summer poetry

 see to it
that you hear
the love of your heart

you left behind
a digital coffin
in which lay buried
a foot-trail you left
on your way
to my heart

on your way back,
you tread slowly
hanging a cigarette loose
from your lips

you mumbled
incoherent voices
like sounds and silences
interspersed in the forest.

i could hear it then
the faded thunder of
every beat of your heart.

The White Wig

 11-04-2020

 I don’t remember how I met the two of you. At this age of yours, it is not uncommon to see two girls together as the best of friends. I have a vague recollection that it was not you but your friend who made friends with me. I would have never thought of approaching you for meeting me up. It was only when your friend went missing in action that we met (was she grounded?). Anyways, I don’t remember if I approached you or did you approach me, or was it your friend who planned for us to meet? Or did we just meet by chance? At the empty road where people bicycled in mornings and some people took long walks. That road which was elevated from the ground around it? On the left side of that road, there was that lake. I often sat by the side of that road and watched that lake. That day when you were coming to meet me I was watching by the side of the road, that lake, with reflections of trees in the water. I remember wondering that a meteor must have hit that part of that earth so many thousands of years ago that water filled into that depression. The lake or pond or whatever, always filled me with wonder. I remember gazing at the lake with my chin resting on my knees. From the corner of my eyes I saw you approaching from the other side. I remember being afraid of my friendship with the two of you (because of age difference). When you came and sat next to me, your phone rang. I could hear you indistinctly, walking to and fro and explaining something complicated to your father. Was it about me? I couldn’t help but wonder. The fascination with the lake was over for me by then. I sat up and dusted the back of my pants that had turned brownish red sitting on the ground. You had hung up the phone. You came towards me smiling. I like how you keep your personal problems to yourself. Without exchanging many words, you took my hand and we climbed down the side of the road, into the grass and empty field, with the lake on our side. You took me through winded ways into an empty abandoned structure. Was it a factory? A sugar mill? An ice-cream factory perhaps. It must have been a hideout for the cocaine snorters. How did you know of this place? I couldn’t help but wonder. You led me up the broken stairs into that dark crumbling space where the fading sunset filtered through cracks in the roof and walls. It was there that we found ourselves intact, connected, like lovers, with the weight of the world thrown away into the wind. What was I, your teacher? In my laptop I had photos and videos of a distant past. You made me show you my albums. Photos of my friends at hostels, pictures of drunken parties and brawls. Photos of puking youngsters and wet naked pants. You scrolled through the pictures of my youth like a hungry maniac. And then you stopped abruptly at the picture I should have deleted or kept hidden in some other folder. That was me wearing a wig of white hair. Long hair, that fell over my shoulders, reaching till my waist. I used to be clean shaven even back then. Spectacles I still wore. That photo intrigued you. Without asking me any direct questions you looked at me with those eyes. I ran into explanations. Umms, yeahs. I had a video too. Me wearing that white wig, dressed like a girl, a drag queen, drinking vodka out of a plastic cup, I was roaring a Pink Floyd song into the camera. My boy friends around me. Popping up from behind my shoulders, smiling, just for the picture. Someone was recording all of that. I was singing Jim Morrison. Pausing to drink vodka from my cup. Me in my elements. Later when you rested your head on my thighs, looking up with those cocaine eyes, I told you that it was a picture of me from before the days when I discovered that I was a woman. Before I knew I was transgender. I used to dress up like that for every hostel party with my friends. That was my thing, you know. We never thought of gender or anything so special back in those days. It was wild fun. Mock fucking and drunken kisses. Me sashaying up and down in gowns, dresses and make up. It was just a thing. Nobody mattered so much back in those days for doing these things. I loved my white wig. It was my favourite possession in the whole world.

Sandipan Chattopadhyay's poem BORDER PROPOSAL-2 ( Translation of Simanto Prostab-2 )

The main perception about death is :
1) It is an attack.
2) Surely sudden, but not secret; it is foretold.
3) Many people do not die together. Death one by one, attacks one at a time. Death does not have the capacity to devastate all human beings.

I shall say, unequal war. Disease
happens, after cure some people think 'saved myself'. With a smile he should be told, 'it is wrong'.
No body gets cured of death. Even then with other persons
it is life, we think we are all living together. But with a thought that we are not going anywhere nobody
ventures out of his home
that is why we go out of home thinking we are going somewhere,
if we are silent people may keep eye on us we keep on
talking. Why don't we roam around all alone, singularly ? In that case
death will not appear to be vulgar.
When a person falls everyone turn their neck to see him. I know
these days
the power of respecting one another has increased among human beings, nobody says, 'alas'. Even then such looking is obscene.
That is why one should be deliberately alone when there is time. One should cross big and lonely fields more often. If everyone singles out himself in this fashion
then it would not be necessary to pick up someone from the crowd.
When one reaches the centre of the field the whirling red
will come and cover you, after the dust storm only a vacant space will be there, the perspective of his time.
One by one and all alone everyone should go into the field. What
is the use of refusing ? We didn't want that Yeti comes to put its hand on our shoulder. We have dressed ourselves. Sudden attack
we wanted to avoid. We never wanted someone finds us
unprepared. Only because of that
we have kept ourselves dignified, shaved our beard everyday
we may be called into the field. We are ready.

http://hungryalistgeneration.blogspot.in/

East or west, let the buggers melt...

Every now and then, I hear some brief mumblings... grumbling about directions. I don't even know how to check a compass.

'Kalchar!!!' Its not a place, its bloody 'culture' in Bengali. And how wandarful is hower kalchar...!!

The debate must not continue. Its already eating up my own head.

Tomorrow I promise, I'll tell you more about East and West....Oh!no! not tomorrow, will inform you whenever i discuss it...

Monsoon Bonanza

It’s raining for past two days. Nonstop! We sat beside the window and lit a fag, watching the dripping coconut trees.

“You see, they are abundant this side. You get one for five rupees”, informed Ankur.

“So you guys must be eating a lot of them.”

“Not really! I get a few if there’s a guest. The planters sell them for even less. But who’ll go so far?”

“Where’s your mom?” said I.

“She’s gone shopping for the pujas”.

“And you didn’t go! Don’t you want to buy some stuff for yourself?”

“Feel bad. I don’t do anything. I fucking don’t even study. I don’t talk to them. I don’t go out. What to do with new clothes? Sniff diluter in them?”

“You still doing chemicals?”

“Only proxyvons.”

“Shit man, that doesn’t even gets you proper high. Just spoils the bloody stomach. I was getting too much acidity with that.” I belched.

“I don’t know man, I’m plain addicted. Feel normal when I pop in a pill or two.”

Ankur is a new friend. He got close after a few rock concerts together. I had hardly ever got time to spend some time with him. He would invite me to strange places. Like when he’s out for date!! “Why?” I would ask him. “It’s your fuckin date so you go. Why fuckin me?”

“Please.”, he would say. He wasn’t comfortable with girls. But wanted to date anyways. And he had this misconception that I’m a smart fellow. He tried to impress his girls by showing them that he has a friend like me.

“But why the hell on earth me?”

I had my own commitments to keep. So after a lot of let-downs I felt bad for him. And luckily he invited me home one day. I gladly agreed at the prospect of spending a nice holiday somewhere away from my fucked up surroundings. And freely, without any of his kiddo dates.

He came to receive me at the station and took me to dingy shanties to buy some grass. And man, it smelled great. We entered his nice, cozy two-bedroom apartment. His room was smaller and clean. The bed beside a huge window, with a clear view. Coconut trees and fields.

Fields like the ones back home.

I was looking at the books when Ankur climbed up the study table and took out a small briefcase from some shelf. I went closer to see that. There were some really amazing audio CD’s and a full strip of blue pills. Bullets!! He popped in one to be normal.

Saw one big framed picture of goddess Durga. Daker saaj….. just like the one back home. Something struck me.

“You are Ankur Khan right? I see a lot of Hindu goddesses over here. You guys are Indian communists or what? Secular, huh!!”

“No fucker, we are Khan alright, but that Khan is not the Muslim surname. Our’s is pronounced Kha! It was a sort of honorable title which some fuckin ancestor of mine received from some goddamned nawab.”

“Shit man, I miss the monarchs. I want a bloody royal dynasty for this country. No fuckin elections. Bastard despots should rule now. No democracy when it sucks all the same. With a king, at least, some old fuckin oriental exotica will live. Some pomp and grandeur. Some bloody gaudy palaces. This democratic shit ain’t workin. They are buying and snatching votes all the same.”

“Fuck man, I don’t know. I haven’t got any problems with anyone as long as I can buy my pills.”

“But you know something, your house has some strange resemblance to mine. This Durga picture over here, we have one same like that. Anyways, roll the stuff now.”

“Wait for a minute, we will go the terrace for that. Mom is back home. You want some tea?”

“Yeah, but give me a pill before that. Want to be really high today.”

“Don’t worry, the joint gonna spoof you up.”

He went to the kitchen and returned with some Marie biscuits. The staple of my house. I kept quiet. I had not seen his mom until then. She came in with a tray and two cups of tea.

“Mom, he’s my friend from college. Will stay with me tonight.”

“Hello beta, its great to see you here. Ankur stays alone whole day. He doesn’t even go out. He is so lonely. Hasn’t got any siblings also. Just be’s in his room for the whole day. God knows what he does. But it’s good that you’re here.”

“Mom don’t start again.”

“Achha ok baba, I’m leaving.”

“No auntie, it’s alright. Ankur is just shy”, I noticed the round La Opala cups. With pastel petals on them. The same back home.

“And we have the same cups back home!” I tried to look astonished.

Ankur just smiled. I sipped from the familiar cup.

“Fannings?” I asked.

“I don’t know man. Dad buys all stuff.”

“But I do shop for my home. It’s the same tea used in my home”

“Fuck man, it’s spooky. Don’t confuse me. And anyways, let’s go to the terrace.”

“What about the wind? The stuff would all blow away.”

We locked the door from inside and rolled two joints. Then we went on to the terrace. Climbed right up the water tank and lied down on the rough black surface. An evening breeze blew. The drizzle has stopped this side but must’ve been raining somewhere. I lit the joint and offered Ankur.

“No man, I’ve quit.”

“Fucking bastard, you do pills and you’ve quit the herb. What shit are you trying to prove?”

“No man, I don’t know why I’ve left. Anyways just fuck it. I’m already high.”

“Your wish!”

The weather was alluring. We unbuttoned our shirts. And it was then I saw those bloody scars on his arms.

“What the hell is that?”

“Self mutilation”, he smiled.

“Even I’ve used razors and stuff man but neatly. The ones you have could have killed me.”

“No brother it’s just the technique. While slashing, just tilt the razor edge a li’l.”

“Still man, still!! Nobody questions you?”

“Whenever they ask I cook up some story of accident. Now they don’t ask but understand I guess.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“I wrote a whole fucking diary for her with my blood.”

“Holy shit!! And then?”

“Then she just cried, threatened about a breakup, tried to complaint to my parents. Nowadays she too remains silent. Never asks me about these scars. She knows that I won’t change.”

“And you still slash? Only for her?”

“Yeah man whenever we fight. Whenever I’m fuckin pissed off with this world. The rage needs a way out. Doesn’t matter if it is through blood.”

“You’re a fuckin psychopath.”

“I am no one. You have seen me with a lot of girls. But I love my girl and our relationship is going nowhere. We hardly meet and whenever we do, we fight like demons.”

“Why don’t you just break up? You can go your way.”

“I cannot. We’ve been together since childhood. I don’t want to live without her.”

“You’ve had sex?”

“No man.”

“Don’t lie fucker.”

“I am serious. We don’t have any such physical relationship. Just kissing and stuff.”

“Great! You have this girlfriend for past so many years you are a fuckin virgin. Cool!!"

We were getting a bit soggy with all the drizzle which falls like fine dust. On the far horizon, clouds lingered on. As usual. We returned downstairs and got inside the warm room. Aunt had left some of the famed telebhajas of Bengal. The deep fried, batter dipped vegetables poised my post-doped hungry stomach. We gobbled them up fast. He took out his walkman and we listened to songs late into the evening. Nobody spoke that time. We got up for dinner. His parents had slept till them. I didn’t get a chance to see his dad. Ankur served dinner for both of us, without making any noise.

Quietly…
Just like they do in my house.

We had dinner watching Seinfield on Star World. Ankur watches that every day. I never make such mistakes.

Two more pills each and we were off to sleep.

The next morning was wet in feel and cold in appearance. We got up early and were greeted with a warm cup of tea by aunt.

It is raining for past two days. Nonstop! We sat beside the window and lit a fag, watching the dripping coconut trees.

Let us watch how the city drowns in its own sweat, tears and piss.

Lonely Love

Lonely love, in a shadow warm.
Laid the eggs of dreams.
Brooding in the golden barn.
Among chuckling hay-strings.

The sun would peep, and wake the love.
The sleepy, cozy feather heap.
And dreams would sing and turn to doves,
Would turn to leaves and snowy sheep.

Mother would shut, tight her eyes.
Whisper a song for eternity
Pray the dreams could never hatch.
And end in a silver cutlery.....