A inseparable connection like you can not get a bong out of a bengali is much like the Boroline out of a bengali. "Bongo jiboner ongo!" as Rituparno Ghosh said
Jun 16, 2013
Boroline and Bengoli's
Mar 24, 2013
A secret vow to be unsaid
The sky overcast, with detached clouds as they ran around the blue sky making a grand display. It drizzled and as the rains descend the torrents with the fury of the wind, the roar of the tidal wave was suddenly loud.
Each fiber of the body knew at once that this was it. As the soul was trolled with consciousnesses.
At this part of the island it was just the both of us, The moon hung beneath the dark clouds, the star blotted, all the lights of the earth just seemed to be simmered, We stand quite, drenched, holding hands gazing at the darkness in the midst of the roaring dense night, waiting for the first ray
Apr 7, 2012
Solemn silence
Farah was back home, a home she and Arshad had done up together, her mainstay, her marriage home now. After, a month long stay at her mom' with a fast growing toddler Imaan. The only reminder left of the marriage that once was.
As if, the stench was not enough, she caught clumps of female hair, of different texture and even color from the corner of her eye. Her eyes followed it along the entire length of the bed until it managed an escape out of her view. Their marriage bed. This wasn't a unusual sight to her.
Trapped in the timidity in her mind and the long sequenced cracks of her lips rested in midst of the fingers, her thoughts melted in the lethal colours of darkness. sweat tickling down her neck and between her breast eloped a distinct distance from her within. She could sense a rage of countless bodies that milled around her now.
The emptiness of the enormous house was haunting her as she stood untangling the knots of her long hair in front of the huge expensive handcrafted mirror table by the window.
The constant congestion of the traffic reviving and then fading into a subdue seemed like a chores in the background. Her heart continued to thud at the constant ticking of seconds of the clock by the hallway.
A flamboyant living with the most exotic and expensive artifacts seemed more like a curse as she stood stubbed by the window relent imaginary describing her years in courtship with him, a life that she had always dreamt of growing up as a child, but in reality her living within the four walls and a ruley roof was a nightmare, she yet counts the distance in bed between them measured every living night of their relationship.
The unfettered rays never made it through the concrete walls. the nights were almost always an opaque silence left with a sense of endless embarrassment. And she was determined to conceive this silences for all years ahead.
The sun was about to set, the sky vividly coloured with birds make their way home. The sense of betrayal was making her heart feel heavy.By now all the lurking suspicions were seeing images of reality but she was afraid with the uncomfortable questions that she would have to put up to him.
In a state of epileptic fit, she see's him walk through the lane towards her. She as so flustered at presence of him in the corner of her eyes that she could barely give him a smile of recognition, she greeted him but could not recognise her voice. He walked past her ignoring her presence as a routine gesture leaving back a trail of belongings for her to reappraise.
She looked down and shut her eyes trying to regain conscious. there was a sound of liquid being poured with he cracking of ice into the glass. a fresh bottle of whiskey is now open.
She follows the flickering flame of the lamp evading the darkness of her silence, there stood an extra ordinarily calm faced unruly middle aged man evolved from the smoke of cigarettes. Spectacles, half haired head streaked with lines of thoughts, anger twisted his lips and more often spoke harshly.
She could hear him recite his creation as he believed his poetic soul to be above all trivial distractions even so to her, his lawfully second wedded wife Farah.
The wick flickered so as the shadow around the room as she accompanied the lamp to move the curtains and open herself to the night breeze.
'He contemptuously abused her with his loud gestures making her feel like a worm as he gave her a scronful smile
Wrinkles formed on his forehead and all his poetic verses vansihed as she stood stern as a pillar in front and looked straight into his eyes. She mustered courage to question the existence of the relationship and elicited him as a prime faced witness to a trial. He was never confronted with the desperation within her. Fraha never had raised her voice within the courtyard. This was an awkward situation and he had little to say as his words were struck in his throat.
His breathing became perceptibly racious, A dormant fear and panic surged him into a monosyllable storm, he could see the rage in her eyes as he strumbled his way out of his arm chair and firmly held her acting familiar, as he managed to look into her eyes; he muttered, what should I say?'
She snaps out of her reverie! Perhaps, this imagined abused too would have been preferable than NOTHING?? She wasn't sure of anything at all, these days.
She let her head drop coyly and shut her eyes as that one drop betrayed her and rolled down her cheek as she took a deep breath astounded by her inner voice. She had neven known this fury before and was frightened by the feel of it.
Her fight was over and her battle was lost as she slowly retreated clasping her thoughts as she continued to move around the house. Little Imman in tow. Her one champion, her single fan. The fear, frustration and anxieties all put to melt with a scoop of ice cream
She was quietened down, now pacified. She had now begun to put the words that were rising to rest. A fact of convulsion and lost consciousness. It was time for him to come back home again. And, the question remained. Will he? This night? Once again?
Her inner scream, succumbed to the silence. To the dominance of a correct life, filled with frustration, failure, distress. An interplay of sexual desire and element of trust (lost?) is just about being ordinary.
A rural Urban feminist connecting through a vivid imagery of a relationship is between the predator and the victim. The dust of the journey continued with the well orchestrated characters, leaving back the sound of boisterous laughter behind.
Mar 31, 2012
Dreams we shall never ..never see again
A thousand desires such as these
A thousand moments to set this night on fire
Reach out and you can touch them
You can touch them with your silences
You can reach them with your lust
Rivers mountains rain
Rain against a torrid hill’s cape
A thousand
A thousand desires such as these
I loved rain as a child
As a lost young man
Empty landscapes
Bleached by a tired sun
And then
And then suddenly it came
Like a dark unknown woman
Her eyes scorched my silences
Her body wrapped itself around me
Like a summer without end
Pause me hold me reach me
Where no man has gone
Crossing the seven seas
With the wings of fire
I fly towards nowhere
And you
Rivers mountains rain
Rain against a scorched landscape of pain
OST Hazaaron Khwaishien Aisi
Mar 6, 2012
A dialogue with the Almighty
Poore ka poora aakash ghuma karke baazi dekhi meine
Kaale ghar mein suraj rakh ke tumne shayad socha tha mere saare mohre pit jayenge
Meine ek chirag jala ke apna rasta khol liya
Tumne ek samanadar haath mein lekar mujhpe dhel diya
Meine noah ki kashti uske upar rakh di
Kaal chala tumne aur meri janib dekha
Meine kaal ko tod ke lamha lamha jeena seekh liya
Meri khudi ko tumne chand chamaktkaro se maarna chaha
Mere ek pyaade ne tera chand ka mohra maar kiya
Maut ki sheh de kar tumne socha tha ab to maat hui
Meine jism ka khol utar ke sounp diya aur rooh bacha li
Poore ka poora akash ghuma kar ab tum dekho baazi…
-Gulzar's words in Naseeruddin voice
Feb 24, 2012
Lost in transalation
The old curtains have been fraying its edges for sometime and the quilt hasnt seen better days for a while now, the empty floor has dust basking over it with a gleam of light creating a mystic essence, but the faith in it, remain undiminished, even after the debacle in the rational, I am hurt but wiser now
The futility of pain and the crisis around is the cause itself? Or because they know something which I don't. Whatever it is, I am living on" and I would rather live where there is threat everywhere and be part of whatever is happening. I am not reactionary, the threat of pain cannot conquer me."
The boutique is in the crystal glass; the liquor has to look, taste and smell good. The seasoned taste buds now have aged to the level of perfection, reading its year of make in the back of silence.
I have stopped recognising my authentic selve and become a caricatures of who the world think I should be. The silence is helping create the much awaited space and time for the thoughts do its roller coaster frill. The essence of transformation is not only non-judgmentally witnessed, viewed and acceped by me, but also interacting with myself.
One of my unfinished works which is in search of its characteristic audience in black or white is reaching the brim of its journey. With every passing day, life has turned itself as a ordeal experimental journey. Broadening my horizon with every stroke of the brush. I'm painting my own colours in life now....
Nov 2, 2011
A journey into an unknown.
The friends and families aren't quite sure how long it will take. they just know that there's nothing more they can do for him and now it's just a matter of days, if he is plain lucky, well who knows... we wake up and pray everyday. I've been wondering about this. what's it like to clutch your hands to the brim of the top window surface of your prison cell to get a glimpse of the setting sun and wondering how many more you will get to see? what's it like waking up before the sun takes on and walking through the memory lanes, the breeze cuddles you in your perpectual essence of living all of these and thinking, I won't be there tomorrow to experience this?
A day before the execution he goes through a harrowing experience of being weighed, body measurements, the size of the neck, measured for length of drop to assure breaking of the neck,, . followed by the evening where the gallows and manilla rope are well examined to ascertain if they have received any injuries by attaching to one end a sack of sand.
As the night approaches the darkness smuggles into a heavenly and magical sleep; it's the same with his life for eternity and none appreciate someone in this state of silence. So what have I left unsaid?
Did I give my best in everything I did? Did I love someone more than self and be loved back? Did I follow my heart?
These aren't deep, profound or complicated questions, each is simple in its own way, but the answers to these are the most difficult. as every time you hear that little voice inside your head while you self question - the complex of ethical and moral principles that controls or inhibits our actions and our thoughts - usually called a conscience,
Dream quotient an inconceivable, unthinkable thought becomes reality, quintessentially at this stage each character in life takes a new form and the space to re-visualise experience, they are all around you. The protectors, the confidantes and the executor, your tinsel-town timetable which always appeared to be booked to the brim. have fallen out of the clock and will be empty for the rest.
No one is guaranteed life, its just a matter of fate, chance, luck and destiny. Life changes in seconds of realisation. Looking at walls, staring at them as if trying to figure out what went wrong. hard to believe that once a successful man who was passionate in every thing he did and lived a enviable reputation amongst his people is now living the last slated day of his life.
Extending from dawn the day breaks into light as he is marched to the scaffold guarded by the head warder and six warders, two proceeding in front, two behind and one holding either arm on reaching the scaffold the warrant is read in vernacular to the convict and lead to the scaffold with the convict and he is placed under the direct beam to which rope is attached.
The executioner straps his legs tightly together, place the cap over his head and face and adjust the rope tightly around his neck. The noose is just about placed one and half inches to the right or left of the middle line and free from the flap of the cap. The light just fades off and the elocution of thoughts run through into the blindfolded darkness.
The warders holding the condemned man’s hand to withdraw at that time and with the signal from the Superintendent the executioner draw the bolt.
Its that final moment of his life but also his last words. Some proclaim their innocence until the end; some seek forgiveness from the families of their victims; others make no statement at all. with a thump of noise its all a tremble. While the witnesses look on, in the first few minutes a considerable shock waved through his body followed by a slow and agonised death by strangulation and asphyxia
He remains dangling from the end of the rope from 8 to 14 minutes before the medical examiner, who climbs up a small ladder and listens to his heartbeat with a stethoscope declares the life extinct. A prison guard stands at the feet of the hanged person and holds the body steady, because of the agonised death by strangulation and asphyxia. The body remained suspended for half an hour and shall not be taken down till the Superintendent returns the warrant with the endorsement to the effect that the sentence has been carried out.
The only answer which can be given for justifying this infliction of mental and physical pain and suffering is that the condemned prisoner having killed a human being does not merit any sympathy and must suffer this punishment because he 'deserves' it. No mercy can be shown to one who did not show any mercy to others. But, as I shall presently point out, this justificatory reason cannot commend itself to any civilized society because it is based on the theory of retribution or retaliation and at the bottom of it lies the desire of the society to avenge itself against the wrong-doer. That is not a permissible penological goal."
A couple of hours back a man was shimmering the last ray of his life through the rails of his prison cell, imagining the sunset outside, and knowing that this was the last. knowing that in a small way, the passage he will be travelling has just begun, A journey into an unknown.
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