Straight from the Heart

Last week was a sad day for me! The kitchen window in our flat opens out to a square plot of land, which housed the corporation’s water pumping station. The pump was on one side of the plot and the rest of the plot usually remained empty, to be used by the corporation sweepers to park their “koora” removal vans. It also served as a dumping ground for all sorts of wastes like broken water closets, door frames, iron gates, etc which may have been generated in the course of the municipal corporation repairing some public offices somewhere. It may have even been kept by some scrap dealer who probably used the government space as his own. I agree with you certainly on the fact that if one’s kitchen window, or any other window for that matter, opened to a view like the one I described just now, it would not be a pleasant thing for the residents of the flat. Who wants to have a junkyard right in front of their house, worse still having to see it every time the window was opened? However, t...

One is hardly used to the Calcutta that one sees at the crack of dawn. For the newspaper-wallah who has to wake up early morning so that he ( here’s one profession where I haven’t seen a female working) can manage the entire logistics and ensure that the paper is made available at each home with the cup of hot morning tea, its no big deal. Neither is it a big deal for the lady who comes to work at our home from some far off village. She gets up at 3.30 in the morning and then takes the 1st train into the city for starting her work. For such people, the dawn breaking in the city, holds no special surprises. However, 5 am is a little too early for people like us, who are blessed and do not have to worry about physical exertion for the sake of eking out a living. Therefore when someone suggested to me that I have to wake up and leave home latest by 5.30-5.45 am, my initial reaction was one of dismay! There’s no way, I would get up so early and that too on a Sunday morning! However, when ...

I craned my ears, intent to hear. I walked for miles into the sea. And yet the waves lapping gently at the feet, Had no excited chatter to offer to me. It seems as if time moves in slow motion. Even the sea is a picture of serenity. The sandy beach that stretches for miles Seems content to preserve the footprints for eternity. The crabs paint the beach red And make intricate patterns on the sand. With no one to disturb their mid-day siesta They make for a sight-so beautiful and grand! Nature is at its best here. Because the waves of humanity is kept at bay. The only time when silence is broken here, Is when the lazy waves have something to say.   Mandarmoni-13th March 2010

The lift-man gauged me with his stare and pointed to the service elevator, a little way down the corridor. “That’s the one we use to transport heavy-weights,” he said matter-of-factly before proceeding to shut the cage door of the elevator. My expressions changed from one of surprise, to dismay, to anger! What the hell, I wanted to scream out loud but checked myself, aware of the surroundings around me. It was a hospital and the decorum prevented people from shouting out loud, no matter how painful or hurtful the situation might be. However, my heart refused to be cowed down and directed by it my eyes sought to pin the lift-man with a cold gaze, which seemed to tell him, “What do you think yourself to be- A Joker of some sort?” “If so go and join a circus team. Why come to the civilised world in search of a living? And who the hell are you to call me heavy-weight? Do you realise its similar to a racist or sexist slur? In the land of milk and honey-USA-the law prevents anyone from cl...

SCENE 1 A House where a “ Neta” from Party Zee comes calling just before the election: Knock Knock….Door opened by an aged man. The neta is standing with folded hands and a smile on his face. His 2 chamchaas are standing beside him, fanning the neta with hand fans. Aged man—Sorry, I am unable to place you. My age is such that I do not remember the names these days. Do I know you? If I am not mistaken, you look like a politician! Chamcha no. 1—What a shame! Ghor Kalyug hai! You no knowing the great man, reverend sri sri Gammchaa da?? Chamcha 2 to the neta--- Chhee Chee….sir forgive him sir..he doesn’t know what he is saying sir. Aged man—Gamchha da?? No, am sorry, never heard of him! Where do you stay sir? Chamcha 1--- Isshhh….stopped by the neta Neta--- I am the local MLA of this constituency. Whatever you see here has happened because of my will. It was I who thought that this place needs a good park where people can go for their morning walk. So I got the park constru...

A fallen rose by the side of the lake. Smelling stale, a few petals torn, Nipped early in the bud. Probably used to woo someone’s girl-friend, Or as an ornament for the female head dress. Maybe a rendezvous object, probably to identify self? Who knows which womanly heart it filled, By its fragrance and touch? And now it lay uncared for, Sacrificed at the altar of love!

The monkey bared it teeth in irritation,                             swinging from a branch of a tree. The Macaw’s cacophony-like laughter seemed,                                        To add salt to the injury! Birds of varied feathers, screeched noisily,                          and flew in circles inside the cage. The hippopotamus lazily rose from the water,                      shaking its head, as if in a fit of rage! The noise awoke...