Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Counting 24

1...2...3...4....6...7 and I got a bang on my head..I looked up. "Ei!! 4 er por 6 ? " (hey!! how come 6 after 4 ? ) said mom. I was surprised at the sudden strike on my head and so it took me some time to understand what had happened.. Gosh! I had missed 5 !. I could see the same 5 in my mother's widened red eyes. I nodded " na 4...5...6...7..8 "...I went on. This was when I was 4, struggling to learn how to count.

Today am 24...twenty years on and I still miss my count. I argued early in the morning with mom that I had reached 25. And again the bang! " Ei!! 23 er por 25 ? "( hey!! how come 25 after 23 ? )...true! I was 23 last year. Perhaps in my hurry to reach a some jubilee, I missed it out yet again..

But I enjoyed the bang this time. :)

Hey 25!! one more year to go....

Saturday, July 2, 2011


Happiness isn't only smile..its something that should come from inside, reflect in your eyes. For days I am trying to find my sparkle. But its now that I smile,with my eyes. People say they are pretty and yes they are,when I smile.

The day started sad as I got the news that my brother isn't coming for my birthday and so is my best friend. And so yet another lonely birthday. But The perfect poet award brings my smile back and am really happy. And happy I am.



Friday, June 24, 2011


If Gods were in a mood to play Holi, I would have asked them to colour all of us in bright colours. Instead of being born Black or White ; more accurately fair or wheatish ( derivatives of White ) and dusky or dark (derivatives of black) we could be pink, red, blue, green, yellow, violet and many more shades and even many more combination of shades. God could have used the HP Laserjet colour printers to print his subjects in different bright colours and link the visible skin colour to the inner colour of a person. As such painting a courageous girl in red and a sober and shy girl with blue.


A mere imagination of the project is hilarious. People in all different bright shades roaming here and there, like a packet of Cadbury Gems being scattered on the floor. Something like every different coloured candy of Poppins. What if all of us turned into colourful pandas like those featured in the Cadbury Gems ad ?

This dream project (If ever implemented by gods. If ever god could read my ideas) could have changed the scenario altogether. The view of this mundane world could have been brighter. If this was the situation, then the world would not be divided into Blacks and Whites. The Whites being more powerful would not have exploited the Blacks. The age old racial discrimination could have been avoided. The history would have a different shade.

Another discrimination mostly done by the Indian society of calling fair as beautiful and the darker as the lesser one could have no meaning. They could only know the inner colour of a person for this would be the factor for one’s skin colour. This wide range of colours would have discouraged people from thinking it this way. Though societies would bring out different ways to do so.

If a hilarious dream like this could bring positive changes to this world. Then why not?? I would like see the world as a collage of bright colours.

This post is an entry to the “Take Flight With Colour” contest conducted by Indiblogger

Saturday, June 18, 2011

I couldn't move...

It was a rainy day. And as I walked from the muddy lane to the rain-wet pitched street,you came along.I had waited for you for six long days. 

You asked me a ride and  I agreed invariably. And through the lane,through streets and then on the highway,among the shower we rode along. A long way we had and it was only spring.Dreaming of the seasons,the months,the years we rode along.

I was scared. Scared of the speed,the speed breakers and the sudden brakes. But you made me hold you tight. Assured that we would never fall. " we will be going smooth dear"you said.. I knew you drive well.

But when with some random children coming our way,and you pressed the brakes really hard, we fell down,without helmets.You were still holding my hand.With bleeding heads,knees,we lay on the crowded street. I couldn't move.I saw you getting up,in pain.but I couldn't move. You pulled me, asked me to stand up. I could hear you, but couldn't move. You were in tears,pulled me again.I lay still,couldn't move. 
You pressed my hand once , left it, let it walked away....
I screamed in vain, no voice came walked away..I couldn't move .

Tuesday, May 24, 2011


Her wrinkled skin,
Eyes sparkling more than her cross.
And her lips, more red with age
Hair covered with her Saree, bordered blue;
She smiles, she ever smiles.

Oh she's beautiful!
When she lifts a child, hungry
For food, for love.

Oh she's beautiful!
When she touches him,
The leprosy ridden one.

Oh she's beautiful!
When through slums, she walks
her back bent.

Oh Mother!, she is
And her immortal
Beauty Divine.


This post is my entry to the "Yahoo Dove Real Beauty Contest" -"what real beauty means to you" by Indiblogger. ..learn more about real beauty from "Dove Real beauty".

Dear readers, if you like my post then please promote it on "Indiblogger" and like it on Facebook.

Also shared with "Thursday Poets Rally week 47

I humbly accept The Perfect Poet Award Week #47 and I would like to nominate Kagomesakura

Hearty Thanks to all who nominated me :)


Wednesday, May 4, 2011


When all lights disappear,
And still to see, you hope.
The before-rain winds
Give you thorns;
The humidity rising,
And the water cycle struggling to complete.

Oh! Its rain rain rain!
Oh! Its flood flood flood!!

And over there,
Me see the dark clouds parting.

Oh! It’s a ray ray ray!
Oh! Its light light light!!

Onto my stage has landed
The deus-ex-machina .

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Morning Glory...

And with wonder I looked at the plant; the crippled climber which had climbed the fence next to the rows of earthen flower tubs. Tubs with flowering plants of different Indian and foreign species. Some bore red, some blue, some sunset yellow flowers and some, the mixture of all beautiful shades. There were roses, chrysanthemums, dahlias and some difficultly pronounced seasonal flowers. But the dark red rose plant was my favorite.

I had brought it when it was just a sapling and for which the nursery man had charged me a lot. He had promised that it would bear roses…dark red ones…and with dark red dreams I had prepared the soil bed. Mixing pungent sun dried cow dung with soil and other fertilizers I made it a home. Forgetting my need for water I watered it thrice a day, protected it from storm and hail....from insects...from enemies….

Beside it grew the valueless climber. Which I never bothered to give a home…."what would it bear???? Some small dull blue flowers? which doesn’t  even have a proper smell". I never had much water and compost for it and it was the leftovers which was given..even I never bothered to look if it had died..

My dark red rose plant grew large and strong…but never bore a rose…. And with waiting eyes when I look up, I find the crippling glory…all the way to the top of the fence..with sparkling blue flowers, had climbed my MORNING GLORY...

Friday, December 31, 2010

another end...

 Another year ends and it ends quite differently. The Shantiniketan trip marked the ending ceremony...and perhaps the Hyderabad one would brighten the opening festival..I ended with traveling and am starting the new one with it too..hope to travel more this year that again when I m on my chair on this day of the next year writing my year end post,with no other thought i can tag 2011 as a "traveling" year.....
 no looking back to the past...just wanna look forward..forward..forward.....

                                    HAPPY NEW YEAR  to one and all

In quest for peace--a visit to Shantiniketan

"Bolpur-Shantiniketan station a aapnaake swagato janai (welcome to Bolpur Shantiniketan station)" was one of the first sounds which entered my muffler-ed ears while struggling to set foot on the platform amidst the buzz of the crowd. Everybody was trying to get down first. The  train journey  was hectic but it was the kooo-jhik-jhik of the train had kept me occupied for all the 1 and 1/2hour from Bardhaman station. The trains here are still run by diesel engine. The two parallel railway lines lay side by side without being tangled and overshadowed by the electric poles and wires..its a different sight..different from the present day railway lines,in our cities,even towns and metros..

As one enters the town,one can see Tagore almost everywhere...'kaviguru' is a name used almost everywhere.Kaviguru restaurant, Kaviguru cyclemart, Kaviguru vastralay...the list is my surprise i was even eating Kaviguru fruit cake for breakfast..


The main reason behind my visit was the 'poush mela',which attracts thousands of tourists from across the world. I also got a chance to visit the place..and thanks to my room mate Suparna who invited me for this escape from the daily drudgery.

 Shantiniketan campus was a different place altogether.even with the thousand of tourists,it retained its shanti(which i had not expected,after my experience at the railway station).surrounded by trees,trees,trees,more trees,more & more trees,of every species..but mind you it didn't look like a was different..with light and shades playing together,the game of muddy road,taking curve here and there,Baul song at the background,feel of Tagore everywhere..perhaps this very different atmosphere itself made Tagore think differently...

Walking by the red soiled roads among the trees,i found a new meaning to the word 'shanti'..the two day trip brought my sun burnt brain to peace. a place worth a visit..specially at this time of year..

Friday, December 17, 2010


5:30 in the evening. she had to shut the novel halfway coz she had to hurry her way to the computer class. she started searching for the deep red bookmark to mark the pages she read last. it was her favorite one but had not used it for long. she had forgotten where she had kept it. perhaps it was lost. she herself did not know why she was searching it in this peak hour when she had to move. she kept on searching ....drawers,boxes,suitcases,even old jars and baskets..suddenly she chanced to gaze upon a shoe box,wrapped in purple shiny colour paper and tied with a red ribbon.

she knew what all was there inside...birthday cards,new year cards,handmade invitations for birthdays & parties,friendship bands, Mohr's salt wrapped in butter paper(which they had prepared in the chemistry lab,& which was labled by their teacher as the best one and the perfect one),balloons,a steel pendant & some hand made ornaments and a diary with a lots & lots & lots of colourful stickers...mickey,Minnie,pooh,Flintstones,Dexter,trigger and many more.

she could see the bright red bookmark,inside the diary,they had crafted it.she(pat),Papit & Riput (nicknames of the trio).she opened the page with the bookmark and everything woke up in her mind.

their high school days,their friendship,their loud laughter at nights,the tiffin time sharing,the pajama party before their scattering . she could see PARI digged in different fonts on the school bench,behind copies,inside text books & files and on the steel pendant which Papit had brought for the three of them....PARI(hindi for angel).. stood for PA-Pat, Papit..RI-Riput(these names were also crafted by themselves keeping similarity with their original ones).. their real names had  less significance..not more than mere names on the attendance register and on certificates....they were PARI.

now names have significance.the angel is no more white,no more serene,no more heavenly.perhaps PARI lost her way. memories were here,there,everywhere..

she found her bookmark back,the deep red bookmark.the bookmark which perhaps marked the existence of the memories of PARI.

PARI still some hearts....