With the Warm Sun on My Back

 

Life, why do you wander?

Life, why do you sigh?

Come rest-a-while,

For the only thing you do is try!

 

The warm sun on my back,

How I wish you were here!

The pain of not being with you,

Life, it’s just not fair!

 

The gingerbread man is broken,

Life, you never gave him a chance.

With a broken leg and a cuppa,

Look at him dance, look at him dance!

 

Where are you my love?

Where did you go away?

Stay with me for while,

Stay till the words have their sway.

 

I wander around, quiet and calm,

There’s a storm brewing inside.

Life why do you smile?

I took everything in my stride.

 

Where do the sparrows go?

Where do the songbirds lie?

They never had a chance I feel,

Once concrete hearts willed them to die.

 

Songs and birds and mahogany stools,

The steel breathes fire every day.

Help me my love, my life.

I can no longer find my way.

 

The song and laughter is all I have,

Will you steal them from me?

All I want from life it seems,

A chance to love free.

 

It fades, it fades, it fades.

Memories come and go at will.

I wait and look at the setting sun,

My chin resting on the windowsill.

Happitee Happy!

I feel happy when the net is fast,

I feel happy when the perfume lasts.

I feel happy when the rains hit the ground;

I feel happy when her silence is the sound.

I feel happy when my rose milk is chilled;

I feel happy when my stomach is filled.

I feel happy when there’s a happy end;

I feel happy when a shoulder she lends.

I feel happy that I have no foes;

I feel happy if I can touch my toes.

I feel happy when songs do play;

I feel happy when “come home” she says.

I feel happy when I make an ad;

I feel happy when I train a lad.

I feel happy if the chocolate’s dark;

I feel happy when she takes me to the park.

I feel happy when I read a book;

I feel happy when I do a shoot.

I feel happy if no one frowned;

But I don’t feel happy when she’s not around.

Will You?

Will you let me look at you

Without a care in the world?

Will you smile again and hold

My hands as if we never left?

Will you let me have your worries

That bind you to the ground?

Will you laugh at the sun and sand

As we build our castle in the air?

Will you let me feel your pain

That makes me cry at night?

Will you believe in us once more

Even while we remain apart?

Will you sit with me, silently,

Tired as the day goes by?

Will you hold my daughter

Telling her a story about us?

Will you smile again with me

And believe I ask for nothing else?

Will you let the years between us

Seem like moments?

And as the sun goes down

Will you speak to me of yesterday?

The Parting

The drops fall slowly in their silence;

Broken only by their meet on my roof.

I stand by my window seeing their dance,

With them; but aloof.

She walks in the night, ever so slowly;

Her steps are serene and calm;

Her lips tremble, maybe my name;

I wished I could hold her arm.

The drops of rain, cleanses my soul;

The rains wash away my fears.

I stare at the emptiness within,

My eyes know no more tears.

All good things must come to an end;

Perhaps none liked our bliss.

Under the setting sun of gloom;

We had kissed the last kiss.

I wish the night stood for once still,

As my tired eyes watch her sleep.

For tomorrow with the rising sun;

Only memories are mine to keep.

Bondage

Why don’t you say something?

Something? Anything?

Why do you think I look up at the stars?

Why do you think the blood runs in my veins?

Why do you think I take my tied body out to the world?

Why do you think I wait an endless wait?

Why would my parched lips sing your praise?

When there’s nothing to say.

Why don’t you say something?

Would you rather I walked away?

Unannounced? Unrepentant?

Unsure of where my feet lead me?

Why would you not let me be?

Alone?

Why would you keep coming back to my dreams?

They turn into nightmares.

Why would you not lift your curse?

Why would you mock in rare glee?

Why would you not let me live?

For once?

In The End

I lay beneath her feet,

Hands tied,

Gagged

Ready to be slaughtered.

In her eyes I saw my death.

And yet, in those final ethereal moments,

It seemed as if I looked upon her,

For the first time

Majestic, Resplendent,

Without a shade of pity,

She looked down from her pedestal.

And then I saw what I suspected.

Her crown lay in shreds,

Her throne a shadow of her past

Her campaigns unfruitful,

Her ego shattered.

Long years of pain had smeared her face

With lines of agony and strife

I searched for the peace I had seen once

And suddenly my mind travelled back.

I remembered the day

I stormed out of the great halls

Leaving behind what was mine for the taking

To lose myself into nothingness

And yet thoughts of her came gushing

Crossing the insurmountable peaks

Mistress of deceit, she sent them again and again

To bring me back in chains.

Her forfeited conquests

Her lonely nights in the arms of other men

Her battles that raged more within her

Than without.

She needed one victory,

The one that would sooth her soul

And make her lose herself

In the fumes of vanity.

In nothingness I had found nothing

And so I went back,

Like the prince,

Ready for battle.

It raged through night and day

And she fought well

And then when she believed it wasn’t fake

I laid down my guard.

I laid down my guard

For the last time

Hoping against hope

And yet I knew.

She drove the spear in with all her might

Laughing hysterically

And then suddenly she stopped

And dropped dead beside me.

Her heart that once beat inside me,

Throbbed once more.

She never would know

That she had already given it to me

And yet in her bosom, lay mine,

Still beating, still crying,

Till I silenced it for the last time

With the same spear.

Prose and Poetry

One of the most endearing pictures of the quintessential Indian loser in love is walking crazily across the road, with a bottle in hand and speaking in his mind to his girl back home.

So yesterday I was in a similar situation with a few minor details changed. I had a benadryl bottle in my hand, I was walking unsteadily due to a hurt toe and I was on phone with my grandmom with the headset on. But anyway, my similarity with Dev D is a matter of a different post.

One of the many reasons I love talking to my grandparents is that they are the last remaining lexicons on Bengali poetry in my life. So as the Benadryl was beginning to have its effect on me and the taxis seemed to not notice my sizable bulk, she reminded me of a poem by Kalidas Roy.

Here’s the gist – The master and his disciple decide to go all the way on Rameshwaram to Tribeni to bring the sacred waters and pour it on the head of their deity in Rameshwaram. For days they walked and finally reached Tribeni, filled their container with water and started their long journey back.

On the way they meet a donkey almost dying of thirst amongst parched lands. The master stopped and asked the disciple to give the water to the donkey. A devoted disciple that he was, the disciple agreed without a question. But he wasn’t happy. 

After walking for a few more hours, the master asked, “What happened? You don’t seem to be happy.” 

The disciple burst out, “We went all the way, undertook all the hardships and now we are going back tired, dejected and empty handed because we gave the holy water to a donkey!”

The master smiled and answered, “Don’t you see how lucky we are? Because we were so tired, our Lord himself came all the way from Rameshwaram so that we could give him the water here itself. He did not want us to carry the water all the way with our tired bodies.”

Merry Christmas everyone. Spread the joy.

About Other Things and Poetry

They have been there for me always. And yet, these days when I speak to them I just can’t shake off the feeling of restlessness. I miss calls. Am late in calling back, all the while knowing this is not me. And yet, I just can’t shake it all off and then draw back. The cloud of confusion engulfs me as I sit sipping coffee or making plans for the next movie or the Ghazal concert.

A close friend told me something strange a few days back. He said, “Banjo, as we are getting older, we are becoming much less courageous.” I guess he’s right.

I tried going to plays. In fact, I think I have become the biggest follower of Rage and Rahul Da Cunha. I have not missed a Rage Play since I have been to Mumbai. I went to Chaos Theory and in spite of its brilliant wit and dialogues; I began comparing it to Love Letters. Unfair competition, I agree. I then went to Me, Kash and Cruise and realized that a brilliant style perhaps cannot make up for a weak script ridden with clichés. But Rajit Kapur, you have to applaud him. He came in at moments to define the world outside the three main protagonists and yet had our attention all through.

I tried going back to my childhood with Drona. I would recommend you go and watch it if only for seeing what Indian fantasy genre will become with time. The special effects were great. Priyanka was awesome. If only Abhishek Bachhan realized earlier that he exactly cannot pass off as a superhero. The movie would have been a super hit had Hritik been there I guess. And KK. He continues to amaze me. A few more roles as a villain and he would have arrived. Anyway Drona remained at best a ‘could have been better movie’ and I went home dreaming about having a sword of my own.

These days I do not have easy access to poetry. But going back to poetry has always worked for me. I found this amazingly angry piece a few days back. I think poetry is something that is demanding its due share of my reading time.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,

Starving hysterical naked.

Dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking

For an angry fix,

Angel headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection

To the starry dynamo

In the machinery of night

Poetry and Amar Chitra Katha. It’s time to get away from snobbishness and get back to innocence. The first authors were poets. Remember Vyas and Homer someone? And before them came the painters in the caves.

Art – Who defines what good art is and what is bad?

Nothing but a Shadow - C.M.Benny

Here we are walking yet not talking silence silence we've grown apart yet here we are walking, but not talking we are together yet far apart silence silence I watch our shadows with a sour look slipping farther apart This cannot be what happened to you and me silence silence What happened over the summer you found a job and we stopped seeing each other I wish our shadows would be close again like when you and me were best friends silence silence