The Goddess’s UTOPIA

The din of our day to day lives suddenly gets usurped by the rumble of the clouds while the lightning bolts scurry through the cloudy sky. The nonchalant passer-byes tread upon but one mind detaches and fancies a thought process; “the clouds float oh-so peacefully through the sky but even they need to roar so as to usher in the rains.”
Muddy, convoluted lanes encroached upon by in-numerous thatched sheds comprising of wooden frameworks waiting to be touched by the artisan’s hands that will mould the frameworks of clay into incarnations of The Deity. The pot-hole ridden lanes crowded upon by amateur hands holding various models of cameras to capture that holy moment when her eyes are sketched and drawn which is fabled to bring Her into Life!
The magnanimous idol situated in the southern part of the city attracts an endless sea of visitors, who brave the sweltering heat and the various hurdles that our beloved city’s traffic has to offer, only to catch a glimpse of the idol that towers over the surroundings and to see whether those countless slogans of ‘Eto boro? Sotti?’ were merely false propaganda or had any truth in them; while the necessitous maker of that very graven image wanders about, searching for an idol of that very same deity, only the puniest version which befits and is in-sync with his stature.
He hopes to find one so that he can look into the eyes of his own goddess who’s glimmering eyes wait patiently for her beloved father in torn little frocks with a sickly smile.
“What a hapless father am I? And what an unlucky daughter is she? I help create these colossal statues for people I barely know but for Her, my Angel, I can do no better than this.”
It is fabled that this deity had been created by combining the virtues and strenghts of the most powerful Gods and Goddesses so as to defeat the Asuras; an army of devils who were granted immense power by the very Gods and Goddesses they rebelled against. This deity, Maa Durga had single-handedly (actually she possessed ten hands) defeated the leader of the Asuras and taken his life. This moment is the one brought alive through the idols. Peace had been restored and humanity could grow and head to where we all stand today.
God created humans; Humans created Religion and Religion created various faces of the Supreme Power or the Almighty. Which face to worship? Which one to frown upon? Where to kneel down and solemnly pray? A Mandir? A Masjid? Or the Church?
Where should this father go and pray? Where should he offer flowers, sheets covered with rose petals or candles so that his daughter does not have to face such impecuniousity?
Humans are believed to be the foremost species of life to have ever graced this planet. I do implore the “finest creations” to try and answer the questions that darted out of this meandering mind.

  “All you need in this Life.. is a hand outstretched for you.”

Folded hands address that same deity who once rid this planet from the ghastly terrors of the Asuras, who stood alone in the face of danger and defeated Evil. She brought us out of that peril, I hope she can see how many hands are outstretched for Her to grasp and pull them out of this delusional place which she vehemently fought for once. I hope she hears this father’s prayers and see his daughters tears. I hope this time when she returns back to her husband; she makes sure there are no more hands that are left outstretched for her to grasp!

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Lugar Profano o Paraíso de Bibliófilos?

‘Where are you? Where the hell are you? I’m just going to try and finish whatever you are!’  a voice rattles from the pathway leading to the chamber. The magnanimous house drenched in white with an eerie atmosphere around it! A paranormal experience enthusiast’s delight!
The Belvedere House; the enchanting presence that has it’s delirious entrapment ready to baffle and play with our meandering minds!

‘Someone there? Help me out!’

The chamber in the ground floor sealed from the above and bricked up at the entrance through an unique archway. No trapdoors or openings yet a sudden chill runs down anyone’s spine walking through this passageway with an inexplicable feeling of being followed. The guide says that it served as a torture chamber for prisoners during Lord Belvedere’s reign and has never been opened since. The voice fades away but the absurd thoughts carry on. Book lover’s Paradise? Or the safe haven of something Unholy?

Ville de joie

The train enters the station and slows down. The familiar voice greeting new passengers comes floating through the open windows. Sleepy eyes are awakened, luggages are pulled and settled, the elders are counting the number of heads again vividly and then as the platform comes into sight, everyone gushes towards the gates like someone has opened a tap and the water is gushing towards it! The ‘arey’, ‘uff’, ‘dada ektu shorun na’, ‘egiye jan”; start off with the pushing and grunting and somehow everyone on board manage to get out. The station is huge, strewn with hawkers and coolies ready to jump on you to offer their respective commodities. It’s a long walk to the entrance yet there is almost no unnecessary commotion other than a family’s occasional loud bargaining with the coolies or some people carrying huge cartons along the platform shouting ‘shorun, side deben’. The station resembles the good old ‘9 ¾’ platform and straight off its evident that the only description given by the tourists about the City of Joy is spot on; it is truly a timeless beauty that has forgotten to adopt the new exuberance of the other metropolitan cities but chooses to be draped in her age-old cloak of conjuration! No wonder the British chose it to be the Capital of India, no one can disagree that the Englishmen have great taste!

The old clock tower reads six o’clock. As soon as someone takes the first step out of Howrah station, one can see the daily bustle across the city even during the wee hours of the day. In the age of Olas’ and Ubers’, getting a taxi from the pre-paid booth is an ordeal though it perfectly befits the city’s knack of keeping the old charm intact! The sea of yellow taxis instantly takes you back in time. The taxi takes you inside the city over the Ganges through the colossal structure known for its architectural prowess called the Howrah Bridge and the pavements are filled with enthusiastic runners, people treading along and little kids running here and there playing with cycle tyres. The seemingly endless river takes your breath away and the sudden gush of cold wind sends a quick shiver but as the sun comes up, the city bathes in sunlight and the vermillion sky seems to be in sync with those pundits and pujaris around the ghats and small temples starting up the day with loud mantras and myriad pujas murmuring different incantations and prayers.

The roads are strewn with cars but unlike other metro cities, this retro city still has hand-pulled rickshaws and trams. The buildings are picturesque, depicting the heritage of the city and they stand proof to the evolution of the world. The city can be easily divided into the north, the south and the central and the people residing in the city along with a person who’s completely new can see the differences between them. It is said that Kolkata is only about Bangalis or Bengalis but it is quite strange that this city has so many different types of people living together that it perfectly depicts the true sovereignty that our country was meant to portray. Different cultures, religions, caste and creed form this city and don’t be amazed to see a Marwari or a Punjabi speaking fluently in Bengali and a Bengali speaking the Punjabi language perfectly!

The city is like a holy ground with dozens of temples scattered all over it. Hordes of people appearing everyday to offer pujas to their respective deities. The two of the biggest temples are the Kalighat temple and the Dakhineswar temple but what’s the most appealing part of this city is the innumerable numbers of mosques, dargahs, gurudwaras and even churches. The religiousness of the people here beats that of any other city. Kolkata celebrates every festival as its own and the people celebrate it pompously.

The one thing that the people of Kolkata love almost as much as festivals is food! This city is a form of paradise for foodies. Starting from their very own Bengali cuisine and ranging till Continental; this city has revolutionized outdoor dining. This city houses some of the biggest hotels and restaurant chains and it has its very own China town which serves the best Chinese dishes fathomable. It doesn’t stop there as the city boasts of Indian restaurants that are fabled to have recipes coming down directly from the Mughals themselves! Already hungry? Desserts are still left! evil smile
The one thing synonymous to Kolkata and Bangalis is ‘Mishti’. Trust the people of this city to make sure your meal ends at an absolute high, the sweets and confectionery items found here are unparalleled. From ‘doi’ (curd) to ‘Payesh’; every person who has ever been to Kolkata knows that it is the Food capital of India! It is customary for every Bengali mom to make payesh for her child on his/her birthday!

During the day; the city is like a machine that keeps working despite heat, thunderstorms or unbearable cold! People commute all over the city for their respective jobs but if anyone ever needs any help, be rest assured that you shall have more than one person to help you out. Being experts about roads, every person residing in this city has a unique knack of helping someone who’s confused about directions. If you ask one person for directions; it is a given that more than one person will start bombarding you with directions!

At night; the city puts on a shroud of mysteriousness. The lanes seem like the deep, profound and enchanting eyes of a lover who never expressed much yet expressed alot! The whole atmosphere and vibe of the city changes at night and even places that are the most crowded during the day have a strange vagueness surrounding them at night. The quietness unnerves even the soul that is deeply searching for solitude. The mystic aura envelops this city and enthrals every soul that treads upon it.

The city perfectly depicts its women. Mild yet tough. Strong yet poignant. Calm yet unnervingly impatient. This city loves those who love her yet sometimes it breaks a few hearts for no visible reason. The women, like this city follow their main Goddess and during Astami when they get all decked up in sarees for their respective ‘premiks’; every guy can see a reflection of Goddess Durga in her! And if you witness the spectacle known as ‘Sindoor khela’ on the last day of Durga pujo, be rest assured that the whole imagery will stay with you till the very end.

This piece is not about what to find or do in Kolkata but to simply to try and describe my ineffable city in my own words. Kolkata – the city of Joy, which has experienced a lot of sorrow yet it stands like a timeless enigma, fearful of oblivion but fairly certain that the world will never forget the land of the poets, singers and dancers who showed the world how painfully beautiful life can be.

“Like a candle burning on both ends; my city is nothing but a spectacular and gorgeous mess.”

There’s much more than a match!

As I scroll down my news feed; I see something that is peculiar yet quite palatable. I see countless posts; memes, videos and even status updates regarding a cricket match. Let me rephrase that, THE cricket match! It is the most exciting encounter of any given tournament. An encounter that is not just limited to the field but which has a direct connection to tens of thousands of heartbeats sprawled across two nations; two nations that have earned an infamous reputation of being used as synonyms to conflict, war, despair and animosity. Two nations who have subjected their populations to countless battles and unnecessary violence. Two nations that have fought like siblings bickering over who is more beloved to their mother. They justify by saying that it is not just a match but it is an emotion! Basking over a few consecutive victories and making the mistake of identifying oneself as invincible is not an emotion but simply hypocrisy! A sportsman is not supposed to be affected by any personal or national prejudice while playing for their respective countries but what can a team possibly do if the very people they represent are so whimsical and frenzied that all of their attention is focused on the possible outcome of their match and the repercussions that’ll follow! How patriotic of us to subject our players to such magnanimous pressure before a game that has such paramount importance; not because of who the opponent is but because it is the final match which the team has reached after going through extreme amounts of hard work and training?

To all those baffled minds who fail to grasp this; I have but one thing to say, we need not be patriotic only when it’s the 15th of August or the 26th of January or when we play against Pakistan. If patriotism is what you want to showcase, do it by bettering your country rather than by demeaning another country’s sportsmen. The game that our country is synonymous to doesn’t need this kind of orchestrated chaos and disparagement.

It is not only about a match tomorrow or which team wins and who gets the Man of the match award; tomorrow is the day we celebrate those who have single – handedly won every Man of the match award in the innumerable matches that life had to offer! Tomorrow is the day to recognize the Clark Kent’s in our lives who have been our Superman all along. Tomorrow is the day to acknowledge all the Bruce Wayne’s in our lives who have been switching into whosoever we need them to be; may it be the suave cool dad in front of friends or the chiding Dark Knight who silently swallows our anger and subjects themselves to harm just to protect us! Tomorrow is more important for that bald, pot-bellied man sitting beside you watching the same news over and over again! Tomorrow is the day you are a Son/Daughter first and a convenient patriot later! Cheers to the reason why we had a chance to see this final and all the myriad things we lay our eyes upon! Thank you for making sure we had a Real Superhero to look up to when the facade of cartoons and comic books broke.

To Every Father, Dad, Daddy, Papa, Dadzyy, Paaaa out there.. HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

Dark lights

The lights ushered into my eyes when I first opened them to see the world I was born into. It was strange as everything seemed blurry and vague but I could hear some sound around me. The first clear image that I saw was of an object, hovering over my face, enveloping my body with a pinkish, soft thing sticking out of the mouth. Soon I realized that some watery substance was enveloping me amidst squeals of noises I had never heard before. Who were these strange angular faces with two bulging brown dots and the tip of their faces marked with a black patch with two holes and why on Earth was I been ogled at?  Why was this particular being licking the hell out of me! My eyes shift upwards towards myriad streams of lights spreading against a vast space of darkness. A humongous bang disperses the accumulated crowd and sudden wails reach the side of my face. I am picked up by my neck and I am carried somewhere away from the noises and my eyes shut close.

It was five whole weeks later that I learnt about the significance of that episode that glorious night when my eyes decided to open themselves and enjoy the sensation of sight. I had the privilege of understanding what I was and for those of you reading this who could not grasp such an obvious predicament.. for you all, I shall have to clarify that yes indeed I, Bholu, am a ROADACIAN; or commonly known as a Street Dog. The one licking me with all her might that night and the one who carried me in his mouth after that awfully loud noise were my parents. They were solely responsible for my birth and they were going to be the ones to look after me till I could start looking after myself.

My mother, who’s licking had increased since that night was a very strange being. Enveloping us in umpteen amounts of her saliva one moment and in the very next she had her teeth out, chiding her lungs out at her husband or us. Ah! Well that brings me to “us”; namely Chintu, my elder brother, Sadhu and Ghushan, my elder sisters and Nonte, my younger brother. Yes people you just read five hilarious names but to you I should inform that all these names were christened to us by none other than another kin of your race. Sarcasm must be noted. This human whom I just mentioned, named us even before our own parents could assemble all of us together! They were not at all surprised because even their names had been given by this very same woman whom everyone called ‘Mashi’. It occurred to me that this Mashi was a famous woman as everyone who came to her shop knew her by her name. We used to loiter around all day near her shop looking for scrapes that some humans graciously left for us to nibble at and at night we took shelter in the neighborhood. Some nights were good if we could sneak in and sleep at the front porches of the nearby houses while most were plagued with mid night rants from the occupants of those houses whose front porches we used for a mere four or five hours. From a very early age we knew that our lives were hard as mostly we had the nights mentioned latter. Thus, my journey of life started with my four siblings but there was one major difference between them and me… I had the huge honor of being born on that fateful day known to you humans as Deepavali; the Festival of Lights.

The reason I had to mention such a trivial fact is that for humans my birth date is a symbol of the triumph of Good over Evil, a festival that dresses the melancholic night sky with innumerous arrays of colours whilst in the dog world, it happens to be the Worst day of the year and such was my incredible good luck that I was born on such a day…

Dark Lights – Prologue

Yesterday was World’s Poetry Day.. a day marked by UNESCO to commemorate all those minds who chose to be something out of the box, the ones who chose to speak; not merely by talking! The poet inside me wanted to write about yesterday and it’s significance in our lives but instead I choose to address what my heavy heart wants to convey.

Today morning I lost a friend. A friend who was the first one to teach me about the phenomenon known as True Love.

It was a friendship of eleven years and 3 months! We grew up together. She noticed me grow six feet tall and always made sure I was happy. We seldom spoke but we both knew when we needed each other. We always stayed inside our boundaries, never crossed them. Never regretted it till today. Her eyes sparkled with joy everytime she saw me and though we were a few years apart; she matured way before I did. I still remember the time that we both got scolded for playing in the afternoon and she quietly accepted her fault when my mother scolded us! She knew and understood that my mother was angry while I stood there ready to quarrel with my mother. She loved mother. Respected her from the very beginning. It was maybe because of the fact that my mother took care of her from the very first day she started breathing.

Eleven years have passed us by, yet when I saw her today, lying still with a strange calmness in her eyes.. I could see the flashbacks of our first meeting vividly! It was really surreal. She was beautiful in her own way. Some found her to be too skinny, others found her to be dirty and smelly. To me, her smell never bothered because to her my smell (bad or pleasant ) meant alot! My love for her started from those lonely afternoons where we’d sit on our balcony and leisurely wait for time to pass us by. Oh! It felt like we had all the time in the world. If only I could steal a few more hours, a few more minutes, days or a couple years to spend with her.

I am guilty. Guilty of refocusing my love to others with time. She stood where we were, I slowly got detached. Soon, sixteen pairs of paws strolled inside my house and she became distant. She had a sister who was always a bully. I still remember their eyes the day they saw that we had bought four of their kins and they walked right inside the house, the sacred place they only had the opportunity to enter a few times during those ghastly Diwali nights!

Her name was Sadhu; as in a Saint. An odd name but she loved it. Honoured it with a swift wag of her tail everytime she heard it.

She didn’t know our language but she spoke to me yesterday, through those eyes.. she seemed to say ‘I’ve had a great life. Thanks to you. Now let me sleep. I’m tired’

She’s gone now, due to multiple organ failure and I feel ashamed of every minute that I wasted elsewhere satiating my own needs and unnecessary wants rather than being with her. I may seem overly romantic and mushy but I actually saw a look in her eyes sometimes which just asked a simple question ‘Why do you shrug us off when you’re busy when all we do is greet you in the best way we can whenever your smell enters our nostrils and our black and white eyes recognise you from a distance?’

Do I have an answer? No! But I wish I did. I wish I could go back and be with her but I can’t. I wish I could tell humans to stop mistreating dogs just because its amusing to them. I wish I could kill all those who hurt them. I wish I could explain to them that a dog is a dog; whether they stay inside a mansion of a house or on the streets. They love us in spite of every flaw that we possess. Let’s just love them for everything they do without expecting anything in return.

Rest in peace love. I’ll see you when my time comes. This time when I see those eyes asking me that haunting question, I wish I will have an answer that would satisfy you! Thank you for everything you did for me and the millions of memories you gave me. Love you Sadhu!

This was the Prologue to my story, ‘Dark Lights’.

Achromaticity of Life

The day arrives. Like every year, it comes and every time it is the same; for others as well as her. For others it is the festival of colours, the day everyone is drenched in myriad shades from top to bottom, barely recognizable. The day Bhang is the substitute for water and sweets are had more than staple food! The day starts with the only weapon of the day: the pichkari and it ends with an ambrosial dinner with close friends and family. It is the day where everyone, a neophyte or an elderly are all smiles about being smeared with colours.

Amidst all the plethora of colours, the paint of the house has faded. It sticks out like a sore thumb among the heavily coloured houses of the block.
The din of the outside world doesn’t reach her ears. The screams of delight and the squeaks resulting from the splash of cold water on the skin doesn’t make her look out of the window. A child passes by, sees her by the window and plots a devious little plan that his puny brain can fathom. A balloon comes out from his pocket and he takes aim. Splash! the gulaal – filled balloon strikes right below the open window and the red colour makes a deep mark. It almosts looked like a perfect piece of abstract art had the canvas been so wrong!
She walks up to the window and sees her culprit and his crime. The kid runs away, petrified of the repercussions to his mischief.
The red spot reminds her of this day, a few years back. It was a Holi like any other, all the right vibes and the pleasant atmosphere in place. A perfect irony to what would follow. Weather has a knack for this, teasing humans by providing the perfect weather whenever there’s an impending doom nearby. He was just nineteen years old. A brilliant child, with the perfect manners and an amazing persona. The perfect kinda of son that any mother would kill for! Life’s irony at its best, the woman who had given birth to him never got to see him. Life chose to take away her power of vision but that wasn’t enough. On the day the whole world celebrates colours, she lost the one who made her feel she was never blind!

Sunday Fan Post by Drik Paul

Two years passed; no calls, no contact. The only voice that jingles in my ears, you said, “I’m not your friend that I’ve to answer all your texts.”

There was something that I always felt intriguing about you. I tried hard to find the answers in these two years but I failed most of the time. It was not a usual attraction, nor a sexual lust. It was neither your curves nor those moments. It was your very presence, the candid curve of your smile, the grace when you walk, the high falling streaks of your hairs that made me lost in you. I always thought that God has manufactured our eyes in a factory but God has crafted yours by His own hands. It was always me who ruined the moments, always me to drive you apart, always me to be the reason for your sorrow; yet you forgave me all the time. You always tried to seek the good from me when I threw my bad at you. I don’t want to ask you for an apology for all the shit that I did. I rather want to thank you for making me realize when you cried behind me. In this two years of time, I found the real Me. I paved the path that I always wanted to; all these events may not have happened if you didn’t say so two years back. I loved you then and I absolutely do so now, but the equations have changed. Love has got a new definition in my life. The affection, that I had before is still there in me, suppressed by the very truth of the reality but these days, I rather respect you more than I love you. I can understand the insecurities embedded deep inside you, the pressure of making the only life you have got to count, where you want to be recognized, the judgemental disposition from your family; all of this which resists you from loving me! I love you and I mean it! That doesn’t mean that I want you to do all the stuffs like the others who think they are in Love. Why not let us make a new trend of love? Something genuinely unique. We don’t need to get close, no need for dates, no kisses, no hugs, no intimacy. Why don’t we just enjoy each other’s presence in our hearts and feel the sweet vibes? Let the beat of our hearts synchronize and realize that no matter who in this world hates us; we love each other forever, till eternity lasts! – Drik Paul.

Fan Post on Sunday by Arpita Sarkar

তোমার চিঠির না দেওয়া উত্তর

আবার আজ একবছর পর তোমাকে চিঠি লিখতে বসলাম ।শুনে আমার ছেলে মেয়েরা হাসবে । ভাববে হোয়াটস আপ আর মোবাইলের যুগেও চিঠি চলে নাকি । মা ভীষণ ব্যাক ডেটেড ।তবে তাই হোক । তুমিও চিন্তা করো না এ চিঠি পৌঁছাবে না তোমার কাছে ।এ লেখা থাকবে আমার ফুল আঁকা কাঠের বাক্সের নিচের তাকে । গতকাল ছিল ভালোবাসা দিবস ,ছেলে-মেয়েরা সব ফুল গিফ্ট কিনে ভালোবাসার মানুষের সাথে দেখা করেছিল । তোমার মনে আছে সুনয়ন! তুমি সেই তোমার রংচটা সাইকেলটা নিয়ে দাঁড়িয়ে থাকতে আমাদের গার্লস স্কুলের সামনে ।আমি বেরোতাম শাড়ি পরে ।চুলে তখন ফিতের ফুল , কপালে ছোট টিপ ।চোখের কোনে কাজল তো আঁকলাম সেই কলেজে উঠে । আমি বুঝতাম তুমি আমাকে এক নজর দেখবে বলেই দাঁড়িয়ে থাকতে ,আর ঝুমা বলতো ও নাকি তোমাকে ভালোবাসে । কি ভীষণ রাগ হতো তখন তোমার ওপর ।তুমি কেন মুখফুটে বলতে না তুমি ঝুমাকে নয় শুধু রঞ্জনাকে দেখবে বলেই অপেক্ষা করতে । আমি না হয় লজ্জা পেতাম ,তুমি তো পুরুষ মানুষ তুমি কেন এত মুখচোরা ছিলে !! সেদিন স্কুলে ব্রতচারীর ক্লাস শেষ করতে দেরি হয়েছিল বেশ ।ঝুমা আসেনি স্কুলে …গেটের বাইরে বেরিয়ে এদিক ওদিক খুঁজছিলাম তোমাকে ,ধুর দেরি দেখে হয়তো চলে গেছো অবশেষে । কিছুটা এগোতেই বুকের রক্ত ছলকে উঠেছিল , তুমি ঠিক আমার পাশে এসে বেল বাজিয়ে জিজ্ঞেস করলে ,তুমি কি আমাকে খুঁজছিলে রঞ্জু । রঞ্জনা নয় রঞ্জু বলে ডেকে ছিলে তুমি ।সেই প্রথম তোমার গলার আওয়াজ এসে পৌঁছেছিল আমার প্রতিটা তন্ত্রীতে । অবশ আমি ,অবশ আমার উত্তরের ভাষা ।মিথ্যে বলেছিলাম সেদিন ,আমার বান্ধবী নুপুরকে খুঁজছিলাম.. বলেই পা চালিয়েছিলাম । তারপর তোমাদের ঐ রায়দিঘীর মাঠের ফুটবল ম্যাচের দিন তোমার সাকরেদ বিদ্যুৎ আমার কানে কানে এসে বললো ,দিদি তুমি খেলা দেখতে না গেলে সুনয়নদা একটা গোলও দেবে না ।আমি বললাম ,তো তোমার দাদা গোল দেবে কি দেবে না তার আমি কি জানি ? সেতো তখন আমার কানে খবর টা দিয়েই হাওয়া । বিকেলে আমি ,নুপুর আর ঝুমা তিনজনে গেলাম তোমাদের খেলা দেখতে । তোমার সাথে চোখাচোখি হতেই তোমার মুখ খুশিতে ভরে গেল । তুমি কমলা ,কালোর জার্সি পরে বল পায়ে ছুটছিলে । তোমার কলেজে আমি যখন ভর্তি হয়েছিলাম ,তুমি তখন থার্ড ইয়ারের হিরো । কলেজে আমাকে দেখে তোমার ভয় কাটিয়ে এগিয়ে এসে বলেছিলে … কেউ কোনো বাজে কথা বললে যেন তোমাকে জানাই। মাত্র একটা বছর কলেজ জীবন … বিয়ের দিন স্থির হবার পর তুমি নুপুরের কাছে একটা চিঠি দিয়েছিলে ।সেটাকে চিঠি না বলে টুকরো কথা বলাই ভালো ।তুমি লিখেছিলে , আর বছর দুয়েক অপেক্ষা করতে পারতে তো রঞ্জু ।স্বপ্নগুলো একসাথে দেখতাম তাহলে.. ঐ ছোট্ট কাগজটা সেদিন জলে ভিজে গিয়েছিলো । আজও আছে আমার কাছে সেটা । আজ প্রায় কুড়ি বছর পরও এই দিনে আমি একটা করে চিঠি লিখে রাখি তোমাকে ,তোমার জন্মদিনের উপহার । তোমার ঐ চিঠির উত্তর সেদিন দিতে পারি নি ।এগুলো পৌঁছে দেবো আমি ওপারে চলে যাবার আগে । এখন আমি বড্ড গৃহিণী ,স্বামী ,ছেলে-মেয়ে নিয়ে সুখের সংসার ,খামতি নেই কোনখানে । শুনলাম নাকি তুমি আসামে আছো ,বিয়ে করে ওখানেই সংসার পেতেছো।তোমার বৌ নিশ্চয় আমার থেকেও সুন্দরী !! হয়তো তোমারও চুলের রূপালী রেখারা ভুলিয়ে দিয়েছে সেদিনের একাদশ শ্রেণীর সেই রঞ্জুকে । হয়তো আর তোমার পায়ে ফুটবলেরা ছোটে না। আমি ভুলেছি নাচের সেসব বোল । সুনয়ন! কথা দিলাম ,পরের জন্মে অপেক্ষা করবো দু বছর নয় আরো অনেক বছর ।

সমাপ্ত

– Arpita Sarkar

We The People !

We are Strange. We Divide and we tend to Group. Aptly void of emotions and basic Humanity, we are traveling, crawling so to speak towards that inevitable day where the World paradoxically consumes Us as we are consuming it now.
What are we? ‘The most advanced form of Life’ ? ‘the beings’ with the most developed brain? or are we the “Epitome of Self-Destruction“? We think deeply and regret when a woman is brutally ripped off her dignity and then we change the channel and LO! that feeling vanishes, refocuses to the next big blockbuster or an item song!
This is where we have come; prodding, since ages..
From Achilles to Caesar, millions have come and gone propelling the after thought that maybe we are mere test cases,lab rats,failed experiments of that Supreme power. How can we accept that ‘this’ – “We” are the Almighty’s “finest creations”?
Is there an end? I do not think so because Life does not provide us with the Luxury of a “Restart” button! We crawl and drag ourselves to that day, “Apocalypse”, whose meaning is explained by popular beliefs and the dictionaries as ‘the day when each and every human is grouped into One set and judged personally by God whether they should prevail in the Heavens or befall to the depths of Hell’. That day is coming..

Are you prepared? Are we; we the people prepared?