Roots

Invigorating from the first step
Reciting volumes of history
The clickety of the cobbled roads
Endless charm of the memorial
Smell of gastronomy all around
Engulfed by the constant chatter
The comforting chaos surrounds you
Even if the screeching cabbies zoom by
The debates on soccer and world politics
Yet a comfort in the way of life


The luscious green on the rains
Lal mati of the countryside
The eccentric intelligentsia of the mind
With a bold step of culture in one’s stride
Quoting history in every breath
The city still bound in time
Sounds of music in every household
Redefining creativity in every step


Bamboo, wood or paper never molded this way
Creating structures of divinity
Touching euphoria in the dhaki sound
Broadest grin across the ageless family it brings
The sumptuous food which binds one and all
And the in explainable “areektu” serving

I mesmerize in childlike glee
Wondering constantly
The vagaries of the glorious state
Never lived did I but I feel I did
The guiding invisible hand for many years
Today defines what is truly me

Your Music and My Lyrics

Life has its ways always
Its when unexpected things hit you on an idle day
Is when you realize the endless nuances it offers

You meet people for a reason they say
Some for a season and some for a lifetime
But always for a reason.. n mostly the reason being u

Some add music to your moments
Making you float high for a few days
Some add the tune which you want to hum for a while

Few add music to your lyrics
Meaning to your song
And even fewer sing along with you

Life reinforces disbelief and strange belief
When one meets such people
Making you ride on the sounds of music

I wonder if its for a season or seasons or longer
But I am glad to have sung my heart out
At the song we created together

On a day like today

The droplets sparkle and glisten
I wonder if its for a reason

The clouds in their resplendent glory
Speak their very own story

The wind uplifts my soul
Adding a spring to my sole

The rumbling skies and the cloudy haze
Turns the mundane alive and ablaze

The rain, winds and clouds gives me serenity
Showing the holy trinity

Nature seems to be beckoning its way
On a day like today…

Sigh… on a day like today

The Tempest

The fragrance unfolds, drapes and engulfs the room
As I slowly glance up
The view is hazy due to the storm
The rain lashes on incessantly
The constant murmur only beckons silence to my ears
The aroma of the flowers reverberates
The tempest unfurls both within and around
I see rain in my eyes, the storm in my head
As I stare blankly at his posthumous portrait.

The Forbidden Summer

Summer was always exciting. It meant the summer break, mangoes, longer evenings to play cricket, fly kites, the rattling comforting cooler and of course all the yum food. The planning would always begin in advance. The gang would meet weeks before the summer vacations were declared. Plans would be made as to where we would meet, what new adventure would we indulge in and cricket scores were heavily discussed and debated.

This year seemed no different as we excitedly ran across the play ground and came to our favorite spot. It was a well covered hide out behind a few trees and shrubs where the gang would meet. I was on time but of course there was Amit who always reached before everyone. Neel shuffled in soon followed by Rags (short for Raghuveer) and Gags (short for Gagan). Gags was the serious sort who joined us for cricket but would always worry about his grades and homework. He sat down in the corner adjusting his over sized glasses. Amit had conjured a board from somewhere and he scribbled “agenda” on it. Usual suggestions of cricket, more cricket, foot ball followed. Amit began listing the various options when we all heard a meek voice. We all looked around surprised to see Gags speak up. “Lets try something different this year”, he said. “We always do the usual games but why not something innovative- we could try selling something, do something noble or creative or maybe ….. try going up to the woods!” said Gags slowly looking around.

A big gasp followed… “the woods… the woods”. Gags had uttered the sacred word and to think that he could say something like that. Amit was speechless. I gave him a glare and said “… Why Gags? You know we are not supposed to.. even mention the word”. Gags looked up and settled his glasses… “Why not? .. We always speak about doing something adventurous and fun. This is real adventure and in this area what more exciting thing can be than to explore the WOODS!”. Amidst the fear there was a sense of excitement to discuss the forbidden and even dream about doing something outrageous. A long silence followed.
“We should do it Guys!” said I looking around for reassurance. Rags nodded profusely chewing some gum. Neel seemed blank but Amit refused loudly. A lot of yelling followed....

TO BE CONT....

My Color Palette

Flashes of speculation
During days of time
Clouding my thoughts
And often coloring them

The mind churns
whirlwind of emotions
a state of frantic rush
and often very peaceful

I ride on the constant tide
Balancing on the edge
As the flashes of color pass by
I clutch my paint brush tightly

Grihini

The fish always smelled when Mitali put her hand in the endearing plastic bag , known for carrying quantities of fish every Sunday. Sunday was a given day for the home to be loaded with goodies for the week. Vegetables of all shapes, sizes but all in bulk quantity were brought in. The anaj (veg) for shukto(a special veg bengali dish), patol, bhindi, gobhi, saag were staring at her . However, the fish always reigned the day, there was rohu, katla, choto mach (kinds of fish) and on some days there would be Hilsa. She sighed as she saw her kitchen filling up with numerous raw materials. Mitali was seen as the converter of the raw materials into the mouth watering goodies which the family would enjoy.

She had just finished sorting out the things into neat piles when a clatter of footsteps were heard. "Tia" (her dak/pet name) yelled a loud voice. Tia quickly settled her saree above her head and answered. The lady of the house, the mother in law, the sovereign swept in with all the glory befitting her. She plunged on the settee and started fanning herself furiously. She said “Ki goroom, baba go.. uff.. Tia .. eto bajar esche, aajake kaka kakima ra ashmbe ar amar khokon bhishon roga hoi jachae, char-panch rokom er ranna koro. Sorse Elish, tilapia mach, posto, macher bora, chorchori, shukto, dal, saag.. ektu bhaja bhuji ar kheer baneo. Thakur ke diye mishit doi aneyo neyo.” (It so hot… uff.. Tia.. so many things have come, today relatives are coming over and look how thin my son is becoming. Cook 4-5 items including Hilsa, two kinds of fish, 3 vegetables, dal and kheer and get Thakur to get misti dahi)

She seized her string of instructions and started moving the vegetables around. Tia glanced meekly at the time and realized she needed a miracle to produce all these items in such short notice without any flaws. She could almost hear herself gasp but could not let anyone see her like that. She started the herculean task of preparing the feast where she would have to toil from 7 am to 12:30 pm, get ready , serve the entire household and the guests, clear up after them and then maybe eat a few morsels. In her heart she worried that she should be able to cook all these items and have them ready on time, she knew her husband liked her cooking but she worried about what Ma (mom in law) would say even if she found less salt or any minor deviation.

Tia remembered as a kid when she had examinations to give how she would worry about what she would write and the result. It was reassuring however as her mom always assured her that marks or no marks she would get married and her role was to satisfy her husband and his family. She would have to devote her life for them even if she would get no praises or welcoming remarks. She thought she was lucky, her in laws did not abuse her, she had some time to herself in the afternoons and the time she had for herself she wrote. She enjoyed writing about frivolous things and her mind wandered to the sheets of paper with scribbles of Bengali lying at the bottom of the trunk. That was her escape, her life within her existence, the freedom within the walls.

Time ticked as she toiled towards completion. Thankfully, Thakur and Bhola , the help of the house lent a helping hand and the food was ready by12:15 pm. Tia quickly bathed and drapped the saree in a typical Bengali style, the wet hair dripping on her back, she smeared sindoor on the parting of her hair and made a round bindi on her forehead. The guests arrived and sat cross legged on the mats across the long verandah. Tia graciously welcomed them by touching their feet. The serving followed, everyone chattered and ate noisly. Few said the food was good. She looked up at Ma for any reassurance or praise. Nothing was said or gestured. She noticed her husband ate well and that made her smile

Tia began to settle the kitchen after the afternoon fiasco and ate a few bits towards late afternoon. Noone asked for her after, no one inquired on whether she ate. She was used to it, she enjoyed her own company and could not wait to get away to her room as she knew the afternoon talks would continue till she would be called to serve tea.

Running upstairs, she sat fanning herself against the window. The scrolls of paper rolled on the bed and she sat down to write. She wrote today of what she cooked and how people ate. She wrote about the day .. and she wrote about her world. She dared not dream more than that. This was her world, in whatever defined limits she was in charge here. She controlled some part of the household. She was the Grihini.

As she day dreamed gazing at the noisy street across the lane wondering life beyond this pakmara lane. "Tia………." yelled ma.. "chaaa koi?" (where’s the tea”). Tia rudely woke up and ran down. The Grihini lived on in her world, secure in the existence carved out for her, protected and provided, alone yet hopeful, free yet bound but still very alive. The spirit lived on.