Just an endless flow...

Just an endless flow--
To come and part with,
To be drifted by tide;
To smile and weep
In shines and darkness.
Just to have a few glimpses,
Just to leave a tender touch,
Just to look back in wet eyes;
Just to move afar with newer trepidation
Leaving illusory hopes behind.
Overflowing in infinite desire
Sustains the shattered verve,
In pursuit with utmost zeal
To be left only with a ruinous finality;
Clinging to flotsam of wrecked boat
Drifts aimlessly in boundless ocean
Just to leave wailing emotions
And a few devastated expressions.
Just to leave souls insatiate in
A few curtailed encounters,
Just to leave half-spoken words
In awaiting completeness;
Amidst thorns of shame,
Angst, horror and half-belief
Just to keep alive a famished love.

(Finding little time to write anything new, I prefer uploading an old transliteration of one of the finest poems of Tagore--"Sudhu Jaoa Asa")

At the crossroad of civilisation

Facing the moon and the sun
And the earth, I bleed;
Embracing mangled corpse of humanity
I bleed at the crossroad of civilisation.

Words are stale,
Expressions are stillborn,
Passions lie wounded on chariot of life
Racing on the wheels of destiny.

Seasons die and are born again;
In clammy tracks of history
Burden of hatred gets laden;
Treasures of futile escapades
Bury tender veins of innocence;
Trampled emotions sing a dirge
And I bleed in kisses of scathing moments.

I can’t carry the cross, yet I wish,
I can’t shed the chains, yet I wish,
I can’t lift me up to your nailed chest,
And, be hung along your stretched hands,
Yet I wish for to die—cursed, stoned,
Ignored and unloved; but I can’t
And, I bleed at the crossroad of civilisation.

O Lord, you had choices;
Yes, you had, my lord—to bleed and to die;
But, I’m left with just a lone—to bleed—
To bleed through an endless life and I bleed.

O my love, wake, wake, wake up

In the deepest desolate corner of my heart

Silently you’re lying alone on the bed;

O my love, wake, wake, wake up.

Facing the bolted door, I wait on;

How long would moments stretch, dear?

O my love, wake, wake, wake up.

Stars have invaded the night sky—

Laying eyes upon my windowpane;

O my love, wake, wake, wake up.

Pour music onto my life;

Restrain not tunes of your lute;

O my love, wake, wake, wake up.

I will let free my eyes to meet yours;

I will let my hand rest on your right palm;

O my love, wake, wake, wake up.

My soul will be brimming with divine nectar;

The darkness will resonate in radiant presence of holy rays;

O my love, wake, wake, wake up.

[This is a song written in Bengali by Tagore. It has been extremely difficult for me to transliterate it into English. I have miserably failed to fill the intensity, awesome blending of love for his beloved and love for the almighty in twists of stanzas.]

Yet, I went on. I must tell why to a very few readers I have on my page. I went attempting on Tagore’s work with inspiration of someone from whom I learnt Tagore…learnt to feel Tagore…that ultimately drenched my poor soul with peace, purity, and somewhat goodness. Yes, the girl—whom I was to teach—has lent her life to turn me a better than what I had been.

It was the song that she taught me to sing. It was the song that I sang while seeking her hand…she held mine, and we walked long together, hand in hand…and, walking together onto the end where there will just be a single impression left on the deep horizon.

Twilight

O boatman! Sail me to thin line afar
Where last glimmers of dying day
Slip into vacuity of a blurred ocean;
I will carry my destiny there.
I will not dream;
I will only sleep.

Life

Buried in sunken eyes sleep the dreams—
Countless corpses of abundant wishes—
As silent as a songbird that has lost its voice.
There reign phantoms of deeds
Like a sadist, remorseless ruler.

The magic wand destroys slumber, and
The dreams fall in—as loyal as Arthur’s soldiers;
They revel and dance to a fresh tune of promises
Till arrows kiss them as chosen prey.
Mortified they sink in dreamless sleep.

Peace prevails as martyrs die,
Deeds are done as dreams untie;
Life lies as a nursery of deathless dead.

That’s what man needs

It was through a few turning of pages of days and nights, they were neatly woven in friendship. In an unusually underdeveloped semi-urban environment, moments of togetherness led two distant sailors to unite and discover an island of seclusion in an lazy expanse of bucolic ocean…to breathe in the way they were taught, to express the way their wishes were wrought and to renew life the way its meaning was sought…through their childhood, and adolescence and youth.

Robert headed straight from picturesque IAS Academy in Mussoorie to a shabby town of district headquarter and was happy enough to be soon remitted to a shabbier environment to complete last phase of his training. He was indeed happy for it offered him an opportunity to get rid of those unusual guests dropping in unusual time with unusual purposes in their folds only to perturb tranquil pool of his mind. He wasn’t sure if it would ruin him more, yet was content to get out of eddy he was caught in for the moment.

The vehicle sped fast…faster and faster…almost with an intense urge to toss him out of it; but it finally slowed down to glide through a wide green field passionately embracing a two-storied red bungalow. He was impressed for the first time in last a couple of weeks.

When he met Kelden, a bright lady—well clad in deep blue jeans perfectly married to a lemon top—with a wide innocent smile drawn upon her chubby face, he found himself in a grand luxury of joy. She was senior to Robert by two years in service and elder to him by a couple of years more. He enjoyed to learn a few more things, took active interest in learning more and devoted full time and vigour to mature himself in administrative job for deep impressions that the Sub divisional Magistrate left upon his young mind.

It was soon a usual scene that they would sit in the terrace overflowing the rooftop of Bungalow through moaning evenings—smoking, talking, debating, joking, laughing and at times enjoying music of silence in between—till it would be a time when moon and stars whispered, “Goodnight!” They would break…leaving the moon, the stars and the night to play with their dreams upon the vacant terrace.

It was a dream that came true for Robert. For long he missed sweet company of a sister and cursed his own fate for not having one while everyone else had…one, two and more ! He was delighted to have one…so late, yet so more compassionate than of his friends and neighbours. He didn’t mind—rather loved—to be rebuked by Kelden for not getting up early in morning, or for not taking care of health…. not eating properly….smoking too much….not polishing the shoes…and what not. Those nagging “nots” were slowly weaving a splendid texture of his mind with of strong threads of respect and love for her newly-discovered sister.

It went for weeks and months; and the summer slowly sheathed into mantle of the monsoon, and the monsoon into that of sacred autumn. It was another full moon. The twilight had folded its magic canvass to leave vacuity to a relaxing moon to soon rise and shine the evening sky. They were together on the terrace—holding long mugs of coffee—with molten wishes bubbling beneath secrets of silence.

Robert told her about most events of his life…his mom, his dad, his friends, his school, his passions, his dreams and so on; but never spoke about the girl—his love—for he could never gather enough courage to speak about love with someone whom he regarded in so high esteem. But he felt…he must...one day...sooner...before the winter broke news of his marrying the girl.

Upon flowing steam of silence, he struck the oars of his sailing thoughts. In a single lash of moment, he was bare to the core of his heart. It was a breathless spree…uninterrupted gush of hidden pleasure…and he could only stop when an image of his beloved was broadly laid upon Kelden’s pebbled soul. Unknowingly, he smiled…felt himself foolish at the end and he drew a curtain with just a concluding sentence. “It is she who’s turned me what I am, led me to explore threads of my life and took my dreams to a space where they could have tryst with just goodness.”

There was a long deep silence. The golden moon had, by then, risen. Peeping through long dancing leaves of coconut trees, it had started playing with dark shades of night upon faces of two young islanders. And, the silence spread its wings as widely, as intensely as it could.

“So, you’re in love?”

Her tone was comforting, yet somewhere missing the chord. Robert was anxiously enduring that long pause only to hear something…anything….being sure of either a few explosion of laughter or stern displeasure on his bringing down Kelden to a level of fun and friendship from revered space of elder sister; but he did not expect such an indistinct reflection. He stretched himself to discern between lines and shades crafted upon her pensive face—somewhat veiled under brown smokes of cigar.

“It’s a great revelation…great for me, Bob! It’s so enriching for me to learn about someone who chiselled you out into a truly loveable personality of a block of ordinary self! It’s indeed enriching…to feel why every stone doesn’t shine as a gem….a long tale of its becoming is more astounding than all dazzles of its shines. Okay, what’s her name?”

“Deepshikha”

Another long silence followed. Robert was still searching to read her face while the moon slipped its golden gown to wear a silvery white…and it rose…beyond those lofty wishes of coconut leaves, and poured in gentle drops of soft glow…here and there and everywhere. It shone an half-turned face—smooth silk of pink, adorn with a pressed monogolian nose suddenly halted before relief of narrow lips, a pair of deep eyes tucked under faint eyebrows and a beach of temple broadened over to sacrifice itself before leisurely ripples of a tranquil bay of neatly combed hairs. She was pretty, and it was such a long phase of silence that Robert could bathe in its vastness to explore more beauty than he could find in time and opportunity ever before.

His gaze stupefied….in those eyes…glistening elegantly in showering moonshine.

“Are you crying?”

“Yes, I’m. Well, never mind. Bob, I have something to say to you. I wanted to tell it before, but I couldn’t….Yes, in so many nights, alone I gathered words, perfected it and held them pressed inside to express my feelings to you next evening; but I could not….Bob, I love you and I wanted to tell you that loud and clear; but I could not. Well, it would be another new world for me now…yes, without expecting your love. It’s not a fault on your part…it has neither been on my part…you are the finest man I have ever met in my life and I could not simply abort the embryo of love that went on growing—deeply connected to chord of my inner self—and growing, kicking, moving…all inside me. I’ve loved you…in every moments of being with you…in every word shared between us…in every dream of mine to be with you. I couldn’t just stop loving you. It grew and I loved every moments of its growing....flourishing in its natural contentment. I love you so much, Bob! Hey, never mind. I’ll take care of myself. Look at me, surely I will. I would have…er... I would have…I would have urged you to accept me in your life…I dreamt of such bliss of life, Bob! Still, I won’t urge you so...because I know it’s not to be in this life. Bob, don’t feel bad…I will surely take care of myself…please don’t feel bad.”

Robert did not speak a single word. He could never realize that Kelden loved him so dearly, so passionately. He had no fault indeed. He did never express anything that might have impregnated Kelden’s soul with such intense feeling of love. Still he felt bad. He had no words with him for either to express him or to lay a comforting touch upon her ravaged mind.

It was almost midnight. Never before had they spent night, for so deep, so long time. Robert was indeed in deep agony for carrying his defenceless entity through a long lane of corpses of Kelden’s dreams. After a long while, Kelden rose, had a few quick puffs and handed over the half-spent cigar to Robert. She gazed on...beyond the horizon of eastern sky...firmly holding wooden railings and turned to Robert. And, she drew herself near to him and smiled...wide smile danced from the eyes to lips while tears still rolled down. Softly she whispered.

“Forget my craziness, Bob! The tale ends here...yeah, just this night. None will know of its seedless birth and endless death...it will only flow like a stream without any banks to confine its destined journey... let this feeling....let this love live for just this dying night. We will just be friends from tomorrow. Bob, I love you so much....I just want to hug you, kiss you....just for this one night...just once.”

Kelden walked as near to Robert as her trembling feet could carry her. Robert held her drooping existence and put a gentle kiss upon her temple. For a while, she stood motionless within ease of his embrace. She lifted her face, her light arms encircling around him and drew him closer and closer till it erased all margins of distance between them. And, she showered him with kisses all over his face, eyes to eyes, lips to lips—kissing, weeping, kissing, embracing and kissing.

The night flew away riding upon wings of newly born dawn, so had the tale. They were seen as usual in the terrace next evening ...and the next, yet they were just friends...just friends—smoking, talking, debating, joking, laughing and at times enjoying music of silence in between—till it would be a time when moon and stars whispered, “Goodnight!” None could know of a tempest that swept over the terrace in an autumn night...wildly playing with fallen leaves of dreams...of wishes...twirling emotions to chase a silver moon...and it died gently to be buried in unseen graveyard of soul.

After a few more weeks, time had ripened enough for the autumn to share its last fall colours...all over the field and the forest and the sky....and in the island. Some yellow, some red, some brown fallen leaves were awaiting white blanket of the winter to be laid upon to sink in smooth sleep for ever. The last autumn moon smiled over the terrace to drench the last night of union of two islanders with its passionate shiny shower. Kelden and Robert sat over idly....in silence...smoking cigars...one...another...many.

“So, you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Hmm...yes.”

“Don’t know if we will meet again...may not have a chance to meet Deepsikha...it’s for her.”

A small wooden box...fine craft of soft yellow. Deepsikha opened it. A piece of golden paper neatly folded in a velvet...fastened around by a golden chain with a perfect heart of ruby lying loosely over its soft bed. Robert watched on while she unfurled it. Not a long letter... string of wavy words...deeply drawn in Chelpark blue. Tears rolled down her cheek...streaming down to reach nowhere. She folded it, held it close to her heart...and silence reigned. After a long while, she dropped it softly between folded palms of Robert.

“Deepsikha, my dear,

We may not have met...may never...but, I have seen you through eyes of the man whom I loved. It had just been a secreted brook that took birth in me, flowed within me and met its finality in me without having privilege to drench the vales of his soul...the roots of those wild flowers that bloomed only to shine in smiles on your face. We have never talked to each other, yet I have known you through every word he had shared with me...in every bits of being loveable for your sweet presence in his life. I loved him...yes, with dreams on my eyes to be with him forever. It all was till he revealed a grand portrait of you...the lady who made a perfect man for me to love. It was the moment that confided in me that he was born to yours only...for I would lose the man forever if I robbed him out of a soul who’d turned him a man whom I loved….I didn’t want to dream to lose the man I’d loved while enjoying every loss within. I enjoyed every bit of losing him for I knew my man...my love...would be in your company. I still love him...will love him....secretly within my suppressed cries, hidden emotions and its subterranean flow will keep me alive. The candle will burn...without expecting to illuminate around. Yet, I dream of its fallen rays finding recluse in your soul..Deepsikha, the flame of the lamp...yes, I dream of just such peace in you for to be in eternal embrace of the man of my love. I wish you grant me this privilege.

I love you, my dear. I love to see you together...bound in one self...forever.

Kisses,

Kelden”

Robert folded it...wrapped it in velvet—as neatly as it was—and put it inside the box. Her beloved was still sitting muted....through her wet eyes he traversed to the deepest core of heart—as elegant as the pendant of ruby—and he remembered Kelden...of those moments...of that night. His thoughts were soaked in tears of those two women, love of those two women, dreams of those two women...and of just those two women, who never met each other, yet were far more closer to soul....in honouring love, in feeling about its sacred sense, and in keeping its flame undying for to bless life. That’s just woman. Robert felt lack of such sacred power within...the best of him could not even touch that ribbon. He felt and wondered powerlessly that his life would await another life to let him be a woman...just a woman.....if not for a whole life, but for just a single moment. He whispered to his own soul, “That’s what man needs.”

The honeymoon station

Consciously, they did not think of touching a new ribbon of silvery togetherness—so fast and so long in one content self. It all happened in course of time turning moments into events and events into memories. But, without essentially entering into valuation of what has there been and what not, the flight upon four wings has let them float and fly through abundant expanse of life in unison.

The morning dropped from the smiling lips of rising sun. They were awake with steaming mugs of black coffee in green backyard lawn enclosed within beds of chosen flowers and an orchard of tall old trees—alike an emerald eye elegantly cradled in curves of long dark lashes. Birds whistled on, butterflies spread its colourful wings to gather warmth of morn and dew drops swung upon needles of grass; and they did so as they did a day before and in every other dawn of the past. Amidst all usual tunes of nature only different note that softened the chord was hidden in long speechless moments. They sat for longer than usual. And, she smiled. And, she spoke to break silence too.

It was that day!

Yes, it was that day! And, the night…the first night together? Remember?

Yes, twenty five years ! Pretty long, yet seems to have just come across, no?

Let’s go there…spend the day and the night too…would we?

The train stopped. Everything had changed so much that they could not believe it was same place. They searched for without exactly knowing what to and what for; yet they walked along the platform, from one end to the other…once…twice…thrice…and met the banyan tree—only bond to the past. They missed those two broken iron benches, and that tiny red tin-roofed railway office; and they remembered that lone hand pump too idly lying by a narrow path leading to horizon. The lean platform had gained all shines of health over the time. Its bare body had now been draped in colourful tiles…digital clocks, speakers, drinking water mounts, cemented seats and a new office with busy people running, walking, talking, and adding proud presence of civilization. There was no space for them to keep apart—to feel about being alone. Their souls travelled fast to the past….to that warm noon…and a colder night.

The dawn accompanied her to the threshold of a home for last nineteen years and the liberation erased all evidences of her root while the doors were firmly shut behind forever. He did not bring the bride home for to stay. Yet, it turned them absolutely unwelcomed for even a night. He did never dream that his own home could turn him homeless for marrying a Hindu girl against wishes of the family despite expecting not-so-happy expressions for the rebellious couple. They knew that neither of their families would love to see them together for life, but had not thought of losing access to it even as a distant guest. He just thought of spending a single last day in own known space…and to introduce his beloved to that space. They had ticket for the next day. The marriage did not get blessings of the past, of the space that took care to transform him from an infant to a kid, a kid to a boy and a boy to a man. In one moment, they were transported to a society of romany in the city abundantly saturated with old friends and relatives.

They lost luxury of spending one of the most memorable moments of life. They still had one complete day and night before boarding in train to Bombay. He had a decent job, decent accommodation and a decent amount of money in his purse to idle away the interval in decent hotel. But, the feeling of losing own space and denial of access of his wife to his own space on the marriage day was so intense that it not only killed his softer soul, but also punctured all assumed pride of being born in a liberal Christian society. They climbed down the stairs—straight to the street—and walked on with bagful of belongings---some memories, some wishes, some rejection, some losses, and some emotions martyred in pursuit of love and its honour. They walked together, holding hand in hand, for long hours—without speaking to each other.

Suddenly, he whispered something. She heard not, but nodded yes. And, they headed straight to Howrah Station and bought two tickets—for a honeymoon trip on the marriage day.

The shabby local train swam through passages of both idle noon and ever changing pastoral images. It stopped at one desolate station, and it had no urge to move on.

Warm winter noon had its sweet companion—a narrow platform with just a tiny red office…two broken iron benches, a few trees and a hand pump. Evidences could not still be enough to let one believe that it had ever heard footsteps of life. It was lying lifeless alike a statuette awaiting some special moment to arrive when someone would drop in to bless it with new life in a single touch and the pursuit would be fulfilled. There would be nothing to seek beyond that.

They looked at each other. The train left soon leaving behind two aliens—far from another galaxy—in that deserted island of solitude. They sat beneath a large banyan tree. Sun sailed through sky from above to far in the west. A few more passenger trains came and went; yet they did not see anyone boarding or alighting. They were so emotionally carried in deciding to get down there that they thought not of buying anything for long winter night. It was late evening, when the last train too departed. A middle aged man suddenly appeared from nowhere. He was the first human being they met. His husky voice had an unmatched compassion in its exchange.

What do you people sit for? The last train has gone.

Er… actually, we are not waiting for any train. We are homeless for tonight…yeah, we got married just this day.

Oh, I see. Just fled home…love marriage? I’m the Stationmaster. If you wish, you two may come to my house …just in the village, a couple of miles away.

Okay, thanks! But, we don’t want to disturb you. We would rather spend honeymoon here.

Ha..ha…nice. It is indeed a nice place for honeymoon…a perfect full moon. Okay, as you wish. But, after I left there will be none here till I come again in the morning. Have you eaten ?

No…we will manage, sir.

The fat wild man said no more. He brought out something from his cloth bag, handed the paper pack to her and walked away slowly. Their glistened eyes followed the figure…from platform end to railway office….riding on a bicycle….and finally fading into misty veil of darkness.

She opened the packet…some baked rice and a few pieces of boiled potatoes. They did not realize how hungry they were until they had finished it all.

The golden disc of moon had risen, by that time, behind silhouetted towers of trees…some closer, and the most afar. Its warm shines could not wipe chill of February night. He took her on his lap, stroked softly upon her wide temple neatly stretched between two closed eyes and braided hairs. And, he stooped low to put an elegant kiss. She was already asleep after long ruinous day of joy and betrayal. He pulled out a towel and placed it upon her curled body. The Eden was all set for two loving souls in its wilderness.

They traversed back from memories…from dreams. It was all new. They fought to believe it was where they had their first honeymoon…and they believed and failed to believe in rhythm of time. Being caught in dilemma, they remained speechless for hours. And, it was almost a state that brought them to brink of losing expressions when she whispered.

Home…let’s return…own home.

Long years….long lane of memories….slowly lifted them to a new globe….enclosed in a new blue sky…and they sensed something anew….the space that favoured a home for homeless had turned them homeless again.

They packed up, and looked behind to seek again for something unattainable—the permanence of luxury of peace confined in dungeon of space—and failed utterly. They felt for the first time in life that a space turned into a home only to be immortalized by moments of glory—love, reliance, trust and truth—it had been through expressions of life fastened to it.

They faded into new sphere of moments. The honeymoon station stood motionless as a milestone in a path connected by two unknown ends—the beginning and the finality—embracing stolen images of emotions of those evaporated souls.

Yet, remember me

For years they remained inseparable company in life as neighbours whom I’d neither loved nor envied. In white radiance of pride shone the youth of life ruthlessly blinding faint glimmers they left upon an azure sky of soul. I dreamt not if they could so invincibly reign in the future in me.

I wonder if it is a battle between the past and the present or a bridge between. Awestruck I look at the army of valiant warriors ! Whom I took no care even to notice now descend with its impervious presence and I dare not but gaze on.

They leave me in a quandary if it is a battle or a bridge while I cede in. Memories ! I looked at them as some fallen leaves…once green that held soft rays of morn upon its wide face, sipped dews of those chilling night, and then turned yellow, then red, then brown…and…went away erasing all history of moments it lived through. And, I thought, they strolled along my side in walks of life; but I left them when I wished…the one, then another, and more while eloping with my envious future. They stood alike mannequins so fondly adorn with masks of my deeds and misdeeds for showing up on the ramp when I would need them—the good, bad and ugly—as I would like to introduce before the world. And, buried under its veiled existence roam wails of innocence as intense yet powerless as wishes of a trafficked girl. Yes, I did so. Will now they declare the sentence? I await.

I deserve whatever they do to me. I enjoy being vanquished. Only I keep on tuning harp to sing my last song.

Yet, remember me if I go far away.

If old love gets tangled in meshes of new love,

If I stay close yet you cannot discern

If I exist or not, still remember me.

If tears dangle between eyelids,

If the play ends once in sweetness of night,

Yet, remember me.

If chores are stuck in an autumn morn,

Remember me.

Even in remembrances if eyes do not glisten

Yet, remember me.

(Never mind my utter inadequacy in expressions while transliterating such a powerful poem of Rabindranath Tagore “Tabu mone rekho”)

O Mother !

This is a repost originally published two years back on the 35th death anniversary of my dear mom....

"Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls
For thy neck with my tears of sorrow"......Rabindranath Tagore

( These expressions of Tagore from Gitanjali were quoted by Sidharth while reflecting on original post )
...........................................................................................................
Time alone can only beat time. A few decades have silently walked past and fast. This day of May resurfaces as unnoticed as blossoms unfurling its petals into full-bloom and as ritually as tides offer itself on tranquil banks of rivers.
Yes, we parted on one such day. The day was for my eyes and cries to accompany each other for too long. Yes, the day was there to teach me that sorrows and joys were not apart until time would dart a neat arrow of moment to draw a line between.
It is the loveliest in you that you brought me here. You let me sleep for months over that divine lotus gently floated in a pool of sacred water inside that beautiful world within you. Although the sky was dark with no stars to twinkle, no moon to shine and no sun to dazzle; yet no fear was there to sequester my feeble mind for ever-comforting warmth of the sanctuary in accompaniment. I never longed for freedom; yet lovingly you woke me up and let the string loosened and let me set sail in an unknown world of allurements. Why did you let me come out so early ?
It was your jolly bright face that my eyes could experience its first sight in. It was your gentle voice that my ears could savour in its first listening to music. It was that divine drink which you offered to quench my first thirst. It was that sweet scent of your body, which intoxicated me with the first sense of smelling. It was you whom I shed the first drops of my tears before and it was you with whom I shared my first love and joy. It was you wherefrom the first beam of life for me emanated.
With only a few seasons of togetherness to spend by came the divine ordain and it was time to part again. It was then for you to move to another world which my life could never reach up to until it denied itself. Why did you leave me so early ?
Days and nights passed by, and again this day of May resurfaces. I miss you not for I know that you have laid your loving eyes wide in those millions stars in the sky to take care of me. I miss you not for I know that your wishes roam around me with every fallen leaf of autumn, with every gentle drop of rain, with every ray of morning sun of winter and with every gentle breeze of summer. I miss you for not being by your warm presence. The poet said—“For love, the month is May”. Yes, true was he; yes, true he is. And, on this day of May, I miss you for I know I love you so much.
I miss you too much for I know I miss you too much, my dear Mom!
..........................................................................................................

Love

"Kandale tumi more bhalobasar ghaye..."

This is one of my most favourite songs of Tagore....
I have attempted to present its translieration before my friends for whom language in original stands as a barrier....I know it hasn't touched the depth of the poet's spiritual consciousness, yet a fraction would be enough to value its wholeness, I feel.....

Thou hast made me cry in lashes of thy love--
In an intense pain infusing euphoric stream of bliss within.
For the tryst I shall venture thy place unreachable, and
Let it play tunes of twinges onto my weary feet.

The flute blows within my heart,
The stream of tears meanders on,
And in all sweetness of sorrow are lost the paths of pursuit.
Thou rob me of all, bit by bit, yet desert me not;
Thoughts cannot budge, what a quandary thou hast led me in ?

Tale of a copycat.....

Dear readers,

I received interesting information from an unnamed reader this morning. It is in my comment box of my February 18, 2010 post, “The Barman’s string”
http://saibarman.blogspot.com/2010/02/barmans-string.html
and when I checked the link provided therein I was shocked to find its contents...you may check yourself too at
http://mkalkunte.blogspot.com/2010/02/barmans-rant.html
And, on further scrutiny I found two more posts in that blog—one being
http://mkalkunte.blogspot.com/2010/02/tormented.html
 copied from one fine contribution of “Shas”
http://wwwscribblingsonthewall.blogspot.com/2009/04/tormented.html
and another one
http://mkalkunte.blogspot.com/2010/02/memories.html
copied from what I wrote in the comment box of “Memories” written by “Shas”
http://wwwscribblingsonthewall.blogspot.com/2009/11/memories.html
I have requested the blogger to search for conscience....

What I write on my blog are just to share expressions, and they never go for publication elsewhere...blogging and publication are two distinct categories for me which are well classified, both in content and context...and, I don’t mind even if someone wants to use any of my blog-posts for any academic or personal interest so long it bears an honest intention...

I still believe that time is never lost...maybe, only delayed...for to learn to renew trust in truth...and I wish the person finds comfort of a guileless space of soul.

Let us hope that this turns out to be the last tale of a copycat....yes, of the last copycat !

To my dear readers.....

This life has, along its long branches of tree, offered countless leafs of moments for me. Some could comfort a few blossoms of dreams to bloom, and some more to let float its soft pollens of expressions to meander in smooth breezes of relationships. In its enduring presence through seasons, years and decades, it might also have laid some long shadows of memories upon the beaten path. They grow longer, slender and darker as time ushers faint rays of falling sun in through webs of foliages. Perhaps, soon they will outgrow of its own contents and approximations in an intense yearning for to lie just close to the soil that has, for so long, drenched its roots, treasured its fallen leafs and listened to whispers of its mirth and sorrow. In silence, they—the tree, the soil and the shadows—gently weave on its last wishes to merge into an inseparable oneness before evaporating into a grand expanse of darkness.

And, it all happened in its own solitary world unperturbed by presence of anything external to it. It all happily happened within its own pleasure and pain. Yet, someone observes. There are always some silent observers...yes, it has been as my father once cautioned me. I did not comprehend the truth hidden in his expression. It was so long before !

I smell the flowers again where the seed of this life was once tenderly held in the deepest core of love and care. I run through long lanes of remembrances to hear those sweet tunes that they sang for me only. I float again in that pool of childhood innocence. I hear melodies of joy of creation....I draw signs of my love on those trembling lips with my tiny palms. And, I hear again those murmurs of the past...there are always some silent observers.

In truest sense, I opted for blogging to share my travelogues some three years back. Yes, it runs still separately. I opted for another space here to write on whatever I feel...just a freedom road for my thoughts. I never expected readers, nor do I as this page has no specific objective of discussions. Although my travel blog and online journal are comparatively popular in trekkers’ world, I have enjoyed more in writing here than elsewhere for some interesting revelations that it has offered me with. I will mention just one instance to confine to what I intend to finally end with. After publication of a few posts under Kids Zone, there came an email communication from an US teacher. I was really amazed and happy to learn that she had some lively sessions over those posts with her junior level students and even shared some of their brilliant reactions. A few observations were so incisive that I had to subsequently revise my ambition to write serious things for kids in a more cautious manner. And, finely I learnt that neither the teacher nor the students were bloggers but regular readers. Yes, we are still in occasional touch. And, I can feel their presence through traffic feed counts too. This particular event of life led me to embrace my dad’s words intensely. I realized essence of it and enjoy listening to footsteps of those observers, more and more, in our silent trysts. I started observing them too...yes, truly and meticulously, for it inspirational value...I can travel to those far countries, distant cities, remote corners of this planet—from Norway to Australia, from Texas to Bangalore, from Romania to Hong Kong...and, for last a few weeks I can observe gentle footprints of someone...someone so far from Snow Hill, Antarctica.

I honour you all for being with my expressions, for within my inspiration and for I learn to trust you to explore trust in me. I rejoice in being silenced by your silent presence, my dear readers !

Blowing in the wind.....

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I met her long back when my eyes were blue. Together we walked through some unsaid moments. The slender path that was never trodden before bared all passions of her soul to welcome prime of a youth. And, before it was time to be, we parted with whispers flowing from trees to sky ... “Will there ever be another tryst?”

The boy had another path to tread on...but, she had nowhere to go, none to comfort and her passions slipped into hardened shell of life, ignored and unnoticed, for to row it on through an endless journey.

Years after, an old man walked back as leisurely as would make time furious of his neglect and he went on retracing beaten tracks of life only to reassure himself of that life hadn’t been just a dream. He met her again...still lying alone, ignored and unnoticed. Nothing had changed much...except that she had outgrown with weeds around and his eyes had turned gray. The moments sped by.. muted by resurrection of those gone by and promises of those would ensue. He gazed on ...savouring pleasure of immaculate presence of someone whose creation had buried all its essence in his vision only. Within brim of his dim eyes he could only explore some frozen moments so passionately treasured into a string of silent footprints of memories upon her ruptured soul....

They parted again....but, this time neither she nor he had anywhere to go....only driven to destiny through life’s inevitability....answer was blowing in the wind...

I enjoyed your pages, but preferred to leave some reflections here only to tell you an untold tale of an innocent path....

Wish you would meet her some day, somewhere in your life too.

This is one that I had long wished to share on my blog, but your post has inspired to put it here instantaneously...maybe, it will now feature on my page too.

Regards,

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This is just another page of those tousled leafs on my table that floated in a blowing southern breeze of new-born Spring to touch down the comment box of a blog post by Alex at http://philososphyofalex.blogspot.com/2007/01/short-story.html before it finally settles down here.

Far, so afar !

Where, so far and afar, does my soul wander in pursuit of
Those tunes of thy flute that lets the breeze moan?
Where does to an alien place my bankrupt soul seek to tread on
Along the path that loses trail beyond
All margins of land in its pensive quest?

(Another vain attempt to transliterate Tagore’s poem, “Dure kothay dure dure...”...yet, I wish to share it with those who could not listen to the harmony in its original masterpiece)

The Barman’s string

As I grow beyond myself, I grow up within,
Searching for if I’m not what I am;
Else if I am what I’m not
And I grow up faster in and out of me.
The spirit that I thought to have won,
To be of my own has so silently
Caged me beyond all margins of liberty;
And, I stay immersed as motionless,
As vanquished as the hulks of Titanic.
Yet, do I crave to crown the name,
Or fame or the title or laurels or thorns?
Or do I only dare to immortalise all passions
Of youth latently spread upon my memories?
I look for, perhaps, those years and decades,
Those moments of mirth and sorrow,
That carried a proud identity so intently
Along stretched stairs of my follies.
I read on scriptures of life, of my own
And, attempt to explore a man in its image—
Of an incomplete man despite Raymond’s
Boastful cloak—to renew life’s licence.
Yes, Barman, as I am; Not a man alike the
Bur of a creeper, but of a bar for a sipper.
I was born amongst countless men, women,
Children—dead or alive—in this grand pub of world;
And at a tiny counter, half-lit, under a smoky veil
I have endlessly failed since to sell a pint;
Yet they keep me there as they wish
To see me fail and fail again until resigned.
I press my soul in, dress me up, and brace me
In that tavern floor; and the revellers join
And the Bar girls start the show, and
I fail not carrying my shameless self.
Upon my glistened eyes dance the images
Of society, relations, its myths and triumphs;
And, within my quavering soul burn pages
Of society, relations, the past and the future.
I stare on bids that swirl in gust—
Fluent as a kite severed from its string—
And, bargains flowing from lust to lust;
I watch on dancing swans of light
Leisurely fading out in murky night.
When the bells go, beats are gone
I journey back to my dingy prison—
Of hundred years of solitude—
And, put my blistered conscience on
Beneath the sacred Cross alone.
In quiet flame of candle’s glow—
As decayed as have I or Bar girls been—
I hear a placid tune’s flow
That’s played so near yet kept unseen.
Hours go and the night goes too,
The candle dies for dawn to rise;
I ponder who and what was sold—
The Barman, Bar girls, moments or soul.
Upon wings of morn dance shining ray,
Dipping night into dins of day;
I listen on to hymn that plays
And whispers, “Neither you nor they;
In nights of delight, lust and pain,
Sold are not even the girls in chain;
But those who revelled to set bargain
And, souls get bankrupt, moments are slain”.

Life of an autumn leaf

It is a long pause! It has truly been a long pause since last August night when my page mirrored a few drops of my reflections. But, the essence of it has flavour of its own too! The year nine went past as fast as I would expect of the ten should, and left the least blog entries that I wouldn’t rejoice in the following. It walked with me, yet it was not me that walked with it. It was all its sweetness that touched me with marvel of magic realism—I existed the way I didn’t; I felt the manner I didn’t. Perhaps, only Tagore could express beauty of its petite presence in my life—“Tumi esechhile, tabu aso nai, janaye gele” (You came, yet you didn’t; for to convey that you did).
And, when autumn descended upon falling wings of September, I was floating on soft cradle of those white clouds that had just parted with monsoon breeze. I could still hear murmurs of their moaning souls. I wandered and wondered; over those snowy peaks, rusty alpine steppes and yellow vales. The earth seemed to wipe off all scars of boundaries that nations drew upon her innocent face. On neither side were enemies; on either side spread profound calmness of the Himalayas.
It was moments full of some unforgettable walk; some walkways full of those unforgettable moments. With souls embracing my soul, we treaded on to nowhere. It was the 27th evening when Vasundhara opened her innocuous eyes—two tiny emerald green and a blue—and, from deep within her unfathomable depth had risen crowning emotions of mount Kamet, Mana, Ganesh and Deoban. It was my birthday! It was special for it to be there by those sacred pools which merged countries and margins that are all meant to stay apart. It was more special to have my lone friend in childhood—lady of my love—and, one of her chosen creations, all by my side in an eerie dusk that cloaked us in its warm beauty from freezing chill of mountain breeze at 16000 feet. But, the most special it was for a lone tune that flew from her sweet lips...“Ud jayega Hans akela...”. I wept, in mirth, in birth, in death, in faith and within sleeves of my failings.
It was another winter night. A ten year boy spilled out on busy city roads for the first time to attend famous music conference. He walked on, softly clinging wrinkled palm of his father—still confident, still warm—to taste what he hadn’t thought yet to be blowing his mind of for the rest of life. It was the first winter for him—and his father too—to miss someone whom they had so dearly loved and so terribly missed then.
It was music of which I still have a little comprehension. Yet, it was quite unusual for me in not having passion for music in an environment where rich flow of its stream had so evidently had its impression. It was a nightlong programme and I was nearly asleep. And, then came a blow—a gust of wind, a tempest...it surged up and up....let all emotions swirl within an invisible stir and its resonance touched every corners, dwarfing the sky to stoop down and it blew on...“Ud jayega Hans akela...”.
I didn’t understand meaning of a single word that echoed out of trembling lips of the legendary Kumar Gandharva. It was not my age to value what they meant also. But, tears rolled down. A ceaseless stream flowed, unknowingly irrigating virgin valleys of a tender soul. It was all for me to get into an eddy where I would struggle to let free myself of pains of severance and also long for those nicest moments of bondage within the world where my mom and I only reigned in. I never knew before that music could be so potent, so sacred, and all pervasive. And, I wept on inconsolably for reasons I hadn’t understood then. When it was almost dawn—a new dawn—we came out; a life had a new life, a new dimension that it had never thought to be existing before. It was my father who gently said, “You will weep again when you grow more, and try to feel what it all means”.
It took me years to learn Hindi. I had to learn it to get through compulsory exams after I joined civil services; yet it was just a moderate knowledge which couldn’t empower me to appreciate literary contents expressed in that language. Again, it was she—the girl of my childhood—who eloquently explained meaning of some nicest literary compositions. Amongst those was a Kabir’s bhajan that once penetrated within a child’s soul so subtly like a falling autumn leaf knowing not why the fall was, what meant its past and where would the breeze carry it to.
The tune that slowly brought out me out of trammels in my soul, took all care to let me learn beyond set symbols had also enthused me to listen to melodies of life. Each word added newer melodies to my emotions, laid newer roses of faith upon my consciousness and, went on turning newer pages of my life.
From within its subterranean profundity flourished an ivy of my flowering appreciation of life that grew up embracing essence of being here, of life being born and reborn through myriad forms of creative sense and of its endless cycle in which imperishable spectra of an incomprehensible wholeness would go on sowing newer seeds of consciousness, let it bloom and leave newer imprints.
I learned again it was not my birthday; it was for another birthday of life !
I went on listening to her; somewhat with my soul submerged within her lips, within her soul, within the bliss of life, within emotions of creations....
“Ud jayega Hans akela, jag darshan ka mela,
Jaise paat gire taruvar se, milna bahut duhela,
Na jane kidhar girega, lageya pawan ka rela... ”
It whispered, “Alone the soul would fly away, leaving all allurements, all crowns of glories of this worldly presence behind. Who knows where would the gust of severance from unique wholeness carry it to while smudging images of its entire past embodiment? Who knows where would the tempest carry a fallen leaf of a giant tree and who would find it where it was and where it would be?
And, I let myself being immersed in a wide pool of recess—a long pause of silence !!