Bye Jenny... from Calcutta

I remember that huge blue bag you used to carry, the songs we shared when others were busy cracking jokes, the childish pranks with colleagues, everything. But people move on, they leave you empty, and again you need to gather yourself. We are all here to tell a story, and now I know whether you are around or not I have to narrate.

Jenny on love

How will you live without a closure? A closure is important. You will do the same thing that your mother has done.

Jenny on food

Hey, I love grilled fish … Peter Cat. Let’s go wild today. Let’s have a chilled beer and ended up sipping strawberry blossom.

Jenny on leaving Calcutta

You plan to stay to here forever or what? Is it the city or parents? How will I tell you it’s more than just city or kinship?

Jenny on “get over it”

Yes, you are absolutely correct - I have. I have killed the beast that tempts me, I have got over it.

With loads of love,
Yours Shy

And this is life!

The seed of life was hidden,
Snow-ridden-
Secured in the arms of winter,
From thunder-
The curtains of night are so known;
So high-flown,
And this is life-
Bribing me each time

I lent mine to build yours,
This canvass stands yet,
Breathing a fate-
Watching where my life lay,
Parting silently from the play,
And this is life -
I imbibe.

I pour some more,
Till came down frost,
A flow-
Where I am lost,
And I blindly run,
To meet my dying sun,
And this is life-
Of my own tribe

No measured language will sleep.
Neither the guilt will creep.
This morning shower-
Altering every living hour-
To make way for a transient bower,
For this is life.
I will thrive…

From interpreter to the unaccustomed earth

The journey from attachment to the vine of desire was painstaking. In the unaccustomed earth, she traverses from commitment to betrayal. For the habit of having a companion we betray the past; for adventure we betray sanity; and for love we betray friendship. Above all these small closures of life, how death betrays living. However, taking cue from Khureishi’s "intimacy" some of the betrayal becomes necessary – to grow, to move on, and to learn.

Hema did not share a living with Kaushik, but he grew old in her, he suffered in her and died with her. The natural calamity was hand cuffed by a bond without burden. The only reason that tied them together was his mother who again was betrayed. The emptiness that made him reach to the shores of Hema, where they met their memoirs of togetherness.

From this narrative to the struggle a father made to open up to his daughter, but could not. This is also betrayal in its subtle form.

To my best mood!

neeler akash neeler sathey,

neeler chondo kobitatey

neel nder sphurti dekhey,

neel dekho hashtey sekhey

neeler bakko neeler kata,

ondhokarey medher chata

neeler moton taragulo o,

hawar taley hele berai
neel ke tai kokhono ki,

boddho ghorey lukono jai?

neeler chotto rupkothara,

haphiye othey helai phelai
neel to motto apon bhola ,

neeler dorja moshto khola

neeler mithey meghdutera,

shraboney deiy haathti chani
mathey mathey neeler abhash,

keno korish neel porihash?

neeler adhar neeler ontto,

neel je aaj boroi klanto

neeler bristi, neeler kada,

neeler hashir phuto chada

diner sheshey neeler deshey,

ghumer mashi asbey bheyshey

sopno niye neel chokheytey,

chaibey titash hariye jete

An Enclosure

Amende

Between the questions and answers resides this perplexity now. I tried it so many times, to write, to write letters. But the pen was more tempted to undo them. The heart felt words that purr even when I resolve to fail myself. I tried to be carefully careless. Yes, I have failed myself and moved on. Did I really move on? Do I really want to move on?

I laughed and smiled on triviality. I did not listen to the words spoken to me. Was I scared? I have no answers. Probably, the answers are so loud now that they leave me dead-frozen. This could not complete the crossword of this feeling. I do not know which words to pick, and from which lexicon.

I write and I cannot decipher the purport. My desolations are lost in the forest of reason. The bell of “image” rang so loudly that the sugar-coated utterances were misplaced. They were lost in translation, I have failed them, I have scorned them, I have defeated them … slaughtered, murdered, and buried. How ruthlessly I have washed my hands clean!

Are my hands really clean? They have stains of blood. Yes, I am guilty. Are there any courtrooms to convict me? I have no alibi. I am guilty of murder. I yell and there is no one to hear. I am preordained to live among the deaf. There are no words. I am jinxed! I am the Pandora’s Box, not to be opened…

Nothing can deliver my crippled soul…but the acceptance. Yes, I have accepted but only to ruin this soul.

As it goes without saying …“sorry seems to be the hardest word”.

To my favorite poet!

For every dine of ecstasy,
We’ll make the torture pay.
For every loving hour -
Indiscernible suffering of aeon,
Sharp distances -
And an undying fear.