Skip to main content

Posts

Why does it not rain...like rain?

Why does it rain in little drizzles
And not just pour it's heart out
All at once and for all time, into all places
Into the roads the canals and the drains

Why does it not rain, like rain?

Why not just roar
And with a thunderous wail
Cause a cloudburst
Break a Dam
Deluge a city
Annihilate

Why does it not rain like rain?

If only I could think of you,
Just once
Instead of having to think
In drizzles and drops and sobs
And in between shadows
And all this chaos

If I could think of you
For the last time,
Like a cloudburst
And then
In one brilliant tragic flood
Be washed away and be gone
Forever, With all this slush
And all this mud.
Recent posts

Some lives

The dawn was breaking across the horizon.
I could see crimson orange streaks of sunlight getting scattered in the morning mist.
This was the time she generally got up and walked to the kitchen. The time when, with ruffled hairs and a wrinkled nighty, all dark and broody, she would look out of the balcony and breathe in another day. A day that would be broody or cranky or happy, depending on what mood she woke up with.

The Sunlight that streaks across the clouds of an oncoming monsoon would also be shining down her windowpane just now. Just now, she would also be looking up at the sky. Just now, she would also be alive in some other part of the world, thinking about everything but me.

I watched the sun hang in there for a moment, as if asking of me to move ahead and stop thinking about her.
And then I stopped thinking about her, and the day moved on.

The Space is a cold place

Were you two really close once?
I don't know. Never really thought about it that way. I always liked to believe that I was close to her. But then I will never really know, right?


And now?
And now I know that I am not. I am no longer a moon, and she no longer is my Sun. From where I live now, she is more like a distant star, and I, a satellite, unhinged.

Winds of Change

As you move from being an institution in my mind to just another person, all those definitions and all those expectations, too, transition through time.

You for me
Are like an old world Talkie
Where once, small town movies
Played to uncouth rustic folks like me.

I romanticize my pain
And I glorify my losses.
All movies that played here
In my mind,
Were blockbuster movies
And all actors
Were characters
From my little life with you.

Once we down the shutters
For long enough in time
Time would cure me
Of my countryside memories
Of whistling of the trains
And the running in the rain.

I will remember you
Like I want to
You will forget me
Like you are wont to.

If a drop could Color an Ocean

If a drop could color an Ocean
You my dear,
Would be that drop
And my life an endless 
                              Expanse of you.

The Long Sleep

In the little lies I tell myself
Lying awake late into nights
Between sheets as cold
As your last remembered gaze
I find myself thinking about you
In endless hellish loops.

Wind in your hair
The Sun in your eyes
The gloss, the glitter
And the sudden burst
Of laughter...

And then everything
Turns bitter

If only there was one Death
Like the last blip  On a matrix like screen
And then
N.o.t.h.i.n.g...

@The Agartala Airport

These Tribal colors are alluring. Bright reds interlaced with dark of the greens. The beads, the shimmer of coarse native silk and the anticipation of making a sale, in Pinky Das' eyes!
Madam will be very happy, she said. The stole will go well with the beads.
I keep buying stuff
Imagining
That someday you will walk in
And ask for them.
I keep living
Forgetting
That the leather case from last year
And the mustard silk batik from last month
Remain cocooned in their shells
Awaiting redemption
From their misery
Of being with me.