Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Breed of Eve
You know not where you are heading,
Nor what you are worth,
Sitting here at the threshold of
Being and not being
An aberration of His Divine intention
Starved of happiness
Deprived of creativity,
Thirsty you roam from door to door
Asking for a drop to quench
Hungry and palsied
Diseased breed of our forefathers
Running after a vision
Far removed from joy and fulfillment.
Crawling creatures throng your rooms,
Serpentine lovers woo you
And you stand and stare
As if in a trance,
No more than a zombie.
Breed of Adam
Breed of Eve,
The vision is ghastly,
We are still traveling
Where no roads meet
Rocky, infertile, land of illusion
Everything a mirage,
Fooling and convincing each of us
Of a better life
Where utopic wonders spring forth
Phoenix-like from your sweat
Fellow beings pause and ponder
Feel your being
You have been
Taunted into becoming just another ‘number’
Now it’s time,
Let us build Eden again…
Once again let us dream…
Monday, November 29, 2010
Here at the threshold where life begins anew,
I can still sense the whiff of despair.
Why is it that one bond is the severing of another?
They would say philosophical stuff,
I care not for,
In words you can put many a thing
But in deed,
It is not possible indeed.
I have waited every hour
Staring at the starlit ceiling,
Wondering how the beauties of life
Have become an artificial thing...
There is pain in having,
There is pain in disowning,
There is pain even in knowing,
Happiness flickers through this pain,
Or is it,
This pain is so intense,
It is pleasure, surpassing the limitations of happiness
Rejuvenating and reviving us,
Teaching us each day,
A new doctrine of life...
Leaving behind the trails of our deeds
Like a precedence.
This is it then
This is life
This is love
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Nor the land forlorn,
But in the midst of drizzle and rain,
A welcome home
A few friends,
Amidst the smiles
And the laughter,
There is room for one soul
And many more.
Lonesome hearts in a tryst of fate
Have found a hearth
Miles away from what people call home,
Each is kin to the other one,
A simply home but with loads of fun,
All are welcome,
There're strangers to none,
Each knowing that life is this...
It's no use wasting in 'whose' and 'his'...
Even though miles away
It never feels you are all alone...
You have a family,
This too is home!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
I know I love you
But it isn't easy you see,
Not for you,
Not for me.
You've sworn to me your love
I've never denied you did
But its just not love any longer
And this feeling 's getting stronger.
Baby its a wonderful world
When I see it with love,
Or maybe its just another world
Full of spite.
At night I dream of snakes.
Baby I am afraid.
Even if you say,
You'll give it all it takes.
I am stronger from within,
You are stronger from without.
I don't know how longer it'll take
To clear this doubt.
But its true,
I love you.
There's a fear I can feel,
Some phantom of which I dream,
There's a shiver down my spine.
And I know it's true,
Love will be,
Baby when it's
Just You and Me.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
When I put pen to paper, thoughts and emotions rush to my mind in a sudden Brownian movement. However, sorting and penning my thoughts in a coherent fashion is kind of impossible. 25th December when most of the people , all over the world, are involved in exchanging pleasantries and Christmas greetings, we were all packed and comfortably seated in the Tista Torsa, heading towards New Jalpaiguri. Since Christmas and cakes are synonymous, we had our share of Flury's Blackforest, a gift from my mother's colleague.
Travel is incomplete without certain mishaps and Hardy's chances and coincidences. Unlike Hardy's , these are not premonitions of a person's final destiny; but definitely it did give our trip a bitter sweet taste. Having booked for a conveyance, we expected it to arrive on time as scheduled, at the station in the early hours of the winter morning.Unfortunately, we had all momentarily forgotten that we were still within the precincts of West Bengal, whose people follow their own Standard Time. The chilly morning, the platform stench, the awkward wait, everything, made up for an uncomfortable beginning--so what were we in for?
We had planned to demand an explanation from our pilot but his happy face made reprimanding a wee bit difficult for my sober mother and soft hearted father!
We had reached the Medthla Tower. An elevated, spiraling monolith that supposedly stood testimony to previous spotting of our junglee kins. We had been provided with a guide from the lodge, Jungle Neer (it was called so), who had not as much knowledge as my already knowledgeable sister and mother, and was shattered when my mother rubbished his description of a plant or corrected him when he identified wildflowers and vegetation, each time coining something innovative. He'd be a writer of sorts, he was good with cooking up stories for sure. But his lack of knowledge added that little more spice to our prejudiced hearts. Once we huffed and puffed and climbed the tower, Shyamal, with all good intention, coaxed us to watch the pride of peacocks and unimpressive pea-hens. Delighted by his innocence and to relieve us from the monotony of waiting, our father showed exaggerated interest in the peacocks and Shyamal not being able to sieve through that mock appreciation began describing how there were innumerable peacocks in India and that peacock was our national bird.
|Evening descends on Gorumara|
Bengalis love to travel. No wonder the crowd at the Medthla Tower were predominantly Bengali, most of them gloriously filming the peacocks. Sometimes the antics of the traditional Bengalis pique me and I feel so embarrassed. Somebody swore he saw a wild boar and everyone rushed to the spot. What came upon my highly educated and sophisticated parents, they too followed the crowd to see nothing but some leaves moving in the winter breeze. I looked at my sister, the only other person I realized was experiencing the same disposition. She chuckled. For sure there was no boar. There was not even a pig in the vicinity.Yet my parents vouched they both saw it. I considered it wise to agree that there sure must have been one. But my doting father was hellbent on showing me where it was. To retrieve myself from this taxation I even agreed to seeing the wild boar (in my wild imagination I must have added under my breath!). The sun was returning home and the birds chirp filled the air. We were almost sanguine and only ma's veto to our unanimous 'lets retire for the day' saw us waiting for a stretch of two hours or more. We were yawning, laughing, joking and observing the general drama.
Suddenly the chaotic cacophony fell silent. One of the rarest in the world, but common in the forests of India, especially in Assam and North Bengal had been spotted. Three trained tusked elephants guided by their mahouts chased and brought them out in the open.
I'd seen them many a times--in pictures, on Discovery, in movies but never for real. They were little bigger than the size of my foot, when looked at from this distance. They were indigenous the rhinoceros unicornis. I was carrying a Sony Handycam but to use it you'd have to buy a ticket worth 300 bucks. There wouldn't be anything worth filming we'd thought. But for the next few minutes I shed my ethical garb and defied my conscience by indulging in some dishonesty. I tried filming but before I could adjust the shot, ma poked me to stop.
|Pic of one of the rhinos we saw, with Photoshop's help!|
Who said the peacock was proud, the gait, the stance, the pose, were so photogenic. Two more of the family emerged from the hideous tall grasses that shaded our vision. From the thicket, the sturdy, daring elephants appeared. The wild had a language of its own. While in hushed voices, like thieves we watched them from the tower, the two clans stood on two separate strips of sand and the river flowed in between. The rhinos stared the elephants, scanning the deceit and observing how the human intruders (read mahouts) had guided their own wild clan to betray the sanctity of their homes, exposing them to the hoards of megalomaniacs huddled together under a shady protective tower-shed. The jungle world had its own code of conduct and the politics of the call of the wild was beyond human comprehension.
The Safari had not finished yet. That night we spent discussing the scene, reiterating every movement so that years later the memory remains afresh. Next morning was Thursday. As per the jungle rules the jungle remained closed to tourists. So uphill we went fifty kilometers to Samsing. On our way we saw the Chuba Tea Estate, the disputed land which made headlines a few days ago. At Samsing there wasn't anything in particular that would entrance us. Instead the suitably located momo-hut served as a good stopover for a steamed momo brunch. We nagged Prasun, our dear pilot to take us to the Rocky Island, a local picnic spot. The road to the island was rocky indeed and my father never missed the opportunity to crack hilarious jokes about the outcome of this rocky adventure! We had a hearty laugh.No sooner had we managed to walk down to the hilly stream mom somehow in her cute and broken Hindi cajoled a teeny local boy to collect algae along with her. Ma has always had a weak corner for algae and whenever we crossed a bridge, my sister would immediately hold on to her arms in a mock-saving stance, in case she jumped into the river below to collect samples. The poor child in all excitement hopped from boulder to boulder and suddenly his loose trousers fell off and he tumbled on a thin strip of sand. My sister and I were rolling on the ground and my father found it so amusing that he added fuel to the child's embarrassment by asking him whether his 'pachu' (that's colloquial for 'bottom') was hurt. Ma's genuine sense of dignity was at stake and she gave the child a chocolate and a few bucks on my father's insistence, thanked him and dismissed him.
On our way back while mom was planning our next moves with Prasun, we ran over the day's incidents. Then Prasun hit the brake. Our car came to a standstill. We looked to our right, at the outer, rarefied jungle that fringed the national highway. There right under our nose about four inches from us stood a bison eating to his fill. Huge, horned, dark brown, the colour of a buffalo but with feet as white and fluffy as if it was wearing socks. It did not attack us. Strange? Prasun verified it was an old bison and has been spotted for the last few months on some occasions and was too weak to attack humans unless threatened.
|Old Fellow: The aged bison|
So it was. The jinx of never sighting any of the wild creatures that tread the jungle was broken--for once and for all. It is just to inform my readers, thereafter on our second jungle safari, when we stayed at the Gorumara Forest bungalow, we tasted a real Safari, riding on elephants' back and chasing the one-horned rhino and her baby out of their hiding. This time the mother and the child stood at the foot of our elephant. We did not stir and let them be. We'd got what we had come for.
|Second time lucky: The mother and her calf that we spotted just inches away when on our elephant safari during our second trip to Gorumara National Park.|
Having left Gorumara behind us we now found residence in the Mongpong Forest bungalow, saddled between the lush green foothill vegetation and the gurgling Tista river. Sometimes from the distance the roar of the train alerted us about the civilization that existed beyond this tranquility. The distant echo of the wild, the cooing of birds, the murmur of the river, the soft rustle of the leaves in unison created a cadence intrinsic to the foothills of the Himalayas. Nature orchestrated the music to suit the mood of the day from dizzy morning to the yearning nights.
At the Bungalow I came across the illustrated and informative Wild Bengal by Dr Debal Sen. I was more than pleased to find it here among the decade old magazines in the library rack. The long introductory article on Gorumara National Park, records his experiences. Many of the creatures that he had spotted have now moved deeper into the forest to avoid the trespassing tourists. While reading his description of the forest I was filled with a thrill indeed. He mentioned the "fireflies winking in unison" and at once like a dream our jungle safari came rushing to my mind, and the images recreated in my 'inward eye' were the 'bliss of solitude'. Dust and dense flora crowd the path that we followed. And besides the car's headlights, the telepathic bluish twinkle of the fireflies served as a torch to our eyes blinded by the darkness. And we like Dr Sen now "...leave the fireflies to their communion with stars."
It's a bright winter morning here at the foothills of the Himalayas. True that life has many more mysteries complexities than the ones we know of. For instance, can we conceive in entirety the myriad hues of Nature's ways! With that note let us enjoy the happiness and overlook the pathos. Before me the lush green trees of Mongpong forest, are nodding in agreement. It's time we stepped back into the din of the dusty Kolkata life. We are heading home!
PS: Pictures courtesy my Sister and her digicam!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
When civilization slumbers
The jungle awakes--
Hungry hearts in search of the wild
Explore the forest's density.
Dust and winter leaves welcome them,
They have come hunting--
Ready to shoot at the slightest stir.
From daybreak to dusk
The probing eyes survey the lands
From the tower--
The freezing stream that flows below
Turns crimson, and
Only peacocks call
And strut on the sand;
And beyond the tower lies
The unchartered forest land.
The grassland gives an illusion of vision,
There is some din, but the hunters are deaf
To all noise--
The eyes strain to catch a speck...
But hope survives.
'Shoot!' Comes the order.
Shot after shot--
The one-horned rhino releases itself
From its camouflage
There is pride, wrath and revenge in its gait--
The hunters enjoy the victorious moment!
Two more of the family follow suit--
And they are shot too.
Three mammoth tusked elephants pursued the rhinos,
Chased them into the open,
On two strips of sand
Stand the rivals,
Warring with their eyes.
But there is deceit in this victory,
A guilt in the jubilant voices,
That so long waited in hushed silence.
The hunter's gear lies on the bed,
The vision in her eyes like a dream.
The moment's fled,
But she strives to capture it--
She has done it once with the camera,
And now with a pen!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
My life was like a fairytale
But I guess now I'm living
The happily ever after!
Only that no one probed to see
What was meant to be
Ke sa ra sara
I met my Prince Charming,
But the trance is no more,
I am in love,
But the heart is sore,
Why the rainbows no longer look resplendent
Why at the end of the day I feel so spent
Ke sa ra sara
There were cupids
Friends as loyal can be
But time has taken a toll
And I've lost touch with all
Will it ever be green again,
Will the youthful lovely days come back
Just once more to me?
Ke sa ra sara
Little by little I have flipped through the pages
And now the pages look so bland
The shine of the fairytale all gone
Blemished with a knowledge
That I earnestly did not want
Now of all I know
Ignorance is bliss.
I have still love to live by
Still searching for God within
And God without
Finding God in Him
That source of Peace
I could live for!
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Many I believe have already taken to researching what made Paul oracle. What I fear is not the threat of Paul being the ingredient of a delicacy but that suddenly one day Paul would go missing. For sly researchers too intent on the practical and logical reasoning would not spare the poor octopus and run there scissors and scalpels through its entire body to detect which hormone or which fluid or which anatomical factor can justify the mysterious coming to pass of Paul's oracle!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
All night through after watching Twilight I brushed aside all the stress to read up all about Meyer and the series...Twilight to Breaking Dawn- till the break of dawn. As the crows suspiciously crowed wondering at the ray of light that illuminated the window sill in which they were perched, I could tell from the way I was frantically reading the book that Meyer's vampires bit me hard and changed me into one of those admiring Meyer vampire lovers. For all those who foolishly missed seeing the Twilight please do grab a copy of the movie or the book or both! Cheers Ms Meyer thanks for such a wonderful romantic saga...
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Yes, disgusting is the word for it. Not only is it Undignified, but, as my friend Nutso Marmosets call it, it is a shame on Mammalkind. Of course birds have it too. I have seen a Cockatiel come down with a bout of sniffles, but she sneezed most delicately. Nothing like the skirt-lifting, spectacle-askewing glory which attacks me, and puts me in the general direction of trouble.
How do I fight?
Yes, the universal answer to it is simple: REST.
But for the unfortunate one, me, there is none.
So I generally run to the tried and tested Chicken Soup. My favorite is this one that I got out of amateurgourmet's website.
Monday, April 26, 2010
But often we ignore it.
We’re in a journey
Heading towards something;
No one knows where!
It’s hectic, sometimes insane-
The laughter, the joys:
All balms for that final pain…
To know that a friend you’d
Made on your way
Just got off that train.
It’s a one way journey and there is no going back.
Some winters and some summers
And wonderful springs we crossed;
And now when you look into the eyes of his beloved
You know she sees him still
For the glint and the love can just not die!
He is embarked on a new journey
With newer wonders at his door.
He still breathes in our memories
Talks to our heart for sure.
May be he parted ways,
But he will be with us always!
(this poem is dedicated to our friend Probal whom we lost most unfortunately on 26th February 2010...we want him to know, wherever he is, that we all love him and miss him)
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Journalism and media earned its popularity through mass consciousness and the irony of seeing them toy with the emotions of the masses and making a massacre of the ‘humane aspects of journalism’ estranges them from the common people. While the glaring incapacity and disarray of the state of West Bengal emerges from under the veneer of communist idealism, the fake promises and dry tears of political leaders aggravated by the ludicrous decorum of wearing a gleeful smile when you are relaying a disastrous and heart wrenching news, comes across as a reflection of retrograde culture. To illuminate what exactly I’m driving at is the news anchor of Star Anando whose almost happy disposition was not pleasing to the eyes. There was no self restraint or somber demeanour that would assay that even though not personally affected it did unnerve her like it did the rest of the masses. Contrasted to her very strange body language was the daring act of people like Pervez whose humanity and humility gave life to so many.
Media were competing in this hour to be the first to communicate the news and not the first to help the people out from the worst nightmare. They watched people desperately jump to their deaths and began penning headlines. They reached there as spectators and not messiahs. But you cannot blame them for futuristic journalism like the rest of the futuristic stuff that is developing is emotionless, mechanical, monetized and at it a farce. Journalists are interviewing distraught family members, insensible mob smiling at the camera and waving at the viewers, reporters daring to ask how do you feel, are you anxious, did you’ll know, when did you’ll get to know- insensitive and blatantly insensitive. Neither sense nor sensibility is part of journalism now.
I was an audience in front of the idiot box waiting to catch a glimpse of the action. Though unaware of what actually happened I have frequented the spot often and from my understanding of the geography of the place a few trucks, lorries could have been brought in. There is a furnishing shop just opposite to the Music World from where drapes and curtain could be accumulated so that the people could jump on a soft cushion. But even when Rome was burning there were some saving their own businesses. Or is it that common sense is really uncommon in today’s world. Panic struck and capturing the fall to death on your mobile cameras may fetch you a penny for a day but rob you of peaceful sleep, when you toss on your bed with guilt. A friend of mine whose own bereavement in the past has taught her the philosophy of life rightly said, that it is the ‘helplessness’ we feel when faced with the cruel fact of mortality that creates a void and an unbearable pain.
I know that it will be dawn again and life will return to normal and reporters and journalists will begin sniffing for a new trail of sensational news. Whatever is breaking news for them is breaking indeed! For a commoner like me media melodrama is as intolerable as politics. We are in a poor state literally so, if each of us doesn’t rise to the occasion, if our conscience is enjoying their prolonged slumber then you can simply walk back with a cup of stimulant and watch the IPL or the hip gyrating obscene Bollywood songs.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
In this era of competition, success is an indispensable ideology. It is not merely a word in the dictionary but a mantra that drives us towards greater goals in all aspects of life. Let us consider a game or a tournament, where the dizzying determination to emerge victorious at the end of the game play provides the match with nerve-rending excitement. It would not be completely wrong if success were compared to the biological adrenaline rush that induces in us a frenzy to be the first one to reach the finish line in a race.
The term success no longer remains confined to just the ‘happy outcome’, it implies a positive attitude towards life. Even in life, material gains and the envying bank balance alone does not epitomize success. Emotional and spiritual revelation and calm of mind, is the sign of ‘success’. Whatever earns you praise and happiness is therefore ‘success’. So, for a poor beggar who earns not a morsel, a day’s meal is a success; so too for a wealthy man whose house oozes with wealth but the mind remains turbulent, a peaceful night’s sleep and rest are success. It is how you perceive ‘success’.
For a student aspiring to make it big in life, success in examination is important. But at all times one should remember that success is the fruit of hard work. It is not a fancy, where you waste your time daydreaming and success comes knocking at your door! Unless you are sincere, determined, resolute and ready to toil, it is impossible to scale the heights and celebrate success. The celebrities you read about in newspapers and eminent personalities who seem to bask in their hay day, have not achieved their magnanimous status in a fortnight. They have sweated it out day in and day out to be who they are. Benjamin Franklin has aptly said, “There are no gains without pains”.
Friday, March 5, 2010
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Please note that these examples have been taken from the website http://www.stufun.com/similar_sounding_words/similar_sounding_words_list.html
For more information on words and their pronunciation you can consult the following websites: