Beginnings -I

BREAKING NEWS

Since nobody apart from three people, namely THIS, THAT and OTHER, follow this blog, i am going to extremely impolite, not-so-decent and outrageously obvious.
Keeping in mind that they had already grown their wings, though they were people who tried to clip them from time to time, they just kept growing back (damn!!), it is now time for them to fly. Fly and reach out not to the stars or the moon but, to their dreams.

This is it. This is the new beginning.

And on behalf of THIS and THAT, I, THIS congratulate all of you out in that world that people say is 'big and bad', because now you will be joined by two people who will do things that have never been done before. Two other people , just two other people, making their place in the world, in their very own way!!!

Units ands Measurements

How long is 'too long'? How is 'too short'?
How do you measure time?
Hours?
Minutes?
Seconds?
Shouldn’t time be measured in moments? In events? In memories?
Memories that you remember…moments that broke your heart or events that you cherish...events that lasted way too long like the family function with all those old n artificial aunties (artificial hair…artificial teeth…and even their gossips are also artificial… aaaarggghhh!!) or the moments that lasted way too short like the Dumdum to Kalighat metro ride with that pink salwar-kameez-wali by your side.

Shouldn’t time be measured in the memory of the echoing laughter of your younger sister when you’d tickle her?Shouldn’t time be measured in the smile that crosses your face at the very thought?Shouldn’t it be measured in the helplessness that you felt when you saw your mother having a bad headache and were old enough to realize her pain? The fact that you can actually do nothing about it but to just stand at the door and watch your father sitting with her head in his lap and a frown on his face---wouldn’t it be right to measure the beats of your scared little heart as time?

The first blankness that engulfed you after being announced as the winner of some silly competition which meant the world for you…the numbness that you felt when India lost the World cup finals…the crazy Bhashan dance on Dashomi…the fear on the night before the results…the cycle ride that ended in an accident…the sinking feeling when your crush went ahead and proposed to your best friend and she (that bitch!) accepted…the effort that went into making that surprise cake or that unknown bird cooing away on a very lonely afternoon---isn’t this time?

Then who (the hell) says time doesn’t come back. It is the only thing in this (freaking) world that is yours…completely and totally yours…coming back to you…whenever you want…at your very first call…over and over again.

Let her be,
She hasn't hurt you.
Don't kill her.
Don't trample her beneath your feet.
Don't turn her to ashes between your finger.

All she does,
Is to come down with silent vengence.
Falling on noses, resting on eyelashes.
As soft as your lover's skin
a life of pristine beauty.

Let her live,she'll give you joy.
Let her breathe.
For those few minutes,
She just wants to live.
Oh please! Please let the snowflake live.

When you were busy....

Have you ever heard the dew drops falling on leaves?
A very rare sound to hear but if you get to hear it on a cold January night you’ll know why I’m writing this post.

You are busy with something…engrossed in some stupid work may be and you hear this first few drops and suddenly you feel like coming out of a trance and you’re relaxed. Your mind lets go of all the tiring thoughts, releases you of your duties and responsibilities and you just listen to that tip…tip…tip…feeling yourself as the dew, being lowered from leaf to leaf with every single drop and you feel as if you are back home---to the gentleness of your mother’s care, the depth of her love, the feeling of languor in her arms and the wetness of her kiss. The sound has an atonal melody to it which releases you of all the atavistic ways of life.

Your eyes gets closed by themselves but you can feel the surrounding with every breath you take---the chilly air, the calmness, the soft tip-tip through the penetrating silence and you can feel yourself glow with bliss. Through the velvety darkness you can almost visualize the sparkling drop of dew; soaking your senses and leaving a minty refreshment spreading like venom through every capillary, every nerve of your body making you burst out in bloom waking you up from your sleep like a new-born flower bud.

And somewhere inside, you know that the world is, after all, not such a bad place to live in.

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By the way Happy New Year readers…from you know…This and That and a few others may be :)

Christmas...as it was

"Baba...Baba..."


One deafening yell...then a crash...and I was on the floor,wrapped in a bundle...quilt,pillows, bedsheet n et al.


The whole house came running.
“What happened?” Baba asked, pulling me up through all that mess.
“He came. He actually came again this year. See I got my gifts. Cake, biscuit, a book and a letter.” I smiled.
Baba smiled too. So did Ma. We all smiled on the Christmas morning.


Christmas is there for that only, right? Its there to make you smile.

When you believe in the fairytale, you smile because your faith is true and when you don’t, then also you smile to the memories…and that faith stored up at some corner of your loyal heart which soon fills your entire mind and sets your imagination free…and ultimately brings a smile on your face.


Fortunately or unfortunately,I always used to get the same gifts from Santa every year…a cake, a packet of Britannia Good day, a book and a letter. The letter was the most fascinating part. Santa knew everything that I did year round and he wrote to me about that. He gave me innovative ideas about how to be all the more naughty…he asked me to be good…to love…believe and most of all he asked me to be happy. He also used to request a reply. I used to reply as well. And not knowing where to post it I ended up handing it over to Ma who always used to know where to find him.
Christmas was definitely a lot of fun...always.


It must have been class-III…the last time Santa ever wrote to me…and I never replied.



May be the child in me had started to doubt or the adult in me had started to grow up…what ever it might have been…I recognized Santa’s handwriting.

It was Baba. He had written the letter to me.
I was shocked, disappointed and hurt.

Hurt beyond imagination because not only was my Santa just fake but he also did not exist. He was simply not there. Not in my house…not in someone else’s house stuck up in a chimney…not in his factory at the North Pole. He just wasn’t there. Nowhere.The child in me lost its unadulterated faith and gained access to the world of doubts, disbelief and rationality.




It was hard to let Santa go... but as years passed…I realized that I don’t need to let go of him…rather I cant let go of him…because at some corner of my heart I’m still grateful to that bearded old man with his huge belly, red dress, reindeers, guffaws, elves and promises to return the next year, for making me imaginative and believing. For making me love, smile and happy. I am grateful to him because he actually taught me the lessons of life as I’d have preferred them. I love him because he kept his promise each year and came back to collect that piece of paper full of spelling mistakes and grammatically incorrect sentences or phrases..whatever you might call it...I love him because he never left me.

P.S:I never replied to him after that little discovery part…but however now…I really wish he would write to me one last time…I promise I'd reply.

Tell me...

Tell me…how do you do it?
How do you express agony in words?
How do you make one understand in words that your insides are on fire?
Your mind, your heart, your senses are blazing---tell me, how do you tell one that?
How do you tell someone that the reason you cannot utter a word is not because you don’t want to, but because there are these freaking words stuck in your throat, stumbling upon each other to come out?
How do you explain your irrational, unnecessary heartbreak?
How...exactly how do you convey your loneliness…
Your love…your anger… your laughter…your hatred…
The nausea you feel when you have to swallow those solid emotions not being able to bring them out in words…
The desire, the longing to scream, shout, groan, curse and then cry,
Just sit down and sob in a corner hugging your own self tightly… How do you do that? How do you express them in words?

She

She,
She is the reason of the sun's morning glow,
the falling of leaves during a cosy autumn.
She is the reason of laughter on a few faces,
so many hearts' ecstacy and delight.
She is the reason of the sweet smell of dew on grass,
the riot of colors everywhere.

She.
She is the reason to survive.

She,
She is the splash of thoughts dipped in ink, on bits of paper,
the overflow of love now and then.
She is the apprehensive confession of a lover,
the ache in his heart for a mere glimpse.
She is the innocence of a new born infant,
the still silence of the mountains.

She.
She is the horizon and beyond that.

She,
She maybe dust or rain,
love or hate.
Maybe freedom or captivity,
a dream or a nightmare.
Maybe hope, or the lessness of it.,
life, or perhaps even death.

she....


__________________________________________________
to my better-half!! :)