Mourning with Cloud in it

  Memories. That's what we all have left at the end of the day, na? Everyone, everyone important has always said this to me. And these memories live using mediums like chairs, boxes, trees, cats. For me, it's the song through which each memory lives. Each memory, imbibed into certain songs. Each individual, each individual who matters has a song tag beside them, in my brain. Now these songs, I'm generally fond of most of them. I might not listen to them, but when I do, I feel so good. But good is not so good sometimes for me. Hence I avoid certain songs, but I never manage to gather enough guts to delete those songs from the hard disk, or from my playlist, because they have been imbibed in my brain like wires into electronic chips.
  Now there is this one specific song, which I'm really scared to listen, but I do always end up listening to it none the less. It's this song, y'know, an instrumental piece, just a single piano. And when it starts playing, I launch into an overdrive, image, one single, disturbing image lingers inside my head for what seems to be an eternity, but is actually just a few minutes. When I wake up again, I always end up cursing myself for my own weak, tender, even callous mind, letting my soggy eyes look straight into that cauldron of memories.
  The images, what they are, you ask? They aren't much, just a cloudy evening, with a purple sky, and clouds hanging in the distance over skyscrapers like an iridescent crown, changing their colour every few minutes from orange to brown to lilac and back to dusty orange. An empty, dusty road four storeys below, basking in their orange glory of loneliness. Sound of the rustling leaves of giant trees getting mistletoed by suburb bound trains of a daylong struggle, barking dogs in the distance getting into barking dog fights. And high above all this, like Olympian ancients, two teenagers sitting and getting absorbed in the "Nuvole Bianche", white clouds surrounding them. This is the image. And for you it might not sound much, but for me it is something of the likes of a psychic seductress, suddenly bringing forth a certain age of mine before my eyes, making me think and feel and be sad like I was then. This me, is not me.
  And so I decide for the umpteenth time never again to set my sight on that song again, only to disavow my own rule and go back to it later again. I think I know who my pied piper is. Songs. Songs like these, and songs in general. Songs, and memories.

Christmas Gift.

You: Pick up the phone, idiot.


Me: Wha.. who the fuck? Eto shokale? *looks at the phone* She woke up so early? Something must be wrong. *picks up the phone* Hello?


You: Dude, you won't believe what just happened!


Me: Great. I don't want to. Let me just go back to sleep, willya'?


You: Fuck you, this is important. Shon na ki hoyechhe!


Me: *sigh* Bol.


You: Today, I just woke up, and I found this box beside my bed. A box full of memories!


Me: Great. I guess you've been a good girl, tai Santa khushi hoyechhe tomar upor.


You: Duur bara! Khali khilli marchhe! Be excited! I got a box, a very precious box!


Me: Yeah, great. congratulations. *yawns*


You: Fuck you. Tui sala kono interest dekhachhis na. The first person I, I call up in the morning just mukh'er upor hai tule jachhe. Chutiya.


Me: Alright, alright. Fine. Interest dekhachhi. Ki emon important achhe bakshotay, je eto akulota?

You: Told you na, memories!

Me: I thought that was part of your rhetorics or something. You really got memories? Maane, how? Long lost brain'er harano tukro gulo peyechhis naki?


You: Duur shala. Sheshob na. Remember I once told you that when we shifted to our new house, amar ek baksho jinish pottor hariye gechhilo? Shei bakshota! Magical, na?


Me: Dude, it's been friggin 10 years. Hothat kore etodin baade, how?

You: I don't know, I don't know. I just feel so happy re! But, but you know, I always kinda' knew ekdin ami phire paboi amar harano bakshota.

Me: What? Youd been waiting for this package for 10 years now? Maane, you had been expecting all these years it'd reach you? 

You: Yes, yes! Stupid, na? But stupid people are right, and I have my box! You know what's in there? Putuls!

Me: Dolls? Oh my fucking god! You mean to say you played with dollies? Haha!


You: Keno re? Khelte pari na? Pari na ami?!

Me: Ofcourse, maane khelte chaile ar ke atkabe. To think over it, physically I guess you do pass off as a girl, but dude! Not anything else! Maane, the mean badass chick who drinks like a hairy redneck, used to play with dollies? Hilarious man, just hilarious!

You: Haha, very funny! It also had casettes, you know? Rabindrasangeets, Srutinattos, Kobitas.

Me: What?! Rabindrasangeets too?

You: Yes. Chhoto thekei shuntam. Ekhono shuni, jokhon Maa sings. Maa sings very well, y'know.

Me: Naa, maane, I know you have a Rabindric family, but tui to gaiteo parish na, nachteo parish na, porashona-tao khub kichhu korish na eishob line-e. Tobe Rabindranath-er sathe shomporko-ta kothay tor?


You: Rokte. I have him inside me.
Me: Dafuq?! You sound like godzilla now, "inside me"!

You: Fuck you! You are so mean!

Me: Haha! Olebabale, rege gechhe. Nana, ar na. Ajker jonne enough chat kheyechhis.

You: Thank you for this kindness of yours. Janish, it also had books. Jungle Book!

Me: Jungle book? Ei ota amaro chhoto belar fav books-er modhhe pore je!Gosh, was a beautiful book. But janish, pore boro hoye jokhon abar porte gelam, kirokom jeno laglo. Jeno chhotobelae je chair-tay thik boshe jete partam, ekhon boshte gele chair-ta bhenge pore  jachhe. Sherokom laglo.

You: Shetai, feeling ta ar same thake na. Shei freshness-ta.

Me: Exactly! It's like, oi memory gulo shob ekta air tight container e atkano achhe, and khullei purota bhenge guro guro hoye jabe. Jhora pata-r moton.

You: Kothay boipottor, kothay jhora pata. You really should stop taking drugs, y'know.

Me: Gandu. You had to make a totally stupid joke right now na, just when we were having some serious shit discussion?
 But ami kintu ekhono bujhlam na, why are you so excited about that box, if all that it contains are relics?

You: Because they are my memories. Memories I was robbed off. Keu to firiye debe boleni, tao aj dekh, hothat kore peye gelam. Life never ever stopped from making me smile.

Me: Memories? Dolls, and casettes, and books, eguloi tor childhood? Kinda' shallow if you ask me.

You: Shallow? Do you even understand how important they were for me. They were my identity, my childhood. I lost my identity when I was a child. That box, right there beside my bed, freshly opened, represents my lost childhood!

Me: Boro beshi chechachhis. Rege jachhis keno? Dekh amar mote memories are the images stored inside this hollow cranium chamber right above our eye. Then why, why wait for a stupid box, full of vintage dolls, and garbage?Ekhane the material possesions then are the representatives of your memories? Shallow, as I said.

You: You seriosuly are stupid, na? Don't you get what I say. They are my childhood!

Me: No. You've had your childhood. Those stuff cannot be your childhood. Your childhood, you've left it behind. I mean.. err... I mean you've had your share of your fun.

You: Fun? Fun?! Is that what you call fun? You know everything about me there is to be known about. And you still say fun?

Me: You're the one who always says she had a normal bachcha bela. Then why this odbhut claim for a speciality tag today?

You: Yes. I like to believe I had a normal childhood. A normal childhood which I hope no child has to face again, it was that normal! But that's about me. You, how can you tag it as normal?! You know all my pains! How can you still say all this then?


Me: Okay. Okay. I withdraw. I'm sorry. You are right. You are right all the way. But what I just want to say is, why make a few casettes and books take the pride in being your childhood. It's more precious than that. Tai na?


You: Yes, maybe. But.. Chhar, you won't understand. I shouldn't expect you to understand. You should just go and sleep. It's Christmas morning, and it's early. Don't waste your sleep on me. I'm sorry.


Me: No man, I'm sorry. Sorry for ruining your Christmas mood. But you know something, I'm really happy you finally found that box. I remember now, how fondly you talked about it back then. Treasure it, like the way I treasure my chithis.


You: Yeah, well. Heh. Thanks. Tui jaa, ghuma ekhon. And remember, bikele we are meeting kintu. Remember to bring some gift for me.


Me: You've got the best of the gifts possible, bitch, you still ask more?


You: Yes. Hihi! I'm greedy!


Me: I see. I'll see what I can bring.


You: Yeah, bye! And a Merry Christmas.


Me: Yeah, Christmas to you too, woman. Chumus and love. Bye.




This is something which I wrote months ago. This is just a revised version. And a Christmas gift.

Turning 18

  I couldn't understand what I'd write, so I went back to that post written a year ago, right during this time. Man, it's just been a year, and I already feel what a smartass little boy I was. A boy, which I still am. A boy who is growing up, rather reluctantly though.

  Well, I said I'd be back a year later, and so, here I am. Most probably the longest year I had. The most eventful one. And surely not the best one. But I think this year has been the most life changing year for me till now. A bad breakup, numerous rebounds, more bad breakups, fall outs, fall ins, knowing who to love and who to not, what to care about, how not to care about, and finding love in one of the unlikeliest places. Looking back, I regret none, like what Baba always tells me to do. But yeah, everyone's heard enough of that stuff. The thing which bothers me at present, at 4 in the morning, is that somehow I don't really like being eighteen much. Responsibilities agge thekei barchhilo, ekhon just age proof ta lege gelo tate. Somehow somewhere, I do understand Maa Baba are getting old, and it's time I should start caring for them. Not that I don't, but yeah, ekhon the feeling is sinking in all the more. The days of nonchalance, falling down on "dushtu" roads and getting your knee scrapped, and coming back home to Maa, knowing she'll wash your wounds, have passed a long time ago. Just that jinishta ekhon aro beshi kore mone hochhe. Shonirbhorshil howa, is an art which I need to master now. But when I think, je kono odbhut dilemma'y porlei running to Baba asking for advice, ba sharing mental wounds with Maa, knowing she'll heal them even with her cynic sense of humour, eigulow aste aste komate hobe, tokhoni bhoy ta chepe boschhe. Tokhoni mone hochhe, tobe ami kar kachhe jabo?

  I know, Maa Baba will always be there, even when they aren't, but ebar hoyto shomoy-ta eshe gelo nijeke notun kore chine, bhalo kore bujhe, bansh ta matite punte, nijer ekta basha bandhar. Parents let their kids go, my parents have done that, to a high extent, maybe one day I will too, with my kids. But apatoto, just ekta ojana ashonka. Pere uthbo to?

  But then again, why not? I'm an awesome son of awesome parents B-)

  Ebochhor hoyto amar shobcheye boro prapti Maa Baba'r sathe ekta different level of comfort zone e pouchhe jawa. And I'm thankful to all the shits that happened in my social life in this one year, for that part.

  Again, I get a step closer to knowing what friendship means. And who are those people who make it worthwhile for me to get wasted and then listen to wasted talks. Yeah, my friends are really nice. They never let me get drunk, they just get drunk so much more than me, that in the end, I end up carrying them to their beds. Again, responsibilities. They have helped me become a more responsible person. So I guess, at the end of 17, I can say I have had a good year.

  It's depressing how my last year's piece had a whole lot of chhyablamis and kaoramis, but this one doesn't. But then again, boro hochhi, gombhir hote shikhte hobe. Yeah right, in your face stinkface society. I'll just be awesome instead =D

  Abar Ajaan'er shomoy hoye elo. I should seriously study about music, especially Sufi music all the more. Also, I should write all the more. And ofcourse, I should cut down on hollabaji and study all the more. 2 months, man, and then bang, comes the most important exam I'll have to sit for to prove my worth to this country of mine. Sigh. I should seriously get back some swagger to my writing next year. Apatoto, tata people, we shall meet again, on the eve of my 19th birthday. Till then, let's all just try to get back our swagger ;)