Good Times

Good times of life never freeze in time. They tend to pass away only to make us realize later that the time we spent was a precious one. It’s a strange reality of life that good times never take our permission before they arrive, but while they part ways with us, they leave us craving for more. We cherish them forever as they treasure themselves in videos and photographs. They are the alarm clock of happiness that wakes us up from the ashes of bad times to remind us that the good time has arrived; it’s time to dust off the agonies of life.

It’s our deeds that speak for themselves to determine the times we are about to enter. However, people say it all depends on destiny or luck (to be precise) that transports us to a good or a bad time. Well, I believe that it all depends upon the deeds which we have committed, they return to us in the form of blessings or curse that sets our life on the wheels of good or bad times because what you sow is what you reap.

Every time should be good time, I believe. We must learn to take out the bad of it and enjoy the goodness with utmost happiness because waiting for good times to come might extend the deadline of good time because good times of life never freeze in time.

Questioning Time

Time is like a river that flows uninterrupted regardless of it being obstructed. Past, present and future hold it tight as it continues to fly without any stride. Day and night adores it with bright and dark colours that make us do the chores of everyday life. We are the disciple of time without which everything will go haywire.

Summer, Spring, Autumn, Monsoon and Winter weave the threads of change with the needle of time. They sustain the balance of life reminiscing the fact that nothing is permanent, everything is ought to change. Is there something beyond time or is it a bubble on which we thrive? the question always keeps coming to my mind.

What if the clocks start ticking anti-clockwise?

I would be termed a lunatic for this insane proposition but the utter confusion it will cause will be a threat to the world and will tilt everything upside down.

The world will wake up when the moon will shine bright and will enter into deep slumber when the sun will rise. Children will start going to schools in the evening, flowers will bloom to full under the moonlight. It’s really complicated isn’t it, it’s difficult and impossible to challenge time, but who can say the clock might start ticking anti-clockwise, one fine night, when the clock ticks ding-dong!

Philip Seymour Hoffman - A TRUly CAPtivating Performer

I have heard the term ‘getting into character’ a million times, but if there is somebody who has enamoured me with his divine acting skills is Philip Seymour Hoffman. Now, the reason I have used the adjective divine is that it takes the mind to be spiritual enough to enter into the shoe of a homosexual writer and portray it onscreen without a flaw even for a nano second.

As Sir Philip Seymour Hoffman dons the hat of Truman Capote in the film Capote, he creates a magnetic charm which is too hard to resist as an audience. Be it the extensive research, which the writer did while writing his book In Cold Blood or the emotional loss which he underwent unable to offer justice to the murderers (oops a spoiler for those who haven’t watched but it’s not a movie review), Sir Philip proves that he is an actor par excellence.

 He has blurred the line between getting into a character and his life because he has lived the life of an extraordinary writer maneuvering smoothly through the bumps of feministic characteristics.

I watched the movie for the first time in November, 2018. Since, then I watch it every week because Truman Capote is truly captivating holding Sir Philip Seymour’s hand.

Go and watch it!

Shadows, Truths, Sins

Nothing is better than the shadow which gives us an impartial view of the frame of our mind quite contrary to the mirror that clearly reflect the contours of destiny on our hands and the lines of age on our foreheads.

What a mirror shows is an impartial view of our external self. It satisfies the inner soul complementing the physical features. On the other hand, a shadow reflects new possibilities. Standing against the wall with a candle burning on the backside shows the reflections of our actions. They take prominent shape when the mind takes new flights of imagination to form stunning shapes of butterflies, birds, giraffes and much more. It liberates the mind to an extent that it brings forth a new discovery imbued with creativity.

Sometimes, shadows are also the omen of an impending danger. They bring the truth in a lethal way trespassing the peace of living; they remind the living mind about the unfortunate arrival of the unexpected. To some, the shadow is a haunting reminder of the misdeed they have done with people while to some it is nothing but only the reflection of the objects standing still against the bright light of their destiny.

Don’t be afraid of the shadow because it will only give you an impartial view of the real person you are.

Revisiting Childhood

Many miles down the road, a bullock cart used to wait for me. I would elope away from my home everyday evading the sights of my parents. I don’t know who it was sitting on the other end of the cart. He would take me through the middle of green pastures where I would discover a world closer to my heart.

Women with hunched knees would pluck the crops – they would sit for hours under the sun enduring the heat embracing the inclement weather. Men would distribute fertilizers on the field – a religious practice for them which would never cover their mind with the veil of boredom; perhaps this helped them to feed themselves and their families. Children would splash water and play with the mud, making idols, statues, homes and dams – their innocence so fragile that it was meant to be vulnerable at their own hands.

My eyes would then shift to the greens that would line the horizons of our village. The sun would play peek-a-boo with me percolating through the coconut trees as I would watch them unperturbed from the cart. They have stood there from time immemorial as a witness to the numerous carts that pass each day carrying a nature lover like me.

Look at the Camera, it’s Time to Pout

I am the celebration of belonging

I am the celebration of achievement

I am the celebration of exploration

I am the celebration of idleness

I am the celebration of looks

I am the celebration of delicacy

I am the celebration of stress

I am the celebration of a fresh day

I am the celebration of reunion

I am the celebration of a great workout

I have become an indignant part of your life where you can’t do without a pout

I AM SELFIE

I can sum up your day, try me out :)

8th Day of Addiction

I stare blankly on the screen while the cursor gawks at me with an audacious look

What to write next? is the question that pops in my mind. It is filled with multiple thoughts that want to come out like the smoke that fills the air with ashes of emotions. You could either gasp for breathe after taking them in or pollute your inner conscious with purity, joy or laughter, because you never know which path will the nicotine take me through – destruction, inspiration, evolution, tension or happiness.

Oh god! Now I am struck again

The cursor has come to a halt and is staring at me once again

What to do?……

Well…..let me gulp down a glass of bear and start afresh. They say that few glasses down and the words start to flow out like water in an empty narrow lane. With alcohol by my side I am now on a creative ride. I am free from the shackles of that cursor that was an impending threat.

Hello there…..the drinking episode was just a figment of my own imagination because I don’t need a kick to trick my mind to pen down my thoughts.

Now that I have arrived here, I am confident that even without getting drugged even you can write a piece that satisfies your inner self and keeps you going through the motion of writing on the 8^th day of the year.

Ohh I am sorry….I made a wrong statement!

I just realized that even I am addicted, addicted to writing in solitude; solitude to whom I have attached myself deeply to the 8^th day of the year to write anything and everything in this world.

Get addicted to writing, because it will make you a better writer in the end.

Happy Writing!

The Table’s Soliloquy - Unplugged

Date: 27.05.2050

I was smeared with the dust of an abandoned entity so heavily that it formed a permanent layer of melancholy over me. It was easier for random hands to scribble over me as if I was a canvas to give shape to the whimsical thoughts and desires of an amateur artist.

 My body was still strong enough to shoulder the burden of hands that would rest vigorously over me, to be the instrument to dole out  beats to the songs that were hummed on a cold January evening, to be resistant against the accidental spill of the tea on a monsoon evening that erupted from the mixed humour of the reunion party, to be a part of the date that connected two souls for the first time.

Today, I sit in a museum and wander why the people of this digital world regard me as an archeological wonder or is it the illusion of of your virtual imagination?  

Silence Please!

It’s in silence that you hear out loud the inner inhibitions of your body

It’s in silence that you shriek out to your inner demons for being a coward

It’s in silence that you pray to heal you from the agonies of life

It’s in silence that you germinate the thoughts of independence

It’s in silence that you sew new dreams to wear them with panache in future

It’s in silence where the strokes of your genius gives birth to the flawless painting

It’s in silence when you prepare the thoughts for the most eloquent oratory

It’s in silence when many voices raise carrying the torch of justice 

It’s in silence when justice awaits for the truth to triumph over the evil

Your Eyes are the Window to my Soul

What lies beneath my skin is a string which you have tied around my heart. It’s an attachment which I desired for long. A connection which would be void without someone like you, who I don’t think exists or will ever exist in this universe. You are the mirror of our eternal existence for the time to come. It will reflect to the world a mark of true love that is unconditional; a kind of love that is unique and belongs only to us.

While the world turned its back on me I looked at you with blind trust. You had beheld me so strong that nothing could distract my belief from you. I could see the world better; through your eyes, I could discriminate between right and wrong, to which I had turned blind to, all these years. You have taken me to unchartered paths and taught me to face challenges of life. Today when I look at your beautiful eyes I wonder it’s not me, it’s you through whom I watch life in a better and positive way because

Your eyes are the window to my soul

Ever After with You

You helped me to seek asylum during the days of my refugee with pain. Your delicate words and tender touch filled the core of my heart with deep respect and love. I weaved the nest of love in my heart from the day you decided to be mine.

If life has ever given me a gift which I truly deserve it is you, there’s no other substitute which can replace the precious you. I can never imagine a day without you; because I know that

Holding your hands I can find the way through a lost maze,

Holding your hands I can reach the shores by turning down the turbulent tides,

Holding your hands I can reach the heights of happiness

Holding your hands I can fly to the land of our dreams

I can see a little girl in you who wants to soar to great heights. Baby I can be your wings to help you reach the zenith point. You feed me like a toddler and love me like a child, that’s what makes my heart leap and wonder how could love be so pure?

Sometimes I feel I am living in a fantasy world where the warmth of our togetherness has bloomed into a garden of eternal happiness.  As I bask in the glory of 4 years of nuptial bliss, I am ready to get lost with you wherever you take me in this wonderful world. 

REWORK

I throw my thoughts into hollow, unsure of who will accept them on the other end. Alphabets, Letters and a Pen are my close companions who keep me going when I am lost in the whirlwind of BRIEFS and DEADLINES. When I discover a new route, they help me travel to my destination.

The world is a stage to me where I am privileged to be an artist, who for the sake of his love for words carves out whacky, emotional, simple, straight and stupid copy to fetch the senseless and out of the world ‘brief’ from the ‘prestigious clients.’

When I tap the send button in my phone for approval and to further graduate my copy from the word file to the final layout, they are crucified with harsh words like CRISP, NO HYPE, USE NEW WORDS. The creative bug in me shrieks out. I can hear it echoing with deep regret ‘Let your lines Rest in Peace.’

They leave a scar on my copy and I can see it oozing out blood forming a typography – REWORK!

Miracles of Night

Fragments of past and present        

Create a sort of illusion as I wander

Through the gates of anxiety

They return every night

Carrying with them a veil of unconsciousness

That puts to rest my conscious mind

I take the flight of imagination

Whose wings widen farther with time

To embrace me into the clouds of dramatic moments

Chronicles of the past and a latest episode  

Create a saga of confused drama

Performed by artists wearing fake masks of greed and love

Voices of her who brought me on this earth

Repeat the truth again and again citing

“All expectation to reunite will go in vain”

I wake up with the truth, only to realize

Sometimes even dreams show us the right door

Message Sent

The rhythm of life is dictated with these two words.

I feel glad to be a part of a world where communication is dominated with the digital layers of technology, where thoughts can be filtered and enunciated with emotional emoticons and then sent to the person on the other side; much contrary to the traditional form of face-to-face communication where expression does all the talking followed by latent blabbering.

   

It has become such a ubiquitous thing that a person without access to Whatsapp is considered as backdated but we must not forget the fact that spoken words have a larger impact due to their phonetic appeal. The psychological impact is much deeper as compared to the typography on a 5 inch screen; hence, it would be wrong to judge a person on the basis of his or her access to technology.

The rhythm of life will continue to hymn irrespective of the way it is communicated; what matters is whether the message is sent or not.  

The right time is NOW!

“It’s been almost a year now and I am on the verge of renouncing this place,” said the fingers when they sat in solace and watched the cursor blink now and then unable to determine whether they were competing with the number of eye blinks or waiting for that ‘aha moment’ to arrive.

“But what’s the reason for such a long hiatus?” the curious mind questioned again

“You could have been here anytime you wanted, just like you are now”

“Well, you know what, the thoughts; they wander around like a flock of birds who return to their nest at dusk spreading their wings as fast as they can. Upon reaching their nests, they settle down with the slumber……….. then it ends forever and, the thoughts, they start gathering dusts,” said the fingers as they rested idle and kept staring at the blank screen.

The mind was elated with the reply. It said, “Nevertheless, you have been quite a success till now and have managed to embrace this place again. The blink of the cursor is finally blazing ahead, may be with the blink of an eye or even faster than that. There is never a correct time to start writing, the right time is now!

Art in its purest form

The master had set the stage, for the craft to evolve in its purest form. Today, the stage serves as a global platform for art connoisseurs to strengthen their roots in poetry, literature, history and archeology. Perhaps, my trip to Shantiniketan was an artistic revelation. Finally, my long lost desire had come alive at the onset of ‘PoushMela' (one of the most celebrated fair in West Bengal marking the beginning of harvest season). A trip which was too good to forget and a destination which should be on the itinerary for anybody who applauds art.

The sprawling expanse of the VishwaBharati Campus is filled with clay ladden artifacts, tiny little structures, abstract paintings on buildings, human structures made from marble and decorative art on the trees. The perfect muse for an art afficinado. Even the flora here is fascinating enough to draw your attention. Everything here spells creativity.

Evolution of art in the most intimate manner will take you in its lap where you are bound to get immersed in the world of kavi guru Rabindranath Tagore. The occasional chirping of birds interrupts the astute silence which prevails everywhere at the VishwaBharati Campus.

The Chatim Tree has not lost its charismatic stature. It still stands as a reminiscence to the golden era of Rabindranath bringing the anecdotes of his teachings to life. Legend has it that Gurudev used to teach student sitting under its shade. He used to gift the leaves of the trees to his favourite student as a token of appreciation.

Chatim Tree

As an artist there is no boundation to give your creative genius an uplift. Just take a look at this splendid hut painted beautifully with artworks and paintings.

 Walking across the campus, you will frequently come across artists sketching live surroundings or a human caricature. I came across one.

  

This one's for you...

Dedicated to somebody I love the most

Love is not…

about spending time with each other

But about GROWING together in a relationship

about expensive gifts

But about the precious THANK YOU's for everything

about theYour's and Mine's

But about the OUR's in little things

about holding hands

But about STANDING FIRMLY behind each other during the worst

about showing the love to the world

But about lying in each other’s LAPS in solace

Love is…

about that sensuous kiss

After that UGLY FIGHT

about that baseless fight

For that last piece of CHICKEN WING

about forgiving the other

Even after the ENDLESS WAIT at the station

 about taking the bow

to keep the flame of ETERNAL LOVE alive…

FOREVER

Blurred Lines

Its been more than 20 years, there has never been a single moment when David could ever express his desire for  anything from his father. Whenever he did so, his father would give him a disgruntled look and say, “You have scored very poor this time in maths. How could you even think of that?”

This went on for years and had become an excuse for David’s father to keep him away from all the childhood desires. Intact, there has been many times when David asked his father for dresses or toys but like every time he was returned back with a vague assurance for a great payback. There have been very few instances when David would ultimately get a gift or something as a token of appreciation for his ‘good marks.’ The constant rejection from his father had ultimately put all his expectations under that sheet of dust which had transformed itself into a thick layer of mud. It would not remove now so easily.

David was now a 28 years old man married happily with a wonderful girl. Both of them, had a stupendous relationship with each other. When they used to get out in public no body could imagine thatthey are a married couple. With so many years after his childhood, unfortunately, David still couldn't establish a good relationship with his father.

The father son duo still had a transactional relationship unfortunately and over the years it had blurred. David's only concern was that the relationship should not evolve into a ‘ cease to exist' relationship. After David lost his mother, his father was the one with whom he had a formidable relationship in the family. Eternally, he never wanted to end this only left relationship especially after a year of his mother's death. His father was 58 now. With age, a man not only expects much from his children but sometimes forgets that his interference might become a cause of irritation for the one's living with him.

David had almost stopped communicating with his father now. There hardly used to be any communication between both of them.

“Why do our very own seem like nobody and why do the lines of relationships blur with a close family member like father?” thought David everyday.

May be it is due to the high expectations set by parents or is it a generation gap?

David is in still in quest of the answer and may be one day he will find it.

The Questionable Identity

Belief is what binds us together, when it comes to religion. From worshipping a stone to tying threads around a banyan tree, there is an eternal belief in each one of us about the existence of a super natural body – GOD. It is this belief, which we carry with us everywhere in the form of red threads tied firmly around the wrists, a loose thread with a tiny metal around the neck and in many other forms in the human anatomy.

From childhood we are taught about deities who are supposed to keep an eye over all our doings and manage this universe. The strange thing is that we never get to see this omnipresent divine power or witness its existence.

Like every other Indian child, I too was taught of worshipping God. Ours is a family which strongly indulged in religion. Infact, I have taken ‘guru naam’ (chants of a particular religious leader) wore a black thread around the neck. I continued to practice it till a certain time. No doubtI grew up to be a staunch believer of God, unless one incident in my life forced to question the identity of God.

We are always eager to know what lies ahead of our life. Bright or gloomy days ahead, a simple or a great career, an astrologer seems to be our life saviour or our guide who shows us what life has in store for us. In our case, it was my mother’s illness that had been disturbing us since the time she was diagnosed with cancer. Worried about her health, we consulted two astrologers (to be precise). Just few months before her death, both of them gave an assuring reply giving an indication of no bad results. No doubt their reply was followed even by an emerald to drive the evil away.

Much to our astonishment, it was just 5 months later when my mother passed away. Her deteriorating health had given us a clear indication that it was her time. There wasn’t an iota of doubt in that. Subsequently, just after a month of her demise, all the divine beliefs had catapulted to a dried vessel which was empty. It seemed as if it was broken by a stone and the water in it had flowed away with a promise of never to return. So, this one incident was enough for me to wash away all my beliefs on the divine power.

From the time immemorial, we are taught about the presence of a certain force called God or Almighty or The Divine Power. We worship them in photo frames, as marble statues, stones and trees. But their existence is a questionable identity to this and the coming generation.

I still have faith in God. No doubt it has reduced since the untimely death of my mother. I just want to know about the truth of his existence and let the world know about it.

P.S. ALL THE VIEWPOINTS EXPRESSED HERE ARE MY PERSONALEXPERIENCES. THERE IS NO INTENTION OF HURTING ANY RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 

Burning Live!

She was never so cruel before

It had become unbearable

All these years,

She was sweet enough to be tolerated

But it was this year

When she broke all my expectations

Turning them down into dust

And stabbed me from the back

Could you be this cruel?

Could you be this disgusting?

The sheer thought of your existence

Now kills me

Even the air is now filled

With your unbearable touch

You have infected it

With your infectious loo

GO HEAT, GO AWAY

COZ WE’RE BURNING LIVE HERE !

Image source: Google Images