Apology

[** Readers are requested not to think the story as a self-flattery. Though I am sure they will understand at last the actual aim of this story]

I went to Ishwarpur when I was five years old. It was five hundred kilometers away from my hometown and I went with my parents by train. A long journey by train, especially for a long tour, was like a precious gift to me in that age. I love to travel. The scene from the train of the outside became familiar to me but when I used to play, enjoy my loneliness; those trees and vast field made me nostalgic.
I love hills. Ishwarpur was not in the lap of hills but the atmosphere was quite comfortable; charming coolness prevailed in the air. Actually my preference of traveling lied on the charming and cool weather. In that age, the beauty of the nature charmed my mind but somehow physical comfort was more important!
We were not alone; another family accompanied us. Ranjit Kaku, his wife Suchanda Kakima and their son- who was also five years old- Ratnadip were our companion. Ranjit Kaku was a colleague of my father. Then he was not working in the same office with my father and was transferred to Rashikpur. However, being a very close friend he kept contact and one day my father proposed that we, the two families, might go for a trip. He agreed to it and so it happened.

As we reached Ishwarpur, hotel booking was the first thing to be done. We proceeded through the congested lane by a taxi. Several rooms were rejected, as those were not good enough to provide us comfort! At last, two A.C Deluxe rooms were booked. Ratnadip started to jump on those beautiful and comforting beds and I, feeling inferior to him, remained silent.
“Come on! Enjoy”, he proposed.
“No, it’s ok”, I replied.
Now Suchanda Kakima rebuked him.
“What’s going on Babai? It’s not your home.”
“Oh, Chanda! Let him enjoy, it is the age.”, Ranjit Kaku said, his voice was cool and casual.
“It’s not the proper way of enjoyment. Is it?”
Ranjit Kaku did not reply. But Ratnadip was no more in the mood of jumping and making fuss.
However, my father interrupted, saying, “Ranjit, let’s clean ourselves and then we will go out to see if we can reserve a TATA SUMO.”
I went to our room, cleaned my face and then took a bath. The water that was showering on me was very much soothing after the train-journey.

When my father and Ranjit Kaku returned after reserving the car we went to visit the city. We fixed the idea of sightseeing for the first day. After visiting museum, zoo, botanical garden, we came to visit a temple. It was famous for its architectural beauty. Some foreigner also came. Their exotic appearance and behaviour and genial smile made me eager to talk to them. But there was no way. A boy of five years, belonging to a Bengali Medium school, has to suppress such a desire! But it was not so hard for Ratnadip whose schooling was from an eminent English Medium School. With the help of his parents he conveyed many words to them; they smiled, laughed aloud and at last a woman kissed him. I stood helplessly. I got hurt, lost the joy of tour and my eyes lost the sparkles of hope. Then we visited some other places too but an extreme dissatisfaction I bore in my bosom.
“Why are you looking morose, Swarna?”, Kakima asked me.
“No, no! I am quite all right.”, I lied.
The pleasant atmosphere, the hills, and the company of dear and near people—nothing could pour joy to my aching heart, it bled. I remained quite silent throughout this journey of morning.

In the evening we all looked fresh and exuberant. If the time passes gently when you are in anger or sorrow, it is a blessing. I forgot all sorrows that I had in the morning.
“Are you well, Swarna?”, Kakima asked.
“I was never unwell at all Kakima”, I said, smiling.
“No, no…don’t think yourself to be very clever. Any problem was with you in the car”
I smiled awkwardly.
“We are going for a shopping. Would you like to come with us?”, she said.
“Is dad not accompanying you?”
“Yea, we all are going. Won’t u?”
‘Why not?”
“Then be ready quickly”
I got ready. I thought that I would ask my mother to buy some good toys for me.
We went to a big shopping arcade. Various shops were there. My father and Ranjit Kaku bought some shirts for Ratnadip and me.
“Do you like it?”, my father said, handing me a red shirt. I had a casual glance on that and nodded.
Garments do not interest me. My mother bought a handbag, made of fine Italian Leather and Kakima bought some cosmetics, like mascara and sunscreen lotion. I felt bored and asked my mother in a low voice—“Why don’t we go to the toy shop?”
“Wait!”, she replied coldly.

Now Ranjit Kaku started to look here and there anxiously. Seeing it Suchanda Kakima asked-“Hey, what happened?”
“Where is Babai?”, he replied, saying the word ‘Babai’ in an afraid and helpless tone.
A shrill yell came out of the mouth of Kakima. Her eyes soon became wet with tears. My mother also looked here and there anxiously. Ranjit Kaku ran towards other shops and my parents also did the same. I accompanied Kakima. She embraced me heartily and burst out into tears. I stood with a stupid silence and found no word to console her. After a while Ratnadip was found near a toyshop.
At first, Kakima looked at him affectionately but soon her eyes sparkled with anger and said--
“Be quite, can’t you? See Swarna. He is not a naughty boy like you”

We went to a colourful toyshop. Different toys were there like mobile phones, railway engines, talking birds and merry-go-round. These all were electronic toys. Some lovable teddies also attracted my eyes.
“Ma, I want the mobile phone”, I pleaded expectantly.
She seemed to be deaf to my words. I patted on the hand of my mother to draw her attention. When she looked at me I expressed my childish desire. She paid no heed to my words and my father glanced at me coldly.
“Ma, I do need that phone”, I shouted at last.
The anger in my father eyes dazzled me and my mother told me in am unfriendly voice, “It’s a public place. Don’t shout, otherwise…”
I kept quite. At last they bought a small teddy for me. I saw that Kaku and Kakima were buying that phone, some big teddies and various other toys for Ratnadip.
“Why don’t you buy anything for Swarna?”, Ranjit Kaku asked my father.
“Only this one is enough”, my father said, handing me the small teddy. I handed it to my mother disgustedly and morosely.
“Ok. Let me buy something for Swarna”, Kaku said.
“No, no, Ranjit. No need to do that”, my father replied. The hope in me that brightened after hearing the words of Ranjit Kaku lost its glee again. I saw Ratnadip, smiling and looking at me superiorly. I stood like a dumb and deaf boy. THE GLANCE IN HIS EYES RENDED MY HEART. I closed my eyelids.

In that very night, the silence creped in my blood. I lay awake with an unknown and unfamiliar suffering. I did not know why I felt so, may be I was jealous. Yes, very jealous indeed was I! I heaved useless sighs of my pain. Tears rolled down and no welcome relief sprang up.
“What’s the matter with you, Swarna?”, my mother asked.
“Nothing, Ma.”
“I know what the problem is. Now you will not understand but one day you will surely do.”
I did not reply.

In the morning it was found that the temperatures of my body is abnormally high.

-------------------------------------

Years passed. I understood the problem and forgot these nightmarish moments of my past. After ten years I went to their home. In these years Suchanda Kakima bore one little girl. I saw that Ratnadip became very much introvert and bookish. I could not believe the contrast at first. He did not utter a single word till the last day of us in their home.
On that last day I sat in a room of the second floor. A popular novel was in my hand and I was reading it. He tiptoed into the room and said in a low voice—“ Swarnadip…”
I looked at him, thinking that at last he cast off his inertia.
“Yes?”, I said.
“I need to talk to you on a serious topic.”
“Tell me, why are you hesitating?”, I said, trying to keep my voice very friendly.
His bright eyes dimmed. After a few seconds, he pronounced in a low voice of apology—“I am sorry.”
I was puzzled, as I do not have any idea on which he was speaking.
“For what?”, I asked.
“Don’t you recollect the memory of the days of Ishwarpur?”

I got startled. The immense hate I had for him, flickered for a moment and then it blew off. He left the room without talking to me any more. ‘Ratnadip’—I tried to call him by his name and wanted to tell that I had no hatred for you, but…. I couldn’t, I couldn’t speak any more. I lost my capability of speaking. MY HEART RENDED FOR THE SECOND TIME.

The Kind Critic

Mr. Rajat Sen, the eminent author and critic was in his room. He held a burning cigarette in his right hand and the mild smoke in his mouth gave him a pleasing effect in his mind. The odour of burnt tobacco reached the core of his sensation, stimulating his feelings, nerves and sinews. He was tired after writing a book review of a new writer. The new writer was the cousin of his dear friend Ashish Chakrabarty. Let us see what happened before.

‘“Rajat, Riju, my cousin, you know, nowadays became very much interested in short-story. A very good writer, hmm… Didn’t you see his last story which was published in ‘The Story-teller’?”’
“I missed it, I think”, Mr. Sen said casually.
“Oh, you missed a great story Rajat. It was superb in style, in language, in construction, in theme, in…”
“In fine, in everything, I guess?”, Mr. Sen said it, smiling contemptuously.
Mr. Chakrabarty smiled, satisfied. “Now you got it”, he said and continued, “I’ll be glad if you write a book review of his new novel, ‘Ferocious Love’, he shouted at last, leaving the sofa.”
“Nonsense!”, he said in a low voice.
“Sorry?”
“No, nothing. I’m sorry Ashish. Take your seat, be quiet.”
“You are not saying that you are going to refuse me, I think?”, Mr. Sen asked anxiously.
“Extremely sorry. I didn’t like the name.”
“Oh, come on. It’s love, the never-ending love in the air. Oh, the soothing one, oh the coolness of ice-cream, the passion of joy, the ardent, tormenting, irresistible sense of…”
“Ashish, I’m serious. Stop it!”
“Please, Rajat. He is my only cousin. I promised him that….”
Mr. Sen thought a bit. Ashish helped him a lot when he was in hospital and was suffering from a serious a disease of lungs. He started to think what to do, biting the nail of his forefinger.
“Please, please Rajat. He will be very much disappointed if you refuse. You please read it once. I know you’re a busy man but…”
“Ok, all right. I will write. But I must be fair.”
“But he is a new writer, Rajat. He needs some…”
“It’s enough, Ashish. You may go now. A good novel and a good writer must have sense of humour, sympathy and true love. I don’t know whether your cousin has it or not. But you must have a limit of request and a certain level of courtesy. Now, I’ll be pleased if you leave me alone.”, Mr. Sen said disgustedly.
“Ok, ok, Bye, good day”, Mr. Chakrabarty left his house disappointedly.
“Strange behaviour. What happened with him?”, Mr. Chakrabarty thought.





So, he now heaved a sigh of relief.
“Oh, finish! I finished it”, he continued, ‘…just nonsense. When will these young-folks understand that love doesn’t mean attraction toward anyone’s body? Love is to love the inner one, the impalpable sensation that prevails in everyone. When will they know that…”
The telephone started to ring. His thought-wave smashed against this sound. He frowned at the telephone, saying “Nonsense”, the only familiar word he knew to express his disgust. Then he rushed towards the telephone, held it and said in a serious gruff voice, “Who is it?”
“Hello, I’m Subarna, friend of Suparna. Will you please…”
“She is not in home.”
“But she told me to call at 11 am. And I think I’m hearing her voice, now. She should be in your home, Mr. Sen. Please check it”
“What? Am I a liar?’
“I didn’t mean that but I just want to…”
“Shut up!” He hung up.
His wife Suparna was rebuking her little son Piklu. He was of nine years. She came hurriedly, hearing the shout.
“What happened? I heard my name. Anyone called me?”, she said giving a strange look.
“Oh, here you are. Where is my lunch? My train will depart at 1 pm. I must leave as soon as possible”, he said disgustedly.
Sriparna smiled awkwardly and then replied, “I’m making it ready. Just a minute.”
“I’m living in a hell. None thinks of others, very few people read good books. My God! Yesterday, even Piklu told me that his aim is to be an engineer. Oh, God! Save me.”


When the launch was finished Mr. Sen came outdoors hurriedly. He held a handkerchief in his right hand.
“Oh, it’s terrible hot here”, he said, wiping out the sweat of his face and the shouted, “Ricksha---w”
A rickshaw-puller, aged probably 35 years, came and taking Mr. Sen he started to pull the rickshaw.
Now he lit another cigarette and started to smoke. Having a pleasant puff at it, he muttered, “Hmm, these new writers never think of the poor”. Having another puff he continued, “… hmm! Of the poor. See this rickshaw-puller. Oh, this poor fellow! What a tormenting life he leads! Be it bitter cold or the sizzling summer-day they work hurriedly. For what? For a little money.” He wiped out the sweat of his face and again continued, “..Yea! For a little money. Why people don’t be a bit generous? Why the government is not paying heed?”


The railway station was very near to his house. He handed 3 rupees to the rickshaw-puller. The man complained, “5 rupees, sir. The fair is 5 rupees.”
“What? I come here regularly and pay only 3 rupees”, he said the word ‘regularly’ as a habit.
“You come regularly at the railway-station, sir?”, the man said, smiling.
Mr. Sen said, stammering a bit, “ N-no! Actually, I… I mean… I come very often”
“No, no. It’s unfair. The fair is…”
“Damn it!”, Mr. Sen proceeded, his shirt wet with perspiration. It was a scorching noon.
In the platform, he met some of his fans. These ardent fans mobbed him to take autographs. A blind beggar asked him for alms. He gave 1 rupee and again busied himself in giving autographs with great satisfaction and happiness. He muttered, “We, the authors, live only for this joy. Oh, ‘what a joyance rains upon me’ when I see these people. Ah!”
It was 12.50 pm when he was aware of the fact that his train would depart after 10 minutes. He rushed to the A.C first class coach hurriedly. The drooping figure of that beggar who was sitting in the platform prevented him to enter into the coach. Only 2 minutes were left in his hand as he had taken enough time to find his compartment. However this busy man, this sensible man became a bit disgusted when he saw this man. So he said-
“Oh, you nonsense! Let me in”, he shouted.
The blind man understood with his sixth sensory organ that someone is standing nearby. He held his hand up to take alms.
Now Mr. Sen, a very sensitive and generous man, kicked the man in his back and shouted in a louder voice, “You scoundrel! I gave you and you are asking again!! And also not paying heed to my words, not letting me in!”. He entered into the compartment angrily.





This poor fellow of the platform was not only blind but also deaf.

Luxurious Idleness

Yes, luxurious idleness.


It is hard for me to tell about the origin of the name. It may seem to you a bit eccentric. Probably, I named my feeling with my own ideas.
Our ideas are colourful. In our loneliness we paint our ideas, our thoughts with various colours. And our ego, mentality-- everything is a result of this painting as I think.
May be, I could tell it ‘Luxurious Loneliness’. The marvel of all marvelous ideas, generally takes its origin in loneliness and idleness. This gives us time to weave a web of our thoughts. Now, let me come to the point.


As a student, I was very lazy. Generally, I spend my time in reading storybooks when I should be at my study. This writing too, is written during my test examination! And when I get bored reading my lessons, I spend my time in luxurious idleness.

What is it? Nothing special. Just spending my time in idleness. It seems to me very luxurious. I spend my time staring at the tube-light or at the lizards. Or sometimes I just lie on my bed stretching arms and stare at the white roof. On that I see many spots, sometimes that becomes my world, my world of imagination. And, sometimes I spend my time gazing at the perseverance of the lizards. What a colossal perseverance they have!!


My luxurious idleness sometimes reminds me of Ruskin Bond’s story, ‘Upon an Old Wall Dreaming’. The thought that one of my favourite writers spent his time in doing such a lazy and childish work, gives me comfort. His Aunt Muriel used to tell about him, “He’ll come no good”. And in the next paragraph Mr. Bond wrote with his great sense of humour and sarcasm- “ And how right she proved to be!” None tells me such disheartening words. Now I realize the story a bit better when I spend my time in luxurious idleness. It helps me to discover what I am.

But I wonder, if such a notable event would occupy a little space in my diary!

For My Writings in Bengali

Visit:
http://swarnadip.6te.net

Journey from Joy to Sorrow

A moment comes when the world seems
Not a place of human-heart
When at night the sweet dreams
Become painted with weary art.

I bear nostalgia in my heart
For the long past dreamy days
Such sorrow always makes me inert
For ‘Road Not Taken’, untouched lays.

Smoke and scorching heat is all
In such claustrophobic place
But oh! What joy drizzles on me
When the sun shines in Her face.

Sun shines on the leaves and lea
Godliness prevails in me
Closing eyelids to meditate,
Drizzle of joy casts off all hates.

Magical Spree

What a feeling creeps to my heart
When your name cools my face!
What a palpable joyance now springs
If I perceive you ultimate trace!

I go the darkness, closing my eyes
The dark of all darkness I see
We, the two heart, are now one
I see in such a magical spree.

The sound of silence deafens me then,
I forget the earth, I forgive the queue
Your shining eyes dazzles my sense,
What harms if I die for you?

Dreamy Tales

Ah! Charming joy, you make me crazy
My tender heart now beats no more.
You touch me at my feelings core
When the outer world becomes so hazy.

The soft, heart-warming aroma of rose
I can feel in such a night
My untold passion becomes bright
When I smell it with my inner nose.

Then I close my eyes and see
Expanding my heart so far
As if comes the touch of Her
An eternal trance works in me.

My all sweet dreams flicker and say,
“If they come, we’ll pass away

The Girl from London

He heard the whistle of the rail engine. The atmosphere was terribly hot and tormenting. But nothing could disturb Pobitra. The shouting of the people, the announcements, nothing was an obstacle to him. He was reading Pope’s “Elegy”. The two lines of the poem impressed him- “Is there no bright reversion in the sky/For those who greatly think or bravely die?” It seemed to him that the lines were wet; the tears of the poet made it so.
Suddenly his father appeared and shouted, “What the hell are you doing here? Hurry up, the train is coming at platform no.3.” Pobitra felt helpless. He had a strong desire to finish the poem but he could not. He knew that his father was bit rude when he read any story or poem. Pobitra thought he was lucky. He got the book from his dad.
He took up the luggage and followed his dad. He was led to an A.C 3 Tier Coach and they occupied their seats. Knowing that the time of the departure of the train was already gone, he asked, “Dad, what’s wrong? And why the front seats are empty? May I seat down there?
“It is not our seat. Be quiet”
As soon as he finished his words one couple arrived with their nine years old daughter, the same age of Pobitra. Their exotic appearance said that they must be foreigners; most probably they are from an occidental country.
The gentleman said, “What is your destination?” Pobitra’s father replied- “We are going to Howrah, and yours?”
“We are going to New Jalpaiguri. I am Peter W. Crowther and she is my wife. And we have our dear daughter Jassica with us. May I know who I am taking to?”
“I am Ratan Sarkar. She is my wife Ratna and here is our son Pobitra. From which country are you?”
“We are from London, U.K. Glad to meet you”
The conversation continued. Night came. They had their own dinner and pumped the air-pillow. Everyone was extremely tired and as soon as they lied they felt asleep, except one. He is Pobitra. The train was running with it top speed and only its never-ending sound and the snoring of the people could be heard. Darkness had spread its web in the coach but in the mind of Pobitra there was light. Always he could see it but there was a special reason that day. He was thinking for someone greatly. The “Unfortunate Lady”? No, that day was dedicated to someone who was very special to him.

In the midnight Pobitra felt that someone was pushing him. He woke up and saw that a very beautiful girl, whom he had never seen before, was calling him. “Wake up, dear”, she said.
“But your name?” Pobitra asked.

“Is it necessary?” she continued, “Come on. Please.”
He left his seat and went with her. She took him in front of the door of the coach.
“How lucky I am!” she murmured. “I got you. How nice you are! You like literature a lot, don’t you?”
“Yea, but how do you know?” he asked with a great surprise. He liked the girl but could not understand what was going on. The girl replied with a very sweet smile. Pobitra felt that the eyes and the lips of the girl were trying to say something. She came closer to him and touched his lips with her soft fingers. “Ah!” she said, her voice was steeped in satisfaction. “How sweet you are! May I taste your heart?”
Pobitra lost his self-control and pronounced feebly, “Oh, sure. Why not?”
No sooner had he told this he saw the darkness around him and it seemed him that he was licking the sweetest sweet of the world, which was filled with the aroma of the best rose. A feeling of drowsiness worked within him. The closest moment with a girl, he had. But suddenly the train stopped with a jerk. Opening his eyes, he saw the darkness of the coach.
“Oh! What a dream!’ he murmured. And then he prepared to sleep again.


Morning came silently. The rays of the creamy sun peeped through the curtain of the coach and fell on Pobitra’s eyes. He opened his eyes and saw Jassica was lying awake. Now Jassica said, “Good morning. Slept well, I hope?”
“Yea. And you?”
“Unfortunately, I couldn’t”, she continued, “because I am not accustomed to such an atmosphere”
Pobitra did not know what to say next. Fortunately Jassica asked him, “from which state are you?”
“West Bengal. You came India for a tour?”
“Yea, dear”
Dear? The word sounded something different to him.
“We came here a month ago”, Jassica continued, ‘…after visiting some popular and populous places we are going to NJP. I hope I said the correct word, didn’t I?’, Jassica said, smiling.
Suddenly Pobitra saw a book in her berth. On the cover page there was printed, “Collected Poems of Wordsworth”
“You like Wordsworth’s poetry?”, Pobitra asked.
“He is the man of my dream. And yours? Do you like our literature?”
“A lot! Wordsworth is my favourite, too. Have a look at this”
He handed a book to her, a collection of various masters of English literature. Jassica looked at him. She wanted to say something. The depth and warmth of her look dazzled Pobitra.
They chatted for a long time. Mr. Crowther and Mr. Sarkar, meanwhile, woke up. Mr. Crowther said, “Hurry! Our stations is coming”

The words sounded to Pobitra like a thunder. He could not believe that this girl would leave the coach. The seat would be empty as his hearts were.
“Hurry up! Quick, dear!”, her mother said.



Pobitra saw the train was motionless. It is New Jalpaiguri railway-station. At first he blamed the railway-authority. Why did the train reach NJP at the right time? Then, Mr. & Mrs. Crowther. Why should they stay at NJP? And ultimately, he blamed his luck, his rotten luck!
“Good bye, uncle and aunt. Good bye, Pobitra”, Jassica pronounced his name with her English accent.
Pobitra smiled and pronounced his last feeble words to Jassica, “Bye”


As soon as she left the compartment, Pobitra saw darkness around him. He stared out of the window and saw the bright sun. He saw everyone is smiling, busy in his or her work, looking cheerful and normal but only he was morose. He heaved a sigh helplessly and when he inhaled his breath, a sweet smell calmed him. The aroma of the perfume of Jassica lingered in the coach.

Contrast

I know, I know the wretched man,
You need something to eat.
I know, I know the rickshaw-puller
A lot of money you need.

I know, I know his sorrow is true
I know he is helpless.
I know that I should do a lot
To brighten the shrunken face.

But, oh my critics!
Please tell me now,
This case let you take-
Is my joy, not a truth?
Is it only fake?

A Sudden Feeling of a Morning

Oh, how the leaves of the cocoanut trees shine
After a shower of the previous night-
Oh, the nature! You look lustrous and fine,
Thanks a lot for showing such a sight.

From my window I just stare and stare
I feel the wet smell of the earth,
When your breeze comes to care
Me, it removes my mind’s dirt.

The leaves of all trees seem greener to me
My heart fills with your sweet smell,
I posses and rejoice your true glee
It casts on me a different spell.

Oh, the nature! Please hold my hand
Take me with you; please take my heart-
I want to enjoy the greener land
Then my journey of life will start.

To Them

To them,
The sweet flowers are to be sold
The sweetly singing birds to be killed
For they must earn a bit to live
To them, the life is very very cold.

They saw the soft sun in the morn
But day-by-day it turned so hot
Now they must pray, “Oh, the God
Please give me back the kindest dawn”

But, no no! Kind, the earth is not anymore
Tears are always not like pearls
So try to change your painful thoughts,
In a bright world you must explore.

So, please, name ‘Joy’ to all your pains
Give yourself a very bright look
It is very hard, though I know
I see in vision the soothing rains.

To the Winter

Oh, the winter! My dearest season.
Why do I love you without any reason?

Oft, you seem a terrible curse
Calm is your morn, peace is your dusk.
Mystery is your fog, your colour is pale
Still my nights fill with dreamy tales.

Our nights are sweet I did think
I don’t know how the changes ring,
I think; they, having no name
Are you so kind and good to them?

Feelings

Oh! An endless, vast lea now I see.
The soft summer morn now opened her
Dress, I see the shining star
On it, full of glorious glee.
How the cool breeze touches my skin!
Ah! Soothing softness now I feel,
My withered thoughts with joyance fill,
I see, this earth is quite clean.

I thought the skies are blue no more
All the roses are no more red
But, oh, you! You close the door
Of the way, I was led.

When I see all these again
Heavenly feeling touches me like rain.

To Him

Far from the cities, far from the sound
Where the green grasses were all around,
He had his cottage; home sweet home
Which he made his little kingdom.

The blue mountain was not so far
In his home shone shining star,
The star of stars he had in him
Near his home flowed cool stream.

Strong son of the vast, blue hill
True smell of it he did feel,
From the small he went to the vast
He was good- and so all trust.

Soft and cool breeze touched his skin
The lustrous nature kissed his hand,
Pain of detachment he forgot
His name would always be written on sand.

Flakes of snow would sing for him
Birds would bid him a very good-bye,
Son of hills, whom he loved,
In his cool lap he will die.

To the Moon

Oh, the moon oh the silver moon!
Who made you so grand and good?
Oh the disc of gold! You are boon
Of my god! You are not rude!

The lonely cloud is like a bird
Rushing to you as if to kiss
You, when he gently heard
You call him by the song of bliss!

Dark patches on you, have you must!
With there magic you call us.
You don't cheat, you say, "Trust
All of them who cheat us"

None can judge you by feeble sense
Even I can't too, the master of fools!
You are bliss in my hour of pains
You are above all of rules.

But, oh the moon, oh the silver moon!
Tell me how I can be as you.
It is too hard in a Summer-Afternoon
To be a man in a great world, New.

I am no more, I lost me
My eyes are dry I shed no tear
But when I see you, you soothe me
Hope you are in a true mans sphere.

Lost

Let me be lost
In a new world
Where the skies are blue
If I getI will rush to that
Where love is true.

I see a hazy scene
Of the grass that are green
With a great pleasure I will fly
I will stay until I die.

A musical rainbow
Is seen there
Boring mind
There is rare
Seasons care, birds care
Teach everyone-Always dare

Oh, see!He calls me
I am touched By his glee
He loves me and makes me
Sit on his lap
He kisses me and makes me
Weave a peace-cap
Oh, leave me!I cant stay here
Where true love
Is really rare
Where a human has lost his gem
I won't stay, I won't stay, I won't stay there.


[Published. Voices, The Statesman, 6.4.2006]

To an Unknown Friend

Where you live I don't know.
I never saw your face though
You are in me, I am sure.
You are good, very much pure.

Be you the God or just a boy,
You love to create not to destroy
Anyone's mind, anyone's thought,
True lesson is what you were taught.

In my mind you are bliss.
On my lips you gave a kiss
Of holy words, of a noble heart
But where are you? I am apart!

You please come, oh my pal
Today, when the roses fall
They seem so good in such a day
This is the best time for us to pray.

Pray for us and pray for them
Who never got the friendship's gem
Be my friend and forget your pain,
This world will be for all again.

Spectrum of Meaningless Words

If we find us in a dark hole,
No sound, no light, no sound of birth
Then that's the life we live now
Above this land, above the earth.
How to be happy, none knows it
None dare to know it too,
"Oh, leave it my boy", they would say
And I would suffer above the earth.

"Here is a pessimist", someone would say
Someone would hate my golden thoughts,
They don't know how to imagine,
How to create a cheerful earth.
I am crazy. Yes, so am I!
Vexation is my companion,
But how to be happy I don't know,
I know, none is happy above the earth.

Love? Happiness? Help? No, no!
None can love and none can help
And a friend? Oh, do you know
That what's the meaning of the word, "friend"?
I am alone, so to mean
Is it a life? What does it mean?
Thats the hardest question of now
Who will know, will say WOW!

Pleasure of life, we have lost
We don't know what it costs,
How valuable this life is
We never think; it's not our thought!!
Everyday comes and everyday goes,
We can't use it fruitfully,
How can we? We dont know
The pleasure to be always free!

What unrest!- I would think,
Always going and going, chasing and chasing
Someone would say, "Oh, nonsense!"
Whatever you do, love will not spring.
Are we men? Or the worst beast?
Did we ever enjoy the smell
Of green grasses? Did we say,
Be happy. Love everyone to have glee?

Dirty thoughts and dirty deeds
Made us lose everything,
Rhythm of life we didn't see,
And will not see in future too.
When the holiness touches me,
I cant think of myself then,
I forget that who I am
I forget my all pains.
Joys, sorrows come and go
I take rest in my life-seashore
I don't have any feeling or pain,
My heart doesnt beat any more.

Oh! I am dead; I am no more
My soul is searching of a peaceful place,
Only the darkness is around me
What is the life I cannot guess.

Before the Next Tear Drop Falls

Ben left his bed and opened the window. The golden and creamy rays of the sun seemed to him creamier than the other days. The day brought a message of ecstasy for him. A cuckoo is singing her sweetest song. He called up Wordsworths poem, "To The Cuckoo". He recited two lines from the poem-
"O Cuckoo! Shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering voice?"
The song sounded so sweet to him and he was listening to it with a rapt attention. He came outside from his house and tiptoed to the peach tree where the cuckoo was sitting. He found with a great surprise that it was not a cuckoo. He did not see this kind of bird ever. Suddenly it moved its head and looked at him with its blue eyes. The amazing bird gazed at Ben for a few seconds and then it started to talk in human-voice.
"Whats your name?", it asked him.
With a great surprise and joy Ben replied, "Im Ben. What kind of bird are you?"
The bird replied, "I'm not a bird. Would you like to listen my story?"
"Sure, why not! But you must not tell a cock-and-bull story".
"Do you think so? Well. Ive nothing to tell you".
"I'm sorry. Please tell me it".
"'Then listen. I was an assistant of a famous scientist, named Mr. Thomas Chekhov. His researches were on genes. One day I told him, 'Sir, you are experimenting with genes but why dont you think of humanity? Corruption has become a part of human society, why dont you think to eliminate it? You should do it first'. He became very much angry with me and shouted angrily, 'Are you trying to teach me my own business? Excellent!! From now on you will be a bird. Youll have the ability of speaking and youll have the power of singing. Youll try to make people a human by your songs!! When youll be successful youll get your true shape again'. Then he forcibly made me a bird with his transferring machine. And now..."
He started to weep. Then he continued, 'you please help me.'
"How can I help you?"
"You realised my song?"
"I did", said Ben.
"Then be my companion. From now on you do start to make everyone happy. You make people aware of it that we need a true human society. We need humanity; we need sympathy, kindness and human-feelings. Science gave us life of comfort but it didnt give our mind peace and tranquillity. Ben, cant you hear that humanity is weeping? Cant you hear Ben that pigeons are cooing sadly? You do it Ben; you please help me. Now I have to go..."
"Wait a while please. Your name?"
"I'm Humanity. I've no other name".
He flew away.

Ben understood something. The new sun told him some words that are quite memorable. It was short times experience but it made Ben's thought different. He discovered him truly. The noble heart of the Godliness in him, made him sing the remarkable song: - "I'll be there, before the next tear drop falls".