Those places haven’t changed,

And the seasons are still the same.
The sunbeams, the painted clouds, the summer rain
And all that once our eyes had seen together!

Those lonesome places bring back visions of which we two were part.

Words and silence. Laughter and exasperation.

And the feeling of your eyes on me.
Yes, I’m not used to heartbreaks,
the sense of abandonment;
But I’m grateful that it is you who broke my heart!

We were delusional. Crazy twinkle-eyed kids.
Ready to conquer Time!
We knew not from where we have come,

Not interested where we would go.
Our paths crossed- I’m glad I met you

Our paths diverged- I’m glad I don’t know you anymore.

Little Girl in a white dress and a red belt
With loosened ribbons

Hanging from her hair, and the clock strikes 7am

Runs she-unwilling-towards the gate leaving her mother’s warm shawl behind
On a misty wintry morning.

And she prays,” Let me grow up quick and I won’t have to reach school in unholy hour like this”

The Teenager still in a white dress and a red belt

(Does the dress get, somehow, a little shorter, showing off the legs?!)

With braided hair and hundreds of clips that grapple with her trendy haircut

She throws away the ribbon while coming home-grinning and locking gazes!

And she prays,” Let me grow up quick and I won’t have to wear this uniform and the stupid
ribbon and look plain”

A woman found the Little Girl and the Teenager too eager to grow up

In the pages of her diary-yellow and dog eared

And the first drops of summer rains, bright tiny ladies clog dancing while soaking in them,

The black shoes and white socks-sodden!

The queue in front of the food stalls everyday!
 If she goes by that place nowadays the shopkeeper still says 

“You haven’t changed!”

And all she can do is make a secret wish:  “Let me be them once again and I won’t rue growing up, not even for a second”

A Little More of My Blahs

Even with the gruelling thoughts of the exams, yesterday I waited. I waited for a certain something. And this morning I went out to the examination centre – waiting! Ya, as usual, nothing happened. I appeared for my exams and came home, and again the thought came hurrying back and started bugging me. It doesn’t matter anymore. I thought I’ve let go of things but did not know there are still a few things I am holding on to till today. The more I try to let go, the more I think about it and end up being inside the closet.

                  It is peculiar that how all of a sudden one feels all grown up. Grown up just by a single blow from life. I dread that if I feel like this now what will happen when I will be 25 or something! May be I’ll be strong enough to stand tall then. A friend once told me, “You have never struggled to have what you wanted. You always get them easily.” May be you were right! I have never struggled. And lets put it this way,ummm, this girl doesn’t know how to struggle and survive. But I’ll find out the way, I guess! Shit happens! And everybody has to go down in it to sort things out!

P.S. Am i being a bit of a downer,eh?!!

A Fight, A Fall and those Evergreen Horses

It was a wintry evening, may be the first week of January, and that day I watched a magical live concert. 

I saw the advertisement on a paper: Mohiner Ghoraguli presents “Abar Bochhor Tirish Pore”, suddenly I had a vision of a lonesome cassette lying inside my sister’s messy drawer and a 9 year old putting it inside the tape recorder. And some magical tunes came rushing back to me. Yes, that child was myself who didn’t understand anything about those songs but somehow managed to listen to the entire cassette. And she kept on sighing, "Only if my parents could understand that” while the dark room filled with “Porashonar Jolanjoli bhebe murkho bolchho ki…”

Years passed, and memories withered. Even when I listened to those songs afterwards, I felt nothing such strong (though one might often found me correcting people with “ No that song is originally by Mohiner Ghoraguli, aktu bangla gaan shon please!”). But the words- Abar Bochhor Tirish Pore-intrigued me to scheme a plan for the concert. And that was my biggest mistake. Obstacles have to come in the way whenever I plan anything. This time the Obstacles were a bitter fight on the day before and a tragic fall (at the bathroom!) on the morning of the concert. A fall that had left my spinal cord fractured. But the enchantment  soon countered the nasty pain and all of a sudden I found myself running for a seat and savouring the moments with occasional sprays of Rellispray on my back.

It was marvellous. More so because I belong to that group which Ranjan Ghoshal had attributed as “Ar tora?! Tora toh tokhon jonmasini!”

And now, the Ghoras, somehow, is in my blood. I sing them when I am high (pun intended!)  and when I’m low…when I feel lonely and when I feel special to have so many dearests in my life…in rain and sun….in winter and summer, I can go on listening to them forever.

I started loving them with “Porashonar Jolanjoli” and while I’m writing this the four walls of my room are resonating:

Kalke ratri pohale

Doi er fonta kopale

Fountain pen saamle rakhi

Mori admit card harale

Binita kemon achho?

Bipod amar

Porsu B.A Part 2

Ki jani ki likhbo khatay

Ki jani ki likhbo khatay…

Summer and an Old Cabinet

As I was going to my guitar class today, sitting next to the bus driver, I gazed at the road while thousands of thoughts hovered inside my head, and suddenly I got glimpses of colours- fiery colours. My eyes traveled upwards from the blackness of the road and saw those scarlet and yellow flowers. The Krisnochura and Radhachura trees adorned the desolate sky. And someone hummed in my ears,”Summer…Summer…Summer…” Not the intolerable heat, not even the sweat dripping down my face made me realize that summer has come but these two ‘lovers’. They used to make me happy, they still do.

       

        Summer was never a favourite season; tell me which Indian likes Summer! But suddenly I see myself reminiscing. The whole season was centered around the Summer Holiday…In the afternoon when the whole house was having its beloved siesta, I used to sneak out of my room and go to the attic with a storybook and didn’t return till I hear my mother calling my name at the top of her voice. Playing ‘rannabati’, recreating the adventures of The Famous Fives at the terrace,listening to the “golpodadur asor” on radio... And the mouth-watering kacha aam and hojmi. Sluurp! My life and death task before the beginning of the summer vacation was to nag,just to get the keys of  a cabinet. The cabinet full of magazines (Anandamela,Suktara etc) from my parents childhood to date. How me and Sanu plotted and planned for hours to read those precious little things!

       

      And now when I look back I miss ‘my’ Summer days and I feel that at one time this girl loved summer. Nothing remained the same now, no summer vacation, no ‘golpodadur asor’ …nothing. Though I stand in front of the “old and rusty’ cabinet sometimes and wonder, but never dared to open it again!

And today those fiery colours,those two ‘lovers’ evoke in me the same sensation that once a little girl had felt when her Jethima finally handed her the keys.