It was 3.30 odd by my watch. No that is not wrong English. Before certain elements started passing off clumsy mispronounced English as ‘our kind of English’, that was the rule and with good reason.
An aging sun and its careful winter warmth lay littered on the meadow or what’s left of it after the barbaric rainfall that stood adamant for nearly two weeks. I marked my path for a couple of rounds and then after a slight hesitation I was off. I don’t really know why I hesitated. That precisely has been a critical issue for some time now. I’m not shy or reticent. However, I have had myself a few sour deals in the recent past. I believe this little snake slipped in then.
It doesn’t matter now. I’ve started running again; head firm and straight, muscles taut, veins throbbing and lungs snorting. Very few things can be more liberating.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Sunday, September 4, 2011
After Hiatus
Rajarshi says: This was written quite sometime back. I couldn't translate it. The spirit is rather entwined with my mother-tongue, Bangla. It is about a languid weary afternoon where typical urban Indian scenes include men returning home from work, children awaiting their father's return and the chocolates he shall bear, students reluctantly making their way to tuition classes irrespective of their inclinations and those flashes of escape or freedom that go hand in hand with this massive and rather reconciled packet of time.
And thank you, Shakti Chattopadhyay
Chuti
Ghasher shagore concrete ney shwash
Porche tate alor proshwas
Dure kothao cholche ochena ajaan
Klanto batash diche tar I janaan
Boro babu bari phirchen rashbhari
Cadbury niye shuru hobe karakari
Bacha du chele dorjay chutochuti
Tader pa e dekchi amar chuti
Kishor chele bag kandhe tuition e
Onekta poth ebar perote hobe
Bhrukuti bhishon korche e poth daabi
Tobu chokher kon e tomay bhalobashi
Ondho goli te phutche neon kathi
Tar poroshe makhchi amar chuti
Kishori noyon janala y durodrishto
Tobe pokkhirajera aar je nei oboshishto
Rongo dekhe atenna udasheen
Tar kache shara bochor chuti’r din
Raat pori bole onekta poth baki
Tomake bolchi..shonge ashbe naki?
And thank you, Shakti Chattopadhyay
Chuti
Ghasher shagore concrete ney shwash
Porche tate alor proshwas
Dure kothao cholche ochena ajaan
Klanto batash diche tar I janaan
Boro babu bari phirchen rashbhari
Cadbury niye shuru hobe karakari
Bacha du chele dorjay chutochuti
Tader pa e dekchi amar chuti
Kishor chele bag kandhe tuition e
Onekta poth ebar perote hobe
Bhrukuti bhishon korche e poth daabi
Tobu chokher kon e tomay bhalobashi
Ondho goli te phutche neon kathi
Tar poroshe makhchi amar chuti
Kishori noyon janala y durodrishto
Tobe pokkhirajera aar je nei oboshishto
Rongo dekhe atenna udasheen
Tar kache shara bochor chuti’r din
Raat pori bole onekta poth baki
Tomake bolchi..shonge ashbe naki?
Friday, February 5, 2010
Phire Dekha (Looking Back)
Reminiscence..recollection..recall..replay..remembrance and the Calcutta night make an odd sweet tonic. Calcutta anywhere beyond 1 in the night is a neon urban wilderness. The streets devoid of its teeming millions of faces and metal alike, the suave breeze and lonely roadways are like photogenic
back drops to introspection and memories and long walks and fond memories. Here are some remembrances that occurred on “La nuit Calcutta”.
The Memories Of December
“..let us be lovers and marry our fortunes together..laughing on the bus..playing games with the faces..”
We were travelling around aimlessly through the many streets of the city. It was eight odd by my watch. She looked pretty and more importantly very happy. We boarded a tram from somewhere around Elliot lane. The tram wobbled along on its cobbled stone path with occasional bumps and power glitches. We were around Royd Street when a long power glitch halted the tram and ushered the coach into darkness with the street neons invading the black. We looked up at each other, eyes resounding in anticipation, a shade of fear and skipping beats and then suddenly there was a rush of the faces and with equal promptness the lights turned back on. We quickly shrugged away but the scandalised, jaw dropped, annoyed expression on the conductor's face was priceless!
“..shei pothe pothik joto nobin probin, haashi-kanna khela shomo ullashe dube jabe ononto jole..”
“..all we are is dust in the wind..”
It was around eight in the evening. I was attending Karmayatra, a high profile school fest of Calcutta. Bikram Ghosh was performing and the infectious effervescent revelry of seventeen was sweeping across the open air concert. That particular day, a Saturday, our land-phone and my father's cell phone were both out of order. My phone was the sole link of connection. That Saturday morning my mother asked me to leave my phone at home in case of an emergency. I didn't leave the phone behind. The friends needed to stay in touch. It was a gala fest after all. The priorities of being seventeen...
At around nine I received a call. It was my uncle. My grandfather had expired. He had been suffering from bone cancer for quite sometime but his condition was nowhere near fatality. That particular Saturday he suddenly deteriorated and then he was no more. I stood silent in the sprawling field overflowing with that infectious effervescence of seventeen. I hired a cab and rushed back home. I met my father on the way back. He said, “ Don't tell her, he's no more..she'll totally break down. Tell her that he is in a very critical condition and in all probability we won't reach in time..”. I refused to lie. To me it was a lie. I was already charred with guilt..I couldn't lie. My father tried to convince me otherwise. He said that it would be too much of a shock. I couldn't lie.
Today I realise that its difficult to be face to face with such excruciating loss. People have blood flowing through their veins. It's not about lying, its about easing the confrontation of facing loss.
I will never forget the expression on my mamma's face. Shock..overwhelming grief..emptiness..void..sickening weakness.. I don't know what it should be called.
It was my second visit of the burning ghat. There is an eerie tranquillity in that place of extreme mourning and death. All our relatives stood there in tears..some cried,some sobbed, a common site amongst many others.
“ Don't bother I won't die..promise you won't ever see me crying..the ring you gave will soon lose its shine”
“And I went down to the sacred store where I had heard the music years before but the man there said the music wouldn't play.
And in the streets the children screamed, lovers cried and poets dreamed. But not a word was spoken..”
One Saturday night last winter I was heading towards Nahoum's. A Jewish bakery shop in New Market, Calcutta. A few hundred feet away was this little shanty of a bakery run by a Goan Portugese family. They sold some of the best pies and cookies one could ever taste. My father was especially fond of the shop. I would come to the shop with him as a child. The shop was anachronistic in a Calcutta bustling with multi-national brands and cuisine. I was about make the bend round the corner and see the time stained “shanty of a shop” that had very lovingly fed me and family the best bakes of the house. But it was not there. I looked around trying to assess the error in navigation. I thought it was the wrong lane. But it was not. I asked the street vendors around the bend. From them I learned that the proprietor was no more and the sons had sold the shop.
It was a strange feeling. I would never taste those cookies again. It was gone and no one noticed. To feel the bite of grief, loneliness, exasperation and indifference amidst a bustling market of faces unable to spare any thought..riddled with overwhelming tensions of their own, is very unnerving.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Phire Asha (Homecoming)
I have always loved flying kites. It was an August of some year in early 90s when I saw my neighbour fly a kite. A red paper kite with a blue tail. I had never seen something like that before. The breeze drifted southwards with the promise of rain and the fragrance of aging mangoes. He let the kite down from his terrace and tugged at the cord for a while. The kite and the flier were both waiting for the right moment. I kept wondering about how something as weak as paper dangling in a pitiable drift could fly. My neighbour looked nonchalant and gazed southwards. And then suddenly “swoosh” with a strong heave he lifted the kite in the air. Within seconds the kite was a good twenty feet in the air. I looked up to the south sky. The kite now guided by my neighbour drifted like red confetti etched against August's blue sky. I watched spellbound at the majesty of the display. I saw the freedom in my neighbour's eyes. Freedom of a kite? I saw that once the kite was well endowed with breeze from the upper strata it refused any tugs from my neighbour. It had a will of its own now. It drifted amicably in the breeze that was now a gust.
A good five years from that day in August I flew my first kite. A red one with a green tail. I saw freedom. For years I would go up on the terrace in the morning of 15th August and stay there until it was evening. My father built me an elevated terrace that was specially suited for flying kites. But by that time I had reached the upper strata. I had a will of my own. Like all families, my family has had issues. Issues that have no solutions but yellow pages of history attached to them. I have fairly been an obedient child on the daily basis but when it came to critical decisions I have always distanced my parents from taking them. I have often misplaced my anger and used it fuel myself rather than discussing issues openly. However, I finally confess that I have occasionally been a sore wound for my parents. Everything always just had to be about me. My space..my life..my wishes..my will. But somehow all I want to say is that today I realize it was nobody's fault...kites and gusts and free wills and cords and strings are what make the concoction of the family.
A good five years from that day in August I flew my first kite. A red one with a green tail. I saw freedom. For years I would go up on the terrace in the morning of 15th August and stay there until it was evening. My father built me an elevated terrace that was specially suited for flying kites. But by that time I had reached the upper strata. I had a will of my own. Like all families, my family has had issues. Issues that have no solutions but yellow pages of history attached to them. I have fairly been an obedient child on the daily basis but when it came to critical decisions I have always distanced my parents from taking them. I have often misplaced my anger and used it fuel myself rather than discussing issues openly. However, I finally confess that I have occasionally been a sore wound for my parents. Everything always just had to be about me. My space..my life..my wishes..my will. But somehow all I want to say is that today I realize it was nobody's fault...kites and gusts and free wills and cords and strings are what make the concoction of the family.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Midnight Angels..
At the end of the day the human heart longs for company to stare at a sunset or finish a glass of chai and a couple of cigarettes.But then again such is life. She left yesterday night..and its going to be a long time before we meet again.I met her just a couple of semesters back and it was an effortless connection.We became sort of good friends, with 1000 line gtalk conversations of merely 'wot r u doin?'.I knew she would leave at the end of this sem and yet i never felt sentimental..I have ceased to feel emotions at the drop of a hat as i used to..but as she boarded the bus and it started,Adi(Adwitiya) broke down completely and i waved to Pallavi in my usual way..time froze.The driver said his prayers and stepped on the pedal, she smiled..adi broke down..i waved..and i felt the crunch of losing a connection, for 20 seconds i felt human.Adi continued sobbing, the bus was faded away into the dark highway ahead.I lit up as usual..venting it out in the smoke.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Thoughts..
"Barey barey choley jete hoy
Aar pichutaney kotoi shongshoy..
Tai phire asha oto shoja noy
Tobu phire aashche"
At every instant we are impelled to leave things, people circumstances ourselves behind and the grief and reluctance in doing so is monumental.That is why coming back..resurrection or retracing your path back to happiness is so arduous..but even then we always keep coming back.
This thought passed me by..i was thinking about ghosts and the after life..What if we are ghosts?
What if we and our life is a ghostly dwelling? What if we are the ones haunting existence?
What if death is birth?
Rajarshi says: In loving memory of my two departed friends..
Aar pichutaney kotoi shongshoy..
Tai phire asha oto shoja noy
Tobu phire aashche"
At every instant we are impelled to leave things, people circumstances ourselves behind and the grief and reluctance in doing so is monumental.That is why coming back..resurrection or retracing your path back to happiness is so arduous..but even then we always keep coming back.
This thought passed me by..i was thinking about ghosts and the after life..What if we are ghosts?
What if we and our life is a ghostly dwelling? What if we are the ones haunting existence?
What if death is birth?
Rajarshi says: In loving memory of my two departed friends..
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Neon Light Blues.
Blue 1: I was walking with her towards Lake Town crossing. I had known her for quite a long time. She seemed a bit too happy today. She normally is a very happy person. We were taking occasional gulps from the Smirn sprite cocktail as we passed by one light after the other. She kept smiling all the way. She looked beautiful. The neon washed road had not a living thing in sight. It seemed like a wilderness, a man made wilderness which was singing me the blues of the future to come. It felt good to be two wild animals in the wilderness. The void was overwhelming. I wanted to start a conversation. It would make me feel human. I do not know what prompted me to ask her about her father. I knew about most of her family but she had never told me about her father. (Damn! I should have understood long back but… darn). She didn’t answer. I asked her again. She looked at me tenderly and looked at the sky, possibly towards the neon we were passing. She asked me whether we could sit on the overbridge. It was around eleven thirty. I asked her if she would be late… she didn’t reply. We climbed onto the overbridge and sat there. She then told me that her father passed away on the same date when she was 10.
I have no words to express what I felt. It was a sickening feeling. Something in my heart pained but I showed no reaction whatsoever. I wanted to. I wanted to say something like “Oh lord I am so sorry I am so so so sorry dear…” But I just couldn’t. I just didn’t know what to say or do. I reached out for the Smirn and took a gulp. She said,” Take your shades off, I want to see your eyes.” I gasped. Why would she ask me to do this? I would have never done it but I took them off and looked at her. She looked even more beautiful. The silence of the breezy night echoed in resonance with that uncharted void, the void of words, expressions and that eternal ache, which was so smashingly confronting us. Yet, it seemed to lurk in the shadowy distance ahead as if it didn’t want to show itself.
I didn’t know what she was expecting in my eyes. Did she expect to feel affection? Did she want to see a tear drop? Dear…tears don’t come to me. I think its some kind of a disease but I cry within myself and if it’s of any importance at all, let me tell you; yes I was crying when you asked me to take my shades off. My heart ached, not because of the death but because I had hurt you. I wanted to say sorry but people can’t talk when they cry, can they? I just kept listening to her. How she regretted certain things. Things like her father had always wanted her to learn Hindustani classical music but that she had never complied and so many other little things that went like bullets into me. I had caused her to recollect something that was cancerous to her muse. I had caused her so much pain. Had I known… it pains me even more to think that with all my skills of observation and knowledge of behavioral science I had never understood…I had failed to fathom my dear friend’s depth of emotions. I should have understood a long time back. She was forever happy… or should I say running away from grief. She had a matured take to everything around her… or was she trying to rediscover herself? I don’t know or rather I want to forget what I know. I really like you. If you ever read my blog do know that I am sorry. I am so very sorry dear.
I wish to meet you before I leave. Give me a call.
Blue 2: It was the seventh of July. I was casually sauntering into “cha bra” (as KingD’s PJ had christened it) in Oxford with a friend of mine. As we went towards the end of the place we passed a group of friends, two guys and two girls and one of the girls gasped looking at me. I didn’t let her understand that I had noticed her reaction. She looked like an acquaintance of mine. We sat at one of the tables and she kept glancing at me and then left in a few minutes. There’s no particular reason behind my writing about this except for that moment at the store. I love the smell of books. It’s just so invigorating. The smell of books, her glances and the ice tea gave me a weird feeling. It seemed as if I had a glimpse of something and that time had stopped. A glimpse of what is too intangible to ascertain. Too many images flashed in my mind. It was like a breach in the fabric of time. In a matter of minutes it felt as if I was very familiar with the entire freeze or may be I would become familiar with it. Both the thoughts past and future seemed to intersect and occur simultaneously. It gave me a strange feeling.
Blue 3: I was walking down Park Street and I think I passed by Rudrani. I don’t know, it seemed like her. But she looked way too jazzy and..umm..nice I should say. She was a simple fun loving person when I knew her. Of course with the exception of the TTIS party where she went completely insane. (HEHEHE)
In any case if it was you then it was nice to run by an old friend.
Rajarshi says: We all have certain experiences that are different and the urbanscape just changes its magnitude. That‘s all I guess.
I have no words to express what I felt. It was a sickening feeling. Something in my heart pained but I showed no reaction whatsoever. I wanted to. I wanted to say something like “Oh lord I am so sorry I am so so so sorry dear…” But I just couldn’t. I just didn’t know what to say or do. I reached out for the Smirn and took a gulp. She said,” Take your shades off, I want to see your eyes.” I gasped. Why would she ask me to do this? I would have never done it but I took them off and looked at her. She looked even more beautiful. The silence of the breezy night echoed in resonance with that uncharted void, the void of words, expressions and that eternal ache, which was so smashingly confronting us. Yet, it seemed to lurk in the shadowy distance ahead as if it didn’t want to show itself.
I didn’t know what she was expecting in my eyes. Did she expect to feel affection? Did she want to see a tear drop? Dear…tears don’t come to me. I think its some kind of a disease but I cry within myself and if it’s of any importance at all, let me tell you; yes I was crying when you asked me to take my shades off. My heart ached, not because of the death but because I had hurt you. I wanted to say sorry but people can’t talk when they cry, can they? I just kept listening to her. How she regretted certain things. Things like her father had always wanted her to learn Hindustani classical music but that she had never complied and so many other little things that went like bullets into me. I had caused her to recollect something that was cancerous to her muse. I had caused her so much pain. Had I known… it pains me even more to think that with all my skills of observation and knowledge of behavioral science I had never understood…I had failed to fathom my dear friend’s depth of emotions. I should have understood a long time back. She was forever happy… or should I say running away from grief. She had a matured take to everything around her… or was she trying to rediscover herself? I don’t know or rather I want to forget what I know. I really like you. If you ever read my blog do know that I am sorry. I am so very sorry dear.
I wish to meet you before I leave. Give me a call.
Blue 2: It was the seventh of July. I was casually sauntering into “cha bra” (as KingD’s PJ had christened it) in Oxford with a friend of mine. As we went towards the end of the place we passed a group of friends, two guys and two girls and one of the girls gasped looking at me. I didn’t let her understand that I had noticed her reaction. She looked like an acquaintance of mine. We sat at one of the tables and she kept glancing at me and then left in a few minutes. There’s no particular reason behind my writing about this except for that moment at the store. I love the smell of books. It’s just so invigorating. The smell of books, her glances and the ice tea gave me a weird feeling. It seemed as if I had a glimpse of something and that time had stopped. A glimpse of what is too intangible to ascertain. Too many images flashed in my mind. It was like a breach in the fabric of time. In a matter of minutes it felt as if I was very familiar with the entire freeze or may be I would become familiar with it. Both the thoughts past and future seemed to intersect and occur simultaneously. It gave me a strange feeling.
Blue 3: I was walking down Park Street and I think I passed by Rudrani. I don’t know, it seemed like her. But she looked way too jazzy and..umm..nice I should say. She was a simple fun loving person when I knew her. Of course with the exception of the TTIS party where she went completely insane. (HEHEHE)
In any case if it was you then it was nice to run by an old friend.
Rajarshi says: We all have certain experiences that are different and the urbanscape just changes its magnitude. That‘s all I guess.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Dwikhondito..
Me-Where r u frm?
Princess-Delhi..tumi?
Me-Originally from Cal kintu ekhon Rajasthan e..
Me-So, what kind of music do you like?
Princess-Bollywood, BSP etc..u?
Me-Western classics and rock from the 60s and 70s and anything that is melodious..
Princess-Anything that is melodious..right
Princess-Fav actors and actresses?
Me-Al Pacino, Srk, Shabhana Azmi, Kajol..U??
Flips her cell and shows me atleast a 100 pics of OSO..especially one with Deepika in Srk's arms..which brought a smile to my face...
Me-Nice!
Princess-(smiles in a very sweet way)
Me-Cal e koto din thakchish?
Princess-20 days..
Me-Wow!
Princess-45 hoyar kotha chilo kintu friends der jonyo cut short..
Princess-How long r u staying?
Me- 2 months..
Princess-(makes a wow expression)
Me-Well i dont know when i shall be back again for this long again..may be 2 years..may be never again.
Princess-Oh!(Gestures why?)
Me-(laughs in a reconciled way) That's where i'll be headed..i may be out of the country forever in another 4 years...that's why i am enjoying this conversation...
Princess-y forever?
Me-Work and all will dictate a certain part of my life..unfortunatey
Me-Wot abt u?Wot do u want to do?
Princess-Mass Com
Me-(gestures damn good)
Me- i wanted to do Mass Com a lot kintu holo na..
Princess-keno?
Me- i was a good writer..and then one day i just lost it..i used to say that there is little difference in shitting and writing..jo cheez aap ko pareshan kar raha ho use aap nikaal do..its almost like i started having a mental constipation..and gave it up..when i regained my confidence it was too late..
Princess- HaHaHa
Me-Aar bol.. how's life in Delhi? Must be fun in certain ways..
Princess- Ya..its great fun..all the mischief and guyz hitting on girls..
Me-So, r u looking out for guyz?
Princess-(sort of surprised) May be..
Me-Uh huh
Princess-My god we just spent two hours chatting like this on the cell phone..
Me- I am going to remember this flashcard conversation for a really long time..
Princess- me too
Now the concept of this flashcard conversation is rather intriguing.It was 11 in the night and the Rajdhani express was Making its way towards Kolkata..the rest of the people were asleep.Just the two of us princess and me were awake..Amar train e kono din ghoom hoy na,(that's why i seldom travel by train),so i didnt know what to do.The 2 of us were on the opposite upper berths. And i started the conversation by typing the first line of what you are reading, in my cell's msg editor and flashed it towards her..and thus ensued the conversation..
Me-It seems that u value friends a lot..
Princess-Yes..
Princess- bcoz of my friends that i have a smile on my face..
Me-(turns his cell and hands it over to her to show the wall paper...silhouette figures of a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a sprawling gown dancing on the clouds with the moon in the background)
Princess-(smiles in a very sweet way) Nice!
Me-(laughs)our conversation reminds me of a Sinatra song 'Strangers in the night'...
Princess-oh
This time when i flashed my cell she opened her eyes, she wasnt waiting for it...so i understood that i had bored her enough :)
Then we exchanged e-mail id s and she went off to sleep saying that we would talk in the morning...I couldnt sleep for a reaaly long time almost 4 am.
Rajarshi says:-
flashcard conversation ta darun chilo...i think both of us will remember it as a fleeting vignette for a really long time...
somewhere in the distant and remote airways of my mind it will linger or rather we will linger like ghosts of a lost past.One day they will talk of me and my shadows...because was one day i was there and someday may be we will be too...
Princess-Delhi..tumi?
Me-Originally from Cal kintu ekhon Rajasthan e..
Me-So, what kind of music do you like?
Princess-Bollywood, BSP etc..u?
Me-Western classics and rock from the 60s and 70s and anything that is melodious..
Princess-Anything that is melodious..right
Princess-Fav actors and actresses?
Me-Al Pacino, Srk, Shabhana Azmi, Kajol..U??
Flips her cell and shows me atleast a 100 pics of OSO..especially one with Deepika in Srk's arms..which brought a smile to my face...
Me-Nice!
Princess-(smiles in a very sweet way)
Me-Cal e koto din thakchish?
Princess-20 days..
Me-Wow!
Princess-45 hoyar kotha chilo kintu friends der jonyo cut short..
Princess-How long r u staying?
Me- 2 months..
Princess-(makes a wow expression)
Me-Well i dont know when i shall be back again for this long again..may be 2 years..may be never again.
Princess-Oh!(Gestures why?)
Me-(laughs in a reconciled way) That's where i'll be headed..i may be out of the country forever in another 4 years...that's why i am enjoying this conversation...
Princess-y forever?
Me-Work and all will dictate a certain part of my life..unfortunatey
Me-Wot abt u?Wot do u want to do?
Princess-Mass Com
Me-(gestures damn good)
Me- i wanted to do Mass Com a lot kintu holo na..
Princess-keno?
Me- i was a good writer..and then one day i just lost it..i used to say that there is little difference in shitting and writing..jo cheez aap ko pareshan kar raha ho use aap nikaal do..its almost like i started having a mental constipation..and gave it up..when i regained my confidence it was too late..
Princess- HaHaHa
Me-Aar bol.. how's life in Delhi? Must be fun in certain ways..
Princess- Ya..its great fun..all the mischief and guyz hitting on girls..
Me-So, r u looking out for guyz?
Princess-(sort of surprised) May be..
Me-Uh huh
Princess-My god we just spent two hours chatting like this on the cell phone..
Me- I am going to remember this flashcard conversation for a really long time..
Princess-
Now the concept of this flashcard conversation is rather intriguing.It was 11 in the night and the Rajdhani express was Making its way towards Kolkata..the rest of the people were asleep.Just the two of us princess and me were awake..Amar train e kono din ghoom hoy na,(that's why i seldom travel by train),so i didnt know what to do.The 2 of us were on the opposite upper berths. And i started the conversation by typing the first line of what you are reading, in my cell's msg editor and flashed it towards her..and thus ensued the conversation..
Me-It seems that u value friends a lot..
Princess-Yes..
Princess- bcoz of my friends that i have a smile on my face..
Me-(turns his cell and hands it over to her to show the wall paper...silhouette figures of a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a sprawling gown dancing on the clouds with the moon in the background)
Princess-(smiles in a very sweet way) Nice!
Me-(laughs)our conversation reminds me of a Sinatra song 'Strangers in the night'...
Princess-oh
This time when i flashed my cell she opened her eyes, she wasnt waiting for it...so i understood that i had bored her enough :)
Then we exchanged e-mail id s and she went off to sleep saying that we would talk in the morning...I couldnt sleep for a reaaly long time almost 4 am.
Rajarshi says:-
flashcard conversation ta darun chilo...i think both of us will remember it as a fleeting vignette for a really long time...
somewhere in the distant and remote airways of my mind it will linger or rather we will linger like ghosts of a lost past.One day they will talk of me and my shadows...because was one day i was there and someday may be we will be too...
Saturday, November 3, 2007
His last goodbye…
Rajarshi says:- My epitaph,
wish I could hold her hand for that one last time…
How do I tell you about this secret inside of me?
In this din my voice will not reach you…
But please hold my hands like you always do,
To see you happy gives me a lot of solace.
But, this is it friend, goodbye…
Thank you, friend for being with me,
But now I have to go…
Go beyond the bridges of eternal sunshine,
My life is a little too far away,
Your love is my only vehicle,
To the land of lost muses.
But, this is it friend, goodbye…
Thank you, friend for being with me,
But now my memories wish to rest.
wish I could hold her hand for that one last time…
How do I tell you about this secret inside of me?
In this din my voice will not reach you…
But please hold my hands like you always do,
To see you happy gives me a lot of solace.
But, this is it friend, goodbye…
Thank you, friend for being with me,
But now I have to go…
Go beyond the bridges of eternal sunshine,
My life is a little too far away,
Your love is my only vehicle,
To the land of lost muses.
But, this is it friend, goodbye…
Thank you, friend for being with me,
But now my memories wish to rest.
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