Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Our Infant Air


I saw her as a little girl in that large house which became the hotbed for Naxalite activities. Her narrations of every walk of life were so vivid that it empowered me with an interesting ability to visualize the unknown. I witnessed the old para as she spoke; with buildings glued to one another where if one calls by a singular surname, it echoes and not less than 250 people respond. Her words drew a close parallel to the most thought-provoking first fifteen years of my being. It was impossible to overlook the similarities and wishes that both of us had when I was young and she was younger. She used to head for her old address to tie her hair in the late afternoons and would never be home before night time. I held on to English tutorials in the neighborhood of my old house only to walk past the oli-golis of my dearly loved Paikpara. My juvenile days were a dense miniature of hers except that hers were more beautiful than mine. I can not bring myself to not love someone as beautiful as her, even harder to not love a person who has one cup of laal chaa without biscuits every hour.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

April High, April Low

Dear R,

I’m low. I have alcohol in my room. But I don’t wish to be high post midnight all alone. For if I am, I might end up writing to you again, this time starting with a ‘High-low’ in the stead of a ‘Hello’ [Dear me, I pity my sense of humor. But I surmise this isn't no sense of humor at all]



After 45 minutes of not biding by my wishes.



My dearest R,

Do you remember Lucy with the sun in her eyes? Can you recall the beginning of it all? Was it the April showers or the last poem by Tagore?

Remembering our old days does not bring nothing at all. It is arid here. The heat burnt it all. Lucy is antipathetic towards me (all over again) for her own secret reasons. She now saves butterflies and fireflies for her new amours. She has none whatsoever for me.

The max that I could do was to tell the person I’m dating presently as to how badly I still love her, that too when he was high, and more so when his voice sounded like one of my former Romeo’s.

I have fallen for and out for many such Romeos. But if there is a Juliet that I fell for once upon a time, it has to be you Lucy.

It perturbs me to think that I’m nearing 20 and not a thing has changed when it comes to you. You are the only thing that I can write about (if at all) with black ink between parallel lines.
Take me in, my beloved. Apparently it might seem that I have carried on but I could not move an inch from the Standard 6 class photograph. Given a chance I can still spend my days running my fingers through your disheveled hair on an extremely long bus journey.

And I’m not one of those who say that they are not ashamed of the way they feel. I on the other hand am truly ashamed of the way I turn, for I would never have turned this way if there was none like you. You are the only Lucy that makes me turn the way I do.

p.s: No pies for guessing who Lucy is :P