Monday, May 21, 2007

The gypsy girl

She swirled her myriad-hued skirt.
A velvety black night descended upon the desert sands.
A thousand burning stars
lit up and scattered themselves
on the dense black of the night sky,
as she cast her fiery glance heavenward,
daring them to defy her.
Her slender fingers conjured a silver moon
and like a child at play
threw it up and bade it stay.
A silver orb of light against the star-spangled sky.

Then she stood silent awhile,
silhouetted against the crests and troughs of the vast desert.
And suddenly, as if in a mad frenzy
She started to dance, like a possessed soul.
The fire in her eyes burned bright.
Her dusty locks, as enraged serpents, flew in every direction.
The tiara on her crown sparkled,
the bangles on her wrist clanged angrily.
The dancing necklace on her heaving breast
And the jangling anklets on her lively feet
Set in motion the world around her.
Together they danced
The dance of rain, the dance of life, the dance for change.

Every little grain of sand her feet touched,
Turned into a wild flower, steeped in colours of her skirt
Every part of the sky she touched with her hands
Gave birth to a promising cloud, dark as her hair.
Every time she twirled on her toes
A fountain sprang up, defying the tyrant sands.
She danced as if this was her only chance
She danced as if this was her last dance,
little nameless flowers at her feet,
silver lined clouds around her head
her body damp with the rebellious fountain water
And the world danced with her.

And then, as if tired and weary of her dance
She stopped, as suddenly as she had begun.
She waved her hands and the moon faded into oblivion
She looked towards the sky and dimmed the stars
she swirled her colourful skirt and the night evaporated.
As the first ray of the sun touched her body
The flowers at her feet disappeared
The fountains passed into nonexistence
And the clouds lost their lives.
She rained, reminiscent of her mad dance
She rained and rained
And lay beneath the sands, weary and hopeful
In wait for another night of magic, dance and life.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007


I still remember the first day I saw her. It wasn't long ago.I had accompanied my Mom and sister and a cousin to her father's[my mamato dada's] Lansdowne home.

And when we first saw her, my mother couldn't stop gushing about her...proclaiming her to be the prettiest 7 day old she ever saw.I on the other hand could not reconcile the concept of prettiness to the very white almost transparent skinned one-dimensional little body with blue spots on her belly,with a head sans hair, slits of eyes that blinked,and moved it's tiny fingers and toes even when it was sleeping.I distinctly remember exclaiming to mom when out of earshot that she looked like a 'bnadorchhana'!!
Now she rules my heart! Forever on her wobbly little feet,looks like an angel sans wings and talks like...I can't supply an appropriate analogy, because she chirps incessantly,and she chatters sense, none of those baby-talks for her.
She talks of important things in life...identity-'tumi ki...pupun?' she asks me in her clear melodious voice confirming that i am myself and not my identical twin [a popular confirmatory question with my friends].

She transcends the spatial and temporal when she stuns me with a -'achha ami kaal esechhi.baghum er golpo bolo.'-in reply to my promise of belting out another baghum-story[tigers rule her senses] ('kaal')-the next day.

This little one is the epitome of justice and woe unto the one that reprimands me or other subjects of her's in her presence. 'kaano bokechho Gudun ke' in the fiercest growl that she can manage with a special emphasis on 'kaano' to the guilty party and 'aha re ,o shona re' in her softest tone and a couple of kisses to the aggrieved [me in this case] which leaves his/her heart soothed and face smothered with saliva.
Oishee,Tutun, Puchu, Pushu,Byangachi,Chhotto Beral,Puchithang,Myao,Chhutki and the numerous names that me and my sister call her by meet with the same welcome response-an upturned angelic face with an ethereal smile playing on her pink little lips and the most beautiful sound-'ki maa?' [point to be noted-we are her pishis.everyone she loves, she calls maa.isn't that sweet of her?]
She has an astounding sense of rhythm and a keen ear for music.And poor you readers who haven't sen her swaying her little hips to any dance number that plays within her earshot.And you too who haven't heard her recite'baburam shapure' or 'pompom pompom' or 'row row row your boat' or 'hashi hashi takahashi' or 'old macdonald had a farm' the 'ya ya o' refrain of which she uses to disarm me when I throw bombastic English words at her [just for fun i assure you].
I have used so many words and yet her portrait has only half been drawn, that too sketchily.My princess, My baby, My darling [ Warning: dont address her as 'darling when you meet her for the first tme. Brat that she is, she's sure to retort back 'tui darling'] My cuppy cake, It's your 2nd birthday today and I have no gifts for you other than this that says that you've been my bright star,you have filled me with heretofore unfelt pleasures, unprecedented joy,love and affection, and you have made me nurture my softer emotions and made me more responsible.I know you can't read this but you surely can read me.After all ,what escapes your eyes Queen of Infant Goddesses?

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

silent voice

I had grown to love that cosy little room I lived in. There wasn't much space. I could hardly move my limbs. You made my life easy. I ate your food, drank from you, I breathed your air.I wasn't much of an entity then. But I was happy,and you knew that.

Sometimes you would talk to me and when I answered back nobody could hear me but you. Sometimes you would sing to me. Remember I told you that you have a beautiful voice? You smiled. Such a beautiful smile! And then your song would enfold me in it's arms and lull me to sleep. Peace!

And on somedays, I would grow claustrophobic. I would become restless. I would scream in my silent voice. you would still hear me. How did you do that? you would muster all your patience, all your endurance and soothe me till I would grow calmer by degrees , till I would once again turn to my little room and lie there quietly.

And on days when you would grow angry and call me names, not very nice names, and complain about how much I caused you pain, how much I harassed you, how much of a burden i was to you, I would cower and tremble. I felt helpless. I had nowhere to run. I would still lie in my little room waiting for you to shed your anger. You would too, after a moment or two.

Were you very angry that day? Infuriated? But I sensed tears in your eyes. I sensed love in your bosom. I felt you wanted to hug me tight and never let me go! Why did you then?
Why didn't you have me? Why didn't you give me a chance?