Tuesday, 14 April 2009

Woeful darkness of night

It is my vain attempt to present transliteration of another Tagore’s masterpiece, “Dukkher Andhar Ratri”. This one followed by his last poem, “Tomar Shristir Path”, was dictated by bed-ridden Rabindranath during the last fortnight of his life. He could, however, edit the first one only. In that way, it was his last edited poetic composition. I have no dream even to expect that my words would either hold literary brilliance of the Great Poet or would it ever touch those fine threads of philosophy contained in the original, yet I would love to share it here with friends who are unable to access it in Bengali.

So often has woeful darkness of night
Had its sojourns to my door;
I stole a few glimpses of its sole rapier
Shining in buried beams of ruses;
Those perverted pretences of anguish,
And bizarre gestures of terror were only
The prelude to its feints in utter darkness.

Ever so I relied upon its wily mask of fright,
It only offered some hollow defeats;
This weird game of loss or win—
Sheer delusions of life, and
Of each steps entangled in horror
Ever since the days of infancy and beyond—
Remained satiated in quirks of grief;
And, betrayed animated streaks of dread—
A complete art by the Death deftly diffused upon the darkness.

Friday, 3 April 2009

The Numbers--to get connected and disconnected....

It has been for long the pages on my blog remain stoically dormant. There may not be more logical appreciation than dull errands of keeping professional priorities ahead if I am to satisfy myself with known tricks of reasoning. But, the world does not swing with your own priorities, own notions, own beliefs, own ambitions and own aberrations, rather they gather up into another world—the own world—which mostly swings with the world beyond. For some, this inner world, for some moments, remains disconnected to the greater whole; there it may play different tunes with octave incoherent to great orchestra of the outer world, it may rejoice in imagining this small world set afar and explore its solitary presence in seclusion of all feelings felt so far, of all pains borne and known, of all laughter spilled out of rims of fashioned lips, of all compassions generously shared from within soul sheathed in hypocrisy, and of all honoured sacrifices in deeds of a scrounger. There in such tiny space one may again float as freely, as safely, and as serenely away from all rays of wisdom as was once the pleasure of being encased in utter darkness felt for long joyful hours and months within mother’s womb. It is just that vacuity where the Creator spends only by His creation where just one to one relationship flourishes. Yes, there may be some space alike when you enjoy being disconnected, being away from numbers that chase you—the known tracks of race where ribbons bind you at both ends—and you remain fugitive forever.
One interesting mail that I received recently has brought me back to the pages, caught me between the numbers again that once stung so venomously during my youth. A slideshow attachment ( formatted as movie for viewing below ) presents how numbers are connected to its visual forms. While the show goes, you fall prey to it and seem to connect unknowingly to the numbers which aim to rule you for the rest of your life.

These numbers were once my companion in silent summer noon of vacation. They did follow me frolicking when glory of day vanished between those last strokes of brushes of twilight. Scaring dreams in flawless nights too flounced down with dusty pile of those unique elements. It took me several years to learn them, understand them and finally obey them.
They are strict in form, disciplined in action and ruthless in its subjectivity. You must have trust in them, else you are outnumbered. You must count you as one or many or nothing, but you are numbered. They despise anything abstract beyond themselves. They themselves take pride in different forms they love to be associated with—some are integers, some are primes, some are odds, some are evens, some are fractions, some are rational, some are positive, some are negative and some are complex. Only abstract forms they allow within their great world are its complex domain—the roots of negativity. That is the world within its wholeness where it reflects itself to create another competitive virtual world.
But, the most striking aspect of its supreme reign that has made be ever subdued to its power is its amazing sequence of unbounded stretch. Its real domain is boundless, so is its virtual one. They create an unbounded sequence with only a few bounded functions. It’s an endless universe with only a few elements. Whatever number you name, you have more followers than what preceding it. Every number is thus a unique leader with countless followers, still each of them are themselves followers of other leaders ahead. Everyone is following someone—a long unending queue. You shed one of your feather, gets down on count and so you move just a step ahead. You shed another feather—another proud feather of your self-conceit—to move another step ahead. You remain a leader always, but a follower still at the end of another long queue. You go on shedding one feather and another till you have left all you have. You reach the nullity of your own existence. You are none then—a big zero. You are the leader ahead of everyone, yet you never boast of being so; in the world of values, you are not counted, but your association make other numbers valued so multiplied. The known and unknown worlds of wisdom tend to your limiting values of nothingness to seek deliverance. At the feet of its sacrificial altar, all countless counted entities offer itself to finally find peace and bliss in you.
Maybe, the space where life gets it mission succeeded.

The epitaph !

Between leafs of time  S leeps the untold tale of life, In dreams of love and love of dreams. Smudging the margin in between The ...