Driving Rats Away...

“Hey! Take guard at the North door!”

“Oh! You! Take care of the South one!”

“Relax! I will take charge of the West end!”

“Don’t forget to leave the Eastern zone unguarded, that is the way out, it has to be driven out through that!”



With a full proof plan and armours ready at hand, they jumped at the battle field to drive the intruder out.

The patience and labour of discussing the entire blue print with the soldiers involved in the mission finally proved to be fruitful.

They drove the little creature out from every nook and corner; unsheltered, it ran…with its life popping out at the mouth, unprotected, it ran…it ran for its life.

Received a clean sweep at the North; the South, with a bang of a heavy metal rod narrowly missed its head—West kicked it full blooded and made it fly to the centre again.

Only East remained unmoved, with the door wide open.

All the others, patriots and mercenaries, made their hardest to make its life a hell. To make it run…a merciless run.

It ran, desperate-agonizing run. Its eyes bleed, its heart died for breath, but its feet made it bound to run—to run for life.

It frowned and shrieked, it danced and bounced, it tried all possible efforts to escape to a place safer; impatiently tried to search a hide out; but a whole army of heartless killers were at its tail—all were thirsty for blood.

It ransacked every possible escape, all in vain. There was only one way to move—only one option left unguarded. The choice was clear—either run towards the outer world and save the life, or else, stay inside to succumb to death.

To make it clearer, all were thinking of the first one, as nobody was in the mood to beat it to bits and take more pain of cleaning the mess afterwards.

They drove it crazy—almost died, in a pursuit mad and passionate, it made a last try—ran towards the intentionally unprotected escape—a desperate dive, and it vanished inside the weeds of the garden.

Oh! Then! The whirling joy of success! The ecstasy! And the sigh of relief!


Only if, were it not been an inverse action and the human beings were not been treated as rats, it should have been relieved everyone!

What Went Wrong

(A Lamentation for March 17: “The 1st Birthday”)

The sun marked its spot
On the Eastern Zone
Bright Vermillion
As usual,
The Rose shined and swelled
In the soft breeze,
The humming of bees
Sang to the ear,
The cuckoo cried
Lonely searching cry
Through out the day
Behind the curtain of leaves
As usual—

All went casual,
But we,
Looked at the eyes
Of one another
Over a mist of unconscious
Unmet desire,
And in the pathos of night
Separated lonely to think
What went wrong
Actually,
That our day,
The one marked with
Lustrous red
Wasted and
Turned to ashes!
The ash of
Dying desires
The debris of
Shattered dreams!

We pined for
Each other
All the day
To steal away with
A few moments together,
And now
Waiting by the heaps of
Sharp broken pieces
We succumb silent
And think
What went wrong
Actually,
This pious morn!
That we conclude in utter destruction!

The Split Second

The Beauty shouldn’t be
So short-lived,
That came
After the span of
A lifetime.

Long awaited,
With fingers crossed,
The moment
Finally arrived,
Gifted by the
Grace of FATHER
Omnipotent,
A Muse,
Amused.

Soft petals of
The blooming Rose
Opened softly
With the touch of
Heavenly light,
The Rose
Full awake,
The Ray
Satisfied to the core.

The moments came,
Long awaited,
The vision
Unforgettable,
A gleaming flash
Of light
Turned it to an
Impression,
To be lasted
For the life long.

A split second,
A heavenly unfolding
Marked eternally
On a Mind
Soft Touchy
And Beautiful.

The eyes
Shuttered,
The Touch
Impassionate,
Waited along
The path of life,
For a split second
Once more.

Friend

There remains nothing in the Universe
That goes unshared,
There remains nothing in the World
That is not told,
There remains nothing in the depth of Mind
That is yet to discover,
A journey promised
With hand in hand
Steps jointly made
Towards Destiny unknown.

One single heart
Dwelling in bodies two
That laughs equal
That cries together.

We feel alike
Lonesome pathetic souls,
We found the other
And grabbed each one
To stay a life
Devine and Eternal.

Had we but faith on God
Or not,
He played His role
And bind us in a bond,
The unseen bridge
Between souls
Finally glued up.

I found You
A Gem
Rarest of the rare,
The brightest Star
On the canvas of Time
To make a life-divine.
I thank God for a gift
Sweet and Loyal
As You forever.

May He have bliss on us
Bliss for the life along
That may we join hands
Walk together
And be walking forever.

Harsh be the thought of separation,
A death synonymous,
Never ever think of going away
And live life apart.
It is inseparable now
You and me
That both we know,
Both we believe.

We believe it true
Lonely were we
Before the Heavenly Chance of Time
Made us meet
Made us one.

We always speak our minds
Never thinking of
The other could be hurt
Or take it to the
Wrong notion of Criticism,
We feel that is what the Friends for—
Eradicating Ugliness
Nurturing Good.

A truthful mind
A sympathy and share
A shoulder to rest
A Midas touch—
Creed for life
For one such
Is paid at last,

There I found One
And that is You,
That is a Friend
And that is You.



To all the FRIENDS of the World.

Sedan

In broad daylight with a prolonged harsh electric horn the black Sedan rushed from behind, and passed in a hurry, nearly kissing my right arm.

Almost in a reflex action I jumped left in order to save myself from death that almost touched me with his cold shivering finger.

I was gasping for life—I looked terrible—surely I looked terrible. Nobody ever looked handsome with terror stricken eyes.

Bloodless went my face and I gazed at the rushing Sedan. Nothing came into vision through the black glasses.

Suddenly one arm came out of the window and waved towards me. An arm, a ladies arm, milk white and feather like skin. The gold bangle with enamelled red stones of Her heavenly hand sparkled in the sunshine.

I know that arm more vividly than myself. It belongs to one and only one person in the entire galaxy. I know that hand—it is She—no doubt.

The hand waved in a gesture to bid farewell. I raised myself from dust and in a mad pursuit I chased the black Sedan. I chased that hand. I chased Her.

The Sedan emitted thick black smoke onto my face and covered me up. It made me blind.

I coughed; I tried desperately to wipe the blackish smoke out of my eyes.

I saw that lovely hand threw a rose towards me. That beautiful hand waved for the last time while the Sedan speeded up and soon went out of sight.

The smoke was gone. The Sedan was vanished. Only one rose found lying on the lonesome road.

Slowly I walked towards the rose. I stooped to pick it up. The Rose was a dried one—with pale withered petals—with no sign of life.

A lifeless gift for a lifeless insane.

One last sigh went unnoticed to fill the desert air.

A dead Rose only lived.

Awaiting

United we make
A Heaven of togetherness.
Though for moments
One or two,
Some day
God should have
Smile laid on us
And permit a life
Never to pine
Never to part.

Let us wait
With hands
Drawn at breasts
Eyes ever eager
For that joy
When no tears shed
No powers make us part.

The Scavenger

The sun has long been set. The melting red western horizon now emits only darkness—thick liquid drops of darkness. The darkness intensifies the smog hung around the atmosphere like a mysterious curtain.

Through this mournful darkness I saw the man stumbling and staggering his exhausted steps along the parallel iron tracks of the ever-busy Railway Junction. The man, hunch back, is stooping forward, may be with the burden of his age—not so much chronological as much as mental.

He is on shirt and trousers—both so dirty that it is impossible to imagine the colour and texture they once had. His feet well protected with a pair of heavy-duty boots—better befitting in the mountaineers’ camp than on even muddy lands! He also has an apron! A well-torn dusty towel to be precise, with an unforgettable stinking smell that could only give birth to nothing else but nausea.

A trailing dirty sack follows him—his sole weapon to gather the garbage collected from shallow drains beside railway tracks. He has to get down to the knee-deep drains, sweep out all the thrown-away from there, pile up the heap on the damp blackish rag and carry them on his shoulder all along through the rail way tracks to the remote Recycling Centre at the other end of the Rail Yard.

The man, mumbling to himself, pulls the heavy load on his humped back and starts staggering to his routine-route. This time he seems more leaned forward.

He moves forward, stumbling and staggering through the dense mist, with a mammoth load on back. He walks between the shinning railway tracks parallel, which tack him forward through this engulfed darkness and lead him into infinity.

The man walks…he vanishes into the foggy mist…he staggers his weary steps towards infinity…he merges there…

The Sapling

Our family rules here over hundreds of years. The saga which started with my great fore fathers has become a tradition through my grandfather and father, and now, I am to carry the prestigious name and reputation of my great forefathers to a level next.

All my family members never forget to make me aware of the great heritage our family bears, and reminds me on a constant basis of the duties burdened on my shoulder to look after it.

To be honest, I often, lift my head high to glance at my father high above near the sky. He seems so rigid…so strong…so powerful a creature to my eyes. I always consider him to be a real hero.

He is indeed a hero. His father and grandfather too were heroes. Ours is a family of high esteem that has given birth to number of heroes.

I could clearly view a sceptic smile on your lips friends when I mention my family a breeding ground of heroes; but believe me, I am not kidding.
They were all great souls that could better be described in a four-lettered word—H-E-R-O!

Just have a look at my father. He is more than 100 feet tall, his dome shaped body is as smooth as the silk, and in his dark green outfit he looks ravishing—just ravishing. He is taller than any body else in this Amazonian Rain Forest—so dense with piled plants in storeys that the bottom hardly sees the sun-rays.

From the dark humid region of the mossy ground I watch my father looking sleeplessly to the outer World miles and miles away peeping higher than all others of the place. I could easily feel the satisfaction in his heart about his thankless service to the innumerous epiphytes, to the Mankind and to the entire Universe. Thankless, but how satisfying!

I eagerly look at him, and sigh over my own fate. I feel nervous and anxious too whenever I think of the glorious past of my family and tremendous achievements of my ancestors. It makes me over conscious. I become afraid—what if I fail to maintain the reputation of the family! What if I fail to be a true son of my father! What if I fail to be a Hero like all other members! What if I am considered a black sheep!

But if I fail miserably how much am I to blame? It is more likely that I would taste the bitterness of failure with the changing climatic condition, the queer habitats of increasing mankind and the ruthless urbanization that deliver a clear threat to even my sole existence.

I do not know the reason, but somehow, at my heart I clearly feel the call of Destiny. I am sure, I shall ever be able to be that much taller like my father—his grandeur will remain ever illusive to me—I might die infant —not having any trace left on this beautiful world.

I might die—die a premature death—most pathetic for my family—but whom to blame for this? I ask you, my friends, whom should I shoulder the charge of murder? Is it punishable to murder the dream of an infant Sapling; or is it only heroism in your part? Do you have any answer?



Gratitude:

My sincerest thanks to Sanghamitra Das, M. Sc. (Botany), B. Ed. —a friend and colleague—who has most smilingly undertaken all the laborious pains of providing me all the necessary information about the Amazonian Rain Forest, but never ever shown a jot of disgust!

A Candle In The Wind

The road is narrow. Dark and full of sharp stones lay about here and there. The darkness—pitch-black immense darkness—has embalmed the night sky above head. No stars to be seen, no light ever reflected.

The weather has become hostile tonight. Furious wind and fearful roaring of thunderstorm multiply the fretful atmosphere. A shivering wave comes from the panicked heart and runs quivering through the entire body.

It is raining. Tiniest drops of sharp spears lash from the dark clouds, pinching pain onto the body surface… and the coldness. The icy touch of rain—the icy touch of death…and darkness.

Alone I’m groping my way through the shallow dark lane. I’m in mad pursuit. Pursuit of something I myself am not sure about. Running in darkness—a blind unmindful run. My feet, naked, are bleeding. Deep cut marks and long scratches engraved all over. I’m running desperately. I’m running for light—a drop of light. But the omnivorous darkness seemed eaten up all rays and all mere sources of light; and has left us only darkness—pitch black, opaque darkness.

With life popped out at mouth I’m running. Trying most passionately to come out of this surrounded darkness. The stones make me stumble, I roll over the dusty road, I arise, and I restart running.



Lo!! God!! There is a Light!

A faint ray, but definitely a Light! A Candle! A lighted Candle!

A Candle in the Wind!

It is waiting there at the other end of this dreadful dark lane. Waiting enigmatically. The Light—dancing and fluttering in the violent storm. The light flashing, as if stretching its inviting loving arms towards me—a faint ray of Light, but an invitation unavoidable—an urge, unimaginable!

Hurriedly I’ve to rush there. I’m to reach there. Reach there, before the Candle melts or the Flame blown out.

Curse you fierce Wind! Curse you sharp Rain! Be a little merciful! Blow slowly, Oh Wind—be thin, Oh Rain—don’t put it out…till I reach.

I’m to reach there. The Candle is there…for me…the only Light to guide me out of this blinding black…this darkness…and this death…


Wait, you Light, you Candle, wait for me—here I come…see…here I come…

One Night @ The Call Center: The Second One

It is almost the same scenario like the earlier one! The same Golden-Brown Wheelers’ Stall at Kharagpur Railway Junction—the same semi-nude porno models offering enticing gaze—the same old book seller—the same taking out of hundred bucks flat for one paper back printout—it is almost the same!

But this time I spent the hard-earned money at my own will! With out the slightest influence or provocation from Ani—the time-trusted ‘classical’ friend mentioned in my earlier posts like: Love Among The Ruins and Five Point Someone—I picked up One Night @ The Call Center. Yes! The Second One from Mr. Chetan Bhagat—whose earlier one I’ve gratefully treasured among my collection of Classics.

Voraciously I started ransacking the pages. Many a references of his Five Point Someone caught my eyes. Even the long Prologue is entirely based on references of his first novel.

As the name suggests, the story is set in the backdrop of a Call Center—the load of inbound calls and the uncertainties of life. The lives of six call center agents.

The Novel is a jam pack of incidents—flash back memories—encounters with unexpected natural and supernatural activities—so many incidents are interwoven that sometimes, towards the end of the story, one has to be a little sceptic, if that many things could happen in just one single night!

I must say, still, Five Point Someone is Chetan’s masterpiece. Though certainly enjoyable, One Night @ The Call Center is unable to reach that peak that Chetan has created for himself with his first one. May be we expect a bit more from you Chetan.


One point to finish with, Ani is yet to go through this second one of Chetan; and perhaps now I can pick up the cell for one long distance call to pursue Mr. Anirban Biswas for reading a Novel! A Novel called One Night @ The Call Center—yes! The Second One!

City Lights

It was a chilly Winter night in my small native town. I was making long lonesome strides under the moonlit sky through the road decorated with a paddy carpet of dry leaves of trees. The road was engulfed with fog, accumulating and becoming thick every hour, devoid of any other movement…devoid of any other sound but the breaking of stray leaves under my feet.

In that defused light of accumulating fog, which may resemble to the backdrop of psychic-mystery stories, I encountered something…some common-place visions—some strings of light—some patches of colour—some glimpses—glimpses of the City Lights!

# Light Source: One

A few boys, half naked, hardly with any protection for the North Wind, have joined together at the roadside. All are busy in pilling up withered leaves that come to them free of cost. Some one lit a match-stick and then—a whirlwind of joy! Joy of warmth—joy of light—joy of Campfire! Wait, is this a campfire, or rather, an inevitable necessity of life? Of survival? Of existence?

# Light Source: Two

In the junction where four roads meet beneath the move less feet of the giant sized replica of a Great National Hero, some shadowy figures are queuing up. Some are loaded with flags and banners—indicating their die hard faith on a leftist political ideologies; their banners announcing a few basic demands they believe to be their birth-rights; or at least, they are made to believe. All are waiting silently for the procession to commence forth. May their awaiting for the better prospects be not an endless one.

# Light Source: Three

Near the small Railway station, under the shade of a pan shop the youths are seriously engaged in the groovy matters of India-Australia test match. Each playing a Gavaskar in them, have some definite opinion about the team selection that none can reject nor can even try to.

# Light Source: Four

The Railway Siding Shed is busy as ever. Pay loaders groaning—clinching sound of iron teeth on the surface of heaped iron ores—the tired flow of exhausted perspiration from some lean bare bodies—some white smoke from shared cigarette tips.

# Light Source: Five

At one corner of a secluded blind lane—impassable for the gentlemen of the society—some ladies are waiting. Waiting eagerly for someone. Someone, ungentlemanly, with some basic urges to fulfill. Their eyes, expectant at the slightest human approach towards them; their heart, liquefied with the thoughts for the epiphytes who are impatiently waiting some place else with flat bellies and hungry eyes.

# Light Source: Six

By the side of a long wall through a lonely street, at a dark spot, a man is peeing off. The man, completely drunk, is in desperate effort to keep his balance up—resulting only a windy flow of water. He is mumbling continuously—belching out his agitations of life. No body is there to pay attention to his mutterings—except a street dog with wagging tail and friendly gaze…



…I made my long strides back; silently passed all of them, like a stranger, like a dumb. I was walking on a lonesome road—without a faint ray of light—surrounded by immense darkness. As if moving towards a black hole, I continued my long steps forward—I entered the black hole—I squeeze in the black hole—and the rest is Darkness…

Godliness

A feeble quick hand
Stoops to the feet
Seeks a blessing inhuman
While
Drum beats thunder to the Core.

A forehead white,
Red with the rays of Heaven
Touches the ground
And meets to the feet.

A Deity ethereal
Stoops to the ground
Her feet soily tarnished
Ashamed be the
Impurities universal,
Glad be the Earth at Her touch.

A feeble quick hand
Stoops and touches the feet,
The feet turned to Gold.

A voice trembling
A passionate urge
Seeks a blessing
A blessing
To last a life-long.

Two mechanical hands
With palm raised
Touches the forehead soft
A half spoken murmur
Fades through Air
And becomes
The prophecy of the Human-God!

The Deity stoops to the feet
And transforms
A Human sufferer
To a God definite.

While Immortality laughs,
The Light falls on Earth and
Drum beats thunder in the Air.

“Rule your World, Deity ethereal,
Victory be Yours for ever for”—
Glad be the Earth and mine,
A prophecy Eternal.

A Wish

Why did you make me cry
Always?
Heart! My own Heart!
Why did you make me cry?
Though you know
Quite well
At your heart
I can revolt against
The Universe entire
For your sake,
Sole for you
I can sacrifice
With out a pain
All that I have,
All I earned
Fame, Fortune and Folks;
But not at all
Ready
To lose you
For anything’s lieu.

Digest with glee, can I
The pains you ornament with
But offer you
Pains in return
Bound to be
Beyond my reach.

Be sure
My Heart,
You and I
For time immemorial
Are partners impartible,
Fate forbidden
Ununified Souls
That dwell in two bodies
Only to creed
A united whole.

Though you make me cry
Always,
Heart! Oh! Heart!
The tear I splash
Look, glance for once,
Adores you,
At your feet
Like Flowers
Made of Pearls.

Oh, Heart! My Heart,
Why can’t we
Remain together
For long, for good
Ages to come
With joy ravished
Ever tied in a knot
That neither
God can open
Nor can think of even!

The Resolution

The Last passed in a breeze
A mixed bag of Tears and Laughter,
Some unforgettable moments of
Joy and Happiness—
Some ever remembered
Pains for the Heart,
Some hard to forget—
Few mellowed in the Memory!

Smile on the Lips
Raindrops brimmed in the eye—
At one corner
The Heart feels heavy,
Metal-heavy with a shock;
The other,
Joyous to the core
A joy for a Virtue!
A love for a Love!

A mixed bag true,
Passed in breeze
Sadness mixed in Joy!

The Last passed in a breeze,
What hast thou in Store
Oh! The Year?
Raw and Fresh,
What hast thou settled for me
New Time?
Pains and Laughter
Happy and Sad—
A Perpendicular Life?
Swing of Rosy Wings?
Cry for Relief?

What hast thou to offer
Unknown Fate?
What hast thou
In thy Will?

Whatever thou choose
And greet me with
Sad, Bad and Worse,
Let me make a Mind,
A Mind to face
Hard, and Stronger enough
To stand thy Blows
Calm and Quiet
Without a Frown
No Mercy begged,
With a Resolution
Esteem—
I’ll Fight till last
Till I last!