What if in your dreams, someone breaks into your house and knocks you down and you wake up the next day with a blow in your head. How long will it take for you to realize the difference between reality and dream?
I apologise for being a plebeian, but I am putting these thoughts just for “evolutionary” reasons. (Please don’t ask me to exemplify!)
Someone asked me what is the fundamental difference between being in ‘Love’ and having a ‘Crush’.
- You have a crush on someone with whom you would like to have your lunch. But you love someone… whom you are happy to see having lunch.
- You have a crush on someone with whom you would like to sleep. But you love someone whom you would like to see peacefully sleeping.
- You have a crush on someone for whom you stay hungry until that person eats. But you love someone for whom you yourself eat on time so that the other person doesn’t feel bad.
At a young age it is tough to differentiate between these two feelings and the result is always on an unhappy note. However, it is very true that even at later age this difference remains obscure to many.
Isn’t it weird that the president of a jungle turns out to be a bush?!
However, being one of the ‘beneficiaries’ of imperialism, I do not take the responsibility of the truth behind what I am going to narrate next. Certain facts have been purposefully twisted for the sake of national (read: personal) security.
At that time, it was “Simon Go Back” and now 1st March 2006 reeks “Bush Go Back!” And since when did our college group ever fall behind in community service? Thus, they decided to burn the effigy of honourable Mr. George W. Bush.
Shattered pieces of glass shine like diamonds under the light but remain dead when engulfed by the blazing darkness.
Not physics, rather the hint is towards the realm of metaphysics. Beleif, faith, religion, fanatics, riots, death, blessings, miracles, why.
When we put that ten rupee note into that man-made box marked “donations,” why don’t we ever wonder who actually gets that money?
What power makes the mountains stand tall and live out the test of time?
What drives the physically challenged to searched for imaginations in a light-starved cave?
What, why and where? Would you had believed, if you knew that He was not omnipotent or omnipresent?
Men in history were revered for their omnipotence and omnipresence. Hitler, Mussolini. Gods?!
Why then is he locked by the bars? Why then is he left to the scorching heat and the dripping clouds? Why do beggars swear by him? Why does even they-who-must-not-be-named also wear the shrines?
He… nothing but a “significant remnant of our superstitious past”
Simply because there is no road, does not mean that the journey stops. Perhaps, after the meandering journey of our lives, all of us do reach an end. But, as someone had said, “at the end it is the journey that matters the most.”
Occasions remind us of the end — birthday, anniversary, new year and more.
And when you come ‘down’,
To my city of amorous joys.
Amidst a social chaos in a plethora of faiths,
Fantasizing and prostituting religion,
Loud vociferation of hypocrite secularism
And to sum it all: “a diverse culture!”
Amidst constituted vindictive politics
Unaccounted powers, vested by unaccounted population;
Where every ballot is a dramatized guillotine –
In the world’s most comprehensive constitution.
Enlightened, the man begins. Begins with an eclipse. Eclipse not of the lesser light, but the light of the lesser man.
And it was seen through by many, visible, yet not seen to.
The colours of that blotch of light become apparent to the enlightened many,
Where shades are branded by taste of prejudice and craft of meticulation.
How will those laureates associate this frame?
Or will they again politicize it to keep it one of those transient oddity,
That is so cleverly inexplicable to the expectant men?
Who under the banner of a local NGO,
Assemble the outcastes to outcry their universal red.
And strangely then,
Curse the bank for unavailibility of different groups!
Since they cannot lift up that ‘thing-who-must-not-be-named,’
For they know what must not be made known,
The mystery down the rabbit hole,
To curb the genre following the widow of Solomon Bandaranaike
And daughter of Zulfikar Ali.
The very couple men and manly, become oxymoron.
Ironical though when the cult strips in front of her nanogamical bed-warmer,
With the light that is stoopingly seen.
Clouds still remain a veil for the taboo.
PS: I apologize to the victim, if any sensitive inscription I stated above, has hurt any sinsere sentiment. And unending regards to that person who considers, in his own lucid way, that “moon had always been of special interest to me!”
p align=”center”>© Shamasis Bhattacharya (Twentyone Innovations)
“Believe it is true, believe it blindfolded,
Do not ask for explanations.”
‘Coz the answer had been repentant since repeated eternities.
The colours perceived through the kaleidoscope of time
Manipulate the perception of soundings,
Scribbled to estimate the depth of the mantling lake.
Out there, shelterless, sits the placid lake,
Flowing for long,
Though, from above, it is as still as any other could be.
But no one knows, (rather no one wants to know,)
That below the serene surface there is a violent turbulence —
A violent whirlwind in the water,
That had been raging since the birth of light;
The times when the knights did not exist
Because the days were yet to find sight.
The dreams of fantasizing resides the truant adore,
Of a temptation miles long.
Slithering on a jump-board cliffed from one shore.
Beliefs and ‘stitions cuddled under the stampede
Of the imaginations’ kaleidoscope,
Transient shadows carving shapes
Through ecliptic proportions that can never reborn.
It was around five and the evening sky was overcast. There was a soft breeze caressing the trees and the tang of fresh leaves mesmerized the senses. An evening could not have been better.
There were just three passengers in the bus. Two of them were elderly men and the third was I. I had made myself comfortable on a window seat. And in my trance of observing the beauteous fiasco, I had completely forgotten to notice my newly embarked co-passenger. It was only when the flying dupatta hit my face that I turned around to have a look at her. She was the perfect picture to be enframed in the beautiful evening. By her soft and tender appearance, I guessed that she was in her late teens. The long flowing hair and the hazel blue eyes; I could not have been luckier – she was too beautiful to sit beside me.