Utshob er baluchore..

Kubja, esho prithibike khuchro bhabhe dekhi..
kauke bujhie bolar dorkaar nei, keno e-bhabhe dekha..
noukou teer e laageni. tikitghor ekhono ondhokaar..
shudhu amaar angul er angti r pathor joljol korche..
jeno banshberia r aalo.
tobe ki aamra kono utshob er baluchore pouche gechi?

Kubja, come, let us see the world in its smallest elements,

no need to explain to anybody, why we shall see like this..

the boat hasnt touched the shores yet, the ticket rooms still dark..

just the ring on my fingers are shining bright still..

as if the last flickers in a dark bamboo jungle..

Is it true, that we have finally reached the beaches of some festival then....

~patchy and rusty posting after a long time...a bengali poem by Utpol Kumar Basu at

http://www.boipara.com/bengali_literature_ebooks/bengali_poetry_ebook_kuri1st01.asp

~ 2 Himself ~

---

Now you will rest forever,
My tired heart. The fabulous deceit
That i myself believed eternal has ended.
Ended. How sharply i feel,
In we of the dear deceit,
There is no hope, desire being spent.
Rest forever. So many
palpitations. Your flutterings
Serve no one, nor do you dignify the earth
with your sighs. Life is bitter and empty,
nothing more. The world is a slough.
Calm yourself now. Despair.
For the last time. Fate gave your kind
no gift but death. At last
nature disdains you, the brute
power that, lurking, imposes the common day,
and the infinite variety of things.

~by Giacomo Leopardi from the Italian version, and yet the tears dont stop reading these lines, knowing these lines, living these lines....

~ You and my cigarette ~

--
Most times,
when i travel miles,
across the skies and oceans,
reaching you and your gentle hand,

I can sense your numbness.

I move my fingers slowly
on your sleeping ones
i wide awake in the sun of the day,
you in your dreams of the night

And you turn around just a bit.

Slowly, i caress your hair
move the sheet up, to cover
your sensitive soul
and give you a kiss on the forehead.

I walk out then for a cigarette.

It is sunny here,
people soaking in daytime activites,
me and my cigarette sees them
and smiles in trifle sadness

You get up,
something told your dreamy self
that i must be out, on the terrace
or on the streets, smoking,

And you come and embrace me,

I hold you tight,
I stand still,
i sense my numbness as you get alive
and i ask my stupid self,
Why, WHY do i smoke a cigarette?
--

~ to Love ~

'To Love'


----

I didnt ask you to stay
but you stayed
I never asked you who you were
Or what you wanted.
You were simply there.
What do you want from me, love?
Was i not stronger alone?
And did i ever need you?
But stay a bit longer.
Not long,
Just until they stop asking
how i am,
And i stop saying, 'Fine'
Everyone can tell at a glance:
You are here.
If you ever leave me,
i will go with you.

-------

~ from 'Love in thoughts' extract 3.

~ at the zenith ~

Maybe its true
that people are only truly happy, just once in their lives,
just once, And then they are punished for it for the rest of their lives,
The punishment is that they can never forget that one moment.
I think its best..to say goodbye at the right time. Namely when you'are the happiest.
Precisely then, At the zenith.

-- From 'Love in thoughts' extract 2.

'love in thoughts'

-------


Dear Universe,

When we have ceased to exist,
we dont want anyone to miss us,
or shed even a single tear for us.
If anyone wants to keep us
in his memory, let him do so in joy.
For you see,
we did the only right thing,
we lived.

-------

from the movie, Love in Thoughts, extract 1.

| Blessed are the cigarette smokers |

Dear Mr Cigarette Manufacturer,


Its time to compliment you today.

Many years back i had slapped a friend, who smoked and entered my hostel room. I was a young chap then, with preconceived notions of what one should and should not do. Smoking and drinking came under the aegis of those 'one should not do' activities. Times have changed and like the aging leaves of autumn who stand the wrath of winters and finally wither off, that me has wrinkled away as well.

The new me survives on cigarettes. And what beauty and solace you bring to me, Mr Cigarette. Especially in times like these. When i scout for some soul in this world to talk my soul out. But find none. Not my mother. Not sister or father or even the person i am going to marry in a few months time from now. No friend to open my pains out for all that they possibly can do listening to my predicament is to listen and empathise. But given the backgrounds they come from they possibly wont be able to offer me active strategies.

And behold i dont want 'strategies' i just want the blessings of the 'cigarette smokers'. :)

The first snow of the season has occurred. Its cold today but that is only but a metaphore to my life. Life has become a queer concoction of conflicts, which i might want to handle and steer towards peaceful solutions. But know fully well, that i cant. It will be difficult. Handling never solved anything, the outcome, as Mr Godbole in Forsters 'A passage to India' will like to say: is defined.

Writh in pain i may, handling strategies i might devise, but the outcome shall still remain defined.

Mother understands it a little. But what can she do? Poor she, she feels it, but given her willing submission, she has opted to be the second player. Else perhaps she would have met somebody to my liking and steer my wedlock in that direction. And then again, who can assure that that particular outcome would have assured perfect harmony. Perfect harmony is a myth is it? I dont know but till then:

Blessed are the cigarette smokers.

Sister gets married off in a few months. To a very lovable chap. And i, to another lady a lovable woman. Unfortunately, the women in question, sister and she, will be trapped in the beholdings of us - the lovable chap and me, their respective husbands. And they might whimper about comparative situations, but the outcome still shall remain defined.

A moving out, is that a solution. Staying single for some more time, a punch on the face of a lady whom i have 'touched' gently and genuinely, is that a solution? Dont think so. How selfish would that be? Perhaps silence is golden only for such situations.

But till then Blessed are the cigarette smokers, and the song writers who write words like these:

"And here i sit hand on a telephone,
hearing a voice i know,
a couple of light years ago,
heading straight for a fall..."


Bless the fall Mr Cigarette Maker...

~ Amen, the cigarette smoker.

? Who am I ?

---
Who am I?
---

In many ways,
you are like her,
coming with your ideas to me,
a flash flood not known in the seasons,
of lost love
and broken faiths

In many ways she was like you,
picking the phone up,
talking a little,
then rushing off, with excuses,
money or work, whichever you want,

In many ways,
you are like her
calling me by the same name,
with which mother ushered me into this world,
a baby long back, now a aged bumpkin,

In many ways,
you and she,
and she and you,
are like all of you,
who walk into my life,
own me, despair owning me,
leave, leaving me wiser, whimpering,

that you are not she,
and she,
if alive and listening,
is or was not you,

how about me then,
who am I?
----

|Junk Talk|

-------

Good morning!
Hello!!!
How are you doing ?
Oh..i am good...
How about you?

Quite nice..
Thanks for asking:)
Catch you around


Walk on.. Next Morning,

Good Morning!
Hellooo!!!
What's up ?
Nothing much!
You ?
Oh same old story! :(

Life is boring,
Ah...true!
I got to rush
(fear getting emotional in office)
(have to keep work n life in separate silos)


That is fine..
Have a good one.
Take care man..
How about taking it easy..
No No, hang in there..
not too easy, nor too tight.
figure out the optimum..

Junk Talks..
give me my solitude,
please, i rather not talk,
than to talk junk at all.
-----------

A letter to Senor Sharma

---

A letter to Senor Sharma

---
Dear Mr Sharma,
Your Sons, A & R,
Are with me in the same college,
Young Chaps, good chaps, Senor,

They have it in their eyes,
yet many a times,
a little low i feel,
not for them,
they are fine,
eager to make a mark,
like you the strolling diplomat,

no roots, no anchor, so what,
for the country's sake, you
rove the world, but for you,
yes,

a little low, i feel,

why this messing up of life,
why leave your kids behind,
in one concrete jungle after another,
large cities and small,
urban and semi urban conglomerates,

When,

they could have done so well,
by being a little more secure,
a little less fidgety
surer a little more of their wants,

More importantly, also of,
not what they want,
with you,
Senor Sharma at home,
surer roots not travelling,
alas you dont, you come and leave them,
fine chaps, good chaps,
the Sharma brothers
talking to me,
another Senor in the making,
in their college?

--

out of fear or fearlessness ?

----
There as you stand, smoke,
And smoke and stand,
tall, strapping, hair unkempt,
fearless, loquacious,
you remind me of past days.

There used to be evenings,
not so long back, a year
there or after, when,
fear i had known none, today

not that i am afraid,
but the question of being so,
has walked past me,
as if,

lapping me up in the corner,
leaving that last iota of
travelling thoughts,
beyond fear or fearlessness

Me still not venturing,
or having ventured,
in a journey useless,
stand here still,

looking at you,
standing and smoking
and smoking and standing,
wondering why i am, where i am,

trembling,
out of fear or
fearlessness ?
----

'Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore'

~
Everyone knows that there’s no place like home
I’m just seeking refuge in a world full of storms
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore


The natives are hostile whatever I say
The thing they fear most is I might want to stay
By their side on a different shore, can’t go home anymore


I escape my tormentors by crossing the sea
What I cannot escape is the memory
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore


Everyone knows that there’s no place like home
I’m just seeking refuge in a world full of storms
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
~

-- and however much, i try to forget, that its puja time, this irish folk song catches me by my tears...am washed up on a distant shore, cant go home anymore..i can smell the kaash ful, feel the air back home, sitting here, on a distant shore, and do nothing, sit silent, i can't go home anymore..

'Bhalobasha bhalobasha'

Amaar moton shukhi ke aache,
aay shokhi aay amaar kaache,
shukhi hridoyer shukher gaan,
shuniya toder juraabe praan...

Protidin jodi kaadibi kebol,
ek din noy hashibi tora,
ek din noy bishaade bhuliya,
shokole miliya gaahibo mora,

Bhabona kahaare bole,
Shokhi..jatona kahaare bole,
tomra je bolo dibosho rojoni,
Bhalobasha, bhalobasha,

Shokhi bhalobasha kaare koy,
She ki keboli chokh er jol,
she ki keboli dukh er shaash,
loke tobe kore ki shukh er tor emon dukh er aash...

-- my day starts with this song, some silent tears, and loads of classes! :) bingo!!!!

'Amelie'

amelie

walking home alone from the crowded
theater, i stop to watch a single
petal float and shimmer in the
street lamp's gentle warming glow.

i cup it in my open palm,
and say softly to myself:

i need to be reminded,
now and again,
to love.

- DBN

and this poem by a new faculty member, posted on his website, reminded me of that Hariharan ghazal...Halka sa ek nasha tha...

'Its Mom you Know'

--
I have been thinking about this
for sometime now,
how drab i have grown,
my lines dried up

Lo-behold they came back to me,
today evening after classes,
with a stick in my hand,
i strolled out for a smoke,

The droplets tried to
run my stick over, but
i tried being fast
outpacing the rains from drenching my smoke

When i caught hold of a chap
seated beside me
talking on the phone
as a lady strolled by

Keeping the person on the phone
waiting, he chatted with her
and when she said, i will catch you
later, you get back to the phone,

He said,
'Its Mom you know..'
a smirk exchanged,
and i wondered, Mom did you know?
---

time for 'A Sentence'

its time to be back to life again..celebrating with a poem, writer, Anna Akhmatova, fits my situation well..travel on...

A Sentence
--
And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.

Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again—

Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this
Brilliant day, deserted house.
--

| Fire Asha |

--
Dobhashi r dayitto niyechi,
likhte boshechi kobita,
banglay, ebong ektu, engreji,
Shironaam, Fire Asha.

Nischoy bolbi, dhong,
kobita likhe i khalaash,
kothay fire ashish tui,
kaar kaache ashish,
aashar icche ki shotti i aache tor,

Uttor to jani naa shona,
tobu likhi, fire ashi,
I come back, fire asha,
coming back

Cheshta kori naa,
uttor dite, amar dike
deyal er oi kon e boshe,
tui jokhon takiye jiggesh korei cholechish,


Fire ashi, ei kon e,
shuye, tor dike takai,
amar priyotomo tui,
janish, shomoy, jug, kaal,
praani ke koto boro theke,
koto choto kore dey,

Kintu dekh toke dekhe,
aami onuprerona pai,
Shunte pai, ekshomoy
tui naaki, prithibi dapiye berati,
ki guru gorjon tor,
aami i dhoritri r raja,
ekhon khali, tik tik, aar tik tik,

Maa bolchilo,
amar o naaki, golar gorjon,
hariye geche,
tui to amar bondhu,
bujhish nischoy keno,

keno, train ta jokhon,
chottobelar bhore r bhire r,
station e thame,
aashe naa kono chokhe jol,
hridoy e unmadona,
tobe ki shotti fire ashi,

firi, maa er kol e firi,
nischoyi, firi, icche thaka,
baa naa thaka shotteo, fire
aami ashi, eta onekta,

bari r briddho manush ta r,
shesh din gona r moton,
bachte i hoy, beche aachi,
firte i hoy fire ashi,

Aar pitpit kore takash naa,
amar je kicchu i hoy naa,
bhoy, lojja, shorom,
kicchui noy,
shudhu tor pit pit dekhte pari,
tik tik shunte pai,

cheshta korlam, toke bojhate,
je fire eshechi, kobita ta likhe,
dobhashi r kaaj niye, engreji teo
fire ashi, i come back,
bangla teo, shei fire asha, having coming back.
--

|Walking through the open skies|

An Open Sky


After all
the prayers
have been said,
and the tears shed
and the uncomfortable silences,
when we cannot respond,
endured
there remains
the soft, tender sorrow
that time does not heal.

And in that sorrow,
Fatah,
an opening
to the genuine sadness
of being alive ---
open to
the absolute necessity
of letting go
of everyone
and everything
we love.

we can close off
this deep sadness
or open
our tender hearts
so wide
that our heart
becomes as an
open sky ---

no borders,
nor boundaries,
just
an open sky.

---



In a couple of days more – the first chapter of the story shall be over.



A boy shall enter into intermission - much like movie show ones -- having tasted another un-tasted chapter of life. How was it like? Warm, nice, affectionate, slow, fast, alien, uncomfortable or what special adjective shall fit the bill?



Neither the boy knows, nor the writer of the story. Sometimes the boy wonders does anybody know anything at all. He looks at eyes of men and women, layered with various colors of the skin, looks at large cities and small, sits in long journeys in the buses or in trains smelling or perfumed. Nobody knows, they, much like him, seem like zombies walking the walks of life. Only the kids know and the simple village folks do. But then when was the last time he was with one of them, a small child or an unaffected simple working rustic fellow? He has forgotten.



What he remembers though is that the last year was another plunge he took. Was that by choice, or just that he was made to drift into here, this small city so many miles from what he knows to be home. He faced people who have migrated too, much like Siberian cranes as they do to escape the harsh winters. The people here from all around the world do that too – unlike winters they escape their pasts, the old roads from home, the hardships of a not so easy life back in what they call their home country. There is no home, noone’s own country, just where the heart lies, there shall the feet travel.



So where does the heart lie? Interesting question, wish he knew, or somebody knew, but maybe it lies just around the corner, ripped apart from the torso, throbbing still. He looks at it at the corner of the door, still pumping, not willing to die, despite failures in his life, myriad throwing around by fellow men or the feet becoming tired still. Today the heart lies and looks at its heartless body. Walking like a zombie. And then it looks at the open sky, cries with Rumi the poet:



No borders, no boundaries, just an open sky!



In a couple of days more, the first chapter of this story shall be over. He will be back into the skies again, kissing the clouds, travelling across borders and boundaries, crying up in the air, hidden from everybody, to see if there is any chunk of heart still left, from where his feet first started walking.

| Ruk jana nahin, tu kaahin haar ke, kaaton pe, chalke, milenge saaye bahaar ke |

---

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my advisory committee for their help and support during the years. Professor RP has always been on my side and her constant encouragement has been priceless in finishing my dissertation. She mostly helped me in modeling and empirical analysis, but her influence on my research and life is far beyond that.

Professor RT is one of the most dedicated and wise researcher we have ever seen. Thanks to his help in modeling, I am able to finish the third chapter of this dissertation with full confidence. And lastly, I cannot express enough gratitude for the support and encouragement by Professor AA. He helped me in every aspect of my research. He left a mark on my research style. And I will benefit from his influence immensely in my future research. He was the one that encouraged me not to take the shortcut, but challenge the best.

It is never enough to emphasize the importance of my family in my life. Without their dedicated love, life is meaningless. Particularly, my farther has been my life-time role model. He taught me no matter how difficult it seems, there is always a solution. He has not had the opportunities to devote his energy in research regardless of his thirst for knowledge and innovation. I would like to express my gratitude to him: ”You have been a great father, and this dissertation is also yours.”

Moreover, I would to thank the Heinz faculty. It was Professor RK who led me into this fascinating research field. Professor WV has offered his best effort in sharpening my empirical study skills.

Finally, I would like to dedicate my thesis to my homeland, China. I have been a proud Chinese throughout of my life. That never changed and will never change!
---


A few notables of life hopefully in order.

- Visited New York city, mingled with different kinds of people. Some newly in, boisterous eager to gell into the city. Some dearest ones, long timers, looking to settle down in life. And some others, talking about how to shift midtown and stay close to their working places.

- The city is huge, a totally different experience, imagine how it has been so for all these decades, a strange medlee of different cultures, and this is the city the other-world creators tried to attack and destroy. Capitalism, is this world, first make a different world dearests, and then you wont need to attack or destroy anybody, they would come and flock at your corner. Just like they did at the Big Apple. Saludos New York City am humbled by your show...

- Coming back, i met an angel on the bus. An upcoming singer from New York, a beautiful discussion we had, on life love and longing. That is how the strangest things happen in life. After a year of studies, there the interesting bit of life came back to me, on the bus, in a different land, but the feeling of travel and fellow travellers still the same.

- Pittsburgh, dear old pittsburgh, i missed you. Sorely missed you, and suddenly when in New York city, realised how i have neglected you. The secure confines that you have blessed me with, my desk at school, the research solace, am glad am here, i must not be as negligent as i have been till now with you.

- And finally, the 'acknowledgement' section, above. By a passing out PhD student in his dissertation. Some day, lady, yes i see you as lady, i will write one such page too. Till then, do be with me, despite my weaknesses, frailties and shortcomings.

- About 4 days from the travel back home, am totally full with emotions. Each note, each path comes back, the taste of the different fishes maa makes, the leaves of the trees in my city back home, the open spaces, baba, bon, maa, we all together after such a long time again....

I am coming darling! I am coming...but then, my lady awaits me here too, and i will have to be back...:)

~Amen...

| Holud Paakhi |

shei je holud paakhi..
boshe jamrul gaach er daal e..
o tor holo dakadaki..
amaar shoishob er shokaale..


Ekdin gelo ure, janina,
kon shudure..
Firbe naa..she ki firbe naa...
Firbe naa..aar kono din..

......