Straight from the Heart

Like a cocoon That encloses the larvae And shapes it slowly with love and tenderness Till the butterfly is born. Inside the grey walls, Another metamorphosis took place. The child was slowly transformed. Dreams took shape. Courage and determination were acquired. Then the butterflies spread their wings, Each one in search of a corner of the globe. To acquire his/her own domain. Back again in the winter of 2009, To strengthen the bonds weakened by time. How has life treated you all these years? Is the common question that one hears. While most have developed a balding pate, I notice the greying around the temples of my mates. One or two have bloated beyond belief. Stress and tension obviously their partners for keep. One of us remains unmarried till date! Another has chosen to become a father, rather late! It is time to reach out and bridge the years gone past. Lets shake the hands and embrace each other, like brothers long lost. Thank you all you wonder...

Your bangles no longer jingle. The eyes have lost their lustre. The lines on the face say it all. About the journey through 40 springs and fall. We fight so often these days. Contrary to the hours spent earlier in idle talk. Sometimes there seems nothing to share, Though that’s not a sign of the relationship’s wear! From fourteen to all of forty years, Its been a journey well tread. While moments, a few, have been a trifle dull. It certainly isn’t a case of love getting lulled. Attraction has given way to contentment, At the thought of each one close at hand. On your birthday, this fortieth year. My strength, I gift anew, to battle all your fears. Oct 19th, 2009

At the tip of India I watched the sun going down, Enveloped by the giant frothy waves. Only to rise in its full glory, Once again, from the depths of the sea. At the tip of India The bronze statue stands tall. Goading the vast populace To follow in his footsteps. Arise, Awake!! At the tip of India I saw the “Shiv-ling” Probably placed by some religious fanatic To firmly establish the land’s Hindu credentials. At the tip of India Why do people take a holy dip? Is it just the feeling of helplessness Of having reached land’s end? Or is it in acknowledgement? The might of the ocean, the unknown, Compels people to bow in deference? At the tip of India I saw the ocean rushing in to engulf all. Only to be stopped in the tracks By a few pieces of jutting rock. In defiance to the mighty ocean, they bear the onslaught and let the waves roll in gently at the feet of our great country.

We drift on Meandering our way through the numerous canals as if to give company to those clusters of drifting water hyacinth. No hurry, the water goads the boat gently. “Feast on the life that unfolds by my banks”, it seems to say. “Look how the simple lives of these folks Keep them content and gay”! There’s a boy who takes a bath. By the canal banks he keeps a watch. In welcome he waves, in between his wash. And with mock disdain, he lets us pass. The women folk of the village Busy with their chores. Washing the clothes, they beat them sore. Keeping the home fire burning Is no mean a feat. To the banks they come, To retreat or is it some inspiration they seek? Some villages are small with houses of mud and clay. Thatched roofs of coir and dried leaves that keep nature’s elements at bay. The bigger villages have houses so pretty. Painted in bright colours, They appear to house only fun and gaiety. The temples are old but churches bright and painted new. In the land of red brigade, Re...

Pujo maanei neel aakash aar tulor moto megh. Beriye pore moner kone lukiye thaka aabeg. Pujo maanei dhaaker awaaje shokaale ghum bhanga. Jibon er sob dukkho gulo ke khaniker bidaay deoa! Pujo maanei sobar chaai, notun fashioner jaama. Ektu jeno haariye jaoa joubon phire paoa. Pujo maanei khawa daawa, aanondo aar phurti. Bondhu der saathe jomiye aada, choluk joto khushi. Pujo maanei naari r shokti ke, aabar kore chena. Olpo khoner jonye holeu, pronam kore neoa. Pujo maanei aalor joaare gaa bhashiye deoa. Shomoy taa ke bondi kore, dhore raakhar bertho chesta. Pujo maanei sotyer joi, ei kaathay phire paoa aashwaas. Bhogwaaner proti abar jeno, jege othe bishwaas. Pujo maanei pandel ghure jokhon, klanto hoye jaoa. Asche bochor aaber esho bole, maa ke biday deoa.

Once again its time for return of those wonderful days When sky turns bluer and the world is bathed in sun’s golden rays. The clouds clear out as the Goddess, begins her journey to earth. And every Bengali’s heart fills with joy- right from LA to Perth! The malls are ready for the crowd-attack, Stuffed with goods to the core. Bengalis of all colour rush to grab the latest in fashion to hit stores. 5 days of Pujo pass, in gaity and devotion to THE LADY supreme. Its time for the girls and boys to search for the partner of their dreams! Saptami passes off in a blur with the heart, dancing to the tune of dhaak instrument. Ashtami’s khichuri beats hands down The delicacies of any restaurant. Navami evening the heart grows heavy, ...

The moon came up to the balcony As if in need for some company. I extended my hand to touch it And thought it was downright funny! Are you sick and tired, I asked. Sailing in the vast sky every day? Does loneliness or boredom bother you? And stop you from feeling happy and gay? Thank Mankind for the innovations, said the moon. For its no longer lonely up so high. The tall buildings house so many like you. Who can provide me company in the sky.