Musings

Every evening, Mini would hold on to the banisters of her verandah and stare at the majestic eagles soaring past the ten-storeyed buiding that towered above the four-storeyed one in which she dwelt. She was delighted whenever the brown-winged bird of prey perched itself on the clothesline jutting out of her balcony. The day graciously passed on the baton to the smouldering twilight sky, which grew dimmer, serving as a cue to each household to turn on its artificial lights. The curious voyeur in Mini now explored the contents of every open window and verandah. She was quite surprised to see studious boy Titil take interest in anything other than what he did best: studying. He was one of those children who was determined to challenge the popular saying – All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy! For a boy who had hardly had any friends, his home turned into the favourite haunt for children, at least once every week. Mini binocular-ed her eyes to the best of her ability and the p...

I care not for your consent or readiness Though I come mostly to lessen your distress. As the scorching summer pricks and burns you And your skin stays aglow with briny dew! You pray for the heavens to pour down her manna But your blessing granted, you rummage for an umbrella. I cause the seas to squall, and toss and turn the ships, As the rising vortex with its lightning rips The black and grey of the cloud-laden sky, Pealing and crashing in derision sly! You approve of drizzles, and light spells short-lived As my passion surfeited can destroy all you’ve built. Some roots get shaken, some leaves bejewelled, As Mother Nature I paint in hues iridescent! Along delicate cobwebs I split into beads And stay immortal in snapshots and memories. A friend to your skin, a foe to your wallets, I test the strength of your urban gullets. You accuse me of floods, of endless casualties But wetlands you fill, with real estate deals! I tap to the beats of your ...

While Goddess Durga descended from her heavenly abode in Kailash to the thirsty streets of the City of Joy, here’s what I was up to… As Kolkata got attired in her festive couture, Leaving the glare of city lights, I had my little tryst with nature, In the land of pines, tall and evergreen, Where apples greet the eye, in climes serene. At the foot of the Himalayas, in the state of Himachal, Gracefully sits Shimla, the erstwhile British summer capital. Higher up the rugged slopes lies India’s last village, At Chhitkul, in a tent, I stayed put in willful hermitage! Stayed up at night to watch the stars dance, The shutterbug in me, ever ready to capture the clouds in a trance. I thought of the Kolkata girl, adorned in her saree As I shivered and shook, in my fleece jacket, my teeth chattery. I felt I was far away from the Goddess, From the rhythmic incantations and all the divine goodness – Until the Kailash dazzled my eyes with a rare feast, Illuminatin...

Amidst the shimmer of electric phantasmagoria , Brighter glimmers the humble and earthen diya . Wake up – beckons the forgotten dhaaki , Be part of the revelry – the blessed, the lucky. Caught up we get in scriptures voluminous But outfits to adore us are garnered in surplus! Seek we joy, deliverance and spirituality, Adorned in dearly bought garish superfluity. Appetites assume a gargantuan proportion But starve we within for love and attention, As click, click – goes the selfie shutter, Aiming to set many a hearts a-flutter! The tide of humanity, swept by devotion Endures traffic snarls, in patient redemption. The fury of nature scorned, threatens to spoil Dexterous craftsmanship, the fruits of toil. Worship we the fierce and the mighty, The slayer of demons – a female deity . In a country where women grovel for liberty, Taking after the goddess yet shunned in actuality. Rooted in tradition, warped by modernity Are festivals in India far r...

Mini met one of her best friends after five years since she had left school. She was glad that nothing much had changed – Nanda’s broad nose was still lifted up a bit every time she grinned; she had retained the nasal twang in her speech; she was brutally honest and humorous; she loved to gorge on the kind of stuff Mini loved. Above all, she was one of those few people who never judged Mini but stood by her like a rock with her through thick and thin. Mini arrived at the book fair with her college friends, cautioning them beforehand that she would ditch them soon for Nanda, and they didn’t mind at all! Amidst browsing through books and debating on their prices, Mini and Nanda had great fun, critiquing the Bengalis’ gargantuan appetite for every edible thing that was being sold on the Milan Mela Grounds. “We should christen it food fair,” Mini reflected, ‘with a few books on the side.” They couldn’t stop giggling at the long queues in front of the fast food stalls and the lav...

It was for the umpteenth time that Mini was shifting to a new rented flat, in a strange location, far away from the neighbourhood that had witnessed the many tumults that had left her family reeling, after their initial flash of brilliance in the early nineties, when they migrated to the City of Joy from their dim suburb quarters. As Mini left behind the bemused eyes of her neighbours, the struggling smiles of her friends, the silence of her otherwise restless kitten, and the rooms that once breathed with the melodies of her gifted voice, she staggered with the weight of her luggage and the memories that would haunt her forever. She wondered what her new address held in store for her, after having lived in four homes already, in a span of four years! Numerous mistakes triggered by utter lack of foresight, and many ruthless deceptions later, Mini’s father, the least favourite of the Three Fates, stowed his family away to the neglected ground floor flat of a wealthy landlord. V...

As the shafts of autumnal sunlight struggled through the half-shut windows, striving to cheer up the morose creature within a flat of the three-storied apartment of her umpteenth neighbourhood, Mini, the nomad, sat there, alone, by her bed, wondering if she truly belonged to this world, speculating where she had gone wrong, praying for things to sort themselves out. Her mind altered between pain and vengeful thoughts. Like Macbeth, she envisioned stabbing the ones she loathed – like a child, she cowered from the thought of ending up behind the bars. But how was her life different from that of being imprisoned? Did she really have the freedom to live life on her own terms? Mini started recalling her own past, in her bid to discover where precisely, she had gone wrong… Before her eyes, flashed her own face, much younger, innocent, and not yet marred by adulthood and suffering – which she concealed so well. She could hear her little voice, see the gleam in the eyes of a child wh...