you can..you surely can..I am here..I am here..and she grabbed the hand..and she took her within his hands and brought him on the shore..and before she fainted She heard..Lady..my name is Aryan! .............Ramilla took a long breadth...and then a red blush brushed in her cheek..as she remember that months later it is in these sands somewhere along a thatched hut Aryan first kissed her!..Hey Doctor..a shout came from back ..she turned round and saw her attendant. The patient has high fever and its increasing...Ramilla jumped on and in quick steps walked towards the home..She want only one thing in life. To cure Aryan and ask him one question one day seating beside him..with her deep eyes.. Do Aryan love her still? Contd.. The Letter.... The evening passed. The moments passed. The fragments of time carried on the wings of eternity passed. And like an uncherished picture of times immemorial..Ramilla kept seated beside the bed of Aryan. Whistles of a ship trooted the air..sea waves crashed against the shore..boat men got busy entertaining the tourists..the flashes of camera can be seen..a kid flew away in the purple coloured sky..a bunch of red balloonds and then clapped..the old wrinklefaced man along the wrecked boat sat n kept stitching the damaged fish net..within his squeezed skin and brown lips a smile drawn..the light house started offering the signal to the lost soul..in the mid ocean..the pleasant winds visited the sandy beach n roamed..a group of tourist found it as the right time to enjoy a foot massage along with beer..and quite near..very near to Ramilla's eyes..the sheets of a calender kept flying in wind as if making her go back..back to those golden days..as a drop of tear came through her eyes and dropped in her kurta..she again touched her hand on Aryan's forehead and found it heated..fever is still high..inspite of the medicines..the fever is not decreasing..the Doctor came again and said its a kind of shock and carelessness to the body and foodless survival of some days that made this disease..Ramilla kept on looking at Aryan's face and prayed..come back..come back..Aryan..plz ..I want to hear your voice..plz..plz..Why you tortured yourself so much for coming back to me..why?Am i so special? And if so then why at that moment we got parted?..Ramilla kept on looking..from evening Aryan spoke three times..like a broken series of a letter..I WOULD BE BACK..I AM COMING..RAMILLA! RAMILLA! and then again lost away...Now with a trembled hand Ramilla kept her fingers on Aryan's body..on his hair..his face..and while buttoning his one unbuttined bound he found that in his pocket there is a sheet of paper..she got curious and brought it out and in a whisker read it..it was written................... I will be back Ila..forgive me..Aryan.... Ramilla's fingers again trembled..her whole body took a stir..and then like a waterfall she boke away and thought..The river is lost! No more the sea can recognise her.It is time for the sea for a story of a new river! Ramilla kept on crying. But what she thought about Aryan, the man fighting with shock and amnesia knew deep within his sleep of lost senses.... That it is wrong. Seriously wrong.








..Ramilla seated on the sand like a wax statue when winds kissed her..and the sea waves gradually came and make her toe wet..then she suddenly got a touch on her shoulder..Ramilla jumped on and then she found that there is standing no one but Aryan himself!







For a moment Ramill's face brightened..then she recollected the letter and her face again dark..and at that moment Aryan sat beside her and said.."Can you tell me Madam..where I am..where I am exactly..I went in search of someone..someone..whom..Oh God..I cannot remember anything..what,s her name? And how I came here..just here..madam..can you can you help me..I need to find her..find her..and suddenly he caught Ramilla's hand without any notice and fell down on her lap and lost senses again!Ramilla almost in a shock started shivering..the wind appearing very sharp to her..as if with teeth..and Ramilla realised that Aryan has got memory loss..how terrible..and he forgot all about her periodical grief and kept her red lips on the forehead of Aryan..saying..It is me Aryan..it is me..your Ramilla..whom you are searching she is here..I am here..open your eyes..sweetheart..open your eyes!..But Aryan gave no answer.Ramilla saw that Aryan is lying on her lap and his lips are over the locket..as if..as if..Aryan is kissing it!

The Letter..the locket and the loss! (Contd..)

The Letter.... The evening passed. The moments passed. The fragments of time carried on the wings of eternity passed. And like an uncherished picture of times immemorial..Ramilla kept seated beside the bed of Aryan. Whistles of a ship trooted the air..sea waves crashed against the shore..boat men got busy entertaining the tourists..the flashes of camera can be seen..a kid flew away in the purple coloured sky..a bunch of red balloonds and then clapped..the old wrinklefaced man along the wrecked boat sat n kept stitching the damaged fish net..within his squeezed skin and brown lips a smile drawn..the light house started offering the signal to the lost soul..in the mid ocean..the pleasant winds visited the sandy beach n roamed..a group of tourist found it as the right time to enjoy a foot massage along with beer..and quite near..very near to Ramilla's eyes..the sheets of a calender kept flying in wind as if making her go back..back to those golden days..as a drop of tear came through her eyes and dropped in her kurta..she again touched her hand on Aryan's forehead and found it heated..fever is still high..inspite of the medicines..the fever is not decreasing..the Doctor came again and said its a kind of shock and carelessness to the body and foodless survival of some days that made this disease..Ramilla kept on looking at Aryan's face and prayed..come back..come back..Aryan..plz ..I want to hear your voice..plz..plz..Why you tortured yourself so much for coming back to me..why?Am i so special? And if so then why at that moment we got parted?..Ramilla kept on looking..from evening Aryan spoke three times..like a broken series of a letter..I WOULD BE BACK..I AM COMING..RAMILLA! RAMILLA! and then again lost away...Now with a trembled hand Ramilla kept her fingers on Aryan's body..on his hair..his face..and while buttoning his one unbuttined bound he found that in his pocket there is a sheet of paper..she got curious and brought it out and in a whisker read it..it was written................... I will be back Ila..forgive me..Aryan.... Ramilla's fingers again trembled..her whole body took a stir..and then like a waterfall she boke away and thought..The river is lost! No more the sea can recognise her.It is time for the sea for a story of a new river! Ramilla kept on crying. But what she thought about Aryan, the man fighting with shock and amnesia knew deep within his sleep of lost senses.... That it is wrong. Seriously wrong.








..Ramilla seated on the sand like a wax statue when winds kissed her..and the sea waves gradually came and make her toe wet..then she suddenly got a touch on her shoulder..Ramilla jumped on and then she found that there is standing no one but Aryan himself!







For a moment Ramill's face brightened..then she recollected the letter and her face again dark..and at that moment Aryan sat beside her and said.."Can you tell me Madam..where I am..where I am exactly..I went in search of someone..someone..whom..Oh God..I cannot remember anything..what,s her name? And how I came here..just here..madam..can you can you help me..I need to find her..find her..and suddenly he caught Ramilla's hand without any notice and fell down on her lap and lost senses again!Ramilla almost in a shock started shivering..the wind appearing very sharp to her..as if with teeth..and Ramilla realised that Aryan has got memory loss..how terrible..and he forgot all about her periodical grief and kept her red lips on the forehead of Aryan..saying..It is me Aryan..it is me..your Ramilla..whom you are searching she is here..I am here..open your eyes..sweetheart..open your eyes!..But Aryan gave no answer.Ramilla saw that Aryan is lying on her lap and his lips are over the locket..as if..as if..Aryan is kissing it! ..................................Suddenly a big rush of sea waves touched the shore..literally it broke down on the back of Ramilla ..her kurta got all wet..and more than that it made Aryan wet too..and suddenly..There is a jerk in his body n his lips shivered ..trembled n there are words..Ramilla took Aryans head in two hands and he can hear Aryan saying like a whisper..Ramilla is it you? The world became again lighted for her. She forgot everything and kissed the lips of Aryan uttering..I am Ramilla..yes I am..Aryan tried to open the eyes but cannnot only eyelids half open..said again..Is it Ramilla..is it her fragrance?Ramilla now cried again and hugged Aryan..and said..I am here..open your eyes Aryan..n its me..only me....But Aryan is quite again. And he has again lost sense.....Sea waves came..birds came to their nest..ships started playing cruise and night slowly sheltered herself on the beach. Ramilla kept on seating..alone..like a woman of paradox..who found and lost love at the same time.....to be contd. *********************** It is a beautiful sunny morning. Wind gentle, waves asif crystal clear, sky shining with threat of no clouds. Ramilla however in her heart confused and hopeful at the sametime. As Aryan came to conciousness three times and then again lost it....it may be to her for the shock..and coming back of memory is a good sign..now she dressed in a red skirt n yellow top came out of the house and at that moment the postman called her.. A letter for you lady! The postman came smiling and handed her the letter..and seeing the emblem and the subject of the letter Ramilla lost all words..the letter came from U.S...from University of Michigan and it deals about her dream project of Doctorate..which she applied six months back with no hope of acceptance..but it has been accepted..an unbelievable thing like a pebble turning to gold..Ramilla has been asked to join within two weeks time and to send it by one da the acceptance offer of the Fellowship proposal..and as Ramilla totally confused stood still a voice came from her back..Good Morning charming lady..can you recognise me? Ramilla turned around and saw a man..an old man..who bear a smile in his face with his eyes dancing..And then he said again.. The Man with the Felt Hat is back lady..oh daughter can I have a cup of coffee? Ramilla stood still confused much more than earlier and she smiled towards the man..though thinking deeply..how many surprised life awaits her at the same time? And what she would do now..At one side..the fellowship proposal..secondly Cornel Tod a father like man who gave her shelter here when she was all alone n lost..coming back..and on the other side..like a smile of destiny stands Aryan..her love! Now which one..which one would Ramilla accept? She tried to find the answer in the glorious sunshine.But alas! No answer came.

Colonel Tod speaks..(Contd.)

In afternoon Colonel Tod sat in his arm chair with a glass of chilled beer. A pleasant wind is blowing, the sounds of the hub of the nearby beach bisected the air, the sun shining though it has lost its heat. Ramilla also seated opposite to her in a cushioned chair. She trying to act happy as this old man meant a lot in her life......'I want to tell you a story Ramilla' Tod said. Ramilla smiled. May be PaaI hava also a story to tell you. 'She is a quick decision maker.She decided to open the story of Aryan before him and lets see what are his viewpoints. 'But you should begin first Paa' said Ramilla ..Paa denotes an alias of Papa.. Tod sipped the beer and started' 'Well my daughter, I should say that after retiring from military life my recent interest is Archaeology.. A subject..leading a backward journey of time. I don't know how I got enthralled by the subject' may be I have seen so much war and bloodshed of the presence that now I want to go back to past. I came here straight from the state of Bikaner..in Rajasthan..before that I was working in China..on an interesting subject about the myth of a lost Port or Harbour of Harappan times of India..we trying to found out the source of the port..and the hinterland..and the trade route..we progressed very well our journey from China to Bikaner..denotes that.. And within this a man joined who have a brilliant knowledge of archaeology...it wd be right to say that he accelerated our excavations to a great degree..until that day when that scoundrel fly away with all my notes all my detailed research works.. and I started following his trail..I got the news that man..that thief..that betrayer has come somewhere around this beach city..and I would not leave him..that scoundrel.. 'Do you know his name? You can report the Police.' 'I would surely do that! The name of that scoundrel is Aryan. Just Aryan!' Ramilla in utter shock jumped off from her seat. And kept on staring at Tod with disbelief. 'Oh my daughter, dont get shocked I would surely find him..now seat and let me your story!' Ramilla sat in the chair. What story she can tell now? Her all stories again got jumbled up. Moreover she has listened a new story now. Aryan a bettrayer? Colonel Tod sipped again the beer. Then said, 'Come on..its time for you to speak.' Paa is wrong. Ramilla thought. Its time for her of silence. And may be for life. She now uttered in soft voice..' Paa, i will tell you the story..but some other time!'


The Call..

Ramilla came and took a seat in her favourite chair and switched on her laptop. And visiting her mail account the very first thing she did is that she sent an acceptance letter for her Doctorate proposal to the University of Michigan. Let anything happens..this is her dream project and she will not miss it by any chance. Every person has an aim in her life..and this is Ramilla's aim. Moreover if she can wait and wait for Aryan..why Aryan can not? And moreover if Paa is right then how a persom whom she gave everything can be a betrayer? How can she keep on contact with a person of such morals? A thief? ..As the mail account confirmed the sent mail message ..a call came from outside. It was the voice of Elena..Mam..the patient has come back to sense..and she is calling Ramilla..saying that he is having a terrible pain in head and before he forget anything..he have a very important thing to tell her..A secret which he can only tell Ramilla!




Tuesday, February 8, 2011

A Wild Thought

Sometimes I think life is a brilliant wonder..


Sometime a soothing orchestra of wet drops of rain..

Sometime life is all about passing by through a distant whistle of a running train..
Sometime again it is an urge or a nemesis of a break away run..
...........And the run begins from cascading the known from the open world of unknown..and thus
I found myself totally exposed..walking alone beneath the horizon..
As I walk I found myself..
On the pitch coloured road of the vast world..
Following the engraved footsteps and footprints of the millions who have passed
For ages and decades and centenary..
May be the name of this particular road has changed..may be the name itself is a misinterpretation of epigraphed regionalism..
May be the grains of daily struggles of life is itself now a rich history..
May be the pattern of ages has changed the passion of needs..
May be the whole known surroundings has been fragmented into a new..totally new identity..
May be underneath my feet the history remains silent for ever knowing everything..
May be the reason for growth and cause of destruction..
Of each period..each empire..each event..
But as I walk I found out with a shiver..
Beneath my feet the road..the path.. can loose everything ..except..
The wild truth..
The touch of a new man walking on a new road on a new Journey..







Thursday, February 3, 2011

The Midnight Whisper

Within the coveted roads I found the shadow of moments..



I found the surrender of uncherished desires..

I found the translation of dreams through the lost nostalgia of hypnotic rememberance..

I found the twinkling of some invisible bells..

I found the solo cry of the night bird yet in a bewildered moment of dew soaked wings.,

I found the lonely farmer with heaps of corn walking with a blink of shared unworldliness..

I found the village women with half flying veils..

I found through the paddy field the gili danda of the naked children..

I found the steam of a factory covering the horizon and the sunset..
I found the lonely temple on the top of a lonely plateau..
I found the wrecked lamppost beside a thatched hut..
I found the half exposed moon from the blanket of white layer..
I found the offerings of those remote stations..
I found the dense fog overlapping me with all its touch..
And like a man...reincarnated..
Found through the dense fog..
Different images of myself..
Like a flash of eternity..
Like a touch of the dust..
Like a kiss of Life..

Like a trembling truth of the mysticism..
And a nemesis of a deep rooted emotion..
Through the whistle of the train..
Through the freezing cold of the midnight..
Through the lively sketches of a full fledged life..
At a junction of a Station..

I waited..
Lost and Found..
Wet and Warm..
Shades and Shadows..
Of a conversation
Between me and my inner soul..
Through letters and words..
Of yet not said..of yet untouched..unshared..unexpressed..
Through the Midnight Whisper..
Of The Last traveller of the Last Train!