REceivings

How would you define an onset of a day throwing surprises at you one after the other? A bouquet of happiness? Ummm, let’s decide that later! To begin with, it was another regular busy morning, hurrying for my university classes. Since awakening, if there’s any track on my mind, it was Shreya Ghoshal’s reprise version of Kabhi Jo Badal Barse, a soothing Bollywood number. Contrary to the fact that I’m not its regular listener, this morning I discovered myself humming it, bits and pieces, once and again. On getting out, ear-pluggs grooved appropriately, sadly found the track missing on my playlist. No time to sob! Waving my hand, the bus halted to offer me a window seat. Wallah! Co-incidences do happen. And an amazing one this time. The bus got a music system, and it played the same same similar track! Quickly removing the plugs off my ears, I curved my happiness. Suddenly the driver applying his brakes,  compelled the passenger sitting to my right dash hard against me. Oh! Too hard that dashing was. The tiny soft hands on my face with the soft curls bushying on my neck, tickling my skin with profound happiness. Aaw, it’s a baby girl sitting on her mother’s lap. Compositing ourselves as passengers, the diamond eyes kept staring at me, while she cunningly made attempts to get a hold of my cellphone. Don’t wanna remember who’s ride was the shorter one, but those moments together, attributed to my happiness. What better can one expect from life on a regular day? Pricelessness actually lies in simplicity and is sprouted with unexpectations. Well, that’s my kind of pursuit of happiness.

Adverses

The frame is inside a moving train's ladies compartment, yes a heavily crowded one. Luckily I happened to get a seat. Suddenly, past two stations, there was a certain commotion beside. A woman with her typical Bengali accent was someway consoling a girl standing beside her using broken Hindi pieces. One oily long braid was all I could see, as she stood positioning her back at me. Trying my best to acknowledge the event, I saw an eye cornered with oozing tears. Lending my ears for details, I got to acknowledge the matter.
A tribal girl has got on the train along with her father. A male passenger (not a hawker) has entered the ladies compartment! Oh yes, it's the postmodern age, an age of protest and revolution; being impacted upon this tribal aged man. Insulted and being shouted aloud, the father escorted himself someway at a corner beside the door. The ultimate impact being a daughter, separated from his old father. The father being threatened to be taken away by the railway cop, her black kohl bathed in tears.
All I did was to silently thank the Bengali woman, who tried to ease out the girl and consolidate her that nothing will be wrong. Sarcastically curving my lips, I settled back writing down this piece in the train itself.

Mapping Sensibilities

I was a perfect teenager then. More into junk foods, and less of fresh air. I was done with my first-ever relationship and first-ever break-up. Drying away tears, toddling over the flirty game seemed amusing. We met then. We spoke, we talked. He went weak. Me too. Actually I pretended. Yes, that weird yet common way of toughening up, greasing the heart of the other. We met once. We kissed. He inquired if I've reached home safely. He started dreaming. And then I left.

Years later. Me, pursuing my higher education. He, working. Someway unexpectedly, we started talking again. Like a few heard notions of his adoring nature, he showered his sugar-coated words. Strangely, a sense of guilt evoked within. More strangely, I felt a li'l weak this time. He asked to meet. I readily agreed. And we met for the second time. As we walked and talked, I realized. Yes indeed a long walk it was. He seemed to be a busy man this time; not just at the table, but on beds too. I don't know how to term his frankness about himself, honesty or desperateness. He tried kissing me many a times. I went reluctant against every attempt made. He never rang up after that. I never tried to figure out his reasons. His revenge or my reluctance? That late subtle weakness was for a heart that once seemed to exist, not a man of rush.

We haven't meet yet again. He's sailing well I believe. And me? Well, what happened between these two meetings, states what I'm and what I always wished to be. :')

Pointers

Just as Suzette Jordan, the Park Street rape survivor was refused entry into the Ginger restaurant at Hazra locality, the molested victim student of Jadavpur University has faced obnoxious interrogations. Sarbani Ganguly and Oishika Chakraborty representing the University's anti-harrassment cell had visited the victim's house and sprayed questions as to what did she drink and what clothes did she wear the time she was attacked. We also have great spectators like Mahendra Das from Kolkata itself who blames it on the "weeds" and "sexual services behind bushes and trees" which have led to such an "aftermath" and expresses his comment with a "lol" at a post added by the Storypick page on Facebook.

So we live in a society where the Malaria attacked patients are blamed for not using the mosquito repellents, while the Anopheles mosquitoes are allowed to roam free, where the sporozoites and merozoites are permitted by law to smirk and beat up the doctors who attempted to eradicate off the germs.

City of joy...your dwellers are ignorant about your colourless colour. Green or red, just don't let your vibrance go dead.

Enigma

I was in his arms, anew.
It was cushy. We felt good.

Heedless of a fracas within
Aback I missed your hands!

All the foxy shes around
Dream of being sheltered;
A part of me as well, howbeit
Lies a pursuit of wilderness.

Uttered no word of fervor,
Sang no lyric of spasm, yet
You played all the tunes
The music of the aeon...

I cognize no term, no sign
This half requited credence
Between the wacky us two
Prevails one hefty mystery!

 Rebuffing all norms of society
Refuting all that my senses say
Make me live, like I believe in you
Take me afar, feral and bay...

Saraswati

 

Introduction

  Action produces reaction. So is my composition of “Saraswati” after reading Mahasweta Devi’s “Draupadi”. The story of ‘Dopdi’ infused a storm in my mind, much alike other readers. What created spark in my mind was Mahasweta Devi’s super applaudable idea to relate the character of a tribal woman with a character from the Hindu Mythology bearing the same name. This kindled a thought in my mind, of offering this relativity a new plot, a literary reaction caused by a rich literary action.

The only image that kept reflecting on my mind was of her. It was about a ‘kaj er meye’ who toils in our locality, who chose struggle to injustice, a tribal woman in twenties who eloped with rage from her husband’s den. To assume that the tribal feature is the only similarity between the protagonist of my story and Mahasweta Devi’s, will certainly be a misapprehension, since the other connection arrives later, a huge awaiting irony indeed.

( I )

  Holding my impulse right after reading Mahasweta Devi’s “Draupadi”, I requested my Maa to ask the ‘kaj er meye’ come and meet me sometime, when she is not soaked in her sweat or mach or detergent odoured saree. Well that can be ironical for her – free hours for a ‘kaj er meye’ ?  However, she did turn up after a few days, with a face stamped with question marks.

I took her to my room and tried to calm her down with a glass of ‘nun-chinir jol’. Reading the impatience in her curious eyes, I triggered our question-answer round.

I : “I want to know about your life and incidents. Will you share those with me?”

She : “Will that earn me any money?”

Digesting my shock, I continued…

I : “Do you hold an ST certificate to exercise over the benefits that the government promise you people?”

She :  “I don’t. But Shonu babu’s father has it.”

Immediately, I :  “Shonu babu? Who’s that?”

And then the coy reply touching her tummy, she said : “My 7 weeks old baby boy!”

Okay, should I’ve said anything further? Aah..may be..something like…’Oow.. wow! Congrats!’ What else reaction can be expected from me, being completely unaware of the fact that she’s nomore living a single life, but has advanced with such conjugal updates. Still holding my purplexities,I heard her saying : “Spare me from your questions. Let Shonu babu arrive. His father looks very improved and hopeful this time. He’s happy to get an heir to his plumbing job soon. You better write a story on Shona babu then.”

And she left my house for the day. She…Saraswati.

( II )

   Saraswati Oraon, that’s her complete name I’ve collected from my neighbours. The Hindu Mythology states, Brahma didn’t know how to bring order in the universe. While thinking over the problem, he heard a voice say knowledge could help him achieve order. So Brahma’s mouth emerged the magnificient figure of Saraswati – the goddess of knowledge and wisdom. But my neighbours could hardly state about this Saraswati’s origin.

   Besides Saraswati, Vishnu married Ganga. One day Ganga was looking wistfully at her husband, and Vishnu was reciprocrating the glances. This was too much for Saraswati who began to accuse Vishnu of partiality. Vishnu left the place to give Saraswati time to calm herself down. But this only served to anger Saraswati more. She advanced threatingly to Ganga when Lakshmi intervened. Lakshmi held Saraswati away from Ganga. Saraswati then cursed Lakshmi. Vishnu, having found out about what happened, cursed both Saraswati and Ganga with transformation into rivers. And similar was the reason why this Saraswati moved out of her husband’s den with rage.

  According to the Upanishads, the Gods wanted someone to transport "fire" or Agni to the sea and entrusted the Saraswati river to perform the task. Although the water of the ancient river dried up, one can still ride on the currents and waves of Saraswati to become pure. Struggling against the brutality of fate and the frailty of her sex, Saraswati learnt to stand untouched and pure in her self-dependent life. Saraswati removes the stains from the clothes and utensils with mastery over the work using the running tap-water. Her sweat soaked saree is pure as the white saree of the goddess.

  Transformed by Vishnu into a river, Saraswati was given to Brahma as her new husband. Shonu babu’s father was a human being, unable to allocate a new husband for his wife. So he came back in a reformed avatar of Shiva, the lord of pro-creation. Blame it on her loneliness or undying latent love for her husband, Saraswati succumbed to the power of the ‘rosary’ signifying the union of god.

  The ‘swan’ demonstrates the discriminatory power between right and wrong. Saraswati is a human being. Bewildered between the rights and wrongs, she chose to follow her heart of innate wisdom. She tunes no ‘veena’ but whispers the ‘taanum’ which rejuvenates the ‘gayaki’ in her and inspires her to accomplish the daily chores of her life.

( III )

  I was lost. Lost in my thoughts, lost in my words, lost in the rights and wrongs of life. I got lost in search of the truths of life. What is life all about? Money? Education? Is money is just about survival, why do people race in building a status? What is education then? Being learned or being wise? The life of this Saraswati is intriguing, just as the intriguing questions in my mind. If this tribal woman is called uneducated, who is responsible for the lack of her education? If she possesses such a gulf from the goddess, who is responsible for the irony of the name? If she was never inspired to hold a pen, why is she to be blamed for holding a baby in her womb? So is the underlying truth, life is easy to throw questions, and as difficult to answer them.

. . .

Dream

This is a poem composed 3-4 years back. I was lucky to have it added in my college magazine 'The Rays'. Although I thought of editing the piece at few places now, I cancelled the idea in the second thought; felt like preserving its innocent rawness. So, I'm sharing it here with a hope of similar interpretation. Thank you.

I had been dreaming in a room

A room haunted by darkness.
I had been wishing for a dream
A dream blessed with lightness.
Days passed and years have gone...
But I'm bar'd in the dark gates.
You a question arise in my mind
About God. The source of all fates.

O suddenly it streaks, the light appears
Which pulsates my wrecked veins
The dark clouds have casted away
Welcoming the bright sunny rains!
My unseeing gaze stares at the light flash
My unseeing eyes look towards the undesired gloom
Your dreams have proved dominance over reality
For dreaming is futile than, staring at my dark room.