Moving Upstairs

-- Moving upstairs.. 

little by little 

this much by that much 

he gestured to me with his hand..  

And i smiled..  

Six years into a phd program is no small a time, 

perhaps after school, 

rarely there has been such a long chime..  

now is when they moved me upstairs.. 

i have been at the basement and first too, 

at the second floor,

so now upstairs is not at all a chore..  

For him though, 

my professor, 

a philosophical sore.. 

little by little.. 

this much by that much.. 

gesturing me with his hand..   

now, with many more grey hair 

than i even can dare 

that we all the academic bunch, 

faculty, staff and students.. 

Are moving upstairs..  

And i smiled.. 

Nodded.. 

hardly any words to give back in return 

but he said it all, though taciturn 

we are all moving upstairs.. 

-----

On how i love killing love..

She calls me,

the night is dark and deadly,

i come and lie with the smell of tobacco

on my mouth and body..

Closer she comes,

eyes half dead

half open for an embrace..

I spread my fingers on her forehead..

and then she smells the soot..

admonishes, and turns around..

That is how

i killed my love..

unbloodied..

stealthily..

dark and buried ..

on a black night..

writing useless poetry about it..

next morning..

" hows your poetry coming along..somebody asked ... "

so i replied:

poetry is a nice fancy

once upon a time by chancy

she gave way to nancy

to make poetry necromancy...

- amen..

Of mp3s, emails and old friends

Of Mp3, emails and old friends

---

I was in some confusion

whether to write about this

in bangla, my mother tongue,

or to stick to the language of business

english..let it be..

I let it be..

business ruled..and

so did history as on that fine evening..

i dug up my emails from yore..

And suddenly remembered

all of your faces..

old friends

to whom i had sent all

my choicest songs

perhaps irking you with my

own choices,

irreverent to whether you

liked them or not.

Today on a fine evening

after a sunny day

that decided to end without a whimper

or a roar

those mails, mp3s and all of you

touch me painfully

somewhere in my soul

tears roll down my eyes

for all the days gone by

and some of those mp3s

keep playing in the background

a harmless poem

sums it all

an obituary for that decade,

filled with you all my friends, emails and the mp3s..

I am still alive..

only just..

still tinkering with the words..

remembering not only you

but even myself which once comprised

of emails, mp3s and you all, all my friends..

Of my problem and a few lines..

My problem

--

My problem is

that this time around

when i was back home

i saw an ugly me,

having grown up

and with lost faith

drifting and trying

desperately to regain one's senses..

The smells,

the taste,

the sweat,

the sounds

and the sights..

not to forget the tears..

But the more i tried,

the more they seemed to elude me..

worryingly, i was unperturbed

as if each hour,

each day spent,

was just a budgeted one to go by,

and i knew i would be back

to my own unreal mess soon..

On other times

x or y or z happens on the way back

or on the way to home..

invigorating me

about home, my country, and old close faces..

this time though,

nothing substantial happened,

except meeting an old man

with grim stories of living a life

and fulfilling one's duties..

or maybe i have lost my senses to feel..

Why was the story like that?

I wonder, i scrounge for solutions..

i fail ..and despite the sleep..

i try these lines..

No longer worried,

if i have changed,

or others have,

or if i have grown old,

or others have,

just plain simple asking

whats going on,

Do you know?

---

Love you..from a laptop...

I have been horrible to you..

i know..

but your morning eyes..

make me write this apology..

Maybe one day you will read it..

by volition, perhaps like old days..

without me telling you..

and i am hoping..

that you will again fall in love with me..

Forgetting the scars and bites in between..

that we shared..to just pick a pen..

and on a paper..to write a piece of poetry..

the poetry of love, togetherness, and tears..

Alas, its the blog stupid, no pens..

no papers, a laptop..a digital poem..

saying this 'love you'..from a laptop..

--

No wonder life has changed..

have we both too?

A Conversation between the 'Bottom and the Top'...

Or maybe between the top and the bottom

Bottom: Hey you..

what are you doing here?

Across the North American border..

in Motown Michigan,

enjoying the pleasures of a business school

and jargons about the bottom of the pyramid..

Top: Nope not me..

Somebody else,

traveling, and reveling,

kind of like a child,

still to get one's bearings..

knowing not where i am going

but feeling all right that i am here

not forlorn or lost, as if this is my place..

Bottom: What happened to me then?

If its not you..remember just a decade back..

Ok i admit, more than a decade, 15 years now..

you and me were the same being..

and now you say, you are not me, or i am not you..

whats going on mate..

Top: You won't get it bottom..

the road was long..

i have lost my way..

i just drift along, like lake michigan into the bay..

Across the window..into the sky...

we always will be the same..saying each other a forlorn hi..

Into the water we will drop the cent

the price we paid why now repent?

Akashe Chorano Megh er kacha kachi...dekha jaay tomader baari...

http://www.esnips.com/doc/7e682559-f6f9-4ed3-9d22-23e76cd53054/Akashe-chorano

Amita r chokhe Amartya

Amita r chokhe Amartya

--

Prio Amortyo..

Aaj onek jug pore..

hotat kore shujog ta eshe gelo.

Tui bodhoy chilish naa..

aar ami o sherom bhabe..

janano r proyojon bodh kori ni..

Nijer moton kore..

eka eka gie..

tor aapis tuku dekte cheyechilum..

Dekhe elum!

Shedin December er shokaal..

toder subway theke berie i

dekhte pelum, toder aapis..

Amaader shantiniketon er moton..

naa khete paoa, rong uthe jaoa building to noy..

jhaa chokchok e, orthoniti r apis bote toder!

Harvard bisshwobidyaloy...

ore baba, naam ta shune o jeno..

Haar ta bhaare jaay..

Jaai hok, moja korchi naa re..

dekhlum, onek din er mon er shaadh o metalum..

Tobu keno jeno kichu i chue jete parlo naa..

Ei aapish er jonno tui aaj eto door e..

jaani tor onek aapis..shudhu ki ekta..

baki gulo o hoyto..onnanyo desh e ..

erom i hobe..

Amaar khub ekta tate kichu ashe jaay naa..

pajor e aagle toke jokhon manush korechilum..

bhebechilum tui ektu onnyo bhabe bhabbi..

Bhebe o chish..

durbikkhe r chokh gulo ke nie gobeshona korechish..

boro boro prize o peyechish..

Tobu hotaash i holum re..

janina, aar o bodhoy kichu cheyechilum tor kache..

hoyto ba, panjor er je sneho tui peyechili..

shei gulo r ferot paoa r oppekhay chilum..

Manush to..

Sharthopor to..

Boyosh onek holo to..

Tai shesh porjonto likhe o fellum..

Bhalo thakish re..

Ihojonme na hole o..

Tui to Amartya...

Hoyto ba poro jonme!

--

On seeing the Economics Department at Harvard, Boston - Dec'09.

Pagol Bondhu r Prithibi

Pagla Bondhu

--

Bondhu ke, ba keno keu bondhu

eta ekhono thik bujhe uthte parini

shudhu bujhi, pagla ta bondhu..

Hotat kore phone kore, kinba mail

abaar thik hotat i kore,

puro chup kore jaay..

Din jaay, maash jaay,

pagla bondhu amaar udhao,

nije r paglami shamlate besto thake bodhoy..

Thik jokhon pare na shamlate

abar thok thok kore,

dorjaay kora naare..

Ore, kichu kor,

poth dekha, hante jaabi chol,

lekh, dheu ke nie jolokeli kor,

koto shob abdaar taar..

Bondhu bole i to abdaar..

Jodi o por hoto,

jodi o amar eka raat er,

chaand er dike takie chokh er jol er shathi na hoto,

tobe ki kokhono korto oi abdaar...

Oke shamlate gie nije o pagol hoar jogar,

Keno thok thok korish,

Keno bolish dheu ante, ba dheu er opor die jete,

besh to achi, nirbaak, nirlipto, nisthobdo, niruddesh o bodhoy..

Amaar aar kichu chai naa,

shudhu tor paglami,

aar tor bondhutto,

ei tukui jotheshto..

Aay, prithibi ta r ekta round mere ashi, cho....

--

Karur kono shara shobdo nei...

Karu r kono shara shobdo nei..

--

Karur kono shara shobdo nei..

Othocho kichu bochor agei

Amra na choto chilaam..

Aar shei choto thakar shomoy..

Pujo r chuti bolo, baa vindeshe,

Onno kono chuti bolo..amra shobai..

Naatni ra, naati ra, chute jetam..

tantipara lane er oi barita te..

Dadubhai thakto amader jonno mukhie..

Didubhai roj nanaan dhoron er maach..

Kinba shondhe holei, roll, chop-cutlet anaato..

Aaj..Karur kono shara shobdo nei..

Buro manush gulo ekhon

chaai hoe ube geche..

amra choto ra ekhon boro hoechi..

nanaan mohadeshe..naanaan kaaj e nijeder moton kore

obosthaan korechi..amaader shobaai i ekhon aar keu,

choto o noy, ekaa o noy, shonge jibon shathi ra esheche..

Ma-baba ra, maane oi amader mashi-mesho-mama ra, shobai boyesh hoe..

notun projonme r alo amaader haate tule dieche..

Ei ashay..

je notun projonmo abaar alo aanbe..

aanbe onek kolahol..shokale fute thaka chotto kuri r moton..

notun jibon..

Ashchorjo -- tobu charidike karur kono shara shobdo nei..

Keno jaano ?

Ei juge,

keu shara shobdo kore naa..

Keu kolahol kore naa..

keu chop-cutlet khaay naa..

Jug ta amar moton 'karu' der noy,

tomader moton 'Goru' der..

---

I could not resist getting back to my blog after an eternity..Reason being the mail above from some guy who apparently got misled into a folk-lore about me..strange to know that i have become one of those eccentric sample that CAT coaching institutes are now touting around to highlight how life can become once you have an IIM MBA...i got into ETIG -- true while i was close to being made a Philips conventional sales & marketing offer on campus -- but that is a little away from the truth that is being circulated with these guys, that i ditched an offer. No way, perhaps i would have charted my life in a different manner had life itself not taken control of my paths ahead...in any case, my kudos to India and Indians..the IIM culture, the MBA hogwash, the eccentric samples (some of whom direct a movie, others open up a travel-firm, or some others end up writing books and praising the latest good looking actress in bolly-town)....and offcourse to the Indian-ness in me..i was given an adrenaline shot with this characterisation in the email..from 2003 to end of 2009...6 years, about half of what appears to be a divine cycle in Hindu time-periods, maybe another world is still coming along...Alvida..

Growing Old

--Growing Old--

After years trickle by and

new faces and cities

become part of a new life.

When instead of my old lean self,

all you note is my paunch..

I look around and feel

the passing of a decade,

today the young have come

and the hair has grown grey..

It is then, i remember you..

Your touch..

the fingers in my mouth..

The softest corner of your..

Tender lips melting in mine..

Your honest innocent hug,

Still clings on to me,

The last morsel on

your hungry child's lips..

The tears oozed by one by one

As the decade passed

in your sleep on my lap,

i have stayed awake,

Today, the full moon is out.

I have grown old.

Blogging poetry..
aaaaaa

Four liners for the maple leaf

--

If my mother were to know

we all live in this world of shame

she would have sighed and

not tried her hand on poetry.

You and me,

all wrapped in time, running for glory

i see little kids, looking at us,

finding nothing, save a sad story.

Sometimes the light's all shining on me

Other times i can barely see

Lately it occurs to me

What a long strange trip its been.

You are the star,

Wanting to know where we are going,

Too much light here,

The destination not worth showing.

Hit and miss, blood and tears

Childhood stories, grown up liars

I eat your breasts, you bash my penis,
thats to life dear maple, and all its glories..

--

~ Onno bhor er kobita ~

Onno Bhor er kobita
--
Shedin notun kobita likhlaam,
onno bhor er kobita.

Ami bhor er pothojatri noi,
shokaal belaay uthe pakhider daake r
piyaashi o noi,
bhor er manush er bestota
amaar kache praachin desh
kinba ojana manush
er motoi orbachin, ochena.

Nisha amaay bhalobashay bedhe rekhechilo,
taanke bhalobashtaam na onno kichu ke,
janina, hoyto taanr nisthobdota ke,
hoyto baa taanr ekakitto ke,
mone hoto, taanr nirliptotay
jeno ami khuje petam,
porom apon nijer konojon ke.

Aaj, nisha vindeshi,
koto din raatri jaagi naa,
taanr shonge bhalobashay motto hoi naa,
amaar kache ekhon notun jibon er patheo,
ei notun bhor, onno bhor.

Age jaantam
amader shoa r pore, bhor hoto,
pakhira deke uthto, shurjo jholshato,
Prithibi taar jibon shuru kore dito,
amra khaali shue thaaktam sharata din
prithibi r theke door e.

Aaj, mishe gechi shei prithibi te,
Bhor e uthi, notun bhor e,
onno bhor e, aar tumi ekhono shue,
din er door er manush ekhon amar kacher.

Nijeke kemon jeno
chinte pari na,
taai kobita likhi,
tomay nie noi,
tomar shoba r pore
purono bhor ke nie noi,
onno bhor ke nie.
--

~ tomar kobita ~

~tomar kobita~

keno janina,

onek bhebe o,

tomar jonno kobita likhte gele,

amaar haath kenpe jaay...

nijeke proshno kori,

kaaron ta ki..

tumi ki amar kobita nao,

shedin shondhyay tobe ke chile tumi?

hoyto jibon..

aar taai tomar kache,

jibon er kache..

haath kepe,

kobita naa likhte pere,

amar kono lojja hoy naa..

tumi i to amar kobita..

aabaar ohetuk likhe bola keno..

....

A moment in the setting sun

A moment in the setting sun...

Grandpa strolled across with kids,
youngest in a pram, brother and sister beside
fighting, getting bashed for their antics
crying, stopping, showing signs
of fake anger, forgetting and running along..

They fade out in the distance..
As Mr jogger went past
Sweating body, what a shape,
God's gift, well done man,
keeping it prim and proper!

In the distance the sun,
still bright, tired, its time
to set, the clouds smile
ask it to come back home
it was a hard day's work..

at the signal,
there are cars now,
all colors and shine,
black and blue, steel and white

Time ticks,
music strums into the ears,
the lyrics say, "what do i know love,
of sad evenings, it has lit up,
now that i took your name"..

Time ticks,
Get back to work,
get back to living..

What do i know love,
of sad evenings
or this moment in the setting sun?

~ in memory of Kurt Vonnegut ~

When the last living thing

has died on account of us,

how poetical it would be

if Earth could say,

in a voice floating up

perhaps

from the floor

of the Grand Canyon,

“It is done.”

People did not like it here.

My life from the rains to the snows and...

---

While writing these few lines
and walking amidst the snows
i suddenly have all the yearnings
for the rains...

Around me a pale sun
and stilled out trees
flakes pouring a pile

here and there around..

thats the winter country
living in, i realise how

i have forgotten my
own beloved rains...

and how in another world

they come bringing with them

joy and sound, green and peace,
playing with clouds and lightening in the sky..

none of that here...
in this snow country
no rains only flakes
no green only white...

Somebody once told me
that heaven is perhaps like this
he hadn't seen the rains
born in a winter country..

and left me wondering

how heaven n bliss, never being there

yet differ in imageries we know...

and keep knowing and changing thus..

while writing these lines
walking through the snows
looking at the trees

stilled by incessant flakes

travelling and yearning

for green and beloved rains...
born in a rain country
walking now in a snow country..

dying ...who knows which country? :)

~:)