The Husband and the Wife

 

“Save me, save me!” Cries the wife who has fallen down the stairs; hit her head; and gone mad

The husband, observes helplessly, desolate and miserable, with an expression so very sad

 

The bedridden wife shouts angrily – it is not her, who is insane!

Wondering with bewildered eyes - why can’t anyone believe her - she lashes in pain

 

The husband, the doctor, and all others patiently try to comfort her mind

Knowing fully well that with each passing day, chances of recovery are hard to find

 

Earlier, everyone around saw, in their quaint little home, love quietly thrived

She tended to him; cared for him, and her joy multiplied

 

He, the silent writer, his pen danced on pages, his passion alive

A tale of two hearts, in the shadows they’d hide

 

Now, wife, lying on the bed, stretched her gleaming swan-like neck

Hoping to reach out to someone like a lotus from the beck

 

In her madness, asking everyone to take her away from home,

Screaming, moaning cursing everybody under the dome

 

In the old oak bed, memories come knocking and rocking

She, with a damp face, crying, screaming, hissing and mocking

 

Nurse tussles, clasps her hands, holding tight her tender feet,

Struggling to bring the food against her mouth to make her feel good and eat.

 

Husband is beside her, always like a moonlit willow branch

Wishing, hoping for her recovery, a day of revived romance

 

He tries to forget the pain, drowning himself in his writing

A prolific writer who is famous for his novels exciting

 

Family, neighbors, and people all around stay in worry and fear

For the wellbeing of the Husband whose patience is held sublime for years

 

In the chamber of dreams, where thoughts take flight,

The husband weaves tales in the soft neon light.

 

With parchment and quill, he forges his art,

In the sanctum of silence, he finds every part.

 

Disturb not his reverie, this sacred abode,

Where verses are born, where the stories unfold.

 

Then one day in the darkness of the middle of the night

When the screaming of the wife slowly becomes weak and slight

 

With eyes fiercely gleaming, drowning his head in writing, the husband recalled

The day he threw his wife down the stairs, and how her body lay bloodied and mauled

 

"Take rest, Stop writing, my dear," she did beseech

"Leave me alone, you're a bothersome wretch!"

 

Remembering how the wife’s eyes filled with shock and fright

Her frail body flew down the stairs almost like the mane of horses in their flight

 

Satisfied, with a twisted grin, and a harsh voice, the husband groaned

Anyone who comes in between me and my writing will be stoned!

 

Grief

 Grief is non-biodegradable

So no point burying it

Let it flow

Let it run

Recycle.

 

You can dump it in some low-lying yard and let a plant grow out of it

These plants, these trees,

Curl up their root feet on the forest floor

And shakes their bushy heads happily in the whistling breeze.

 

Or rake your brain for memories

Just as you keep browsing from one site to the other

And you will know that those yellowing sheets no longer hold those typed words

There are blanks and holes on those crumpled pages

And you will find out

In her own winsome wicked ways, your memories have decided

to no longer carry the burden.

 

Or be the eagle, the owl, and the hornbill

And turn to see hope lurking beside your shadow in the flowing river, beneath.

See, how the rocks too have weathered

Watch them blend slowly into the sand

And

Forget.

I, the paradoxical mess!

 

Hey my mind,

Hey my paradoxical myriad mind,

Of those many I

who is the real one?

At times I can move mountains

At the other, I am in that lowest gutter!

There is a me who travels miles proudly

concealing the shy fool that often lurks beneath.

Another time, there is a coward I, scared and feeble

and then the next, a new I rise like a phoenix whose spirit can never be broken!

One I build a card house, minutely, gingerly, with affection,

The other I stealthily, surreptitiously come to set it to fire,

looking at the pile of ashes with a weird satisfaction.

And then again, one I paint on canvas beautifully, splashing vibrant colours, and

another I calmly destroy the painting with unwavering hands …

And, when I am far away every beat of my soul yearns for you,

and then when I come back to you, I had already left long before!

Hey my mind,

How many 'I' do reside in your house?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEHwpwpHEkY&list=RDLEHwpwpHEkY&index=1

The excitement of aloneness

My solo sojourn in North Bengal … at Sonada in Darjeeling district

To be a traveler is to find yourself. And to be a solo traveler is the scariest yet most liberating experience. 

Despite a lot of apprehension and fear, I set out for my solo trip to North Bengal. To make things odd my flight was at 5.30 a.m. and to catch that I started from home around 3.30 a.m. and that was overwhelming enough to convince me right at the beginning that I don't need to do this at all! However, there is this heady intoxication of a sense of freedom that was already setting in and I kept moving ahead with my plan.

There was no direct flight and the layover was tedious. I landed at Bagdogra airport around 11.30 a.m. and the moment I sat in the cab, driver Denis's huge welcoming smile triggered my sense of happiness. And soon the mountain range, the clear blue sky, and the soothing air started nurturing me,  and I was already looking forward to my tour.

My stay was at Tieedi Forest Garden. They say 'take it easy, easy do it'. Tieedi follows the principles of permaculture and it takes you to the lap of mother nature, making you grounded, humble, and simplistic. My little room along with the adjacent balcony made of mud and wood, overlooking the deep green forest was something with which I fell in love deeply.

The mountains are calling and I must go!

And then the forest spoke to me, whispering, caressing, its innocent wildness pulsating like a new life. The unknown errors of my life merged with the scent of the forest. Trailing clouds, the unassuming flower, the silence of the starry sky, the moss green leaves, and the trickling brook taught me the music of humanity. 

 And hey, your solo trip becomes vibrant with joy if you get to meet your close friend after 8years.

 I went to Darjeeling, and the British aura of the mall and the continental tone of the breakfast at Keventers still can be felt unmistakably. 

By the way, if you wish to taste local cuisine then you must hop into this tiny little joint, nestled amongst the crowded marketplace of the mall for some out-of-the-world Nepali food. 

As Tieedi endorses a waste-free clean environment, I too came back from my tour with cleanliness in my soul. May the forest be with me forever, may the mountain brook be my guide always!

“Then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.”

 

Reaching out to Ruru, again...

 Hey Ruru,  

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas - I watched the movie on Netflix and then I got hold of the book. And both the times a strange feeling persisted … it is as if there is something that got stuck in my throat - exactly through where I needed to scream, and I choked …. it is as if I am in a room and suddenly I felt this strong urge to run out of it but there was no door but whitewashed walls all around! 

It was not just Hitler or the Nazi Commandant or the gas chamber … it was about faith in humanity being broken … a realization that there are just these 2 classes - the oppressor and the victim, us and the other, the powerful and the feeble, in different forms and types. And it stays, always, everywhere. And this realization, Ruru, has been unnerving … 

'salad bowl', 'melting pot', 'unity in diversity,’ 'equality', 'pluralism' are concepts that are nice to read in books or intoxicating to give a lecture on, in my classes. In reality, we are a broken, divided, selfish, cruel lot … way worse than the animals as we use brainpower and mind to tactfully, deliberately strategize cruelty!

 But I need to live in hope … a hope that makes one feel warm and loved … maybe … someday !

“What exactly was the difference? He wondered to himself. And who decided which people wore the striped pajamas and which people wore the uniforms?”

Home

I do not want a home that's mine

I do not want a room of my own

I just want to move in and move out

a visitor

a stranger

without any worries about the unclean bed

or the dirty verandah

where I can leave the clogged drain

and the cobweb beside the window

without worrying about

the piled up conversations that had touched the ceiling

I need a place

like this soul in my body

alien and strange

the one that never wants to belong!

Happy Poem

 That butterfly fluttering, strutting, 

moved around us, bringing colour.

Despite the mundane

You and I believed in it,

believed it will bring magic

of togetherness and love.

The strange thing about love is

even when you disagree 

you figure out 

how to dance wildly!

Dark poem

 Fear, like a dark slimy thing 

may slip within

making years pile up on the pillow

And then the future would turn into yesterday

and sadness will find you

stalking you at every corner!

Freedom

I have been worried for long.

I worried about 

how you never loved me enough

Is it right to enjoy eating animals

Or how the cake is never baked to perfection

Or how easily you could move on and marry another

Or the car has a punctured tyre

Or how the increment is never up to the mark

And how I cheated upon you

And my wooden trunk with that rusted lock where I stored my half baked dreams

And that imaginary home of longing

Is it right, is it wrong

All those worries ...

And then it rained yesterday

And I wore my old body dipped in a new color of kindness and gratitude 

And I danced in the rain

And I danced in the rain

Like a child

Free

And

Liberated

And I sang too!

#coffeecupandpoetry series

Desire

 A tad salty, a pinch tangy

a whole lot of sugary

alluring layers waiting to melt in my mouth

the tender softness of white skin at the tip of my finger

taste buds tingling desperately to savour 

a death by delight.

As I bent down to see the triangular shape

that cheesecake on my plate

is way more desirous than that First Apple!

I, the resplendent Eve, 

do not need the serpent’s temptation

as those intense cheesy layers 

with the dash of that caramel adventure

and my eager tongue

O purest joy, and

my craving for oneness!

Sitting across, I couldn’t tell you that 

I wanted it all

despite calorie count and repeated

"no, it’s yours, you, please have it all ... oh no, I don't want it" -

and you smile and believe me, and candidly pop in a chunk. 

I watched you toss it in your mouth, eyes closed in satisfaction

oblivious about the flash of hatred chilling down my spine!

How easy it is to pretend and hide that roughest, insane desire!

That Old Love Story

 

Today again I woke up with you in my head

My brain humming with your drumming laughter

I hear a cracking sound as you open the door and come in

My veins are filled with your warmth

The silence within me is vibrating with your seeking

The fireflies between my fingers glowing warm, again …

 

And I knew, given a chance

I will love you all over again

And, I will betray you the same too…

 

#coffeecupandpoetry series

Eerie poem

 A drumbeat goes on in the head

and a nagging slow wailing of mourners

humming in my blood vessels 

there's a burial  in my head

I see the sound of silence as your face moves

swinging in the motion of the coffin carried by men

your feet, pale and dark, outside that white shroud, familiar!

as I sit beside the fireplace, sipping wine

I don't see you standing behind the curtain

watching over me

you were not there yesterday

even today you are not there

and I wish you would go away

that crawling shadow 

and a sudden chill in the room

you were not there yesterday

Again today you are not there

and I wish you would go away

a strange silhouette taking shape, like yours

a sudden stench of death in the room

and I struggle to peep into your eyes in the darkness,

to check

whether they hold the same shock

like that day

when I lightly pushed you to death from the terrace floor.

Coffee Cup and Poetry series

 1. 

Sadness is both of you sitting at the farthest corners, engrossed watching a love story

Sadness is closing your eyes, counting till 10, hoping for the phone call at the end of the count 

Sadness is the stubborn square mark on the wall even after the photo frame is removed

Sadness is you build a night, warm ember flecks seething, but instead end up piling words flung carelessly at each other

Sadness is when a poem is entangled in the chest like a butterfly yet when you pen it down there's this same dampness between its alleys

No not sadness, a quietness has taken over

A quietness waiting for another beginning

Let it be!

***

2. 

Between my shadow and the soul

I had thrown a few seeds 

and now it has grown into a tree!

Its roots crawling into me

like a stubborn childhood

branches taking shapes

wrapping around gingerly like a lover's arm,

and a nagging cricket hum, 

as real as the darkness of a rice-pot in a poor man's hut!

And I continue to pretend to be free.

***

3

With age, it's getting easier to delete.

I have deleted nostalgia, the embarrassment of memory.

I've deleted those lakes, trees, and the aroma of tea.

Receipt of the funeral ticket, condolence messages are deleted too.

Also, to delete the warmth, those breakfasts and the rides together, with age it's getting easier!

Only thing is, it would have been easier still, if the Sun isn't deleted too!

In pursuit!

 Even when the body, intertwined with another

lay in the sweat of pleasure

hands clasping each other 

lips lost in ecstasy

even when the skin communicated what they call love,

even then

the moody mind was roaming around

within the silence of the mountains

soaring along with the rainy breeze

moving around the moonless nights

seeking

hiding another hunger

more fierce than the forest-fire

searching for something

purer

more sublime!

Witchcraft ...

Those who have left

walking along the shadowy path

merging with the dream-like fog

Those who did not look back

and crossed miles

fading into the crowd in another world

Those who walked the milky way and 

befriended the stars

Do they know that

In reality, they could never go away!

 

In every half-baked smile

In those sudden awakening from sleep

Along those foot-paths and by-lanes

In a quick brushing-away of a teardrop

Within the aroma of the coffee cup

They all stayed, trapped permanently!

 

It is not easy to go-away

It is not possible to fade in the hazy future

You are caught into the web of

Memories.

You are buried into the chest that heaves in pain

You are imprisoned within those eyes that sparkle with laughter.

 

The morning that I had seen in your eyes is still with me.

I had taken that morning in my palm

Only to bury it into the backyard garden.

Now it has branched into a delightful tree

Under which I live.

 

Those who have gone away

Those who have forgotten

They didn’t realize that

It is not possible to go away

They remain imprisoned, caught, and trapped forever!

#GeorgeFloyd ...

You couldn’t breathe

With that knee on your neck

Pressing gingerly strongly confidently

For nine long minutes …

I can’t breathe

Even now

Even before

All along

As the stench of hatred fills the nostrils

from there till here, everywhere

Across countries, across cultures

And all those judgements because my religion is not the same

Or my caste or because I am female and I am dark

And the voices scream from within –“I too am human”

And your voice “Momma” before you became still

And the silence thereafter keeps piercing my ears

And I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!

and 11 others

For the dancing girl’s statue

Hey dancing girl with lotus-lips, carry on with the tango that you had left unfinished

Sway through the earth-scape once cherished, across errors and the angles that are blemished

Dance like the childhood that is gone behind, defying the sculptor and that history and mankind

Your supple curves like waves untamed and blind, hair floating and your dove-eyes wild yet kind

Geometrical frame; dangling bracelets; rippling energy on the forehead as sweats; desperation or disobedience – your hands on the waist,

 Those passionate feet in motionless symphony

Decorating the cabinet-shelf, frozen motion, your statue hey dancing girl, is the cruellest irony.  

That day

That day there was a dense dark cloud in the sky

The breeze was strong and it made the dust and the leaf run helter-skelter, and fly

The trees unfurled their leaves, quivered, shook off the droplets to see those men walking by
And oh how beautifully the flowers bended with an urge to satisfy

About those men - one was drenched, one rain-clad
 Another was happy and the other was a bit sad

One forgot to wear her kohl-liner and the butterfly-garland that she had
One was forgetful in love and wandered like a lost nomad

That day it rained sharp and also pretty heavily

But the day was sweet and was smiling at all coyly

Then the waterlogged lanes and platforms sang in tune fostering fantasy
Seeing them the red and blue umbrella whispered music in rapt rhapsody

Some noticed; some ignored; some were in a hurry to walk away fast

And no one knew who was hiding a shattered soul and who killed someone’s dream with a brutal thrust.

The unease - letter to Ruru

Hi Ruru,

I was thinking of you today. Hope you are doing fine. But we aren't! :) ... you know, it is as if the world has changed altogether! 

I had gone out to buy essentials and provisions for the home. Nothing seemed familiar any more. A group of watchmen stopped us asking a hundred questions inquiring about why we were going out and when we would be back etc. And all that was for our safety. We all looked weird, faces covered with masks, gloved hands desperately clutching onto the sanitiser bottles, eyes gleaming with the nervousness of survival. The streets were empty, vacant, in an eerie kind of way. The shopkeepers, the vegetable vendors, the salespeople at the departmental store, all looked worried and scared. The fear was not just for the deadly virus but also the diminishing prospects of their businesses. There was hardly any stock on the shelves.  Manufacturing units are closed, services are stopped, transport is at a halt and there is no new stock coming any more - they piped in an anxious tone. You know, Ruru, the stores too looked so odd as all of them were kind of half-lit and ready to close down at any moment. the shelves with clothes, cosmetics and toys were pouring out as there were no buyers but just one or two packets were lying here and there for rice, dal and edible oil! it was uneasy feeling to realise one's basic survival need. The whole scene was from that of a movie but it's just that no one knew when the movie would end. People were sitting on the road; no they weren't beggars but they were labourers. Jeet had bought fruits for all of them and the way they snatched those from him reminded me of a scene of famine that I had watched in a movie. My heart was palpitating hard in panic as this world was not the one I have known so far.

Ruru, Italy doesn't remind me of Art and fashion anymore, Paris doesn't remind me of romance. China's wall appears weak and the Statue of Liberty looks vulnerable. My perception, my memory, all are invaded and jeopardised. I, the mother, who would give anything to be with her son, is now asking him not to come to India for the entire year. Love is now staying apart. Hugs and kisses are a curse. 

I do not get ready to go to the office in the morning, no one rings the doorbell. Chatterjee aunty died from Cancer but her children couldn't come from the other State because there were no flights allowed. My mausi-aunt died in Kolkata but the entire family could not attend the cremation as not more than 4 were allowed to be together at the crematorium. If you are sick, people would be looking at you with suspicion and not sympathy. Hasn't the world changed overnight? 

Will the caged humans (including I) now understand the worth of living, the value of humility, Ruru? 

This too shall pass like all the good and bad things in the world. But those of us who would survive and come out of this deadly phase will surely not be the same persons. I just hope that we become better.

 But whatever it will be the music must go on!

P.S. - Did I tell you before that I find your eyes quite hypnotic? :) ... This music is for you Ruru ... someday I want you to close your eyes and dream, and then my beautiful dreamer, please wake unto me ... 

Stay

Stop.
Stay.

In this rat race
with this mad rush
Stopping is your act of self-compassion
Staying-in is your loving home all over again.

Sit at home
Write haiku love-poems on paper and make paper-airplanes
Send these planes flying, across tall buildings of a sullen cityscape!

Sit at home
Paint laughter on paper and make paper-boats
Float these boats beside the flower-pots at your balcony!

Stay.
Stop.