BE WHERE YOU ARE

I sit by a lambent flame,

To mull over a thought;

My past haunts me,

As I look back on what I had fought.

As I look back upon my past,

I see this and that.

Somewhere I lay broken,

Somewhere flat.

When I see myself upright,

In the face of my soul,

I turn tremulous

To see myself now, lost.

I doubt lying flat again,

Since I optimize myself;

Now to mull over my future

Is the object of myself.

As I stare through life's winding streets,

I see sharp twists and bends.

I understand that life's path is sinuous,

Where our wound has hardly any mends.

As I sit by the lambent flame,

Mulling over thoughts,

My present looks at me and asks,

"Where are your present thoughts?"

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TO WITNESS SOME POSSESSIVE POSSESSIONS

I am witness to a story of two intimate souls—immersed in depths of longing and friendship they fleeted time. I saw them together when the world was isolated. I saw them help each other when none helped. Their longing, their passion for each other formed their friendship.

Wherever and howsoever they played, they played as a team, mostly against the witness. Their triumph, their joy, their pending trophies form a natural bond. Tears roll out of their eyes if they even dream of isolation. Innumerable reprimands did I get, numerous derisions did I receive, but I hadn't seen any two individuals remain as a close as that (no pun intended), both in heart and in soul.

Their feet took them to the farthest of places; sometimes to Meghdoot when mostly lies initiated it. I have been seeing them for the last four years (nearly) and haven't noticed a single change in their relation. When I first witnessed such a sight in every Bengali class, I was amazed; even others were close—but their closeness has faded away now while not theirs. Maybe there had been some establishment of distance, but that never made their minds get away from each other. That's why I call them "The Inseparable Souls".

2014 shall be a year to "remember" (at COSMOS indeed!).

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1st "Binnacle" Anniversary

My mind moved nostalgically to a date exactly 365 days back; when the "Binnacle" phenomenon overwhelmed me. Today tears fill my eyes as I look back at that Delhi hotel where I was snug under the blanket, asleep not due to satisfaction but a feeling of vague regret. Now as I look forward to my latest challenge (ICSE), the challenge awaiting me once more in Class XI is strengthening my spirits more and more.

27 January, 2011.

[FOR MORE INFORMATION, READ THE POST DATED 30 JANUARY,2010 IN THIS VERY BLOG]

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RAIN

I wept till the rain subsided,

I laughed till the rain began,

I sighed unto the rain drops,

Torturing the life of man.

My eyes fell on the slums nearby—

The hovels spoke aught;

I found my hands tied,

And my mouth could speak not.

So the rain subsided the day after,

And life returned to normal;

But life at the slums

Had gone abnormal.

Now again did I weep during dryness;

My tears were huge raindrops—

A cry in wilderness—

Falling on the wretched rooftops.

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Winter Strikes SLG

14^th January, 2011: 11:32 p.m.

By the dead of the night, the city was plunged into the miasma of dense, blinding fog. The streets lay unheeded, placidly empty. The houses lay still like cold behemoths. The occupants were huddled in their beds; the warm quilt drawn over their faces: some lay asleep, while others preparing to take forty winks. I heard the shuddering cry of a dog nearby; I surmised it to be the curse of winter as I found myself wrapped in a blanket-cum-quilt.

15^th January, 2011:

6:31 a.m.

A draft of chilling air blew in through the ventilator, sending a chill down my spine. The weather being severely rimy, I didn’t take it as a surprise. I tightened the grip of my blanket(s) over me and again was transferred into a cozy ambience. My eyes closed.

8:26 a.m.

I wriggle in lassitude under intense comfort: my head not peering out of the quilt. Strongly and briskly, I threw myself out in a jerk and up landed I on the floor, waiting to clad myself in a sweater and a “house jacket” in utter chill. Yes, indeed the cold was killing.

OVERVIEW

Winter. That’s the word. The frosty hands find their places in the warmest of pockets. The warmest of shawls find themselves wrapping a dweller. And the warmest of blankets find themselves covering the slumbering.

This year the city saw one of the coldest winters knocking at its door. The temperature had fallen to a minimum of 6⁰C, the least in the last five years. The “LUX COTT’S WOOL” shirts proved somewhat helpful, being the innermost garment for bringing intense warmth. And not to forget, the jackets and the jumpers and the pullovers are to be used to the fullest: since this is not general cold, this is severe cold.

May be this is a hasty conclusion, but still I have to mention that the dog that “cried” last night was found dead in front of our house, shrouded with a jute sack—not because of cold, but because it was suffering from a disease the though of which struck me since I had long been searching for a reason to suffice for the dog’s decrepit body and beetling face compounded with exposed ribs. The dog was a year and a half old—I cared for it since its birth. There’s some more history surrounding it, so I keep that for another day. For now, goodbye.

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