When the wrong turn turned right…

It’s  like……. the path crossed me. The wrong path. At the right time.  it’s like the world of possibilities heralding its doors to me, me knowing well that neither of them leads to the opportunity I’ve been searching for. It’s more like anticipating from the wrong clouds to rain gathered  en masse up in the wrong corner  when the met has crucified the chances of it. It’s more like praying the bizarre prayers to the falling stars when you know for certain that no amount of star shower can revive your lost wishes.

How many mistakes does one need to go through to get to the right answer? Don’t I get tired? Why can’t I just choose to ignore results or better  just quit playing once for all so as not to agitate myself looking at the contradictory theories or game-plans that I’ve managed to chalk out in my year book so far? But I cant. Whenever I take the wrong turn it seems to welcome me with its arms thrown wide open, so endearingly, so passionately, so in a way that makes me feel that this is it, that I hastily surrender and that is when exactly I wake up bumping into some same old folly of mine that I thought has ceased to exist in me anymore… and voila … it is the same old wrong mistaken path that I realise I can but should not keep treading along. Trust me. Its not my fault. Had it been deliberate you could have accused me of that. but it wasn’t. How desperate I can now be to prove that little fact that only I know. Because it’s just that I don’t have the perfect alibi that sets me off it I can’t be vilified as well. It may come to you why I choose to take the wrong turn and choose to pass the road sign in the first. But do you really have an answer to why you choose to get freaking drenched in the rain knowing it may cause you a fever, cost you a fortune, bring you the menace of dealing with pneumonia just before your exams or an Office presentation?

I keep rewinding and playing all that has happened in the weird space that we shared. All I get is a little more fizzled out picture of that. I try to hold on to that but it slips out right before my eyes befooling me everytime I try harder. But what I have and will have for sure of all those shares are the memories. They keep getting stronger, strongly founded everytime I try to erase them. So I have given in. no more deleting. Preserve what I’ve got so far. Beautiful girls, cool moments, hot once as well, breezy lone times, crying over spoiled milk, worrying over spilling milk and rejoicing the boiling of it as well. Things went past, some slowly, some faster than I’d expected. But when I look back upon them (this sentence should definitely not insinuate that I am at the edge of my erratic and erotic journey, brooding with shrunken misty eyes for good lord, please) I find a lover in me…who loves to love and loves to be loved… and believe me with all those broken heart pieces that I’ve managed to tape together again and again… I see myself as a hero!

I never loved you

{Sorry folks... i know I never lived up to the blogging thing. I stayed away from this for a long time... actually "long" is a disagreeable term, an understatement. I am actually surprised to see my blog page still persists! They should have nailed me into coffin by now! An apology. (But that does not necessarily mean I would start writing again periodically or seasonally... I will write when I will. huh! this post is a part of something I wrote some times back... it might have had its relevance then... so don't delve into details...)}

I never loved you. I loved your shadow. I saw you on and off. But I see your shadow every time I want to see. 

When you weren’t there I always saw your shadow in mine holding my hand, standing beside me. Even when I ask her to leave she never leaves me. Not like you who cares more about what I speak, not what I meant to. You abandoned me when I appeared foul to you. But that lass, your shadow, instead ruffles up my hair, soothes my bubbles, tempt my love, wins my soulful kindness.  She snuggles up to me in the night, on the bed, in the space between me and my pillow. I hold her close to my chest, rub my nose up her cheek, mop down her apparent exhaustion with my hand brushing up to her fingers, close my eyes, open up my heart, whisper my fear into her ear. But she dispels my every fear, fear of losing you, fear of you getting disarrayed with your commitments, fear for a life without you, fear for a day without you. She said her black robe will always protect me, accompany me even when her living presence will fail to shine upon my life, light up my face.

And see…this is exactly what happening to and in my life. Thanks for lending me your shadow. You are not here… but see, she is looking over my shoulder, at what am I writing at this hour of night.

when my Sis good-byed me...

It felt exactly the same way it did almost three years ago from today when my sister got married. Yesterday….even today morning I thought I would be getting over it easily as by now I must have been seasoned living half parted from her since that day. And given the fact that I am three more years older from that day…I convincingly promised myself that I would be Cool. But no I couldn’t keep it cool. Not even an inch close to that cool thing. It all started when I entered her flat to pick her and my Bro-in-law for the airport and saw its deserted look. Things were covered, boxes and containers were emptied, all her so-carefully-nurtured plants were gone, her meticulously chosen sheets, covers, trendy appliances and foolishly cute showpieces were nowhere to be seen and there she was ready to bid me an one year long ‘Tata’. Yeah. She’s off to Singapore for one long year along with her husband leaving me back here for the second time. It wrenched inside my stomach. the paranoia of losing you..... or of not having you there on the local call rate for sorting out serious things or for sharing spicy, petty issues alarmed me at once.
No, I don’t dread ‘the- future- without -you’ now, I am self-sufficient, [at least I’ve trained myself for these 3 years without that one part of you ]… but the moment I think about the new year, the Saraswati puja, the Durga puja, Bhai fota, rakhi and other such events that the future of this coming year holds out to me, I dread. Its like I am lost for the second time in life, second time to the same situation.

Ok…ok…I know. Its not ONE year, its 1 year. Its only a four hours journey. Skype is there to bring us both together..economically.Didi is going to be back in her flat in just few days and one year will fly away just like that….. yeah yeah I know all that. And moreover may be I am just acting a bit stupid, may be a bit more for my age. But hey I can’t help it. It is not something  I’ve planned on behaving the way I am. The car ride was fine. It was all dark in there. Once we all got off at the airport, I simply couldn’t but elude her eyes. My parents were busy distributing crumbs of opinions, suggestions, advices, warnings in wholesale to them. I was listening with rapt attention as if it was me who was going out. My eyes were downcast and I was caught. She grasped my arms, I looked up, baffled, our eyes met, she winked…..and I don’t know what of my expressions were sought then, what would have made it look everything was cool while it was not so cool. I forced out a laugh callously. She put her hand on my shoulder while she kept her gaze fixed at mom. I knew I had failed in concealing me as it has always been with her. And that made me ache inside tremendously. I never wanted to dampen her mood and make her cry by herself (that I know she will once she gets a little time in private) …. .

hangover-the morning after

“I miss you” doesn’t necessarily mean you miss me too. It is not needed as well. But at the start of every relationship and few days down the lane together,it imparts the feeling that the partners sharing the bond feel alike, smell alike, taste alike and thinks alike for each other. They tend to ignore the fact that sharing of the bond depends truly on the individual’s capacity. They may take part in the same activities but still they may perceive the outcomes differently. They may argue with each other while cuddling as to who loves more or who gives more to the relationship… but seriously that is really determined at the end of it.

Walking broken-hearts is usual (and at times can make you good at traffics i.e. careful) but walking with broken-hearts is a different thing altogether. It can make you a jay-walker leaving you with scars and bruises, yet still bumping into here and there. In that case just don’t think about how-it-would-have-been-if…… or why-it-didn’t-turn-out-the-way-you-planned-it-last-Valentine. Don’t think about what you put into it and what you got in return….coz…. that would definitely hurt…….(and why the hell do you want to run over and over again those memories that didn’t quite take shape? Did all of your exams go well in your school, even after your preparations? Every mountaineer doesn’t have a sunny day everyday. Even Bear Grylls still struggles so hard, eats live uncooked arthropods for his show everyday...even after being such a hit…..then what are you?) Just pretend as if you had a bad bad hangover last night and search for some bitter remedies…..(that may tastes bitter but is effective!!).

p.s: this post is not intended to be understood by everybody and I am no “relation-ship’s sailor man“ ….

Dreams!

There was a time when I felt comfortable sitting among my dreams, walking alongside them. They were all around me, they were all for me…I followed them, they followed me. But now those dreams have turned to be like the winter in Kolkata… I know it’s there, somewhere, in the time space but not confident enough to tap them.

They are wonders… we close our eyes only to see them… open our eyes to realize them. For me, I still dream of the upcoming day(s). I can see them jutting out of the piles of books and copies that surround me these days. For my grandmother (as she used to narrate to me in her last days) dream was only about the reminiscence of her long lost childhood & desher bari. She used to tell me how she had grown up with all plays and joys [as if there was no tomorrow], how she had fished all that little happiness from the utmost trivial things like climbing trees, making bhepu out of dried mango seeds, swimming like fanatics, wild jungle explorations etc…and many a these within that small span of her pre-marriage childhood. I was fascinated at these stories and thinking how she must have looked like when she did all these in her lunacy, made me astonished, happy, mystified but envious as well. I knew my stories won’t be the same, won’t be anywhere near to her’s and would never stir up such awe in my grandchildren… (If I ever have any). So I used to brush off all my morbid thoughts at the stories and banish them with the endorsement that my toiling with the books would someday bring me luck to savour a time much much more embellished with Life and Life like feelings.

Well, I still don’t know what this dream actually is and why is this dream thing there at all? Does it actually motivate or baffle us? Does it actually cheer up or hold us back? Does it promise to make our life better or mocks at our failure? Whatever it is… all that I know is, it resides in that tremor in the voice of my grandmother when she pictured her days in words and on the rheumy eyes of her [I saw once, just for once].

Dancing Pathos

They say Dancing comes naturally to a person.... if that's from the text book then what am I? Test tube baby? coz... dance is one of those many things that denies to come to me naturally! They say let go your body to the easy flow of the music; let it sway to the meandering ups and downs of the music... I know it's not that easy for me. It has never been. But what can you do? Not dancing in any Happy Event invariably conveys that you are not at all happy with the event. Some may even hail you as a futile person slumped in deep dejection. They corner you with incessant urges, threats, pleas, appeals etc. And you can tell from the hostile glares of your mom from around that it is about time you get on to the fields or else they will oust you and your family from the society en masse.

So, now there I am in the middle. after all those budges I have uncomfortably managed to be the important person (or a dancer as they stare at me now... as if I had promised them a good dance show beforehand and so are they now anticipating) among them all. but when the stage is set with people around looking up to me to begin or at least feign involvement in the Happy Event (that is in no way or in any way associated with dance), all my body can do is prancing (thudding, given the kilos I weigh now).... no matter how hard I try to infuse it with a grace it always falls short by miles, ends up with all bounce but dance.
The unruly limbs frantically rejects commands of its master and raise concern among the Happy Crowd. And there the same crowd again who now laugh their guts out at me, at my dance. There the same host of people who minutes ago was dying to see me dancing, now keeping me from jumping any more to elude death. And there the same mom again... more raged coupled with embarrassment... looking stealthily at her audacious son...(as to her I am an expert at everything and this was nothing but an act of defiance!!!).

of the people... by the people.....YAWWWWN

Somebody pleeeeease put her to sleep. Give her a little sedative, will you? Or if you can roll up some hashish for her… even better! She needs something strong… something that would lead:

· Her brain to hallucinate that center has been nudged sufficiently to accede to her ever rising demand of extra goodies (as in fund)

· Her to lose the track of time, news and routine that would eventually help her to stop shedding more tears at the loss of one or more celebrity every other day (and may even live under the false conviction that Bhupen Hazarika is still very much alive).

· Her to visualize, she being woken up by the morning bell of the BigBen and then being driven to the Writers replaced Buckingham palace by her personal, old hand driver B.Basu and then is served a piping hot tea over the yet-to-be-outspread The Times (that hid the picture of her unveiling the London Kolkata Bridge for public use, with the chappals still on, within its fold)

· Her to believe that the coming years are also for her.

Maybe that day she might sit contented and let us to rest in peace.

“The Union Government has taken such a decision keeping the UPA partners in the dark”--- we, now, can see this coming whenever there is an inflation or an oil price hike, much much before she and her friends re-run them. Look at her face! Even after being the 2^nd largest ally, even after ruling the roost here in West Bengal….or Bangla….or Paschim/Poschim Bangla/Bongo…. No participant of the bigger game is yet ready to acknowledge her “I want that Lollypop” whimsies. Come on, she is a woman after all. Listen to what she has to say (or yell) before anything. It is, after all, the woman reservations you’ve taught us all about… remember Mrs. UPA?

Why is she so worried about the latest hikes or at least is seen so? O… does it have anything to do with the coming Panchayat Poll or am I just being cynical of her integrity? Whatever, she is there again… shouting, clamouring, coming out with new polished good-to-listen intimidation of leaving her partner if no roll back of the latest hike is guaranteed and all such kindda stuffs she has excelled in.

(Take a break and take a minute to see how parties are being made within your party, how the municipalities are getting divided into lobbies and how are your people busy in extracting money from the common people in the name of muscle power. Even the local boys have turned thugs at the behest of your green netas. Audit and dig out the pelf from under the pillow of every local Counselor, municipality authorities, Pradhan, Sabhapati, Sabhadhipati, every Chairman and every such person vested with your ma-mati-manush interest. Your blame game will not save you. It is rotting and eventually it will stink making it more harder for you then to call down your refractory rebels ….. then the decomposing flower, stem and grasses are not far from the worms residing under the top-soil).

She, the dissenter of her own policies, is as much confused with every promise she had made as perplexed is our state with her name, our railway with her credit crunch, Communist with the choice of their path to reinstate their sovereignty in the state.

Please don’t pressurize her… it is only her few days in power. Strolling on the kachcha Sadak of the state and howling at the drop of the hat is way toooo better than handling those expectations, am I not right? Or am I right?