THE WANDERER IN DUDH SAGAR

download (1)

The azure stands melt in harmony,
With the jejune cascade: serene and pied;
In the alfresco wind, their hues swayed;
Smiles the august : Dudh Sagar !!

The virgin apogee lists towards the sky,
Her tear drops burning in appeasing ice;
The sparkling hues of her trails damp her cry;
Waits the virgin : Dudh Sagar!!

The whistle of the train bloomed the inchoate seeds of anxiety;
The wait is soon going to be over;
The melody brought the news of the wanderer;
Yes !! Arrives the insouciant wanderer !!

In rave and desultory note, he kisses the dust,
Quenching that everlasting thirst;
The diffident Dudh Sagar quails;
Touched by the wanderer !!

He clambers over the rocks, he feels their pores,
He touches the musty root, where love seldom grows;
The serenity of his eyes, he gives in love,
Oh, the wanderer in Dudh Sagar !!

The ephemeral moments lose their way in the green,
The wanderer accedes to the call of the railway track;
He leaves the abysmal moments in affliction;
Moments of the wanderer in Dudh Sagar !!

Advertisements

THE SORRY SLUT : PART (V) : OF(F) THE BEAT

TSS5

“Seems like you have fallen asleep. Great. Good night ”, Aradhya read Malhar’s text when she woke up. ‘Oh God’, she blushed, embarrassed. ‘ Seriously, so stupid of me’. Malhar had called her on that fateful night, stringing together the beats of the melody of her life. He kept on playing till she dozed off to sleep and when he realized that she had fallen asleep, he hung up, leaving her a text. Aradhya woke up with a heavy head, the albatross quenching its thirst from the enervated nerves which had rejuvenated by the anodyne : Malhar’s music. The only light she could see was her promised meeting with Malhar. He wanted to meet her that day and talk about a new melody he was composing. She got up from her bed, dragged herself to her shower, hiding the wound, letting the little fringes of her curly hair play freely , covering her forehead and then loosely gracing the dark kohl of her eyes. She left around ten in the morning, filling her hand bag with biscuits for the dogs of her university. Malhar was supposed to meet her there. Continue reading

THE SORRY SLUT : PART (IV ) : NABAYAN

TSS4.1
“Why the hell you are ruining my life? ”, a voice screamed so much that it seemed to break the circuits of her phone.
“What ? Who ? Why ? ”, Aradhya asked in a confused somnolent voice.
“ Don’t act as if you don’t know me”, the voice fumed in anger. “I am Nabayan.Oh, please stop bothering me . ”
“What are you talking about? I am bothering you ? ”
“ Yes, for you Panchali wants to break up with me”.
“Am sorry, but I can’t get you . You are the one who tries to talk to me from fake profile , you are the one to call me; I didn’t have your new number and now you are saying I am coming in between two of you ? ”, Aradhya broke down in tears, this time too. She felt helpless, like a creeper, robbed off her wooden support, like a raga, who has been robbed off her melody. She wanted to call Malhar but why bother him? What was there to trouble someone else with one’s onus? She succumbed to the visceral injuries. She didn’t know the reason.
“I will make your life hell, you bitch , you asshole . ” Continue reading

LET ………(II)

LET2

Let me be the wind you breathe,
Let me be the ignored bamboo of the flute.

Let me the bass you will never utter,
Let me remain on the ignored corners of your throat.

Let me be the stillness of that beer glass,
Let me be my own albatross!!

Let me be the ignored hallucination ,
Of that sipped wine and melody !!

THE SORRY SLUT : PART (III) : ARADHYA

TSS3

Aradhya was pondering upon the lines of a book, which she read and re-read. She saw a lot of Facebook notifications but ignored. She wasn’t in a mood. She was delving deep into the death of Gabriel Garcia Marquez; it was not that she couldn’t accept it, but it meant the end of an era; death is inevitable, but her mind started counting the philosophical equations of death. She tried to quibble but went blank over the letters. A flute version of Old Acquaintance embraced the magnolia of the evening.She logged into her Facebook account again, this time, in a pretty chaotic situation and a notification propped up. Sakyo Ghosh has tagged her in a status.
“ Finally , he has activated his fake profile ”, she thought. No, this time, she would put an end to all these. It was too much. She sat in the dark room, every drop of her tears, painting the story of her life on the canvas of her soft palms. It was not the sweet past she wanted to forget, but the acerbic tortures which had made her lose faith in life, faith in people, faith in men, and maybe women, too. Can a girl be trusted , who comes in between two lovers and snatches the male beloved? And then again, can true love be really snatched away? Aradhya was in a loop, a twisted one, full of drizzles that pierced through her skin. Shrugging off the memories haunting and clotting her mind, she placed her hands on the keyboard and started typing. Continue reading

THE SORRY SLUT : PART (II) : CHHANDAK

thesorryslut2
Chhandak entered the house with hesitation. His friend, pretty aware of the incident which was enervating him every moment, didn’t think twice before dragging him to his house, after meeting him in a get together. It has been a year they have left college and things changed. Chhandak walked inside, his head, fixed on the mosaic floor. “ At least something inside this house will not move, will not change” , he thought. He tried not to look at the other rooms; he had known this house for a long time; he had spent a large part of his college days, but for a different reason. Two other guys had come with him and the three of them settled down on the sofa.
Unknown to Chhandak, someone was staring at him the very moment he had entered and his every move was watched , like the eagle who lets her prey , play in alacrity, before she pounces upon him with her sharp claws. Continue reading

THE SORRY SLUT : PART (I) : PANCHALI

THESORRYSLUT1

It was one of those usual April summers which would forbid women, conscious of their precious skin, which masked their ‘men-thirsty ‘ demeanor , to go out. Panchali was lying on her bed, tired of her vainglory; her nails were perfectly manicured, Nabayan even had taken her to the spa the other day. Of course, she had nothing to do. She was too tired to see her own reflection in the mirror; even her wardrobe was beautified with the new dresses, which had wasted half of Nabayan’s monthly salary. She was content for the rest of the month. She preferred to put Nabayan ’s money to good use on the first week of every month, in case he indulges himself in something less worthy. Panchali was of course , not married to Nabayan; she would call him , her “ boyfriend” and he was one of the many men, rather her “ boyfriends “ who had come in her life, and have been dumped like napkins. Panchali was different from the girls of her age. She was intuitive and at an early age, she had realized that academics was not her cup of tea. So, she discarded academics and focused on ‘men’, an alluring species of homo sapiens , who, according to her, were mesmerized by her beauty, except the judges of beauty pageants, who would not even select her for the first round.  Continue reading