He was a lovely kid. Looked like a cherub and talked like a totapakhi,repeating every word that he heard.I loved his sky-blue eyes wide open in unceasing wonder and the untainted innocent light in them.
Now five years down the line, he's only six and it wrenches my heart to see that his child-like innocence is fast-depleting, or shall I say it's being snatched away from him forcefully.And poor him! He doesn't even understand the value of what he is losing! His eyebrows now remain raised not in wonder but in cynicism.

The horror shows that still manage to haunt me[I should, however, admit that I am a scaredy-cat] leave him non-plussed and nonchalant. He gallantly declares them to be ostentatious gimmicks constructed by computers. He dismisses the super-human power the protagonist inherits from Ma Durga to defeat the macabre bhoot in one such serial in a very grown-up manner.He refuses to fold his hands in prayer before an idol mouthing words like-the true worshipper of God is one who does his work sincerely or something to that effect. For goodness's sake those are his mentor's words that have been imposed on his naive lips. Does he understand the significance? Five years down the line he's still a totapakhi and in danger of forever being so.

His words affect me much more seriously and in a worse manner than those mind-less horror shows do. His matter-of-factness, his 'Realness' scares me. He's only six ,for God's sake. He is being made to act as an insufferable know-it all!!! He has been taught not to believe in magic, in God ,in fairies, ghosts and anything his mentor considers unreal. He has been taught not to imagine. The key to the fantasyland has been jerked away from his grip. He has been instructed to do away with faith, and very sadly, very wrongly he has not been taught to have faith in himself. His mentor has forgotten to tell him that to not have faith in anything else one needs to have faith in himself. And I shudder to think of the rootless heartless soulless ideal machine that he might grow into, ostracised from under the tender influence of magic and faith.

Alarming as it may sound, he isn't the only kid in this century to lose his innocence. Many of his little friends are on the same precariously balanced boat as him. These logical little ones will grow up one day to be logical grown-ups who shall be driven only by the force of neccessity. For them flowers shall bloom to be dissected, clouds shall dissolve into rain for watering the crops that satiate their hunger. For them the moon shall provide another home away from the over-crowded earth. Literature will in all probability be an obsolete word. Love affection and humanity shall be vague memories of unintelligible words that they heard in their short-lived childhood days. Irrational imaginations or fantasisings shall not cloud their 'survival of the fittest' days.

And then perhaps one day magic will happen once again!!!And faith shall hold it's reins.

p.s.- This is not a diatribe against his ill-informed misguided mentor, who i hold solely responsible for and guilty of depriving him of his childhood.

yay!! I have been tagged. Feels nice, in a way, proves people care. :)
hmm...8 things about me?
1) I think, therefore I am. I love to think. :)

2) At the present moment,my life is directionless [ except that I know I'd be hitting my bed in half-an hour.that way it has a direction.] and I have no idea what I want from my life.

3)When my friends and family say that I live in a different world, a dreamworld, and that I am a complete misfit in today's world, believe them.

4)I dont get angry, I get hurt.

5)Death has occupied a huge portion of my thoughts since childhood and it's image to me is that of a lover's.marana re tuhu mama shyam saman.

6)I am extremely sensitive.A rude word, a little indifference towards me,a careless remark are enough to cause me great distress.

7)I have a lousy taste for movies and even the stupidest melodrama can make me cry.

8)More often than not the I in my poems and me are completely different entities with some co-incidentally similar traits.

Thats about it.summed up all that I know about myself that others dont in 11 sentences. So there!!
I tag Girl in the dark, Arnabda and Sreetama.

The Last Dance

Come my love, let us have this one last dance
And then no more.
Our hands shall touch,
Our lips shall meet
Your heart in me and mine in you shall throb.
The rain shall be our tune
And silence our words,
While by the blazing firelight we dance.
We shall carve a shadow on the wall
Of not two lovers but one.

The night is young;
Hold my hand and let us dance,
We shall whirl around,
Fast as the days that we have left behind.
Thunders shall sing for us
Memory shall serve as words
Like waves in a storm raged sea
Like lightning in a cloud-laden sky
Come my love, let us dance.
Like souls of lovers possessed by love.

Behold the night is gone,
The rain has stopped
The moon is wan.
Hold my hand and let us dance
We shall tread softly as if on flowers,
We shall murmur words of love, music to our ears.
Time shall stand still,
While we savor the delicate present moment,
Drowning in the other’s arms and eyes.
By the dying firelight,
Come my love, let us love this one last time
For tonight and then no more.

Tomorrow is another new day.

dunno what to name it. The Last Dance?

The Wait.

Isn’t there anything
that you haven’t said to me?
A little something perhaps
that you have hidden in your heart
For reasons unknown to you and me!
Isnt there a soothing voice
suppressed by your real booming baritone
that contemplates saying aloud
Words that your real voice couldn’t?
Words that welled up in your eyes
as you sat by me day and night
watching my shadow grow thin by day
and thinner by night?
Words that oozed through your fingertips
when you led me on to see the setting sun
and the rising moon
but never tumbled down your lips.
Say it aloud then for the world to hear
or whisper only in my ears.
For life is not long for me
and my shadow walks on earth
only for a couple more of days
waiting for you to say…
Isn’t there something
that you haven’t said to me?

P.S sorry. i know it's dumb.

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.

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE.

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?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE.

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?