A sojourn with a nocturnal companion

Cold was the night, my soul listless, relentless;

A paradox of emotion, tumbling through my head.

The rhythm seemed imperfect,

Or I had shut my mind’s eye.

Through the doors, I walked into the cold night,

The cool of the night and my burning emotions,

A charitable companion, me and the night.

I walked past the doors, of the sleeping city,

I walked even past the dark narrow alleys,

That brimmed with nocturnal activities.

Night’s canvas painted a different picture,

Than that of it’s bright-lit cousin- daylight.

It all seemed purist, even part illusion,

A far away dream,

That has long faded, leaving its scant essence,

Chaffing against the soul.

Yet we walked on, me and my companion, the night.

I came upon a crossroad, which I may have often passed by before,

But never oft enough,

For I never stopped to explore.

To look beyond what was there.

To overcome the cold stares, that crippled one’s soul,

There was not enough defiant-ness, to find out anything more.

To escape this existence, where mundane seemed life;

All else- a hushed up existence,

Dwelling in the dark abyss of mind,

So deep, so dark,

Light could not reach out.

And there it lingered, crawled, clawed, tried to break free.

But the shackles of darkness, held it place-

A prison of its own destiny.

Help me night, to see where I am going.

For, this journey, once began, has no ending.

No going back to the very beginning.

Night’s kaleidoscope painted a mournful hue,

The mind’s eye, knows not what’s true.

What is before the eyes, or what has bygone.

It just might not have ever been existent.

I turn to my companion, unanswered questions lingering,

But the apparition fade off into nothingness

And, as I trace my way back, pensive from my traverse

I pass the doors of the sleeping city,

I walk even past the dark narrow alleys,

And walk back through the doors,

Away from the cold night, into my cold, closed soul.

A paradox of emotion, clamouring all around me, choking.

The rhythm all imperfect, without harmony;

And I, without my nocturnal companion, lost in the cacophony of the silence.

Down, down the Ferris Wheel

I am going down on the Ferris wheel;

Everything around me stands still;

The wind sweeps across my face,

Unsettles my dress, my visage,

Everything else stands still.

I go low, low,

Doing the rounds, a musical twirl,

Faces pass, visions blur,

The world is a colorful maze,

As I sit perched, going down on the Ferris Wheel.

There someone rushes past,

A multi-hued zigzag, amidst the façade.

As I sit still, the world moves in a tumble,

Spinning out of control,

While I sit and assemble.

I am going down on the Ferris Wheel.

It is a prolonged journey;

From top to bottom; of the arc,

I make it in periodic motions,

Never past, the downward spiral of the Ferris Wheel.

The peripheral vision plays tricks,

I see the world in colorful haze,

An alluring lion’s lair,

Or a gypsy’s forgotten tune, playing out to the meadows.

A mask here, a face there,

It gets hard to decipher, truth from dare,

While I am going down on the Ferris Wheel.

The cold air stings,

Ground seems afar,

While I am suspended,

Hit the bottom below,

Or fly away,

The wings and the clips are both in my bag.

The Ferris wheel goes round and round

It replaces all others sounds,

I am the sole occupant,

Besides me none,

To hold me up,

Or push me down.

Eyes, hardly see past the daze,

Nose leaves behind its senses to the ground,

Ears, they strain to hear,

The mortal sound, while the giant Ferris wheels roars past the ground,

And I, its sole occupant, sit and wait my turn to get off. 

Look who came visiting!

This lil un was found on our balcony. How it landed there, clueless. The lil sparrow's mother is unable to take it away. So have placed it in a cardboard box till it learns to fly. The mother is constantly chirping around.

What can I feed it till it remains my guest? I certainly would not want it to starve. Though the mother is around, she is away for quite long periods.

Annihilating evil, the goddess astride her lion chariot heads for her heavenly abode!

We wait with bated breath for her annual decent to her paternal abode on earth again next year.

Does happiness come with a price tag?

Does happiness come with an expiry date?? Why is it only periodic? It is like medicine that when the dosage exceeds the limit we are prescribed or maybe, when we are cured (from the monetary dullness and regularity of life)that we need to stop..why is it like a flimsy mirage? elusive..always..just when we think we have it in our grasp, it slips away like silken threads from our fingers? Is it because we materialize, label and try to purchase happiness? So that the more we try, the more elusive it becomes? I have always believed that the pursuit of happiness is best traveled inwards..our innermost being..that is one thing very much within our capacity to fulfill rather than scaling mountains, scourging oceans...braving windy bellows...to find that place where we are united with happiness...however, these past few days (been quite sometime now), am starting to doubt the truth in this. If it is so within our reach, camouflaged in our being..why is it the toughest to locate? after-all, end of the day, we earn, we eat, we fight, we cry, we grieve..isn't it not only for attaining that one moment of true happiness...just a thought!

Nostalgia over Mahalaya

My earliest memories of the Mahalaya is waking up to the baritone of Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s Mohisasuro Mordini. Babi would wake me up sharp at 4 am to listen to the recorded version being aired on Akash Vani. This turned out to be an annual ritual to welcome the goddess on the eve of the Navratri. To this day, my pujo doesn’t commence without the nostalgic goose bumps that are accompanied with the hearing of the ‘Baajlo Tomar Aalor Benu’ and the deep, bass voice.  

Over the years, this was followed by the telecast on Doordarshan and gradually, cable television networks which enacted various renditions of the Moshisasuro Mordini episode, that of good annihilating the evil. In the younger days, the televised versions held subsequent interest which has gradually phased out over the years, due to repeated renditions of the same story. And might I say, the recent renditions are but a sad version of their predecessors, the actors oft are not convincing in their roles and the story development, just pathetic!

Another important part of the Mahalaya or the Devi welcoming occasion has been the torpon. Going over to Bagh Bajar ghats with Ma and Babi to offer our ancestors the holy water of the Ganges, are as integral to this day as the radio recital or television acts.

The travel back home after the torpon till this day is rounded up with visits to the small, hing kochuri outlets that are available at every nook and corner of North Kolkata, harking back on the old world charms and memories of a bygone era. Babi would always elaborate on how old this shop is, which famous personality had visited that one to gorge on the famous hing or koraishutir kochuri.

These continue to be a part of the tradition of welcoming the devi every year. However, recent work related commitments however have robbed me off the pleasure of the ending ritual. However, I still make it a part to hold on to the former traditions.

Tomorrow will be such another day, another year.

Subho Mahalaya.

Blurry!!

Behind shadow lines