Maatribhasha for aagun things (Crossposted from Facebook)

ছুটির ঘন্টা বাজার দরকার নেই, বাজুক কর্মযোগের দুন্দুভি। জেগে উঠুক পৃথিবী জুড়ে যত রক্ত-গরম যুবক-যুবতী, যাদের কাছ থেকে ধার্মিক, শালীন পূর্বপ্রজন্মের কোনো আশা নেই। নিজের পায়ে দাঁড়িয়ে, নিজের ঘাম ছুটিয়ে, চিনুক তারা নিজেদেরকে। শীতের রাত্রে লেপের তলায় প্রেমের গল্প ছাড়াও আরও কিছু ভাবুক, ইন্টারনেটে ব'সে হৃদয় ছাড়া আরও কিছু নিয়ে করুক আলোর গতিতে লোফালুফি -- চ্যাটবক্সে শুরু হোক আগামী দিনকে সুন্দর করার প্রচেষ্টা।

বন্ধুরা, আমরা চঞ্চল, আমরা অদ্ভূত, আমরা আসছি : আসছি এই প্রতিজ্ঞা নিয়ে যে, চারিদিকে  পূর্বপ্রজন্মের যেসব জ্ঞানী-গুণীরা নারী-পুরুষ, উত্তর-দক্ষিন-পূর্ব-পশ্চিম, ধনী-দরিদ্র ইত্যাদি কৃত্রিম ভেদাভেদে দেশটাকে (এবং পৃথিবীটাকে) ছারখার করার প্রচেষ্টা চালাচ্ছেন, যারা মানুষের দারিদ্রজনিত অজ্ঞতার সুযোগ নিয়ে নিজকল্যাণে ব্যস্ত আছেন, তাঁরা সহজে নির্মূল না হলেও আগামী আমলে, আমাদের আমলে, তাঁদেরকে একটু কম দেখতে পাবেন আপনারা। আমরা ফেসবুক প্রজন্ম -- আমরা ছেড়ে কথা বলতে শিখিনি। বাচাল বা অশ্লীল মনে হলে ক্ষমা-ঘেন্না করে দেবেন। এখনো ছোট আছি, আপনাদের প্রজন্মের মত বড়-বড় ভাবনা ভাবতে শিখিনি -- কেবল যেদিকে তাকাই সেদিকেই নিজের একটি ভাই বা বোনকে কষ্ট পেতে দেখি তো, তাই হামেশা-হামেশাই মনে বড় ব্যথা পেতে শিখেছি।

The Pep Talk You Wanted But Were Too Ashamed To Ask For, You're Welcome

You will never get what you want in life unless you ask for it. So what if, the last time you tried, you were mocked, betrayed, taken advantage of, and wholesomely trampled on? Does having endured all that make you weaker, or does it make you stronger than ever? At least, now you know that you are capable of being brave, and of taking big risks for the sake of minuscule rewards. So pick that book back up, and read; pick that pen/brush/whatever back up and create!

So you were called an attention seeker because you actively seek human contact; you were called desperate because you had too many friends, or unsocial because you had too few; you were called a pervert/slut because you had too many friends not of your own gender, or orthodox/closeted because you had none; you were called angry and crazy because you had causes you were passionate about; you were called unproductive because you liked to have fun. So what? Did the people who call you that ever live your life as wholly as you have? Did they feel the warmth of your friends, the fire of your passions, the happy tiredness of your feet, the midnight music of your dreams?

They did not; and hence, you are beautiful in a way that not many people other than you can see. Those who can, keep them close; those who can't, thank them for making you stronger; and, make peace with your anger, your hatred, your vengefulness. It does not mean giving in to them, but only to realize that they are normal emotions in your soft little heart that always does its best to defend itself -- and so it must.

So it must, because if you don't defend yourself, no one else will. If you don't love yourself, no one else will. So give yourself a hug and a pat on the back, because you deserve it. Cry on your own shoulder, and smile back at yourself in the mirror of your mind! You are human, you are beautiful, and this too shall pass. So stay blessed, and stay badass.

...

Happy New Year.

Net Neutrality vs. Free Basics (and why I use the 'vs.')

I originally posted this on my Facebook timeline. It is reproduced (with added formatting) here to hopefully reach a wider audience. I would also like to request someone to translate this for non-English speakers, who are the target market for Internet.org/Free Basics.

========================================================================

<fact>

Let's clear this up once and for all: Net Neutrality and Free Basics (new name of Internet.org for India!) are conflicting ideas! Anyone who signed petitions for both is under woeful ignorance, I'm afraid.

</fact>

<opinion>

As for which to support, here's my two cents. You can skip it and read the much better explanation in the link, too.

1. Free 'basics' does not include Google, LinkedIn, or any educational/financial/trade websites. It includes Facebook and its partner apps, which allows them to control the 'news', 'information' and 'education' that people supposedly will receive from it. Facebook's version of digital 'equality' is not equality at all since it will give this much to all for free...
2. ...which telecom providers (who will incur the loss, not Facebook, who gain via traffic and ads) will make up for by hiking data rates for everything else. So someone with more money has more access to digital resources in a worse way than ever.
3. Because of the monopoly of a company/companies on information (via agreements of Facebook and partners with telecom providers), the internet will not be neutral and there will be no opposing opinions. The Internet will essentially become China. Our government is right in banning free basics, since it will stifle our voices on the Internet, the only platform still relatively safe to voice our opinions on!
4. What Facebook could do if it had the right intentions: subsidize basic things like Google, LinkedIn and net banking for helping underprivileged/remotely located students, job seekers, traders, etc.; and do this via ads (or even donations, if they really have such kind hearts) instead of changing the way telecom providers charge us.
5. And no, Facebook is not the worst place to share this, but the best, because Free Basics stifles Freedom, something that Facebook originally took to new heights, but now is selling out for capturing the lucrative market of the non-Internet-using Third World population.

</opinion>

<request>

Whichever side you support, please do spread the idea that the two are in conflict!

</request>

Read Kshitij Salgunan's answer to "Should I support Facebook Free Basics in India" on Quora

========================================================================

You Will Be Taken Advantage Of, You're Welcome (Merry Christmas)

Best read after the original song or story.

=============================
The Real Reindeer Story

Preface: human kids are weak,

Unprepared for morbid truth;

So they made this a carol

To motivate and sooth

All children who are bullied,

And it works like a charm;

And since Santa loves human kids

We're sure they're safe from harm.

Adults, on the other hand,

Are used to the gory,

So, for transparency's sake,

Here's the longer story.

When this story started,

Rudolph was really tiny

And folks began to notice

How his nose was red and shiny.

Keeping with societal rules,

Like everything unique,

Rudolph's red nose got him banned

From every deer-school clique.

So Rudolph ran to his Mum;

She said, holding him close:

"Rudolph, one day, I tell you,

They'll love you for your nose."

Strengthened by his Mother's words

Rudolph grew bigger, better;

Meanwhile, his big, shiny nose

Grew redder and redder.

When Rudolph was twenty-one

Santa came to say

"Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

We're taking you away.

My scientist elves will work on you

And find the red-nose gene

And soon enough, noses like yours

Will become routine.

Until then, Rudolph, my son,

With your nose so bright

I'd like it if, on Christmas Eve,

You acted as my light;

We'll care for your parents

So you needn't worry."

The deer-school bully added,

"And you'd better hurry."

And so, to make a story short,

Trembling in fear and pain,

Rudolph's folks bid him goodbye

And never saw him again.

Now, hundreds of years thence,

When Santa flies his sleigh

A Red-Nosed Reindeer guides him

Up, up and away.

We're sure it can't be Rudolph

(No reindeer lives that long)

So we did some research

For purposes of this song;

The Head Elf only told us,

"All deer who you see leading

Are hundred percent Red-Nosed

Via selective breeding."
=============================

You're Not Alone, All Plans Fail, You're Welcome

=================================

Conflict

My heart was new and tender red

And the world left it alone.

My heart was set in hard concrete

And the world sent flowers, soft;

My heart was then encased in stone

And the world hurled all things nice.

My heart was set with spikes of steel

And the world let all things slide.

Then I set it at halfway point

And the world ran swiftly by.

=================================

Your Daily Dose Of Reality, You're Welcome

Best read after the original (full version).

====================================
Yours Celestially

Twinkle twinkle, little star...
...why'd you have to be so far,
Smiling down from a big blue dome
At a sobbing child in a broken home:

A parent ill, and another gone
To a place that no sun shines upon?
That shameful day, could not your light
Help the toddler in that fight

'Gainst the traveller in the dark
Huffing away at childhood's spark;
Or the woman, gagged and bound
And naked, on the roadside found?

In the dark blue sky you keep
While, through windows, perverts peep.
Poor men die as rich men kill;
You stay twinkling, distant still.

But not for long, for people wake
Soon they'll know how starlight's fake --
So twinkle, twinkle, selfish star!
Now the world knows what you are.
====================================

Light Cone

When the distance displayed on the taxi's fare-meter changes from .00 to .01, you know you are off, yet again. For an instant, you wonder how quickly your heart switches from homesickness to wanderlust and back again, but that feeling is soon overwhelmed by your love for the dynamic, the ever-changing.

Out of sight does not mean out of mind, but it sure helps -- and you are not sure that it is a good thing. Distance, like peat, absorbs the dead fronds of painful familiarity, but from time to time it drags in healthy tissue: alive and kicking and writhing in denial, the sweetest of your memories begin to take an effort to recall. You comfort yourself saying that you will be back, but immediately after, you ask yourself: where? Not when, but where -- and you don't know; because at either end of your journey lies home.

An attempt at old-style musical poetry

==================================

Postbag

Bring back the wind from my country;

Tell the flowers, I said hi --

Their scents have been away from me

In a while.

Bring back the rain from my city;

Tell the furry one I'll be fine:

No love's crossed my heart

In a while.

Bring back the sleep to my pillow,

Tell my Mamma I'm doing alright:

No tears have passed my eyes

In a while.

==================================

#Retro

Not Again

Back in 2012 the then Class 10B of Carmel Convent High School lost Roll no. 24, Medha Ray, whose absence became conspicuous by how we called no. 25 after 23, thereafter. Many of us, including said no. 23, shifted schools to Hem Sheela in Class 11, and no. 23 went on to begin a promising career in medicine in a reputed Kolkata college, until fate or nature or whatever the hell decides these things decided to play a game of cruel coincidence and take away our Malini, Malini Banerjee, roll no. 23 of 2012-13 Class 10B, and eventual student of 11 and 12B in Hem Sheela, away from all who loved her.

Meanwhile in Hem Sheela, within a day of our losing Malini to dengue, Anwesha of Class 9 succumbed to her injuries from a prior car accident.

I think I'm too old or too numb to react the way I did when Medha passed away; or maybe I'm just too dumb to realize the truth in it's full extent yet. I do not, I repeat, I do not, still believe that Malini is gone. I believe close friends of Anwesha feel the same way.

My thoughts are with the families and friends of Malini and Anwesha. R.I.P., kiddos.

I HAVE FUCKING NOTHING MORE TO SAY

Safe Landing

=================================
In Transit

People, places,
And the politics of tears
Clans, founded
In valleys of fears

Names, faces
Chained with silver rings
Armours, receiving
Undercover chinks

Volumes, varying
Up, down, sideways too
Knowing, long ago,
Would you still be you?
================================

Bang Bang Bangity Bangla

=====================================================
মেনেই নিলাম

পায়ে হেঁটে সমুদ্রতীর যাওয়া;
ম্যাক্সিক্যাব-এ চ'ড়ে মোড়ের চা;
সকাল সন্ধে বৃষ্টি, ভিজে ফিরে
ফ্যান-এর তলায় কম্বলে মোড়া গা;
পাতলা ঘুমের সুড়সুড়িতে হেঁচে
উল্টোপাল্টা গানের সাথে নাচা;
পরীক্ষাটায় পাশ করতে গিয়ে
ছেলেবেলার ঘুম রইল কাঁচা। 
ছুটির দিনে ঘরে থাকার চেষ্টায়
জামায় লাগা শুকিয়ে যাওয়া কান্না...

...বিনা মেঘে বজ্রপাতের ভয়ে
আকাশ থেকে লুকিয়ে থাকা যায়না।
=====================================================

Life @ H1 SIPCOT <3

Tell Me That You'll Wait For Me

Bourn Vita, Choco Pie, cold coffee, and noodles. Shots fired, because nothing else would do. Bring my books to the balcony: the wind here is nice. Free the cords from the week-old tangle -- it's high time we cleaned this place up a little. The white board is skewed, the nails will need fixing. Father Of The Nation smiles weirdly while elves emulate his fashion sense. An elf sat with me at breakfast today morning. He was a late pagan monstrosity, but I liked him. Rings of fire surround the wooden wheels and the butterflies shed crocodile tears and a dull pain rises from the wicker chairs and toilet seats. Entire families of cats and dogs prowl the lower eyelids of giants. Clocks. Socks. Wallets. Phones. Keys, pins, holes, cracks, nets, bogs, bugs. Locked doors, knocked doors, burnt windows. Lights, cameras, fractions. Hills climbed, races run, sails set. I will miss you. I will miss you. I will miss you.

Fantasy 11 : Ecosystem

===================================

Ecosystem

Slick

Pockmarked by rain,

Warts of a frog

On browning rainbow,

Floating wisp

Of strangulation,

A waiting net

For innocents --

Useful innocents.

I wish they could fly,

I wish they could eat

Whatever they wanted,

I wish they were not slave

To misplaced pride.

Morning:

Guiltily, sleep lingers;

Adamant hunger

Seeks attention,

When distraction hops

Into the doorway --

Little ball of fur,

Like the song;

She even makes the face.

I wish she could fly,

I wish she could live

Wherever she wanted,

I wish she wasn't born

To be carried to death.

===================================

Fantasy 10 : Chase

============================
Chase

Every morning, smoke settles
Into water,
Into horizons,
Into teeth.
Smoke makes its home
In clouds and domes,
On treetops,
And on golf greens:
Giggling, squirming,
Tickled by ecstasy.

Smoke knows no hurry --
Wisp by wisp it consumes blood;
Swirl by swirl it drinks
Rain on concrete,
Hillside dew,
Tarmac love;

Brick by brick it binds;
Floor by floor it rises;
Cell by cell, it smirks;
Bird by bird,
Star by star,
"I weave you, ray by ray --
The sun is yours?
The sky is mine!
I'm absolute", it laughs.
============================

Fantasy 9 : Acceleration

===============================
Acceleration

Falling:
Rolling down infinite stairs,
Dislodging bodies on the way,
Cleaning the asbestos,

Rolling;
Riding high on pointless waves,
Touching divinity fast and slow,
Matching with the paint,

Riding,
Turning cogs and springs;
Leaping switch to switch to switch,
Tracing lightning branches,

Turning.
Tumbling in poison chalk.
Tightrope walk on guitar strings,
Roses built in spider silk.

Tumbling,
Falling on the cue --
Big picture, greater scheme of things;
Hollow bottom, safe and sound,

Falling:
===============================

Devolution

Bring on the idiocy, bring on the unspecified monsters, bring on the demands of the unworthy. Don't mind me, I'm just floating through stardust on my way to someone who's not you, somewhere that's not here, sometime that's not now. My eyes are mint green from taking in sights that I'm supposed to hold precious. My hair is sticky from wallowing in the nauseous depths of self-soothing. I know I said I like edges, but I think I prefer corners.

Someday that's not today, you'll get used to it all: you'll get used to being mistaken for someone else and being showered with gifts meant for that other person; you'll get used to reducing your heart to pulp before even thinking of trying something new; you'll get used to this way of life that I've been leading since I was five.

So bring it on, challenge me, try to convince yourself of the world's goodness by resisting the inevitable truths residing at the end of the battle that you now fight -- one which I have made it out of, with my heart of gold intact and well complemented: by a silver tongue and rosy fingers, and by mint green hair and sticky eyes ... or was it the other way around?

Because sometimes maatribhasha.

এমন একটা জায়গায় শুয়ে থাকতে ইচ্ছা করে, যেখানে একপাশ ফিরলেই মৃত্যু অনিবার্য। সেখানে পা লম্বা করে আকাশের দিকে তাকিয়ে থাকব, কিনারার খুব কাছে চলে যাব, আবার ফিরে আসব: দারুন লাগবে। মনে হবে -- কিছু একটা করলাম; কি দারুন আমার সহ্যশক্তি; কত বড় লড়াকু মন আমার। বারবার, প্রত্যেকবার মৃত্যুর কোলকে নাকচ করলে, কিছু নতুন করে পাবার বেশ একটা মিথ্যা-মিথ্যা আনন্দ হবে... দারুন লাগবে, বিশ্বাস কর, দারুন লাগবে।

Fantasy 8 : Balance

=================================================
Balance

I am a soldier on winter's edge:
The sniper: chest pocket
Fluttering with memory,
Burning in the heat of my resolve
To be a soldier

On the blizzard ledge
Nostalgia only serves
To slacken my jaws
And embolden clouds
To rain on my camouflage
But the largesse of nature will never be enough --
I am a soldier,

There is blood on my hands:
Their blood, the world's blood --
My lifeblood;
Always a soldier.
Caked blood, dried blood
In my hair (sweat, maybe);
Silent deathly melting snow
In my eyelashes (tears, maybe);

Regiments guard my inward eye,
Promises hold my floodgates fast;
I am a soldier --
May the winter last.
=================================================

Fantasy 7 : Flame

========================================

Flame

They use fire

(The dog thinks it's a piece of meat)

To cleanse

Suffering, for the good;

Fire

Is just an excuse:

It will burn passion,

Needles will be dumb.

Fire is known for heat and warmth

But all I see is burn, burn --

Burn up the old undeserved.

Passion will return,

Rising from burnt flesh;

Forgive the detachment,

Ignore the detour;

We are young.

Fire

Is just an excuse.

========================================

Happy Diwali belated.

Dat Bangla Doe

========================================

ফিরে গাওয়া

গানটার পরের লাইনটা

কিছুতেই মনে পড়ে না।

ভাবতে ভাবতে কেটে যায়

হপ্তা, মাস, বছর;

ভেঙে পড়ে আশপাশের দেয়াল;

শুকিয়ে যায়  সেই গাছগুলো

যেগুলোতে নিজে হাতে জল দিতাম;

ছিঁড়ে যায় জানলার পর্দা

আর যত্ন করে রেখে দেওয়া

কবিতার খাতাটা।

ঝড়ের দিনে ভাঙা জানলা দিয়ে

শিস্ দিয়ে যায় দূরের হাওয়া;

বৃষ্টি শেষে রঙের আকাশ

মনে করায় গানটা থেকে পাওয়া

কোনও  একদিনের সান্তনা;

কিন্তু, মুড়ানো গাছের পাতায়

যতই নতুন গান খুঁজে পাই,

পুরানো গানের শেষ লাইনটা থাকে

আজকের খুশিটার

নাগালের একটু বাইরে।

========================================

Fantasy 6 : Willow Song

==========================================
Willow Song

Broken castle of salt
Crumbling into wounds
In the wet earth,
Creatures of the deep
Leaping into the mist
Diving into the sky,
Somebody keep note;

Rocking on magma,
The peaceful giant sleeps.
The earth will breathe,
The dream will live,
The fortress will turn pink.
Angels will emerge, singing;
Write it down, someone...

Swans will disappear;
In the old marshland
Strange winds will rise
Because they remember:
Eyes from the olive green,
Old narrow escapes;
Record it for posterity.
==========================================

Curry

Maybe it's just the people with whom we feel infinite: who are lazy unless required, and who it's okay to hurt and be hurt by. Maybe it's because, in peaceful times, our hands smell of their hair.

Maybe it's just thanks left over from last night's sleep slept in sound safety, or the concealed bruises from today's; maybe it's because they laugh and smile when we lose balance and trip, and don't catch us unless we ask: maybe, it's because they gladly allow us to be stronger than we know ourselves to be.

Or maybe, like we've learnt so many times, and convinced ourselves otherwise so many times, the children of that old unkind evil inhuman human tree never fall far away from their roots; and all that we perceive, at dawn or under the grey sky or in the ominous rain or in packed buses and empty rooms and leafy ledges and tethered cables and spinning beasts and Bluetooth shares and white lies, is, maybe, nothing.

The Fantasy series is refusing to return

=========================================
Down

This pillow is alive
With parasites of all things holy,
With confused ramblings of newborn planets,
And with gentle reminders to never sleep
In an unmade bed.

Its heart made of mustard seeds
Has ran out of nutrition:
Left behind is the hollow, fibrous, springing welcome
To the land of yet another day
And the calls of more foreign beds.

Strands of hair bind dreams to speech
And fingers to furniture.
Warm blooded goals give breath to this pillow
And it stays alive, with the memory
Of when you last made my bed.
=========================================

Maa.

Break continues

=======================================
Deoxyribonucleic

There are abundant counterexamples:
Little bodies curl into themselves,
Cornered joints tremble,
Unpleasant surprise
Glues together eyelids:
When unstuck by tears,
They open to reveal
A newly unworthy world.

There's more:
Fingers, gnawed to the bone,
Grow back as weapons of self-destruction;
Mirrors look into children
And smile back as monsters;
Fairy tales are read aloud
To drown the story of mature triumph
Over humanity's last stronghold
Of questions;

Listening, nodding in clarity,
Scratching heads and leaping in epiphany,
Scholars polish their glasses:
They whiten blackboards
And blacken whiteboards;
The proof of love and safety
Remains irrefutable,
Rigorous in flesh and blood.
======================================

Break from Fantasy series

==============================
Out In The Box

This box once had crayons in it,
And assorted wool, Beyblade cards,
Chewed up erasers, spent refills,
Torn-up wrapping paper,
And cans of pill-shaped candy:
The blue ones were mine,
The pink ones were my sister's.

Now, the box has grown up.
It has scissors, stapler, binder clips,
Post-its, erasers, spent refills,
Modelling clay, Ganesha idol,
Rubber balls, and the same candy --
The blue ones are mine;
The pink ones are my brother's.
==============================

Natural sequel to Childhood 7

 Best read after Childhood 7 : Indulgence.

====================================
Seating, However, Is Provided.

Primates of contention;
Genetics notwithstanding,
We pick up the pieces
Of storms exact in timing.
The sun and sky are witness
Of troubles left untold
By two kids vainly fighting
To grow independent, bold.
I guess it can't be helped:
Intellect notwithstanding,
Prophecies will never die
In frivolous rhyming --

You refused to leave my side
How much ever I cried;
And I ended up hurting you
How much ever I tried.
====================================

Messed with the wrong sister. -_-
Title inspired by CKB and Chintu's exploits in PJ land.

The Sky Company Finds Treasure

Clouds are stupid. We give them much more meaning than they actually have. Clouds are not meant to trigger our imagination. Clouds are not meant to inspire us. They are only meant to die for our crops.

Clouds are simple. They are not a backdrop for birds, or for our fantasies of heaven, or for our ideas of the endless. They are but meant to die so that someone can get wet and dance.

Many, many years ago, there lived a cloud that denied its destiny: and so it bore all the little showers of the spiteful wind and sea until it was far too burdened to move...

...and the rest is prosaic history -- on someone's window pane; in someone's drenched hair; mingled with someone's obscured tears. Hence we say: the story of the sky is well told; some truths are cloudy -- but those are best left to the clouds themselves, to be lost forever in rain.

Fantasy 5 : Between Places

=====================================
Between Places

Dark little alley,
They say you're blind ended:
Blind you are, that I can see
But do you really end?

Perhaps out of the reach of poets
You bend and disappear
Into some Rabbit's Hole,
Into some oyster spirit's home,
Or into some monster's bed.

Well, you are a road, my dear,
Going but never gone:
Like all but Alice, down the Hole;
Like all but the pinkest pearl;
Or like Little Riding Red.

But, my little alley,
Though black are your flowers,
In my torn and half-lit hour
You are my only friend.
 =====================================

Fantasy 4 : We Are Young

========================================
We Are Young

His infinite eyes,
His comforting arms,
His hands held in mine.
The night is well heralded.

Sounds of the city
Matter less and less.
Crackling fire tells me
This night is going well.

Sitting where he feels me,
Wishing him good night;
I know it when I see it --
His closing eyes are peaceful,

Rhythmic breathing tells me
Darling, time is quick
Now my blood is rushing
The sound fills my brain...

...the red sun wakes us up.
I had something to do --
Ah, now I remember.
Well, that wasn't hard.

The day is well heralded:
Those hands clutch the sheets.
Those glassy eyes stay fixed on me,
I make sure he's seen me leaving.
========================================

Fantasy 3 : So Let It Sail

=====================================
So Let It Sail

Finest wisp of silvery air,
Darkened deep of caramel sweet --
Please let me know when she's there,
There's someone I'd like her to meet.

Her voice is not the nicest, but
I have heard her music, clear,
Not in singing, but in words
Of the ones that she holds dear.

He will love her when they meet --
I've seen it with my artist's eye
And I know I can't be wrong
For no one loves them more than I.

You think this dream I dream is stupid;
You think the very idea's cursed;
But if they do end up together
Remember, I thought of it first.
=====================================

Dedicated to the holy art of shipping.

The Sky Company and The Big Brave Birds

One perched precariously balanced on the tip of a spear, and the others braved the recesses of unknown vegetation -- their only objective was to ride their home wind on their own terms. Tricked into servitude, they were always on the lookout for an escape route -- in life or in death. The leaves shivered in consternation at their recklessness, but they touched the leaves with their wingtips, soothing them to sleep, and flew headfirst into very,  very apparent danger.

Meanwhile, the sentinel on the spear fell asleep, sliding silently down the moonlit metal and hitting the ground with a squawk and a thud -- and then the leaves woke to the truth. But the flock had never stopped beating their wings even as their tears flowed for the fallen one, and one after another they threw themselves into new dangers: dying, finally, in honest sacrifice, much to the grief of many new tree-friends...

...until finally, at the very upper right of the picture frame, one little bird escaped.

Fantasy 2 : Sound

================================
Sound

Cricket cricket cricket,
I'll never be alone,
Riddles told in rustling leaves,
I shall never know,
Bells and whistles, country carts,
They'd like to take me with them,
Winds so proudly swishing,
Mayhem, mayhem, mayhem,
Drums drumming, cymbals clang,
They refuse to leave me,
Knock-knock-knock inside my head,
Who'd ever believe me,
================================

Fantasy 1 : Sunset

Series pilot.

====================================
Sunset

I used to know her tiny hands.
They grabbed the air when she fell.

She jumped off a building

I used to know her jungle pants,
I saw them stand out in the sky.

She jumped off a building

I used to know her singing voice.
It sang hello to a brand new world.

She jumped off a building.
====================================

Nearly another decade

=========================================

With Compliments

In any corner of the earth

I'll bring fire to your hearth.

I'll sell my soul to find you warmth.

Don't take this the wrong way.

Carcasses of days that pass

Rot away on doorstep grass.

You stay young, shielded in glass.

This isn't meant to ruin your day.

Broken tiles and bitten shoes,

No longer of any use;

Torn-up sheets, irrelevant news...

I just asked if you're okay.

Bravery is underrated:

You know how the future's fated.

Happy Birthday belated,

Répondez s'il vous plaît

=========================================

The Sky Company and The Dead Detective

It looks like he's dead -- I swear it does. He doesn't breathe, he doesn't move, he's white all over; and his pipe is clenched so tightly between his teeth that we couldn't remove it. Is it him, you ask, are we certain? Well yes, we are. No one else could ever dress like that and still command respect, no one but him could bring the police cars all rushing to a humble speck under an angry sky just to look at the crumpled body of a careworn old cocaine addict; most importantly, though, no one else could make the entire city cry like that.

Nightmares are not exclusively held in sleep. They are held in the cruel heart of the cosmos and in the inaccessible and inexplicable corners of our own weakened bodies and minds. In the dead of night when the sane mind sleeps, the gears turn with scalpel precision, working to bring us nightmares that we can only blame ourselves for. The tears that flow afterwards hold no meaning -- trapped in the vortex of our own misjudgement, we slowly but surely sink into the depth of perpetual wrong.

When he was here, he could smell the evil from afar. He could warn us against being too trusting, he could nearly predict in exact sequence the axes that the enemy would line up above our unsuspecting necks. We liked to pretend that we would be fine without him -- but when we see his shadowed ghost floating away, away beyond the aeroplanes and beyond where the stars dwell, we realize that we are lost.

The Sky Company and The Circle Of Error

Nights become days, and days the nights that came before them, until time goes back an exact cycle to where it was. Only, this time, the mistakes are being repeated on purpose. Music tells us about triumph of good over evil, but we lie here thinking of all the evil that befalls those that sincerely wish to do good. The regular rhythms of procedural living bring trials variegated -- normalcy is painful. Sounds that have been altered by mistakes of cleansing have resulted in apprehension and hurt pride. The speech of homeland becomes sweeter than ever, and so do the images of the unidentifiable past. Identity varies much, until the mirror back at home no longer recognizes you when you smile at it -- or so you fear. Meanwhile, well-intentioned saints continue their good work, oblivious to your growing malice towards nothing in particular. You want to understand the new map of the familiar sky, but you cannot... next year, perhaps?

Sorry, Non-Bong Readers

===============================================

ভালবাসা-র উত্তরে 

আঁকব আমি গাছের গুঁড়ি

বেগনি রঙের ক্রেয়ন দিয়ে,

অনেক দিনের লম্বা চুলটা

করব ন্যাড়া সেলুন গিয়ে,

ইচ্ছা হলে মাছের ঝোলটা

দুধ-চিনি-ভাত মেখে খাব,

গাইব আমি অবাধ্য গান,

নাইটক্লাবেই নাচতে যাব;

করব আমি মারামারি,

অসভ্য প্রেম, রাজনীতিও --

নিজের সর্ব্বনাশটা আমি

নিজেই করব, দেখে নিয়ো।

===============================================

Kobita Bug Bites (Oh Crap)

Not again. I blame a certain (former) Bangla poet who showed me his poems.

================================
ছন্দ ব্যতিরেকে

যতদূর জানি, আমি
এই পুরানো হৃৎস্পন্দ​ন
বারবার শুনতে চাই।

তবে
কেটে যায় এত কথা
যে ভুলে যায় তারাই
যারা বলেছিল;
নেমে আসে চোখের পাতায় ঘুম,
যেমন একদিন নেমেছিল
তোমার কোলে শুয়ে। তাও যেন

কেন মনে হয় -- আমি
এই সময়ের গানটাই
বারেক গাইতে চাই। 

জানি,
অল্পদিন পরেই আবার
পাল্টাবে হৃদয়ের ছন্দ:
যেমন পাল্টেছিল
পরিচয়ের প্রথমে। তখন, 
কোল হবে অস্পর্শ; গাইব 
অন্যদিনের গান। তবু দেখো,

যতদিন বাজবে সেই
পুরানো হৃৎস্পন্দ​ন
ততদিন যেন শুনতে পাই।।
================================

Having an aantel brother has its disadvantages. Arrgh.

Btw, bonus points for putting funda on dedication/inspiration of above poem.

Kobita

Benglish poem, kinda-sorta on request. Translation will be offered on asking.
=======================================================
এমনি এমনি

কখনও একটু adversity,
আপন-ভোলা city lights,
গাছের পাতায় diversity,
নতুন বন্ধু,  মিষ্টি fights.

সবার থেকে দূরে আমি,
মনে আমার একলা song:
ঢ্যারঢ্যারে গোবিন্দপুরে
লেগেই গেল পুজোর রঙ!

জন্মেছিলাম অনেক আগে,
হয়েছি বড় ইদানিং;
ফাঁকা playlist -- নতুন রাগে
উঠবে গড়ে Now Playing.

আজকাল আমি অন্যরকম --
বদলে গেলাম কখন, কবে?
বোঝার চেষ্টা থাকুক এখন,
আসছে বছর হয়তো হবে।

হাবভাবে তো যায় না বোঝা
দাদা তুমি, না ছোট্ট ভাই...
না-ই বা পারি হালকা ছড়া !
লিখতে বললে, লিখছি তাই।।
=======================================================

^_^ Ritwik da, who asked me to write something less serious for once. He is convinced that this poem is less serious. Are you?

The Sky Company Makes New Friends

The sun is learning to make perfect peace with the mist. The blur, the hue, the blending -- it's all just so. Life, however, is making a decision to change from a state of uncomfortable perfection to that of serenity interrupted by the course (crows?) of nature. Myriad new things are happening -- only the bricklayer knows what makes and breaks the shifting walls between reality and comfort. It is not quite clear which is more desirable: to be ambitiously diplomatic or indulgently spontaneous. Hitherto we have tried one; we will soon try the other -- the calculations are ready. May the sunrise wish us luck.

Trouble Meets The Sky Company

My world, viewed through different eyes, seems both sweeter and harder to believe. Old arcs that few of us predate tell stories of unavoidable trust -- perhaps misguided, but nonetheless comforting in the ability to simplify.

The blueprints of today's morning sky were drawn behind the scenes of an altogether different theatre -- one of confused consternation pitted against indignant defiance. On the new stage, however, the roles are often reversed -- nature is laughably stubborn in its love for symmetry.

Poetry born of a head comfortably cradled in warmth will never have the fire that can light the poet's path for the hard times to come; and hence the sun begets a need for itself -- cleverly played!

Sitting atop an unfinished column of brick and mortar, one cannot but think of unfinished stories that, despite incompletion, make great vantages for other tales yet to come -- one looks with cautious anticipation upon the ever expanding sphere of possibility surrounding every sheltered corner and every burning forehead and every sleeping friend...

...tomorrow, then!

An Experiment

A poem with what I think is a new style for me. Title credit to my own past poem. :P

============================================================
Since You Mentioned Independence

I will stand between
You and the world.
You will fly, but never fall:
I will find a way,
No,
We will find a way

To be precious, to be strong,
And mysterious,
And erroneous, sometimes.

I will stand beside
You, in the storm.
You will ride the waves
But never sink:
I
Will navigate

Wrong roads, messy oaths,
Bloody meals --
Cannibalistic, sometimes.

I will sit where
You will always see
Me being there for you
Always, always.
You
Won't be alone:

Not in sleep, nor in dreams --
My love for you
Asphyxiating, sometimes.
============================================================

Whew. Comment comment comment. :D

The Sky Company Tries New Things

Beautiful things can sometimes be so intolerable,  especially if you know that they don't intend to be beautiful. With every note of this deceptive music, a part of me dies because I have seen through its sweetness and found a heart of uncaring pride. My consciousness hurts, but my body is too weak to even care.

The filth seems to be receding, but I know that it is only a cruel joke -- I still have a long battle ahead of me. My army is feeble because it derives strength from me. I can't shift blame: they are but children!

Tonight's clouds have disappointed many, but I never expected anything in the first place -- I never do. My path is clear but I don't feel like walking. I need my army...

The Sky Company Splits Up

Horizontal lightning and diagonal light -- there is nothing trivial about today's sunrise. I pity those who fear the red because it had burnt them before.

I wonder why, today, the geese fly so low! Do they, like me, yearn for a change of backdrop? Lights that are out of place flash once and flicker out, as if in fear: I consider it a triumph for the gilded truth that peeps out sheepishly from behind differential tact, its sensible sibling. Hence, give me the strength to conquer myself before I conquer the world.

The filth is fighting back, but now I have my army in familiar songs, comforting times and unchanging space -- and what bigger, what better could I possibly have?

Letters from Bengaluru

To Maa, from the returning bus

I am an adult. My world spins, and for the first time I am facing it without your help. I am responsible for myself and for my comrades. I am responsible for my clothes, my hair, my money. I have others, but they are not you -- hell, they are not even me. This place is interesting. It has taught me a lot. When I come back to you, I'll be more of an adult than when you last saw me.

Love,

Gg

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To R and R, from Wonder-la

At the top of the uncertain world, when the fear of life is gone, there is a strange sense of peace. The view and the breeze, for once, become meaningful for their own sake and not as reinforcements to one's sense of existence -- perhaps there is some truth to what the sages say about letting go. Right now, at the still moment between anticipation and exhilaration, I am torn between a deep ascetic longing for absolute Himalayan solitude and a childlike stubborn wish for you to be here with me.

Love,

Your sister.

P.S.: I'm bringing back food.

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To the world, from everywhere

I have been reminded that while I am within you, my consciousness is forever beyond your reach. Thanks for having me, but aside from the mandatory gratitude for survival, I feel nothing for you.

Love,

Your umpteenth reject.
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