Monday 18 March 2024

Holi



In the month of spring or falgun, the festival of colours or holi is celebrated. Mythology says that holi was celebrated by Lord Krishna with Gopiyas or the womenfolk of cattle herders. Philosophically speaking, life itself is holi or a celebration of colours. Each colour depicting each rasa or aspect of life. Based on the bhajan (song of devotion), written by the blind poet Surdas, who was a devout krisna bhakt or disciple of Lord Krishna, my poem talks of holi or the colour fest.

Lo! The hue of the sky
Has turned from blue to red
The bare branches of the trees
Once again flaunt velvety leaves
Of soft, shiny sheen so green
The breeze carries the aroma 
Of fragrant abeer and gulaal
A dust of pink and magenta
Of crushed petals in full bloom
Ablush are the roses and marigolds
Intoxicating are the bright morns
Redolent  are the desultory noons
Amidst the splendour of spring which brings
Colours galore in ashen lives of winter sore
Behold! The cosmic dance of cattle herders
Men and women in a maddening swirl
With fistful of joy how they splash
Puddles of colours with merry twirls
Blinding the Earth, the Moon, the Stars
With saffron, blue, ochre and slash of silver 
Those who have drunk the wine so divine
Have never been waylaid by life's false pains
All in vain but the fest of holi alas ! all is vain









Friday 8 March 2024

In A Lighter Vein

Today is also International Women's Day with a tagline #inspireinclusion. 

It's customary to write eloquent posts  in eulogy of womanhood on this day. Social network sites are flooded with so many! For me all days are women's day so we should stop dedicating a particular day to our tribe. Thanks to Poets & Storytellers United for not prompting us to write on the subject.

My very good FB friend recently wrote two consecutive posts on the latest female fashion trends and women's day, respectively, both of which had a streak of humour to it. She is famous for that quirky element. Inspired by both those posts I write on. 

The poem first came to me in my own mother tongue - Bangla and also  simultaneously in English. So both the versions are given here. First in English and then Bangla. However, the English one may not be a literal translation but in essence the same. 

Disclaimer : The poem is our society specific, especially, that of the Northern part of the country and should not be taken as a generic statement.

I am a woman
Who oscillates like the pendulum
From father-brother-husband's
To again
Husband-brother-father's
Lap to lap

I am a woman
Who bags endless respect
Because she can ovulate
Cook like a chef and
With a smiling face endure
Her worst half's painstaking love making
Yet remain alive

And all those women
Who cloak themselves in
Co-Ord Sets*, Jumpsuits
With stifled bladders
Are they women ?
No...not at all
They are aliens from some other planet

Other day the gentleman next door
(Should I call him genteel?)
Broke into a song seeing me
At the corner of the road dog walking
In track pants and T shirt
I have watched him often
Playing with his grandson.... granddaughter
But I know tomorrow he may blow a whistle
At me like those young spoilt local brats
Why? Because in his homestead
Women are just seen not heard
Under layers of fabric masking their faces
Well! You can even dance seductively in mask
It's acceptable

My sister too wears pants and T 
But he dare not sing a song at her
You see, she is married
His fear of getting mauled
By the six feeter
Makes him change tune

Since I have to live I quickly cover
My sexagenarian rickety body
In layers of saree**

You know I have to survive as a woman
There's no other option for me

(*) Co-Ord Set is the latest in vogue. A fashionable version of night suit - Pyjama and Top. It's a formal wear.

(**) Saree is a six yard unstitched fabric in elegant varieties. Traditional dress of India. It is one of our national costumes.

আমি নারি
যে ঘড়ির পেন্ডুলামের মতন দোলে
পিতা - ভ্রাতা - স্বামীর 
আবার 
স্বামী - ভ্রাতা - পিতার
ক্রোড় হতে ক্রোড় - এ 

আমি নারি
যে শুধু একটি কারণে
অজস্র সম্মানের অধিকারিনী
কারণ সে ডিম পাড়ে
রন্ধনপটিয়শি ও 
স্বামীর আদরের যাতনা
হাঁসি মুখে আত্মসাৎ করেও বেঁচে থাকে

আর সেই সব নারি
যারা পড়ে কো-অর্ড সেট,
জাম্পস্যুট, প্রস্রাব চেপে রেখে
তারা কি নারি ?
মোটেই না....তারা এ গ্রহের মানুষ নয়

সেদিন পাশের বাড়ির ভদ্রলোকটি
(তাঁকে ভদ্র বলি কি করে ?)
আমায় দেখে গুনগুনিয়ে গান ধরলো
রাস্তার মোড়ে আমি ট্র্যাক প্যান্টের
উপর টি শার্ট পড়ে কুকুর ঘোরাচ্ছিলাম
লোকটি দাদু গোছের নাতি - পুতি যুক্ত
কিন্তু আমি জানি কাল সে আমায় দেখে শিস দেবে
পাড়ার ইয়াং বখাটে ছেলেগুলোর মতন
কারণ ওর বাড়িতে মহিলারা ঘোমটাবৃত
ঘোমটায় খ্যামটা নাচও চলতে পারে

দিদিও পড়ে প্যান্ট টি শার্ট
কিন্তু ওঁকে দেখে কেউ গান গায় না
কারণ ও বিবাহিতা
গান গাইলে ছ ফুট লম্বা স্বামী দেবে ধোলাই
সেই ভয়টা সুর পাল্টে দেয়

কিন্তু আমায় তো বাঁচতে হবে
তাই তাড়াতাড়ি ঢেকে নিই
এই শাঠ বছরের নড়বড়ে দেহটা
শাড়ির ভাঁজে 
কারণ আমাকে তো নারি হয়ে থাকতে হবে
আর কোনো উপায় নেই

                             Co-Ord Set

                                    Jumpsuit

                                   Saree

       Shared with Poets And Storytellers United

Monday 4 March 2024

Far But Near

I know they will never be that close
We shall never cross orbits
They will cluster in their constellation
I in my obscurity will await epochs
To let them know my real self
I am a lone roamer and shall remain so
Neither gravitating towards them
Not letting them encroach my domain
Each to his own ...never mind the invites
I shall never make that inter-gallactic travel
Nor will they bridge the light years of separation
We shall remain content in our axes tilted 
But not transgressing that fine zone of "my own"
And some nights when the moon behaves like a stranger
We shall look for each other amidst a nexus of twinkling stars
And call out each other's names through the Silences of the music filtering through the universe
We shall confine our togetherness to distances
unerasable 
You in "your own" I in "my own"


                                 Pic from Google


Monday 27 November 2023

Thanksgiving

spring cleaning...

dusty drawers
cobwebbed closets
yellowed papers
dogeared tomes

tearing away
distant past

half filled diaries
unfinished poems
ruffling of notes

a bout of sneeze

a dried up leaf
bleached
veined

rumpled sheets
.....a hasty scrawl
a teardrop perhaps
fudged the ink

yet legible
"you've made my day"



just those words 
too far away
fogged in time

yet.....

they spilled 
a thousand years....

once again

a bout of sneeze
running nose
a taste of salt
on the tongue

oh! this dust
cobwebs

memories
too many to handle
too much to bear







Monday 16 October 2023

The Elements



Aging
I forget names
With me the earth
Perhaps untimely

Lurking
For a fistful of sky
Still blue
The leaves
Fondle the

Brusque breeze

Scorched
Wounds learn
To heal inflamed

Mourning
in silence
Frozen
As the glaciers
Ought to be

I embrace
What they say
Nothingness





Friday 6 October 2023

October


In the whoopsie land
October is special
The autumn fairies
Dance a hip hop
And the winter elves
Wake up from deep slumber
Waiting......watching........wondering
When the sky will turn grey
Clouds will stoop down
The vale and kiss
Off it's hues
And the sun will shrug off
It's shine and hide into its shrine
Beyond the horizon
Where the ocean will 
Sing icy tales of vacant shores

It will hurt first
Then it will be just another day
The ochre will take over the crimson
And the yellow will birth a branch
Of scraggy wails
And the birds will dig their heads deep
Into the hollows of the earth

When you and me will fold in
Our words in a blanket of
Pitch dark silence and patiently
Wait for
Another moon
A few stars
A silky breeze
And dreams 
That will make us smile
All over again



                            Pic from Pinterest 

Tuesday 12 September 2023

Morning Breeze

I inhale deeply
The freshness of dawn
They say it's pollution
I call it life