Thursday, May 8, 2014

I don't want to remember you frail.
I want to remember you as the strong man who taught me everything.
I don't want to remember ever having seen you lie still on your bed.
I want to remember you with your fierce love for life.
I don't want to remember you gone.
I want to remember your hand on my head.

But, if I refuse to remember the end, I would refuse to remember the beginning.
If I cannot own the death, I do not deserve to long for the living.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Her home

It was not her house. She didn't even pay the rent.
Yet, she called it home.
Married at the age of 23, she had to move in with her belongings.
She missed the courtyard of her father's house.
Here, in the small adjoining garden she planted a tree, hoping it would bear fruits one day.

This isn't her house either. And no, she doesn't pay her rent. The far-away daughter does.
They call this home.
Feeble and lonely at 71, she has to move in with her belongings.
She misses the smell of raw mangoes that her tree bears every summer.
A pot of flowering plant is now what she calls home.

Friday, February 14, 2014

Love's hidden memories

I came home with stories full of love
"Don't show it," they said.
So I kept it hidden from view
And no one knew.

But it started to grow, love started to swell
I had to tell, I had to tell.
Everything I saw spoke of love
Your eyes, your face, your smile, your grace.

"Don't show your love," I heard them scream
I shut it out and built a screen.
But my love was not just mine to show
What of the love that made you glow?

My love I could easily hide
But your love for me was too strong to cover.
I failed to cut off love from my life
Because you were born to be the lover.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Growing up...

From fun-filled frolic in skirts, to idle merry-making.
From tiffin boxes full of handmade love, to doodles and empty notebooks.
Those days have long gone by...
From carefree pigtailed girls, to women with kids trapped inside them.
We've grown up. Our world has grown wiser.

Those who were grown-ups then, will only get older.
What was support then, will become frail.
What was home then, one day will no longer be.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014


Placing my head on your shoulder, I heard your heartbeats. Like for the first time.
It plugged out the noise outside.
I lay still listening to the beat of your heart. Our Heart.
In that moment, if you were to tell me tales of loves lost,
I would have drowned your voice in the stirrings of the heart. Our Heart.
Trying to rise and write a note or two, you held me closer. 
My words lost their rhythm, when compared to the beat of the heart. Our Heart.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013


Tick Tock, Tick Tock... says the big old clock
It's time for a new beginning.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock... as I take that walk
I feel that wonder warmth of winning.

Nothing that is special am I leaving behind,
The memories are are too vivid to be ignored.
I just need to dig deeper into my mind,
To give life to those pictures I have stored.

— pardon this writer for churning out such a kindergartenish poem!!  

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Of Changes

In another five months, I will be letting go of nearly most things dear to me. For the first time in all these years will I live away from my family. I will have to let go of my carefully chosen pink-coloured room. My old cupboard, which still has remains of posters I used to stick on it as a teenager. I will have to let go of my Kudghat house, where I grew up, nearly fractured my skull, learned how to play the harmonium and watched old Bengali movies on the television set. I will have to let go of my precious terrace, which was my special zone all through my growing up days. This is where I learned to dream and soothe my pains. This is where I fed the birds and watched clouds float above me. I used the terrace as my study zone, where not a single page was turned without darting at crows. I will leave all the chalk marks behind, they will continue to reminisce of the childish games I played on the terrace. I will have to let go of the plants I potted long ago. They all bear flowers now, all smelling of my childhood dreams.
I will leave my extended family too. The tales of how old and respected our house is in the neighbourhood… of how people from far away would come to be part of our Kali Pujo and Durga Pujo. I will also have to let go of the numerous old shops of the locality… the affable shopkeepers who saw me transform over the ages.
I will let go of my dear old city. The rain-drenched streets and the lush green trees. I will let go of my favourite structure, Victoria Memorial. I will let go of all the pavements, which hold so many memories. Memories of long walks, of shared happy moments, of secretly held hands.
I will let go of all the unbearable summer afternoons giving way to cool evenings. I will let go of the pleasant spring mornings, of the beautiful winter days. 
Durga Puja will be reduced to a quick two-day trip to Calcutta. It will no longer be preceded with the one month long impatient wait. Kali Puja, with its bright fireworks and fun with cousins, will most probably be given a miss. 
In a few months, I will leave my school para and my college para behind.
I will learn how to live without my mother. How to not expect maach bhaat every night I return home for dinner. How not to be woken up by her every morning. How not to have her by my side always. I will have to let go of my habit of being with Mamma every single day of my life.
I will, however, carry with me the person most dear to me. I will be leaving behind all the physical bonds I have had for so many years with this city. Filled with hurt and anger for so long, I finally am able to see the reason. The reason why My Appa is no longer just flesh and blood to me. When I will leave everything behind to start something new… I will carry only one person along with me. My Appa will travel with me in my heart.