Before it is late

With a loud squeal the yellow cab stops before the gate,
I'm coming for you!
Cold blood then rushes through the narrow lanes
I hope it is not too late.
The time is slow, the wind is still
As pavements change in the middle of the night.
The black guard opens the door,
Corridor wakes under the blue light,
Room within room, door within door, hope within hope,
And nothing else!
The sleepless night is now waiting for me,
The broken poems are scattered before me,
The long lost promises are looking at me.

Paper Boat

I make my paper boat with immense care
And float it down the stream with a prayer,
And as I watch her moving farther and farther
It tosses and sways on the waves below her.

I love this transient monsoon stream
And see myself in my dream,
Standing on board I am an ancient trader
Waiting for my boat to reach the harbor.

The little paper boat green, blue, red
Set for land far ahead,
And I look closely at her
While it struggles to cross the bar.

And once it disappears before me
I feel it would perhaps reach the sea,
And it make me happy as one could be
Since it's me who is free.

Big Clock @ Howrah Station

I cannot remember when I first boarded a bus, a car or a train in my life. Perhaps I was not ripe enough to understand that at that time. But I can still remember my long train journeys for my maternal uncle’s house. It used to happen mostly during the summer vacation and for some reason it was my parents who actually fixed that destination. My uncle’s house is in a village far from the city and I had to board suburban train to reach there. I used to spend nearly one month i.e. almost the whole vacation and then return back to my home. While returning I was accompanied by some fellow villager known to my uncle or a neighbor who was bound for Kolkata for some activity. He just escort me up to the terminal station i.e. Howrah Station and drop me into the safe hand of my father. It was during this time, I came across the Big Clock of Howrah Station as my father used to wait for me under it.

Now let me give a brief background of this historical clock at Howrah station which every citizen of Kolkata is more or less familiar with. This twin clock was designed keeping in mind the Big Ben of London. In 1926, clock manufacturer Gent’s of London made this clock. This 45 inches diameter clock is popularly known as Big Clock or Baro Gari and continues to be the most prominent meeting point for the travelers leaving the city or entering the city. Even in this digital age, this old analog clock (driven by electronic pulse master) is the timekeeper and landmark for the city dwellers.

My mother said that her father too used to wait for her under this Big Clock whenever she arrived to the city from village. She told me that the life in the village was hard in her childhood. There used to be very little earning from cultivation and scope of other employment was less. Lack of education system, lack of medical facility made her whole family to move to city for survival. But the root was embedded in the village and so there was need to travel to the village house quite often. I have learnt this from my mother but that old Big Clock has witnessed this all. It has witnessed generation after generation moving from village to the city for fortune. People have waited, people have meted, and people have separated in course of their journey. It has seen people laughing with friends, crying in the hand of dear one, anxious for leaving the familiar world behind, worrying about someone not coming in time. Sometimes I feel if using time dilation I can reverse this clock and can take it along with this whole station corridor in the past, I could have witnessed my grandfather in his young days, arriving the city to seek luck!

Last time when I was leaving Kolkata for Delhi, I encounter a group of 30 odd teenagers with their rucksack, directing their friends on the way to station to meet under Big Clock. It’s good to see that the Big Clock is still a rendezvous point for young generation too. I ‘m not sure whether this bustling station really cares about this clock in the age GPS and mobile phone but there are people like me who have favorable memories attached with this Old Man, really want history to survive amidst all modernization of city life. 

Resurrection

Here I’m, lying beneath this grey sky,

This gust of wind is whispering in my ear –

About a man who once walked on this land.

Here I’m, lying before this flowing stream

This shimmering rain is soaking me –

And makes me feel how cold life could be.

I’m waiting for that door to open,

The orange luminescence is waiting for me –

Let it take this last remaining of mine

But wait for one last moment please.

Let me hear the murmur of these trees once more,

Let me gaze at this monsoon clouds looming over me,

Let me kiss my daughter one last time,

Let me feel thy life once more.

Then let this eternal fire engulf me,

And I’ll flow down this stream towards the sea –

Still the smell of this earth, the taste of this water will remain,

For which I’ll come back again.

A Food Odyssey

Ever since my childhood, I get fascinated by food. Food with various color, aroma and distinctive taste lures me. I can still remember those auspicious break periods in my school days when we all took out our lunchboxes but showed more interest in the box of the fellow friends. My mom had a good hand in cooking however getting the taste of same food from different hands always attracted me. And those lunch hours gave me the opportunity to nurture this very nature of mine. With food, one word that comes quite together in my mind is sharing. Yes, we always shared our foods in our school days and whatever comes out of the boxes we enjoyed it together. There was sense of satisfaction and unity in that and I still cherish those lost break periods. Many years after I left school, a film was made known as ‘Stanley ka Dabba’ and it made me remember about a friend of mine who used to bring same kind of lunch every day.  It was kind of sandwich made out of sliced bread and boiled potato. I have never asked why his mom made the same stuff for him and why he never asked for some different kind of lunch. Though those sandwiches were flat in taste we pretend that we were enjoying. May be just like the boy, Stanley in that film, he had some background about which we were not aware of that time. Another incident that still lingers in my mind is about my Physics tutor who is a gourmand in true sense. But he seldom got that exposed before his students. But students like me who was very close to him always looked for opportunity. I knew that it is only Literature which can bring his real being out; so whenever it was cloudy and cold breeze started to blow or in an autumn evening when the twilight had created a beautiful canvas on the sky, I just say “it’s better to be Wordsworth than Newton at this hour of day”. And suddenly the whole atmosphere of the room got changed. Science was kept aside and Art was welcomed. And of course to make to it more eventful, pakora, samosa whatever available at that hour were ordered.

In College days, the same thing prevailed but in its own way. Though a time period was marked as lunch time, but it was not strictly followed. Students take break as per their choice and seldom brought lunch from home. So it was the college canteen that was the den for us to recharge ourselves. The food at our college canteen was value for money both quantity and quality wise. And there used to be party for some of the wild reasons. Party for getting slapped by a first year lady, party for getting caught smoking in the class, party for getting failed in one or two subjects consistently each semester etc. And for all this achievements, food is welcomed to celebrate. Of course there was a drink too; two glass of tea made into three and cigarettes to be smoked in counter. Then there used to be bucket festival during the college fest season. It was kind sharing of hard drinks among the seniors students mostly organizers and hostel boys but it was unique in its own way. A bucket was taken in which all kind of liquors are mixed (from branded to country liquor) and then with ice and cold drinks added to it the cocktail was ready to be served. Well it was really a festival of craziness and confusion. Since many years have passed, so there is no harm in saying that it was not the madness of the bunch of drunkards that kept me away from that bucket festival; rather it was the smell of marijuana that pushed me out of it!

Being a foodie in my own way I never thought that I have a chef within me. Till my college days,  I had always maintained a distance from kitchen; for me it was the domain of mom and my relation with it was only during four times of the day. However as I got my job and started living alone in some other part of the country I was challenged. It was really difficult to accept the cuisine that prevails in this part of the country. It is not that I have never tasted them before but it was not my day to day diet. I can remember the lunch time of initial days of my career was something that really tortured me. Black colored pulse, unfried paneer swimming in red or green gravy was something out of the world for me. And of course that raita of various types was strictly No for me. As necessity is the mother of invention, same way I had to start cooking to feed myself. Of course whole credit cannot be given to me only because I had my mom and later on my fiancé who had actually helped me in my endeavor. Hence started an odyssey of new experience and obsession! And to be true, I have finally reconciled with the North Indian cuisine.

স্বাধীনতা বোধ

কোন বোধ থেকে স্বাধীনতা জন্ম নেয়

জানিনা, স্বাধীনতা শুধুই যেন এক শব্দ মাত্র –

বইয়ের পাতার ঘটনাবলী

কিংবা খবরের কাগজের কয়েক ছত্র।

স্বাধীনতা মানে ঠাকুমার স্মৃতিকথা

কত রাত চাঁদের আলোয়ে শুনেছি সে ব্যথা।

সাঁজের তুলসিতলা, আদরের ইচ্ছামতি, সোনালি ধান

সব হারিয়ে কি ভাবে তিনি স্বাধীনতা ফিরে পান।

আজকে আমি স্বাধীনতা খুঁজি

প্রতিদিন আমার চলার পথে,

মিছিলের মুখে হাটে বাজারে

অথবা শহরের অলিতে গলিতে।

আমি স্বাধীনতা পাই চায়ের উল্লাসে

আমি স্বাধীনতা দেখি নদীর উচ্ছ্বাসে,

নবজাতকের নতুন চোখে

আকাশেতে নীল ঘুড়ির মাঝে।

স্বাধীনতা তোমাকে হারিয়ে ফেলেছি

শুধু অনুভবে তোমাকে বাঁচিয়ে রেখেছি,

হাতরে বেড়াই তোমার তরে

নতুন করে বাঁচব বলে।

চির মুক্ত, চির নবীন

শুধু মায়ার জালে আজ পরাধীন,

তাই নতুন দিনে আশায় থাকি

পাব কি খুঁজে, স্বাধীনতার চাবিকাঠি?

To The Flutist

O Flutist!

Don't play your flute in such a way.

Can't you see the tears in my eyes?

For the note you play.

Don’t you feel the pain

That my heart is feeling for the tune?

Oh flutist!

Don't play your flute in such a way.

I am unable to response your call

Neither can I accompany you leaving behind all.

So, dear don't stay here for long

Or, I shall fall in love for your tune.

Go there where sun is bright

And sky is deep blue.

Away from this dull noon

Away from this pale sky.

Translated Work (2)

Oh dear you are what my heart yearns for
You are with which my world is made for,
I don't know anything else
All that I feel is your presence.

But if you love someone else
If you are not bothered to come back thence
Hope you will be happy with that
I am pleased with what I have got.

(Translation of a song of Tagore)

স্তবিরতা

গতিশীল জীবনের মাঝে, সে এক নিবিড় স্তবিরতা

সীমাহীন ব্যস্ততা, বিরামহীন কাজে

যখন চারিদিকে এক জটিল সচলতা

সে তখন সকল সচলতার মাঝে

এক সরল অচলতা।

যে শক্তির ওপর ভর করে

চলছি এই কর্ম জগতে,

জানি একদিন তা হবে নিঃশেষ।

আমাকেও চলে যেতে হবে তার মতো

অন্য কোন খানে, যেখানে

নেই কোন শক্তির সঞ্চয়

নেই কোন শক্তির অপচয়

আছে শুধু এক অন্তহীন স্তবিরতা।। 

Translated Work (1)

Its not your mere words that all I want O Lord,
But sometimes I have longed for your touch in my heart too.
The weariness of my long journey, the thirst of a whole day
I never know how to overcome that, how to quence that -
All I can pray is to fill this emptiness of mine.
My heart is willing to share, not to receive only,
All that it has acquired in course of life.
So put forward your hand, place it on my palm
I'll hold thy hand, fulfill it and will keep it to myself.
And make my journey on this lonely way more wondrous.

(Translation of a song of Tagore. No 37 of Puja Section)

Life after Football World Cup

Today the heart will be bit lonely. The month long celebration has finally ended. No matter whether you are Argentina supporter or German. The real fact is, it will be again the same useless monotonous day for you. The pandemonium in which you have been shaking your legs, the late night party that you were permitted to celebrate, the evening adda where you had suddenly established that being a bong you had certain proprietorship in soccer and everybody accepted you as wise owl, all ends suddenly. From now on, you again have to think about your house loan EMI, need to attend the parent teacher's meeting, tolerate your dumb boss so on and so forth.

You know very well that as long as you will be living, you will have to appreciate Latin American skill, European stamina, bright stars from African countries. Still you will believe, one day you will definitely find your country to be playing the World Cup. And with your immense database, you will be proving that such a chance is not mere. This will probably be your next four years activity. Proving, validating these conjecture!

 Hey Bong, I know you people have defeated the Britisher with bare feet and won IFA. Your history of soccer is old than many countries that are now taking part in FIFA. But you are old, your skill, your strength is outdated. You know hope is a good thing, but to reach some where, to achieve something you need goal which comes with a action plan, a deadline. So you can well understand where you are lagging. So its better move your focus now from Soccer to Sarada. Think about how you will cope up the inflation with your granular annual hike! Remember if you still think Messi, Klose, Robben; these aliens are your life, the Boss at your home and office will surely show you Red Card! So just forget about them; and if it is difficult then there is shortcut. Change your channel and here it is as usual! Mahendra Singh Dhoni and his Team. Cricket!

The Death of Dusk

My childhood days passed through a time when life used to be slow. There used to be time to breath and look up to the sky. As the day declares its end and the sun sets in the horizon, we move out from our house for the last two hours of a day. Yes, those two hours of the day were eventful in our life. Whether it was on the football playground of our local club, or on the bank of river Ganga, those two hours were the hours of freedom. And without any reason, we don’t waste those two hours. As we returned from school, we just threw our bags and uniforms and rushed to taste the hours of dusk. As we grow old that taste also got changed unconsciously.

I can still hear the whistle of steamer sailing on the river and see that the darkness is gradually engulfing the other side of the river. As the cold breeze started blowing, we light up our cigarette. As the discussion brew up, the cigarette was passed from one hand to the other and with its every smoke we find ourselves elevated. Sometimes while discussing about a newly released movie or about the final match of IFA shield, we got interrupted by the ‘Hari Nam’ recitation of the people carrying corpse in the burial ground which was on the bank of the river. For a moment, we were stopped by those grave, faded faces of the people who came there to perform the last rite of their near and dear one. For a moment we felt empty within ourselves; but later we fulfill it with the color of youth.

During monsoon, dark clouds used to loom over the river and huge waves strikes on the bank near the shade where we used to sit. The same river looked quite dreadful to me at that instant. Sometimes when there was no option for getting out of house, then it was the terrace where I spent my most delightful hours of day. As time passed by, the terraces of the surrounding houses get wrapped by dark veil. Sometimes the twilight because of clouds in the sky becomes yellow everywhere. And then it becomes orange and gradually turned to dark. It was just wonderful to witness that magical mural. The woman of the house after their days work, use this hours of day to chit chat with their neighbor. Some of them used to look at the street waiting for their man to return home as the hours of dusk quietly passed by. 

Those days are now lost amidst the fast lane of life. The twilight saga no longer remain part of modern city life. It fails to enter the envelope of neon and halogen vapor. After working for whole day, people get time only at night. Slowly they open their laptop and try to find their freedom in Facebook, Gtalk and Skype and link up with every corners of the world. They talk, they laugh, they share yet they are so lonely at their home. The freedom in dusk is now a thing of past. It is now night that soothes and heals the day to day scar of our life. Help you to find yourself, know yourself and prepare you for the day to come.

Bench Account

I used to be back bencher in my whole school life. I and my fellow class mates, who are stamped as poor performer and nuisance for class and teacher, prefer to sit behind. It helped us to avoid the glance of teacher. The same thing was followed in other sections too; kind of norm you may say. However in my college days, I moved away from this norm. There was no bench. Everybody had their individual chair and desk. And to create miscreant we don’t have to sit on the back. Rather we could move out from the class and could enjoy our life under the sky as long as required attendance was maintained. But as I have entered my professional life, once again I have to sit on Bench.

Seven years back, at midnight I was called for the interview for a MNC company that came to our college for hiring the college graduates. I was at ninety one in the queue. Tired and hungry, but still with a smile I entered the interview room. “Hello Sir” I said, not sure how to greet them at mid of night. Bit confused whether it will be right to say good evening or good morning as it was already 12. Any way I restrained.  The members of the panel were looking tired too. Two of them yawned.  “What is your name?”  I answered them. Another asked me, “What is your hobby?” “Singing, Sir”. “Ok, sing a song for us”. I was bewildered, but with a faint hope I started singing a Bengali Rock song. “Fine, you may leave now, send the next one”. They haven’t asked a single technical question; not sure whether they have liked my song or not. Next day the interview result was out and our TPO pasted it on the notice board. And to my utter surprise I found my name in the list. In final year, I left studying; what was the use of study since it was all because of job which was already in my hand.

Now I feel what really worked for us. It was 2007, when the IT companies were blooming as huge amount of works were outsourced from the foreign countries especially America. Hence it was not us who require a job, but the companies who need huge number of human resource to cater their requirement. The companies have hired irrespective of the stream of the engineer, just to meet their end. Hence, during the final year of the college, three hundred students of our college have job in their hand. Some have even two to three in their hand.

But the things have changed now. The wind is now blowing against the IT industry and students are losing interest in this field of engineering. A good number of seats in the colleges are lying vacant. The college authorities are desperate to get students and are even ready to absorb students who performed poorly in the entrance exam. I feel pity for these students. They have least idea what is waiting for them; like me they will be sitting on bench with a formidable thought about their future. The whole system will crush them and they will be lampooned before their friends and relatives.

I hope reader can now understand my pain and anxiety for being allotted to bench. If you are still unaware then let me tell you that Bench is a status given to an employee who is not utilized but considered as a part of the resource pool and can be used whenever there is any requirement. In the past five years, a large number private engineering college mushroomed all over India. Every year thousands of B.tech engineers are produced and irrespective of their streams; and this whole flood of human resource give their way to IT industries. Today every house in a city has an engineer and if he is a software engineer, just ask him, “Bro, do you sit on bench”? And if it is yes, his faded face will affirm that.

We now have a new concept known as pool. The pool doesn’t indicate water body but it’s the human resource pool. The business of software industry is dependent on this pool. The more deep the pool is, more is the scope of getting the business from the clients! The clients consider that company having more number of employees has better capability to handle a project compared to other having less number of employees. So there is always a redundant amount of human resource maintained by the software industry in order to win new business.

My office is a six storey building and I work on its fourth floor. Sorry for the mistake. Actually now a days I don’t work rather I punch my card before the gate of fourth floor. It is an inexplicable mental torture I have to incur the whole day. I have everything; modern cubicle, personal phone, laptop but my days are passed without actually using them. But things were not so when I joined. We had six month extensive training before we started working on the projects. Once a project was completed, the next was there and this way three years passed. I was on cloud number nine. I dream of going to onsite for much bigger exposure. But nothing has happened. Things get changed very fast in this IT world. And this time it was for me. The technology on which I work is considered to be primitive now and expensive to maintain. Most of the clients are moving out of this technology to something new and less expensive to maintain. Hence I keep on waiting for new project sitting on bench. I hope God will save me before my employer will thank me for my contribution for the growth of the company and will give me pink slip with three month advance salary. The animated Welcome screen of Windows mock at me and reminds me that if it goes on like this I will be unwelcomed soon. The cafeteria, the smoking zone, the breakaway area, the library everything here proclaim that this fella has nothing on his pan to cook. Now a day if some acquaintance asks me how the work pressure is, I just give an empty look. It is hard to make them understand that I’m once again sitting on Bench.

In spite of all this I still have hope that I will be required.  I hope client will understand the criticality of migration and will remain on existing technology; at least as long I will be in the industry! I hope rupee will lose its value against dollar! We will be the cheapest and intellectual labor and the whole world will be lured to use us! During campus interview I prayed to Goddess Kali to get me the job; now I pray to God Obama to save my job!

অপেক্ষায়ে থেকো

অপেক্ষায় থেকো, আমি ফিরব
শুধু কঠিন এক অপেক্ষা।
অপেক্ষায়ে থেকো, যখন দুঃখ হৃদয় কে দীর্ণ করবে
হলুদ বৃষ্টির পানে চেয়ে।
অপেক্ষায়ে থেকো বাতাস বয়ে যাবে ধূসর বরফের উপর।
অপেক্ষায়ে থেকো, অতি দীর্ঘ দগ্ধ ক্লান্ত দিনে।
অপেক্ষায়ে থেক্‌ যখন সকলে ধৈর্য হারাবে
অতীতকে বিস্মৃত হয়ে।
অপেক্ষায়ে থেকো, যখন কোন চিঠি আসবে না তোমার কাছে।
অপেক্ষায়ে থেকো, যখন সবাই অপেক্ষায়ে ক্লান্ত হয়ে যাবে।
প্রিয়জন ধরে নেবে আমি আর ফিরব না,
যখন বন্ধুরা আমার উদ্দেশে স্মরণ সভা আয়োজন করবে,
শুধু তুমি অপেক্ষা করবে সব আয়জনের মাঝে,
শুধু তুমি বিশ্বাস করবে আমি ফিরব,
আকাশ বাতাশ আলোড়িত করে আমি ফিরব,
মৃত্যুর বীভৎসতাকে ম্লান করে আমি ফিরব।
হয়ে তো অনেকে বলবে আমি ভাগ্যবান,
কিন্তু তারা জানবে না, মৃত্যুর কালো অন্ধকারের মাঝে
তুমি, তোমার অপেক্ষা আমাকে বাঁচিয়েছে।
শুধু তুমি আর আমি জানব,
কীভাবে পাশ কাটিয়ে আমি বেঁচেছি।
কারণ তুমি অপেক্ষা করেছিলি, যা কেউ করে নি।

সিগনালে

তেমাথার লাল সিগনালে হঠাৎই সুনীলের সাথে দেখা-

আরে সুনীল, কতদিন বাদে।

অবনী! কি ভায়া কেমন আছিস?

চলেই যেতাম, শুধু শেষ যাত্রা হল না।

কেন, কি হয়েছিল?

বাড়িতে স্ট্রোক, তারপর ছয় মাস বিছানাতে

মৃত্যুর সাথে লড়াই, ডাক্তারের ভুল ট্রিটমেন্ট

তবু কি ভাবে যেন বেঁচে গেলাম।

কিন্তু এই শরীরে চাকরীটা আর হল না -

অগত্যা পৈতৃক জমিটা দিতে হল প্রমটারের হাতে।

ছাড় আমার কথা। তোর খবর বল। তোর মেয়ের বিয়ে হয়েছে?

আর ছেলে? তার খবর কি? কি করছে এখন?

ছেলে এখন বিদেশে। বিয়ে করে সংসার পেতেছে।

তবে দেশে কবে ফিরবে জানিনা। ফোনে কথা হয়।

চিন্তা মেয়েটাকে নিয়ে। বিয়েত দিলাম টিকলো কই।

এখন থাকে আমার কাছে, একটা প্রাইমারী স্কুলে পড়ায়।

ভয় হয় আমরা চলে গেলে ওর কি হবে। কে দেখবে।

আবার বিয়ের কথা বলতে সাহস পাই না।

মেয়ে বলে দাদাতো আর ফিরবে না, তোমাদের কে দেখবে?

বলি ঈশ্বরতো আছেন, তিনিই দেখবেন।

কিন্তু তোর জীবনটা যে গোছানো হল না।

লাল বাতি সবুজ হয়, তাই কথা আর এগোয়ে না।

জীবন তার চেনা গতি নেয়।

শহরে তখন টিপটিপ করে বৃষ্টি পড়ছে

আর নাগরিক জীবনের রঙ লাগে শহরের রাজপথে।

The City Poem

Let me give you this sultry summer noon
This shining mirage on asphalt road,
This sudden spell of yellow rain
Its all I have for you to give.

High-rise pointing the grey sky
Hoardings showing the promises of new life,
Tram lines crossing the busy streets
These are what my city have.

I cannot give you the lush green grass
The smell of dew on golden paddy,
The long shrieking of a black kite
Breaking the silence of a lazy afternoon.

The city poem is shunned from these
The air here is engulfed by smoked diesel;
The colorful neons are orchids here
Life here is a morbid dream!

From the valley of the Gods

“In beauty we are united, through beauty we pray, with beauty we conquer” - Nicholas Roerich.
 

It is this beauty of nature that make me out from my nest and instigate me to explore the eternal beauty of Manali aka "the valley of the Gods". Though the physical relief, the community and culture of Manali is quite similar to rest of the hill station of India; still it is different in its own way. In the past I have visited Darjeeling, a hill station in the eastern part of India. And I thought it would be a similar kind of experience. But thankfully I was wrong in my notion.

 

There was something unique about Manali that made her so special. Well it is hard to say. While moving from one part of Manali to another, I have mingled with the local people; I have tasted the local food. I came through the customs, the culture, the religious belief of the people and the way they lead their livelihood. And my experience gathered in course of this close association enchanted me. It is not only the nature that makes Manali so beautiful but also the culture, customs and overall the common people. Just like a child looks beautiful in the lap of her mother, these people looks beautiful in the lap of this wild, rustic and mysterious Nature. This Nature enclosed within her the beauty which is thousands of years old and it only gets unfolded for those who truly deserve to witness that. 

 

 

Being a city dweller, it was quite hard to sustain life amidst all the hardship necessary for leading a life in this land. We are accustomed with a life of luxury; life that requires all the elements to make us comfortable in every way. We consider our self to be the sole proprietor of the resources of this Earth and cannot think a life without this. So when we visit a place like Manali, we try to find the same kind of comfort that we get in a city life. And that is where we make the mistake. The more we seek the conditioned life of a city, more we get far from the Nature. Just like any other hill station, Manali too have the infrastructure enough for providing our lazy body and mind the required comfort. But through this we cannot experience the true beauty and eternal spirit of this region of Himilayas. We need to sacrifice and uphold our mind to seek the true essence of beauty. We need to educate ourselves to appreciate the mystic nature of Mother Nature.

Just like we educate ourselves for adapting various institutions of society, same stands for understanding the Nature; her eternal essence. Well Manali gave me that opportunity to realize this truth. It makes me feel that to understand Nature, we need to dedicate ourselves and sacrifice our needs just the same way to do it for sake of religion.
But what astonishes me is that it is quite easy to renounce for the sake of religion than for the sake of the Nature. Even amidst the Nature, people gather in numbers in the temple courtyards to find intangible solace. And the religious institution for sake of self preservation, are desperate to tie people with age old beliefs and customs.


We fail to understand that the path of salvation lies in understanding the Nature. Understanding and comprehending the natural laws can only lead us to the path of higher truth. And my pursuit for understanding this very truth has been accomplished in Manali.

Light

Let the light come in
Don't pull down the curtains;
The much needed light is standing outside
Don't shut it down.

It is this light that started life
Some thousands and thousands of years ago,
It is this light that forms our frame
Out of earth, wind and water.

Lets get drenched by this flood of light
By pulling the curtains up;
Remove this glass and lets mingle
With the light that is playing outside.

Untitled

If anything needs to happen,
Let it happen here.
If any pleasant morning
Comes out from the mist of memories,
And want to be real;
Let it happen here.
When darkness comes closing the day
With a promise to take me far away,
Out of this world;
Let it happen here.

Anil Da

My childhood days passed amidst lots of incidents; some are alive in my memories even till date as if it has happened just yesterday. And there are others which wrapped themselves in a veil and just get hidden deep in my mind. But at times I don't know without any reason or may be because of some external stimulus, one of them get itself disclosed before me and take me back in my past for few moments. And this happened to me quite often; I cannot say how that forgotten incident remained in my mind for such a long time.

Anil da was such a person who was deported long back in those forgotten isles. And suddenly while reading a blog he became vivid in my mind. I'm astonished how I can still remember such details about him. Last time when I visited my old house and my neighborhood, I looked for him and his tea shop. But those are no more in their place. Everything has changed and is changing so fast that it is becoming hard to keep pace with.

Just like any other neighborhood, we too had a tea shop and it was quite close to our house. Almost throughout the day, wherever I went whether its the grocery shop or going to my school, I had to pass by his shop. He was our Anil da for all of us. He was quite elder than my father; but it seemed to me he was just the same for all age groups. He wouldn't grow old any day; with kurta and lungi and specs with black frame he was quite a reserved person. Always busy with some kind of activity throughout the day. Cleaning stuffs, preparing the tea, talking with customers, negotiating with the suppliers...I  never found him sitting idly. He was a busy bee who only knew how to make the finest tea out of water, milk and tea leaves. Yes the tea was very famous in our locality; and it was not the normal tea but his lemon tea was the most popular. I can still remember he used to put some self invented masala in the lemon tea just before getting it handed to the customer. God knows whether that masala was behind that taste! His shop was a den for all the young folks who spent their spare time giving adda. Hence as the day starts and up to late at night his shop and the road before his shop was always full of people. Not only were the localities but there are unknown faces too in that crowd. Everybody folks together for the syrup that Anil da prepared with such intense care just like a chemist. There used to be a saying that goes like this " A day is wasted without spending some good time at Anil Da's tea shop"! How astonishing! What was so delightful, so attractive that our elders couldn't resist. His shop was divided into two parts. One part was the counter where there were all the stuffs with the conventional coal oven and the other part was a narrow passage with thin benches lined up one after the other. It was no way decorative, comfortable to allure the customer. But you know it didn't matter much. Even my father used to pay a visit to the shop at least once at some part of the day, unless he was sick. And if his friends couldn't find him at Anil da's tea shop, they guessed that he must be sick and visited our house to get news about his health. All these incidents made Anil Da and his shop lucrative for me. And I too imagined that one day when I will be old enough I will be part of this pandemonium too. For me sitting in the tea shop became synonymous to being matured; getting an identity in the society. Oh what a crazy thoughts was that! But how much crazy it may sound; I have cherished that desire for a very long time.

Now with changing time everything gotta change and it's inevitable. I cannot stop it neither I should say this change is unacceptable. The old need to be replaced making place for the new! That's the norm. But I can't find solace in this wind of change. The new cafe shop with decorative looks and comfort cannot be alternative for what we had in Anil da's tea shop. These shops are devoid of life; everything here is a mere show off with no scope of opening one's heart and be exuberant with inner joy. The glass door, the air conditioned breeze take me far away from a real city; a city that breaths, sweats, pants. My long cherished desire cannot be fulfilled sitting in these cafe shops. My dream of finding an identity is lost in this new world.

Birth Of Poem

Sometimes it comes all at once
Or it comes gradually, steadily,
While walking along alleys
Emerging from shadow to light.

Sometimes it comes in dream
As elusive words, tangled thoughts;
Sometimes it comes when I think and think-
Over a piece of paper for one single word.
The word that will start a journey
To shape a poem out of ashes!

Poem take birth day and night,
It take its place in me now and then;
Even when it is not welcomed it comes
And torment my soul to get it expressed!